LIBRARY * UNIVE S TY OF CA .FOR -:A SAN OI v. 4 LIBRARY UNIVE S TY OF CA: .FOR -sA SAN Pi EGO v. 4 yxHimmmijaiaKiffiKimam^ OF THE dambrtftg? Otttott There have been printed seven hundred and fifty sets of which this is copy No. INTERNATIONAL CONGRESS OF ARTS AND SCIENCE PROCESSION OF THE SACRED BULL Hand-painted Photogravure from ihe Painting by F. A. Bridgman Apis-Osiris, the Sacred Bull worshipped in Egypt, was supposed to be the re-incarnation of Osiris. The birthday of the bull was celebrated by the annual festival of seven days' duration. The marks of Apis were a black- colored hide with white triangular spots on the forehead, a figure resembling an eagle on the back, a peculiar knot under the tongue, and a white crescent on the right side. The worship of the Sacred Bull began with the second dynasty. INTERNATIONAL CONGRESS OF ARTS AND SCIENCE EDITED BY HOWARD J. ROGERS, A.M., LLT?. DIRECTOR OF CONGRESSES VOLUME IV LAW AND RELIGION COMPRISING Lectures on Comparative Law, Brahmanism, Buddhism, Mohammedism, Old Testament, New Testament, History of the Christian Church, and History of Religions in the Nineteenth Century UNIVERSITY ALLIANCE LONDON NEW YORK COPYRIGHT 1906 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & Co. ALL RIGHTS RESF.RVED COPYRIGHT 1908 BY UNIVERSITY ALLIANCE ILLUSTRATIONS VOLUME IV FACING PAGE PROCESSION OF THE SACRED BULL Frontispiece Photogravure from the painting by F. A. Bridgman PROF. NEBUSHIGE HOZUMI AND DR. HUGO MUNSTERBERG .... 36.~> Photogravure from a photograph GOLGOTHA 618 Photogravure from the painting by JEAN LEON GEROME Music IN THE MONASTERY 662 Photogravure from the painting by EDUARD GRLIT/.NER TABLE OF CONTENTS VOLUME IV HISTOEY OF LAW (continued) COMPARATIVE LAW. The New Japanese Civil Code, as Material for the Study of Compar- ative Jurisprudence ........ 367 BY PROF. NOBUSHIGE HOZUMI The Latest Organization of Popular Suffrage . . . . .417 BY PROF. ALFRED NERINCX, LL.D. References suggested on the History of Law ..... 426 Bibliography on the History of Law ...... 427 HISTOEY OF EELIGION The History of Religions in the Nineteenth Century .... 432 BY PROF. GEORGE FOOT MOORE, D.D., LL.D. Fundamental Conceptions and Methods of the History of Religion . 443 BY PROF. NATHANIEL SCHMIDT, A.M. BRAHMANISM AND BUDDHISM. The Relations of the Religions of Ancient India to the Science of Religion .......... 467 BY PROF. HERMANN OLDENBERG, Ph.D. Brahmanical Riddles and the Origin of Theosophy . . . .481 BY PROF. MAURICE BLOOMFIELD, Ph.D., LL.D. MOHAMMEDISM. The Progress of Islamic Science in the Last Three Decades . . 497 BY PROF. IGNAZ GOLDZIHER, Ph.D. The Problems of Muhammadanism ....... 518 BY PROF. DUNCAN BLACK MACDONALD, Ph.D. OLD TESTAMENT. Old Testament Science ......... 537 BY PROF. JAMES FREDERICK McCuRDY, B.A. TABLE OF CONTENTS The Eolations of Old Testament Science to the Allied Departments and to Science in General . . . , . . . 551 BY PROP. KARL FERDINAND KEINHARD BTJDDE, D.D. NEW TESTAMENT. The Relations of New Testament Science to Kindred Sciences . . 569 BY PROF. BENJAMIN WISNER BACON, D.D., LL.D. The Present Problems of New Testament Study .... 585 BY PROP. ERNEST DEWITT BURTON, D.D. hlSTORY OP THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. The Relation between Ecclesiastical and General History . . 621 BY PROF. KARL GUSTAV ADOLF HARNACK, Ph.D. The Progress of Ecclesiastical History, especially Ancient, during the Nineteenth Century ........ 636 BY PROF. JEAN REVILLE, D.D. Bibliography: History of Religion . . . . . . . 650 SUPPLEMENTAEY LECTURES (Not delivered at the Congress.) Music. Style in Musical Art . * . . . . . . . 665 BY SIR CHARLES H. H. PARRY, Mus. Doc., LL.D. Singing as an Art ......... 675 BY PROF. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE DRAMA. The Idea of Tragedy 691 BY WILLIAM LEONARD COURTNEY, LL.D. The Cornerstones of Modern Drama ...... 709 BY HENRY ARTHUR JONES The Plays of Henrick Ibsen ........ 726 BY PROF. PHILIP HENRY WICKSTEED, M.A. Special Works of Reference relating to Music ..... 749 Special Works of Reference relating to the Drama .... 751 - NEBUSHIGE HOZUMI, LL.D., Imperial Professor of Law, University of Tokio. HUGO MUENSTERBERG, Ph.D., LL.D., Professor of Psychology, Harvard University. SECTION C — COMPARATIVE LAW SECTION C— COMPARATIVE LAW [Hall 14, September 24, 3 p. TO.] CHAIRMAN: HONORABLE JACOB M. DICKINSON, Chicago. SPEAKERS: PROFESSOR NOBUSHIGE HOZUMI, University of Tokio. PROFESSOR ALFRED NERINCX, University of Louvain. THE NEW JAPANESE CIVIL CODE, AS MATERIAL FOR THE STUDY OF COMPARATIVE JURISPRUDENCE BY NOBUSHIGE HOZUMI [Nobushige Hozumi, Professor of Law, Imperial University, Tokio, Japan, b. July 11, 1855, Uwajima, Japan. Senior Middle Temple, London, scholarship in Common and Criminal Law, 1878-79; Barrister-at-Law, Middle Temple, England. Hogakuhakushi, LL.D. 1888; Dean of the Faculty of Law, Univer- sity of Tokio, 1882-87, 1893-95; member of the House of Peers, 1890- 92; drafting member of the Committee of Codification, 1893 — — ; Chair- man of the Assembly of Doctors of Law, 1899 — — ; member Tokio Academy of Sciences. Author of Ancestor-Worship and Japanese Law (in English); Treatise on Codification; Treatise on Inkyo, or Retirement from House-Jieadship; and On the Custom of Goringumi, or Five-men's Guilds (in Japanese) ; was one of the three joint authors of the Civil Code of Japan.} IN responding to the call of the Committee of the Congress to deliver a lecture on Comparative Law, I have, for reasons which will not be far to seek, taken the new Japanese Civil Code as the subject of my discourse. If, at the outset, I may be allowed to use a para- doxical expression in characterizing that law-book, I should say that "the East and the West, the Past and the Present, meet in the new Japanese Civil Code." I mean that the codification of private law in Japan was the result of the great political and social revolution which followed the opening of the country and the introduction of Western ideas; so that the Code embodies in itself both archaic and modern elements on the one hand, and Oriental and Occidental elements on the other. It is, so to speak, a connecting link between the Past and the Present, between the East and the West, and stands at the cross-roads of historical and comparative jurisprudence. It is, on that account, peculiarly interesting to scientific jurists, as supplying them with materials which few other systems can furnish. It will be my endeavor, in this lecture, to show the effect which the contact of the Western civilization with that of the East has pro- duced on the civil law of the country, thereby illustrating some of the leading principles of the evolution of law by reference to the rules of the Code. The scope of my lecture being so wide, and the 368 COMPARATIVE LAW time for its delivery being limited, I shall confine myself to those characteristic features of the code which are not usually found in Occidental jurisprudence. I. Causes of the Codification In order to set forth the characteristics of the Japanese Civil Code, it will be useful, first of all, briefly to explain the causes which led to the codification and give a short sketch of the history of its compilation. The causes which led to the reform and codification of the civil law are principally two. The first is to be found in the great social and political changes which have taken place since the opening of the country to foreign intercourse, especially since the restoration of the Emperor to actual power in 1868. It was just half a century ago that Commo- dore Perry knocked at our doors to open the country to foreign trade. Aroused from the deep slumber of centuries, we rubbed our eyes, and saw Western civilization confronting us, but it was some time before we were wide awake, and realized the advantage of introducing it into our country. In a country which had remained entirely secluded for centuries from the rest of the world, it was quite natural that distrust, which in many cases grew to be hatred, of foreigners should at first have existed among the mass of the people; and that the cry of " jo-i, " or " the expulsion of foreigners," should have been raised among them. Many far-sighted statesmen and scholars, however, clearly saw the necessity of introducing Western civilization and of adopting what- ever seemed conducive to the intellectual or material progress of the country, in order that Japan might become a member of the family of nations. There were others, who, while understanding very well the necessity of introducing Western civilization, joined the anti-foreign party, in order to hasten the overthrow of the Sho- gunate Government, for the expressions " Sonno-joi, " or " Loyalty to the Emperor, and the expulsion of foreigners," although they had no necessary connection with one another, were at that time adopted as watchwords by the party of political reform, in order to set the mass of the people against the Shogun's Government. But as soon as their object was attained, and the present Emperor was restored to real power, they threw off the mask and kept only the former half of their watchword, "Sonno, " or "Loyalty to the Emperor." The first act of the Emperor, on ascending the throne,was to enun- ciate the fundamental principles of his government in the form of a solemn oath, which has since then been known as "the Five Articles of the Imperial Oath." The Emperor declared in this oath, (1) That deliberative assemblies should be established, and all measures of government should be decided by public opinion. JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 369 (2) That all classes, high and low, should unite in vigorously carry- ing out the plan of the government. (3) Officials, civil and military, and all common people should, as far as possible, be allowed to fulfill their just desires, so that there might not be any discontent among them. (4) Uncivilized customs of former times should be broken through, and everything should be based upon the just and equitable principle of nature. (5) That knowledge should be sought for throughout the world, so that the welfare of the Empire might be promoted. This oath has been made the basis of our national policy. How well the Emperor kept his oath, and how unswervingly his govern- ment and his people have followed the wish expressed by their sovereign, is shown by the subsequent events of our history. The feudal system was abolished, and all the daimios or feudal lords voluntarily surrendered their fiefs to the Emperor, together with their powers to make laws, issue paper currency, and exercise both civil and criminal jurisdiction within their dominions. The four' hereditary classes of the people, namely, the samurai or sol- diers, farmers, artisans, and merchants, were abolished, and all could freely choose their own profession or calling. Officials were no longer appointed on account of birth, as was formerly the case, but on account of personal merits, and even the lowest born could aspire to become the highest official of the state. The family system was, as I shall show presently, gradually weakened, so that the individual began to take the place of the family as the unit of society. Schools for both sexes have been established in all parts of the empire, which are open to all classes without the least distinction. Higher education is no longer the monopoly of the samurai and the clergy. Students and officials have been yearly sent to Europe and America, to study different branches of art and science, or to investigate and report upon the methods and resources of Western civilization. Christianity, which had been very strictly forbidden during the Tokugawa Shogunate, was gradually tolerated under the new government of the Emperor, until at last freedom of religious belief and worship was secured by article 28 of the constitution promulgated in 1889. The introduction of steamships, railroads, electric telegraphs, etc., completely changed the means of communication and traveling both on land and sea. The opening of foreign trade and the changes in commerce and industry at home, by the establishment of banking and other com- mercial firms and factories in different parts of the country, brought about great economical revolutions among the people. The Imperial Household abolished the old ceremonial costumes, and adopted European dress for ceremonial occasions both for men and women. 370 COMPARATIVE LAW The men cut off their topknots and had their hair dressed in Western fashion; they discarded their loose native dress and began to wear tight practical European dress; they now build their government offices, schools, and other public buildings in European style; they began to eat beef, the partaking of which had been regarded as something sacrilegious. It is needless to say that these political, economical, and social revolutions, which extended to every depart- ment of life, occasioned the necessity for corresponding reforms in the laws of the country, which could not be met by fragmentary legislation. Sweeping legislation by way of codification was the only way of keeping up with the rapid strides which Japan had taken during the past three decades. The second and more immediate cause of the codification of the civil law was the earnest desire on the part of the Japanese people to put an end to the existence of the extra-territorial jurisdiction which had been granted by earlier treaties to the sixteen Treaty Powers of Europe and America, and to resume the civil and criminal juris- diction over the subjects and citizens of the Treaty Powers, residing or traveling in the country. At the time that we first entered into commercial treaties with Western Powers, it was quite natural and reasonable that they should demand the reservation to themselves of jurisdiction over their own respective subjects and citizens. This was indeed necessitated by the great difference between their own laws and institutions and those of Japan, while the habits and customs of the people were also quite unlike. We saw the necessity and justice of acceding to their demand, but at the same time felt that the existence of such a legal anomaly was a disgrace to the country, and wholly incompatible with that scrupulous regard for the integrity of territorial sovereignty which ought to characterize the intercourse of independent friendly nations. So from an early date in the present reign, attempts were repeatedly made to revise the treaties and expunge from them the abominable extra-territorial clause. But every time we were met by the objection that our laws were in- complete. Although as a matter of principle, we did not admit the justice of the foreigners' objection to obeying the laws of the country to which they chose to resort, we were obliged, in fairness, to re- cognize the reasonableness of their objections. After many years of difficult diplomatic negotiations, it was at last agreed that the treaties should be revised and the extra-terri- toriality should be abolished; and, at the same time, the Japanese Government undertook to frame codes of laws and put them in operation before the new treaties should go into effect. The above-mentioned two causes, one internal and the other external, combined to make the work of codification one of the most urgent necessities of the time. As a preliminary step to the JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 371 work of codification, a Bureau for the Investigation of Institutions was established in the third year of Meiji (1870), and one of the fruits of the labor of that bureau was the translation of the French Codes. This translation afforded the knowledge-thirsty Japanese ideas of Western laws for the first time, and had an immense influence upon subsequent legislation and judicial decisions in the courts of law. In 1875 a Committee for the Compilation of the Civil Code was appointed for the first time. In 1878 a draft was submitted by this committee to the Government. This draft was a close imitation of the French Civil Code, both in its arrangements and -in its content and was not adopted by the Government. In 1880 Professor Bois- sonade, an eminent French jurist, who was then a legal adviser to the Japanese Government, was asked to prepare a new draft, and in the next year, a Bureau for the Codification of the Civil Law was established, to which Professor Boissonade's draft was submitted for deliberation. The bureau was abolished in 1886, and a Committee for the Investigation of Law was appointed, composed of the members of the Genroin or the Senate and of the Bench, with Count Yamada, the Minister of Justice, at its head. This committee made its report in 1888, and the draft was submitted to the deliberation of the Senate, and was adopted by that Council. On the 27th of March, 1890, under Law no. 28, those parts of the Code which were drafted by Professor Boissonade, that is, book n, relating to "Property in General," book in, relating to the "Means of Acquiring Property," book iv, "Security of Rights in personam," and book v, relating to "Evi- dence," were published. Those parts which were prepared by Japanese jurists, namely, book i, relating to "Persons," and part of book in, relating to "Succession," were published on the 16th of October of the same year, and the whole code was to go into operation from the 1st of January, 1893. Thus after the arduous toil of fifteen years, Japan possessed a code of private law for the first time in her history. It was quite natural that the Code should become a topic of earnest consideration for all educated classes of the people. Especially among lawyers and poli- ticians, a violent controversy arose regarding the merits of the ne\v code. Those jurists who had studied English law in the Tokio University or in England or America first raised their voices against the Code and demanded the postponement of the date of its going into operation, with a view to its complete revision. The French section of Japanese lawyers, on the other hand, supported the Code and insisted upon the necessity of its going into operation at the date originally appointed. The German section of jurists, whose number was at that time comparatively small, was divided into two parties, some siding with the one, and others joining the other. Japanese lawyers were thus divided into two hostile camps, and the lively 372 COMPARATIVE LAW discussion which arose among them is known as the " Postponement Campaign." The arguments pro and con put forward for the post- ponement and revision of the Code were many and were of varying importance. To outsiders the campaign may have seemed like a sectarian conflict between the English and French groups of Japanese lawyers. But this struggle is eminently interesting to scientific observers of the general history of law, for it was, in reality, a contest of the historical school with the school of natural law, resembling in many respects the famous controversy between Savigny and Thibaut in the beginning of the same century. This question con- tained an important issue, as to which theory should have a pre- dominant influence over the jurisprudence and legislation of the country. In order to explain this interesting event in our legal history, 1 must for a moment stop to give an account of the state of legal education in Japan at that time. English law had been taught in the Imperial University of Tokio since 1874 by English, American, and Japanese teachers, and also in other law schools, and a great num- ber of the graduates had by that time already filled important positions on the Bench and at the Bar, as well as in other places, both in and out of the Government. They were all taught the doctrines of Bentham, Austin, and Maine, and most of them belonged to the school of positive law. On the other hand, there was a law school attached to the Department of Justice, in which French law was taught by Professor Boissonade and other French and native teachers. There were also two or three private law schools in which French law was taught. The graduates of these schools, who also filled important positions, had been taught the doctrines of natural law. It was quite natural that the doctrines which lawyers had imbibed in their early days of studentship should have strongly influenced their views as to legislation in their maturer days. And thus arose two opposite schools among the lawyers of Japan. In 1887, just three years before the publication of the Civil Code, the Imperial University made a re- form in the programme of the College of Law. The French Law School of the Department of Justice was transferred to the University, and at the same time a German Law Section was newly established, so that there came to be three sections in the College of Law, besides a fourth which is devoted to political science. This tripartite division in the University law education could not fail to produce an enduring effect on the subsequent legislation of the country. The Civil Code had become law before the constitution came into force in 1890, and the question of the postponement of its operation had to be decided in the Imperial Diet. Accordingly a bill was introduced at the session of 1892 in the House of Representatives to postpone the operation of the Code with a view to its revision. After several JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 373 warm debates, the bill was passed by both Houses of the Imperial Diet and the operation of the Code was postponed by Law no. 8 until the 31st of December, 1896. Thus the so-called "Postpone- ment Campaign" resulted in the victory of the "Postponement Party"; and in the following year a Codification Committee was established by an Imperial Edict. The constitution of this committee affords a very important clue for understanding the character of the new code. The committee, with Marquis Ito, then Prime Minister, as its president, consisted of members of both Houses of the Diet, professors of the Imperial University, members of the Bench and the Bar, with other eminent jurists and leading representatives of com- merce and industry. The number of the members varied from time to time, but throughout, care had been taken in the appointment of members to represent every interest in society and also to repre- sent English, French, and German schools of Japanese lawyers. The "Postponement Campaign" was very fierce while it lasted, but when the question was once settled, both parties threw off their animosity and joined hands in the work of giving the nation a code which would meet the exigencies of the time. The appointment of the three special members to prepare the draft also shows a concilia- tory spirit on all sides. Professors Tomii, Ume, and myself were appointed to prepare the original draft which was to be submitted to the deliberation of the committee. Professor Tomii, although he had studied law in Paris and is docteur en droit, and thus belonged to the French school, sided with the "Postponement Tarty," and not only formed a remarkable exception among his comrades, but was one of the stanch advocates of postponement and revision. Professor Ume, who had studied law in Lyons and is also docteur en droit, was one of the champions of the "Anti-Postponement Party." I myself studied English law in the Inns of Court in London and am a member of the English Bar; and I belonged to the " Postponement Party." Both Professor Ume and I also studied law in the University of Berlin, after we had finished our courses in France and England respectively. Thus it will be seen that two out of the three framers of the Code represented the French section, but one of them be- longed to the " Postponement Party." While two belonged to the French and one to the English school, two of them had studied German law. The constitution of the committee, especially that of the Drafting Committee, made it clear that they could not agree to take the law of any one country as an exclusive model upon which to frame the new code. Professor Boissonade's code was principally based upon the French Civil Code, but the framers of the revised code agreed to collect the codes, statutes, and judicial reports of all civilized countries which existed in the English, French, German, or Italian 374 COMPARATIVE LAW languages, besides international treaties which have reference to the rules of private law. They accordingly collected more than thirty civil codes, including many drafts, such as the draft of the Civil Code of New York, the draft of the German Code, the drafts of the Belgian Code, besides other codes, statutes, reports, and treaties, and comparing the rules or principles which exist in different countries, adopted whatever seemed to be best suited to the requirements of the country. In the original draft which was submitted to the deliberation of the committee, an explanation was attached to each article, stating the reasons for the adoption of the rule. The corre- sponding articles or rules which exist in other countries, as well as rules, precedents, and customs in our own country, were also cited for the consideration of the committee. This method of preparing the draft gave a characteristic feature to the new code. The Japanese Civil Code may be said to be a fruit of comparative jurisprudence. At first sight, it may appear that the new code was very closely modeled upon the new German Civil Code; and I have very often read statements to that effect. It is true that the first and second draft of the German Code furnished very valuable material to the drafting committee and had a great influence upon the deliberations of the committee. But on close examination of the principles and rules adopted in the Code, it will appear that they gathered materials from all parts of the civilized world and freely adopted rules or principles from the laws of any country, whenever they saw the advantage o'f doing so. In some parts, rules were adopted from the French Civil Code; in others, the principles of English common law were followed; in others, again, such laws as the Swiss Federal Code of Obligations of 1881, the new Spanish Civil Code of 1889, the Property Code of Montenegro, Indian Succession and Contract Acts, or the Civil Codes of Louisiana, Lower Canada, or the South American republics, or the revised Civil Code of New York, and the like gave material to the framers of the Code. In January, 1896, the report of the Committee on book i, "General Provisions," book n, "Rights in rent," and book in, " Rights in personam," was submitted to the Imperial Diet and was adopted with only a few unimportant modi- fications. In April of the same year, these three books were pro- mulgated as Law no. 89. The remaining two books on "Family" and "Succession" were submitted to the Imperial Diet in May, 1898, and adopted by both Houses with only slight modifications, and were promulgated as Law no. 90 in June; and the whole Code came into force on the 16th of July, 1898. The foregoing sketch, brief as it is, of the history of the codification of the civil law will be sufficient to show that the new Japanese Civil Code is the result of the comparative study of laws, and offers in its turn valuable materials for the study of comparative jurisprudence. JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 375 II. Objects of the Codification I think it may be laid down as a general rule regarding the evolu- tion of law, that a comprehensive legislation generally follows a great social revolution. If laws are social phenomena, it is quite natural that social changes should always bring with them corresponding changes in the laws of the country. The legal history of all nations, either ancient or modern, shows that the objects sought to be ob- tained by codification fall under one of the following four heads, namely, pacification, innovation, unification, and simplification. (1) Sometimes codification takes place after a great social dis- turbance in order to restore peace and maintain order by means of comprehensive legislation. This was true of the ancient codes of Draco and Solon in Greece, the Law of Twelve Tables in Rome, and the codifications in China since the Han Dynasty, where it was customary for the founder of every dynasty to publish a new code of laws after he had gained the imperial power by force of arms. In Japan the codes of the Hojo and the Tokugawa belong to this class. (2) Laws are often codified either to bring about a social reform, or to adjust the law to the requirements of the new state of things which has been brought about by social reform. To this class belong most of the codes which have been promulgated in Japan since the Restoration of 1868. (3) Very often codification takes place with a view to the unification of different local laws and customs, so that the country may be governed by a uniform code of laws. One of the objects of the Code Napoleon, the Italian Civil Code of 1865, and the new- German Imperial Codes was, in each case, the unification of the laws of the country. It was the principal object of the first Japanese Criminal Code of 1870, which was published soon after the Restoration, to establish unity in criminal law throughout the empire, by abolishing the particular laws which existed within the jurisdictions of the daimios. (4) Simplification of law by means of logical arrangement or con- solidation of legal rules constitutes the most usual motive for codification in modern states. Now the majority of codifications, except sometimes those com- ing under the fourth class just mentioned, take place after great political or social revolutions, in consequence of which pacification, innovation, unification, or simplification becomes necessary. The history of codification in Japan amply exemplifies the above state- ment. The promulgation of the Taiho Code of 702 A. D. was the result of the great political and social revolution, which followed 376 COMPARATIVE LAW the introduction of Chinese civilization into the country. The next great codification, the framing of the Joyei Shikimoku in 1232 A. D. under the Hojo Regency, was necessitated by the great political and social changes which had taken place since the establishment of the feudal system under the military government of the Shoguns. The new Japanese Civil Code is, as I have explained above, the result of the revolution which followed the opening of the country to foreign intercourse. Thus, each of the three great epochs in Japanese history, the introduction of Chinese civilization, the establishment of feudalism, and the introduction of Western civilization, has been followed by codification. The chief object of the Taiho Code, belong- ing to the first period, was innovation; that of the Joyei Shikimoku, belonging to the second period, was pacification; while the framing of the new Civil Code had for its objects innovation and unification as well as simplification. III. Methods of Comparative Jurisprudence Looked at from another point of view, the new Japanese Civil Code may be taken as an illustration of the effect which the contact of Western with Eastern civilization has produced on the laws and institutions of the country. In this respect I must first say a few words as to the methods of comparative jurisprudence. Hitherto there have been three methods of comparison in vogue. One of them takes the law of a particular state as the unit of comparison, and comparing with it the laws of different states, finds similarities and divergencies among them, and deduces from them certain principles of law. This is the method generally adopted by jurists. In France, for instance, where comparative law is studied with greatest zeal, valuable materials for this method of investigation are furnished by the publications of the laws of different countries in the Bulletin and Annuaire of the "Socie'te" de Legislation Compared," and by the numerous translations of foreign codes by Foucher, Antoine Saint-Joseph, Lehr, Dareste, Grasserie, Leve", Turrel, Prudhomme, Lepelle"tier, and other eminent jurists. There are others, who, perceiving that there are common features in the laws of each race, take a wider basis for their investigation and make the laws of particular races the units of comparison, and compare the one with the other. There are others, again, who take a still wider basis, and com- pare legal phenomena of different peoples without regard to nation- ality or race. Of these three methods, the first may compare, for instance, Eng- lish law with French, the second Germanic laws with Slavonic laws, while the third takes up, perhaps, the marriage laws and customs JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 377 of European nations, American Indians, African negroes, Australians, and Chinese. All these three methods of comparison, which I have mentioned above, are useful and legitimate methods of investigating the prin- ciples of law; and none of them can be rejected to the exclusive adoption of the other. But I think another method can be added to the list, which, though not hitherto employed, may be very advan- tageously adopted in the investigations of general principles of law. I mean a method which takes for the unit of comparison a certain group of laws having a common lineage or descent. If we examine the laws of different countries which have made a certain progress in civilization, we shall find that the law of each country consists of two elements; namely, the indigenous element and the foreign element; and except in uncivilized or barbarous communities which have no intellectual intercourse with other countries, instances are very rare in which the law of any country is found consisting exclusively of indigenous elements. With the progress of means of communication and the consequent increase of intercourse among different peoples, the exchange, not only of material but also of intellectual products, becomes greater; and in regard to law, it may be laid down as a general rule that the higher the community stands in the scale of civilization, the greater is the proportion of the foreign to the in- digenous element. This comes from what is called the reception or adoption of foreign laws. Now, when the rules or principles of law of one country are adopted in another, there arises a sort of kinship between the laws of those two countries. One is descended from the other, and the relationship, as it were, of ancestor and descendant is created between them. The old law which served as a model or source of the new law may be called the "Parental Law" or " Mother-law" in relation to the new, which stands in a filial relation to the parental law. The law of one country may be adopted in other countries directly, as Roman law was received in Germany, or indirectly, that is, it may be first adopted in one country, and then through that country it may be received in the third, as European law, which has first been received in Japan, and is now being introduced through her into China and Corea. Or again, the law of a mother country may be extended to her colonies or dependencies, as in the case with English law in British colonies. In this way, the laws of all civilized countries may be divided into several groups, each comprising laws of many countries, but having common features and characteristics owing to their com- mon origin. These different groups may be compared one with another, in order to find out uniformities and divergencies among them, and thus establish general principles of law. This method of 378 COMPARATIVE LAW comparative study of law, which may be called the genealogical method, to distinguish it from the other three, has the advantage, among many others, of combining the historical with the compar- ative method. IV. Great Families of Law If, in order to take the genealogical method of comparison, we classify the laws existing at present in different parts of the world, we shall find that there are at least seven Great Families of Laws; namely, (1) the Family of Chinese Law, (2) the Family of Hindu Law. (3) the Family of Mohammedan Law, (4) the Family of Roman Law, (5) the Family of Germanic Law, (6) the Family of Slavonic Law, and (7) the Family of English Law. I have called these groups the "Great Families of Laws," because this classification is not meant to be exhaustive or exclusive. There are many smaller branches of law, not belonging to any of the above mentioned families, which are, none the less, very important for the genealog- ical method of comparative study, but for the purpose of the present lecture they need not be mentioned here. V. The Position of the Japanese Civil Code among Legal Systems of the World I have been at some length in explaining this method of com- parative jurisprudence, in order to show the position of the new Japanese Civil Code in the general legal history of the world. Since the first introduction of Chinese civilization into our country, and the consequent Reform of the Taika Era (646 A. D.), the work of which was completed by the publication of the famous Taiho Code in 701 A. D., Japanese law has belonged to the family of Chinese law for more than one thousand six hundred years; and notwithstanding many great changes in the laws and institutions of the country which have taken place since that time, the basis of Japanese laws and institutions has always been Chinese moral philosophy, together with the custom of ancestor-worship and the feudal system. The Criminal Code (Shin-ritsu-koryo), which was published in 1870, three years after the Restoration of 1868, was modeled upon the Chinese Codes of Tang, Min, and Shin Dynasty, with certain modifications suggested by old Japanese laws. Only three years later, that code was revised, and a new code was published under the title of the Revised Criminal Code (Kaitei-Ritsurei). In the framing of that new code, some European codes, especially the French, were consulted and adopted to a certain extent. Now these two codes mark the transition period in the history of Japanese law. The former was the last in the Chinese, and the latter the first in JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 379 the European, system of legislation. The Japanese law was at that time rapidly passing from the family of Chinese law to the family of European laws. From the beginning of the present reign, the Imperial Government was very active in making laws to meet the exigencies of the new state of things. But finding that such fragmentary legislation could not keep pace with the rapid progress of the nation and meet the requirements of the changing circumstances, the Daijokwan, or the Great Council of State, which was then the supreme legislature, issued a law (no. 103 in the eighth year of Meiji, 1875) which pro- vided in art. 3, that judges should decide civil cases according to the express provisions of written law, and in cases where there was no such written law, according to custom. In the absence of both written and customary laws, they were to decide according to the principles of reason and justice. This law flung wide open the door for the ingress of foreign law, and marks an epoch in Japanese legal history. Now by this time, translations of the French codes and other law-books had appeared, and there were some judges on the Bench, though comparatively few at that time, who had studied English or French law. The rapidly changing circumstances of Japanese society brought many cases before the court for wrhich there were no express rules, written or customary, and the judges naturally sought to find out "the principles of reason and justice" in Western jurisprudence. The older members of the Bench, who had not been systematically taught in Western jurisprudence, consulted the translations of the French and other European codes and text-books, while the younger judges who had received systematic legal education in the univers- ities, either at home or abroad, and whose number increased from year to year, consulted Western codes, statute-books, law-reports, and juridical treatises, and freely applied the principles of Occidental jurisprudence, which in their opinion were conformable to reason and justice. Blackstone, Kent, Pollock, Anson, Langdell, Windscheid, Dernburg, Mourlon, Baudry-Lacantinerie, and other text-books and the numerous commentaries on European codes, statute-books, and law reports were looked upon as repositories of just and reasonable principles and supplied necessary data for their judgments. In this manner Occidental jurisprudence entered our country, not only indirectly, through the University and other law colleges, but also directly through the Bench and the Bar. The above law, bold as it was, was meant to be only a temporary measure to supply the immediate wants of the changing society, until a complete and systematic code should have been compiled. In the mean time, the work of codification had been steadily pro- ceeding, and resulted in the promulgation of the Criminal Code and the Code of Criminal Procedure in 1880, the Revised Code of Criminal 380 COMPARATIVE LAW Procedure and the Code of Civil Procedure in 1890, the new Civil Code in 1896 and 1898, and the Commercial Code in 1899. What I have said above will suffice to show that the new Japanese Civil Code stands in a filial relation to the European systems, and with the introduction of Western civilization, the Japanese civil law passed from the Chinese family to the Roman family of law. VI. The Publication of the Code One of the most remarkable changes which the introduction of Western jurisprudence produced in Japan was the change in the conception of law. Previous to the Restoration of 1868, there was no idea that publication was essential to law. On the contrary, during the time of the Tokugawa Shogunate, most laws, especially the criminal code, were kept in strict secrecy. They were all in manuscript and were neither allowed to be printed nor published; and none but the judges and officials who were charged with the duty of carrying the rules into effect were allowed the perusal of the codes and the records of judicial precedents. The famous Criminal Code of the Tokugawa Shogunate, commonly known as the " Hyakka-jo," or " The Hundred Articles," bears the following injunction at the end: "The above rules have been. settled with His Highness's gracious sanction, and nobody except the magistrates shall be allowed to peruse them." The subsequent compilation, called " Kwajo-rui-ten," contains the same injunction with the following addition: "Moreover, it is for- ever forbidden to make extracts from this code, even of one article thereof." In 1841 thirteen authentic manuscript copies of the Code were made, and all the other copies and extracts which the clerks had made for their own use were ordered to be produced and burnt. A certain Ono Gonnojo and his son were severely punished for publish- ing a book which contained the " Hundred Articles " of the Code. An owner of a certain circulating library who had a manuscript book showing the days on which the magistrates transacted business, or the dies fasti and nefasti of the judicial court, was punished with banishment from his place of abode. These and many other like cases which occurred during the Tokugawa Shogunate show in what strict secrecy some parts of the laws were kept in those times. The Taiho Code of 702, Joyei-Shikimoku of 1232, and other old laws before the time of the Tokugawa Shogunate, were printed and distributed among officials of the Imperial or the Shogunate Govern- ment, the governors of provinces,. chiefs of clans, etc., but they were not published in the sense in which laws are published in the present day. The Joyei Shikimoku, which was the fundamental code during the time of the Ho jo Regency, concludes with an oath by the coun- cilors, to the effect that they would render justice with impartiality JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 381 and according to reason, and in case of disobedience to the rules and principles set forth in the Code, they would incur the wrath and the punishment of the gods. These laws were all commands addressed to the officials, not to the people. They were rules for the conduct of offi- cials, not rules of conduct for the citizen. It was upon officials only that law imposed the obligation to observe the rules of law in their relation to the people, whether they acted in administrative or in judicial capacity. The people were merely passive objects of the law, and it was their part implicitly to obey the commands of officials. Austin and others, who define law as a command of the lawgiver, mean thereby a command addressed to, and imposing obligations upon, the citizen. But in Japan, this conception was only reached after the introduction of Occidental jurisprudence into the country. Two legislative acts in the beginning of the present reign very clearly show this transition in the nature of law. The publication of the new Criminal Code, "Shinritsu Koryo," in the third year of Meiji, marks the first step in the revolution of the legal idea. The policy of the Tokugawa Government was based upon the famous Chinese maxim, "Let people abide by, but not be apprised of, the law " d£pf$i&;£, ^ Pfl^Pxl); and went so far as to keeP tne law in strict secrecy. Although the first Criminal Code was modeled upon Chinese codes, the new Imperial Government took another and wiser Chinese maxim, "To kill without previous instruction is cruelty" (^^L^^M.^), and caused the new code to be printed and published. I have said that the first Criminal Code was based upon the Chinese system, and in the amended Code the French Criminal Code was consulted. The comparison of the Imperial Pro- clamations which form the preambles to these two codes is very interesting, as showing a great change in the conception of law that took place during the three years which intervened between the first and the second code. In the Imperial Proclamation which is prefixed to the first code, his Majesty enjoins his officials to observe the rules of the Code; while in the Imperial Proclamation attached to the second code, it is his subjects. as well as his officials that are so com- manded. In the same year with the publication of the second code, that is, 1873, a law was enacted (ordinance 68 of sixth year of Meiji) in which it was declared that "henceforth every law shall, on its promulgation, be posted up in convenient places during thirty days for the information of the people." Since that time several laws have been passed, in which the same principle is carried farther, and now the publication which is made in the Official Gazette has become an essential step in giving them binding force. We have now reached the third stage in the evolution of the idea of law. At present, according to art. 37 of the constitution, every law requires the consent of both Houses of the Imperial Diet. Of 382 COMPARATIVE LAW the five codes which have been promulgated, the new Civil Code was the first which became law under the new constitutional government, and therefore, with the consent of the Diet. From what I have said above, it will be seen that there are three stages observable in the development of the idea of law. At first, publication was not essential to the binding force of the law. Laws were commands addressed to the magistrates, not to the people. The people were merely the passive object of the operation of laws. Next comes an epoch when the laws become commands addressed to the people, and publication forms an essential element of the law. People become the direct object of the law, and a party, as it were, to its operation. In the third and final stage, the people not only become a party to the operation of the law, but a party to the making of it through their representatives. VII. The Appearance of the Code The Civil Code drafted by Professor Boissonade, which became law but never went into operation, was divided into the following five books; namely, book i, "Persons"; book n, "Property in General"; book in, "Means of Acquiring Property"; book iv, "Security of Rights in personam"; and book v, "Evidence." The objections which were raised against this arrangement were many, some from scientific, others from practical, points of view; but it is needless to mention them here. Some will appear when I come to compare it with the arrangement of the new code. The framers of the latter did not follow the arrangement of the first code, nor did they adopt the classifications of the French or other codes based upon the Institutes of Justinian. The new Civil Code is divided into the following five books, accord- ing to the plan which German jurists call "Pandekten-System"; namely, book i, "General Provisions"; book n, "Rights in rem"; book in, "Rights in personam"; book iv, "Family "; and book v, "Succession." One of the reasons for rejecting the so-called "Insti- tutionen-System," and adopting the "Pandekten-System" was that the latter system of arrangement was peculiarly suited to the present state of law7 in Japan. The first code, following the French Code, had no distinct portion assigned to general rules applicable to all other parts. This system rendered frequent repetition of the same rules necessary in different parts of the code, thereby making the whole work a voluminous code, containing 1762 articles; while the new code, following the Saxon Civil Code and the then draft of the German Civil Code, placed at the beginning all the general rules relating to persons as subjects of rights, to things as objects of rights, and to facts and events by which rights are acquired, lost, or transferred. This method of arrangement avoided JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 383 unnecessary repetitions and made the body of the law succinct, the new code containing only 1146 articles. The new code, besides having a book devoted to general provisions common to all legal relations, has distinct places set apart for the laws of family and succession. In the Code drafted by Professor Bois- sonade the law of family was included in book i, relating to " Persons," and the law of succession formed a part of book in, relating to the "Means of Acquiring Property." Now this arrangement formed one of the strong reasons for postponing the operation of the first code and reconstructing it on an entirely new basis. Before the Restoration it was the family, and not the individual, that formed the unit of society. The family was then a corporation; and as a general rule, only the house-head could hold public office or private property, or transact business, all other members of the family being dependent upon him. But since the Restoration, this state of things has changed, and the disintegration of the family is rapidly going on. The family has now ceased to be a corporation in the eyes of law, and the dependent members of the family or the house- members can hold office or property or transact business equally with its head. Japanese society is now passing from the stage of family-unit to the stage of individual-unit. But still the family occupies an import- ant place in the social life of the people, and there are many rules which are peculiar to their family relations, and which ought, on that account, to be grouped together and separated from the rules relating to persons regarded simply as individuals. The " Pandekten-System " is peculiarly suited to this transient state of society, for it provides for the rules relating to persons in their capacity as individuals or members of a society in the general part, and sets apart a distinct place for those rules which relate to persons in their capacity as mem- bers of a family. In civilized societies, the rules which regard men as individuals belong to general law, while those which regard men in their family relations belong to particular law. But in less civilized communities the case is just the reverse; the family law may be said to form the general law, the law relating to persons in their individual capacity falling under the category of particular law. Japan is now in a transition stage; so that the placing of the rules relating to indi- viduals in the general part and the rules relating to family relations in the particular part of the Code is not only logically correct, but is especially suited to the present state of the law of Japan. As to the place of the succession law in the Code, strong objection was raised against the arrangement of Professor Boissonade which put it in book in, under the head of " Means of Acquiring Property." In Japan, as I shall show presently, succession cannot, at least as regards the most usual kind of it. be regarded as a mode of acquiring property. 384 COMPARATIVE LAW Comparative study of succession laws of different peoples in differ- ent degrees of civilization shows that there are three stages in the evolution of this branch of law. In the first and earliest stage, succes- sion is regarded as the mode of perpetuating the worship of ancestors ; next comes the time when it is regarded as a mode of succeeding to the status of deceased persons; and it is only in the last stage that suc- cession becomes a mode of acquiring property. Now in Japan, until recently, as the family was a corporation the only person who could hold property was the head of a house. Con- sequently the only kind of succession which was then recognized by law was " katoku sozoku," or the succession to the headship of a house, which was the succession to status, and the house-property descended to the heir as an appendage to the status of the house-headship. It is only since house-members were allowed to have independent pro- perty that succession which can properly be said to be succession to property began to be recognized. So there are at present two kinds of succession, status-succession and property-succession, existing side by side. The status-succession cannot be put under the category of the law of property, nor can the property-succession be put Under the law of persons. The arrangement of the " Pandekten-System," which devotes a particular book to succession law at the end of the Code, is peculiarly suited to this state of law, and recommended itself to the framers of the new code in preference to the classification adopted by Professor Boissonade. VIII. The Introduction of the Notion of Right It will be seen, from what I have stated above, that the classifica- tion of rules in the new Civil Code is made upon the basis of primary distinctions regarding rights. But the notion of right did not originally exist in Japan, before the introduction of Western jurisprudence. Many writers assume that right is coeval with law, and law and right are only two terms expressing the same notion from different points of view. Some even go so far as to affirm that right is anterior to law, and the latter exists only for the assurance or protection of the former. In Japan, however, the idea of right did not exist so long as her laws belonged to the Chinese family. There was indeed the notion of duty or obligation, but neither the notion of right nor the word for it existed either in Japanese or Chinese. The nearest approach to it in Japanese was perhaps "bun," which means "share" or "portion." This word was frequently used to express the share or part which a person had in society and which he expected that society would recognize as his due. But this word was not quite definite in its meaning, and was more often used in a contrary sense, expressing a person's duty, or sometimes the part or limit which he ought not to exceed. So, when the notion of right was first introduced into Japan, there was no fit JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 385 word to translate it, and a new word had to be coined to express this novel idea. The late Dr. Tsuda, who had been sent to Holland by the Shogunate Government to study law in the University of Leyden, on his return to Japan published a book entitled A Treatise on Western Public Law, in 1868, the year of the Restoration. In this book he used the new word "ken-ri" for right, which he coined by combining the words "ken," or "power," and "ri," or "interest." This word has since been received to express the notion of right. Sir John Lubbock in his book On the Origin of Civilization (ch. viii) says that lower races are " deficient in the idea of right, though familiar with that of law." Sir Henry Maine says that "jus" among Roman lawyers generally meant not " a right " but "law"; and that Romans "con- structed their memorable system without the help of the conception of legal right." I think it may be laid down as a general rule of the evolution of law that laws from being the rules of duty become the rules of right. Early laws impose duty but do not confer right. But in the course of time, men begin to realize that the benefit which results to any one on account of duty imposed upon another is of greater importance than the duty itself; so that right, which was at first only the secondary notion and nothing more than the reflection of duty, began to be regarded as the primary object of law. This change in the conception of law has taken place in Japan within the last forty years, and has resulted in the classification of the rules of the Civil Code on the basis of right. IX. The Legal Position of Woman With reference to book i of the Code, which relates to "General Provisions," I shall only touch upon the subjects of the legal position of woman and that of foreigners; for these are the two points where the Code has made greatest changes in that part of the law. I shall first speak of woman. Three periods may be distinguished in the history of Japan as to the legal position of woman; the first corresponding to the period during which our national law consisted solely of indigenous elements; the second when Japanese law belonged to the Chinese family of law; and the third dating from the time when our law passed from the Chinese to the European family of law. The first period extends from the beginning of our history to the introduction of Chinese civilization. During this period, women seem to have occupied a higher place than in later times, filling positions of importance and honor in state, religion, and household. Perhaps the higher position which women occupied during the early period of our history was due partly to the primitive simplicity and the absence of artificial doctrines, which later on assigned a subordinate position to women. The first Imperial Ancestor and the central figure 386 COMPARATIVE LAW in national worship is a goddess, "Amaterasu 0-mi-Kami," or the " Great Goddess of the Celestial Light." There was no law to prevent female members of the Imperial family from ascending the throne, and there have been many Empresses who ruled the Empire. The Empress Jingo invaded and conquered Corea at the head of a large army. With the conquest and subjugation of Corea by this "Empress of God-like Exploit" begins the second period in the history of the legal position of woman in Japan ; for from this time Chinese civiliz- ation began to enter Japan, first through Corea, and afterward from China directly. It was chiefly the doctrines of Chinese moral philo- sophy that changed the primitive state of comparative freedom and independence of woman, and placed her in an abnormally inferior position. The Chinese doctrine of the perpetual obedience of woman to the other sex is expressed in the precept of " the three obediences " (2E$£) — "obedience, while yet unmarried, to a father; obedience, when married, to a husband; obedience, when widowed, to a son." It is curious to note, by the way, that an exact counterpart of this doctrine of three obediences is to be found in Hindu law. In one place Manu says, " Day and night women must be kept in depend- ence by the males of their family" (Manu ix, 2, Buehler's transl.); and in another place, "In childhood, a female must be subject to her father; in youth, to her husband; when her Lord is dead, to her sons '•' (v, 148). Buddhism and feudalism contributed to the keeping of woman in a state of dependence. Buddhism regards woman as an unclean creature, a temptation or snare to virtue, and an obstacle to peace and holiness. Feudalism, which disdained anything effeminate, also regarded woman in the light of a temptation to courage and faithful performance of duty, and, although she was treated with kindness and consideration far above that received in other Asiatic countries, she did not command that romantic homage which the gallant knights of Medieval Europe paid to the other sex. Professor Chamberlain, one of the best authorities on Japan, writes: "Japanese feudalism — despite its general similarity to the feudalism of the West — knew nothing of gallantry. A Japanese knight performed his valiant deeds for no such fanciful reward as a lady's smile. He performed them out of loyalty to his lord, or filial piety towards the memory of his papa." Thus these three factors, Chinese philosophy, Buddhism, and feudalism, combined to place the Japanese woman in a state of dependence during the second period. She could not become the head of a house; she could not hold property nor contract in her own name ; she could not become a guardian of her own child; she could not adopt a child in her own name; in short, she had no independent JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 387 status and was excluded from the enjoyment or exercise of almost all rights. But in the third period, during which European civilization has been introduced, female education has spread throughout the coun- try, Western jurisprudence has superseded Chinese, and Japanese law has become a member of the European family of laws, a great revolution has come over the social and legal position of woman. This reform was consummated by the publication of the new Civil Code. This code "created the new legal woman," as an able writer on Japan has expressed it. (Clement's Modern Japan, ch. xiii.) It proceeds upon the principle of equality of the sexes, and makes no distinction between man and woman in their enjoyment and exercise of private rights, so long as the woman remains single. She may now become the head of a house, in which case all house-members, whether male or female, — even her husband when she is married, — come under her po\ver and are legally dependent upon her. She may exer- cise parental authority over her own child, if her husband be dead. She may adopt children either alone, when she is single or a widow, or in conjunction with her husband, when married. She may make any contract or acquire or dispose of property in her own name. In short, she may be a party to any legal transaction, as long as she remains feme sole. When she is married, her state of coverture obliges her to obtain the permission of her husband in doing certain acts, which may involve grave consequences upon their conjugal life; such as contracting debt, acquisition or loss of immovables or valuable movables, instituting legal proceedings, accepting or renouncing succession, entering into contract of personal service, etc. Even in regard to these acts, she cannot be considered as laboring under legal incapacity, for when she does these acts without her husband's per- mission, they are not void, but only voidable, that is, liable to be annulled by* her husband. (Civil Code, art. 14.) With her husband's permission she may also engage in business, in which case she is considered in regard thereto as an independent person. (Civil Code, art. 15.) That the Civil Code places husband and wife on an equal footing, except when consideration for their common domestic life requires some modifications, may be seen from the provision of art. 17, which allows a wife to do the acts above mentioned without the permission of her husband "when the interests of the husband and wife conflict," and also from the provision of art. 790, in which it is stipulated that " a husband and wife are mutually bound to support and maintain each other." The great revolution in the legal position of woman which the new- Civil Code brought about is nowhere so clearly seen as in its regula- tions relating to the property of married women. The laws relating to married women's property are different in 388 COMPARATIVE LAW different countries, and vary with the degree of civilization attained; but broadly, they may be grouped into the following four systems: (1) System of Conjugal Unity, — In those systems of law which regard man and wife as one person, or in which the wife's per- sonality is merged in that of the husband, whatever the bride possesses at the time of marriage becomes the property of the husband, as was the case in the English common law, or under the doctrine of Manus in the early Roman law, or that of Mund in the early Germanic law. (2) System of Dowry. — Another system sets aside a part, at least, of the bride's fortune as a common conjugal fund, the manage- ment of which belongs to the husband, as was the case at one period under Roman law, and under the Code Civil, and as is now practiced in the south of France. (3) System of General Community of Conjugal Property. — This system exists under the Code Civil side by side with the dotal system, principally in the northern part of France. (4) System of Separate Property. — Under this system marriage makes no change whatever in the property rights of the bride, as is the case in England since the Married Woman's Property Act of 1882, and in many states of the United States. Broadly speaking, the usual process in the evolution of the law of conjugal property is in the order which I have stated above, the system of unity corresponding to the lowest, and the system of separate property to the highest, scale of civilization. But in this respect the compilers of the new code have taken a decided step, and leaped, at one bound, from the system of complete merger of urife's property in that of the husband to the system of separate property. According to the Code (arts. 793-807), persons who are about to marry are allowed to make any contract with regard to their conjugal property, which will be binding upon them and can be sef up against a third person, if registered before the registration of the marriage. If such contract be not made between them, their relations in regard to property are governed by the general rules of conjugal property, which, among others, lays down the fundamental rule that the property belonging to a wife at the time of marriage or acquired after marriage in her own name shall be her separate property. (Civil Code, art. 807.) The reform in the law of divorce, which the new Civil Code made, also marks a great advance as regards the legal position of woman. During the second period, while the Japanese law belonged to the Chinese family, the law of divorce was based upon the Chinese doctrine of "the Seven Grounds of Divorce" (%Z{-), which are (1) sterility, (2) lewdness, (3) disobedience to father-in-law, or mother-in- law, (4) loquacity, (5) larceny, (6) jealousy, and (7) bad disease. JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 389 These grounds were adopted in the "house law" (koryo) of the Taiho Code. But it must be observed that these grounds were not limitative, as in the case of modern legislation. They are only mentioned as just grounds for abandoning a wife, or in some cases, such as barrenness, adultery, or hereditary disease, as a moral obli- gation which a husband owes to his ancestor to abandon the wife, because the object of marriage was the perpetuation of ancestor- worship, and barrenness may cause the failure of heir, adultery the confusion, and hereditary disease the pollution, of ancestral blood. (See my work on Ancestor-Worship and Japanese Law.) Practically, a wife could be divorced at the pleasure of her husband, under any slight or flimsy pretext, the most usual being that "She does not conform to the usage of the family." It must be further observed that divorce during this period meant only the abandonment of the wife on the part of the husband. The wife had no legal right to demand divorce from her husband on any ground. Divorce, there- fore, was not a bilateral, nor even a reciprocal, act. It was a uni- lateral act of the husband. To bring an action against the husband or to give information of a crime against him was itself considered a grave offense; and so a wife could not demand divorce in the court of law. Divorce was the privilege of the husband only, as in the Mosaic and other primitive laws. But this state of things has changed since the Japanese law passed from the Chinese and entered the European family of laws. In the sixth yearof Meiji (1873) the following law (no. 162) was enacted, which for the first time allowed the wife to bring an action of divorce against the husband: "Whereas it has frequently hap- pened that a wife asked divorce from her husband on account of unavoidable circumstances, to which the latter unreasonably with- held his consent for many years, thereby causing her to lose the opportunity of second marriage, and whereas this is an injury to her right of freedom, it shall be henceforth allowed to the wife to bring an action against her husband, with the assistance of her father, brother, or other relative." This law may be considered as a revolution in the legal position of woman. The new Civil Code went a step farther and placed husband and wife on an equal footing in this respect. According to the Code two kinds of divorce are recognized, consensual and judicial, the former being effected by arrangement of parties, while the latter is granted by a court of law on several grounds specified in art. 813 of the Code. The grounds for judicial divorce include, inter alia, bigamy, adultery, sentence for an offense of grave nature, such cruel treatment or gross insult as make living together unbearable, desertion with evil intent, cruel treatment or gross insult of or by lineal ascendant, uncertainty, for a period of three years or more, whether the consort is alive or dead. Con- 390 COMPARATIVE LAW sensual divorce, requiring the consent of both parties, is a bilateral act, whereas divorce during the second period was a unilateral act, which took place at the will of the husband, who gave her a "letter of divorce " formulated, as a custom, in three lines and a half " miku- dari-han," stating that he gave her a dismissal, and nothing should henceforth stand in the way of her marrying again. As to the judicial divorce, either party to marriage can claim divorce from the other, if any of the grounds specified by law exists, so that husband and wife are now placed on an equal footing in this respect. It will appear, from the foregoing rough sketch of the three periods in the history of the law relating to the position of woman, that during the first period, while Shintoism was the only form of wor- ship, woman held a higher place than in the second period, when Confucianism, combined with Buddhism and feudalism, held down woman in a state of subjection; while in the third era a great revo- lution has been made in the position of women, and equality with men, as far as their private rights are concerned, is vouchsafed to them under the new Civil Code. X. The Status of Foreigners The possible forms which the law of any. country relating to the position of foreigners may assume, or the possible stages through which it may pass, may be arranged, by the broad generalization of comparative jurisprudence, under the four following heads: (1) Laws based upon the Principle of Enmity. The laws of almost all barbarous peoples are based upon the principle that all foreigners are enemies, and consequently have no rights whatever. Even after they cease to regard foreigners as enemies, they view their own laws as exclusively national; that is to say, they are applicable only to their own countrymen. Foreigners are therefore outlaws, and are placed outside the protection of the law. (2) Laws based upon the Principle of Inferiority. With the advance of civilization, especially with the progress of commerce, foreigners are no longer regarded as enemies, but from disdain for foreigners, or from national egoism, they are placed in inferior position as regards the enjoyment of their private rights. Sometimes the enjoyment of many rights is totally denied them, or sometimes capricious limitations are placed upon their legal capacities. In this stage foreigners enjoy private rights, but in a limited degree only. (3) Laws based upon the Principle of Reciprocity. Some countries make the condition of foreigners dependent upon the treatment which their own people receive in other countries, and allow foreigners the enjoyment of their rights only so far as the JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 391 countries of those foreigners allow their own people the same rights. This principle of reciprocity is adopted in France (Code Civil, art. 11), Austria (Das allg. buergerl, Gesetzbuch, § 33), Sweden, Norway, Servia, and other countries. (4) Laws based upon the Principle of Equality. This is the most liberal and most advanced system of law relating to the legal condition of foreigners. Beginning in 1827 with the Dutch Civil Code, and followed by the Italian Civil Code of 1865, it has now been adopted in the majority of European and American states. They recognize the principle of equality so far as the enjoy- ment and exercise of private rights are concerned, some few excep- tions only being usually made on grounds of national policy, such as the prohibition or limitation of the ownership of land or ships, the right of fishery, the right of working mines, or engaging in the coasting-trade, and a few others. Now in regard to the legal condition of foreigners in Japan, we may distinguish three periods, which nearly correspond to the first, second, and fourth stages above mentioned. The first period includes the time before the opening of the country to foreign intercourse, the second from that time until the new Civil Code came into opera- tion, and the third from that time till the present day. During the first period, which may be called the Period of National Seclusion, there was no intercourse with foreign countries. Foreigners were looked upon as barbarians or enemies. They could not come and reside in the country, except in a very few instances, and therefore they stood entirely outside the pale of the law. The second period, which may be called the Period of the Treaties, begins from the date of the second visit of Commodore Perry in 1854 and the conclusion of the treaty of peace and amity by him, followed in 1858 by the first treaty of trade and commerce with the United States. Some ports were opened for foreign trade, and foreigners could come and reside within the limits of the treaty ports and engage in trade, business, or missionary work.- But their rights depended upon the treaties, not upon the law of the country. They enjoyed the privilege of extra-territoriality ; that is to say, they brought their own laws with them, and remained under the jurisdic- tion of their respective consuls. In the third period, which may be called the Period of the Code, foreigners enjoy their rights under the law, and the treaties only provide for the guarantees or limitations of rights. The new Civil Code, at its commencement, proclaims the noble principle of the equality of foreigners and native subjects before the law. Art. 2 provides that " Foreigners enjoy private rights except in those cases where such enjoyment is prohibited by law, ordinance, or treaty." And as to foreign juridical persons, art. 36 provides that "The 392 COMPARATIVE LAW existence of juridical persons other than states, administrative districts, and commercial companies, is not admitted. But foreign juridical persons recognized as such by law or treaty do not come under this rule. "Foreign juridical persons recognized as such under the provision of the preceding paragraph have the same private rights as the same classes of juridical persons existing in Japan; but this does not apply to such rights as foreigners cannot enjoy, or so far as special provisions are made by law or treaty." From the above provisions, it will be seen that the new Civil Code made the equal enjoyment of rights a general rule, and limitations and prohibitions exceptions. These limitations upon the foreigner's equal enjoyment of rights are not numerous, and do not differ greatly from those existing under the laws of many other modern states. Such restrictions are the ownership of land or Japanese ships, the right to work mines, to own shares in the Bank of Japan or the Yokohama Specie Bank, to become members of the Stock Exchange, to engage in the emigration business, to receive bounties for navigation or ship-building, and a few others. Otherwise foreigners are as free as the Japanese to engage in any commercial or industrial business, or to own shares in any Japanese companies. Even the restrictions above mentioned do not work so hard upon foreigners as it may at first appear, for although foreigners as individuals can- not own land, they may become members of any commercial com- pany owning land or working mines. As individuals, they may have the right of superficies, which is the right to use another person's land for the purpose of enjoying the right of property in structures and trees thereon. Moreover, the Law no. 39 of 1901, a right in rem called "the right of perpetual lease," was created especially for the benefit of foreigners or foreign juridical persons, who had held land in the treaty ports under lease from the Japanese Government. These leases, which had been no more than rights in personam, were turned into rights in rem, and the rules relating to ownership are applied to them. So they are now practically the same as ownership; and as soon as they pass into the hands of Japanese subjects they are turned into ownership. Moreover, opinions in favor of allowing foreigners to own land are daily gaining strength, so that this restriction is quite likely to be removed ere long. It will appear from the foregoing statement that the condition of foreigners has undergone a great revolution during the half cen- tury which has elapsed since the opening of the country. In the first period, foreigners had no rights whatever; in the second period, they enjoyed their private rights under treaties; but in the third period, that is, under the new Civil Code, they enjoy their private rights under the law, which recognizes the principle of equality as far as JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 393 private rights are concerned. Thus, in a comparatively short space of time, Japanese law passed from the stage of Enmity to that of Equal- ity — a revolution, which in other countries has required many cen- turies to accomplish. The difference between the second stage, in which their enjoyment of rights depended upon treaties, and the third stage, in which their rights depend upon law, very clearly appears in the present condition of Russians in Japan. As the commercial treaties between Japan and Russia have come to an end by the outbreak of the war, if Russian subjects had enjoyed their rights only under the treaties, they would not be entitled to claim any protection from Japan, except as a matter of favor. But as their rights are now guaranteed by the provisions of the Code, Russian residents still remaining in Japan enjoy the protection of law, just as peacefully as the citizens of any friendly states. The Code assures them the equal enjoyment of private rights, whether the country to which they belong be in amicable relations with Japan or not. This difference is further illustrated by Imperial Ordinance no. 352 of 1899, which declared foreigners who are not citizens of any of the Treaty Powers to have equal freedom of residence and profession with the subjects of the Treaty Powers. XL The House and Kinship It will be at once remarked by any one reading the new Civil Code that the Japanese family law, unlike that of Europe and America, rests upon the double bases of House and Kinship. The '•' house " or " iye," in the sense in which it is employed in the Japanese law, does not mean a household nor a dwelling-place, but a group of persons, bearing the same surname, and subject to the authority of its chief who is called "koshu" or house-head. The other mem- bers who are subject to the authority of the house-head are called "kazoku" or house-members. It is not necessary that a house should consist of a group of persons, for a house may exist even when there is only one person in it, in which case that person is still called "koshu" or house-head. The house-membership consists of those relatives of the house-head or his predecessors, or sometimes also of the relatives of house-members who are not related to the present or preceding house-heads by any tie of kinship, but who entered the house with the house-head's consent; such, for instance, as the relatives of the house-head's adopted son, or daughter-in-law. (Civil Code, arts. 732-745.) The persons who constitute the members of a house are defined by law, and a registry is kept, in each district, of persons who are in each house. The house-membership is con- stituted in accordance with the following rules: (1) A child enters the house of its father. (2) A child whose father is not known enters the house of its mother. 394 COMPARATIVE LAW (3) A "shoshi" or natural-born child recognized by its father who is a house-member, or a natural-born child of a female member of a house, enters the house of its father or mother only when the house-head's consent is obtained. (4) A wife enters the house of her husband, except when a female house-head contracts a marriage, in which case the husband enters the house of his wife. (5) A relative of a house-head who is in another house or a relative of a house-member who has become such by adoption or mar- riage, enters the house, if the consent of the head, both of the house he is leaving and of the house he is entering, is obtained. A person who cannot enter any house, such as a child whose parents cannot be ascertained, establishes a new house, and becomes himself a house-head. A house thus constituted is entered in the house-registry or " koseki " which is kept in every district thoughout the Empire. Kinship, according to the Civil Code, arises from relationship by blood, by adoption, or by marriage, and exists (1) Between relatives by blood within six degrees inclusive. (2) Between husband and wife. (3) Between relatives by marriage within three degrees inclusive. (Civil Code, art. 725.) (4) Between an adopted child and adoptive parent and the latter's blood relatives, the same relationship exists, from the date of the adoption, as that between blood relatives. (Civil Code, art. 727.) (5) Between step-parents and step-children, a wife and her hus- band's recognized child, the same relationship exists as that between parent and child. Now a house may include persons who are not the kindred of the house-head, because it includes the kindred of the preceding house- head, or the kindred of a house-member who is not related to the present house-head; and may exclude even the nearest kindred, because, by adoption or marriage and other causes above mentioned, a man may enter another house, or return to the original house by the dissolution of the marriage or adoptive tie, or establish a new house, leaving his own parents or child in the original house. The house, therefore, is wider than kinship on the one side, whilst it is narrower on the other. Sir Henry Maine's description of the ancient family so well tallies with the present state of the house in Japanese law — except in one particular which shows the peculiarity of Japanese family law — that I cannot do better than quote his words in full : "The family, then, is the type of an archaic society in all the modifications which it was capable of assuming; but the family here spoken of is not exactly the family as understood by a modern. JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 395 In order to reach the ancient conception, we must give to our modern ideas an important extension and an important limitation. We must look on the family as constantly enlarged by the absorption of strangers within its circle, and we must try to regard the fiction of adoption as so closely simulating the reality of kinship that neither law nor opinion makes the slightest difference between a real and an adoptive connection. On the other hand, the persons theoretically amalgamated into a family by their common descent are practically held together by common obedience to their highest living ascendant, the father, grandfather, or great-grandfather. The patriarchal authority of a chieftain is as necessary an ingredient in the notion of the family group as the fact (or assumed fact) of its having sprung from his loins; and hence we must understand that if there be any persons who, however truly included in the brotherhood by virtue of their blood relationship, have nevertheless de facto withdrawn themselves from the empire of its ruler, they are always, in the beginnings of law, considered as lost to the family. It is this patri- archal aggregate — the modern family thus cut down on one side and extended on the other — which meets us on the threshold of primitive jurisprudence." (Maine, Ancient Law, ch. v.) Here I may conveniently compare the house in Japanese law with the family in Roman law, in order to show the characteristics of the former. It differs from the Roman family chiefly in the follow- ing points: (1) The house is not a family group held together by "common obedience to the highest living ascendant," as in the Roman family, but is a legal entity originally founded on ancestor-worship. Therefore, it would be nearer the truth to say that it is the highest dead ascendant, by the common obedience to whom a house is held together. The house-head is not necessarily the highest living ascendant, but is a person who succeeds to the authority of the highest ascendant. Sometimes, therefore, a son may be the house-head, and his father may be a house- member under his authority, as in the case of abdication of the house-headship, which I will explain presently. Or, sometimes, a nephew may be the house-head, and the uncle may be a house- member under him as will happen when a grandson succeeds to the grandfather by representation. Or again, there may be no relationship at all between the house-head and the house- member, as I have explained above. (2) In consequence of the above difference, the Roman family dissolved at the death of each paterfamilias, and each of the next highest ascendants became in his turn sui juris and a paterfamilias, having all his descendants in his power. Thus, if the deceased paterfamilias had three sons, there would be 396 COMPARATIVE LAW three families instead of one. But the Japanese house is never dissolved at the death or abdication of a house-head and is succeeded by one person, all other members remaining alieni juris as before. (3) According to the present Japanese law, a woman may become a house-head, and if she marries, she may continue to be the house-head and have her husband as a house-member under her power, provided such intention is expressed at the time of the marriage. (Civil Code, art. 736.) Under Roman law, however, a woman could never exercise authority even over her children. (4) According to Roman law, when a woman married, she always entered the husband's family and passed into the power of another; but according to Japanese law the husband enters the house of his wife in case of the marriage of a female house-head, and also in case of the adoption of a son-in-law or "muko- yoshi," which I will explain later on; so that the famous maxim of Roman law, " Mulier est caput et finis familiae," — a woman is the beginning and end of the family, — does not apply to Japanese. (5) Patria potestas was among the Romans an institution of private law, and it is so with us at the present time. But before the Restoration, it was an institution of public law as well as of private law, as I will explain when I come to speak of the decay of the house-system. XII. House-headship and Parental Power From the nature of the double bases of the Japanese family law it follows that a person may have two capacities, one as a member of the legal house, and the other as a member of the wider group of kindred. Thus, a person may be a house-head or a house-member, and at the same time he may be a son. In such cases, if he is the son of a house-head, he is placed under the house-head's power and under the parental power of the same person; if he is a son of a house-member who is himself under the power of the house-head, he is under the power of two persons, the house-head and the father. But if the house-head is a minor, and his father or mother is a house- member, the former is under the parental power of the latter, while the latter is subject to the authority of the former. In such cases conflict or inconvenience which may arise from mutual subjection to one another is avoided by the provision of art. 895 of the Civil Code, according to which the parent exercises the house-head's power on behalf of the minor house-head. Of the two bases of the Japanese family law, the house and the kindred, more weight is always laid on the former than on the latter, except in the two instances of the duties of support and maintenance JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 397 and the succession to the property of house-members, both of which are new institutions introduced by the Code and are not bound by the limit of the house. In most other cases, the house takes precedence of the kindred, and a man's rights and duties, capacities and in- capacities are usually determined by his position as a member of the house, and not by his position as a member of the kindred. Parental power which is based on the conception of kinship is limited by the conception of the house, and is recognized only so far as the parent and child are in the same house. So if a son is not in the same house with his father or mother, he does not stand under the paternal power of either. The consent of the house-head is always necessary for the marriage, adoption, divorce, or the dissolution of adoption of the house-member, but the consent of parents is only required when the offspring is in the same house with them. Here again appears the difference between the Roman and Japan- ese family laws. The former recognizes only one authority of the head of the family, in the patria potestas of the highest male ascendant and merges the parental power of the members of the family in that of the paterfamilias, while the Japanese law recognizes parental authority of the house-member side by side with the authority of the house-head. The authority of the house-head includes the right of consent above referred to, right of determining the residence of house-members, right of expelling them from the house or for- bidding their return to it on certain grounds specified by law, and the right of succeeding to the house-members' property in default of other heirs. The parental power includes the custody and education of children who are minors, right of correction, right of determining their place of abode, business or profession, of managing their pro- perty, or performing several legal acts on their behalf, subject in some cases to the approval of a family council. Most of the rights falling under the parental power were formerly included in the house-head's power, but the new Civil Code recognized the authority of parent and transferred them to the parental power, and greatly curtailed that of the house-head, only leaving those rights to him which are necessary to the preservation and proper management of the house. This recognition by the Civil Code of the parental power beside the authority of the house-head shows the transient state of Japanese society and is one of the points regarding which the framers of the new code took pains to adjust the laws to the pro- gressive tendencies of the society. Formerly, there was only one authority recognized by Japanese law, as in the case of Roman law — that of the house-head. But the new Civil Code took a decided step and recognized the parental power, besides the house- headship, due deference being paid to the long-existing custom among the people, by not going so far as to extend that recognition 398 COMPARATIVE LAW to the parents who belong to a different house from that of the child. The tendency of the laws of a progressive society must be the gradual recognition of natural relationship in place of artificial connections; and the process of evolution in this branch of law is from house to kinship. The reform made by the new Civil Code may be regarded as the first step in that direction. XIII. Relationships The method of determining the degrees of relationship accord- ing to the new Civil Code is the same as that adopted in most coun- tries of Europe and America, belonging to the system of Roman law; that is, by reckoning the number of generations which inter- vene between two persons, either directly when they are lineal relatives, or through a common ancestor, when they are collaterals. This system of determining the degrees of relationship by the dis- tance of consanguinity is the most natural one and is, for that reason, adopted from Western jurisprudence by the framers of the Code. But previous to the adoption of the Code, while Japanese law still belonged to the family of Chinese law, relationship wras determined in a different way. The basis of the new system is the distance of blood relationship between relatives, but the old law rested on the double bases of blood relationship and family rank; that is to say, the degree of relationship was determined not only by the dis- tance of blood relationship, real or fictitious, but also by the con- sideration of superiority or inferiority of their relative positions in the family. In "the ceremony law" of the Taiho Code (701 A. D.), kindred are divided into the following five ranks or "Go-to-shin." (1) The relatives of First Rank are: father and mother, adoptive father and adoptive mother, husband, son, and daughter. (2) The relatives of the Second Rank are : grandfather and grand- mother, "tekibo" (or wife of the father of a concubine's child), step-mother, uncle and aunt, brothers and sisters, husband's parents, wife and concubine, brother's child, grandson and granddaughter, and son's wife. (3) The relatives of the Third Rank are: great-grandfather and great-grandmother, uncle's wife, husband's nephew, cousin, brother and sister by half-blood on father's side, husband's grandfather and grandmother, husband's uncle and aunt, wife of nephew, step-father, and child of husband by his former wife or concubine, provided the child is living in the same house. (4) The relatives of the Fourth Rank are: great-great-grand- father and great-great-grandmother, grandfather's brother and sister, father's cousin, husband's brother and sister, brother's wife and concubine, second cousin, grandfather and grand- mother on mother's side, uncle and aunt on mother's side, JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 399 brother's grandchild, cousin german's child, sister's child, great- grandchild, grandson's wife and concubine, and child of wife's or concubine's former consort. (5) The relatives of the Fifth Rank are: parents of wife or con- cubine, aunt's child, cousin on mother's side, great-great-grand- child, grandchild by a daughter who entered another house by marriage, and son-in-law. The above table will show that the degree of relationship was greatly modified by the consideration of rank in the family; so that those who stand in the same rank are not always related in an equal degree, when measured only with reference to the distance of con- sanguinity. It will be seen that precedence is generally given to father's and husband's relatives, and to those who are in the same house, in preference to mother's and wife's relatives and to those who are in another house. Thus, uncle and aunt on the father's side stand in the Second Rank, while those on the mother's side stand in the Fourth. Husband is the relative of the First Rank to wife, but the wife is the relative of the Second Rank to the husband. Husband's parents are in the Second Rank, while wife's parents are in the Fifth. Nephew and niece by brother are in the Second Rank, while those by sister are in the Fourth. Grandchild by son is in the Second, while grandchild by daughter is in the Fifth Rank, because the latter is in another house on account of marriage. The law also made distinction between "sonzoku" or "superior kin" and "hizoku" or " inferior kin." The former includes all rela- tives, lineal and collateral, who stand above any person in the same lateral line of the table of consanguinity; such as father, uncle, father's cousin, grandfather, etc., while the latter includes those who stand in the lateral lines below him, such as son, nephew, cousin's child, grandson, etc. This system of classifying relatives into five ranks was derived from the Chinese law of mourning. From ancient times down to the present day, Chinese law has been very strict as to mourning, .because it wras considered as the highest duty of a man to show respect and love toward the departed soul of his relative by that act; and the moral as well as the legal code prescribed even the "Mourning of Three Years" to the dutiful son. Chinese codes abound in minute regulations as to the mourning-dress, the dura- tion of the time of mourning, and the conduct of mourners. The mourning-dress is divided into five classes, and the duration of the period of mourning is fixed by the class of the mourning-dress which the mourner ought to wear. The mourning-dress is coarser in ma- terial and make as the person mourned for stands nearer and higher in the family position to the mourner, — - the first class, which is worn for parents, husband, and husband's parents, being the coarsest. 400 COMPARATIVE LAW The first-class mourning-dress is worn for three years, the second for two years, the third for nine months, the fourth for five months, and the fifth for three months. Relatives are classified according to the five classes of mourning-dresses which are worn for them. Thus, for instance, father and mother belong to the relatives of the first- class mourning-dress; grandparents to the second class; cousins to the third; great-uncles and aunts to the fourth; and wife's parents to the fifth. This classification of relatives according to the five classes of mourning-dresses very nearly corresponds to the five ranks men- tioned in the Taiho Code, except with respect to great-grandparents, who belong to the Third and Fourth Rank respectively according to the Taiho Code, but who are placed according to Chinese law in the second class. Besides, this classification which is made in the cere- monial law of the Chinese codes finds its place in the " ceremony law" or "Gi-sei-ryo" of the Taiho Code, instead of the "house law," where one would naturally expect to find it. So there is little room for doubt that the above-mentioned Japanese classi- fication of the relatives into the "five ranks" had its origin in the Chinese law of mourning-dress. During the Tokugawa Shogunate the study of the Chinese classics was greatly encouraged, and in 1638 the famous "mourning-law" (UELSl'fr) was made, which has since then been amended several times and the classification of the "five ranks" went practically into disuse, until it was revived by the Criminal Code of 1870, which struck off concubines from the Third, Fourth, and Fifth ranks, and made a few other unimportant alterations. But with the publication of the present Criminal Code in 1882, it was abolished, and was replaced sixteen years later by the present system of reckoning relationship adopted in the new Civil Code. In this respect, too, Japanese law has passed from the Chinese to the European family of law. XIV. The Law of Personal Registration and the Civil Code As the house in the Japanese family law is narrower, in one respect, than kindred, and may exclude even the nearest relatives by blood, and wider, in another respect, and may include strangers, there is no logical test to determine the sphere of persons constituting the house other than their common subjection to the authority of one man, the house-head. Some other external legal evidence is required, therefore, for determining the constituents of a particular house. Such evidence is supplied by the register which is kept in every district throughout the Empire. As a person's birth, marriage, adoption, guardianship, death, succession, entrance to or separation from a house, acquisition or loss of nationality, and every other change of man's status is recorded in the register, the law relating JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 401 to registration forms a supplementary law to the Civil Code, and the present law was promulgated and put into force on the same day as the Code. As the register is the record of man's legal position in society, the development of society is often reflected in the law of registration. Three stages may be distinguished in the history of the law of personal registration in Japan; (1) the epoch of clan-regis- tration; (2) the epoch of house-registration; and (3 the epoch of status-registration. These epochs show the changes in the units of state and correspond to the three stages in the process of social disintegration. In the early days of Japanese history, it was not the individual nor the family that formed the unit of state. The state only took cognizance of clans and the government of families and individuals in each clan was left to the chief of the clan or "uji-no-kami," who was usually the eldest male descendant of an eponymous ancestor. He was honored and obeyed by clansmen as the representative of their common ancestor. He was the head of their worship, their leader in time of war, and their governor in time of peace. There were great clans or "6-uji" and small clans or "ko-uji," the latter being included in the former. Clansmen of the small clan were governed by their chief, who was himself subject to the chief of the great clan. The Emperor was the supreme authority over them, and all the laws and proclamations of the Imperial Government were transmitted to the "uji-no-kami" of the great clans, who in turn transmitted them to the "uji-no-kami" of the small clans. Thus each clan was a body founded on community of blood and worship and formed an administrative division of the country, corresponding to the present administrative divisions, such as provinces, cities, towns, districts, and villages. After the introduction of Chinese civilization and the Reform of the Taika Era (645 A. D.), in spite of the fact that the clan system of government continued for a long time afterward, the basis of the administrative division of the country gradually changed from a personal to a territorial system and provinces and districts took the place of clans. In those early days of clan government, it was of the utmost importance that each man's clan-name should be kept sacred. As only those who belonged to certain clans could fill high official positions, or join the Imperial body-guard, and as several other privileges were enjoyed by particular clans, attempts were often made by clansmen to forsake their original clans and surreptitiously adopt the names of other and more influential clans. In order to put a stop to these abuses, the "ordeal of hot water" or "kugadachi" was resorted to, which consisted in plunging the hand into hot water before the temple of a god. It was claimed that those who assumed 402 COMPARATIVE LAW false clan-names would suffer injury, while the innocent would escape unhurt. Afterward, in the year 815 A.D., a "Register of Clan-names" or " Seishi-roku " was compiled, a part of which is still in existence to-day. This register consisted of 30 volumes and contained 1182 clan-names. The introduction of the house-register or "ko-seki" dates back as far as the first year of the Taika Era. But it owes its origin to the adoption of Chinese institutions, and although its introduction was earlier in date than the final compilation of the register of clan- names, its historical order must come after that of the clan-registry, for the system of house-registry has continued from that remote period down to the present time. It was only in the year of the publication of the new Civil Code (1898) that our law of registration began to enter upon the third stage of its development. The present law, which was promulgated at the same time as the Civil Code, and which replaced the previous law of 1871, still retains the name of "Ko-seki Ho" or the "Law of House-registration"; but the character of the law has undergone a change, necessitated by the progress of the social condition of the country, for it provides for the registration of individual status or "mibuu-toki" as well as of house-registration. It is sometimes asserted that the family was the original unit of the state, and that an aggregation of families formed a clan. But this view seems to reverse the real order of development. The clan grew out of the expansion of a family, and separate households grew up within the clan by the increase of clansmen. It was their common worship and common clan-name which united them to a group. So it was the clan which was first recognized by the state and formed its unit. The family or house was included in the clan and did not yet possess separate existence in the eyes of the law. It was only by the gradual disintegration of the clan and the growth of the central powsr of the state that the family or house came to the fore, and began to form the unit of the state. Thus the constituent elements of each society become smaller and smaller, until they divide themselves into atoms or individuals. XV. Adoption The importance of the fiction of adoption to primitive society has been illustrated by Sir Henry Maine in many places. In one passage he says, "Without the fiction of adoption which permits the family tie to be artificially created, it is difficult to understand how society would ever have escaped from its swaddling-clothes, and taken its first step toward civilization. " (Ancient Law, ch. ii.) Its importance in India and also at Rome and Athens is well known among students of historical and comparative jurisprudence. But JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 403 in modern systems of law adoption no longer occupies the position of importance which it held in archaic societies. It still survives in most of the countries which have received Roman law, but with several restrictions as to its effects, which make it in no way resemble that assumption of real kinship which characterized the ancient form of adoption. To the English family of law it is totally un- known as a legal institution. But in Japan adoption may be regarded as the corner-stone of family law. Without it the continuity of the house, upon which rests the perpetuation of ancestor-worship, cannot be maintained. The practice of adoption has been so common and universal among the people, from ancient time down to the present day, that Professor Chamberlain writes: "It is strange, but true, that you may often go into a Japanese family and find half-a-dozen persons calling each other parent and child, brother and sister, uncle and nephew, and yet being really either no blood relations at all, or else relations in quite different degrees from those conventionally assumed." Adoption in different systems of law may be classified with regard to its object, under the following four heads: (1) Adoption for the purpose of perpetuating the family sacra. (2) Adoption for the purpose of obtaining a successor to house- headship. (3) Adoption for the purpose of obtaining a successor to property: (4) Adoption for charitable purposes, or for consolation in case of childless marriage. The historical order of the development, or rather the decay, of the law of adoption is usually as indicated above. I will proceed to explain them in order. (1) Adoption for the purpose of perpetuating family sacra. Death without an heir to perpetuate the worship of ancestors was considered to be the greatest act of impiety which a descendant could commit. So in the case of the failure of male issue, it was the bounden duty of a house-head to acquire a son by means of adoption. Adoption was, as Fustel de Coulanges says, " a final resource to escape the much dreaded misfortune of the extinction of a worship." Many provisions of our ancient Code show that the object of adoption was the perpetuation of the sacra. The house law of the Taiho Code provides that " A person having no child may adopt one from among his relatives within the Fourth Rank of Kinship, whose age does not exceed that which might have been attained by a son of the adopter's own body." According to some commentators on the Taiho Code, "having no child" here means that the adoptive father should have reached the age of sixty years, or the adoptive mother fifty years, without having male issue. The reason for limiting the age of the adopter was, that as long as any hope of having a male 404 COMPARATIVE LAW issue of blood, that is, the direct descendant of his ancestors, existed, the head of a house should not permit a person of more distant rela- tionship to become the successor to the sacra. That the object of adoption was the perpetuation of ancestor- worship may also be inferred from the old strict rule that only a kinsman could be adopted as a son. The Taiho Code did not permit adoption of kindred beyond the Fourth Rank, as I have said above. From the remains of the Taiho Criminal Code which have come down to us, we know that a punishment of one year's penal servitude was inflicted upon one who adopted a son from a different clan. This prohibition against the adoption of a person not related by blood derives its origin from the belief, which generally exists where the practice of ancestor-worship prevails, that "the spirit does not receive the offerings of strangers." Another requirement of adoption, which is to be found in the laws of many countries, is the absolute failure of male issue. The house law of the Taiho Code allowed adoption only in case a man had no son. The object of this rule is clear from what I have said above. A remoter relative should not be admitted where there is a nearer descendant to make offerings. There is one peculiar form of adoption called "muko-yoshi" or " adoption of son-in-law," the origin of which must be attributed to the same cause. As I have said above, the law considered a man childless, even though he had a daughter. Males were the only con- tinuators of worship. Those who had daughters only were therefore obliged to adopt a son; but it was necessary for the blood of the ancestor to be, if possible, continued in the house. In such cases, a house-head selects a person who is fit to be his daughter's husband and adopts him as a son. If adoption and marriage take place at the same time, it is called "muko-yoshi" or "adoption of son-in-law/' The same object may also be attained by the subsequent marriage of the adopted son with the daughter of the adopter, for the col- lateral relationship of brother and sister by adoption is no bar to their marriage. (2) Adoption for the purpose of obtaining a successor to house- headship. As the house is the seat of ancestor-worship and the house-head is the continuator of the sacra, this kind of adoption cannot be regarded as differing from that above mentioned. But with the development of the house-system the authority of the head of a house begins to be regarded as a distinct object of inheritance by itself, and the family sacra only as one of the duties incumbent upon the house-head. Especially was this the case when hereditary office, profession, or fief belonged to house-headship. In Japan this stage was reached when the feudal system was established, and daimios JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 405 and samurais had their fiefs belonging to their houses. Under the feudal regime the nature of military service required that males only should become house-heads. Hence the failure of male issue was also the cause of adoption. It was necessary to make provision against the contingency of a house becoming extinct and the fief being escheated by failure of heirs. As professions were at that time usually hereditary and were considered as belonging to certain houses, adoption was frequently resorted to, in order to keep the profession in the house. Physicians, artists, masters of fencing, riding, archery, professors of classics and the like, often adopted, by special permission, those qualified to succeed them in the profession, even though they may have had sons of their own, the latter, however, being unworthy of their fathers. This kind of adoption was called " geido-yoshi " or "arts-adoption." It has just been remarked that the Taiho Code fixed the lower limit of the adopter's age at sixty for the father and fifty for the mother. But this rule took another form under the law of the Toku- gawa Government. The limit of the age was fixed as low as seven- teen, A house-head above that age, or even by special permission under that age, who had no male issue was allowed to adopt a son, in order to prevent the extinction of a house by his sudden death, causing the escheat of his feudal property. A person between the ages of seventeen and fifty years could even adopt a son on his death- bed, which kind of adoption was called "kiu-yoshi" or "quick adoption." But after the age of fifty, "quick adoption" was not allowed, so that he was obliged to provide for the succession to the house-headship early in life, even if he still had the hope of having male issue. The Taiho Code allowed adoption only in old age, be- cause it was desirable that ancestor-worship should be continued by the nearest blood descendants. The Tokugawa Law allowed and encouraged adoption by young people, and attached severe penalties to the neglect of the precaution to provide for succession early in life, in order to avoid the chance of a house becoming extinct. (3) Adoption for the purpose of obtaining a successor to property. Next comes the time when the notions of succession to sacra and house-headship gradually recede into the background and the notion of property succession comes to the fore. This stage is first reached in the new Civil Code. With the restoration of the Im- perial power and the abolition of feudalism, house-headship has lost more than half of its former importance. Fiefs were abolished; offices and professions ceased to be hereditary privileges of house- heads; and so far as public law is concerned, house-members now stand on an equal footing with house-heads. What remains of the rights and privileges attaching to house-heads is enjoyed within the sphere of private law. Of these the right of enjoying house-property 406 COMPARATIVE LAW is the most important, at least, so far as material interests are con- cerned. Besides, house-members are now allowed to have independent property of their own, as I have already explained, and they may adopt just in the same way as house-heads, provided the consent of the latter is obtained. (Civil Code, art. 750.) During the feudal period, only house-heads were allowed to adopt, because the object of adoption was the continuation of house-headship; but now adoption is no longer the exclusive privilege of house-heads because its object is not limited to obtaining a successor to house-headship. Wills, although not quite unknown to the old Japanese law, were very rare in practice and their place was taken by adoption. What is done in Europe and America by mil is done in Japan by adoption. Instead of giving away property to another person by will, which becomes effective after death, a Japanese takes another person into his house by adoption during his lifetime and makes the latter the expectant successor to his property. (4) Adoption for consolation in case of childless marriage. This is the only kind of adoption which has no connection with the house-system, and marks the last stage in the history of the law of adoption. In Occidental systems of jurisprudence, will has taken the place of adoption, and the principal ground on which this institu- tion is still retained is for consolation in case of childless marriage. Although the adopted child usually obtains the right of succeeding to the adopter's property, this is the effect of adoption and cannot be regarded as the ground for allowing adoption. Consolation in the case of a childless marriage constitutes the principal motive to this act, and therefore most systems allow adoption only when the adopter has no children of his own and is of such an age as to pre- clude reasonable expectation of any being born to him. In Japan also adoption often takes place from the same motive, but it cannot be regarded as a legal ground, because the new Civil Code does not limit adoption to the case of childless marriage. The Japanese law of adoption is now in a transient state, and is passing from the second to the third stage of its development, but has not yet entered the fourth. XVI. Succession in General — The Evolution of the Law of Succession I thank it may be laid down as a universal rule of the evolution of the law of succession that it passes through three stages of evolution; the first stage is that of the succession to sacra, the second that of the succession to status, and the third that of the succession to property. Each stage of development, however, did not form a distinct period in itself, but the later was gradually evolved out of the earlier by the process of differentiation. In ancient times the duty of performing and continuing the worship rested on the head of a house, and the JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 407 property of a house belonged exclusively to him. He exercised authority over the members of his house, because he was the con- tinuator of the ancestral sacra, and in one sense the representative of the ancestor. He owned his property, because it was left by the ancestor, and the authority and property of a house-head rested on the worship of ancestors. In those times continuation of house- worship formed the sole object of inheritance. But in the course of time the authority of the house-head, which at first comprehended both power over the members of the house and rights over house- property, came to be considered by itself in law. Afterwards the two constituent elements of the authority of the house-head grad- ually began to be separately considered, until at last property came to be regarded as a distinct object of inheritance. There are perhaps few systems of law which can illustrate the above proposition and indicate the process of gradual development so clearly as the Japanese law of succession to the headship of a house. In the succession law, " keishi-ryo, " of the Tamo Code (701 A. D.) there is a provision that if a presumptive heir of a noble family "is not fit to succeed to the important duty" owing to the committal of crime or to disease, he may be disinherited and another presumptive heir may be substituted. The official commentary on this code " Ryo-no-gige " says "to succeed to the important duty" means "to succeed a father and inherit the sacra, for the matter of worship is the most important." It appears that at this time the continuation of ancestor-worship was the principal object of succes- sion. Since the Middle Ages the word " katoku sozoku" or "the suc- cession to house-authority " has been used for succession, and in the feudal period, especially during the Tokugawa Shogunate, succession represented the continuity of the status of house-headship. In later times "katoku," which literally means "house-authority," was very frequently used for "house-property," which formed the object of inheritance, just as the word " familia " in Roman law was often used to designate property. This transition of the use of the word "katoku " indicates that the law of succession was gradually pass- ing from the second to the third stage referred to. The present law of succession, contained in book v of the Civil Code, shows that Japanese law is rapidly passing from the second to the third stage above mentioned, without losing its original trait of the succession to sacra. The new Civil Code recognizes two kinds of succession, — succession to house-headship, or "katoku sozoku," and succession to property, or "isan sozoku." But there are many rules still remaining which show that the foundation of the succession to the house-headship is the necessity of continuing the worship of ancestors. Article 987 contains the following provision: " The ownership of the records of the genealogy of the house, the 408 COMPARATIVE LAW article used for house-worship, and the family tombs constitutes the special right of succession to the headship of a house." This important provision means that those things which are speci- fied therein form the special objects of inheritance. They cannot be bequeathed away, nor can they be seized for debts. Though the house is no longer a corporation, as was formerly the case, it is still a legal entity whose continuance is assured by law, and does not break up at the death of each house-head. So there can be only one heir to its headship, and the new Civil Code recognizes many kinds of heirs to house-headship in order to pro- vide against the contingency of the failure of the heir. They are: (1) "the Legal Heir"; (2) "the Appointed Heir"; (3) "the Chosen Heir"; and (4) "the Ascendant Heir." The legal heir, who comes first in the order of succession, is the lineal descendant of a house-head, who is at the same time a member of his house. Among lineal descend- ants, nearest kinsmen are preferred to more remote, males to females, and legitimate children to illegitimate, seniors in age being always accorded priority when they are equal in other respects. (Civil Code, art. 970.) Modern writers on law usually give as a reason for the pre- ference of nearer to remoter kinsmen that the order of succession is determined by the degree of affection which the deceased is presumed to have entertained toward his relatives, and also by the presumed intention of the person who dies intestate as to the disposition of his property. For the preference of males over females feudal reasons are often given. These reasons also form the principal basis of our present law. But the reasons for the existence of the rule and its origin are not always the same. Originally, the nearest in blood to the ancestors worshiped and their male descendants were preferred, because they were considered to be the fittest persons to offer sacri- fices to the spirits of ancestors. The legal heir is heres necessarius and is not allowed to renounce the succession, whilst other kinds of heirs are at liberty to accept or renounce the inheritance, or to accept it with the reservation that they shall not be liable for the debts of their predecessors. It is the bounden duty of a descendant who is the legal heir to accept the inheritance and continue the sacra of the house. The house-head cannot bequeath away from him more than one half of the property (Civil Code, art. 1130), nor can he disinherit him, unless there exist one of the grounds mentioned in article 975 of the Civil Code. The causes especially mentioned there are : (1) 111 treatment or gross insult to the house-head, (2) unfitness for house-headship on account of bodily or mental infirmities, (3) sentence to punishment for an offense of a nature disgraceful to the name of the house, and (4) interdiction as a spendthrift. These grounds relate directly to the house-head's authority and indirectly JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 409 to ancestor-worship and the necessity of maintaining intact the reputation and property of the house. In case there is no legal presumptive heir to a house-head, he may appoint an heir, either in his lifetime or by his will. (Civil Code, art. 979.) If, at the time of the death of a house-head, there is neither a legal heir nor an appointed heir, the father of the deceased, or if there is no father, or if he is unable to express his intention, the mother, or if there are no parents, or both are unable to express their intention, the family council chooses an heir from among the members of the house according to the following order: (1) the surviving wife, if she is a " house-daughter " ; (2) brothers ; (3) sisters; (4) the surviving wife who is not a house-daughter; and finally (5) the lineal descendants of brothers and sisters. (Civil Code, art. 982.) Now, in this also the desire for preserving the blood of ancestors will be seen from the order in which the heir is chosen. The sur- viving consort of the last house-head comes first in the order of suc- cession, provided that she is a "house-daughter," but fourth if she is not the descendant in blood of an ancestor of the house. If there is neither a legal nor appointed nor chosen heir, then the nearest lineal ascendant of the last house-head succeeds, males being always preferred to females between persons standing in the same degree of relationship. (Civil Code, art. 984.) If there are no other heirs above mentioned, the family council must choose one from among other relatives of the last house-head or members of his house, house-heads of branch house or members of principal or branch house. If none of the persons above mentioned be existing or able to succeed, then as a last resort the family council may choose an heir from among other persons. (Civil Code, art. 985.) From the foregoing enumeration of the various kinds of heirs, it will be seen that the law takes every precaution against the con- tingency of a house becoming extinct; for with the extinction of the house, the worship of its ancestors would come to an end. XVII. Property Succession — The Recognition of House-Member's Separate Property The second kind of succession, namely property succession, is a new institution introduced by the new Civil Code. According to the Code, property succession includes only the succession to the property of a house-member on his death. Before the Restoration, a house was in a strict sense a corporation, and a house-member could not have separate property of his own. All he gained he gained for the house-head or rather the house; all 410 COMPARATIVE LAW he possessed or enjoyed he possessed or enjoyed by the license of the house-head, not as of right. No question of succession to the property of house-members could therefore arise at that time. But the Restor- ation completely changed this state of things. It was one of the policies of the new Imperial Government to appoint its officials not, as before, on account of birth, but on account of personal merits, no distinction whatever being made as to whether they were house- heads or house-members. Formerly it was only the house-head that could hold public office. During the first years of the Imperial Gov- ernment, statesmen and soldiers who had served in the cause of the Restoration were rewarded with life or perpetual annuities. But many of them were not house-heads; some were "inkyo" or house- members who had become such by abdicating house-headship; others were younger members of houses. Now, these annuities and the salaries of civil and military officials, being given by the state for personal services or merits, could not be treated as house-property. Thus began the independent and separate property of house-members, with the first great blow which the old family system received at the hand of the Imperial Government. It is interesting to note that this is exactly what happened in the beginning of the Roman Empire, when castrense peculium of filiusfamilias was recognized for military services, and three centuries afterward quasi-castrense peculium for civil services. The issue of a law in 1872 which abolished the prohibition of the sale of land and granted title-deeds to landowners, the issue in the following year of the government bonds for public loans, and the establishment of joint-stock companies and savings-banks mark the next step in the development of the separate property of house- members. The courts of law began to recognize house-members' separate property in the title-deeds, bonds, stocks, debentures, or savings which they held in their own names, and thus individual pro- perty began to grow up by the side of house-property. But on the other hand, a law (no. 275) was passed in 1872 to the effect that the house-head should not be liable for the debts contracted by house- members, unless he became a surety to the contract. Although the separate property of house-members was thus established, the rule of succession was not settled until the pro- mulgation of the new Civil Code. As a rule the property left by a deceased house-member went to the house-head. But here again the Code took a decided step and gave the right of succession to the nearest descendants equally, whether they were males or females or whether they were in the same house with the deceased or not, the right of representation being always given to the children of the pre- deceased descendant. After descendants comes the consort; next in order, the lineal ascendant; and as the last successor, the house-head. JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 411 Other rules relating to this kind of succession do not differ much from those we find in Western countries. By comparing the above-mentioned two kinds of succession, we shall notice that they present a remarkable contrast and indicate the transient stage in which the Japanese law of succession finds itself. The rules relating to succession to house-headship rest chiefly upon indigenous elements, while those relating to succession to pro- perty are based principally upon Western ideas. XVIII. Succession Inter Vivos Another characteristic of the Japanese succession law is the existence of succession inter vivos, side by side with succession mortis causa. The succession which arises during the lifetime of the person succeeded takes place only with reference to succession to house-headship; for house-headship may come to an end either by a house-head's death or the loss of house-headship during his life- time. Succession inter vivos takes place in the following cases: I. "Inkyo" or abdication of house-headship. II. Loss of nationality by a house-head. III. The marriage of a female house-head. IV. The divorce of a husband who has married a female house-head. V. When a house-head leaves the house in consequence of the invalidation of his marriage or adoption. I will explain each of the causes of succession inter vivos in order. I. "Inkyo" or abdication of house-headship. House-headship is not a lifelong authority. It may be lost in several ways, the most usual of which is its abdication or "inkyo," which literally means "living in retirement." The origin of this custom has been sometimes ascribed to Buddhism, but I have shown in a work especially devoted to this subject (Inkyo-ron, or Treatise on Abdication, 1891) that this institution was originally derived from China, and developed among us by the influence of Buddhism and feudalism. The abdication of house-headship may be classified with reference to its causes under the following four heads; namely, (1) Religious Abdica- tion, (2) Political Abdication, (3) Judicial Abdication, and (4) Physiological Abdication. (1) Religious abdication. After the introduction of Buddhism the practice gradually grew up, among higher classes, of withdrawing from active life when any person attained "the age of retirement," which was seventy according to the Chinese Ritual Code, and closing his days in religious devotion as a hermit or priest. Our history abounds in instances where ministers of state tendered their 412 COMPARATIVE LAW resignations for the purpose of devoting the rest of their lives to religious practice. As I have already said, house-headship was rather an institution of public law than of private law, and the resignation of office usually brought with it the loss of house- headship. In later times the middle and lower classes began to imitate the example set by the heads of noble families, until it has become a general custom among the people. Until recently it was a very common practice for retired persons to shave their heads, like Buddhist priests, in token of their having given up secular business and of having embraced the religious life. It was for this reason that the designation of " niudo-inkyo " or " priestly retirement " was employed for this kind of abdication. This practice is very common among the Hindus where life is distributed into three periods ; namely, the student, house- holder, and ascetic periods. Minute regulations as to the life of the ascetic are contained in Hindu law-books, especially in the sixth chapter of the Code of Manu. Entering into a monastery seems to have had the same effect as death in the early Germanic and English laws (Young's Anglo-Saxon Family Law, Co. Litt. 133, Blaxland's Codex Legum Anglicanarum, p. 217) and in the French law before the Revolution (Zachariae, Franz. Civilrecht, sec. 162), but since the abolition of civil death in modern legal systems succession inter vivos does not occur in European families of law. (2) Political abdication. From an early period of our history, it was very common for the upper and middle classes to resort to abdication for various political reasons. Sometimes it was made use of by unscrupulous ministers of state or influential servants of dai- mios to deprive masters of their power, and put other persons, perhaps puppets, in their places; sometimes, house-heads retired in order to shift responsibilities to other persons' shoulders and wield real power themselves, or pull strings from behind the curtain; or sometimes they gave up the worldly life and led the ascetic life out of political discontent or disappointment. (3) Legal abdication. I mean by legal abdication the compulsory loss of house-head- ship by way of punishment or atonement for a crime or other grave fault. Cases occurred very frequently during the feudal times, especially under the Tokugawa Shogunate, in which a house-head was sentenced or ordered to abdicate as a punish- ment for his offense. Particular names have been given to the kind of abdication, such as " zaikwa-inkyo," "or penal abdica- tion"; or " chikkyo-inkyo, " or "confinement abdication"; or " tsutsushimi-inkyo," or " reprimand abdication." House-heads JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 413 were also very often forced to abdicate by the resolution of family councils on account of their moral depravity, which made them unfit for the duties of house-headship. Even in the beginning of the present reign, this kind of abdication continued; and article 14 of the Criminal Code of 1873 provided that kwazoku and shizoku, or nobles and samurais who were guilty of crimes involving grave moral depravity, should be sentenced to the loss of house-headship, together with their privileges. (4) ^Physiological abdication. The decay of physical or mental power either on account of old age or ill health is the most common cause of abdication. Manu says: "When a householder sees his skin wrinkled, and his hair white, and the sons of his sons, then he may resort to the forest. " (Manu, vi, 2.) As house-headship was an institution of public law as well as of private law, it involved not only power over the house-members, but also many duties toward the state, besides duties and responsibilities toward the house-members which were incumbent upon that position. So house-heads were often obliged to retire from the active duties of family life when their age or state of health made them unfit for that position. This was especially the case with the samurai class during the feudal period, when physical power was especially necessary for the discharge of military duties. It is for this reason that abdica- tion came to be regarded as an important and necessary institu- tion, and laws relating to it made great progress under the military regime of feudalism. The rule with regard to the age at which a house-head was allowed to abdicate was seventy before the establishment of the feudal system, which was the age of retirement according to the Chinese Ceremonial Code (j^gS). But this age was lowered under feudalism and fifty was fixed as the lowest limit of the age at which a house-head was allowed to abdicate without adducing any other reason. But since the abolition of feudalism and the establishment of the conscription system, which imposes military duty irrespective of a man's position in the house, there is no need to keep this low limit of age. The new Code raised it again and fixed it at sixty; so that there have been three changes as to the age of retirement, the first being seventy, the second fifty, and the third sixty. According to the new Code, a house-head may abdicate when he has attained the age of sixty, but in case of a female house- head, she may abdicate irrespective of her age. (Civil Code, arts. 752, 755.) In all other cases the permission of a court of law is necessary. Such permission is given if a house-head is unable to continue the management of the house owing to one 414 COMPARATIVE LAW of the following causes; namely, sickness, the necessity of suc- ceeding as heir to the headship of the main branch of the family, or of resuscitating it, the desire to enter another house by mar- riage, or other unavoidable causes. (Civil Code, arts. 753, 784.) In both these cases there must always be an heir to succeed him in the headship of the house; for nobody but a person who has founded a new house may abolish it, as the abolition of a house would bring with it, in other cases, the extinction of the worship of the ancestors. (Civil Code, arts. 762, 763.) II. Loss of nationality. The house-system is a national institution, and foreigners not being considered as belonging to any house, the house-headship necessarily comes to an end when a house-head loses his nation- ality, by naturalization or other causes mentioned in the law of nationality (no. 66, 1899); just as a Roman paterfamilias lost his patria potestas on account of the loss of citizenship by under- going media capitis diminutio. III. The marriage of a female house-head. According to article 736 of the Civil Code, if a female house- head marries, the husband enters the house of his wife, instead of the wife's entering the husband's house according to the usual rule, and at once becomes the house-head, unless the parties concerned expressed a contrary intention at the time of marriage. Thus succession inter vivos to the house-headship occurs in case of the marriage of a female house-head. IV. The divorce of a husband who has married a female house- head. As the husband entered the house and has become the house- head in consequence of the marriage, he leaves the house by divorce, and at the same time loses the house-headship. Thus divorce in this case becomes a cause of succession inter vivos. V. Invalidation of marriage or adoption. If a man who married a female house-head, or an adopted son or daughter has become a house-head, and the marriage or the adoption is invalidated for one of the causes mentioned in the ("ode, the husband or the adopted child leaves the house, and the house-headship is lost. In this case, as the invalidation has no retrospective effect, the preceding house-head, though alive, such as the wife or the abdicated adoptive father, does not recover the house-headship as if there had been no mar- riage or adoption, but the rules of succession apply just as in the case of death. The above enumeration of the causes will show that succession inter vivos, which is not usually found in modern laws, occurs very frequently under the present Japanese law. JAPANESE CIVIL CODE 415 XIX. Conclusion I hope I have been able to show, to some extent at least, that the new Japanese Civil Code furnishes valuable materials for students of historical and comparative jurisprudence. The codification was the result of the great political and social revolutions which took place within a comparatively short period. The Code embodies in itself archaic and modern elements on the one hand, and Eastern and Western elements on the other. Within the past thirty years Japanese law has passed from the Chinese family of law to the European family; the notion of right was introduced; woman's position was raised from a condition of total subjection to one of equality with man, so far as private rights are concerned; the status of foreigners advanced from the stage of enmity to that of equality with citizens; the family system was greatly modified; the separate property of house-members began to be recognized; and property succession has come to exist side by side with the succession of house- headship. Comparing the new Japanese Civil Code with Western codes, we observe great similarity between them in the first three books relating to general provisions, real rights, and obligations respect- ively, but great difference in the last two, which relate to family and succession. Of the first three books, the law of obligations may be said to be entirely Occidental. That part of law may indeed be said to be in a sense cosmopolitan, the laws of different countries exhibit- ing a relatively small amount of variation in this regard. The law of obligations, therefore, has the greatest propagating capacity and is generally first received in other countries. Next comes the law relating to movables. But land is usually so bound up with the public policy and local conditions of a country that we usually find much divergence in the laws relating to immovables in different countries. The laws relating to succession and family, depending, as they do, upon the national character, religion, history, traditions, and cus- toms, show the least capacity for assimilation. So the usual order of assimilation, or reception of foreign laws is, (1) law of obligation, (2) law of movables, (3) law of immovables, (4) law of succession and family. I have not touched upon those parts of the Civil Code which relate to obligations and rights in rem, because the rules relating to these parts are mostly derived from Western jurisprudence and will present little that is novel to a European or American audience. I have, confined my remarks, therefore, to those parts in which the indigenous element is usually most persistent. I have shown that even in these, we have made great reforms since the opening of the •jountry to foreign intercourse. During the last thirty years we have 416 COMPARATIVE LAW been trying to adopt from Western civilization whatever seemed to us best fitted for the progress of the country. We now possess a Civil Code based upon the most advanced principles of Western jurisprudence. But the code is only a frame- work or skeleton of law. What supplies flesh, blood, and sinews to it is the integrity and learning of the Bench and the Bar and the law-abiding habit of the people. But above all, the fountain-head of legal improvement is legal science. Law is national or territorial, but the science of law is universal, and is not confined within the bounds of any state. We have profited in the past by the work of scientific jurists of the West, and we must look in the future to the mutual assistance and cooperation of the scientific brotherhood of the world. THE LATEST ORGANIZATION OF POPULAR SUFFRAGE BY ALFRED NEKINCX [Alfred Nerincx, Professor of Constitutional Law, University of Louvain, Belgium, since 1899. b. Brussells, Belgium, 1872. Ph.B. Namur College, Belgium; LL.D. University of Louvain; Polit. and Soc. Sci. D. University of Louvain; Hon. LL.D. Glasgow University; Laureate of the Institut de France. Author of The Judiciary Organization of the United States.] EVEN a mere outline of the history of popular suffrage, as a study of comparative law and political institutions, could hardly be com- pressed into the short space of an hour. Moreover, the subject has been treated so often and so adequately by students of political science both in Europe and in America, that there is no necessity for taking it up again as a whole. But there is one remarkable fact in that history, upon which I should like to dwell somewhat to-day, because it affords a striking contrast with the organization which I have undertaken to explain briefly before this Congress. That fact is the general contradiction existing between the theory and practice of popular suffrage in all the forms of representative government where a very highly organized method of suffrage is not yet enforced, that is, almost everywhere. Whether one considers the people who still retain the limited suffrage, after the English type, or the countries where universal suffrage obtains as in France and in the United States, it is re- markable that, whereas the law of the land grants to every individual voter the same political power in theory, yet, in fact, absolute equality is hardly to be found anywhere, either between citizens belonging to different constituencies, or between voters belonging to the same classes. One country distributes parliamentary seats on the lines of ancient historical traditions, without the least regard for area or population. Another has followed political considerations absolutely irrespective of the equality of citizens. In another still, political ethics have allowed the parties or even the legislature to accomplish what con- stitutions seemed to forbid. As a rule rural districts have been better provided for than urban constituencies. The larger industrial communities with suspiciously radical tendencies remain generally deprived of part of the representation which, in theory at least, they ought to have. Numbers of citizens, even the majority of them in some parts of the United States, are being disfranchised by recent 418 COMPARATIVE LAW constitutional amendments, in the very face, as it looks, of an ex- press provision of the Federal Constitution. Yet everywhere public opinion shows a wonderful leniency toward the politicians who manipulate the polls and falsify the results, before or after the contest. Most of the frauds are well known; the statutes hurl all sorts of punishments on the culprits, but very often they go scot free; sometimes even their devices receive the official indorsement of the unprincipled majority which has profited by them. Happy indeed are the countries where governmental pressure and administrative corruption are not yet allowed to exist upon those evils! What does that show? It shows that, even when the law of the land most emphatically asserts the absolute equivalence of all citizens in politics, public opinion, on the contrary, instinctively feels, although it is sometimes loath to own it, that such a theory is utterly false, that it has no practical foundation, and that its literal application, far from being in any way desirable, would probably be most dangerous for the political balance of the country. Public opinion, passionately attached to political equality, because it mistakes it for a necessary conse- quence of individual liberty, has a clear sense, however, of its perils, and it tolerates, like necessary evils, the more or less clever devices, the more or less unfair tricks which may, to a certain extent, insure the general interest which such a theory must inevitably jeopardize. However, there is one country which, on the occasion of her political reforms, has plainly sanctioned in her electoral legislation this evident truth; namely, that all men do not possess the same value from the political point of view. That country is Belgium. And if I take it as my subject before this meeting, it is not merely out of patriotic pride, a feeling which would hardly deserve the consideration of an assembly of learned scientists, but it is because of the unique scientific interest which attaches itself to the political experiments which Belgium has just made within the last ten years, in the vanguard, I might say, of the peoples who have adopted the parliamentary system. ' Belgium was the first country to attempt on a large scale reforms which had long been recommended by the masters of political science, and she accomplished them at a time when most of the statesmen, some even in Belgium, branded them as practically impossible and treated them as the pious dreams of mere theoretical scientists. Practical politicians will kindly allow me to remind this audience that the authors of those daring and successful reforms both belonged to an academical faculty.1 1 The late Professor Alb. Nyssens, Member of Parliament and Minister of Labor, and Professor Jules van den Heuvel, Minister of Justice, both eminent members of the Faculty of Law of the University of Lou vain. POPULAR SUFFRAGE 419 These reforms are the organization of universal suffrage in the highest degree by those factors calculated to palliate in a large measure the greatest danger of popular contests; namely, the triumph of the boisterous elements and the radical tendencies of an active and audacious minority over the conservative feelings of a majority calm, timid, or careless. Those three factors are plural suffrage, proportional representation, and compulsory voting. I shall expound them briefly, without much detail, in order to spare some time for the supplemental questions which may arise in a discussion hereafter. Plural suffrage means the attribution to every voter of an in- fluence, a voting power, corresponding as exactly as possible to the value which every individual citizen represents for the political organization of the community, under the system of universal suffrage. Whereas the voter of twenty-five years of age has a single vote, one supplementary vote is allotted to the head of a family at the age of thirty-five, provided he has settled his family in a certain degree of stability and comfort; a condition which appears when he pays a small house-tax, instead of merely renting a furnished room. Another supplementary vote belongs to the owner of some property either of real property worth $400 (2000 francs) or of registered government bonds bringing an income of $20 (100 francs) a year. The very nature of such property clearly enhances the character, at the same time democratic and conservative, of that reform. Finally another plural suffrage, in the shape of two additional votes, is granted to the holders of an academic degree and to the voters who, without holding such degree, occupy a station in life which implies that their education is equal to that which such degree avers. Altogether, considering the voters as so many members of a general meeting of the shareholders of the great national concern, one may say that the Belgian suffrage law gives to each of them a voting power equal either to the assets which every one owns in the busi- ness, — in his capacity of citizen, of family man, or of property holder, — or to the value of the services which he may render by the enlightened vote of an educated man. But in the opinion of its authors, the electoral reform of 1893 in Belgium was to be just as democratic as it was conservative. It coincided with a great extension of the suffrage, formerly strictly limited, and it would have been unworthy of the Belgian statesmen to take back on the one hand that which they were giving on the other; that is, of infinitely increasing the influence of the upper classes by drowning, as it were, the vote of the popular masses. 420 COMPARATIVE LAW Therefore it was enacted that nobody should enjoy more than three votes, no matter how many titles he might have to claim supplement- ary votes. In that way is plural suffrage at the same time a wisely conservative and a truly democratic institution — conservative, because it strengthens the influence of the more balanced, the more useful, and the more respectable elements of society in any country; democratic, since the moderation of its requirements allows to any man who loves foresight and economy to acquire at a comparatively early period of his life the fullness of the voting power recognized to any one in the community. The next reform introduced into the Belgian organization of suf- frage, quite recently, in 1899-1900, is a little more intricate: it is the proportional representation of parties, and even more accurately speaking, of the majority and of the principal minorities of the body politic. It combines two principles, generally admitted by the legal theory of most countries, but which we find carried out in Belgium as nowhere else in a systematic way, mathematically and with the strictest accuracy. The first of these principles is the absolute equivalence of the voting power of the citizens, subject of course to the differences of the plural suffrage, but irrespective of the size and population of the parliamentary constituencies in which the citizens exercise their right, or better, their political function of suffrage. To this end the system combines uninominal voting with list voting (scrutinde liste) — the adoption of the latter being necessary for the working out of a proportional distribution of the seats amongst three or four parties — in such a way that a voter may actually vote for one seat only, no matter whether his constituency elects twenty members or only three or four. It is therefore strictly true to say that in Belgium an individual voter, plural or otherwise, has just as much influence, and no more, at the polls as any other voter, plural or otherwise, notwithstanding that the one may belong to a large constituency of perhaps one million inhabitants and the other one to a small one of scarcely one hundred thousand. The second principle is the adequate representation of all the important sections of public opinion, no longer according to the somewhat rough methods of the majority or of the plurality rule, but in accordance with the nicely balanced system of proportional representation, which guarantees to the leading parties on both sides the possession of a number of seats strictly proportionate to the number of votes which each party can poll. To that end, the returning officers in each constituency first make up for each list of candidates the grand total of the votes which it has received. Such sum is called the party's electoral figure. POPULAR SUFFRAGE 421 Then they seek for these various electoral figures a common divisor, in connection with the number of seats to be apportioned in the particular constituency; it is called the electoral divisor, or briefly the quorum, because it represents exactly the number of votes which will qualify for one seat in the constituency. Next comes the allotment of seats. Each list of candidates receives a number of them equal to the result of the division of its electoral figure, or grand total, by the quorum. It is absolutely certain, under this method, that any ticket of which the grand total vote, that is, the popularity at the polls, reaches the quorum level once or several times, shall carry one or more seats. The only tickets to be excluded from the apportionment are those of factions apparently too eccen- tric to obtain the necessary votes for a single seat. It is only fair, for local or personal cliques are not to be reckoned as political parties. However, most of the tickets are likely to include a number of candidates somewhat in excess of the number of seats allotted to the several parties, and the problem arises of how to confer the seats in order once more to represent proportionally the various shades of sentiment which generally exist within a party, — the more likely so if a party may claim to be very large and really representative of a national majority. The law, therefore, enacts that political parties shall nominate their candidates on the ticket in a preferential order, which they may determine as they please, and that the voters are at liberty either to adopt and ratify, or to contradict and upset the said preferential order by the manner of their vote. The combination is at once clever and simple. The voter who wishes to indorse the preferential order simply marks his vote above the ticket, and hands in a straight ticket or vote de liste. He, on the contrary, who wishes to signify his preference for any given can- didate and to advance him to the first rank on the ticket, marks his vote in the margin of the particular candidate's name. His vote is called a preferential vote. Both the straight vote and the preferential vote go to make up the ticket's grand total or electoral figure, for they are both undoubt- edly in favor of the party as a whole. After making the separate count of the straight votes and the preferential votes on each ticket, for each name, the returning-officers allot the seats to the candidates who have won the largest vote in each ticket. First in rank are the names indorsed by the mass of straight tickets: each of them is to receive from it a number of votes which, added to his own preferential vote, will secure for him the necessary quorum. It is only fair, after the indorsement of the order of candidates by the bulk of the party. Such devolution of straight 422 COMPARATIVE LAW ticket votes continues in succession on the following candidates, until there are no more straight votes available. Then a mere comparison of figures will determine the lucky owners of the seats; namely, those who have reached the quorum, either by the devolution of the straight votes or by the accumulation of a sufficient number of preferential votes. Once more the only ones to be discarded will be the names not popular enough to secure the minimum of votes necessary to acquire a single seat. Proportional representation has been likened rather aptly to a photographic proceeding, I mean, a photograph without artificial corrections. Somebody also appropriately called it an electoral metre, which could not possibly show wrong indications of public opinion, because it works merely by the rules of the most exact of sciences; and granted that it does not preclude the possibility of errors at the hands of an unscrupulous operator or of an unskilled calculator, there is this, however, for it, that it makes an error so easily tangible and so palpably evident that it may well be said to discourage any disposition to tamper with the ballot-boxes or to " fix the returns " in any way. If it looks rather intricate and cumbersome at first sight, — not unlike all arithmetical problems in their exposition, — yet the system works in a perfectly clear and smooth way when applied to figures, because it requires only elementary calculations. The justification — one might almost say the necessity — of these two reforms lies in the modern conception of suffrage. The old theory is generally left aside to-day, which considered the suffrage as an inborn right, and it is almost everywhere looked upon as a func- tion, as a duty thrust upon the citizen in the interest of the whole community to which he belongs. Hence it is fair that this civil mandate be intrusted preferably to the more enlightened, the more interested, and the more respons- ible of the body politic, and to each according to his capacity or his interest in the good administration of the commonwealth. Hence, also, it is fair that the law guarantee to those whom it charges with such mandate the efficiency of the act which they are to perform; for the vote has small importance indeed to the mem- bers of the minority, if they can see in it nothing but a Platonic and, at most, a negative demonstration, as in all the systems which allow a bare majority of voters to carry all the seats in a constituency. However, with proportional representation, fairly and accurately as it works in Belgium, there is always bound to be one or more important sections of public opinion insufficiently represented in Parliament or possibly altogether deprived of such representation. The circumstance at first sight does not seem very remarkable, for, POPULAR SUFFRAGE 423 under any conceivable regime of representative government, the majority of the voters will probably own the majority of the seats — gerrymandering being left out of consideration — and overrule the minority. But the great boon of proportional representation is that it insures the actual and permanent check of the majority by representative minorities, and in that way it procures better legislation and a more moderate and more conscientious expression of the general will of the community through the legislative activity of Parliament. The consequences for public life are obvious: the stability of a government and the unquestionable authority of laws deriving their prestige from the undisputed majority of a whole nation, while the minority cannot any more claim that it is overridden or foully suppressed. Those reforms, however considerable they are in themselves, would not amount to much if the Belgian law had not, by a remark- ably bold departure from the accepted ideas, made voting a com- pulsory duty. For it is not much use to devise a nicely balanced machinery and to fit it so that it will work smoothly, unless the whole body of the voters can be got to make it work. And precisely the worst to be looked for in a political organization resting upon popular suffrage is an ill-fated combination of excessive activity on the part of the disorderly elements with the natural apathy of the orderly ones, for politics repels the latter just as much as it attracts the former. True it is that the electoral trust rests imperatively upon all the citizens and that nobody who has been honored with it can neglect it without committing a serious breach of duty. But it is too well known also that mere suasion is not always strong enough to over- come the aversion which most of the honest and quiet people feel for active political demonstrations of any kind. Hence it is necessary for the law to compel them to perform their duty. And the law could do that all the better in Belgium since it had already guaranteed to every one the efficiency of his vote; stay- at-home voters in Belgium no longer have any excuse. I said that the institution of compulsory voting was a bold stroke of policy, because whereas most people agreed upon the desirability of it in theory, yet before that practical experiment, almost every- body equally believed that it was impossible in practice. Just a little common sense proved enough to overcome that unreasonable fear. The failure to vote in an individual instance may be a slight thing in itself, but it is primarily a bad example, and it is positively fatal as soon as it becomes general. 424 COMPARATIVE LAW The problem, then, was to find a penalty for it which should not be excessive, — because that would have killed the reform on the spot, — but which would be efficient in its moderation and simple of application. Failure to vote was made by statute a petty offense, liable before the magistrates to small punishments ranking from a reprimand up to a fine of five dollars for the first three offenses; at the fourth time within a space of fifteen years, the magistrate im- poses the same penalties with a suspension of electoral rights for the next ten years; and the suspended voter suffers, moreover, a kind of political capitis deminutio and is deprived during the same period of the jus honorum ; that is, he can no more receive official titles, pro- motions, distinctions, or nominations of any kind whatsoever. The merest knowledge of human nature will satisfy the student about the efficiency of such a sanction. As a fact, the result looked for by the Belgian legislature has been fully reached : we have to-day no more than five per cent, of absentee voters in a total of 1,500,000 voters, disposing of about 2,300,000 votes. And after deducting from the small proportion of five per cent, of absentee voters the deceased voters on the register and those who afford a valid excuse for staying away, such as illness or absence from the country, recent statistics show that the willful and guilty abstainers really amount to about three per thousand of the total voting force. Compulsory voting, as it works in Belgium, is really the keystone of the newest electoral organization. To its efficiency is mainly due the efficiency of plural suffrage and of proportional representation. Good in themselves as are those two reforms, they cannot but re- main merely theoretical achievements so long as you cannot bring to the polls the bulk of the best citizens, those precisely without whose opinion no political verdict can fairly be pronounced a com- pletely sincere and truly representative demonstration of public opinion. I do not touch here upon such various and important questions as the registration of voters, the nomination of candidates, the organization of parties; neither do I mention the guarantee of free- dom and secrecy of the ballot, because a study of those questions — which, by the way, are less novel — would have required a great deal of minute analysis and of technical detail. My object is only to draw the attention of this Universal Congress to three new theories quite recently applied in practical politics. But I must say that even those reforms imply the existence of an already advanced political organization, of strongly constituted parties, of a high standard of political ethics, and of a strenuous public demand that elections shall be (or become) a free, sincere, and loyal consultation, equally exempted from individual or machine corruption, and from POPULAR SUFFRAGE 425 governmental or administrative interference in any degree. Such happy conditions exist in Belgium to-day, and they made the reform at once easy and successful. I have no wish to talk politics in a gathering of scientists; therefore I will refrain from mentioning the particular effects which the reform has had on the standing of the various political parties in Belgium. We are concerned here only with the history of political theories, and a mere chronicle of political events is foreign to our present studies. But I must say that since that reform, and although it was con- temporaneous with the institution of universal suffrage, elections in Belgium work with a tranquillity, a smoothness, and a regularity which have been the wonder of those who remembered the disquieting agitation that used to attend them in former times, under the ma- jority rule. This result is very important, for it has confirmed by a most decisive experiment the unimpeachable fairness and sincerity of the new Belgian regime — and this is no small merit, indeed. REFERENCES SUGGESTED ON THE HISTORY OF LAW BY EMLIN M'CLAIN The mass of literature bearing upon the history of the law is so great that it would be useless in a brief note to attempt to catalogue even those works which may properly be regarded as monumental. The following list of reference books includes some of the treatises available in English which may serve as guides to direct the student to the original sources of information. A brief account of the ancient codes may be found in Guy Carleton Lee's His- torical Jurisprudence (1900). The Code of Hammurabi, King of Babylon (about B.C. 2250), referred to in the foregoing paper, has been published, with a transla- tion by Robert Francis Harper (1904). The development of early Roman law is outlined in many excellent treatises, with full references to original authorities and elaborate commentaries; among these may properly be mentioned: William C. Morey's Outlines of Roman Law (1884, 1902); James Muirhead's Historical Introduction to the Private Law of Rome (1886) ; Rudolph Sohm's Institutes of Roman Law (trans, by James Craw- ford Ledlie, 1892); Thomas Collett Sandar's Institutes of Justinian (Am. ed. with Introduction by William G. Hammond, 1876). The medieval codes, both Roman and Teutonic, are fully catalogued and described in Edward Jenks's Law and Politics in the Middle Ages (1898). A detailed account of the early development of the English common law will be found in Pollock and Maitland's History of English Law (2 vols. 1895), and no other reference to the subject is necessary. BIBLIOGRAPHY: THE HISTORY OF LAW (Prepared by the courtesy of Hon. Simeon E. Baldwin) ANDREWS, American Law, 1900. BALDWIN, The American Judiciary, 1905. BLACKSTONE, SIR WILLIAM, Commentaries on the Law of England. BRYCE, JAMES, The American Commonwealth. BUTLER, CHARLES, Horae Juridicae Subsecivae. CAMPBELL, Lives of the Lord Chancellors. Lives of the Chief "Justices of England. CARSON, Lives of the Chief Justices of the United States. COXE, Essay on Judicial Power and Unconstitutional Legislation, 1893. CUQ, E., Les Institutions Juridiques des Romains envisagees dans leurs Rapports avec 1'Etat social et avec les Progres de la Jurisprudence, Paris, 1891, 1902. DIGEST OF JUSTINIAN. DORADO, Valor Social de Leyes y Autoridades, Barcelona, 1903. HALE, SIR MATTHEW, History of the Common Law. HEINECCIUS, Corpus Juris Germanici Antiqui. HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL, Jr., The Common Law. HUGO, Histoire du Droit Romain. KENT, Commentaries on American Law. MACKENZIE, Studies in Roman Law. MAINE, SIR HENRY SUMNER, Ancient Law. MAITLAND, F. W., Justice and Police. MERLIN, Repertoire de Jurisprudence. MEYER, J. D., Esprit, Origine, et Progres des Institutions Judiciaires des Prin- cipaux Pays de 1'Europe. MONTESQUIEU, L'Esprit des Lois. ORTOLAN, Histoire de la Legislation Romaine. POLLOCK AND MAITLAND, History of English Law. REEVES, History of the English Law from the Time of the Romans to the End of the Reign of Elizabeth. SAVIGNY, Vom Beruf unserer Zeit fur Gesetzgebung und Rechtswissenschaft. Geschichte des Romischen Rechts im Mittelalter. S PENCE, Equitable Jurisdiction of the Court of Chancery. THAYER, Preliminary Treatise on Evidence at the Common Law, 1898. THIBAUT, Lehrbuch der Geschichte und Institutions des Romischen Rechts. TOMKINS AND JENCKEN, Compendium of the Modern Roman Law. WIGMORE, Treatise on the System of Evidence in Trials at Common Law, 1904, 1905. YALE UNIVERSITY, Two Centuries' Growth of American Law, by members of the Law Faculty of Yale University, 1901. DEPARTMENT VIII — HISTORY OF RELIGION DEPARTMENT VIII— HISTORY OF RELIGION (Hall 5, September 20, 2 p. w.) CHAIRMAN: REV. WM. ELIOT GRIFPIS, Ithaca, N. Y. SPEAKERS: PROFESSOR GEORGE F. MOORE, Harvard University. PROFESSOR NATHANIEL SCHMIDT, Cornell University. THE Department of History of Religion was presided over by the Rev. William Eliot Griffis, D.D., L.H.D., of Ithaca, New York, formerly of the Imperial University of Japan, and author of Religions of Japan. In presenting the speakers Dr. Griffis said, in part: " It is for us to trace out what are man's primitive beliefs in presence of the universe. What are, and what have been, his conceptions of duty and propriety? What are the lines of action on which he has formulated his ritual or expressed his dogma? How has he shown his capacity to reason from the known to the unknown, and thus to enlarge, expand, and deepen his theory and practice of religion? " It is because the human and subjective element is so universally and potently present, that, in the study of religion, especially, we are to be always on our guard, lest the accuracy of our laboriously gathered data and our conclusions, however patiently wrought, be vitiated. "Strictly speaking, there is, there can be, no 'conflict' between religion and science, no more, indeed, than between chemistry and science. Nor can there be, any more than between science and organic chemistry, such a thing as a 'warfare' between science and dogmatic theology. We are to beware of the unscientific prejudgment with which investigation is often carried on. There have been, there always will be, disagreements and even quarrels and conflicts between men who profess to be exponents of 'science' in any form. Where that 'science,' whether rightly or not so called, represents human authority of any kind, or is expressed in terms that are unscientific, or its formulae, whether issuing from conclave or throne, laboratory or book, are made engines of government, there must almost of neces- sity be conflict and even strife. " To take note of the progress that has been made within the past hundred years toward assembling, classifying, and comparing the materials, and in the discernment of what ideas and conceptions are common to the varied mass furnished by humanity, is as appropriate to the purpose and plan of this Congress as are the other tasks set before this gathering of scholars of many nations. Work in this Department may be as valuable toward helping us to reach the goal of the unification of knowledge, and be as effective for the progress of mankind, possibly even more so, than that in other lines of human achievement." THE HISTORY OF RELIGIONS IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY BY GEORGE FOOT MOORE [George Foot Moore, Frothingham Professor, History of Religion, Harvard Uni- versity, since 1902. b. West Chester, Pennsylvania, October 15, 1851. Grad. Yale, 1872; Union Theological Seminary, New York, 1877; A.M. Yale, 1883; D.D. ibid. 1897; D.D. Marietta, 1885; LL.D. Western Reserve University, 1903. Pastor of Putnam Presbyterian Church, Zanesville, Ohio, 1878-83; Professor of Hebrew, Andover Theological Seminary, 1883-1902. Member of American Oriental Society, Society of Biblical Literature, Deutsche Morgen- landische Gesellschaft. Author of Commentary on Judges; The Book of Judges in Hebrew, Critical Edition with Notes; and many articles in biblical journals, and in Encyclopedia Biblica.] THE encyclopedic scheme of this Congress assigns to the History of Religions its proper place as one of the great departments of historical science. My task is to trace the progress of this branch of learning in the nineteenth century. The Philosophy of Religion belongs to another division of the Congress; the Problems and Methods of the History of Religions are to be discussed at this session by Professor Schmidt; while the history of research in the chief religions of the world individually, and the present state of investigation in each, will engage the several sections of this Depart- ment. The nature and scope of the present paper are thus defined; it is to sketch in outline the development within the last century of the general history of religions, avoiding as far as possible trenching upon the fields of other speakers.1 The history of religions was not, either in name or in fact, a new study in the nineteenth century. The revival of learning brought to the knowledge of scholars the religions of the Greeks and Romans, and what Greek and Latin writers had to tell of the religions of other ancient peoples — Egypt, the Semitic East, Persia, and India. The study of the Bible, to which the Reformation gave a new impulse, opened the sources of the history of Judaism and Christianity. Travelers and discoverers from the beginning of the fourteenth cen- tury brought back accounts, often marvelous enough, of the relig- ions of remoter Asia, and, from the new continent beyond the sea, of the civilized peoples of Mexico and Peru as well as of the savage tribes. Soon missionaries, both in the Old World and in the New, from more intimate acquaintance, began to give more authentic 1 See Hardy, E., Zur Geschichte der vergleichenden Religions forschung, in Archiv fur Religionswissenschaft, iv, 45-66, 97-135, 193-228; Jastrow, M., Jr., The Study of Religion, 1901, c. 1. To the classified bibliography appended to the latter work (pp. 401-415) the reader is referred for a fuller survey of the literature than can be given in this paper. RELIGIONS IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 433 information about the beliefs and customs of many races. A keen interest was thus aroused in the religions of the world, and in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries many comprehensive works upon the subject were written, some of them on a large scale. Most of these are descriptive rather than properly historical, but the name " History of Religions," implying at least an apprehension of the true nature of the task, became common toward the end of the eighteenth century.1 The question of the origin of the heathen religions was also dis- cussed in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the prevailing opinion being that the worship of the heavenly bodies was the earliest form of " idolatry" —a theory which had been inherited from the last ages of classical paganism itself. Voltaire touched with a keen observation the improbability of this theory; both he and Fontenelle made some sensible and strikingly modern remarks on the subject, which passed unheeded. Dupuis's Origines de Tons les Cultes, which we may take as marking the close of this period, is a learned and thoroughgoing attempt to trace all religions and mythologies, in- cluding Judaism and Christianity, to one source, Egyptian sun- worship.2 The astral theory of religion was not, however, in undisputed possession of the field at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Its ancient rival, Euhemerism, still had its adherents,3 and a new and formidable competitor had appeared. De Brosses, in his Culte des Dieux Fetiches,* turned from interpretations of poetical mythology to the investigation of the religions of living races in a state of savagery, and showed how irrational phenomena in higher religions, such as the worship of living animals in ancient Egypt, might be explained by the beliefs and customs of modern African tribes. Upon the lowest plane "of culture men worship, not the heavenly bodies, but chance stocks and stones, rocks of strange shape or color, trees, animals, all of which De Brosses comprised under the term "fetish," originally applied by the Portuguese to the rude artificial 1 Among the earliest comprehensive attempts was Alexander Ross, Tlaixrepf ia, or View of all the Religions of the World . . . from the Creation to these Times, London, 1652. This work had an extraordinary success; a second edition appeared in 1655, a third in 1658; and within ten years it had been translated into Dutch, German, and French. Of the works of the eighteenth century it may suffice to name here the large and splendidly illustrated Ceremonies et Coutumes Religieuses de tons les Peuples du Monde, Amsterdam, 1723-37, 7 vols. fol., afterwards enlarged to 10; sumptuously reprinted, Paris, 1807-10, in 11 vols. The engravings are by Bernard Picart, the (anonymous) text by J. F. Bernard and others. 2 Dupuis, C. F., Origines de Tons ks Cultes, ou Religion Universelle, Paris, 1794, 3 vols. 4°, with a supplementary volume of plates; also in 10 vols. 8°. 3 The most important work of this school in the eighteenth century was that of Banier, A.., La Mythologie et les Fables expliquees par I'Histoire, Paris, 1738-40, 3 vols. 4°; 2d ed. Paris, 1748, 8 vols. 8°; English translation, The Mythology and. Fables of the Ancients explained from History, London, 1739-40, 4 vols. 8°. 4 De Brosses, C. F., Du Culte des Dieux Fetiches, ou ParaUele de lAncienne Religion de I'Egypte avec la Religion Actuelle de Nigritie, 1760, 12°. 434 HISTORY OF RELIGION objects possessing magical properties, half amulet, half idol, which play a large part in the religion of the West African negroes. Still farther extended to the worship of material objects in general, sometimes including even the heavenly bodies, "fetishism" became a formula in which many writers of the last century thought that the origin of religion had been found. The position of the history of religions in Germany at the be- ginning of the nineteenth century is best represented by Creuzer's Symbolik and Myihologie der Alien Volker.1 The successive editions of this work, the French translation and adaptation by Guigniaut,2 and the writings of Creuzer's disciples — among whom F. C. Baur is numbered 3 — may be said to record the history of the subject through the first half of the century. The discredit into which Creuzer's theory of "symbolism" has fallen, in consequence partly of the contemporary criticism of Lobeck 4 and others, partly of the general progress of the study, should not lead us to ignore the fact that his volumes furnished a useful and comprehensive collection of what was then known about the principal religions of the world; while of the theory itself it has been justly said that it had at least the merit of recognizing that mythology is a product of religion, not merely a play of poetic fancy. Reviewing from our own point of view these earlier essays, we can see that the treatment of the history of religions suffered, like all other branches of historical research, from the striking lack of the historic sense which characterized the age of " Aufklarung," and from the alternative attitude of credulity or skepticism toward the sources which could be overcome only by the establishment of the principles of historical criticism; while peculiar hindrances existed in religious prepossessions. So long as Christian writers regarded all the religions of the world except Judaism a'nd Christianity as sinful aberrations from a primitive revelation, and freethinkers conceived of all existing religions, including Christianity, as corruptions, under the hand of self-seeking priests, of a pure "natural religion," no true understanding of the phenomena was possible. The way to progress was opened by a sounder conception of the nature of history 1 Creuzer, Fr., Symbolik und Mythologie der Alien Volker, 1810-12; 2d ed. 1819-23, 6 vols. with Atlas; 3d ed. 1837-42, 4 vols 2 Guigniaut, J. D., Les Religions de VAntiquite, Paris, 1825-41, 10 vols, 8°. 8 Baur, F. 0., Symbolik und Mythologie oder die Naturreligion des AUerthums, 1824-25, 3 vols. Of the numerous other works of the first half of the nineteenth century mav be named, Meiners, C., Allgemeine kritische Geschicfite der Religionen, 1806-07, 2 vols.; Constant, B., De la Religion considcree dans sa Source, ses Formes, et ses Dfveloppcments, 1824—34, 5 vols ; Schwenck, Konrad, Mythologie der Griechen, Rdmer, Aegypter, Semiten. Perser, Germanen und Sloven, 2d ed. 1855, 7 vols. (1st ed. under a somewhat different title, 1843—53); Eckermann, K., Lehrbuch der Religionsgeschichte und Mythologie, 1845-1848, 4 vols. 4 Lobeck, Chr. A., Agiaophamus, sive de theoJogiae mysticae Graecorum causis, 1829. RELIGIONS IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 435 in general, and of the history of religion in particular, which we associate with the names of Lessing and Herder. That the history of religion is the record of a development whose law is, first that which is natural, then that which is spiritual, is an idea so familiar to us that it is hard to realize that little more than a century ago it was novel and revolutionary. The acceptance of a true conception of history and the achieve- ment of a sound historical method would, however, of themselves have availed little, apart from the vastly enlarged knowledge of religions, both ancient and living, which has been gained in the last hundred years.1 At the beginning of the century the religions of Greece and Rome, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam were the only religions which were known through native sources or their own sacred books, unless we make a partial exception of Chinese texts translated by Jesuit missionaries. For Egypt and Babylonia, India and Persia, the chief or only sources of information were the frag- mentary and often conflicting reports in Greek and Latin authors. Since then the religious literature of India, surpassing all others in extent and variety, and covering a period of three thousand years, has been brought to light. The Avesta, whose chief books were brought to Europe in the eighteenth century, has been made intelligible by the labors of three generations of scholars, and many later Zoroastrian writings recovered. The Chinese classics and the sacred books of Taoism have been repeatedly interpreted in the light both of native comment and of Western philology. The decipherment of the Egyptian hieroglyphic writing in the early nineteenth century was followed by continuous excavation and discovery, the latest stages of which have extended the historical horizon over distant centuries, and promise to make the civilization and religion of the Old Empire almost as well known as that of the New. In Assyria and Babylonia civilizations not less ancient than that of Egypt have been brought to light; and there also religious monuments and texts of the most diverse kinds, representing perhaps four millenniums, are accumulated with a rapidity that outruns the utmost activity of decipherers and students. In the classical field the discovery and methodical use of remains and monumental sources has done much to enlarge and correct the notions formed from the literature alone. By this means only it has proved possible to reconstruct, at least in broken outlines, the genuine Roman religion, as distinct from the late syncretism which is repre- sented by all the literary sources. Recent excavations, again, have revealed the antiquity of a high Hellenic or Proto-Hellenic civiliza- tion in the eastern Mediterranean basin, and of an active intercourse 1 On the history of these discoveries, see Hardy, Archiv fiir Religionswissen- schaft, iv, 97 ff. " 436 HISTORY OF RELIGION with Egypt and the East; while the "Mycenaean" tombs and the palaces and caves of Crete disclose something'at least of the religion of that remote age. The discovery or evaluation of a multitude of documents of inferior religious authority, but often of the highest historical importance, and above all the critical study of the canonical sources themselves and the comparison of other religions, have led to conceptions of the history of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, differing often radically from those which prevailed only a generation ago. Thus on all sides the authentic knowledge of the chief historical religions of the world has been immeasurably enlarged by the dis- coveries and investigations of the nineteenth century. Sacred books and other literary sources are, however, not the only witnesses to ancient religions.1 The collection of German " Mahrchen " made by the brothers Grimm, proved to contain Teutonic myths, depotentiated and disguised; and comparison with Norse, Greek, and later with Vedic mythology, suggested that in Germanic folk- lore were remains of a common Indo-Germanic tradition.2 The investigation, by Mannhardt and others, of popular customs, espe- cially peasant customs, and beliefs connected with agriculture and vegetation, showed that here also, in what the prevalence of Christian- ity had reduced to the rank of superstitions, were survivals of the religions which Christianity supplanted. 3 The study of folk-lore and the "lower mythology," and of popular custom and superstition, which has been so diligently prosecuted in the last half-century, opens to the student of the history of religions sources which often supplement or interpret in a most welcome manner his literary material. For the great mass of peoples and religions which have never created a sacred literature the student is wholly dependent on this stream of living tradition and practice. Anthropology, which Waltz raised to the rank of a science,4 gives to religion a place cor- responding to its pervasive significance in savage and semi-civilized societies, and thus becomes one of the most important auxiliaries of the history of religions. It has established the universality of religion, and shown, beneath all differences, a large measure of agree- ment in the religions of peoples of the most diverse races upon the same plane of culture and with similar social organization. The study of the agreements and the differences shows the common characteristics of the savage mind, the influences of history and 1 See on the following, Mannhardt, W., Wald und Feldkulte, 1875-77, 2 vols., vol. n, pp. i-xi. 2 Grimm, J. u. W., Kinder- und-Hausmarchen, 1812-15; 2d ed. 1819-22, 3 vols. See especially, Grimm, J., Deutsche Mythologie, 1835; 2d ed. 1844; 3d ed. 1854; 4 ed. besorgt von E. H. Meyer, 1875 sqq. 3 See Mannhardt, cited above, n. 9. 4 Waitz, Th., Anthropologie der Naturvolker, 1859 sqq. (continued by G. Ger- land); see also Bastian, A., Der Mensch in der Geschichte, 1860, 3 vols., and in numerous other works. environment, and peculiarities that seem to be racial. The subject presents to the student of social psychology some of his most interest- ing problems. Between the religions of the lowest peoples and those which have reached the highest level in intelligence and spirituality there is an unbroken connection; not only do survivals and superstitions persist in the most advanced religions, but the germs of their loftiest conceptions may sometimes be recognized in barbarous surroundings. The field, wide as it is, is one; the history of religions points onward to a history of religion. The immediate task of the scholars of the nineteenth century in their several fields was the mastering of these vast acquisitions of material — the establishment of trustworthy texts, the creation of philological apparatus, the interpretation and criticism of the literature; the restoration and decipherment of inscriptions; the verifying and sifting of the reports of travelers and discoverers; the comparison, classification, and interpretation of phenomena. Great things have been accomplished in all these directions by philologists, archaeologists, and ethnologists; upon the foundations thus laid future generations will securely build. If the division of labor sometimes narrowed the horizon, it at least conduced to thoroughness in a limited field. The relations of some languages and literatures to one another were, however, such as not only to invite but to demand comparative treatment. The older Avestan scriptures, for example, could be rightly understood only when the light of comparative philology was added to the native tradition; and the common background of the Indian and Iranian religions seemed to require the application of the same method. Names and myths appeared, again, to connect the gods of the Vedic hymns with those of Greece, and more remotely with other branches of the Indo-Germanic family. The philologists who attempted by com- parison of the common stock of words or roots to construct a picture of primitive Indo-Germanic culture could not exclude from their consideration the language of religion. It was, in fact, from Vedic studies that the initiative came, which in the second half of the nineteenth century gave a new impulse to the study of the history of religions; and Professor F. Max Miiller, if not the originator of the "Comparative Science of Religion,"- will always have the merit, not only of contributing largely to its progress, but of having created an interest in the subject, and secured a support for it without which some of its most notable achievements would not have been possible.1 It is easy now to see the fundamental 1 See Kuhn, A., Hermes-Sarameyas, Zeitschrift f. das Alterthum, vi, 1848, 117- 134; Die Herabkunft des Feuers und des Gottertranks, 1859; Schwartz, W., Ur sprung der Mythologie, 1860; Sonne, Mond und Sterne, 1864; Miiller, Fr. Max, Comparative Mythology (Oxford Essays), 1856; Chips from a German 438 HISTORY OF RELIGION defects of Miiller's method and the erroneousness of many of the conclusions which, with little modification, he maintained to the end of his life. The hymns of the Rig- Veda are almost as far as the Homeric epics from being the product of a simple society, or the "childlike speech" of primitive religion; the equation of Indian and Greek gods and myths is often effected by dubious etymologies or partial and inconclusive coincidences. The identification of the gods with natural objects, and the meteoric interpretation of the myths is assumed — following the classical mythologists of the time - rather than established; the insecurity of the results being manifest from the possibility of the rival "nubilar" or "crepuscular" theories. The most radical fault of the system, however, was the arbitrary limitation of the material. In particular, the isolation of hymns and myths from the ritual was a fruitful cause of misunderstanding; and the assumption that the darker side of Indian religion, as repre- sented in the Atharva-Veda or parts of the Brahmanas, is wholly a late declension from the pure Vedic faith, led to its virtual exclusion from consideration; the same assumption was made concerning the darker features of Greek religion in contrast to the aspect presented in the Homeric poems. At this point, therefore, Miiller's method and results were assailed by the critics of the anthropological school, among whom Andrew Lang wielded the most trenchant pen.1 What demands explanation in the myths is the irrational and immoral element. This is not to be explained away by allegorical interpretation, in ancient or modern fashion ; it is not accounted for by the theory of " disease of language," which makes of it misunderstood poetry or metaphor. The savage features of ancient mythology are the natural product of a savage state of society, and survived in civilization under the conservative influence of religious tradition. The proof of this is the mythology of modern savages, in which corresponding phenomena are observed among the most widely separated and diverse races. Moreover, mythology is not the only or even the most important witness to religious beliefs. Custom, ceremony, ritual — the things which the gods expect of men and which the worshipers do in the service of the gods, not tales about the gods, of whatever origin — constitute the real substance of religion, and embody its fundamental ideas. Many myths are not poetical reflections of natural phenomena, Workshop, 1867, 2 vols. ; Lectures on the Science of Religion, 1872; The Origin and Growth of Religion, illustrated by the Religion of India (Hibbert Lectures), 1878; Natural Religion, 1889, Physical Religion, 1891, Anthropological Religion, 1892, Tkeosophy, or Psychological Religion, 1893 (Gifford Lectures); Contributions to the Science of Mythology, 1897, 2 vols. 1 Lang, Andrew, Custom and Myth, 1884; Myth, Ritual, and Religion, 1887, 2 vols.; 1899, 2 vols.; Modern Mythology, 1897; The Making of Religion, 1898, 2d od. 1900; Magic and Religion, 1901. The last two volumes against some posi- tions of the anthropological school. RELIGIONS IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 439 but efforts to account for the existence of strange rites and customs or to explain their meaning. It is the task of the modern student, not merely to collect from the writings of travelers, missionaries, and political agents the facts concerning the religious practices and beliefs of rude peoples, and to record and classify them, but to account for their origin and per- sistence, and for the transformations they undergo in the develop- ment of civilization. This was the problem to which Tylor addressed himself, particularly in his Primitive Culture.1 Man's earliest known explanation of the phenomena and forces of nature is "animation"; not only what we call living things, but what are for us inanimate objects, are by primitive man endowed with a life like his own, a soul with passions and will. There are also spirits that are not con- fined in particular objects, but roam freely, manifesting themselves sometimes in one way or place, sometimes in another. These spirits are in part the souls of dead men, neglected or hostile, which it is necessary to placate or to avert. This primitive "animism" is the earliest science and philosophy; though not itself religion, it shapes the religious conceptions of savages everywhere, and maintains it- self with extraordinary tenacity in advancing culture. Fetishism, stock- and stone-worship, idolatry, as well as ancestor- worship, Shamanism, and magic, have their roots in it. With a one-sidedness which Tylor carefully avoids, Herbert Spencer, Lippert, and others derive all religion from offerings to friendly ghosts or rites designed to thwart the malice of unfriendly ones;2 Spencer's theory being in effect, as he himself recognizes, a revival, in an apparently scientific form, of ancient Euhemerism. Anthropological studies have not only thrown light upon the operation of the savage mind and on the influence of its theory of man and nature upon religious conceptions, but have shown how the development of religious ideas has been affected by the social organ- ization. The phenomena to which the name " totemism " has been given, for example, are generally associated with a peculiar clan constitution, in which descent is regularly reckoned in the female line. Traces of this form of social organization have been discovered among peoples which have long since got beyond it; and it has been inferred, on insufficient grounds, that all races have passed through it. But while this generalization ma}'- not stand, the studies of McLennan, W. Robertson Smith, Frazer, and Jevons 3 have unques- 1 Tylor, E. B., Researches into the Early History of Mankind and the Develop- ment of Civilization, 1865; Primitive Culture, 1871, 2 vols. 3d ed. 1891; Lubbock, J., The Origin of Civilization and the Primitive Condition of Man, 1870. 6th ed. 1902; Prehistoric Times, 1865, 6th ed. 1900. 2 Spencer, Herbert, Principles of Sociology, ch. 8-16; Lippert, Julius, Kultur- geschichte der Menschheit, 1866-67, 2 vols. 3 McLennan, J. F., Fortnightly Review, Oct. and Nov. 1869, Feb. 1870; Frazer, J. G.. Totemism, 1887; The Golden Bough, 2 vols. 2d ed. 1900; Smith, W. R., 440 HISTORY OF RELIGION tionably shed light on many hitherto obscure problems in the history of religion. The recognition of the intimate connection between the social and political organization and religion has, however, a much larger significance, which remains to be fully evaluated. Closely related to this are the economic factors, which have influenced the development of religion both indirectly, through the social organiza- tion — the conditions, for example, which make the horde rather than the tribe the unit — and directly, by determining occupation, con- straining to migrations, and the like. This side of the subject has only recently begun to receive the consideration it deserves, espe- cially at the hands of French scholars, Tarde, Durkheim, and others. The general trend of modern investigation has thus been to bring out the complexity of the problem, the multiplicity of the factors whose interaction has determined the development of religions. In the discussions of the last century the question of the origin of religion has had a prominent place. In one sense, Why is man so universally and obstinately religious? the question belongs to the philosophy of religion; the history of religions can give no answer, though it can put the theories of philosophers to the critical test by comparison with the facts. But in the other sense in which the question is often taken, What was the primitive form of religion? the historian must again confess his inability to answer. There was a time, not so long ago, when the Homeric poems or the hymns of the Rig- Veda were imagined to be witnesses to primitive Indo-European religion. The anthropologist makes a similar mistake when he imagines that the religions of the lowest modern savages may be regarded as survivals of primitive religion. The Australian black or the Andaman islander is separated by as many generations from the beginning of religion as his most advanced contemporaries; and in these tens or hundreds of thousands of years there has been constant change, growth and decay — and decay is not a simple return to the primal state. We can learn a great deal from the lowest existing religions; but they cannot tell us what the beginning of religion was, any more than the history of language can tell us what was the first form of human speech. In like manner, attempts to define the stages of religious development, as, for example, in Comte's scheme, Fetish- ism, Polytheism, Monotheism, with a prophecy of Positivism, have very little value even as a scheme of classification. Reviewing the progress of the last half-century, we see that the field of investigation has been widened so that it now includes all known religions, ancient and modern, from the lowest to the highest, and that all the sources and the special sciences which throw light Kinship and Marriage in Early Arabia, 1885, 2d ed. 1903; The Religion of the Semites, 1889, 2d ed. 1894; Jevons, F. B., Introduction to the History of Religion, 1896. RELIGIONS IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 441 upon man and society are made tributary to the history of religion. Psychology, individual and social, anthropology and ethnology, archaeology, social, political, and economic history, as well as litera- ture, are consulted, for it is recognized that nothing which affects man's life, inner or outer, is devoid of influence on his religion. It has also become clearer, in the course of investigation and discussion, that the study of religions is a purely historical discipline, to be pursued by strict historical methods. By confining itself to its proper task it will lay the securer foundations for a philosophy of religion. For this reason objection may properly be made to the name " Science of Religion," introduced by Max Miiller, and adopted by many, for example, by Tiele in his Gifford Lectures. The term "science," by its correspondence to "Science of Language," suggests, to the English reader at least (and was, I think, intended to suggest), a method and a goal different from those which we regard as properly historical; a search for principles and laws such as belong to the natural sciences and to certain philosophical conceptions of history, Hegelian or Positivist. The influence of this idea may be seen in the attempted classifications of religions, whether Miiller's own (artificial) linguistic classification, or Tiele's "morphological," and in intent genetic, system. Asserting the scientific character of all rightly conducted historical investigation, we have no reason to emphasize it specially in the case of the history of religions, and do better to disuse a term which is either a truism or an error. It remains to speak briefly of the place which the history of religions has made for itself in the world of learning.1 The conscious- ness that a new and important field of knowledge had been opened by the discoveries of religious literatures and monuments in the nineteenth century manifested itself in various ways. In Holland a series of volumes, in the sixties, on the leading religions of the world, including Judaism and Christianity, from a purely historical point of view, was followed, in the reorganization of the theological faculties of the state universities in 1877, by the establishment of chairs of the history and philosophy of religion, of which that at Leiden was filled by Tiele; 2 while a corresponding chair in the city University of Amsterdam was occupied by Chantepie de la Saussaye.3 In France a professorship of the history of religions in the College de France was founded in 1879, and has been filled since that time by 1 See on the following, A. Re"ville, "La Situation Actuelle de 1'Enseignement de 1'Histoire des Religions," Revue de I'Histoire des Religions, XLIII, 1901, 58 ff. 2 Tiele, C. P., Geschiednis van den Godsdienst in de Oudhcid tot op Alexander den Groote, 1893, 1902, 2 vols. ; German translation by G. Gehrich, Geschichte der Religion im Alterthum, 1895 sqq. ; Elements of the Science of Religion, 1897, 1899, 2 vols. (Gifford Lectures). 3 Chantepie de la Saussaye, P. D., Lehrbuch der Religionsgeschichte, 1887-89, 2 vols. 2d ed. (with the cooperation of a number of scholars), 1897, 2 vols. 442 HISTORY OF RELIGION Albert ReVille; * and in 1886 a section of the religious sciences was formed in the Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sorbonne. The pro- gress of these studies in France was also much furthered by the establishment of the Muse'e Guimet (1879; since 1888 in Paris), with its collections and library and its liberal subvention of publications, including the first periodical devoted to the subject, the Revue de I'Histoire des Religions (since 1880). In England a long series of Hibbert Lectures, and more recently several of the Gifford Lectures, have contributed to the spread of knowledge and the quickening of interest; while the Sacred Books of the East have made accessible, in translations by eminent scholars, a large part of the religious literature of the world. In Germany the subject has been slow in finding recognition in university programmes of study, though Roth lectured on it at Tubingen from the fifties to his death, and though German scholars have made many of the most valuable contributions to the study. The Archiv fur Religionswissenschaft (since 1898; new series 1904) gives a much-needed organ for the publication of investigation and discussion.2 In America lectures on the history of religions were given in Harvard University in 1854-55, and regularly since 1867; and in more recent years at many other places, among which may be named Boston University, Cornell, Chicago, Yale, and in some of the independent theological schools, as at Andover. Finally, mention must be made of the Parliament of Religions at the Columbian Exposition in Chicago in 1893, whose published proceedings fill two volumes; of the International Con- gress for the History of Religions in Paris in 1900, and of that which has held its sessions within a few weeks in Basel (August-September, 1904). On every hand we see a recognition of the importance of the sub- ject and a growing interest in the study. The nineteenth century accomplished much; it is for the scholars of the twentieth century, in all lands, heirs of the labors of their predecessors, encouraged by their success, admonished by their mistakes, to accomplish yet greater things. 1 ReVille, Albert, Prolegomines de I'Histoire des Religions, 1881 (English translation by A. S. Squire, 1884); Les Religions des Peuples Non-Civilises, 1883, 2 vols.; Les Religions du Mexique, de VAmerique Centrale et du Pcrou, 1885; La Religion Chinoise, 1889. • Other periodicals which should be mentioned are Revue des Religions, 1889 s<7<7., and Revue d'Histoire et de Litlerature Religieuses, 1896 sqq. FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS AND METHODS OF THE HISTORY OF RELIGION BY NATHANIEL SCHMIDT [Nathaniel Schmidt, A.M., Professor of Semitic Languages and Literature since 1896 in Cornell University, b. Hudiksvall, Sweden, May 22, 1862; Hudiksvall Gymnasium, 1882; University of Stockholm, 1884; Hamilton Theological Seminary, 1887; A.M. Colgate University, 1887; University of Berlin, 1890; Professor of Semitic Languages and Literatures in Colgate University, 1888-96; Professor of Semitic Languages and Literatures in Cornell University since 1896; Director of the American School of Archaeology in Jerusalem, 1904-05. Member of the Deutsche Morgenlandische Gesellschaft, Deutsche Vorderasia- tische Gesellschaft, American Oriental Society, American Geographical Society, the Society for Biblical Literature and Exegesis, and other societies. Author of The Republic of Man, 1897; Ecclesiasticus, 1903; The Prophet of Nazareth, 1905, and numerous treatises, pamphlets, and articles in scientific journals and ency- clopedias.] THEOLOGY is the science of religion. As such it includes every methodical effort to obtain certain and systematized knowledge of man's religious life. Like any other science, it gathers and sifts, compares and classifies, traces the origin and development of, and seeks to explain, the facts that fall within its domain. In accordance with these varied scientific activities, it is possible to distinguish between descriptive, comparative, historical, and philosophical theology. Descriptive theology collects, verifies, and presents the facts of religion. Its work is of fundamental importance for all other branches of the science. Absolute comprehensiveness is not attainable. Even a carefully trained critical judgment is liable to err. Perfect objectiv- ity is endangered by the imaginative power and artistic temper necessary for a presentation of the vast material in orderly arrange- ment, and with vividness of detail and color of life. Yet only in so far as the collection embraces all that is important and charac- teristic, the critical examination is thorough, and the description approximates accuracy, are the results available as a true foundation for comparison, classification, historical treatment, and philosophical appreciation. Comparative theology considers the similarities and dissimilarities of religious phenomena and classifies them on the basis of such comparison. It contemplates the material gathered, sifted, and set forth by descriptive theology without any other aim than to estab- lish the exact degree of similarity between religious sentiments, ideas, and practices, prevalent among men in different ages and in different parts of the earth. The infelicitous term "Comparative Religion," once widely used, has rightly been abandoned by careful writers. Theology may be comparative when it limits itself to a comparison 444 HISTORY OF RELIGION of the phenomena of religion; religion itself cannot be comparative. The vagueness attaching to the term was not seldom an outward sign of the inner confusion in which elements of description, criticism, comparison, history, and philosophy were jumbled together. A student occupied with a description of the Polynesian system of tabus, a criticism of the accounts given by travelers and mission- aries, a search for earlier historic forms of tabu in some of the islands, or the ultimate cause of the tabu-conception, is not engaged in comparative theology. He is cultivating this branch of the science of religion when he compares the highly developed Polynesian system with similar tabus in other times and places, and demon- strates that certain ideas and customs, for example of modern India or ancient Persia or Judsea, belong to the same order. Historical theology, or the history of religion, seeks to discover the origin and to trace the growth of man's religious life. It seeks to establish the sequence in time of religious feelings, thoughts, and practices, and to discern the laws, if such there be, that govern this sequence. It considers the material brought together, examined and classified by the preliminary disciplines from the viewpoint of historical development. It watches the operation of the religious consciousness in its relation to other functions of man's social life, and observes the psychological conditions determining its course. It is not content with gleaning facts, weighing evidence, describing conditions, and comparing and classifying phenomena, but seeks to incorporate the facts as links in a chain of development, to determine the inner connection as well as the chronologial sequence of the facts, to find the place and relative significance of the condi- tions described, and to discover the relationship indicated by the similarity. But the history of religion does not attempt to estimate the absolute value of any religious sentiment, idea, custom, or institution. Philosophical theology, or the philosophy of religion, aims to dis- cover the ultimate reality behind the phenomena of man's religious life. This reality it may seek in the constitution of the human mind or in the constitution of the universe. In so far as it endeavors to find in man himself the cause of his religious consciousness, it may be designated as religious psychology. This discipline not only traces the religious phenomena back to the general peculiarities of man's sentient, intellectual, and moral life in the various stages of his development, but also undertakes to test their validity and to estimate their intrinsic and abiding value. The observation of morbid religious conditions in adults, the religious attitude of men- tally immature subjects such as children and persons of retarded intellectual growth, or the ideas and practices of uncivilized peoples especially furnishes the religious psychologist with the means of FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS AND METHODS 445 distinguishing between the normal and the abnormal, and teaches him to measure the value of religion by its relatively sound and properly developed products, rather than by unhealthy, immature, and arrested religious growths. In so far as philosophical theology seeks for the cause of religion outside of man in the constitution of the universe, it becomes a part of ontology or identical with this branch of philosophy. This is obviously the case, whether the his- toric formulae of theology are preserved or the philosophical termino- logy is adopted. It is with the history of religion that we are at the present time immediately concerned. At the threshold we are met by two ques- tions requiring attention. Is history a science? and What is religion? If history is not a science, the history of religion is not. Science, no doubt, may be so defined as to exclude the work of the historian. If it is maintained that only absolutely certain and perfectly sys- tematized knowledge is worthy of the name, it can at most apply to the so-called formal sciences, which in reality deal exclusively with objects of thought created by the human mind itself. It would be inexpedient, however, to limit the term science to mathematics and logic. Astronomy, physics, and chemistry, though dealing with objective facts, which can never be adequately known, are universally granted to be sciences, not merely because they depend upon mathe- matics and to a certain extent share its solidity, but also because they attain a high degree of certainty permitting even prediction of facts still in the future. Yet there is a considerable margin of un- certainty in these sciences. The more complex the object of study is, the wider is this margin. There is less possibility of prediction in geology than in astronomy, less in biology than in botany, without prejudice to the scientific character of the study dealing with the more complex organizations. Zoology will undoubtedly retain its place among the sciences, even though it may never learn to predict with accuracy the behavior of an animal under given circumstances in the future. Mentality and volition in the objects studied increase the difficulties of the scientific work and confine the element of prediction within narrower limits, but do not render the study unscientific. As these qualities have reached their highest development known to us in man, and the evolution of man's life is determined by the unfolding of his intelligence and will, it is natural that in this field the facts are less completely mastered, the laws of development less clearly perceived, and the future less accurately foretold than in the case of other objects of knowledge. There seems indeed to be little probability that the innumerable facts and factors of human history will ever be known, or that the varied tendencies of human life, affected as they are by the changing external environment, 446 HISTORY OF RELIGION will ever be so perfectly traced as to allow the same amount of unerring prognostication as in astronomy. Hence the doubt whether history is a science. But it must be recognized that, with the increase of historical knowledge, the impression of a development according to fixed laws has been steadily growing until at the present time few careful observers would deny that the life' of man, in spite of his finer and richer organization, hag been as really subject to law as any other part of nature. Nor are serious students of history in- clined to question the operation of these laws in the future any more than their dominancy in the past, or to doubt that a knowledge of the tendencies manifest in the historic development of the human race will, in increasing measure, render it possible to predict, within certain limits, whither the currents of thought and life will flow in the future. The name of science is justified by the methodical effort to gain certain and systematized knowledge and by the similarity of the results to those obtained in all but the formal sciences. Historical theology may therefore without hesitancy be regarded as that branch of the science of history which deals with the develop- ment of man's religious life. Its scientific character is in no way affected by any conclusions that may be reached as to the sanity of religious emotions, the propriety of religious practices, the validity of religious conceptions, and the objective reality of the power or powers worshiped. Were religion nothing but a mass of emotions, beliefs, and performances due to an immature or diseased mental activity on the part of man, the rational attempt to trace its origin and growth and to find the laws of its development would still be a scientific work. In order to accomplish this work, it is of first importance to deter- mine what phenomena of man's life should be assigned to the realm of religion. The great number of definitions of religion that have been proposed shows how difficult a task this is. The confusion in the minds of some eminent scientists revealed by their statements as to savage peoples possessing no religion indicates its necessity. It is evident that in a definition there should be included every important phase of man's religious life, emotional, intellectual, and practical, and every important historic manifestation of religion, whether in early ages known to us only through archaeological remains or in later periods known through documentary evidence as well, among uncivilized or civilized peoples. It is not permissible to regard religion solely, or chiefly, as a feeling, or a belief, a more or less per- fect interpretation of the universe, or a cult, or a rule of conduct, inasmuch as all these elements are present in some form in all known stages of religious development. The historian of religion has no right to draw an artificial line of demarcation between the so-called prehistoric age and the historic age, and to leave out of consideration FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS AND METHODS 447 any phenomena of a religious nature known to have belonged to the former. A tomb of the early neolithic period is as infallible a sign of the existence of religion as a church or a mosque or a synagogue is of a particular type of religion in recent times. Nor is he warranted in so defining religion as to put outside its limits any form which in some of its manifestations has ceased to share characteristics com- mon to all others, or to most of them. It is obvious that religion cannot be defined in such a manner as to make Gautama of Kapi- lavashtu or Jesus of Nazareth devoid of religion, or to render the ecclesiastical organizations that imperfectly reflect their spirit and, in compromise with hostile tendencies, too often have abandoned their fundamental principles, more truly religious than they were themselves. Buddhism especially furnishes a heavy obstacle in the way of definition and a sore temptation to simplify the work by excision. But what has been called the "religion of pity" cannot be left out as a non-religious phenomenon unless it is possible to classify it more satisfactorily as a system of philosophy, of ethics, or of psychology. This does not seem feasible, as it clearly possesses, not only on the emotional and practical sides, but also intellectually, much that is common to the phenomena of man's life that are gen- erally reckoned as religious. Among the definitions of religion that have been offered, some deserve special consideration. The Latin word religio was derived by Cicero * from re-legere, gather anew, re-collect, take up a thing to give it fresh attention; by Lactantius 2 more correctly from re- ligare, bind, attach. The idea of a bond is good; but a satisfactory definition must indicate the character of this bond. Theologians who identified with religion their own form of religion and looked upon all other forms as false religions, having a different origin, being counterfeits of the -true one, or having arisen through perversion of a primitive revelation, could define religion only by describing their own particular faith and practice. When, under the influence of the development of the natural sciences, thinkers, especially in England, began to demand that religion should be demonstrated as being in harmony with reason, the defenders of dogma vied with its assailants in maintaining the reasonableness of Christianity. The only difference was that the Deists found it necessary to reject the miraculous super- structure and prove Christianity to be the true exponent of the natural theology of man. This position was still occupied, in the main, by the great German philosophers at the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century, though their historical horizon was wider and their philosophical insight deeper. Religion was essentially considered from the standpoint of intellectual per- ception, and even Hegel drew the line between Christianity as the 1 De natura deorum, u, 28, 72. 2 Divinarum institutionum libri, iv, 28. 448 HISTORY OF RELIGION "absolute religion" and all the others. An important contribution, however, was made by Schleiermacher, who recognized that religion is essentially a feeling of dependence. But intellectual prepossessions prevented a fruitful use immediately of this recognition. Only as a wider acquaintance with religious phenomena was gained, a keener historic sense was developed, and a more objective attitude became possible, was the time ripe for more adequate definitions of religion. Max Muller L defined religion as " a mental faculty which inde- pendent of, nay, in spite of sense and reason, enables man to appre- hend the infinite under different names and under varying disguises." The influence of certain phases of the thought of India with which he was so thoroughly familiar is quite marked in this definition. Herein lies much of its value; the generalization is based on a wider range of facts. But the intellectual aspect is again too exclusively pre- sented. The conflict between sense and reason on the one hand and the religious faculty on the other is too strongly emphasized to be uni- versally true. And the very conception of religion as an apprehension of the infinite is, in spite of its popularity, open to the most serious objections. There is no evidence whatever, and not the slightest probability, that man in the earlier stages of his development was able to conceive of infinity, either as boundlessness in space, or as endlessness in time, or as exhaustlessness of energy, or as the nega- tion of all limitations. Nor can it be plausibly affirmed that he had even a vague feeling of infinitude. All the analogies drawn from observation of the individual in infancy and early childhood, the mental processes of savages, and the oldest recorded utterances of civilized men suggest that primitive man had a sense of the bigness of the world in which he lived and the variety of things in it, but was quite incapable of either feeling or apprehending such an abstraction as infinity. When Max Muller 2 later modified his defini- tion by limiting the apprehension of the infinite to " such manifesta- tions as are able to influence the moral conduct of man," he failed to do justice to the unmistakable fact that religion and morals pursued somewhat independent courses through the earlier history of the human race. Albert Re"ville 3 gave the following definition: "Religion is the determination of human life by the consciousness of a bond uniting the spirit of man to that mysterious spirit whose government of the world and of himself he recognizes, and with whom he loves to feel himself united." When the objective reality with which the human spirit enters into relations is described as a "mysterious spirit," it may be questioned whether the predicate "mysterious" does not 1 Lectures on the Origin and Growth of Religion, as illustrated by the Religions of India, 1880, p. 23. 2 Physical Religion, 1891, p. 294. s Prolfgom nes de I'histoire des religions, 1886, p. 34. FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS AND METHODS 449 introduce into the definition an element which entered man's religious life only at a comparatively late period as the result of reflection, and whether the term "spirit" does not exclude such a religion as Buddhism. It may also be doubted whether love is necessarily a part of religion. Tiele 1 distinguished between the forms in which religion is manifested, consisting of words and deeds and the constituents of religion, which are emotions, conceptions, and sentiments produced by contact with some higher being in whose power man feels and perceives himself to be, and with whom he longs to come into touch. The distinction is helpful; but it is difficult to see how, for exam- ple, a religion like Buddhism could be covered by this definition. Jastrow 2 defines religion as " the natural belief in a power or powers beyond our control, and upon whom we feel ourselves dependent; which belief and feeling prompt to organization, to specific acts, and to the regulation of conduct, with a view to establishing favorable relations between ourselves and the power or powers in question." The present writer would define religion as the consciousness of some power manifest in nature, determining man's destiny, and the ordering of his life in harmony with its demands, "Consciousness" denotes both a feeling and a perception. The "power" may be con- ceived of as a personality or as a force or law, as unique or as one of a species. The manifestation in nature may be local or universal,, temporary or permanent. The determination may be regarded as absolute or relative, as operating within or without, as having a moral character or being devoid of it. "Destiny" may be viewed as related to external condition, resulting from the action of this power, or internal condition, or both. The ordering of life may pre- eminently affect the inner disposition of the individual, the trend of his feelings, thoughts, and volitions, or the outward expressions, by word and deed, of a specific or a general character, or the social consciousness and its organized forms of expression. The " harmony " may be regarded as implying external conformity, or action prompted by subjective perception of the demands, and these "demands" may be conceived of as moral or non-moral, as arbitrary expressions of an individual will, or as the requirements implied in the cosmic order for the attainment of certain ends. This definition appears to cover all the essential aspects of religion and all important phases of its historic manifestation. It leaves out the element of personal intercourse between man and some higher being, since this is not universally present in religion. And it applies to such a religion as Buddhism, which recognizes a law manifest in nature, revealed to him who is enlightened, imposing its authority 1 Elements of the Science of Religion, 1899, vol. n, p. 1 ff. 2 The Study of Religion, 1901, p. 171 ff. 450 HISTORY OF RELIGION upon him, operating within him, and redeeming him from desire, re-birth, and existence itself. It limits the term to certain phenomena of man's life, without denying the existence of the elements out of which religion has developed in the lower forms of animal life, or assuming to indicate the point in the process of evolution where a being may appropriately be designated man, or attempting to decide whether any individual of the species man is now or ever has been without religion. The history of religion as thus defined, though a comparatively young discipline, has already been able to occupy and maintain some exceedingly important positions. There are numerous pro- blems left for future generations to solve. But it may be doubted whether any of them will ever be of such fundamental importance or have such a revolutionary effect upon long-cherished beliefs as the conceptions now fairly established by historical theology. The first of these fundamental conceptions is that all religion has the same origin. The distinction once made between natural a»d revealed religion can no longer be maintained. The claim to be based upon a special revelation is a common characteristic of practically all forms of religion. Every god reveals his will to his worshipers. The thought and the will of the particular divinity may be proclaimed by living voices only, or be written down and preserved in sacred books for the guidance of coming generations; but the written oracles are not essentially different from the spoken, and the sacred writings of one historic religion have no characteristics indicating for them a different origin from that of the holy books of any other religion. However strongly convinced Jews, Christians, Brahmins, Buddhists, Mazdayasnians, Mandaeans, Muslims, and others may be that their own sacred books have a character so different from all writings for which similar claims have been made, and so superior to them, that a common origin cannot be assumed, historical theology has demonstrated that they all register the development of man's relig- ious consciousness in different times and places, and are the products of essentially the same mental processes. The history of every canon of scriptures shows how impossible it is to draw the circle within which the alleged special revelation is contained. The history of every form of religion shows how naturally the human mind operates with such conceptions as revelation and divine inspiration. It is readily seen that the claims of infallibility naturally made for all sacred writings are in every case without foundation. If, as is some- times maintained, the originals of these writings were without errors, while such are found in our present copies, the number and character of these errors may seriously affect the value of the only texts to which we have any access, while there is no means of verifying a theory concerning the original copies which a priori lacks all plaus- FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS AND METHODS 451 ibility. When recourse is had to a theory of divine accommodation, the facts are treated more respectfully, but they are left where they invite a more natural interpretation, and the divine "nature is subdued to what it works in, like the dyer's hand." If anything in religion is revealed, all is revealed. There is, indeed, no objection to the use of the term revelation if by it is meant the gradual unfolding of the truth to man's religious consciousness. But as long as it sug- gests an invidious and untenable distinction between different forms of religion, or a miraculous communication of truth to man, it is wise to avoid the term. It has been held that there is an essential difference between ethnic religions and religions founded by eminent personalities in respect of their origin and character. Such religions as Buddhism, Mazdaism, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam have exercised so vast an influence in the world, presented so marked a contrast with the religions whence they departed, and have been to such a degree char- acterized by veneration for their founders, that they have been felt to be of a different order, having their origin not so much in the common tendencies of man's religious nature as in the inspiration, originality, and power of these mighty personalities. But this dis- tinction is defective in two ways. It overestimates the originality of a few great religious leaders, and it fails to recognize the significance of the individual initiative in all forms of religion. The fact that great emphasis has been placed by devoted followers on a personal relation of reverence and obedience to such leaders as Gautama, Zarathushtra, Moses, Jesus, and Muhammad, amounting in the case of Gautama and Jesus to divine adoration and mystic fellowship, and that a mythical drapery has been placed about their majestic figures, seems to single them out as belonging to a special category of men, who, if they did not step directly from the sky bringing with them celestial light for those sitting in the darkness, at least drew from unfathomable depths within themselves things new and precious, fit to meet the spiritual needs of mankind for all time. But when the mythical and legendary element is removed and the historic facts are ascertained as nearly as possible, it is seen that these men builded upon founda- tions laid by others, and also that other builders followed them without whom their work would have been less permanent. It is then recognized that their reaction against prevailing tendencies and traditions was but a stronger impulse in the same direction in which myriads of other souls had moved, that they were only repre- sentatives of that progressive element, that centrifugal force, that tendency to vary from the type, which, in human history as else- where in nature, forms the counterpart and supplement of the con- servative element, the centripetal force, the tendency to preserve the type. 452 HISTORY OF RELIGION A second fundamental conception of historical theology is that all religion has a natural origin in the impression made by nature upon man and the sense of obligation. The idea that all religion has the same origin, but that this origin is the supernatural revelation made to the first man, can no longer be entertained. There was no first man. By scarcely perceptible changes the animal was gradually transformed into a man, and the children are not likely at any time to have been so unlike their parents that the former could without hesitancy and with justice be called men, while the latter were designated as beasts. The various myths concerning the first man have no historic value, and there is no evidence that man in the lowest stages of his development cherished religious sentiments of such purity, and held religious conceptions of such adequacy, that they can only be accounted for by a miracle. The earliest records of civilized men in the valleys of the Nile and the Euphrates do not bear out the frequently made assertion that they were monotheists, or showed signs of being nearer to a pristine monotheism than their successors, and long ages lie between them and the dawn of human intelligence on our planet. There are no indications of the supposed primitive revelation. Religion has a natural origin. The elements out of which it grew undoubtedly existed long before anything like the present type of man had been evolved. The immediate ancestors of man may be supposed, on account of their arboreal habits and the high develop- ment of their prehensile faculties by which it was possible for them to examine things closely, to have had extraordinarily vivid impres- sions of the objects around them and the play of nature's forces. The prolonged period of gestation and infancy had a tendency at once to develop the sense of dependence and the consciousness of the sexual life, while the gregarious instinct, evoked by inferior physical strength and superior mentality, aroused a keener sense of expediency and necessitated social adjustments. As the expedient course of action, commended by repeated trial, became the common law, a sense of obligation to follow it was engendered, and deviation from it was vaguely felt to be wrong. The religious consciousness seems to have arisen through a union of this sense of obligation, developed in social relations, with the feeling of dependence upon powers active in nature, such as beasts, reptiles, birds, and fishes, stones, mountains, plants, and trees, rain, hail, snow, and clouds, lightnings, sky, sun, moon, and stars. No distinction was, at the time of this union, made between animate and inanimate objects, body and spirit. Things were seen side by side on a horizontal plane, and not one above another in an ascending scale. They were man's kindred. Now one thing, now another impressed him with a feeling of being determined by it, of weakness and dependence, and led FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS AND METHODS 453 him to seek to enter into relations with it of the same nature as those which he sustained to his clpser kith and kin. No essential element of religion is likely to have been wholly lacking even in the earliest efflorescence of the religious conscious- ness. A real animism, a conscious personification of natural objects and forces, had not yet been developed by reflective introspection and reasoning from analogy; but the failure to distinguish between animate and inanimate, human kind and other kinds, produced similar religious phenomena, and was the necessary condition for the growth of animism. There was no ancestral worship, for the con- ception of an ancestry was wanting and there was no reflection on a possible survival after death; but the relation of the younger to the older members of early human society and the memory of the dead prepared the way for the establishment of ancestral worship when the epoch-making generalization should be made from such phe- nomena as sleep, trance, and apparent death. Totemism was not yet, seeing that the idea of descent was unknown and the causal connection between sexual intercourse and pregnancy and child- birth is not likely to have been perceived; but the copulation with animals, from which it originated and which flourished into late historic times, must in the earliest ages have been widely prevalent. Tabuism is based on the conception of a special communicable sanctity, attaching to certain objects by virtue of their relation to the spirits worshiped, and rendering it unlawful to touch them or to use them for ordinary profane purposes. This is certainly an idea too advanced for the stage here considered; but the first step in this direction is taken when certain things become the objects of special religious consideration. Similarly, fetishism, which seems essentially to consist in the individual appropriation of a part of a sacred object, standing as the representative of the whole, and bringing all its virtues to the owner, implies a somewhat advanced mode of reasoning, though the fragrance remaining in a leaf taken from a flower, or the power of motion preserved in the tail of a reptile severed from the body, may easily have given rise to it. Magic, the experimental science of the savage, operates with the peculiar word by whose subtle power it can call forth and conjure the spirits, and the peculiar act by which extraordinary benefits may be derived from them. Its development is no doubt dependent upon the early growth of human speech, and though possibly not coeval with the awakening of the religious consciousness in man, it touches that epoch with some of its constituent elements. The roots of all these ideas and practices go back to the very origin of religion. They are likely to have extended through the major part of the long palaeolithic age before the earliest tombs announce the new stage of religious development to which neolithic man has 454 HISTORY OF RELIGION advanced. A more definite date cannot at present be assigned by history to the origin of religion. . A third fundamental conception of historical theology is that all religion is subject to the same laws of development. It can find no excep- tions. Whether the manifestations of the religious consciousness are of a high or a low order, they appear in their necessary causal connection with what precedes and what follows, in their proper place in the course of development determined by the operation of laws that are based on the constitution of the human mind and of the universe. These tendencies are discernible in the lowest stages of man's life known to us as well as in all subsequent stages. Hence the impossibility of indicating an absolute starting-point for the religious development, either in a particular idea or practice, or in a particular period. The attempt to demonstrate that religion began with animism, or ancestral worship, or totemism, or worship of the celestial phe- nomena, or with the attention paid to any particular group of objects, has not been successful. It is indeed obvious that an in- tense occupation with the terrestrial powers constantly affecting man's life preceded an equally keen interest in the luminaries in the sky which are more remote and apparently have less concern about man. But the majestic object striding across the heaven in the light of the day, as well as the beings peopling the sky in the darkness of the night, and their struggles with clouds and other hostile powers, must have attracted man's attention long b.efore the practical ne- cessities of his developing social life made him aware of his depend- ence upon them. The analogies furnished by the infancy of the individual and the ideas of savages suggest that the religious con- sciousness of primitive man included a great variety of elements in rudimentary form, of which some found a fuller development in one race or physical environment, some in another. This fundamental conception of a development according to law also implies that no historic phase of religion can have the character of finality. The claim to finality has been freely made, especially where the religious consciousness has, as it were, crystallized itself in laws, sacred writings, and creedal statements. These seem to say, "Thus far thou shalt go, and no farther!" The Vedas or the Tripi- taka, the Avesta or the Torah, the New Testament or the Qur'an appear to fix the limits beyond which there is no further religious truth to discover and no higher religious life is possible. The ven- eration for a founder has a special tendency to foster the conviction that all religious truth must have been seen by him and that the religious development of his followers is but the unfolding of his thought. Historical theology has shown the fallacy of any such assumption. Christianity, for instance, has only one of its roots in FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS AND METHODS 455 the thought and life of Jesus, and it is in a state of constant flux. In so far as it is possible to ascertain what Jesus said, and did, and was, his teaching and manner of life leave the impression of incalculable worth, but not of absolute finality. The evolution of man's religious life is not along a straight line, so that it would be possible to declare "post hoc ergo propter hoc." A subsequent phenomenon may be determined by a number of other factors beside the one from which it may seem to be immediately derived. The Yajur-Veda is unquestionably later than the Rig- Veda, but the religious ideas it contains are not to be explained as the natural development of those found in the earlier work, seeing that the change of physical environment from the valley of the Indus to that of the Ganges and the new racial element in the latter place seem to have entered in as modifying factors. In the development of Christianity, the genuine nucleus of the Pauline literature no doubt follows closely upon the very different type of faith held by the immediate disciples of Jesus; but the peculiarities of the former are not to be explained as having been derived from the latter, since they are manifestly due to a wholly divergent tendency of thought prevalent in the Greek-speaking branch of Jewry. Such phenomena do not in the least invalidate the conclusion as to the law-bound development of religious life. So strongly intrenched is this conviction of a natural development in historical theology that it has to some extent been used as a means of determining the relative age of undated documents. In some striking instances such conclusions have been subsequently verified or confirmed by other indications of date. Thus there can be little doubt that the Hegelian conception of an historic development of religion according to the fixed laws that determine the unfolding of the ideal contents of human consciousness, led investigators of the Old Testament to the conviction that large sections of the Pentateuch were later than the great prophetic movement in Israel, or that the doctrine of evolution formulated as the result of biological studies exercised a determining influence in commending these conclusions to competent and independent students in more recent times. Yet they now rest upon philological, literary, and historical data sufficient in themselves to prove the contention. If it seems impossible at present to solve in a similar manner such a perplexing problem as that concerning the age of the Gathas and their relation to other parts of the Avesta, it is not because the principle is likely to render less service in this case, but because a chronologically fixed point is lacking, and because it is not known in what country the peculiar dialect of the Gathas was spoken. If it should become possible to prove that this was the speech of Bactria, where contact with India may at a comparatively early time have produced a type of thought 456 HISTORY OF RELIGION which in Adherbeijan can scarcely have appeared until much later, the place of the earliest part of the Avestan literature may yet be found through considerations drawn from the natural history of ideas. There is, no doubt, in the evolution of religion, a general upward trend, caused by the growth of man's experience, the expansion of his knowledge, and the education of his sense of expediency. Advance in civilization invariably brings with it more adequate religious conceptions and more rational and profitable expressions of the religious consciousness. There is an unmistakable tendency away from polydemonism and polytheism to monolatry, monotheism, pantheism, and ethical monism, from myth-making to science, from religious sexualism to mysticism, from human and animal sacrifices to spiritual consecration, from magic and sacramentalism to the spontaneous symbolism of art, from a loose to a more and more intimate connection with morality. But the progress is not uniform. The growth is slower in some races and peoples than in others. There is degeneracy or reversion to earlier types. It is important, however, to observe that all apparent reversions to earlier forms of religion are not indications of real retrogression. Sometimes whole systems of thought and practice, having had their day of usefulness, loosen their hold upon the maturing religious consciousness, and there seems to be a return to the simpler forms prevalent before their development, while in reality there is an advance, the contents of the religious consciousness having been immeasurably enriched by the spiritual experience mediated through the very ideas and ceremonies which must at length pass away. A fourth fundamental conception is that all differences in religion are due to peculiarities of the physical environment, the psychical de- velopment, and the social conditions. In spite of great distances in space, the absence of any ascertainable historic contact, and the most far-reaching racial differences, there are very marked similari- ties between peoples living in similar natural surroundings, as on the shores of the sea, on vast plains, or in mountain regions. Climate, vegetation, and animal life affect the character of men. The class of natural objects that chiefly attracts man's attention and arouses his religious feeling exercises substantially the same influence every- where upon his ideas and customs. If the religion of the Polynesians resembles in some aspects that of the Greeks, it is because of the similarity of their physical environment. Peoples roaming in the desert do not worship the same gods as those that go down to the sea in ships, and men living in volcanic regions, terrified by eruptions and earthquakes, have a different religious outlook into the future from that of dwellers in a land rarely exposed to violent disturb- ances. The offerings to the gods are determined by the natural pro- FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS AND METHODS 457 ducts of the land, and the character of these offerings affects not only the cult but the whole religious life. If the mental development of a people is thus to a marked extent the reflection of the natural surroundings in which it lives, the indi- viduals composing it show varying degrees of susceptibility to im- pressions by this environment. Just in proportion to the depth and variety of these impressions, and the consequent richness of the intellectual life, divergent types of thought and differing customs develop. These differences are reflected in the religious life. There is more variety of religious belief, more spontaneity and diversity of religious practice. Heresies and schisms are indications of religious vitality. It is not an accident that Syria, Greece, and Germany have been fruitful in new departures of religious thought, and particularly so in periods marked by intellectual progress in various directions. If social conditions and institutions are unquestionably deter- mined by physical environment and mental development, it is equally certain that they in turn exercise a profound influence upon the physical and intellectual growth of the individual, and con- sequently also upon his religious character, whether he yields more easily to the impression or reacts against it. The regime of tribal gods warring one with another is the natural complement of the tribal organization of society. The members of a small tribe may say unto their tutelary divinity, " Who among the gods is like unto thee? " And they may serve the god of their fathers with such intensity of devotion that to some extent they ignore all other gods. But they cannot cease to believe in the existence of other gods, or even degrade these gods into a lower class of beings, until the social development renders possible a broader outlook. This may come by the political organization of empires; it may also be brought about by the loosen- ing of tribal connections through wider social contact. It is evident that the great Persian, Greek, and Roman empires had a tendency to lead religious thought to more transcendental and Unitarian concep- tions of divinity. The little gods fell from their thrones with the little kings and grouped themselves as servants around the celestial "king of kings." It is also obvious that the close contact between men of different blood, speech, and customs, within the same political organization, tended to force into the background the accidental in religion, the mere tribal peculiarities, however tenacious the resistance may have been here and there. As monarchical institu- tions yield to democracy, the religious life inevitably undergoes profound changes. When the rights of every man and woman to a share in the direction of public affairs become recognized, and the administration of public business becomes the work, not of rulers, but of servants chosen by the people for their fitness, the state gradually ceases to have an official cult, and to take cognizance of, 458 HISTORY OF RELIGION support, or suppress any form of religion. Religion becomes a strictly private affair. Social institutions such as warfare, slavery, capitalism, marriage and divorce, oath-taking, and others have exercised a very marked influence, not only on religious views, but also on the ex- pressions in practical life of the religious feeling. Significant as are the results which have been obtained by his- torical theology, the methods of this science are not less so. A higher degree of certainty concerning the facts of man's religious life in the past, a clearer discernment of the laws governing its historical develop- ment, and a surer forecast of the future depend upon the accuracy and efficiency of the methods that are employed. These are the general methods of science applied to the history of religion. In this field they may be distinguished as historico- critical, comparative, and psychological. The historico-critical method gathers, sifts, and describes the theological material in so far as it reveals the growth of religion and the laws of its development. It finds this material in the realms of philology, archaeology, literary documents, oral tradition, and folk-lore, and subjects its evidential value to searching scrutiny. On account of the excesses of some students, the philological method has been much discredited, but no amount of incidental error can invalidate the use of indications in human speech, such as names of divinities and cult-objects, in reconstructing the history of religion. For the earlier periods, we have no other direct testimony of man's religious conceptions than archaeological remains, such as tombs, altars, dolmens, menhirs, and the like. In the study of literary documents, textual criticism is of fundamental importance, as false conclusions have frequently been drawn from texts that on closer examination have proved to be corrupt. But investigations as to date and authorship are also indispensable, since the value of testimony depends upon nearness in time and space and competence in perceiving and describing facts. In the case of uncivilized nations the evidence rests ultimately on oral statements and, so far as their history is concerned, on oral tradition. Much allowance must here be made for the medium through which the testimony comes. The same necessity applies to folk-lore. While there can be little doubt that it, to some extent, represents the disintegration of earlier myths and legends, the in- fluence of the civilization in which they have in this form survived must be considered, and the production of new material resembling the old, without having any genetic connection with it, must not be overlooked. It is seldom that survivals of earlier religious conditions reveal their nature as clearly in a new environment as ideas and practices do where, for one cause or another, the religious develop- ment has been arrested or retarded. The comparative method places side by side the different expres- FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS AND METHODS 459 sions of the religious consciousness, "notes their similarities and differ- ences, and classifies them, in so far as by this process it seems possible to determine the growth of religion and the laws on which it is based. The comparison may extend to entire systems of religious thought and practice, or only to individual ideas, rites, institutions, or rules of conduct. In comparing and classifying those historic systems that have generally been called religions, much attention is given to the principle of classification. It is difficult to avoid artificiality in the selection of the most characteristic feature. In the course of its history each great religion has undergone so many important changes that what at one timo seems the most significant characteristic at another time is no longer a peculiarly marked feature. There is no belief or ceremony in Christendom of which the formula quod semper, ubique et ab omnibus could be truthfully used. The differences be- tween Denck and Luther, or between Martineau and Newman, were not more radical and far-reaching than those between Jesus and Paul. If Christianity were so defined as to make the leading ideas and practices of a Paul, an Augustine, an Aquinas, and a Luther its true "exponents, the emphasis would be placed upon thoughts and customs foreign to Jesus himself. If, on the other hand, his convictions and manner of life were made the norm, the definition would exclude some of the most characteristic doctrines and rites of Christians since the first century. Similar difficulties are encountered in the case of Judaism. To make Judaism synonymous with Talmudic Rabbinism would not be correct, in view of the abundant evidence of strong currents in Israel's religious life setting in other directions, even if the ethical and religious elements in the Talmudic literature were accorded a juster and more adequate appreciation than is usually the case. And the Buddhism of Buddha is quite a different thing from the Buddhism of the Lama of Tibet. Yet though the task of classifying the different forms of religion is delicate and difficult, it is neither impossible nor unprofitable. When Brahmanism, Mazdaism, and Judaism are grouped together as legal religions, and Buddhism and Christianity as religions of redemption, any inadequacy in the classification is more than offset by the advantage of approach- ing these religions from a common point of view. In comparing ideas and customs that show a marked similarity, though found in different nations, it is natural to suppose that one people has borrowed from another. Where historic contact can be proved or is likely, a considerable degree of probability often at- taches to such an assumption. But in many cases, even where the resemblance is striking, the theory is both improbable and unneces- sary, while in other cases the limitations of our historic knowledge renders a decision extremely precarious. Thus, to quote a few examples, there can scarcely be any doubt that the myths in Genesis 460 HISTORY OF RELIGION concerning the creation, the garden of the gods, the deluge, and the tower were derived by the Israelites from Babylonia; that some figures in later Jewish apocalyptic have the same origin; that the idea of a resurrection came to the Jews from Persia, and that the figures of Satan and some other demons, as well as the archangels, were developed under Persian influence; that the Christian Logos- idea came through Philo from Greek philosophy; and that Mu- hammad drew some of his ideas from Christian and Jewish sources. No such probability attaches to the conjectures that Varuna and some other Indian gods had a Semitic origin; that the Gathas were written under the influence of Greek thought; that the Christian gospels contain ideas borrowed directly from Buddhism; that there were in the Greek pantheon some originally Phoenician gods; that the great gods of Egypt during the Old Empire were identical with the chief divinities of Babylonia; that the author of Voluspa was familiar with Christian ideas; or that the religious conceptions of the American aborigines were derived from the Mongolians of Asia. Far greater difficulties are encountered when the attempt is made to determine such questions as the precise relations between Jainism- and Buddhism, Mazdaism and the faith of the Iranians before the reform, the gods of the Semitic Babylonians and those of the Shu- merians, the Baptists on the Jordan and those on the Euphrates, the Christology of the Parables of Enoch and that of the early church, the Christian and the Mithraic cult-societies, the reported beliefs of the Druids and Greek speculation, the tabus of the different groups of islands in the Pacific, and many others. The more carefully the comparative method is applied, the more sparingly recourse is had to the theory of borrowing. Even where there is satisfactory evidence of an historic transfer of ideas or cus- toms, distinction is made between the taking over of a mere sugges- tion subsequently developed in an original manner and a more extensive and unassimilated appropriation. The Greeks, for instance, put so completely the stamp of their own genius on what they bor- rowed that the ultimate origin cannot easily be detected, and the addition is often more significant than the material appropriated. A similar transformation may be seen in the case of the myths borrowed by the Hebrews from other peoples. But at present there is a strong reaction against the tendency of earlier interpreters to explain in this manner the occurrence in different places of substantially the same conceptions or practices. The similarities are more frequently accounted for by the similarity of the natural phenomena giving rise to the peculiar religious beliefs and of the social conditions reflected in the cult. The limitations of the human mind and the laws of its operation are such as to force it into certain channels; and the customs of human society dictate the forms of intercourse with divine FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS AND METHODS 461 society. Methodical research finds such abundant testimony to this close connection of religion, in all its manifestations, with the mental development of man, and such clear indications of the general course of religious evolution determined by this growth of human faculty, that it is obliged to proceed on the assumption of the validity of the principle everywhere, even if the material should sometimes be insufficient for demonstration, or apparent exceptions present themselves. The psychological method sets forth and seeks to explain the relation of the genesis and development of religion to the growth of man's sentient, intellectual, and moral life. The fields in which this method finds employment may be designated as child-psychology, folk-psychology, pathological psychology, and the psychology of genius. Much may be learned from observations of child-life con- cerning the earliest stages of man's religion. Man, the individual, runs quickly over the same course that is more slowly covered by man, the race, and tITe mental processes of the race in its childhood must have borne a close resemblance to those observable in the child. It is necessary, however, to make allowance both for ancestry and immediate environment. The psychical phenomena of collective life which come nearest to those of childhood are presented by peoples whose development, through unfavorable circumstances, has been retarded. Here again the results of degeneracy must be sharply distinguished from survivals. When more advanced religious organizations, whether they be states with an official creed and cult or purely cult-societies, are studied in their relations to the general mental development, it is important to note the aesthetic and ethical phases as well as the intellectual, and to observe the tendency of tradition to incorporate and assimilate new ideas and practices, after testing their practical effect, as well as its tendency to conserve the past and to resist novelties when they arise. The obvious con- nection between some phases of religion and a conception of the universe based on the defective generalizations of astrology does not lead the careful student to the hasty conclusion that either priest or astrologer must have been guilty of a conscious and inten- tional fraud. There is no more reason to doubt the sincerity of con- viction and intellectual and moral integrity of the average sooth- sayer, priest, magician, or witch of the past than of the average official representative of any modern religious cult. Among the types of religious experience deviating from the ordin- ary forms there are those that may be regarded as due to morbid physical and psychical conditions, and there are others that are due to the extraordinary development of the faculties which find expression in the religious life. Unquestionably, hysteria, melan- cholia, catalepsy, epilepsy, trances, and hallucinations have played 462 HISTORY OF RELIGION an important r61e in the history of religion. It is all the more neces- sary to investigate those pathological conditions in their relation to the religious sensibilities, as some of the most important forward movements in religion have been connected with such psychical manifestations. The keen sensibility, protracted reflection, warm sympathy, great reverence, and marked freedom, characteristic of religious genius, sometimes produce effects that to a superficial observer may seem to betray the same morbid concentration, while a more methodical study tends to show that the sanest expressions of the religious life are to be found in the great prophetic order of mankind. Not less important than the methods employed is the mental attitude of the investigator. In fact, his disposition is itself a means of advancing or retarding scientific progress. A wrong bias of the historian's mind will inevitably affect the results, even if there is the appearance of a correct scientific method. To reach legitimate conclusions, the student of the history of religion must cultivate a frame of mind characterized by sympathy, reverence, and freedom. Without a fellow-feeling enabling him to put himself in another man's place, look at the world through his eyes, experience some- thing of his sensations, and feel an involuntary prompting to join in his acts, his religious life will be a sealed book. Sympathy alone gives insight; and this sympathy must be comprehensive as well as deep and genuine. In order to interpret rightly the manifold varieties of religious experience, one must be able to sympathize with the priest and the devotee, as well as with the prophet and the philosopher. Nor is it sufficient that this sympathy should be the consciousness of a common religious life, which might be nothing but the fellow- ship of prisoners in the same jail or inmates in the same hospital. There must be a sense of reverence, a feeling of the worth of religion even in its humblest manifestations. Such reverence does not imply respect or admiration for the absurd and the grotesque, for ideas and customs out of harmony with the civilization in which they main- tain themselves as useless or harmful superstitions. The immaturity of infancy in the individual or the race is not to be despised; puerility in the man and the survivals of crude notions and senseless customs in an advanced civilization may be legitimate cause for pity or laughter. But true reverence prompts a student to approach the realm of religion as holy ground where man's sense of the highest in life has found its preeminent expression. Yet the judgment of the historian would be sadly warped, if he should allow his sympathy and reverence to deprive him of his freedom. There is nothing so sacred in the universe that the mind of man has not the right to touch it. Without hesitancy the true FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTIONS AND METHODS 463 historian of religion will trespass on forbidden grounds and search through all mysteries. He cannot be the slave of a school, the advo- cate of a sect, or the apologist for a religion. He must be free to treat objectively, yet sympathetically and reverently, the growth of the religious consciousness. The historian is too painfully aware of the fragmentariness of his knowledge of the past, though it is vocal with innumerable voices bearing witness to its life, to venture readily upon prediction of the silent future of which no man can testify. The history of prophecy shows him how hazardous it is to try to rend the veil of the future in order to reveal events that will occur or personalities that will appear in ages to come. Even the wisest of prophets have failed when they endeavored to clothe in flesh and blood their waking dreams. Yet ignorance has its limitations as well as knowledge. If a man should affirm that his ignorance is such that he cannot deny the possibility of every Roman Catholic becoming a Protestant, or every Buddhist a Christian, before another day shall dawn, his claim to ignorance would not be respected. The Church of Rome was not built in one day, and it is perfectly safe to predict that it will not perish in one day by the conversion of all its members to another faith; and the same is true of Buddhism. Certain things may be predicted, with a reasonable degree of assur- ance, in regard to the future of man's religion, and the historian, watching the evolution of the religious consciousness and seeking to discern its laws, is more likely than any other man to take a deep and intelligent interest in what may be divined concerning that future. The remnants of primitive conceptions are disappearing so fast by the spread of civilization that the time cannot be far off when they shall have ceased to play a part in religion. Polydemonism and poly- theism are giving place to monotheism, and the trend is away from transcendental monotheism to pantheism or ethical monism. New mythologies are not developing, and the old myths vanish as science advances. Human sacrifices are extremely rare, and animal sacrifices are gradually disappearing. The magical conceptions surviving in the cult are giving way to a symbolism that seeks satisfaction for the artistic and ethical instincts. Even where sacred washings, sacred meals, sacred days, and sacred places are still recognized, their sig- nificance is differently understood, and the tendency to abandon them altogether is marked. The emphasis is being placed, not on dogma or cult, but on the ethical contents of religion. The growing importance of commerce and industry, art, science, and philosophy, the general secularization of life, may seem to indicate that religion in the future will exercise an ever-diminishing influence on man. But the interest which looms up as without comparison the strongest in the life of modern man is big with relig- 464 HISTORY OF RELIGION ions import. When millions of men ardently desire and earnestly strive for a better adjustment of social relations, a more equitable distribution of wealth, the abolition of war, the enfranchisement of woman, the prevention and cure of disease, universal education, religious toleration and good will among men, religion has nothing to fear. As the Reformation followed in the wake of humanism, with its emancipation of the mind and sympathy for classical antiquity, so the social idealism of the present day, with its larger ethical ideals and universal human sympathies, seems to prognosticate a fresh outflowering of the religious consciousness into harmony with the moral demands of that infinite power which determines man's destiny. SECTION A — BRAHMANISM AND BUDDHISM SECTION A — BRAHMANISM AND BUDDHISM (Hall 8, September 23, 10 a. m.) SPEAKERS: PROFESSOR HERMANN OLDENBERG, University of Kiel. PROFESSOR MAURICE BLOOMFIELD, Johns Hopkins University. SECRETARY: DR. REGINALD C. ROBBINS, Harvard University. THE RELATIONS OF THE RELIGIONS OF ANCIENT INDIA TO THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION BY HERMANN OLDENBERG (Translated from the German by Prof. E. W. Bagster-Collins, Columbia University) [Hermann Oldenberg, Professor of Sanskrit and Comparative Grammar, Univers- ity of Kiel, Prussia, b. 1854, Hamburg, Germany. University of Berlin, 1871- 72; University of Gottingen, 1872-74; University of Berlin, 1874-75. Ph.D. University of Berlin; Privat-docent, University of Berlin, 1878-81; Professor extraordinarius, ibid. 1881-89; Professor ordinarius, University of Kiel, since 1889. Member of German Oriental Society, Corresponding Member of Society of Sciences, Gottingen. Author of Buddha ; The Hymns of the Rig-Veda; The Religion of the Veda; From India and Iran; The Literature of Ancient India.} IN this paper I shall attempt to answer for my own theme those questions which this Congress puts to the representatives of every science. What relation does the investigation of the religions of an- cient India bear to other allied branches of research and to the science of religion as a whole? Before, however, tracing the lines of connection that carry us beyond the boundaries of our own province, I dare not, self-evident as this may seem, fail to mention the fact that a large part of our scientific labor has to be carried on within its own domain, so to speak, for itself alone. Like all historians, we investigate individual forms that are never again identically repeated. At the most they are only similar. Our first desire is, then, not to compare these forms with others, nor to subordinate them to general formulas. We wish, rather, to grasp their meaning truly and fully as if they were independent. Everywhere in the study of history there is to-day a mighty force that impels the student to search for the incom- mensurable, the elemental in the lives of nations as well as of individ- uals. And perhaps in few fields of historical investigation is this feature naturally so strongly accentuated as in our own. The people 468 BRAHMANISM AND BUDDHISM of ancient India occupy a unique position among the peoples of antiquity; the Indian spirit goes on willfully and obstinately its own strange ways. Is it wonderful, then, that there is among Indian scholars a widespread desire not to introduce non-Indian elements in any consideration of Indian life and thought? "India for the Indians! " Indeed, we should never really accustom ourselves to the peculiar modes of Indian thought, our sympathy for the Indian soul would always lack depth, if we did not understand how to keep aloof all foreign issues. And how is the historian to set aside this feeling of sympathy? Let him remember the words of Faust, "my own self to them extend." Let him live in his imagination the glowing fantasies of the Indian religion, long for the peace of Nirvana with the longing of Buddhism. Let him experience the tragedy of the conflict of the two souls in the breast of the Indian people, the one Aryan and noble, the other humble and wild. And if all this seems to take place far away from our own world, just for this reason our growing familiarity with regions so distant may come to have a peculiar charm. Are all demands that we make of our work met in this manner? Certainly not. We have restricted the field of vision more than the nature of the case really justifies. We do not regret it; it has been an advantage. Now, however, something else remains to be done. In the attempt to study deeply any one individual thing, we must not forget that it is but one part of an all-embracing whole. It is a part that has developed into very independent directions. It still re- mains, however, a part of the whole. In order to understand it as such, there is need of the comparative, systematic, and far-seeing kind of research that finds lines of connection everywhere. To what extent can such work be mastered by one and the same scholar, who has become absorbed in the limited field? Must there be a division of labor? This is a personal question that concerns scientists more than the science itself. Science merely commands that, no matter by what hands, both kinds of work shall be done. II Gates leading abroad are not wanting, you see, in the boundary walls of our province. In order to discover the roads leading out from them, however, we must first of all call to mind the dominating event in the history of ancient India that prescribes the directions that many of these roads shall take; namely, the migration of the Aryans to India. These races, related as their language shows, to the great European peoples, indeed forming in the distant past one people with them, came in their long wanderings from the northwest. For a long time they sat at the gates of India, in RELIGIONS OF ANCIENT INDIA 469 Iran. A part of them remained there, — the ancestors of the Iranians that later assembled about Zoroaster, Cyrus, and Darius. Others crossed the mountains and wrested northern India from the dark- skinned aborigines. These facts are well known. We have to gather from them, however, for the questions with which we are concerned, first and foremost the fact that the religious beliefs brought by these wan- derers into India must have left such a prehistoric impress as to direct the Indologist's attention beyond India, and as to induce the investigator of non-Indian religions to include Indian conditions in his researches. The comparative philologist, aided by eminent Sanskrit scholars, has undertaken the task of reconstructing the long since lost lan- guage of the parent-stock of the Indians, Iranians, Greeks, Italians, Celts, Germans, Slavs — in a word, of the Indo-Europeans. Do the religion and mythology of India and the corresponding European forms lend themselves to similar comparisons? Taking India for instance as a starting-point, can we learn the nature of the religion of the Indo-European period, and, if we again go back from the stand- point thus gained, can we discover the origin of the old Indian and European religions? It is undoubtedly justifiable in principle to ask such questions. Yet when we speak of such investigations, it usually means nothing more than looking back upon illusions that are and had to be things of the past. This is, at least, my own firm conviction, and it is also shared by many others. The time is past when the Vedic scholar was also the compar- ative mythologist. Religious ideas are naturally subjected to many more indeterminable transformations than languages. The pro- cess of change from the Vedic gods to Apollo or Mars cannot be so clearly pictured as the changes, say, from the Indian to the Greek and Latin sibilants or optative forms. Even that objective cer- tainty based upon ancient monuments that is shared by many other branches of comparative research dealing with antiquity is want- ing. Moreover, the unfavorable aspect of the whole problem is bound up with the question as to the position of the Indo-Euro- pean mother country. At one time this was thought to be in Central Asia: the Indians did not seem to be very far distant; they could in many respects be regarded almost as the representatives of the Indo-Europeans themselves. But we have come to see that that earliest home was very probably situated in Europe. What distances between that home and Vedic India, what contact of the wanderers with strange peoples of different origin, what unavoidable, and for us, incalculable race-mixture, what changes in economic and social conditions! Middle and North-European, Germanic and Lithu- anian data would, we must now assume, teach us more and surer 470 BRAHMANISM AND BUDDHISM facts than the Veda, provided we possessed similar data of approx- imately as great antiquity. Nevertheless the comparisons that have been drawn between India and Europe have not been quite without success. We may even to-day regard it as certain as well as important that the comparison of the old Indian word deva, "god," with the corresponding words of the Occident, and the rela- tionship of this word with dyaus (=Zeus), "the sky," gives us the right to attribute to the Indo-Europeans the conception of gods as bright beings, living in the high heavens. On the other hand, most of the attempted comparisons of individual gods, demons, and myths are uncertain, even if not actually false. Do similarities of sound in names and faint similarities between forms really point to each other from such a distance? Or do mere chance resemblances deceive us? They furnish results that one may believe, if one wills, but no proof compels one to believe them. They are results that one will dare least of all make the basis for further investigations. How different the comparisons seem to us to-day that are confined to the religions of the ancient Indians and the neighboring closely related Aryans, the Iranian Zoroastrians, as against the rash combinations that would teach us to interpret, in the light of the Veda, the whole series of European forms from the Olympus of Homer to German folk-lore and children's games! The distances in time, space, and race-mixture necessary to be bridged over were just as great in the latter case as they are insignificant in the former. Proper tionately better success must necessarily attend the less pretentious under- taking. Indeed, I dare assert that it has become possible, by the happy alliance between Indian and Iranian investigation of religions, to reconstruct many of the principal features of the belief peculiar to the ancestors of both peoples in their prehistoric relationship. The chief role falls naturally here to Indian investigation. For the com- mon basis of their belief is more distinctly evident in Indian tradi- tions. The migration of the Indian Aryans to their new land, the beginnings of new race-formations that were gradually to transform the Aryan belief here most deeply, only just began to be felt even in the Vedic period. The stronger creative forces left their impress at first upon the Zoroastrian religion, — the thought and will of a great personality. Yet enough of the old still remains also on this side to assure the Vedic scholar, in cooperation with Iranian scholars, of many a valuable result for his own purposes. Above all, he may rejoice in the fact that he is able to make an important contribution here to the knowledge of a non-Indian religion. He teaches the investigator of the Avesta the background of the old belief, from which the teaching of Zoroaster stands out in bold relief. RELIGIONS OF ANCIENT INDIA 471 III We can sum up the investigations thus far mentioned by saying that students of ancient, related religions endeavor by their com- parisons to extend the knowledge of direct tradition backwards into prehistoric periods. It is of course quite evident that a much brighter light falls upon fields that lie nearer historic times than upon the more remote past. It may accordingly appear for a mo- ment paradoxical to speak of pressing back still farther, and to assert that the certainty of our undertaking not only does not any longer diminish; on the contrary it begins to increase. The cer- tainty increases because we are dealing with those prehistoric periods when the play of racial individualities has not yet become unfathomable, but a kind of law with which we can reckon, which everywhere produces like forms. I am now speaking of scientific movements that are still in their infancy. I am well aware that many an investigator of great authority does not share my conclusions. I can only voice my own conviction; the future must decide whether it be right or not. The young science of ethnology carries us back to primitive forms of religions, far beyond Indo-European conditions. From it we learn, as you know, that certain rudest types of religious conceptions and practices are found everywhere among peoples of the same low level of civilization in apparently wronderful though undoubted agreement. Religious research here assumes somewhat the attitude of the natural science. What it reports does not differ much from a chapter taken from the life of animals. A further inference has been drawn from the above-mentioned agreement. It is not less widely known that these very same primitive forms must have been the basis, likewise, of all higher forms of religion in the distant past. Hence the investigation of Indian religions is clearly placed in new and very far-reaching relations. If it formerly carried on a coasting- trade, so to speak, it must now venture out upon the high seas. It ventures to make comparisons that are no longer restricted to the Indo-European field. It throws aside for a time the tools of com- parative grammar, the time-honored technique of philology, and leaps over boundary lines usually set for the routine work of the science. In order to discover the greatest antiquity, it studies the present. It accompanies the journeys of the traveler among the Red Indians, Kaffirs, Australians, and those less pretentious travels of discovery among those classes of our own people, where so many primitive modes of thought are found even to-day. It then searches in its own field for the primitive religious forms that it found there. We find the same impulse here as everywhere in historical science, and also in art, — to put new life into the old material and the old 472 problems, by letting the light of present day illumine the world of books and traditions. We are not the first in this field of research. I call to mind the much lamented names of two masters. Erwin Rohde studied Greek religious beliefs, Robertson Smith the religious cult of the Semites. Our science has also begun this bold though possible task, and we may even now say that results have been attained; and also, of course, an outlook upon new problems that formerly were not raised, could not be raised. For, if anywhere, the words, To riddle after riddle we the answers read, , find the inevitable reply, To riddles new each time the answers lead. The elements of the religion of ancient India that have been brought into the right perspective with the aid of ethnology, usually differ, as one might expect, from those with which the comparative studies of Indo-Germanic scholars dealt. There is little here about gods and heroes, of rich poetic myths. We are dealing with the low, the crude, and the uncouth; with kobolds and demons, with the worship of the dead, with fetishism and magic, with the grotesque, which, when we learn to understand it, ceases to be grotesque. As we find such universal human forms again in the Veda, some of the barriers that seemed to isolate this from the outer world fall down. The stu- dent of the Veda, having taken up the relations I have attempted to describe, learns how a prehistoric form fuses with higher religious forms, envelops itself in them, transforms itself into them and broadens itself out into them. He learns to see in the priest, the medicine-man, in many a sacrifice, in some old incantation for rain, in the pious symbolism of burial customs, the pale terror of the savage at the treacherous, avaricious soul of the dead. He resolves con- ceptions and customs occurring side by side in the texts into a sequence of the old and the new, the beginnings of which lie per- haps thousands of years apart. It is as if we were walking through a city and gradually discovered, behind the at first apparently uni- form exterior, the mighty remains of a distant past, the late addi- tions merely adhering to the old. If in order to shed light upon these relations, our investigations can by chance make use of mate- rials that lie infinitely removed in space and time from our own field of research, who would blame us for rejoicing at the bold indirect- ness of such an attempt? The Indologist can here no longer claim for himself, as formerly, in comparative mythology the leading part. It is not for him to teach the ethnologist, but to learn from him, concerning the appearance and significance of the lower mytholog- ical and religious forms. Undoubtedly he contributes his share to RELIGIONS OF ANCIENT INDIA 473 the huge collection of material with which ethnology must work, and I believe that that science rightly appreciates this fact. But on the whole, he plays the role of the recipient. For some time to come he will make many a blunder in sifting and working over that which he appropriates to himself. Where such distant vistas have been opened up to research, as in this case, one's vision must necessarily often become distorted. This does no harm. He is faint-hearted who does not have faith that our very mistakes will bring us nearer the truth. IV Let us now turn from the prehistoric relations which students of Indian religions are engaged in interpreting to historic times. The wanderings of the Aryans have come to an end. The old tribal rela- tions have been broken up. Boundaries have been made that frus- trate every attempt to treat the history of ancient India as merging into a general history of antiquity. Still such boundaries do not exclude the existence of some intercourse at the frontier. Even over greater distances there was for centuries, by land and by water, a never wholly interrupted intercourse between India and the outer world. What religious possessions has this intercourse borne hither and thither? When one simply expresses such a question, it suggests the varied relations in which Indology must stand to all allied branches of scien- tific inquiry. No single individual can grasp all this. It is not the re- sult of any undervaluation of the investigations in question, but only the feeling of my own insufficiency, if I do not call to mind many things. What problems does the quick and brilliant development of Assyriology set for us? What questions arise from the estimation of the mighty influences of Brahmanism, and particularly Buddhism upon Central Asia, farther India, and China? I cannot trace these tendencies; I shall only speak of a few problems that deal with a world closer at hand. Both Indologists and students of Greek philosophy we find exam- ining the question whether the teachings of Pythagoras show traces of Indian influence, as a daring and ably defended recent hypothesis maintains, and whether, many centuries later, Indian sages and thau- maturgs likewise had a share in the varied and confused influences of Oriental mysticism that are found in the writings of the neo-Pla- tonists. In another field there is a problem that may arouse us still more: How can we account for the similarities between the narratives and speeches of the four Gospels and those of the Buddhists? The story of Jesus in the temple, the encomium of Simeon — are they con- structed from the story of the wise old man Asita, who approaches 474 BRAHMANISM AND BUDDHISM the child Buddha and praises his coining glory? The temptation of Jesus in the wilderness and the temptation of Buddha in solitude by Mara the evil one, the walking of Peter on the sea, the widow's mite, the parable of the prodigal son and the corresponding Buddhistic parallels, — what is one to think about all this? Have features been really added to the picture of Christ by the contemplative imagina- tion of the disciples of Buddha living in the monks' abodes along the Ganges? Important as these questions are, 1 naturally have no inten- tion of discussing them here. I merely wish to describe how Indology joins forces with other branches of research in their solution. I desire only to emphasize the following point. When the problem is to de- termine the possible influence of an Indian prototype upon any non- Indian circle of ideas, Indology can never do more than contribute to forming the decision. The decision itself can be reached only within the province covered by the other science. The Indian scholar will determine that the Indian prototype in question has such and such a form and goes, or can go, back to such and such a time. The fellow worker will likewise ascertain corresponding facts regarding the phenomenon that may eventually be regarded as an imitation. When these preliminary questions have bee» settled, there then begins the more subtile investigation, which in cases of this kind does not really come within the sphere of Indology. Does the civilization which is so claimed to be influenced, for example the early Christian, pre- sent within itself the conditions by which the phenomena in question can be adequately explained without assuming derivation? Does the configuration of the forms disclose any abnormalities, erosions, joints, fissures, that might give weight to the opinion that foreign elements have been mingled ? Then there still remains the question, in case such an admixture is to be assumed, whether it must be derived precisely from India. The peculiar trend of his imagination. I might almost say a kind of subconscious patriotism, all too easily drives the Indologist to this conclusion. The investigator of a par- ticular field possesses a vivid knowledge of this field alone. Almost inevitably his scales must tip in favor of his own subject, when different ones are claiming to be the point of departure of some historical movement. In these last sentences I have touched upon a peculiarity of these investigations which I must not neglect; namely, the subjectivity of the critic and his scientific temperament are wont to play here a par- ticularly dangerous role. We see students, on the one hand, grasping with ready faith at every similarity between widely separated facts and constantly finding traces of historical relationships. The phlegm- atic are also not wanting. They are filled with the greatest mis- trust whenever they are expected to risk a leap or even a step from one sphere of civilization to another. The more anxiously, however, RELIGIONS OF ANCIENT INDIA 475 one tries to avoid one or the other failing, the oftener one arrives at a non liquet as his final decision. The cases in which objective criteria help us out of this uncertainty are not very frequent, and unfortunately often these prove to be not really the important ones. Thus, for example, I fear that the question regarding the relations between the New Testament and Buddhism belongs to those that do not admit of an absolute yes or no. I myself can of course not speak here with the authority of the specialist. Only a high authority on the New Testament can shoulder the responsibility of deciding this case. Still, my subjective impression is that nothing in the four Gospels necessarily points to any real borrowing from India. There is hardly more than inner parallelism with Buddhism. A prominent Indologist said a short time ago that just as "Babel" now knocks noisily at the gates of the Old Testament, so Buddha knocks, gently, at the door of the New Testament. Certainly any one who examines the later periods of early Christian literature hears such knocking now and then. Even the dullest ear can hear it repeated in the medieval Christian tale of Barlaam and Josaphat, the whole history of the youth of the royal son of the house of Sakya. But Buddha scarcely seems to me to knock at the gates of the New Testament. The results of the investigations are similar, when we examine whether Christianity, in turn, has influenced ancient Indian forms of religion, the Krishna religion, for example. When we are dealing with influences coming from the opposite direction, from west to east, as in this case, the leading part falls to Indology, for the reasons I have already mentioned. Even here, however, the outcome, partially at least, is quite uncertain. Even if the wonderful poem Bhagavad Gita sings that the belief and love of the pious man look towards the god incarnate, even if the divine Krishna says there, " Whoever loves me is not lost," I for one should not like to assert positively that Christian influences are in evidence. It seems to me that the thought expressed in the Bhagavad Gita is everywhere in accord with Indian thought in its development. Even here, again, the later texts show us another picture. We find a kind of Christmas-cult con- secrated to the birth of the child Krishna. We come across stories of the new-born god incarnate in a stable ; shepherds and shepherdesses are gathered round the blessed mother; even "the ox and the ass" are present. Such facts will, of course, silence even great skepticism. Let us look backward. Can we conceal from ourselves the fact that when Indology, together with classical philology, or with New Testament research, treats such problems of derivation, the results are rather meagre? What does the holy martyr Josaphat signify for Christianity, or the idyl of the Krishna child for Hinduism? It is well to record scrupulously such borrowings; the amateur may, with 476 BRAHMANISM AND BUDDHISM pleasure, take in them the interest of the collector in a rare find. The historian, however, who seeks for the essential in things, will surely not feel so enthusiastic. Even if any of the New Testament narratives should really show evidences of Buddhistic influence, although I doubt it very much personally, the picture of Christianity would probably not be affected in the very slightest degree. We are aware that there was great mingling of religious elements of most varied origin in the last centuries before and the first cen- turies after Christ, — Grecian, Egyptian, Jewish, Babylonian, and Persian. India was not separated from these movements by impass- able barriers; still it was so remote that it could have had only a minor share in them. We have now reviewed all the prehistoric as well as historic relations. Have we, however, really exhausted thereby all that the study of Indian religions has to offer to the whole science? We have found the results obtained with regard to the belief of the Indo- Europeans both few and unsafe, the extent of the Indo-Iranian relationship narrowly restricted. We have found ethnology more often our creditor than our debtor. Furthermore, the remoteness of the civilizations of Central Asia and the farthest East that were influenced by India and the insignificance of the religious exchange with the West, — does all this form an adequate basis for determining the importance that the study of the religions of India has for under- standing the world in which we live ? Certainly not. Whether the study of Buddhism, for example, possesses a universal significance over and above its own special one, cannot depend upon whether a few stories from the great wealth of Buddhistic legends may have found their way into Christian literature. We are not dealing here with mere chance, external correspondences, but with inner relations. Here and there we find analogous and yet different forces working on a similar yet different soil. These produce analogous yet different forms. We shall certainly refrain from speaking as if a fixed law, in the full sense of the term, were conceivable, or as if history were simply a collection of forms that naturally fit into a symmetrical system already discovered or yet to be discovered. Nevertheless the substantial identity that I have already mentioned, that we find in the lowest forms of civilization of which ethnology teaches, can certainly not be absolutely lost in the higher phases of history, in such differentiations as progress produces among the more highly organized, less inert forms. The identity of the former case becomes here a certain though often very limited parallelism. Parallelism, however, means neither more nor less than law and order. And RELIGIONS OF ANCIENT INDIA 477 indeed we may say that, for many stages of the way across the vast historical tracts, even now a gleam of law and order rewards the patient observation of the scientist and the intuition of the genius. It is an order whose constant fusion with its opposite, with what is plainly mere chance and inexplicable, is one of the leading char- acteristics of historical development. The comparative study of languages and literatures, of judicial and social life, proves that it is possible to find many a trace of law and order. Why should it not prove to be equally true of the history of religions? Like helps to understand like from east to west. It aids in recognizing the hidden traces, in reconstructing the fragments, just as it is possible for a reader who is acquainted with a large number of careers and mental developments to construct a whole life from fragmentary biographical data. Such comparisons likewise help us particularly to discover the principal active causes behind the facts themselves. The similarities as well as the dissimilar- ities are helpful. Our view broadens so as to include the whole wealth of possibilities. The single fact takes its rightful place by showing itself to be one variety among others. We learn to raise the question, even solve it, perhaps, as to what causes have given each fact its peculiar characteristics. Whoever pursues such problems will find Indian traditions espe- cially valuable for much that is included under the head of religious thought and life. They are wonderfully preserved in true Indian vastness. It is a primeval forest through which, however, the stead- fast zeal of the philologian has succeeded in making paths. The oldest traditions go back to a very remote past; they appear scarcely younger than the Indian people themselves. Moreover, tradition, ever communicative and frank, helps us to trace the long development through thousands and thousands of years. We believe we see in the texts before our eyes how their conception of nature and the world, reflected in their religion, develops step by step. We see how the art of presenting problems which creates this knowledge, how the direct or the indirect relation of the knower to his knowledge passes through one phase after another. Above all we hear what needs, hopes, and longings are expressed one after another in rational order. Particularly the older stadia of this development lie wonder- fully clear before us; namely, the progress from the half-naive, half- artful religious culfr of the Veda to the deep speculations of the Upanishads, then to the religion of salvation of the Buddha. This process, hardly influenced at all from without, has been able to go on according to its inherent law. Why should it not help us to under- stand the parallel developments in the West in the sense that I have designated? The student learns at every step, I may say, that this is not a deceptive hope. For instance, let us consider the sacrifice, 478 BRAHMANISM AND BUDDHISM an historical problem broad in scope. What forces, what thoughts have been set in motion here during these thousands of years! The forms, however, in which the sacrifice appears are at first incompre- hensible hieroglyphics; our task is to decipher them Nowhere do we find such exhaustive details regarding the sacrifice as in ancient India, especially the period of its richest maturity, to which it had been brought by the long labors of the priestly caste. How much more clearly we see the Vedic Brahman exercising his office than the Roman Flamen, for instance! Accordingly, I think, and the results already obtained bear me out, that any one who desires to recon- struct and interpret the remains of Western sacrificial rites and ceremonies must get his inspiration above all from India. Indian tradition is just as instructive, if one attempts to get a glimpse of how those tendencies that incline toward uniting religion and morals forced their way into the old mass of religious ideas, that were rather indifferent to moral ideals. It would be an endless task, how- ever, to indicate all similar problems. We should meet with the same experience in every case; namely, that the Vedic religion, both by virtue of its historic position and its magnificent state of preserva- tion, offers unparalleled opportunities for study to any one who desires to penetrate to the heart, to the very foundations of those old religions, religions with an old and crude basis, with the crea- tions of riper thought and feeling above, and finally, we may add, with the seeds just visible of a still riper, more perfect future growth. I should like to illustrate still further the importance of the Indian religions for the general problems of the science of religion by mentioning one form that appears later than the Vedic period. Buddhism represents to us one of the highest forms of religion. Buddhism and Christianity have long since seemed to be comparable to the mind that seeks to bring harmony into the bewildering relig- ious phenomena. They are the most powerful religions of the East and West. Both are world-religions having no national boundaries. Both are religions teaching salvation, breaking all restrictions set by ceremony or law. The same type of religion of salvation — thus the relation has been formulated — has been realized twice in the history of the world, in the West by Christianity, and in the East by Buddhism. It is quite evident how great the interests of the science of relig- ion are in a discussion of this scheme. The student of Buddhism will, however, appreciate the fact that he and his fellow worker in the New Testament will not of themselves be able to make such a dis- cussion possible. A third must help, — the student of Greek thought. It is known how nearly related to Buddhism are the ideas that flourished in certain old Grecian religious orders and schools of RELIGIONS OF ANCIENT INDIA 479 philosophy, and are even found here and there in Plato. Comparison with Buddhism offers the best means of approaching and under- standing these ideas. The earthly existence seems" to these Greeks, as to Buddhists, to be shrouded in darkness. The soul has fallen from its true home into "life without life," into an impermanent world. As in Buddhism, suffering lasts indefinitely in the wander- ings of the soul, in which it "exchanges life's painful paths one for another." But like Buddha the wise man recognizes and points out the "way to salvation." He teaches the art of freeing one's self from bodily existence. Knowledge and philosophy lead the spirit to the bliss that Plato extols. In a sudden vision the eternal one, that ever is, beams upon him, and into union with him he enters freed of all fetters, just as the blessed certainty of Nirvana illumined the son of Sakya in the holy night: "Destroyed is the rebirth, fulfilled the holy change and duty done; I shall not return to the world again." The national differences between the two peoples are of course clearly seen when one more closely examines these ideas. How could it be otherwise? Yet after all, the harmony is wonderful with which the voices of the Greek thinkers answer the yellow-robed Indian monks. It reminds one almost of those correspondences that we saw ethnology finds between the ideas of peoples most widely separated. There lies the same haze of vague forebodings over both these ideal worlds, the Grecian as well as the Indian. There is the same longing for the cessation of motion, of becoming and change. With it sounds of triumph are mingled : the proud consciousness of one's own power to call a halt to that motion. And this implies that we must never oppose to one another these moods as peculiarly Indian or Christian. They are certainly not Indian alone. Allied Indian and Grecian research teaches that they are the products of forces that do not belong to simply one country. Accordingly the necessary basis has now been given the science of religion for investi- gating these forces; namely, how far do they agree with, and how far do they differ from, those which have produced Christianity? Perhaps the differences wall first strike the eye. On the one hand, in India and Greece, we have the wise man who, through his know- ledge of the nature of the wrorld and the workings of the universal law, rises above the suffering that it brings him; on the other hand, in Christianity, the pious man who, though poor in spirit, clings to the mercy of the all-loving God with childlike confidence. On the one hand, the final goal as conceived by a mind accustomed to meta- physical abstractions, as rest freed from all "becoming" in the realms of " ideas " or those places Where there is no being, nothing firm, in the isle, the only — 480 BRAHMANISM AND BUDDHISM of Nirvana. On the other hand, the blessed hope of spirits longing for life, the transfiguration of a most living, most personal existence perfecting itself in God. We have here the sharp antitheses that appear doubly sharp compared with the harmony between Indian and Greek modes of thought. Who would wish to obscure them? But it is not obscuring them when we ask whether, in spite of differ- ences of race, civilization, temperament, powers of imagination, com- plexity or simplicity of thought, it is not after all the same longing, here as there, a longing originating in the depths of the soul for the world beyond. It is a longing for the " far off, " to leave the dullness of the world and life of the senses for the freest, brightest heights. The hand that was once eagerly and rudely stretched out after worldly goods has been drawn back. One dreams of the inex- pressible, whose secrets one must perforce call by many ever chang- ing names. It sounds in the souls like grand chords of stirring and solemn music. I can merely indicate what pictures the science of religion has to draw here. The assistance of students of Indian religions is not cer- tainly the least to give it the power to reduce these pictures from floating mists to definite form. We accompany that science to its very heights. We furnish it with material, with facts that shall prevent it from merely playing with airy forms. Moreover, whatever we have given it returns to us again open to a higher, broader, and freer understanding. I said at the beginning of my discussion that each historical form is itself alone, occurs only once. Now we think we see reflected in this one form other forms, scattered over wide stretches of space and time. The single form remains constant, and yet it may appear to us as if it first received its fullest significance, its position in all life, through this reflection. Have I strayed too far, in what I have said, from the question of the relation of the different branches of investigation, into a dis- cussion of the relationships of the objects of these investigations? It will hardly be possible to deal with the first problem objectively without constantly introducing the second. My real aim, however, was always this, to show how our study is closely associated with that of our fellow scientists, with the work of specialists, and with the study of broad and universal problems. If it were conceivable that our share in all this were suddenly made void, surely many a gap would be bitterly felt. The science of religions would be more limited and poorer if, among the voices of the peoples that it hears and interprets, the voice of that people were missing which created the prayers and sacrifices of the Veda and the figure of the Buddha shrouded in mystery. BY MAURICE BLOOMFIELD [Maurice Bloomfield, Professor of Sanskrit and Comparative Philology, Johns Hopkins University, b. Bielitz, Austria, February 23, 1855. A.M. Furman Uni- versity, South Carolina, 1877; Ph.D. Johns Hopkins University, 1879; LL.D. Princeton University, 1896. Member of the German Oriental Society, Ameri- can Oriental Society, American Philological Association; Honorary Member of American Philosophical Society, Royal Bohemian Society, Prague. Author of The Atharva-Veda and the Gopatha-Brahmana; Cerberus, the Dog of Hades. Edited for first time from the original MSS. Sutra of Kaucika. Translated the Atharva-Veda in the Sacred Books of the East (edited by Max Muller). Edited, with Professor Richard Garbe, of University of Tubingen, the Kashmirian, or Paippalada-Veda. Has in press, A Concordance of the entire Vedic Literature.] FROM olden times, as an early exercise of the primitive mind in its adjustment to the world about it, comes the riddle or the charade. The fresher the vision, when the world was young, so much keener was the interest in the phenomena of nature, in the phenomena of life, and in the simple institutions which surrounded man. All harmonies and fitnesses, all discrepancies and inconsistencies attract the notice of children and the childlike man. Hence children love riddles; hence savage or primitive peoples put them. All folk-lore is full of them. They are the mystery and at the same time the rationalism of the juvenile mind. As civilization advances they still sustain life, but they grow more complicated, more conscious and exacting, as the simpler relations become commonplace, and interest in them fades and wears off. Finally the riddle and the charade remain only in games and occasional plays on words. Humor and fun have taken the place of the shallow mystery which is now gone forever. Mythology and religion are largely attempts to account for out- ward nature, and to adjust the inner self to outward nature: we may say confidently that the riddle-question and the riddle-answer could not fail to come out in these attempts. We may trust in this, as in many related matters, to the Vedic poets. Their intense pre- occupation with nature myth, with liturgy and with the psycho- physical qualities of man, is expressed to some extent in riddle form : the Veda is the home of the mythological, liturgical, and philosoph- ical charade. And what is particularly interesting and quite puzzling, there are also riddles about ordinary things which descend to the level of the nursery and the bar-room. It is one thing to know that riddles are ever near and dear to the heart of the people; it is another to account directly for the impulse which originated them or preserved them in a religious literature 482 BRAHMANISM AND BUDDHISM of a type as advanced as the Vedic hymns. How and why were they produced or preserved? There must have been some peg to hang them on. The Veda is in no sense a belles-lettres collection. All its books are in some sense religious; they are for the most part, in fact, liturgic. All early Brahmanical literary remains, no matter under what impulse they were originally composed, were preserved for some useful purpose. The Hindus of the time of the Veda, if we judge them by their writings, were a practical people, in spite of the speculative turn of their minds. Their literature of a hundred works or more, the famous Upanishads not excepted, has in view personal advantage, the favor of the gods, the grant of wishes, or the destruction of enemies. The same motive, after all, pervades also the theosophic, pessimistic Upanishads : they also pander to a desire — the desire to escape the eternal round of existences. Whatever is left of the litera- ture of early Brahmanism was saved because it had managed to obtain a work on some definite occasion, because it was primarily composed for a religious purpose, or secondarily adapted to such a purpose. It is not otherwise as regards the riddle. The Vedic word for riddle is brahmodya, or brahmavadya, that is, analysis of, or speculation about the brahma, or religion. The great sacrifices, the so-called frawia-sacrifices, such as rajasuya (coronation of a king), or a^vamedha (horse-sacrifice), were for the most part undertaken by kings and rich nobles, not by the smaller house- holder who could not afford them, or had no occasion for them. They had in them the elements of tribal or national festivals. Of course they were expensive. A large number of priests had to be present, and they were not at all shy about asking fees (ddkshina) for their services. A sly way they had of making these fees exorbitant; namely, they recited poems in praise of generous givers of old, so-called ddnastutis, "gift-praises," and gathd nardc,anisyah, "stanzas which sing the praises of generous men." In most of these simply fabulous stories of presents to the Brahmans are recorded. They sing these songs so loudly that the Vedic texts in their soberer moments stamp them as lies (anrtam), and decry them as pollution ($amalairi). Once the reciter of gift-praises and the man drunk with brandy (sura) are placed on the same plane; they are so foul that gifts from them must not be accepted. Now we are told distinctly that the Vedic kings, or tribal Rajas, were not only interested in the mechanical perfection and success of the sacrifices undertaken under their patronage, but that they were even more impressed by the speculative, mystic, and philosophic thoughts which were suggested by various phases of the sacrifice. In later Upanishad times the kings appear as the questioners of the great Brahmans who solve for them the riddle of existence. Whenever their questions are an- THE ORIGIN OF THEOSOPHY 483 swered satisfactorily, in the midst of a continuous discourse, the king again and again is excited to generosity: "I give thee a thousand (cows)/' says King Janaka of Videha repeatedly to the great Vedantic Brahman Yajnavalkya, as the latter unfolds his marvelous scheme of salvation in the " Great Forest Upanishad." Kings were known to give away their kingdoms on such occasions; and kings became themselves glorious expounders of theosophic religion. Thus the Brahmans who must impress the " generous giver" with their theological profundity — sometimes the hollowest mock profundity — used the riddle-form, inherited from ancient folk-lore, to enliven the mechanical and technical progress of the sacrifice by impressive intellectual pyrotechnics. One Brahman puts the riddle; the other answers it. It is a theological "quiz," arranged by the parties : questioner and responder know their parts to perfection. At the horse-sacrifice two priests ask and answer: "Who verily moveth quite alone; who verily is born again (and again); what, forsooth, is the remedy for cold; and what is the great (greatest) heap?" The answer: "The sun moveth quite alone; the moon is born again (and again); Agni (fire) is the remedy for cold; the earth is the great (greatest) heap." (Vajasaneyi Samhita,23, 9 and 10.) "I ask thee for the highest summit of the earth; I ask thee for the navel of the universe; I ask thee for the seed of the lusty steed; I ask thee for the highest heaven of Speech (Vak)." The answer is: " This altar is the highest summit of the earth; this sacrifice is the navel of the universe; this soma (the intoxicating sacrificial drink) is the seed of the lusty steed ; this Brahman priest is the highest heaven (that is to say, the highest exponent) of Speech. " (Ibid. 23, 61 and 62.) The priest called Ho tar asks the priest called Adhvaryu: "What, forsooth, is the sun-like light; what sea is there like unto the ocean; what, verily, is higher than the earth; what is the thing whose meas- ure is not known?" The Adhvaryu priest answers: "Brahma is the sun-like light;1 heaven is the sea like unto the ocean; Indra is higher than the earth; the measure of the cow is (quite) unknown." (Ibid. 23, 47 and 48.) The Brahman priest asks the Udgatar priest : " How many are the sacrificial substances, and how many are the syllables; how numerous the oblations and the fagots; the categories of the sacrifice let me ask you; how many Hotar priests sacrifice in season? " The Udgatar priest answers: " Six are the substances of the sacrifice, and hundred are the syllables; eighty the oblations, and three the fagots; the categories of the sacrifice I do tell thee; seven Hotar priests do sacrifice in season." (Ibid. 23, 57 and 58.) And now by previous arrangement a mutual admiration riddle; it is an undisguised oratio pro domo in which the Brahman priest, or 1 Byron, Siege of Corinth, xr. 484 BRAHMANISM AND BUDDHISM High priest, and through him the entire priesthood, is extolled in terms of frank selfishness. The Udgatar priest asks the Brahman, the highest priest at the sacrifice, the following leading questions: "Who knows the navel of this universe; who heaven, and earth, and atmosphere; who knows the birthplace of the lofty sun; knows, too, the moon, whencesoever born?" The Brahman priest answers: "I know the navel of this universe; I, heaven and earth and atmo- sphere; I know the birthplace of the lofty sun; know, too, the moon, whencesoever born." (Ibid. 23, 59 and 60.) We see the whole stuff of religions: nature myth, liturgy, human psychology, theosophy; they all present themselves as mystery fit for the riddle, and they are handled often in a very fresh and original way; perhaps yet more often with labored obscurity, with mock profundity, designed to swell the importance of the too simple thought. But what is most remarkable, the same ritualistic texts that have preserved the divine riddle have also preserved the, so to speak, human riddle — very human indeed in its choice of the most ordinary objects, in its shallow didacticism, in its lumbering humor, and in its naive grossness. Especially in the so-called kuntapa-hymns of the Atharva-Veda, a curious medley of gift-praises, didactic stanzas, riddles, and obscenities, all of which are firmly imbedded in the liturgy, the homely riddle appears, at the first blush, like the cry of a baby in arms in a serious assembly. What shall we say of religious texts that break out in the nursery-charade? Once it is said that the gods propounded these charades a la sphinx to the Asuras, or devils, and so got the better of them: "In that which lies stretched out there is hidden that which stands: (what is it?) " Answer: "The foot in the shoe." " By drawing two little ears to one's self they are gotten out in the middle: (what is it?) " The tying of a knot in a rope. "Well, here it is, east, west, north, and south; as soon as you touch it, it melts away: (what is it?)" Answer: "A drop (of rain)." Then three riddles from the animal and vegetable kingdoms, typifying the actions of quick arrival, swift disappearance, and firm standing, or permanence. The thing is at once subtle and simple: "Bounce! he has come: (what is it?)" Answer: "The dog." " Whish! it is gone: (what is it?) " Answer: "The fall of a leaf." " Bang! it has trodden: (what is it?) " Answer: " The hoof of an ox." The decencies of present-day literature forbid the report of that very characteristic class of riddles which deal with human nature in the narrow sense, and with the sexual relation (Atharva-Veda, 20, 133), but it is well to bear their existence in mind when looking for an explanation. The theme, of course, primarily suggests popular origin. Yet its presence in the liturgy is taken with the utmost seri- ousness by the ritualists; they explain and apologize for its foolish THE ORIGIN OF THEOSOPHY 485 and obscene character. The entire material has the look of a fossil : it is something which must have stood in a prehistoric period outside of the sacrifice, being connected with it at first by looser, more accidental ties, until the rigid formalism of which the existing texts are the final expression had placed everything upon the same footing of sanctity. The nursery-charade, and worse, cannot reasonably be supposed to have found its way into the ritual in any other way. This is true in spite of the scientific seriousness of the Hindu mind and its nai've love of schematizing, which makes it possible in later times for the ars amandi (kdma^astra) to treat the most incredible things in scientific sutra style — the style, for instance, of the sutras of the Vedanta and Sankhya philosophies, or the grammatical rules of Panini. This material was obviously popular at first, and I have little doubt as to the reason of its presence in the sacred texts. It generally occurs in close neighborhood to the festive "gift-praises," which, as stated above, were not only intended to stimulate future givers, but also mark the note of hilarity. No doubt these served as a bridge from the real solemnities of the sacrifice to what, for lack of a better term, we might call — borrowing a German student term — a kind of a liturgic "saukneipe." Plainly speaking, the bestowal of the sacrificial fees (dakshind) in many cases must have led to gormandizing and drunkenness, and these were probably in turn followed — the practice is not entirely unknown at the present day — by shallow witticisms of this sort. This we must not imagine to have taken place without interruption, without recollection of the religious character of the occasion as a whole, because theosophic and cosmic riddles and discussions come in too. In the main, however, social jollification wras the original motive, until, in the course of the ossification of the ritual, even the most trivial moments march by in the procession of the sacrifice, misunderstood and suspected, yet respected. They are now as sacred and ineradicable as the most thoughtful prayer to the gods. But a modern Vedantist, the late Svami Vivekananda, found it in his heart to speak of "those dis- gusting Vedas." We can now understand both the origin and the enormous pro- pagation of the theosophic riddle and the theosophic hymn, which is always more or less of a riddle. Grown from folk-lore roots, fructified by the Hindus' intense appreciation of all relations as mysteries, it grew to full strength in connection with the sacrifice and its patronage of a superior variety of religious intellect. The highest forms of Hindu religion have always operated from the ontological side, from the severely intellectual side. Faith and piety, sentiment and emotion, are almost entirely wanting in early Brahmanism, although in later times bhakti, or piety, tends to rival the religious emotions of John Tauler and Thomas a Kempis. No one will say that 486 BRAHMANISM AND BUDDHISM theosophic thought would not have existed without the technicalities of the sacrifice and its intellectual scintillations, but it is easy to see that it owes a great deal of its development to the sacrifice. Wisdom- searching Rajas weary of the world, Janaka and Ajatac,atru, Buddha and Bimbisara, have as much to do with the development of Hindu religion as the thirst for new truth native in the Brahmans them- selves. They are the Maecenases of the "poor clerics," and they, having a superabundance of the world, are attracted permanently to the things beyond. So, without doubt, early theosophy grew under the same patronage, in a natural desire of the Brahmans to vitalize the outer forms of the ritual technicalities; in a natural desire, too, to obtain position and reputation by something better than the handling with rigid correctness of firewood and sacrificial ladle, of soma drink and oblations of melted butter. The extent to which the riddle habit had taken hold of those early philosophers may be seen in the outer form of the riddles themselves. In the cases hitherto mentioned, the question is stated in full, and the answer is given in full. But this is not the only form. Sometimes (Aitareya Brahmana, 5, 25, 15 ff.) the riddle is put in a concise categorical statement, instead of a question; the answer again follows. Again — and this is the most common form — the riddle is put either in the form of a categorical statement or a question; the answer is withheld : either it is held to be too obvious, or the object is to impart additional interest and mystery to the riddle. Finally there are riddles (Aitareya Brahmana, 5, 25, 23; Ac.valayana Qrau- tasutra, 8, 13, 14) which contain only the answer to a question, which is presupposed and easily supplied. Countless statements based on remote analogies, harboring violent paradoxes, indeed at first sight nonsense, are in reality riddles. There is hardly anything in the wide world of things and thoughts which does not share some quality with something else: this is enough to justify identification. When the essence or outer form fails, the name opens the door to a labyrinth of etymological crookedness in which every road leads to every goal : the name and the thing (ndma and rupa) are of equal value and dignity. The Rig- Veda, the most important of Hindu books, contains two riddle hymns of great interest, about neither of which the last word has been said. One (8, 29) is a hymn of ten small crisp stanzas which, I venture to say, is a so-called nivid, or invitation to the gods to come to the sacrifice. But what kind of an invitation? Instead of the usual clear note of fervent call, ten varieties of gods are merely indicated by their most salient qualities. The names of the gods are never mentioned, but instead catch-words, as it were leit-motifs in the Wagnerian sense, which describe them so definitely as to leave no doubt as to which one is meant. The stanzas are arranged so that the THE ORIGIN OF THEOSOPHY 487 first seven deal with single gods (eka) ; the next two with dual gods (dvdu); the tenth with a plural group of divine beings (eke). To realize how subtly all this is done, we must notice that the three important divinities of stanzas three, four, and five all carry weapons or tools; yet the stanzas keep them so distinctly apart that no hearer could possibly have been in doubt : 3. "An axe (vagi) of brass one carries in his hands; he is firmly fixed among the gods." It is the god Tvashtar, " Fashioner." 4. "A bolt (vajra) is fixed within the hand of one; the demons with it does he slay." It is the god Indra, the Hercules of the Veda. 5. "A sharp weapon one holds in his hand; strong (ugra) he is; the urine (i. e. rain) of heaven is his remedy (jalashabheshaja)." It is the god Rudra (Civa). The eighth stanza reads: vibhir dva carata ekaya saha pra pravaseva vasatah. "Two gods together with one goddess travel, drawn by birds; like travelers do they travel far." The two Agvins, the young sons of the morning, suspiciously similar to the Dioskuri, Castor and Pollux, travel with their bride Surya, the young sun-maiden, upon a car drawn by birds. As they are at the same time the heavenly physicians, they are thought to be particularly welcome guests, and they stop off, in the course of their travels, at the houses of the pious, and this cunning riddle is the invitation extended to them. The other hymn of the Rig- Veda (1, 164) is the piece de resistance of the riddle literature. It is an assemblage of fifty-two longer stanzas, all of them, except one, riddles whose answers are not given. The one whose answer is stated is identical with the first one cited in this paper. The others involve objects or ideas which, instead of being called by their ordinary names, are indicated, either by their well- known qualities, or, preferably, by some mystic or symbolic indica- tion. Numbers especially play a great part in these indications. The subjects are either cosmic, that is, pertaining to nature; mythological, that is, referring to the accepted legends about the gods; psycho- physical, that is, pertaining to the human organs and sensations; or finally, crude and tentative philosophy or theosophy. Heaven and earth, sun and moon, air, clouds and rain; the course of the sun, the year, the seasons, months, days and nights; the human voice, self- consciousness, life and death; the origin of the first creature and the originator of the universe — such are the abrupt and bold themes. The mysticism and symbolism of these riddles make their solution a task of unequal certainty; yet on the whole they also are remark- 488 BRAHMANISM AND BUDDHISM ably clear, considering the stout efforts that seem to have been made to obfuscate their sense. The first riddle is : "Of this dear gray Hotar priest the middle brother is of the rock; the third brother carries ghee on his back. Here have I seen the householder that has seven sons." It is the god Agni, "Fire," in three important aspects. The first is the sun, or heavenly fire, the old, or immemorial sacrifice fire in the sky; the second is the fire of the heavenly rock, or cloud, that is, lightning; the third is the earthly sacrifice fire upon whose back the oblations of ghee are poured. The whole is the household fire with seven sons, that is, many tongues. The second riddle is: "Seven hitch the car that has one wheel; a single horse that has seven names draws it. The wheel of three naves is imperishable, and not to be checked: upon it do all beings stand." The riddle is in the main clear. The answer is the sun. A single wheel drawn by the seven sun-steeds courses on the sky. The three naves are either three divisions of the day, or, less probably, of the year. In the light of the imperishable sun all beings carry on their existence. As a specimen of a theosophic riddle we may take 46. It contains the suggestion, fateful for all advanced Hindu thought, that above and behind the great multitude of gods there is one supreme per- sonality; behind the gods there is that "Only Being" of whom the gods are but various names. "They call (it) Indra, Mitra, Varuna, and Agni, or the heavenly bird Garutmant (the sun). The sages call the One Being in many ways; they call it Agni, Yama, Mataricvan." It is but a step from this idea to the pantheistic, absolute, without a second, Brahman-Atman of the Upanishads and the Vedanta philosophy — that perfervid monism, the like of which the world has not seen outside of India. Significantly this riddle habit has insinuated itself into the more systematic and continuous speculations. There is a famous hymn, Rig- Veda, 10, 121, in which Prajapati, the lord of creatures and the world, the typical Father-god, is lauded without stint, but his name is never mentioned: instead at the end of each stanza, the question is asked as a kind of riddle, "Who is this god that has such and such qualities, and performs such and such wonderful deeds?" Of course every one knows, but the later theologians have gravely constructed a god "Who" out of the question: mirabile dictu, the riddle ques- tion turned into an anthropomorphic god ! 1. "In the beginning there arose the germ of golden light; he THE ORIGIN OF THEOSOPHY 489 was the one born lord of all that is. He established the earth and this sky — who is the god to whom we should offer our oblations?" 3. " He who through his power became the sole king of this breath- ing and slumbering world; he who governs all, men and beasts — who is the god to whom we should offer our oblations?" There are two points which impress themselves forcibly in connec- tion with these riddles as we see them put into the service of philo- sophic speculation. First, the cool intellectuality of Hindu theosophy, its clever yet often mechanical play with terms, and its growingly 'rigid and logical definitions are unquestionably in a measure the children in direct descent of the riddle habit, which has found its way from folk-lore beginnings into myth, liturgy, and philosophy. That the Hindus of the time of our texts took these things seriously, we can see from the name they have given the entire habit and practice — brahmodya, discussion of the brahma. The name is in any case daring; but it would be childish, unless, at the time of its giving, the higher rather than the lower, the mystic philosophic (in the broadest sense) rather than the trivial, riddles were in the mind's eye. Anyhow it is quite clear that in India, and, so far as I know, in India only, the riddle, to use the French expression, has arrived. It has there become a vehicle and doubtless also a promoter of higher, or, let us say, more cautiously, persistently complicated thought, and it approaches in dignity the other earlier efforts to solve the mystery of existence and the universe, as they appear in the theosophic hymns of the Veda and in the prose Upanishads. There is a second matter upon which these riddles throw strong light. A distinguished scholar has recently advanced the theory that Hindu philosophy is not, as has been tacitly assumed, the product of Brahmanical intellect, but that it was due to the spiritual efforts of the Royal or Warrior Caste. Professor Garbe,1 of the University of Tubingen, is an eminent student of Hindu philosophy, and at the same time well versed in the early literature of the Vedas. He is not an admirer of Brahman civilization: on more than one occasion has he poured out the vials of his just wrath against the many preten- sions and the cruelties which the Brahmans have practiced during the period of their ascendency in India through several millenniums. But not content with that, he believes that the Brahmans were not only bold bad men, but also that they were too stupid to have worked their way from the sandy wastes of ritualism to the green summits where grows the higher thought of India, notably that monism which is the Hindu intellectual idea par excellence. For centuries the Brahmans w^ere engaged in excogitating sacrifice after sacrifice, and hair-splitting definitions and explanations of senseless ritualistic 1 See the first article in his volume of essays, entitled " Beitrage zur Indischen Kulturgeschichte " (Berlin, 1903). 490 BRAHMANISM AND BUDDHISM practices. All at once, says Professor Garbe, lofty thought appears upon the scene. To be sure, even then the traditional god-lore, sacrificial lore, and folk-lore are not rejected, but the spirit is no longer satisfied with the cheap mysteries of the sacrificial altar; a passionate desire to solve the riddle of the universe and its relation to the own self holds the mind captive; nothing less will satisfy. In this observation of Professor Garbe everything is correct, nay even familiar, except the words "all at once." Mental revolutions rarely come all at once; least of all in India. The evidence of fairly con- tinuous records shows that every important Hindu thought has its beginning, its middle, and its final development. Now the Vedic riddle is certainly a product which has been fostered up to its actual scope, an extraordinary scope, as we have seen, by the Brahmans. It is tied by so many threads to Brahmanical literature and Brah- manical performances that there can be no doubt. All the riddles occur in the midst of unquestioned Brahmanical texts; most of them are in the standard metres of the Brahmanical Vedas; a reasonable explanation why they were taken up and propagated by the Brah- mans, namely, to enhance the interest and importance of their intellectual performances, has been stated above. No other reason has ever been suggested. Now the boundary line between theosophic riddle and the more set efforts at theosophic speculations cannot be found. " They call it Indra, Mitra, Varuna, and Agni, or the heavenly bird Garutmant; the sages call the One Being in many ways," etc. This is a riddle, as we have seen. How far is this from another statement in a hymn of the Rig- Veda (10, 129, 2): "That One breathed (itself), without breath, through its own will; other than it there nothing since has been." Here we have the severest monism in a Brahmanical hymn in the same metre (trishtubh} in which the Vedic poets loved to call upon their fustian god Indra. Even Brahmanical nature-worship is dashed again and again with monism. Rig- Veda, 1, 115, 1, says of Surya, the sun: "The sun is the Self or Soul of all that moves or stands." Another stanza (Rig-Veda, 3, 62, 10), the famous so-called Savitrl, which remains sacrosanct at all times, and is recited to this day by every orthodox Hindu, turns to Savitar, another form of the sun: "We meditate on the adorable light of divine Savitar, that he may arouse our holy thoughts." Here is almost the first touch of that inimitable combination of the Upanishads, the Atman "breath" and the Brahma "holy thought," that is, the combination of physical and spiritual force into one pantheistic One and All. As a modern Hindu, the late Rajendralal Mitra, says of the Savitrl:1 "It is, of course, impossible to say 1 Introduction to his edition of the Gopatha-Brahmana, p. 24. THE ORIGIN OF THEOSOPHY 491 what the author of the Savitri had in view, but his Indian commen- tators, both ancient and modern, are at one in believing that he rose from nature up to nature's god, and adored that sublime lumin- ary which is visible only to the eye of reason, and not the planet we daily see in its course." Katyayana, in his Index to the Rig- Veda (the so-called Anukramani), after reducing all the gods of the Veda to three types, to Agni (fire and light on earth), to Vayu (air or wind in the atmosphere) , and to Surya (sun in the sky) , proceeds still far- ther to assert that there is only one deity, namely the "Great Self" (mahan atma), and some say that he is the Sun, or that the Sun is he." Similarly Yaska in the Nirukta. I am afraid that Professor Garbe has worked himself into the state of mind that there is only one kind. of good Brahman, namely, a dead Brahman, to paraphrase a saying about that other Indian, the American Indian. Selfishness, foolishness, bigotry, and cruelty galore — the marks of these some Brahmans have left in their com- positions, foolishly as behoves knaves. But there were Brahmans and Brahmans. The older Upanishads, written in the exact language and style of the so-called prose Brahmana texts, figuring, indeed, as parts of these compositions, joining their speculations closely to their ritualistic mysticism, were composed by Brahmans who had risen to the conviction that not "the way of works" lies the salvation that is knowledge. Countless Brahmanical names crowd these texts: Naciketas, and Qvetaketu; Gargya and Yajnavalkya, and many others. Even the wives of great Brahmans participate in these spiritual tourneys, and occasionally rise to a subtler appreciation than their lords of the mystery of the world and the riddle of existence. Professor Garbe has been attracted to his position by the interest- ing fact that the Upanishads narrate on several occasions that the knowledge of the ultimate philosophy was in the keeping of men of royal caste, and that these taught their knowledge to Brahmans. This is put in such a way that the Brahman, after having aired his own stock of theosophy, "lays down" before the king's superior insight. The king is then represented as graciously bestowing his saving knowledge upon the Brahman. Once or twice, however, the king turns braggart, and mars his act of generosity by claiming that the warrior caste are the real thing, and that they alone in all the world are able to illumine these profound and obscure matters. I doubt whether this justifies us in regarding the warrior caste as the spiritual saviors of India. In the first place the very texts which narrate these exploits of the Kshatriyas are unquestionably Brahmanic. Would the arrogance and selfishness of the Brahmans have allowed them to preserve and propagate facts calculated to injure permanently their own standing? Surely not. The situation is somewhat as follows: There never was a time in 492 BRAHMANISM AND BUDDHISM India when the Aryas, that is, the three upper castes, were excluded from Brahmanical piety. Now as theosophy, by its very terms, shuts down on the ritual, the special profession of the Brahmans, there is nothing at all in it to exclude occasional intelligent and aspiring men of the other noble castes. This is true up to the present day. Here is where the good Brahman, of whom Professor Garbe will not hear, pomes in. The compilers of the Upanishads were honest enough to recognize this participation, to express their unbounded admiration of it, because after all there was to them something unexpected in it. They are carried away by it to a certain amount of ecstasy, the kind of ecstasy that goes with a paradox, as when the son of a peasant becomes a professor at a university. We must not forget either that the Rajas were after all the source from whom all blessings flow. Even in theosophic occupation the Brahman remains the poor cleric with the Raja as his Maecenas. I think that any one who reads these statements of royal proficiency attentively will acknowledge that they are dashed in the Upanishads, as they are in the Ritual, with a goodly measure of captatio benevolentiae. In other words, the genuine admiration of high-minded nobles is not necessarily divorced from the sub-consciousness that it is well to admire in high places. Even really good Brahmans might do that. If King Janaka of Videha punctuates Yajnavalkya's brilliant expo- sition of theosophy by repeated gifts of a thousand cows, King Ajatagatru of Benares, real intellectual as he is, will not allow ad- miring Brahmans to starve. So we find here at the end of the relig- ious development, when the riddle of the universe has been solved, the same economic conditions which govern the singing of Vedic hymn, the sacrifice to the gods, and the propounding of those hum- bler riddles which form the starting-point of our discussion. But with all their faults we love them still : some Brahmans, though not all Brahmans, were at all times, as they are to the days of Qankara and Kumarila, the intellectual leaders of India; brilliant helpers from the other castes lend occasional aid. SHORT PAPER MR. TEITARO SUZUKI, of La Salle, Illinois, contributed a paper to this Sec- tion entitled "Is Buddhism Nihilistic?" After stating some of the fundamental principles of Buddhism and of "many of the moral precepts" as contained in the Book of Buddha's Last Sermon, he argued that Buddhism can be said, in a sense, to be purely an ethical system, but by no means a gospel of annihilation. After a further discussion of the two main divisions of Buddhism the speaker impressed upon the audience that all religious systems, whatever their original character, must adapt themselves to new surroundings into which they are going to develop, and to undergo such transformation as best to suit the newly created needs. Any religion that is not plastic is surely doomed to die as soon as it finds itself in a totally different situation. The commonest mistake by the masses is to take religious influence as well-nigh omnipotent. SECTION B — MOHAMMEDISM SECTION B — MOHAMMEDISM (Hall 8, September 23, 3 p. m.) CHAIRMAN: PROFESSOR JAMES R. JEWETT, University of Chicago. SPEAKERS: PROFESSOR IGNAZ GOLDZIHER, University of Budapest. PROFESSOR DUNCAN B. MACDONALD, Hartford Theological Seminary . THE PROGRESS OF ISLAMIC SCIENCE IN THE LAST THREE DECADES BY IGNAZ GOLDZIHER [Ignaz Goldziher, Professor of Semitic Philology, University of Budapest, Hungary. b. Sze'kesfehe'rvar, 1850. Studied, Budapest, Berlin, Leipzig, Leyden, and Cairo. Lecturer, University of Budapest, 1872-94; Professor of Semitic Philo- logy, ibid. 1894- . Member Hungarian Academy. Author of Studien iiber Tanchum Jeruschalmi; Der Mythos bei den Hebraern und seine geschichtliche Ent- wicklung; Muhammadanische Studien; Abhandlungen zur ArabischenPhilologie, and many noted papers on Muhammadanism.] THE title given by me to this discourse clearly indicates that we study and judge the life of Islam, and the documents from which we learn the history of its development, from quite different points of view from our predecessors of half a century ago. The scientific study of Islam has exhibited very significant progress in these last decades. I not only mean to say that we know more about Islam, and that our knowledge is more abundant than that, for instance, of Hadrian Reland's (1704) contemporaries. This increase of know- ledge is the natural outcome of two things : first, a more intimate knowledge of the countries where the believers in this religion live; secondly, the always increasing knowledge of the theological liter- ature of Islam and its sects. But we also know Islam in quite a different manner from our predecessors. That is to say, we consider it from other points of view and study it by other methods. There are two groups of the scientific results of our modern time, which could not pass without having an effect upon the study of Islam, nor could the researches concerning it escape their influence either. First, the methods of historical critics which have proved suc- cessful with the documents of other religions. In other words, the traditional documents of the origin and development of Islam have been submitted to the same historical-critical examination as we have 498 MOHAMMEDISM been taught to apply to the literary witnesses to ancient Christianity and rabbinical Judaism. Second, the science of comparative religion, which has only risen in these last decades, has established ethno-psychological laws of universal value for the understanding of the origin and growth of the religious ideas of men; of it, too, we have made use in com- prehending the complicated phenomena of the historical Islam. We have, then, applied the results of these two methods, the historical-critical and the comparative-religious, to our consideration of Islam. You cannot fail to observe on these premises the total change which has taken place, leaving aside special monographs, when you compare the manuals of our day treating universal ques- tions with those of older literary periods. How much rubbish has been cleared away, from what different points of view the seeds, bloom, and fruit of Islam are considered! How the dead letter has been brought into life and placed in living connection with his- torical reality! The great Hadrian Reland, to whom we owe the first scientific treatises on Islamic institutions, when introducing his subject, believed he could not better recommend his inquiries than to present them " uti docetur in templis et scholis Mohammedids " ; that is to say, "as they are taught in Muhammadan temples and schools." We modify this principle, or rather enrich it and repre- sent Islam as it appears in its development, in its living formation, and in its effects on society and in history. If, after these introductory remarks, I had to indicate in short the results themselves which this new scientific view of Islamic matters has brought to light, I could on this American soil deliver myself of that task with the greatest ease. Read the book appearing scarcely a year ago in New York by my learned friend, Duncan B. Macdonald,1 Professor in Hartford, whom I am particularly happy to see among my hearers to-day, and I feel sure the volume will afford enjoyable reading for you all. You will find there united in inter- esting literary form, and with exact scientific touch, the results to which the modern scientific views lead, and a solid conclusive summing-up of conscientious and minute researches about Islamic development, as it appears in a literature embracing thirteen cen- turies. It is a contribution offered by America to this department of knowledge, calling forth our thanks. But what are the paths modern science had to follow to come to such results? This shall form the subject of my reflections to- day. 1 Development of Muslim The.ology, Jurisprudence and Constitutional Theory, by Duncan B. Macdonald. New York (Charles Scribner's Sons), 1903. (Scries of Hand-Books in Semitics, edited by J. A. Craig, no. ix.) PROGRESS OF ISLAMIC SCIENCE 499 II It is no longer single errors of detail which we have to correct. Of course some of them have prolonged their lives with the obstin- ate perseverance peculiar to untruths, creeping, even to this day, from manual to manual and belonging to the iron fund of Oriental falsa. Some pet notions to which the Orientalists of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries clung very closely are now extirpated root and branch like the seven nations of Canaan. For instance, you could read in older works — and it sometimes appears in news- papers even to the present day — that Muhammad found his last resting-place in Mekka in the holy Ka'bah, and also that his tomb there is the goal of the famous pilgrimage of Islam. The tale about the magnetic walls, between which the coffin of the Prophet is sus- pended in the air, has — we hope — vanished altogether. The books about the East and the travels of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries could not do without that fable. The idea universally spread in past centuries, that every Jew wishing to share the Pro- phet's Paradise as a true Believer was obliged to pass through the Christian religion, by being regularly baptized, as Jesus is also ac- knowledged by Islam as a prophet, has likewise disappeared, though Martinus Baumgarten of Niirnberg (1507) was not the last to believe and copy the story.1 These and many other things, we are now luckily done with. They did not endure until we had penetrated with our critical lead into the depths of popular ideas. But what was sustained more obstinately than a dozen such blunders was the thoroughly false doctrine, which had caught hold on our educational literature; namely, that the barrier between the two great divisions of Islam, the Sunnites and Shi'ites, consists in this, that the latter recognize beside the Koran nothing as an authority, while the former acknow- ledge beside that revealed religious book also the Sunna, namely, tradition, as a source of religious conduct and creed; an erroneous view which to this day has not yet disappeared from the schools. But the errors in these particular questions can only be attributed to false information. With correct information such blunders could have been easily prevented. The true progress of the science of Islam, of which we are to speak here, brings us into close connection with the forming and developing forces and factors of Islam. You can now ask first of all, Do we know and understand the Koran better than the scholars of the preceding generation, and can we present this advanced knowledge to an instructed public in a sure form? This first question we can 1 Cf. the present writer's article: "Die synibolische Rose in den nordafri- kanischen religiosen Orden," in Oesterreichische Monatsschrift fur den Orient, 1890, p. 8 ff., where are presented a considerable number of such mistakes. 500 MOHAMMEDISM at once answer in the affirmative. Not that we have learned a great deal as regards the language and the exegesis of this sacred book of Islam, though there are peculiarities (for instance the knowledge of borrowed words)1 by which our understanding has increased in this too. Yet in general the philological problems of the Koran are not so complicated as those of the Vedas and the Avesta. But the indefatigable zeal and masterly penetration of scholars like Theodor Noldeke, W. Robertson Smith, and Julius Wellhausen 2 have, out of most minute researches into and criticism of the literary remains and by simultaneous comparison with other Semitic faiths, diffused surprising light upon pre-Islamic religion and the sentiments and institutions of the old Arabians: a significant progress compared to the last preceding valuable analysis of the pre-Islamic religion by Osiander (1853) and Ludolf Krehl (1862). By the deepening of our knowledge about the pre-Islamic state of Arabian religion, about the civilization and ethical positions, the customs and laws of the tribes, our points of view for judging Muhammad's reform are essen- tially enriched and its starting-points and antecedences are now clearer to our eye. In one word: the environment, in which the Prophet grew, the community to which he applied himself with his enthusiastic speech, have approached us scientifically and therefore we understand them better. The impulse also inducing Muhammad to destroy the pagan traditions of his native country, the Jewish and Christian elements, namely, in his teaching, have been examined closer and closer. Though the theological interest has from the beginning of these studies ever favored the inquiry into the dependence of Islam on Judaism and Christianity, even this old tendency has again taken a new quickening, and I take pleasure in referring at this place to the valuable Eli Lectures of the American scholar Henry Preserved Smith on the relationship of the Koran to the Old and the New Testament.3 Among the sources from which Muhammad derived the construct- ive thoughts of his doctrine, Parseeism enters more and more into the foreground of consideration. One could rather presume that the 1 S. Fraenkel, De vocabulis in antiqui* Arabum carminibus et in Corano peregri- nis (Lugd. Batav. 1880). — Dvorak, iiber die Fremdworter in Koran (Wien, 1885, Sitzungsber. der Akad. der Wiss. zu Wien, Phil. hist. Cl. vol. 109). 2 W. Robertson Smith, Kinship and Marriage in Early Arabia (Cambridge, 1885; new edition. London, 1903); J. Wellhausen, Reste ardbischen Heidenthums gesammeltund erleutert (Berlin, 1887, Skizzen und Vorarbeiten, part 3; new edi- tion, Berlin, 1897), and the important criticisms of these works by Th. Noldeke, in Z D M G. yols. 40 and 41. — W. Robertson Smith, Lectures on the Religion of the Semites, First Series (London, 1889; new edition, 1899); Wellhausen, Die She bei den Arabern (Gottingen, 1893, in Nachrichten von der Kgl. Gesettsch der Wiss. no. xi). 3 H. P. Smith, The Bible and Islam, or the Influence of the Old and New Testa- ments on the Religion of Mohammed, being the Eli Lectures for 1897. PROGRESS OF ISLAMIC SCIENCE 501 Prophet of Arabia has been influenced, besides some eschatological elements which the believers of monotheistic religions all owe to Par- seeism, also in other religious points of view by the Madjus (as he calls the followers of Parseeism) who were accessible to him. It is not very attractive, that the idea of the personal " impurity " of the Unbeliever — a Persian idea — should be the fruit of this influence. And indeed, at a closer view we find that the motives to intolerance, the persecu- tion of followers of other persuasions, and to inter-confessional quar- rels show themselves also in the further development of Islam as the fruit of Persian influence and not as the primitive effects of Arabism, which is quite inoffensive in religious respects.1 In the same proportion as the analytical researches are getting deeper and deeper, in like manner the special inquiries about single points of Koranic belief are spreading more and more. Considering the manifold theoretical divergences existing between the different schools as to the dogmas which all could freely develop within their spheres, it will not be an easy task to state a dogmatic of Islam as a system, though desired from so many sides, which could be compared to the settled structure of the dogmatics of any Christian confession. My regretted teacher, Ludolf Krehl (died in 1901), who was one of the most competent authorities in this matter, has enriched science with many valuable special researches 2 and left a comprehensive work of this kind, which will, let us hope, be published by his pious successors. Meanwhile we have in different monographical researches many a useful treatise on the religious system of the Koran. Besides the work of Hubert Grimme 3 embracing the whole extent of this sacred book of Islam, we have monographs on Muhammad's Doctrine of Revelation (1898, by Otto Pautz) 4 and also on The Doctrine of Predestination in Mussulman Theology (1902, A. de Vlieger).5 1 Cf. the present writer's paper: Islamisme et Parsisme, published in Actes du premier Congres international. d'Histoire des Religions. Vol. i (Paris, 1901). 2 On the Doctrine of Predestination in the Koran and its Relation to Other Islamic Dogmas (Borichte der Kon. Sachs. Ges. der Wissensch . Phil. Hist. Cl. for 1870); Contributions to Islamic Dogmatics, i (ibid. 1885) ; Muhammadan View on what they call fltra (Festgruss an Rudolf Roth, Stuttgart, 1893); Contributions to the Characteristic of the Doctrine about "Faith" in Islam (Leipzig University-program for 1877). 3 A System of Koranic Theology (Mohammed, part n, Miinster, 1895). 4 Muhammads Lehre von der Offenbarung quellenmassig untersucht (Leipzig, 1898). 5 The doctrinal differences between the various dogmatic parties, as well as their history, have not yet been worked out in a conclusive manner since the attempt made by Alfred v. Kremer, in his Herrschende Ideen des Islams (Leipzig, 1868) and by Prof. Houtsma, in his Strijd over het dogma in den Islam (Leide, 1875). That is the reason why we have not dealt here with inquiries concerning single elements relative to this question. But we should mention many useful contributions hereto by Martin Schreiner in his studies published in Z D M G, vols. 42, 52, 53, and in the Annual Reports of the Berlin Lehranstalt fiir die Wis- senschaft des Judenthums, for 1895 and 1900. The origin and the historical character of Sufism (Islamic theosophy and mysticism) in its manifold shapes are also among the tasks to be solved in times to come. 502 MOHAMMEDISM III Considering the mere form, there is certainly no seemingly surer kind of authentication than the great volume of reports, recognized as the tradition of Islam, can show to prove its credibility. You there meet with testimonies reaching backwards from generation to generation to the very founders and from trustworthy inform- ants, who, as regards character and moral integrity, are above all suspicion, about words and deeds of Muhammad and of his com- panions, who report the words and deeds of their Master. You will understand with what painful conscientiousness the pious Muham- madans applied themselves to possess the Master's words in authen- tic form as reported by the best witness. On this depended their exact knowledge of the sacred history of Islam, the correctness of their creeds, nay, the very righteousness of their religious and lawful life; in a word, the conditions of their salvation. Holding in mind the importance of this matter, full care was bestowed by Islam upon the proof of authenticity of these documents and also upon the statement of the criteria of trustworthiness. We can boldly assert that the criticism bestowed by the science of orthodox Islam upon the transmitted bulk of tradition is in general the oldest example for such critical activity in the literature of the whole world. It is attested to have existed since the eighth and ninth centuries of our era and to have attained its prime in the tenth. And strange to say, we must state here that the merit of having first formed the idea of criticism of religious sources is due to Islamic theology. Influenced by the great accuracy bestowed by conscientious Islamic critics upon their material, Occidental students were in fact benumbed for a long time by the nimbus of authen- ticity and truth surrounding those collections of Muhammadan tradition whose professed end was to separate the chaff from the pure corn by the application of an apparently strict method. But no sooner did we make a closer inspection than we had to come to the conclusion that the points of view from which the Oriental critics started could lead to many a delusive result, in spite of the bona fides which they practiced. There are other critical points of view that are of value in our mature historical criticism. Thus you can find in the authenticated Islamic tradition contradictory inform- ation about the same events, and directly opposed utterances and orders of the Prophet on the same subject. You can find a great number of anachronisms which could only — as their theologians allow — be understood by the admission of prophetic foresight; there are praising and blaming remarks, approving and admonishing sayings, which can only refer to circumstances that occurred long after the time from which those traditions profess their derivation. PROGRESS OF ISLAMIC SCIENCE 503 You will see that the traditions often show plainly the tendency to uphold the lawfulness of the then actual constitution of the Islamic state; since their collection and criticism took origin under the shadow of the 'Abbaside Khalifate. Nay, we have proofs that say- ings, which might be favorable to opposing political schemes were directly suppressed. We have come, therefore, to the result that the tradition acknowledged as authentic, far from being able to pass for a testimony of the youth of Islam, has rather the varying stamp of the diverging directions and currents prevailing im differ- ent circles during the first three centuries. Hence the contradict- ory accounts and orders about the same question in religious and political affairs. Every school opinion has fabricated an authority reaching back to the Prophet's time. Each of the diverging doc- trines has for its support a sentence of the Prophet's, which bears every appearance of authenticity, presenting itself in the most naive and immediate manner. Orthodox believers, freethinkers, anthropo- morphists, and spiritualists, all can show good traditions to support their doctrines. The Islamic tradition presents the same picture in political history. The distinguished Professor of Strassburg, Theodor Noldeke, has proved recently (1898) in a classical essay, On the Tendentious Con- struction of the History of the Primitive Ages of Islam,1 how reports about questions seemingly trivial, as, Who was Muhammad's first follower? '- — about the minute characteristics of Abu Talib, 'Alt's father — also of 'Abbas, the Prophet's uncle — the reports about the part they played in Muhammad's childhood — were produced by political and constitutional tendencies. The question, "To what end?" offers one of the most useful points of view in judging the tradition of Islam. To have clear insight into the laboratory of these highly appreciated documents of primeval Islam, we must always keep in mind the ritualistic, dogmatic, and political dissensions of struggling parties, which emerged in Islam in the course of its ancient stages of development.2 Sometimes the very text of the tradition lets us see, as it were, its own biography, for any one acquainted with the technics of this kind of literature. You may see this, for instance, in a little fragment of traditional text, which, though insignificant in itself, yet is highly interesting as regards the history of civilization, and which I am going to put before you in translation. For your better understand- ing I must premise that the quotation is preceded by the following doctrine attributed to the Prophet : " If you hear that the plague has broken out in a country, do not go there; but if you are already there, do not leave the country from fear of catching the illness. " 1 Z D M G, vol 52. 2 Cf. the author's Muhammadanische Studien, vol. n (Halle, 1890) 504 MOHAMMEDISM You see, Islam is putting up here a practical precept of how the every-day experience of contagious diseases may be somehow squared with the conviction that one cannot escape God's decree, and that one should not even try to evade it. Two opinions seem to have existed in old Islam as regards infection. The one does not admit any causal connection of events, but imputes each to a separate decree of God's. Such a view could not admit the possibility of a contagious character in certain diseases. The other did not base the explanation of facts entirely on dogmatical suppositions; some at least cared, in spite of a fatalistic creed, for their own skin and for saving their own property. The following traditional report shows you the struggle of these two modes of proceeding : "Abti Huraira relates that the Prophet taught the following: there is no contagion and no cankering worm (causing disease) , and no soul-owls (into which, according to the belief of the Arabs, the souls of the unavenged are transformed, in order to cry for the murderer's blood). Thereupon a Bedawi, who was present, threw in: '0 Mes- senger of God! but how is it that we see camels lying fresh and healthy like gazelles in the sand of the desert; then a scabby camel mixes with the flock, and infects all the healthy animals? ' Then the Prophet replied: 'But who infected this sick camel?' "Abu Salima relates that he heard later from Abti Huraira, that the Prophet had said : ' One must not bring a sick one among healthy ones,' and that he (A. H.) denied his previous comments. Then we said to him: 'Did you not say before, in the Prophet's name, "There is no contagion"? Then he muttered something in the Ethiopic language. — Abil Salima says: "I have never noticed that he had forgotten anything,"' (that he had told us formerly)."1 You can believe me that the Oriental commentators were not want- ing in ingenuity for making the shadow disappear which was cast by the story just mentioned upon the earnestness and trustworthi- ness of Abti Huraira, who was one of the amplest informants from the Master. But, however naively the tale presents itself, it is technically nothing else than the reflex of, first, the two simultaneously existing views on the nature and efficiency of infection; secondly, the con- cession which knowledge, founded on experience, wrung from a re- ligious conception. The fact of such a concession has found in Abti Huraira's hesitation and revocation a form suitable for these circles. One is entitled to conclude that this critical penetration into the primeval documents of Islam shows a great progress in our know- ledge of its oldest history. It is not only important, as regards the religious history of Islam, but also as concerns the criticism of the historical tradition. First on this path was Alois Sprenger, who not 1 Bukhari, Tibb nr. 35, Sahih Muslim, v, p. 54. PROGRESS OF ISLAMIC SCIENCE 505 only pointed out, in his Life and Doctrine of Mohammed (1861-65), the importance of the traditions as an historical source, but also gave many hints for their critical use; an attempt, it is true, which has not removed altogether all credulity in the reconstruction of the ancient history of Islam. Since the great storehouse of the his- torical work of Tabari became universally accessible in a completed edition, masters of historical and philological criticism, like Noldeke, de Goeje, Wellhausen,1 and their followers, have given us examples how we can gain from the narratives gathered by Tabari, and which often represent the events from different points of view, by com- paring them with other data, an historical stratification of sources which can be used to construct real history. But here we have to do only with religious tradition, and we have to bring out how the criticism of the traditions now more and more prevalent makes for a progress in Islamic science not to be underestimated. In spite of the radically skeptical tendency, which is imposed on it as a duty by its scheme, its method has proved to be a good means to lead to a positive history of the early development of Islam. With the sources of Islamic law our view of the law itself must stand in the closest connection. About that also we have a few words to say. IV The idea formed about these matters, which are generally consid- ered the zenith of Islamic spirit, has undergone a total change in the last few decades. No later than two centuries after the birth of Islam, in the first half of the ninth century of our era, we find a well-developed and thoroughly elaborated system of Islamic law, which has been long considered the ripe fruit of Arabian genius. This prejudice is now altogether removed, the more so, since we have learned how much this system owes to Roman law, not only in its particular regulations, but also, which is far more important, with regard to questions of principle in methodology. The Arabic names themselves of the Islamic science of law and of its authorities, 1 M. J. cle Goeje, Memoire de la Conquite de la Syrie (Leide, 1900) [Mcmoires d'Histoire et de Geographic Orientates, no. 2, new edition]. J. Wellhausen. Pro- legomena zur dltesten Geschichte des Islam [Skizzen und Vorarbeiten, vi]; the same: Das arabische Reich und sein Sturz (Berlin, 1902). Our knowledge of the situation under the Muhammadan conquest with regard to the native Christians, especially in Egypt, and in general about the system of administration and economy in the primary Islamic state, has been, after the standard works of Alfred v. Kremer, considerably promoted by the study of the Vienna Papyrus documents (Archduke Rainer), in whose examination Professor v. Karabacek has led (Mittheilungen, Vienna, 1886 ff). We may hope that a further increase of our knowledge will be gained from the treasures acquired lately by Heidelberg University. 506 MOHAMMEDISM have been proved to be the translation of corresponding Latin words. No doubt you will comprehend that the progress made in our knowledge of this relationship in Islamic law could not remain with- out influence on our judgment of its nature. But this again had to give way to new ideas also from another point of view. The system of the Muhammadan "Fikh," which, as "rerum humanarum ac divinarum cognitio," extending to all cir- cumstances of orthodox life: to ritual law in the widest sense, to legal states of social life, to the laws of Divine service, almsgiving, fasting, pilgrimage, purity, to the laws of food, to the regulations concerning religious war, as well as to the fundamental doctrines of politics and the constitution of the state, to the laws of family life and hereditary affairs, to those connected with obligations, to penal laws and judicial proceedings — this whole encyclopedical system of religious legislature had been considered as an actual constitution of law, setting up the organism of the Muhammadan state and family life, elaborated by sagacious legislators according to the practical wants of one vast empire, and whose management and execution had been the object of the anxious care of Muhammadan authorities for thirteen centuries: in one word, as a Code Napoleon for Islam. In later days, historical consideration has proved that only a small part of this system, connected with religious and family life, has a practical effect as of old, while in many parts of merely juristical character this theological law is entirely put aside in actual jurisdiction. You see that we have not here to do with a living system of law, and also that those students of law have been on a wrong path who, without looking at the character of Islamic law in the light of history and to the criticism of sources, make use of these dead codes as data for the knowledge of life, and base their studies of comparative law on this view. To the same distinguished Dutch Orientalist, whose great work upon Mekka, beside the Manners and Customs by Edward Lane, presents the most reliable and attractive description of Islamic life and society,1 we owe the total change, carried out in general by his works, toward a right knowledge of Muhammadan law, and also the reform of our general views about the character of Fikh. Snouck Hurgronje was really the first who set forth with great acuteness and sure judgment the historical truth, namely, that what we call Muhammadan law is nothing but an ideal law, a theoretical system; in a word, a learned school-law, which reflects the thoughts of pious theologians about the arrangement of Islamic society, whose sphere of influence was willingly extended by pious rulers — as far as possible — but which as a whole could hardly ever have been the real prac- tical standard of public life. He finds there rather a doctrine of duties 1 G. Snouck Hurgronje, Mekka, 2 vols. (Haag, 1888-89.) PROGRESS OF ISLAMIC SCIENCE 507 (Pflichtenlehre) of quite an ideal and theological character, traced out by generations of religious scholars, who wished to rule life by the scale of an age which in their idea was the golden period, and whose traditions they wished to maintain, propagate, and develop. Even the penalties for offenses against religious laws are often nothing else but ideal claims of the pious, dead letters conceived in studies and fostered in the hearts of God-fearing scholars, but neglected and suppressed in life where other rules became prevailing. We find even in the oldest literature of Islam many complaints about the negligence of the religious law by 'Ulema in their struggle against the practical judges, that is to say against the executors of actual law.1 By this correct definition of Fikh as a doctrine of mere duties, the notion of its character appears in a new light. The scientific historical judgment of this discipline entered herewith into a new phase of which Snouck Hurgronje must be called the author.2 By another fundamental doctrine Dr. Snouck has also established a new point of view for the understanding of the legal life of Islam. It had indeed been known before that orthodox Islam has four "roots" in its law: first, the Koran; secondly, tradition; thirdly, deductive reasoning; and fourthly, the consensus of the orthodox community. It was understood also, in a way, that the validity of these sources of law followed each other in descending rank; that is to say, the consideration of the ecclesiastic consensus only occu- pied the place of a root of law, in case scripture, tradition, and reasoning forsook us. Now we know — and this knowledge of ours is one of the most important advances in the science of Islam — that the principle of consensus (in Arabic Idjmd') is in verity the key to comprehending the phenomena of historical Islam. Not so much the Koran and tradition — I have said elsewhere — is the standard for the management of religious matters, as the manner in which the words and sense of these two are interpreted by the common feeling and sense of the competent community. This principle is the foundation and the legitimizing basis for the admission, even for the obligatory character of all innovations adopted by Islam in the course of its history. The admission of a certain dogmatic method in explaining Koranic words, the author- ity awarded to the acknowledged collections of authentic traditions, the statement of what has to pass for orthodox in law, the ad- mission of newly arisen opinions and doctrines, in one word, the 1 Cf . the present writer's paper, Muhammadanisches Recht in Theorie und Wirk- lichkeit, in Kohler's Zcitschrift fur verghichende Rechtswissenschaft, vol. 8. 2 The principal theories of this scholar, explained in his manifold publications, are summed up in his essays, De Islam (published in the Dutch review De Gids, 1886), Le Droit Musulman in Revue de I'Histoire des Religions, vol. 37 (1897). Basing on these methodical and historical principles, the Dutch scholar Th. W. Juynboll has given the most valuable scientific system of Muhammadan law in his work Handlciding tot de Kennis van de Mohammedaansche- Wet (Leiden, 1903). 508 MOHAMMEDISM whole historical Islam — all this is founded on the normative power of the consensus. So the whole prevailing theory and practice must trace its legit- imacy, even its legality, back to this. If we had only the text of the Koran, the texts of the Sunna, and the results of deductive reason- ing, with these three approved "roots" for the construction of law, we should have many riddles before us in considering the real relig- ious life in Islam. How, for instance, could the worship of saints spread all over Islamic territory, with all the manifestations of anthropolatry attaching to it, and be brought into harmony with the uncouthly inflexible monotheistic theory on which the dogmatic of Islam is based? Are there not dozens of passages in the Koran and sayings in the Sunna to justify the fighting motto of the Wahhabites and of precedent puritans, who, in all these superstitions covered under the mask of piety, see only polytheism and mere paganism, by which the purity of the creed is dimmed and falsified? This would certainly be the case, if the great principle of Idjma/ were not there to justify such outgrowths as being in accordance with righteous Islam, in spite of the contrast they form to the real doctrine of that religion. The general feeling of the believers has adopted all this, as well as many other strange things, so that there can be no "failing." Without the consideration of this great principle orthodox Islam, as it is, would be quite incomprehensible to us, as according to the ideas of Islamic theology, orthodoxy consists in being in complete congruity with the consensus. One becomes a heretic by merely contradicting the Consensus Doctorum Ecclesiae. You will often have to deal in the history of Islam with the para- dox that a reactionary doctrine corresponds to the traditional ones and still does not pass for orthodox. Take, for instance, the Wah- habite movement. It is a protest against anti-Islamic innovations; no one can deny that its puritanism agrees more nearly with the funda- mental doctrines of Islam than the abominations against which it fought. But nevertheless it is heterodox. It rebelled against develop- ments which in the course of the centuries were admitted and sanc- tioned by the consensus, and for that very reason had the only legiti- mate claim to pass for the correct form of Islam, " nam diuturni mores consensu utentium comprobati legem imitantur" (Institut. I, ii, 9). But although, particularly in the Sunnitic quarters of Islam, this collective, or, as it has been called, catholic trait has manifested it- self, it must be remarked, on the other hand, that just as much feel- ing has been shown for the individual peculiarities of the single parts of that wide territory over which the creed of Islam has spread. PROGRESS OF ISLAMIC SCIENCE 509 This is shown most plainly in the attitude to the old pre-Islamic institutions of religion and law. Even the canonical Islamic sys- tem has assimilated many elements from the native systems of the conquered countries. Many a principle of method, as well as many a detail of Islamic law, has been borrowed from the Roman law, as we have just observed, and hence has become canonical law in Islam. Yet it is not this that I wish to develop here further, but rather a manifestation of provincial individuality in the Muhammadan practice, still perceptible in our days. In complete independence of the main stream of canonical law Islam tolerates in many chapters of civil and criminal law native law-customs, which are often directly opposed to the theologically fixed law. Therein the ethnographical individualities put themselves forth with^their national traditions. These provincial customs are called the 'Addt. As Arabic philology attaches more importance now to scientific inquiry into popular dialects besides the classical language than it did four decades ago, in like manner the 'Adat have been made a subject for collection and historical consideration within the period whose scientific progress forms the topic of this paper. But for our knowledge of them, our information about living institutions would be utterly deficient. And as there is no observation more fascinating in the history of the human mind than that of the close tie uniting the present state of nations with the traditions of their past, notwithstanding all the historical changes undergone by them, in like manner there lies, in this kind of facts, an elevating perception that traditions which have lasted for thousands of years are reflected in these 'Adat, over which the flood of history has been flowing, without sweeping them away. Even Islam, that overwhelming power, which, sword in hand, stormed the nations, could not destroy them. In the customary laws of the present Muslim Kabyles of Northern Africa you will find characteristic elements in disharmony with legal Islam, which are identical with or at least kin to the customs and laws mentioned in antiquity in connection with the Numidians and Mauri- tanians. Those people are quite aware of their opposition to Islamic ordinances, which extends even to Koranic commands as if the Koran had not been revealed to them at all. According to the Kabyle legislation the feminine sex is entirely excluded from the capability of partaking in any inheritance; women are deprived of all rights as regards private law. As to the civil law of the Koran these Kabyles opine that its prescriptions were made for a country quite different from theirs, for a nation that had a different manner of life from their own.1 But nevertheless they are partakers in the community of Islam and look for the Paradise of Believers. We can therefore welcome as one of the most gratifying advances in 1 Cf.ZDMG, vol. 41, p. 38 ff. 510 MOHAMMEDISM the knowledge of Islam, that more and more attention has been paid to the 'Adat of the separate Muhammadan peoples. Chiefly in two geographical territories much fertile work has been done. I have just mentioned the population of Northwest Africa, being a territory where the French colonial administration has pursued the collection of the 'Adat with great zeal. The three volumes by Hanoteau and Letourneux, La Kabylie et les coutumes Kabyles (Paris, 1872-73), is a classical work of codification of Berber custom-law. As regards special studies, still more extensive is what Dutch scholars have done in the Indian insular colonies of their beautiful fatherland, for the knowledge of the 'Adat among their Muhammadan subjects. The description of the religious life and social customs of the Atjehs (1893) and of the Gajo (1903), given to us by Snouck Hurgronje in two of his most instructive books,1 offer undoubtedly the most exact treatise on the 'Adat in countries whose formal law is Islam. The scientific reviews dedicated to the investigation of the philology, geography, and ethnography of Dutch India 2 are rich in fine and thorough investigations into these conditions. I can well mark these important researches and gatherings as a welcome advance in our modern scientific study of Islam, though they have mostly kept themselves rather in the frame of ethnography. Equally rich in stimulating elements are the "data of provincial peculiarities with which we meet in matters of creed and religious exercise. Here is a rich crop for the chapter of ethno-psychology and religious history which can be headed Survivals, to use a term brought into vogue by Edward B. Tylor. We have examples of direct remains of pagan worship in tribes, outwardly submitted to Islam. Al-Bekri, an Arabic geographical author of the eleventh century (died 1094), transmits to us in this relationship remarkable facts about North African Islam. In his time many a Berber tribe made offerings to Roman monuments, prayed to them for the recovery of their sick, and felt grateful to them for the prosperity of their belongings.3 This rather indefinite statement is completed by state- ments from the same author quoted by Yakut, that three days' journey from Waddan in the territory of Fezzan, south of Tripolis, - now a place inhabited by an enormous number of Shurafa,4 that is, 1 Snouck Hurgronje, De Atjehers (Batavia-Leiden, 1893-94), 2 vols. — Het Gajoland en Zijne bewoners (Batavia, 1903). * Let us mention in the first place the volumes of Bijdragen tot de Taal-Land-en Volkenkunde van Nederlandsch-Indie, published byA the Royal Institution for Dutch-Indian Studies. For special chapters on the 'Adat of Java and Madura see Van den Berg, in the vol. 1892, pp. 454-512, and 1897, pp. 83-181. In the first note of the former paper some previous literature on the 'Adat is mentioned. J. A. Nederburgh began in 1896 to publish in Batavia a periodical Wet en 'Addt ; but it was only carried on till 1898, in all, three issues. 3 Notices et Extraits des Manuscrits de la Bibliotheque Nationale, xn, p. 458. Cf. Rphlfs, Kufra (Leipzig, 1881), p. 147 ff. 176; Mohammed b. Othman el- Hachaichi, Voyage au pays des Senoussia (translated by Serres and Lasram, Paris, 1903), p. 134 ff. PROGRESS OF ISLAMIC SCIENCE 511 pretending descendants of the Prophet's family, — there was standing on a hill a stone idol called Krza (the vowel between r and z is un- certain). The neighboring Berber Kabyles made pilgrimages to this idol, brought it sacrifices, and held rogation ceremonies in time of drought. I am no friend of mere hypotheses and bold identifica- tions of proper names. Nevertheless, in mentioning this African idol, I cannot help throwing out the query whether we have not before us in this Krza the remainder of the name Gurzil, mentioned by Corippus in his Joannide (n, vv. 109-110, 405; iv, vv. 669, 1139), as the name of an old Berber idol, identified with Jupiter Ammon, and brought into connection with an oracle. At the same time a Berber tribe in the Atlas Mountains is said, by the same Al-Bekri, to have worshiped a ram.1 And even in the fifteenth century Leo Africanus can tell us about customs of North African Berbers, which he explains as remains of ancient African paganism which had not disappeared in the times of Islam.2 The worship of the ram in Muhammadan North Africa can be brought into analogy with a parallel from quite the opposite end of the territory of Islam. Al-Dimishki, a cosmographic writer of the thirteenth century (died 1256), informs us regarding the province of Ghilan, North- western Persia, along the shores of the Caspian Sea, that the Muham- madans of that country labored under materialistic ideas about the Deity. They went so far as to conceive of God as riding at midday on a white ass. And in fact they bestowed great honors on asses of that color.3 Indefinite as this remark of the Arabic author may be, at any rate it serves us as testimony of well-pronounced animal- worship among a population who no doubt esteemed themselves orthodox adherents of Islamic faith. Perhaps there is some relation between this superstitious cult of a white ass and the ideas about the mythological Kharem ashavanem (probably a white ass) of the Zarathustrians (Bundahish, ch. xix). We have thus seen solid pagan remains in the midst of Muhammadan populations. But such religious survivals are not attested of former times only. In different parts of the Islamic world paganism, with uncultivated tribes, in its more or less original forms, has outlasted the ruling influence of Islam, although that was established centuries ago. A remarkable instance in the religious conditions of Muham- madan Madagascar is given in the description supplied by the French Consul, M. Gabriel Ferrand, who has with great industry and zeal revealed to us Malagasy philology and ethnography. Although the Sakalava people have adhered to Islam for three centuries, " they have adopted Islam without bringing any notable change to their 1 Rekri, Description de VAfrique septentrionale (ed. de Slane, Alger, 1857), p. 161, 4. Descriptio Africae (ed. Antwerpen), p. 112. Dimischki, Cosmographie ed. Mehren (St. Petersburg, 1866), p. 226. 512 MOHAMMEDISM former customs and manners." Allah and the Prophet take a promi- nent place in their religious ceremonies, yet still inferior to Zana- hatry and Angatra, their national divinities. Their life continues to be ruled by the observation of their tabu views, called fady in their language, and their magicians pursue undisturbed the pagan cus- toms of their ancestors, with the only difference that this sorcery is practiced under the standard of Alldh akbar.1 This sort of paganism surviving under the shield of a Muhammadan exterior is one of the most decisive factors in the individual formation of provincial Islam, and has resisted all exertions of clerical influence enforcing itself from abroad. The following fact, observed in the Caucasian Ingush tribe, can be considered as typical for the coating of pagan reminiscences with the superficial forms of Islam. We choose our examples with intention from parts of the Muhammadan world separated from each other by great distances. The Ingush are Muhammadans in name ; but as with most peoples inhabiting moun- tains, their ancient paganism has conserved itself under their exte- rior Islam. Hahn, who is best acquainted with the customs of these populations, reports that the worship of the idol Gushmile is almost universal among them and explains how this worship can agree very well with that of Allah. The Muhammadan Galgai (in the Caucasus) pray only by night in front of quadrangular stone columns of the height of a man, erected on hills and in cemeteries. Remarkable is the worship of skeletons in an ossuary near Nasran. The skeletons are said to come from their Narthes (ancestors) and to have begun to decay only since the arrival of the Russians. These objects of worship are covered with green shawls from Mekka.* This green shawl from Mekka, with which the objects and forms of the old traditional worship are covered, interprets very fittingly the ethno-psychological process involved in the Islamification of such populations. Green is the Prophet's color. Under the "green shawl " the old national relig- ious 'Ad&t continue to live. Even in places where the Islamic ingredients have opposed the popular creed with greater force, this national element lends an individual living color, reflecting the special character of Islam in the different provinces to which it extends, and rendering prominent its locally defined peculiarities. The minute observation of such facts, on the other hand, has also been useful in reconstructing elements of ethnical religions, which were extinct long ago in their original form, but have been pre- served under a superficial Muhammadan veil up to the present day. Following this method Samuel Ives Curtiss, the distinguished professor 1 Les Musulmans a Madagascar et aux iles Comores, in (Paris, 1902), p. 80 ff. 1 Hahn, Bei de,n Pschaven, Chevsuren, Kisten und Inguschen, in Beilage no. 101, Milnchener Allgem. Zeitung, 1898. 513 of Chicago, was able to construct from the present religious customs of the Bedawin in Syria, Palestine, and the Sinai Peninsula the primitive rites of Semitic religion in a book * which fully met the approbation of learned circles on both sides of the ocean. Further researches following the way he took will, no doubt, add to his accu- mulation of evidence. Some remains of ancient libation customs have, for instance, been preserved in a communication drawn from the book of the late Egyptian Minister 'AH Bdshd Mubdrak, which is most ample in this respect.2 In the neighborhood of Kastal, in the peninsula of Sinai, is the tomb of a Shaikh Marzuk al-Kifafi, lying on the Egyptian pil- grims' road. When passing this grave, pilgrims are wont to break glasses filled with rosewater, prepared beforehand in Cairo for that purpose, and to pour the odorous contents over the grave-hill of the quite unknown shaikh. The ancient Semitic ceremony of libation is here extended to an unknown personage transformed into an Islamic saint. The festival-cycle of universal Islam, with its movable lunary cal- endar, has no connection at all with the life of nature. The feasts are not spring or autumn feasts; they are bound to days in the calendar which are subject to migration through all seasons. This want is supplied in the popular religious exercises by adopting old pre-Islamic feasts and giving them an Islamic stamp. The Nile, "God's gift," plays, of course, no role in the canonical books of Islam. But in the popular religious customs of Egyptian Islam nearly the same reverence is rendered to it as in the land of the pa- gan Pharaohs, with the difference that everything is turned Islamic and interpreted in that sense. And likewise in the practice of religious customs in Islamic Egypt, as well as in many other countries, pre- Islamic customs and pagan religious conceptions have been adapted and blended with Islamic sense, apart from the official worship, in dif- ferent circles. The pagan worship of trees, stones, wells, and demons, has been preserved; so within the official religious worship numerous superstitious customs of the national pre-Islamic traditions have survived. There is no department in religious life where such tradi- tions present themselves in a more original way than the rites of rogation for rain (istiskd), which have shown themselves to be real depositories of pagan witchcraft. You will not be astonished at the toleration of much pagan cus- tom within official Islam, if you consider that in the holiest spot of Islam, "God's House" in Mekka, the fetishism exercised at it 1 Primitive Semitic Religion of To-day : a Record of Researches, Discoveries, and Studies in Syria, Palestine, and the Sinaitic Peninsula. (New York, 1902.) German translation: Ursemitische Religion im Volksleben des heutigen Orients, with a Preface by Professor Graf W. Baudissin (Leipzig, 1903). 2 Al-Khitat al-djadida. Cairo, 1304-06 (1886-88), 20 volumes. Cf. xm, p. 20. 514 MOHAMMEDLSM with the "Black Stone," the formalities of the holy pilgrimage are all sacra taken over by Muhammad himself from the ancient Arabian religion, over which the veil of monotheism has been spread. I esteem the cultivation of thig realm of research and the insight obtained from it into the individualism, stamped differently accord- ing to provinces upon the catholic Islam, to be one of the most valuable acquisitions of the new Islamic studies. We are thus intro- duced to the knowledge of living Islam and to the historical and ethnographical factors of its manifestations of life. We have passed beyond Reland's theoretical Islam, "uti docetur in templis et scholis Mohammedicis," with a mighty step. A very peculiar field of remainders turned with an Islamic sense is the ivorship of saints. In the forms of this manifestation of relig- ious life, the remains of the old times have taken shelter unknow- ingly. As in other world-religions, the Muhammadan saints also are often transformed successors of ancient objects of worship. In the local worship of saints, as we just remarked of the tomb of Shaikh Marzuk, near Kastal, remains of pre-Islamic rites are mostly preserved. Islam has taken hold even of Buddhist sanctuaries, in countries formerly inhabited by followers of Buddha, and interpreted them to suit its own sense. Buddha's footsteps in Ceylon have easily become the footsteps of 'Ali; a jug of Buddha's venerated in Kanda- har has been transferred to Muhammad. Grenard, companion to the unfortunate explorer Dutreuil de Rhins in his East Turkestan travels and elaborator of their results, could say with right, about the Muhammadan holy places of pilgrimage in ancient Buddhist territory, that the holy personages worshiped there are mostly un avatar Musulman de Buddha.1 This tenacity of local cults on formerly Buddhistic ground occupied by Muslims has been since confirmed on a larger scale by my fellow countryman Dr. M. A. Stein, in his wonderful explorations in Chinese Turkestan.2 It results from all this that it is especially in dealing with the local and provincial worship of saints that we can obtain the inform- ation and collect the materials which we have pointed out in the precedent notices as objects of study in religious history. We do not possess a Legenda aurea of Islam, nor do Bollandists of Islam come to our help, though the sphere of this religion would be extremely rich in materials for such collections.3 We have to gather our materials ourselves with great pains from a wide branching original literature and from the information furnished by observant travelers. Large tracts of Islam are not so well worked for such a crop as we might 1 Mission scientifique dans la Haute-Asie (1890-95), m, p. 46. 1 Sand-buried Ruins of Khotan (London, 1904), pp. 180 ff.; 226; 329. s C. Trumelet, Les Saints de VI slam, Lfgendes hagiologiques et croyances algcr- iennes. — Les Saints du Tell (Paris, 1881). PROGRESS OF ISLAMIC SCIENCE 515 expect from the means and the easy opportunities offering themselves to explorers just there. I think chiefly of India here. Much prepar- atory work is done for Egypt, where the learned statesman already mentioned has furnished most valuable materials in his topographical description of the country. Also for Palestine and Syria a consid- erable amount of careful work has been done in this respect by the cooperators of the Exploration Funds. And extremely useful are the contributions being continually presented of late by the Algerian school,1 following the guidance of Rene Basset, in this chapter of individual formations in Maghrebine Islam, on the relationship of the special worship of saints in this quarter of Islam to the old traditions of its population. VI In our flying review of the progress of Islamic science, we could not, within the space we can justly claim for it here, possibly discuss all the questions whose examination marks the progress which this science has taken in the later times. Especially we must regret that we could not devote a special chapter to that ample increase which the knowledge of Muhammadan sects has gained lately. In this respect we should have to mention here among many others in the first place the exhaustive researches of Edward G. Browne on the Babi movement in Persia.2 It could not be our intention to exhaust the task set before us in all its details and to enter into all the starting-points which would present themselves to us in exposing our theme. We can point out only the most prominent points of view from which this progress has been carried out. What I intended to show you and that of which I desired to con- vince you is chiefly this: that the undeniable intrinsic progress of Islamic studies has manifested itself in the following ways in the last decades : (1) The deeper knowledge of ancient Islam and of its constitutive factors; (2) the methodical treatment of the documents reflecting the development of Islam; (3) the truer insight into the character of the institutions and laws of Islam; 1 We will point out here in this order of studies the remarkable essay of Doutte", Notes stir I' I slam maghribin. Les Marabouts (Paris, 1900), and other contribu- tions of this scholar. 2 A Traveller's Narrative written to illustrate the episode of the Bab (two vols.), Cambridge, 1891; The Tdrikh-i-jadid, or New History of . . . the Bab: Cambridge, 1893, and many contributions of the same scholar on Babi history and literature in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society. — Cf . also the valuable publications of the Russian scholar A. H. Toumansky on the religious books of the sect. 516 MOHAMMEDISM (4) the increasing estimation of individual formations within uni- versal Islam; and (5) the consideration of the after-effects of pre-Islamic traditions upon those popular and individual formations. VII Our review would be still more defective if we did not add one more remark in appreciation of a means which has helped and still helps us in a valuable way to produce significant progress in our understanding of Islam. I have in mind the important documents of Islamic religious science which are within our reach through the labors of printers in the Orient itself. He who would in the sixth decade of the past century study, for instance, one of the most prominent monuments of the religious spirit of Islam, the Vivifica- tion of Sciences, by Al-Ghazali, or other important works of this author, had to seek access to the manuscripts of more or less access- ible libraries. Among the great collections of traditions, others than Bukhari were mostly known only by names or from quotations. Only a few selected men had admittance to these others, no less import- ant. It was seldom that an Occidental scholar got sight of the mass of commentaries, in which an inappreciable philological material, a valuable apparatus for text-critical and exegetical pur- poses is accumulated, which is so precious in the very field of tradi- tions. The oldest documents of the literature of legal institutions were thought lost. The works of the theological scholastics, whence we take our information about the nature and history of the dogmas of Islam, were only knowrn to a defective extent. All this has been done away with for nearly three decades and a half, by printing in Islamic countries: Turkey, Egypt, Northern Africa, India, Persia. As even the strongest bulwark of ancient Islam, the holy city of Mckka, had to permit telegraph wires to enter her consecrated walls, in like manner she has become one of the centres of Islamic printing. Those publications have furnished us with some of the most important primary sources, sometimes in numerous bulky volumes whose publication could never have been thought of in Europe or America. And even that the most capital commentaries of the Koran, for example the great exegetical work of Tabari in thirty parts and the " Keys of the mystery " of the great dogmatic authority, Fakhr al-din al-Razi, in eight bulky volumes, have become accessible to our scholars, is due to the activity of Oriental typography. In view of the profit gained from such publications, we excuse willingly the confusing and for our eyes most painful way in which the Persian and Indian lithographs present the explanatory glosses and marginal commentaries. The easy possibility of studying these PROGRESS OF ISLAMIC SCIENCE 517 works nowadays, and rendering them profitable for our researches has been a strong factor in the progress of the thorough and special knowledge of the historical development of the doctrines and institu- tions of Islam. That the scholars of the Orient may also profit from our critical method, that they, to whom we owe so much splendid material, may, by intelligent collaboration in our endeavors, contribute to the promotion of scientific work about their own past and present, must be our wish. THE PROBLEMS OF MUHAMMADANISM BY DUNCAN BLACK MACDONALD [Duncan Black Macdonald, Professor of Semitic Languages, Hartford Theological Seminary, Hartford, Connecticut, b. 1863, Glasgow, Scotland. M.A. Glas- gow, 1885; B.D. ibid. 1888; Findlater Scholar, 1887; Black Fellow, 1889-91; Post-Graduate, University of Berlin, 189(^91, 1893. Tutor, University of Glas- gow, 1891-92; Assistant Minister in Parish of Strachur, Scotland, 1892 ; In- structor in Semitic Languages in Hartford Theological Seminary, 1892 ; Haskell Lecturer, University of Chicago, 1905-06. Member of Royal Asiatic Society, American Oriental Society, Society of Biblical Literature. Author of Development of Muslim Theology, Jurisprudence and Constitutional Theory. Muhammadan editor of Hastings Dictionary of Religion and Ethics; advising editor of Hartford Seminary Concordance to Peshitta Old Testament, being prepared at Urumia, Persia.] IN the great disadvantage which must accrue to me — high honor though it may also be — in following the most eminent living authority on the civilization of Islam, there is at least one point of help. I need not spend time now in demonstrating that Islam is an essential unity and that it is practically impossible to separate the history of its religion from any other element in it. The whole social complex in all its manifestations is religious and the religion of Islam is Islam itself. We must frankly accept this and state our subject, not as any impossible questioning on the history of a religion in our narrow sense, but as a consideration of the problems as to the history of the Muslim organism which still are left unsolved. Nor need I lay stress on the comparative impossibility of even this subject in the time at my disposal. Problems are still thickly sown in the path of the investigator of Islam. Not simply details are undeveloped; broad trends and movements remain unconditioned and inexplicable. The student finds an abundance of concrete facts, reputed and otherwise ; but working hypotheses, not to speak of demonstrable and demonstrated systems by which these facts may be criticised, correlated, and explained, are conspicuously lacking. Often the presumed facts, even, fail him. They are still buried in Arabic sources, awaiting the special and rare genius which can recognize and bring them forth. Such Arabic sources, too, are so far only in part accessible. Of those which survived the storm and stress of the Middle Ages, the raids and conquests of Timour and Chingiz Khan, the unending civil conflicts of the Muslim states, a comparatively small though rapidly increasing portion has yet attained to print. All these elements in research, the disinterring of manuscripts, the presenting of them to the world of scholars, the examination and study of them for materials, and the final rearing of the lofty historical structure, philosophizing and conditioning THE PROBLEMS OF MUHAMMADANISM 519 movements and rendering intelligible events — all these elements and processes are still backward to a degree; and the last, it may safely be said, has hardly yet begun. Dr. Goldziher, if he will permit me the reference, has given us volumes full of the richest materials for such a history, opening up and illuminating dark places and driving shafts where none had gone before; if we understand the development of Muslim jurisprudence, the system of Muslim tradition, and the essential outlines of Muslim theological strife, it is due to him. But we still look vainly to him for that great history of Muslim thought and institutions which only he among living men can write. Permit me, then, as that book is not yet before us, to suggest some few of the darknesses in which we still move. Thereafter, I will go on to state what is for me the central problem of all Islam, a problem absolutely unsolved and seldom fully stated. Of these minor obscurities, some of the thickest cluster round the beginnings and pre-natal conditions of Islam. No one has yet made plain to us the different ferments working then in heathen Arabia. We know that Christianity, Judaism, Zoroastrianism, and various phases and degrees of idolatry were there. But — to take Christ- ianity — we 'do not know with any precision what sects and forms of Christian thought had occupied the desert, what hold they had there taken; to what degree, if at all, they were genuinely Arabic in language and not rather mere outliers of the great Syrian church. To take Zoroastrianism, it is only of late that its hold upon southern Arabia has become plain, and its influence on the thought of Muham- mad and the vocabulary of the Qur'an a possible hypothesis. To take primitive Arabia — how far had it reached the conception of the one, absolute Allah, the Ilah, God Most High? In a word, how far was Muhammad's Allah pre-Muhammadan and Muhammad himself an exhorter on things known but despised? And when we come thus to Muhammad himself, the problems only thicken. Lives of him have been written in abundance, greatly imaginative for the most part, but it is hardly credible that we have not as yet any systematic theology of the Qur'an, only investigations of specific points. Even a modern commentary on the Qur'an is lacking, largely, perhaps, because the labors of the Muslims themselves had been so great that they are not yet digested. Its most multifarious vocabulary, too, has been attacked at many points and with many theories, but an adequate lexicon of it remains a task for some future scholar. It will be for him to weigh the influence of Syriac, Greek, Ethiopic, and Persian words and ideas on the language and thought of the desert and the brain and imagination of Muhammad, ever greedy of the strange. And later, too, when the early Muslim church was striving with the contradictions and obscurities of that Qur'an — knotted and twisting as Muhammad's own mind — and. there were develop- 520 MOHAMMEDLSM ing in that church the fundamental conceptions of Islam, we know little what were the stranger influences upon them by which they, in great part unconsciously, were swayed. Murmurs we hear of John of Damascus and his school of theology, the Euchites and the Hesychasts, the pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite and Stephen bar Sudaili drift dimly across the stage. That the Christian Aoyos doc- trine is at work is certain, and Christian conceptions of the ascetic life, in spite of the denunciations of Muhammad, sway Islam as they had swayed heathen Arabia. But how these worked, what precise kinship of doctrine they produced, what was the extent of their influence, what the place of that influence and its TTOV arrw, none has yet arisen fully and clearly to answer these questions. And why it has been so is simple enough. The man who studies Arabic and its literature has small leisure for anything else. Yet Arabia, through all this period through which we have run, calls for scholarship of the most varied character. He who would study the pre-Muslim times must know the theology of the early Syrian church in all its welter of sects and heresies; he must be able to detect the influence of Judaism and discern its precise kind and phase; he must be able to disentangle from the old Arabian poems all their religious references and, in the light of Semitic heathenism and more narrowly of the inscriptions of Syria and Arabia, to build them into a mirror for their time; he must know the later Zoroas- trianism, its theological concepts and phrases; the Ethiopic language and the theology of the Abyssinian church must be simple to him; even Egypt, both Coptic and Greek, will not come amiss — cannot be wholly neglected; in truth, this island of the Arabs, set amid its encircling sands, was bare to the most mingled winds of doctrine that ever beat upon a land and people. Again, he who would know Islam itself in its early days must advance still further on all these paths and be able to trace all their influences. Especially he must have absolute control of the theology of the Greek church, both its systematic theology and the mystic and ascetic life which was its soul. Further, another constellation of influences will rise upon his horizon and lead him still on into far lands. India and Central Asia, through ascetic Buddhism, will begin to work on Muslim thought. The threads of life run out now to Balkh and Samarcand, and there is need of the Sanscritist and the student of Indian religions to play the interpreter. But all this, it is plain, no one brain can handle. So it meets well the object of this congress to emphasize the absolute fact that little true progress can now be made in the study of the Muslim develop- ment without collaboration. None can be an Arabist and be at home in all these fields. Few who know any of these will undertake as well to learn Arabic and penetrate the mystery of the Muslim life THE PROBLEMS OF MUHAMMADANISM 521 and faith. For it is impossible to lay too great weight on the fact that there is not only the question of learning a most complicated and endless language, but that the even slower mastery must be reached of a whole habit and attitude of mind, foreign to us at every turn, though from time to time misleading us with the ignis fatuus of a deceptive similarity to the Old Testament and its ways. Again another field. Since the Middle Ages Europe has known, if it has not always acknowledged, its debt to Islam as intermediary of the philosophy of Greece. That general fact stands firm, however it may be modified and limited. Yet, until the very last few years, almost nothing has been done to trace the workings, the develop- ment, and the result of that philosophy in Islam itself. In the current manuals of philosophy and in the encyclopedias a few names of so-called Arabian philosophers have found a place, and a treatment marked in general by extreme ignorance. Every one has heard of Avicenna and Averroes, but who has traced out their systems and read their secrets? A mere handful of Arabists of eccentric tastes have dabbled in such lore. At the present time, two or three extremely well-equipped young men are at serious work upon it. But, in general, philosophy in Islam has been treated either by those wrho were absolutely ignorant in Arabic or painful amateurs in philosophy. Yet the importance of the subject, both for the history of civiliz- ation and the development of thought, can hardly be overestimated. It is already, for example, becoming evident how barren philosophy, in the strict sense, was in Islam itself; how little, if any, change cr advance was made from the Greek positions. But it is also becoming plain how completely it fell to Islam to carry, in this strangely help- less fashion, the torch of philosophic thought through many dark centuries and kindle anew in Europe the idealistic flame which burns even to our day. It is largely due to the elective affinity of its intellectual fervors that the dead school of Plotinus won the field, and that the simple nominalism of our times was delayed for so many centuries. Little by little, too, as our knowledge spreads, we are discovering strange and close agreements, even to phrases, between Muslim and Christian thinkers. Threads of direct con- nection are being found, running down even to Pascal; and the general trend of development which lead to pragmatism and the position of Mr. William James has its parallel in the theology of Islam. For it is worth noticing that the independent intellectual life of Islam and its only original systems are to be found, though under philosophic stimulus, not among the philosophers themselves, but among the theologians. In that development, paradoxically enough, came all that did not exist already in Aristotle and the neo-Pla- tonists. Here, then, is another field on which hardly more than a beginning has been made, and from which much may be expected. 522 MOHAMMEDISM Nor is the problem here so hard; for an Arabist may easily be a student of philosophy as well. Yet the demand is absolute that the worker there should have the most complete knowledge of Aristotle and Plotinus. Again another field which awaits workers is that of folk-lore and the story. The names can be counted easily on one hand of those folk-lorists who are Orientalists as well. Only within the last few years have the folk-tales of Syria, Egypt, and North Africa been touched. On the Muslim side the problem of the Mediterranean people is as yet almost unconsidered. One phase of it, the history of so fundamental a collection as The Thousand and One Nights, with its many folk- tales, is still in great darkness. One chapter could undoubtedly be illumined by the folk-lorists of Spain; a Spanish period in its history or a Spanish version is a large possibility. On the other side, what light, it has still to be asked, can Oriental learning throw on so unique a survival in Europe as Aucassin et Nicolette f What real parallels do the romances of chivalry show to the stories of the knights of the desert, and do these make necessary a connection of origin? This, it will be seen, opens the far wider question of the intercourse gen- erally between Christendom and Islam in the Middle Ages, one on which I must enter immediately. Only, on this narrower matter of folk-lore, the necessity of cooperation is most pressing, and its possibility is also greatest. Each can bring to the great heap what he has gathered in his own field ; the assorting will prove simple enough. Gradually, too, each will learn what his comrade needs and be able to put and answer the questions which tell. And in this contact, I cannot refrain from mentioning the Bibliographie arabe of Professor Chauvin of Liege; what is being done in it for folk-lore can surely be done, though in different ways, for other fields. Again may be mentioned, if only as an outstanding specimen of similar questions which lie scattered through Muslim history, the problem of the origin of the Fatimid dynasty. Did that dynasty really draw its blood from Ali and Fatima, the daughter of the Prophet, or was their claim the most gigantic fraud in history? Further, the question spreads wider and goes deeper than any mere squabble of genealogists, — whether that dynasty was of prophetic descent or not, what were the objects, the means, the ideals of the leaders of the movement? Was it a vulgar conspiracy to attain a throne, actuated by hatred of Islam and the Arab domination? Or was it a conspiracy of philosophers and philanthropists to bring about, by fostering science and independent thought and by gradual weakening and overthrow of popular religion and superstition, a millennial age in the earth? Were its leaders soldiers of fortune, or were they high priests of science gathering under their guidance and control all the free investigators and thinkers of the time? Was it as THE PROBLEMS OF MUHAMMADANISM 523 though the French Revolution had been matured and carried through by an international secret association of philosophers and scientists, with a view eventually to free the whole world from all other control than that of philosophy and science? If we can imagine that the Encyclopedists had not simply contributed explosive ideas to their time, but had formed a vast and all pervasive society, honeycombing the ground under the ancient institutions and ideas, we shall have a close analogy to this hypothesis. In the atmosphere of the time, there is much which points its way, and the evidence for it is steadily growing, mad as it may seem. We have learned, for example, to recognize in the Assassins, who sprang from the Fatimids, no simple sect of stranglers, or Vehmgericht of peculiar ability and vitality, but also a fraternity which, in spite of the truth of its name, cherished experimental science and investigation in its mountain fortresses. In contact, too, with both Fatimids and Assassins we find the purely philosophic fraternity of the Sincere Brethren of al-Basra, which was founded to promote study and education among the people. Nor is this question simply of Muslim interest. It should lie close to every student of medieval Europe. For it may be asked, what part in this scheme had the Templars and the other knightly orders so freely accused of heresy and unbelief? Were they, too, late pupils of the Fatimid propagandists? Did the tentacles of the conspiracy run, in half-unconscious growth, out into Europe? No one who has come to recognize how closely Europe and medieval Islam were inter- dependent, in strange, underground fashions, will venture to deny this offhand. The question is there, and can be solved only by com- bined studies. It would be hard to lay too great stress on the close inter-relation of these fields of investigation and on the necessity of united and cooperative efforts. Another penumbral patch in our knowledge of Islam, which may be worth a bare mention because it, too, emphasizes the necessity for a mutual understanding and cooperation, lies in the history of the mystical development. Mysticism, in Islam, ran early to ascet- icism; somewhat later to pantheism; later still to mingled schools exhibiting now one, now the other side. As written in Arabic, it tended to cling to the earlier, more conservative phase; in Persian and Turkish — which always follows Persian — it drifted off in fanciful dreams of the identity of the individual, lost in the One. But it is comparatively rare to find a Persianist who is equally read in Arabic, or an Arabist who can recognize at once the source of a Persian reference or idea. As a consequence, the tendency has been for these schools to be studied by different men, who were in little touch with one another's labors, and their presentation of the differ- ent phases has tended to one-sidedness. When students of Islam, then, in its different languages come together; when they, further, 524 MOHAMMEDISM come into contact with the students of Buddhism and of the mysticism of India generally; when the connection is fully made with the other great root in neo-Platonism and with the other great development in the idealistic, quietistic, and pantheistic schemes of Europe, the way will be paved for the great history of the whole development of mystical thought and aspiration, which is perhaps still the ob- scurest side in the whole history of religion. But that is enough of such details. Gigantic and weighty as they are, they must not make us lose sight of the fact that at the very centre of Islam there lies a single problem, as yet untouched but vital for our view and for our understanding of that faith. To put it in a word, it is the fact of Islam itself — how we are to understand it, rationalize it, explain it. This problem, though it is really one, may be divided, for clearness of statement, into three. (1) How and why did the Muslim civilization arise? (2) Why had it no permanence? (3) In what ways and to what extent did it affect the civilization of Christendom? One of these questions may, perhaps, seem so simple as to be absurd; another may seem a case of question-begging; the third may seem not worth asking. The Muslim civilization arose, I may be told, through the genius and victories of the Arabs. Again, there is no question of lack of permanence; it is there now. Lastly, its effect on the civilization of Europe is well known, and — according to the answerer — was infinitesimal or almost infinite. Let us get down to the facts in the case. In the year A.D. 622, Muhammad, who claimed to be a prophet like the prophets of the Old Testament, migrated through fear of his fellow townsmen from Mecca to Madina, then called Yathrib, and there founded a theo- cratic state with himself as absolute head and interpreter of the will of God. His mission, he proclaimed, was to reduce the world to the faith of Islam, the one eternally true religion, which he had been sent to revive. His commission gave him the right to enforce his claim to the obedience and faith of all the peoples of the earth. At the same time Arabia was more or less in a state of ferment. The tribes were restless; the time had come for them to burst the bands of the desert and make one of their great raids on the adjoining lands. They had done this before, time and again; it is part of the history of Arabia. On this occasion, Muhammad and his successors drew them together with infinite labor and skill, inspired them partly with a belief in themselves, in their nation, and in their national prophet and his faith, partly with a vision of an immensity of booty, and launched them on the world. It was such a raid as Arabia had never known before, but still it was a raid. It lasted for years; it swept to Samarcand, to Spain, to the passes of the Taurus, to the cataracts of the Nile. It changed the map of half the world, and when the THE PROBLEMS OF MUHAMMADANISM 525 wave ebbed again, the old civilization, the old states were gone, and another civilization, new and' very strange, had come in their place. True, the leaders of the raid knew what they would have; knew that they had come permanently and tried to hold the tribesmen to that knowledge. But that could not be. There were too few of them, enough to conquer but not enough to swamp the conquered peoples. They died away among those peoples and left there some tinge of Arab blood; or, being nomads of the desert, they yearned for their sands and drifted back to their own land, or whatever other North African wastes they could find. But how was the civilization which arose — the Muslim civilization — akin to them? What did they give to it, and what part had they in it? For one thing, they gave to it their language, that tongue of the Arabs which may well compare in dignity, elaboration, and flexibility with that of the Greeks. The language carried with it certain literary forms in which part, at least, of the Muslim world was long cramped. Thanks to it, for example, the Egyptians forgot the lessons of the Greek poets and came to believe that a story could not be told in verse, while the Persians, who revived their own language again to literary use, had no such scruples. To the Muslim civilization the Arabs gave also the great conception of Islam and the traditions of the character and teaching of Muhammad as contained in the Qur'an and in the stories of his sayings and doings. Certain conceptions, modes of life and thought, of social relationships and ideals they may also have given, but all these, too, could be entered perfectly under the fact of Muham- mad and his teaching. That seems to have been the sum of the Arab contribution. We hear often of Arabian science, of Arabian philosophy, of Arabian art. There was never any Arabian science, philosophy, or art. These arose in the civilization which followed the great Arab raid; they never flourished on Arabian soil; they were never led or advanced by Arabs. The most of culture which the Arabs themselves produced was the Umayyad court at Damascus, and when the Umayyads fell before the Abbasids in A.D. 750, after a rule of more than a century, the Arab period closed for Islam. But that court was only a glorified revival of the pre-Muhammadan courts at al-Hira and Ghassan, and fostered only the civilization of the desert. There we hear the last strains of the old poetry, and hear little but such strains. The theologians, it is true, were at work; the system of the great doctor of the Greek church, John of Damascus, was making itself felt; the things of religion were silently but surely developing. But of that rich blossoming time of prose literature and of the newer poetry, of science, philosophy, and art, which followed under the Abbasids, we have no trace. With all that, the genius of the Arab race had no kinship, and now the Arab race was to fade from the scene. 526 MOHAMMEDISM After them there enter the Abbasids. They, too, were Arabs by blood; but they, at least their earlier rulers of genius, read aright the signs, and saw that no Arab kingdom could stand by itself. The Constitution of Umar, which regarded the Arab race as a people chosen of Allah to do His will, had broken down after only a few years. The idea of the Umayyads, which regarded the kingdoms of the world as created for the enjoyment of the Arab race, had vanished in tribal strife. The non-Arab Muslims had come to their own again, and by sheer weight of numbers, knowledge, and skill had compelled recog- nition and reckoning. That they had from the Abbasids. Their capital, Baghdad, founded in A.D. 762 by the foresight of al-Mansur, was to draw together and weld into a whole three at least of the Muslim races, the Arabs, the Persians, and the Syrians. The plan of al-Mansur succeeded in great part. The Muslim Empire was founded as a thing not necessarily Arab or Persian or Syrian. Islam, in conception so free, but for long politically so limited, had now broken its national bonds, and become in a true sense a universal religion and a world-power. Then, in astounding outburst, there came the Muslim civilization. It is hard to describe this period of culture in terms that will not sound strained and even hysterical. For the first hundred years of the Abbasid Khalifas we have a veritable Golden Age in the intellectual life. These Khalifas held stiffly to Islam, but they fostered, too, the sciences and arts. All the thought of the Greeks, coming in many channels, was accepted eagerly by them. Their people was urged to study, to research, to production; and the books which followed showed that the urging had effect. It was a period of literary earnest- ness and literary productiveness such as has seldom been. For its mate we have to look to the great eras of the world when awakening times seem to have come. After a century or so, it died away, but the intellectual life still went on, though led by fewer and in more isolated fashion. Then there would come another period at some other court - rivaling but hardly equaling the first in brilliancy and originality. Thus the torch has been passed along through a series, at long inter- vals, of such ages of reviving energy. But after that first Abbasid period we find the mass of the people taking little part in these. Here, then, we have the first element in our central problem. How are we to condition and explain this outburst? To ascribe it to the Arabs themselves, in any direct sense, is evidently absurd. Even to imagine that they, as a virile element, quickened into life for a time the dying or, at best, comatose races which surrounded them, seems hardly more satisfactory. It would be difficult indeed to find in his- tory a really parallel case to support such a view. Furthermore, we find them at every turn forced back for intellectual aid on these very races. Even their ministers and the officials of their governments were THE PROBLEMS OF MUHAMMADANISM 527 Persians, Turks, and Kurds. Their men of science were Syrians, Persians, and Egyptians. Their greatest Arabic scholars and the founders of Arabic grammar and of the science of the Arabic language were not Arabians. The same holds of many great masters of the interpretation of the Qur'an, of theology, traditions, and jurisprud- ence. It is really impossible to find a side of the intellectual life in which the Arabs continued to hold their own. What can we say, then, of the state of these lands and people before the Arabs came? Did this civilization exist then, and was it simply passed on in a new language and with somewhat changed environ- ment? There is nothing to suggest anything of the kind. Some study of science, philosophy, and medicine existed in Persia; some in the Christian monasteries scattered from the Mediterranean to the Per- sian Gulf; some, too, among the Syrian heathen who had survived, especially at Harran. But that study was all, as it were, cloistered in the cells and laboratories of the learned; it had no free course among the people, and no one will venture to say that a period of culture and awakening was then in progress. Intellectually, these people were really asleep or worse. Only by grasping this can it be understood how the great Arab raid swept over such tracts and met so little real resistance. It is significant,, on the other side, to observe for how many centuries the Muslims were baffled by the passes of the Taurus and the supposed decadent forces of Byzantium. There, and there only, did they meet a people which did not exist simply in the past, but which had a living present and future. . Nor, if we look more narrowly at the Qur'an itself, at the influence of the character of Muhammad, and of the essential ideas of Islam, can we find a clue to our problem. There is nothing there to spur to intellectual exertion or to pondering over the problems of life and of nature. Rather the opposite. Natural science and independent thought, curiosity as to the how and why of things, have ever had to fight a long and losing battle with simple Islam and the form of life which it fosters. Not the contemplative life in Christendom nor the stiffly held dogmas of the Roman and Reformation churches have shown a tithe of this dragging and repressing influence. It is not merely that Islam holds an absolute doctrine of predestination. Rather, it is that for it the map of life is fixed, the scheme of existence all arranged and for the best. Man needs only to accept and enjoy what the bounty of Allah has prepared. Nothing is left to seek or to improve. The bounds of this fleeting world and of man's knowledge therein are appointed. And the world, if it is sought over-keenly, reckoned over-highly, becomes a sedueing temptress, turning man from the only thing of any importance, the consideration of Allah Himself. Man's chief end is to glorify and enjoy Allah forever; but he must not in doing that consider too closely or curiously the works 528 MOHAMMEDISM of Allah in creation and providence. He may look at nature, but not so narrowly as to distract him for a moment from nature's God. Free examination and speculation without the ever-present recognition of a tremendous, overshadowing Personality is denied. The world is a perpetual miracle, carried out from instant to instant by this Being. Nature in the sense of law does not exist. At best there is a certain uniformity or custom on which man may fairly depend. But, first and last, it is for him to take humbly what comes to him from day to day at the hand of Allah and to keep his thoughts fixed upon Allah and upon nothing else. From Him he has come, and to Him he must return when the world, like a many-colored bubble, has broken and vanished forever. Such conceptions as these could never stir to intellectual life, or create a great period of civilization. Yet the period was there and with it our problem, a problem, to my mind, as yet unsolved. Soluble of course it is, but I can put before you no solution now. My object is rather to urge the fact of this problem, a fact very generally obscured or denied. Let me put the problem in a word. We have the Muslim civilization to explain. None of the elements in it — the Arab race, the conquered peoples, Islam — seem to be adequate to an explana- tion. It may be that we are pressing too closely on the mystery of the ebbing and flowing of the nations and their lives, or endeavoring to estimate conditions which, once gone, can never be re-created or re- understood. But so long as the European renaissance can be weighed or conditioned, it would seem that this great Asiatic renaissance should be possible of intelligible statement. Let us turn now to the second element. Why had the Muslim civ- ilization no permanence? Here, again, it is necessary to distinguish. Islam and what I have called the Muslim civilization are two very separate things. They can endure apart from one another, I may hazard the assertion, more easily, and are more thinkable as separate entities than Christianity and the Christian civilization. Christianity, some will tell us, is passing in its historical sense, while the Christian civilization is most enduring. However that may be, the essential concepts of Christianity are so absolutely part of the Christian civili- zation, that to run a line between the two that will follow any bearings but those of a confessionalist, is manifestly impossible. In Islam it was never so. The Muslim civilization may be said to have flourished in spite of Islam. The great thinkers in Islam, apart from some pro- fessed theologians, drew no stimulus or guidance from it; often they were hopelessly at odds with it. In the case of the more original theologians even, it would be possible to knock away the Muham- madan scaffolding and let the religious edifice which they had reared stand by itself. Their necessary conceptions are purely general, com- pounded of mysticism and theism. The peculiarities of Islam, the THE PROBLEMS OF MUHAMMADANISM 529 bizarre concretenesses sprung from the brain of Muhammad and his immediate constructive followers, drop easily away from them. Yet, in contrast with the asserted experience of Christendom, it is Islam which has survived and not the Muslim civilizations. The worship of the black stone in the Ka'ba, a fetish of the simplest type, has tri- umphed over the exalted aspirations and visions of the thinker and the mystic. Islam, then, understood in this sense of the dogma, ritual, institu- tions and laws established by Muhammad and developed by his suc- cessors, is one of the most absolutely permanent things in the world. In spite of its lack of elasticity, its grasp once taken has never been broken nor relaxed. Peoples which had accepted Christianity have again thrown it off; but no people has yet turned from Islam to another faith. The soil, even, with one great exception, which has once become Muslim, remains so to this day, in religion at least, if not in government. That exception was the Spanish Peninsula and the islands which went with it, an exception so exceptional in every way as to stand by itself. Islam, then, is permanent. But the Muslim civilization is impermanent to a singular degree and in a singular way. The civilizations have always had their tides, their ebbs and flows. Europe has had its dark age, and again its renaissance. But taking the European civilization in the broadest sense, following it for centuries from the brilliant period of Greek thought and letters to the present equally brilliant development of material things, the trend has been a gaining one, the steps and hearts have been upwards, and if there have come periods of silence and rest, the silence has been a brooding and the rest has been a recov- ery of strength. Far otherwise in Islam. There the silences have ever grown longer and deeper; the periods of life and speech have grown fewer and shorter. The bearers of the torch have kept dwindling in numbers and certainly shrinking more and more from public view. Their periods cease to belong to, cease to be identifiable with, the Muslim peoples; the leaders die in obscurity and fear and leave no followers; the abortive great age is over and the old, abiding Islam reigns on. Hardly anything can be more melancholy than to trace through Muslim history this unviolated law. The thread there of intellectual life — leaving out of account, of course, the sciences professional and ancillary to Islam itself — may be said to have run threefold. This analysis is rough, and depends, in part, on our ignorance, but will be found suggestive and fairly faithful. Outside of it may be placed the great intellectual movement in the first years of the Abbasids. That seems, in truth, to have been a movement of the whole people; such a one, in fact, as the Elizabethan period in England or the renaissance in Italy. But after this century or less had passed, the intellectual life 530 MOHAMMEDISM continued for a time in three different ways. First there appeared, from time to time, a culture consisting of a circle of men of science and letters gathered round a patronizing monarch at his court. Such a one was Sayf ad-Da wla at Aleppo; such Mahmud the Iconoclast at Ghazna; such many of the Fatimid princes at Cairo; many small dynasties in Spain, and perhaps the last of any meaning, were found in the Muwahhid dynasty in Spain and North Africa. In all these cases, the essential thing was a protector and fosterer strong enough to be able to neglect popular disapproval. This is culture on a court footing, imitating in a fashion the first great Abbasid encouragement of science, but existing essentially for the amusement, edification, and praise of the protecting prince. It did not spring from the people, and from it no popular life could spring. Its existence was strictly dependent on the existence of a prince with enlightened tastes. And even such princes gradually found it advisable to draw a cordon round the speculations of their court philosophers, and to fence off freedom of thought from the mass of the people. On one side, they feared the effects of that thought on the simple faith of the multitude, and on another, they feared the wrath of the multitude against them- selves and the freethinkers of their courts. Naturally, under such conditions, genuine freedom of thought ceased to exist. Literature might flourish after a fashion and for a time, but even it could not, in the long run, reach beyond the constructing of panegyrics and jests. Such circles stood to true Augustan ages as the imitations of Ver- sailles by petty German princes to the actual court of the Grand Monarque. As exponents of civilization, they, in their final develop- ment, may safely be neglected. Yet it is always to be remembered that al-Farabi, Avicenna, and Averroes, three of the greatest names in Arabic philosophy, were products of such conditions. This, which I have just described, wras the public, visible thread of the intellectual life in Islam. It had no contact with the body of the people; it was of its nature to be abrupt and non-continuous, a suc- cession of dwindling points and not a line. But there must have existed also a second and more continuous thread of tradition, consist- ing of private and solitary students and thinkers. Their lives, of necessity, were passed in quietness, apart from the throng, seeking safety from it and failing to affect it. We therefore know little of them in detail. Some stand out, as al-Ma'arri, the satirist, in one way, or as Umar Khayyam in another, or, as Nasir ibn Khusraw, who finally sought peace in ascetic mysticism, in yet a third. Almost all we can say is that there was undoubtedly — perhaps still is, to some slight extent — a small number of exceptional men who lived apart and pursued philosophy and science along paths which led them often to mysticism and alchemy. Some had genius, as the three whom I have just mentioned, and their names have come down to us. Some we THE PROBLEMS OF MUHAMMADANISM 531 know only by vague references, or notes on MSS. Many must have gone their way dumb. They were all carriers of a hidden torch, and in themselves could have formed no civilization. That they had to live thus retired and practically to no other purpose than to pass on their speculations to a rare handful of disciples is the significant thing in them for us. Thirdly, there was a thread of development still more mysterious to us, because obscured of intention. Just as these solitary thinkers may sometimes have appeared at court, so sometimes they may have had part in that vast philosophical society which, as has been guessed and as I have stated already, lay behind and was one of the weapons of the Fatimid conspiracy. Such bodies were the clearing-houses, the means of exchange and intercourse for the society of their time. On one side they touched the superstitions of the masses, on another the ambitions of would-be founders of empire; on a third all the existing phases of the intellectual life. Of necessity and on all sides they must work underground, and they exploited to the uttermost the doctrine of economy in teaching which all Islam accepts, and which has crystal- lized in the tradition ascribed to AH, " Speak to the people as they can understand." Even when the conspiracy had, on the surface, suc- ceeded and the Fatimid dynasty was established, the Hall of Science which they opened at Cairo had to be managed with great care to avoid an open issue with the believing people. Their culture, just as in the case of the courts and the solitary thinkers, was no true civiliza- tion, for it did not reach the masses. We can now state and appreciate more exactly our second problem. In the first century of the Abbasid rule, there came a true intellectual period. It was an outburst, comparable in intensity for the time with the European renaissance. Thereafter came a gradual but persistent decline, varied only by such phases of scientific and philosophical activity as I have already indicated. Above all, the masses of the people had no part in any true culture, seem to have been crippled in some mysterious way for independent thought. Our problem, then, is how this should have been so. The causes usually assigned do not seem to be real or, at least, adequate. Islam itself may have been to blame, but a new analysis of Islam will be necessary to show how it produced such results. Certainly, its fatalism alone is not a sufficient cause. The immediate ancestors of most of us were equally strong predestinarians, but civilization did not suffer greatly at their hands. Nor, to go farther back, was the general position in Europe before the renaissance essentially different from that in the contemporary Islam. Only the renaissance came to Europe and turned it sharply into a new path, and medievalism for it was past, while Islam still lived as in medievalism. That the Muslim countries are yet in the precise condition and hold the precise attitudes of Europe in the 532 MOHAMMEDISM Middle Ages, is the kernel of the situation. Nor can the devastation spread by the Mongol hordes be alleged as an adequate explanation. Their ravages did not spread far enough; Egypt and North Africa, for example, escaped, and our question affects all Muslim lands. Wherever Islam has penetrated and a Muslim government been established, we find this inevitable decadence, punctuated by brief and successively smaller flowerings of a peculiar hothouse culture, exceedingly narrowed in its scope. And curiously enough, such periods are always a sign of weakening in the fabric of the state itself. The more critical Muslims themselves learned to observe them and knew that the state in which they appeared was nearing its close; that some more barbaric and virile successor was about to arise and overthrow it. These points — the disintegrating and weakening effect of culture, and the law that Muslim states change and pass while Islam itself is unchanging and permanent — are to be read, for example, very clearly in the history of Muslim Spain. They made the reconquest possible, and explain the puzzle that Spanish Islam, more highly civilized certainly than Spanish Christendom, and with the millions of Africa at its back, was in the end driven out. But that brings us no nearer to the solution of the primary problems which I have stated, and which are essentially and taken together the question of the general relation of Islam to civilization. Practically, they come out in another question, Is Islam capable of a permanent and normally developing civilization? It is not my business here to offer answers to these questions. Mine is the easier but less satisfactory part of stating the problems. But from what has gone before, it will be seen in what direction I feel, though very vaguely, that the solutions may lie. The absolute grasp of Islam on all the sides of the lives of the Muslims has some- thing to do with it. When theology, philosophy, science, law — the church and the state in all their phases of activity — are allowed to develop separately, much else will be possible. Again, when Islam abandons — which apparently it never can — its essentially miracu- lous view of the constitution of the universe, and makes some pro- vision for a reign of law, Islam will be capable of continuous thought and development. Thirdly, and to my mind, most certainly and em- phatically, the learned must abandon their scholastically snobbish attitude toward the unlearned masses. Knowledge, and with it civ- ilization, must be made a thing not of the few but of the many. The village school must be fostered even more than the university; Islam has always known the latter; its weakness has been in the former. Scholars must leave their learned ease and isolation and serenity of thought and take the people into their confidence. The economy of teaching must go, and the common-school master must cease to be the butt of all the village jests. When this is accomplished, if accom- THE PROBLEMS OF MUHAMMADANISM 533 plished it can be, there will be some hope of a permanent civilization in Islam. We are now left with our third and last question. In what ways and to what extent did the Muslim civilization affect that of Europe? The stating of it is almost enough. The problem is there, and all that I can do is to lay some stress upon its importance. In this country, most unfortunately, the study of Muhammadanism and of Arabic things generally has been treated as a subordinate department in the study of the Bible. May I refer for illustration to the arrange- ment of this Congress itself? We have this Section of ours in the History of Religion given to Muhammadanism, and that is practically all the recognition which the whole Muslim world has had, a world in contact for centuries with Christendom and which deeply affected it, a world which, at the present time, is going through a great awakening, and which stands with Christendom and the civilization of China as one of the three great existing and militant civilizations. It is true that there is a Section for Semitic languages, but the names of the leading speakers there show that what is meant is Semitic in relation to the Bible. Nor is there a Section of Semitic literature, though the Arabic alone is one of the richest literatures in the world. This, let me say, is no criticism of the present Congress; the Congress, as is only fitting, reflects faithfully the attitude of students in this country. I need say nothing of Islam as it is at present. The news of the day brings to us the evidence of its gigantic possibilities. But how stand the facts in the earlier case? For the medieval world, let Chaucer instruct us. His Wife of Bath had been three times at Jeru- salem. His Knight had been a soldier of fortune in Muslim lands from the Atlantic to Asia Minor. His Squire tells — unhappily only half tells — a tale from the Arabian Nights. He himself puts into English a Latin translation of an Arabic treatise on the Astrolabe. Much in the same way we use translations of German treatises. His mathematical vocabulary is Arabic; the names of half his authorities in medicine are Arabic. The fact stands absolutely firm that in his time the Mediterranean peoples were bound by closer ties of study and intercourse than they have ever been since. Then students went to Muslim schools in Spain and southern Italy to hear the specialists in their subjects, and to pursue post-graduate study, as ours go now to Germany. Now the learned editors of Chaucer do not understand half of these allusions, and have to wait till a stray Arabist comes round to explain them. What Von Ranke, the great master, wrote long ago in a letter to his brother, that for the historian of Europe the two indispensable languages were Latin and Arabic, has yet to bear fruit. But, happily, in Europe this extreme ignorance and indifference is 534 MOHAMMEDISM passing. The lamented Dozy first compared, in an historical spirit, medieval European chronicles and charters with Arabic texts. Now there is a growing body of Spanish Arabists who are following in his steps. For them there is the advantage that they are all the time on their own soil, and studying their own history. The time must come when all the historians of medieval Europe will of necessity be Arabists, or at least collaborate with Arabists. And I venture to state the thesis sharply, that the next labor for these historians will be to reinterpret the civilization of Europe in the light of that of Islam. Ignorant depreciation and extravagant worship must yield to patient appreciation, and that can be reached only by the students of Europe and of Islam recognizing their mutual depend- ence and joining their forces. I hail this Congress, then, with its ample recognition of the correlation of sciences and the necessary contact of kindred fields, as a weighty acceptance of that principle and a long step towards carrying it out. SECTION C — OLD TESTAMENT SECTION C — OLD TESTAMENT (Hall 4, September 22, 10 a. m.) CHAIRMAN: PROFESSOR AUGUSTUS S. CURRIER, McCormick Theological Semi- nary. SPEAKERS: PROFESSOR JAMES F. McCuRDY, University College of Toronto. PROFESSOR KARL BUDDE, University of Marburg. SECRETARY: PROFESSOR JAMES A. KELSO, Western Theological Seminary, Allegheny, Pa. OLD TESTAMENT SCIENCE BY JAMES FREDERICK M'CURDY [James Frederick McCurdy, Professor of Semitic Languages, University College, Toronto, Canada, b. Chatham, New Brunswick, 1847. B.A. University of New Brunswick; Gottingen and Leipzig, 1882-84; Princeton Theological Seminary, 1868-72. Instructor in Oriental Languages, ibid. 1873-82; Lecturer in Oriental Languages, University College, Toronto, 1886-88; Professor, ibid. 1888 . Member Deutsche Morgenlandische Gesellschaft, Vorderasiatische Gesellschaft. Author of Aryo-Semitic Speech; History, Prophecy, and the Monuments; Life of D. J. Macdonnell.] THE designation of this paper permits a fairly wide choice in the mode of treatment. The end which I shall here keep in view is to indicate the place occupied by the Old Testament in the domain of the related sciences. The subject must be dealt with broadly and comprehensively, while the method of treatment should be as prac- tical as possible. We should consider the most important aspects of the Old Testament as it bears upon themes which permanently inter- est the thinking world. From this point of view it seems well to keep •out of sight the methods and even many of the important results of Old Testament research, and to confine ourselves to what is of most significance for modern life. At the same time the field of inquiry must also be limited. A comparison with some aspects of the New Testament will be made incidentally. But it will perhaps be most profitable within our present limits to choose the three outstanding references and deal with the relations of our science to history, to literature, and to sociology and morals. A preliminary question at once suggests itself, Do wre know the Old Testament well enough to justify any reasonable attempt to bring it into relation with modern thought and life? The answer must be, that we do not yet know it thoroughly, but we are constantly getting 538 OLD TESTAMENT to know it better. Old Testament science, dating from its first vital- izing impulses, is just a century and a half old; but it is scarcely a half-century old if we count from the beginnings of constructive criticism. What is now attempted can at best be only a comparative success. I shall mention at the outset a few conclusions as to the pro- per classification and general purport of the Old Testament writ- ings: We may divide the contents of the Old Testament roughly into the narrative or historical literature; the institutional or prescriptive literature; the oratorical or prophetic literature; the lyrical and reflective poetry. As regards the first two divisions it is to be said that the five "books of Moses," which contain most of the prescript- ive literature, were not written by Moses. They were written after his epoch and at various times and stages in the history of Israel. Again, the narratives generally, from Genesis to Nehemiah,. are not " history " in the strict sense of the word, and the materials for history which they furnish must be used with critical caution. They are a repertory of primitive nature-myths, remoulded in the spirit of He- brew monotheism; of legends regarding the earliest ancestors of the Hebrew people; of traditions describing the beginnings of Hebrew history, the founding of its political, legal, and ceremonial institu- tions, and the progress of the tribal settlements in the land of Canaan; of the chronicles of the royal houses; of personal memoirs and genea- logical records. All of these narratives, whether mythical, legendary, annalistic, or biographical, have been worked over in the interests of different schools of religious thought and purpose, and are often accompanied by interpretations or comments. Most clearly indi- cated are what are usually called the prophetic and priestly tenden- cies. These convenient terms are, however, apt to mislead. They do special injustice to the spiritual prophecy of the Old Testament. The historical writings do not keep pace with the profound and pro- gressive movement which regenerated the religious life of Israel. Their authors were impressed by the prophetic spirit, but they were too conservative, conventional, and nationalistic to be classed among the immediate disciples of the prophets. The prophetic and poetic literature has also been appreciated by modern criticism. The most obvious results of the reconstruction are: (1) Prophecy is not necessarily or essentially prediction. Prophetic inspiration is not a gift of foresight, but of moral insight. This has been made clear by our understanding of the word and work of the prophets in relation to the history of Israel and the nations, and to the social and religious conditions of their time. We have learned espe- cially how the prophets became a channel of living truth to the world OLD TESTAMENT SCIENCE 539 when they proclaimed that true religion is moral, not ceremonial; that the divine holiness or sanctity has a moral basis; that human respon- sibility is individual, not merely tribal or national; that God cares for all nations alike; and that moral obligation extends beyond national to international relations. In a word, the prophets laid the foundations of the religion of humanity. This demonstration is the crowning glory of modern criticism, and is of itself sufficient to vindicate its methods and claims. (2) Of almost equal importance is the reconstruction of the lyrical and reflective poetry of the Old Testament. The Psalms of David are now known not to have been written by David, and the Pro- verbs of Solomon not to have been composed or compiled by Solo- mon. These are in themselves secondary matters. What is of most significance is that Hebrew psalmody and the Wisdom literature are, as a whole, complements and successors, not to the Law, but to Prophecy. (3) What is dominant and vital in Hebrew literature is its imagin- ative element, the poetry and not the prose of the Old Testament. With this idealistic literature or poetry must be reckoned the greater portion of the prophetic writings. (4) Another epoch-making fact has been established by recent criticism, — the essential duality of the Old Testament. Such unity as the Old Testament has is superficial, so to say accidental. It is a unit as the literature of a single people, as written in what is practically the same language throughout, as being predominantly religious, as nominally though not always actually illustrating the worship and attributes of the same God. It is not a unit in what is more cardinal and vital, in its conceptions of God and of duty, in its attitude toward life and conduct. There was an epoch in the history of the Old Testament literature when its whole character was changed, and, what is of special significance for the question of the relations of the Old Testament, this era was also a turning-point in the moral and religious education of the race. It was the era of non-professional prophecy, the spiritual birth-time of humanity. We may now consider directly the relations of Old Testament science to other subjects of human interest. To what other branches of knowledge is it chiefly indebted? It has drawn very largely from several of them. In analyzing the contents of the Old Testament liter- ature historically and genetically, and in determining the relations of its several divisions to one another, Old Testament scholars have gained facts and suggestions from philology, archaeology, ethnology, literary criticism, and the modern evolutionary philosophy. What then does our science, stimulated and enriched from the regions lying beyond its borders, give back to the world of thought? According to the rubric laid down at the beginning, we shall have to consider the 540 OLD TESTAMENT relations of our subject to history, to literature, and to sociology and morals. Relations to History These may be estimated by examining the various forms of activity by which the people of Israel impressed themselves upon the world, and by indicating their importance to mankind. For the Old Testament history is in a broad and very real sense the history of Israel. All that we have learned or are likely to learn from outside sources as to the doings and character of the Hebrews can do little more than illustrate the national history embodied in their own liter- ary records. What, then, we ask, has general history to gain by the tribute which it draws from Old Testament science, that is, from the knowledge which the Old Testament gives to the world of the life and work of the people of Israel? What were the forms and modes of their activity? What was the character of their government and legal institutions; of their trade and commerce; of their industrial and idealizing arts; of their mental philosophy, their moral and religious principles and beliefs? What also were their achievements in war and in statesmanship? Turning to the Old Testament for the answers to these questions, we see at once that, for comparative purposes, some of the most important of these factors in national influence must be wholly ignored. The Hebrews made no name for themselves in the useful or in the aesthetic arts. They had no speculative philosophy either of the material or the supersensuous world, while their trade and commerce are negligible in any general survey of ancient civilization. Nor is the political history of Israel now regarded as of importance to the world at large. It is shown to have been a mere episode in the larger history of Western Asia, in which it was never of any moment as an active factor. In the light of our reconstructed history of the ancient East, Israel is seen to have been a small composite people inhabiting the highlands of Palestine at a comparatively late period, in succession to a long occupation by Amorites or Canaanites, Baby- lonians and Egyptians, inheriting the civilization of the Canaanites directly, and tinctured indirectly by that of the Babylonians; attain- ing to a sort of solidarity by tribal federation; then following the example of all Oriental states by adopting monarchical government, and, after a more or less precarious autonomy, going the way of all the kindred coast-land peoples, in complete subjection to the Assyrians and Babylonians. There is nothing striking or exceptional even in its period of independence, at least to the mere chronicler of momentous political events. Yet to the student of national and social life there are points of much interest. One is the cohesiveness, unique among OLD TESTAMENT SCIENCE 541 the Semites, of the clans and tribes of Israel, whereby without resort- ing to kingly headship they became a confederation with a national outlook and spirit. Another is the brotherliness of the two kingdoms after the schism that followed the death of Solomon, by virtue of which their reestablished friendship was scarcely broken for a century and a half. These things suggest that the history of Israel best repays study from a point of view different from that of the historian of spectacular or epoch-making external events. Old Testament science, then, serves political history mainly as it contributes to an accurate estimate of the place and function of a small portion of the Semitic family, and thereby throwing a little light upon the struggle for existence of the peoples of Western Asia. From this point of view the history of Israel has received more illustration from the history of kindred peoples than it has itself contributed, and must be reckoned a beneficiary rather than a benefactor. To have established here the true relation of things is, however, no mean achievement of our science, wThich has sifted the chaff from the wheat in the traditions of the national heroes, and has reduced to its correct proportions the age-long estimate of the prowess and dig- nity of the kings of Israel. We may now see how insignificant was the place occupied by the Hebrew people in the wars and politics of the ancient world. The most significant thing in its career was its inextinguishable vitality, and that was due not to the performances of its rulers and warriors, but to the thoughts and aspirations of its prophets and poets, who breathed into the soul of the true Israel the breath of their own inspiration. Thus the saying of "one of them" was fulfilled, — "Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith Yah we." The institutional history of ancient Israel has also been set in a new light by modern research. This has been done in two principal ways : (1) The legal and prescriptive writings are now seen not to have preceded and inspired the prophetic and reflective literature, which is in the main independent of them. It had formerly been thought that the germs of the sentiments of Prophecy and the Psalms were con- tained in the Law. Hence its importance in the traditional theory of the composition and growth of the Old Testament. Now it is seen to have been largely theoretical, and some of the most imposing pre- scriptions were never brought into practical effect. Moreover, men now feel that what is essentially formal or preceptive cannot be the antecedent condition of growth and evolution in the world of the spirit. But the Law, as far as it is either ceremonial or regulative, has a value to the student of institutional history as having been the great conservative force in the late pre-Christian centuries, and as furnishing one of the keys to the external history of modern Judaism. 542 OLD TESTAMENT On the other hand, the more ethical portions of the Pentateuch, including the Decalogue, being due to prophetic influence, are to be regarded as illustrative of the practical effect produced by the great spiritual revolution, which did not receive literary expression till the eighth century before our era. (2) The more strictly juridical portions of the Law have also been set in new relations. Though they have played no part directly in moulding the modern legislation of Europe and America, outside of ecclesiastical and civil laws relating to marriage and divorce, yet they have always exercised a strong moral and sentimental influence by reason, in large part, of the persuasion that they were of directly divine origin. Recent inquiry into the customs of older Semitic peoples has largely dispelled the belief that they were exclusively framed within the bounds of Israel. The strongest testimony to the indebtedness of the Pentateuchal codes to earlier outside legislation is furnished by the code of Hammurabi. This document of course did not contribute directly any of the biblical material. It simply affords overwhelming proof that while Israel shared in the general consue- tudinary law of the primitive western Semites, its special legislation was indirectly influenced by legal digests published at various times, long before the days of Moses, in Babylonia, the home of the higher Semitic civilization. It is thus admitted that both the incidents of Israel's career and its national institutions are of but secondary practical moment. But it must be granted just as freely that this limitation is no gauge at all of the significance of Old Testament history in the life and thought of men. This apparent paradox suggests a parenthetical remark as to the point of view from which Old Testament history may best be treated. If the historian, deferring to the maxims of the school of Ranke, were to attempt to give an account of Israel from the standpoint of object- ive fact alone, and of every circumstance of its process and develop- ment "nur zu sagen wie es eigentlich gewesen ist," his occupation would be virtually gone. If we are to exclude the sentimental and the subjective entirely in our constructions of Old Testament history, and abjure the prerogative of moral judgment, we may as well give up our essays altogether, and the fragmentary and partial yet humanly and divinely priceless records of Hebrew history may be at once handed over to the dogmatist and the exhorter. To be an interpreter is, in this province at least, to be a censor. This is our way, often our only way, of prophesying. Lord Acton has said, " Our historical judgments have as much to do with hopes of heaven as public or private con- duct." And yesterday we were reminded by Professor Mahaffy that in historical science, if we seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, all other things will be added unto us. OLD TESTAMENT SCIENCE 543 Relations of the Old Testament to Literature The most important literary phenomenon of the Old Testament is the fact that Hebrew literature began and ended with poetry, and that its most precious burden of thought and feeling was con- veyed to the world through poetic channels. The Hebrews were not merely exceptionally endowed poetically, but poetry was to them the natural and spontaneous expression of all deep and earnest feeling. And it was in artistic forms, however simple, that the individual poet gave voice to his own convictions, and bodied forth his own ideals in the one undivided sphere of religion, patriotism, and practical life, or gave voice to the inarticulate impulses and desires of his community or his nation. Thus the poetry of the Old Testament is, as far as it goes, an accurate register of the moral and intellectual history of the Hebrew people, of its progress from primitive rudeness in thought and speech to ideal sublimity and beauty; from the rugged simplicity of the "Song of the Well" to the artistic symmetry and rhetorical splendor of the "Ode" on the fallen Babylonian, or the sustained reflectiveness of the Book of Job; from the barbaric vengefulness of the Song of Lamech or the Song of Deborah to the chivalric altruism of the allegory of Jonah. To bridge over the transition from the previous topic to the present, it may be pointed out that as far as the relations of the literature of the Hebrews to their own history is concerned, the literature is in a very real and profound sense itself the history. With the ancient Hebrews, even more than with the Ionian Hellenes, the word was the deed and the idea the fact. The known events of the career of Israel are a mere mutilated and disjointed skeleton. But the body, the flesh and the blood, of a human history are provided by the ideas and sentiments of the moral and religious leaders of the race, and it is to the literature that we must resort if we are to be true his- to.rians or interpreters of Israel. But our chief present interest is with the literature viewed com- paratively. According to what has been said, we must consider mainly the poetry of the Old Testament. And we have to use this term in the most comprehensive sense. It should be made to embrace, not merely what is demonstrably metrical in form, such as the Psalms, Proverbs, Job, Canticles, and Lamentations, most of the prophetic writings, and the lyrical and elegiac poems scattered through the narrative literature, but also what is less artistically composed and yet just as clearly poetic or idealistic in spirit, the emotional as well as the imaginative passages in the tradition's and chronicles. What remains, graphic as it often is, and always realistic, is usually prosaic and commonplace. The points of most importance in comparison with other literatures are perhaps the following: 544 OLD TESTAMENT (1) The forms of the verse. In describing these we are justified in using the word "measure," and in regarding parallelism as a secondary characteristic. Parallelism is essentially a subjective phenomenon, finding occasional analogy in all other literatures and thoroughgoing resemblances in several, and is therefore to be dealt with, in the first instance, from the point of view of corporate or folk-psychology. The metre is the surest means of distinguishing poetry from prose, in the structural if not always in the aesthetic, sense of the terms; and regularity of verse-structure may be ap- pealed to in textual emendation with more confidence than many leading critics manifest or allow. As to the measures themselves, thanks to recent investigations (I name only those of Budde and Grimme and the epoch-making constructive work of Sievers) , distinct and substantial progress has been made in the acquisition of a working system. With regard to the vexed question of strophical divisions, I can only say that the truth seems to lie between the extremes re- presented by the opposing views of Duhm and Budde. A strophical structure is actually marked in some cases, and obvious in many others; but as we have to deal with blank verse and not the more regularly disposed rhyming lines, inconsistencies in the groupings of the verses in the same composition are not surprising anywhere. A special interest is lent to the study of Hebrew poetry by the fact that in its iambic and anapestic measures it bears a generic resemb- lance to some of the more common and popular forms of modern versification. (2) As to species and styles of composition I would remark the poetic form of most of the prophetic discourses, which accords so well with the general idealistic character of the Hebrew literature already referred to. Among ancient peoples the earliest seers were usually singers or poets; but it was characteristic of the Hebrew seers that even when their messages became political and national they should still be given forth in verse. Noteworthy also is the attempt to give a sort of dramatic setting to religious and moral reflection, as in the Book of Job, and to idyllic love-songs, as in the Canticles. Such essays were, from our point of view, uncertain and unsuccessful, but coming from a people so subjective in all literary art, and with no knowledge or conception of a real drama, they must be judged by a standard of their own and without reference to anything non-Semitic. They are really allegorical rather than dramatic, and the interest centres not in their obscure and rudiment- ary plot, but in the force and beauty of single passages. From this point of view their place in the world's literature is better under- stood. As a compensation for the absence of a real drama, the lyric and didactic poetry of the Old Testament is in its kind quite un- excelled. Moreover, the whole literature is in a sense dramatic, in OLD TESTAMENT SCIENCE 545 the vividness and naturalness of every picture of life and manners, in the constant use of concrete facts and images as the vehicle of instruction, in the absence of abstractions in all appeals and argu- ments, in discussions even of matters metaphysical, and in the profoundest reflections upon the nature of God or man. The Old Testament is a type by itself in the literature of the world, and forms a special training-school for the imagination and the critical judg- ment. Having obtained among non-Semitic Western nations a wider currency than any literature of their own, it has become among all civilized peoples a fountain of the purest literary inspiration, promot- ing simplicity and naturalness in speaking and writing and a love of the real and the concrete in practical thinking. At the same time, having survived nearly all of the writings that have misin- terpreted it, and having outworn and displaced the creeds which misrepresented it, it is becoming more and more the world's chief religious classic and hand-book of practical morals, while retaining unimpaired its character as literature, as a mirror and criticism of human life. (3) Expression of the religious life. It is the singularly uniform tendency of the Old Testament to regard things from the religious point of view, no matter which of the various aspects of human life may be dealt with. This prevailing religious character formerly excited little surprise, since the whole . literature was regarded as a direct divine revelation. An explanation might be given that the religion of the .ancient Hebrews embraced the whole of their life in all its motives and activities. Properly understood this explanation is just. The real state of the case would, however, be better set forth by two considerations. In the first place, religion and morality (the more primitive as well as the prophetic morality) and common life were to the old Hebrews one and the same in their nature, and therefore one and the same in their expression. The fundamental fact is that they recognized no duality in human nature; they believed that the whole man in all his functions and faculties, such as we term body, soul and spirit, mind and heart, went together both in the offices of religion and in the habits and activities of daily life. Hence to them a separation between belief and conduct, between piety and duty, between religion and morals, would have been unthinkable even if the modern analysis and phraseology could have been made intelligible to them. Again, that they judged human life and action mainly from the point of view of religion, and not with reference to any other tendency or impulse of our race, is due to the fact that the divine was ever in their thoughts, for their God was their Father, whose fatherhood was sure even if Abraham were to disown them and Israel were not to acknowledge them, who was the constant sustainer of their individual being and of their 546 OLD TESTAMENT social and civil life, who established and guaranteed the unity, the solidarity, and the perpetuity of their nation and of every clan and every family within it, whose own life and activity pervaded and enveloped them, who beset them behind and before and laid his hand upon them. (4) The influence of the Hebrew poetical literature — so great both intensively and extensively — how is it to be accounted for? Following merely one line of direction, we naturally compare the New Testament Apocalypse. It is also largely a Jewish book sur- charged with old-world conceptions, images, and phrases, such as those which stimulated the thought and imagination of the Old Testament seers and poets; and it also strikingly illustrates the power of poetry to raise men above the evil present and to maintain in the darkest hour the supremacy of faith and trust in the divine and the ideal. Outside of this narrow analogy of the New Testament poetry, there is nothing that can be brought into comparison with the poetry of the Hebrews. Contrast, if you will, the quality of the Psalms, as a whole, with that of modern or even medieval Christian hymns, which often please and sometimes move, but rarely thrill us, and with the lack of the simple universal human touch in other religious liturgies, which are almost powerless outside of their own circles of worshipers! I venture to suggest the following as among the causes of the influence of the national poetry of Israel : (a) Hebrew poetry was national as well as individual, and therefore wielded a power at once concentrated and diffusive. When it ceased to be national, it not only languished as an artistic product, but lost its distinctive moral force. It may be observed that the poetry of the ancient Greeks, who, along with many contrasts, yet show more analogies with the Hebrews than do any other non-Semitic peoples, lost its moral effectiveness also when it ceased to be national, as it had been in the old creative epoch when, in the words of Professor Jebb, "poetry was interwoven with the whole texture of Greek life." (6) We may go yet further and add another element to the causes of the moral supremacy of the Hebrew poetry. We must compare not merely one species of literature with another, but also modern with ancient literature. Old Testament poetry was informed with a dynamic energy such as modern poetry seldom wields because the poet thought and felt and sang as making up, along with his people and his God, one single indivisible force. Against many of the gains of our modern life we have to set off the irreparable loss of this old- world association of the human individually and socially with the divine. The resultant of the working of the forces, mental, moral, and emotional, released by the pressure of this conception upon devout and loyal souls, may almost be expressed in terms descriptive OLD TESTAMENT SCIENCE 547 of physical energy, so plainly are their action and interaction dis- played, for example, in the pleadings of Hosea, the invocations of the ninetieth Psalm, or the patriotic visions and declamations of the Second Isaiah. From a general point of view a distant parallel may be found in the national songs of modern Japan. There is no literary product of recent time like these for intensified energy or power of popular inspiration; for the Japanese alone, among great modern peoples, have combined in one overpowering patriotic sentiment the conceptions and passions of the old world and the new. (c) This inherent force and freshness of the Hebrew national poetry were still further augmented when the prophets expressed the sentiments and passions of a community within the community, of an Israel within Israel, of a party of long-tried and faithful souls, contending for the principles which were at once the salvation of the state and a revelation of the nature and will of the God of Israel and of the universe. (5) We may notice finally the bearings of Hebrew literature upon the question of the causes of the production and decline of poetry and imaginative composition generally. It seems to be an invariable law that poetic fervor and creativeness belong to the earlier national life of every literary people and not to the period of its maturity. It is not that in their later time the cultured peoples of the world lose the inspiration of religious faith or of national freedom or of international conflict; for no one of these conditions' explains the decline of imaginative genius among the Anglo-Keltic or the Romanic or the Germanic nations. There comes a time in the history of every highly endowed people, even the most romantic and enthusiastic, when literature ceases to be spontaneous and creative, and becomes reflective, critical, and, so to speak, professional, while at the same time accelerated progress is shown in other intellectual fields, in all liberal arts, in industry, commerce, and political and social life. But poetry or idealistic literature flourished all through the history of Israel. Instead of declining with the loss of national independence and political freedom, it became finer and nobler. The best poetry did not precede the best prose, as in the history of other great literatures, but followed it. For a thousand years a genius for poetry and song wrought in Israel irrepressibly, as though endowed with the freshness and vigor of perpetual youth. This also is unique. Professor Macdonald pointed out to us yesterday that the old songs of the pre-Islamic Arabs are still chanted in the interior of the great peninsula, essentially unchanged in form and spirit, But these Arabs of the desert had not to submit to the unnerving and vulgarizing process of constant national attrition and degradation. They were like the people of whom an anony- mous prophet has said that like wine settled in the lees it had not 548 OLD TESTAMENT been poured from vessel to vessel nor had gone into captivity, and therefore its flavor had remained in it, and its scent had not changed. Yet the literary history of these secluded Arabs is in its way unique. Is it not to be explained in part by the reserve power inherent in this race, the survivors of the oldest and purest of the Semitic peoples? The Hebrews had also a reserve power drawn from their own peculiar antecedent history and from the religion of Yah we. Relations of the Old Testament to Sociology and Morals Here we come into a more practical sphere. The question arises at once, Can the Old Testament be brought into relation with modern life? Can the complicated social and ethical problems of our time be solved or simplified by the help of any doctrine or prin- ciple or conception peculiar to the Old Testament? Apparently it is usually thought to be impossible. The Old Testament is very little cited or appealed to in sociological discussions. The most notorious and indeed almost the only instance is the case of the deceased wife's sister. The Old Testament is supposed to have been antiquated and replaced by the New in all matters of practical moment. Apart from its acknowledged merits as literature and chronicle, and its more or less formal use as a manual of devotion, it is regarded as a subject of historical interest, as an expression of antique ways of thinking and feeling. Histories of morals scarcely ever refer to it except in the way of implied disparagement by con- trasting its temporary teachings with the perpetual validity of the New Testament. Histories of religion, apart from special treatises, view it as the embodiment of a transient phase of Semitic thought and belief, or else dispose of it summarily by pointing out that the Judaism of which it is the exponent has been supplanted by Christ- ianity. Even such a critic as Robertson Smith asserts that it would be absurd to expect to find in the Old Testament truth that is not in the New. Possibly the value of the Old Testament as an authority in socio- logy and practical morals has been impaired through this wholesale depreciation. Though the general question of its value as a guide in matters of principle and conduct cannot be argued here, the special case at issue may be disposed of by simply comparing the distinctive social virtues of the Old Testament with those of the New. On the one side we have, according to the classical passage Micah 6:8, especially justice or righteousness and mercy or kindness. On the other we have especially the finer virtues, — forgiveness, forbearance, tolerance, charity. These latter are also the choice accomplishments of modern society. What does modern society stand most in need of? Justice and mercy. This is the clamorous demand coming from every con- OLD TESTAMENT SCIENCE 549 crete form of human society: associations of trade, industry, and government; all sorts of employments, legislation, civic administra- tion, diplomacy, international relations. It was once thought that it was harder to acquire the finer graces of the New Testament than the more elementary virtues of the Old. This is doubtful. At all events, it is easier to feign the possession of the former than of the latter, and an occasional indulgence in works or words of charity will throw a successful disguise over a cold and deceitful heart or a selfish and unwholesome life. Justice and mercy are really the rarest of virtues, and they are sociologically the most precious. They have also the wider range. Their proper application outside the sphere of individual relations is the slowest of all social reforms. In the realm of corporate interests it is still timid and unsure; in that of international relations it has little more than just begun. Here the Old Testament is distinct from the New. Here the Old Testament is not rudimentary or provisional or preparatory. If it is of value it is independently valuable. Is it of value? If anything historical or literary is of value for moral purposes, the sociological principles of the Old Testament are valuable. They were the cardinal principles of a community that struggled for centuries to enforce them. They came to flower and fruit in the precepts and examples of the prophets, and are celebrated in the sweetest lyrics of the prophetic school of poetry. There is no other practical illustration or justifica- tion of justice, righteousness, and mercy such as is given in the Old Testament. The prophets introduced to the world these terms and these ideas. They created practically a new vocabulary, and set up a new moral and social code. And the outcome of justice and mercy is peace — not the peace of truce or compromise, of subjugation and submission, of devastated lands and desolate homes and. ruined lives, but peace wrought by righteousness. "The mountains shall bring forth peace, and the little hills, by righteousness," is a forecast of the rule of the " Prince of Peace." And a New Testament book with an Old Testa- ment coloring reechoes the thought when it describes the coming Saviour, "being first king of righteousness and afterwards king of Salem, that is King of Peace." Consider but the single sphere of international relations and obligations. The New Testament simply could not with propriety deal with this most comprehensive and weighty of all sociological matters, because there was no occasion. It was not merely because the principles of social and civil righteousness had been established once for all, but also because no international questions were possible to the people of Judaea in the times of Jesus and the apostles. There was practically but one nation in the whole Jewish world. Contrast with this condition of affairs the political situation of the days of the 550 OLD TESTAMENT prophets, three of whom, Amos, Isaiah, and Jeremiah, make the pro- vince of international relations one of cardinal importance, while Habakkuk devotes to it the whole of his prophecy. What is the Old Testament sanction for the practice and authority of these primary and essential virtues? It is strictly sociological. It is based, on the one hand, upon the solidarity of the community by blood-brotherhood, and, on the other, upon the relation of each mem- ber of the community, and of the whole body as one family, to the common God. The new world long ago lost these old-world principles. But they are based upon the original constitution of society, and until they are reinstated society will not be renewed and reformed. And singularly enough, sociological science is beginning to realize the former of the two principles. It is reaching by slow deductions the prophetic conception, when it declares that the individual can realize himself only in society; that the state is an organism for the promotion of this self-realization, fostering in its members the senti- ment of patriotism ; and that the alliance or federation of the nations is a necessary further medium for the development of this same self- realization of the individual, who never can complete or fulfill himself until he makes himself one with his own community and with the larger community of mankind. The other sentiment — that of the union of the members of the community with the common God — lies outside the sphere of modern sociology. Why? Because the new- wo rid view has divorced religion wholly from social life, that is to say, from practical morals, by making it solely a matter of the relation of the indiAddual soul to God, instead of its relation to both God and man. The result has been infinitely disastrous. The churches are supposed to look after our religion, but no one dreams of looking after our morals. To the simple philosophy of the Old Testament this dualism of religion and morals, the dividing up of a man into separable elements, and of his life into unrelated functions, was a conception unknown and in- conceivable. But Greek analytic speculation, and medieval phrase- mongering, and the habit, so dear to the Occidental mind, of giving concrete reality to our abstractions, have wrought havoc with our common sense and indefinitely postponed the redemption of society. We have banished God from our homes and haunts to his cold and distant heavens, and in the long absence of the Father his earthly household is left desolate. We often hear the admonition, " Back to Jesus!" With equal urgency we may well raisa the cry, Back to Jesus and the Prophets ! THE RELATIONS OF OLD TESTAMENT SCIENCE TO THE ALLIED DEPARTMENTS AND TO SCIENCE IN GENERAL BY KARL FERDINAND REINHARD BUDDE {Translated from the German by the American Journal of Theology) [Karl Ferdinand Reinhard Budde, Professor in ordinary of Old Testament Theology, University of Marburg, Germany, b. April 13, 1850, Bensberg, Rhenish Prussia. Bonn, 1867-68; Berlin, 1868-69; Bonn, 1869-70-71; Utrecht, 1871-73; D.D. Giessen, 1883. Privat-docent, Bonn, 1873-79; Professor extraordinary, Bonn, 1879-89; Professor, Strassburg, 1889; Professor ordinary, Strassburg, 1889- 1900; Professor ordinary, Marburg, 1900 . Member Society of Biblical Lit- erature, Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Science. Author of Biblical Primeval History Investigated; The Rooks of Judges and Samuel; The Religion of Israel to the Exile; The Canon of the Old Testament; and many other books and essays.] PERMIT me to begin my address with a personal reminiscence. It was just six years ago yesterday that I stepped for the first time upon the soil of the New World. I was invited here by the Com- mittee for the American Lectures on the History of Religions, to deliver a course of lectures upon " The Religion of Israel to the Exile." When I closed the first lecture in that course at one of your oldest and most important universities, a colleague from the depart- ment of science came up and greeted me most kindly with the words : "Why, you really use the same methods as we." Now, it is just this to which our opponents object, and with which they re- proach us Old Testament students who take a critical standpoint. We have even been branded with the beautiful name " evolutionary theorists." Nevertheless, I was far from being unpleasantly affected by that first greeting. On the contrary, I expressed to the represent- ative of the exact sciences my sincere pleasure that he had felt so directly the affinity between us, and I found in it additional ground for the hope that I was on the right road with my deductions. To this truth, that all genuine science forms one living body through which the same blood courses, which is animated and nour- ished by the same forces and by the same means, no such tangible and overpowering expression has ever been given as in this Congress of Arts and Science which here unites us, their representatives from the whole educated world, in the bonds of brotherhood. One of the two addresses in every department is specially intended to show how the several branches of science manifest their particular relation to science as a whole. This is the task confided to me for my special branch. Allow me to interpret the winged word of six years ago as a prophecy of our present meeting, and at the same time as an encour- aging sign that I may in fact fulfill the intention of these addresses, and so meet the expectation of the Congress. I may be permitted 552 OLD TESTAMENT to take for granted that you do not expect anything heroic from me. You simply suppose that one who for full thirty years has worked in his department is in a position to present its peculiarities and its aims with approximate accuracy. The department which I represent, and of which you to-day demand from me an account, is the Old Testament branch of theology, in short, Old Testament theology. Strictly speaking, we are here not concerned with a branch of pure science, which investigates its object simply for its own sake. Therefore I must hesitate to accept the position you have given my Department as a branch of the His- tory of Religion. What we understand by theology is really not the science of religion as such, but the science of the Christian Church. In fact, as matters stand to-day and have stood since time im- memorial, it is the science of only one of its forms of development — in my case of the German Evangelical Church — whose interests and needs our theology serves. Theology is, thus, only an applied science, for which fact it must console itself in common with many others — for example, to mention only those most nearly related, in our university programme, with law and with medicine. Now, to the Old Testament department, in comparison with others, and with the multiplicity of churches within Christianity, there might be conceded a favored, one might say an ecumenical, position, in that it ends at the point where Christianity begins; that is to say, before there were schisms within its own body. Neverthe- less, the individual beliefs of members of the department will certainly never entirely lack influence upon the work of the department as a whole. And, in any case, our position toward the religion of the Old Testament, as far as it claims to be a living religion, is very sharply defined. We have no other calling than to explain how the religion of the New Testament, the Christian religion, could - nay, must — spring up on the ground of the Old Testament religion; or, religiously expressed, how God through Israel prepared his human children for the coming of salvation in Jesus Christ. This prescribed task has naturally its correlate in individual conviction, and if ever one of us should come to the conclusion that not Christianity, but Judaism, is the fulfillment of the Old Testament, then he must, for his profession as well as for his belief, draw from this its inevitable conclusions. In thus fully and freely accepting the church's traditional name, Old Testament, — Old (that is, outgrown) Covenant, — for the object of our research, we really exercise a certain amount of self- denial, and resign ourselves to accept a comparatively humble posi- tion. Whether this always wins us due gratitude from the Christian Church is anything but sure. Our position and our r61e in the church organism have, indeed, changed essentially in the course of the cen- RELATIONS OF OLD TESTAMENT SCIENCE 553 turies and the millenniums. When the church came into existence, it accepted the books of the synagogue as the one Holy Scripture, to which it added only the person of Jesus Christ as the incarnate ful- fillment and consummation of the Old Covenant. The proof that he was the Saviour rested upon evidences which were believed to stand upon every page of those books. When to the Old Testament there was added in the Gospels and the Epistles a New Testament, which put the person and the teaching of Jesus on an independent basis, and when this biblical teaching was embodied in ecclesiastical dogma, the Old Testament still retained its peculiar value. Inspired of God, it remained for the church, now as before, God's Word, and, as such, each of its words remained true. Nor was it valid for the past alone, to which it had been given; for Christ had built on Old Testament ground, and had let much remain, instead of making substitutions. Moreover, if Christianity was, or included, an author- itative conception of the universe, — which, as the heir of the Greek philosophy, it claimed to do, — then it greatly needed the Old Testa- ment for the completion of its system over long periods, especially for its teaching on the creation and building of the world, on the primeval state of man, and on the origin and nature of sin. Accord- ingly, the Old Testament continued to remain in honor, in the church of the Reformation not less than before, and down to modern times. Now all this is changed. In the face of searching investigation of the Scriptures, many messianic prophecies had to fall, and the rest re- ceived a new, a merely relative, significance. The theory of inspira- tion, of the absolute and literal divinity, of the language of Holy Scripture has fallen to the ground before historical criticism, and can never rise again. Metaphysics we have put aside, and the investiga- tion of the universe and its development we resign without regret to other sciences, to whose success we give our blessing. The gospel has become for us completely independent, and the person of Jesus Christ the essence of our religion. By all this the Christianity of the nineteenth century grew in concentration and inner strength, and accordingly in legitimate self-consciousness; but in the same degree did the Old Testament retreat into the background and lose value within the theological framework. It was but a natural consequence of this that a party not to be overlooked maintained that the Old Testa- ment was completely and entirely cast aside. Indeed, within the theological faculties themselves doubts now and then arose as to whether the Old Testament should be permitted to retain its position of equality with other departments of the theological course. We need not fear that such views will prevail. On the eve of the twentieth century there came a revolution for which we living Old Testament men had for some decades been energetically preparing. Even lay circles now hear that theology is being viewed and treated 554 OLD TESTAMENT from the standpoint of the history of religion. The name might, however, be better chosen; it is not a matter of the history of religion, but of the comparative study of religion; and this study tends to and aims at a physiology of religion, or, to use the right word, at a biology of religion. We have learned to consider everything called religion as forming a distinct department, and an exceptionally large one, of pulsating life within the realm of human existence. All its phenomena enter into the closest mutual relations; none of its almost innumerable manifestations can be separated and isolated from the others. It is a frequent experience that most unexpectedly there appear mysterious relations between apparently the lowest and the very highest forms, which warn us neither to despise nor to neglect even the most insigni- ficant among them. By this Christianity can only win, not lose. In- deed the more we extend the range of observation and the deeper we penetrate into details, the more evident will it become that the reality of religion is incontestable and its vitality indestructible. The more numerous the inner relations running through the whole body, the more certainly will everything be traced back to the one central point, to the living God, who has fanned this spark; and we Christians, notwithstanding all our conscious weaknesses, joyfully accept the test of spirit and power for the fact that Christianity is, among all individual religious organisms, the highest and the most perfect, the aim and the end of the whole process. Looked at from this point of view, the Old Testament comes quite of itself to new honor. For however all religions are correlated, and all their phenomena organically connected, Jesus Christ, the founder and essence of our religion, was certainly a Jew of the Jews. However unique and creative the power and efficacy of religious genius manifested in him, the preliminary conditions for this appear- ance are nevertheless furnished by the Old Testament. Just as the genius has his father and mother as well as the most ordinary earthling, so Jesus always and 'unhesitatingly recognized this his relation to the Old Testament; in fact, he made for himself no greater claim than that he was come for its fulfillment. To destroy this relation would be not merely ruthless, it would also be simply impos- sible. Therefore the more the Christian and the theologian cares for an organic conception of his religion, the more has the Old Testament to say to him. The relation of the Old Testament to the New is, however, not such a one — if supposable — as that borne by insignificant parents to their highly gifted son. The Old Testament, on the contrary, is unusually rich in phenomena important for the history of religions. The more clearly research separates the characteristic and important stages of the phenomena of religion from the confusing mass of single RELATIONS OF OLD TESTAMENT SCIENCE 555 facts, the more evident it will become that the Old Testament contains within itself an unusually large number of important stages which have been passed through successively or simultaneously. It is only with this result attained that the earnest and self-denying critical work done during the past century upon our Old Testament is brought to a close, and at the same time celebrates its triumph. For in agreement with these results all those various manifestations of religious action, feeling, and thought are successively or simultan- eously disclosed; so that wherever literary criticism has distinguished different sources from each other, there are also disclosed various stages of religious perception, and each of these stages finds within the broad realm of religion corresponding phases of religious thought, more or less related. Whoever stands in the midst of the matter, and has learned to think and to feel with the Old Testament, will not let himself be led astray. Again and again the attempt has been made to derive the whole of the phenomena found in the Old Testament from one and the same source, from this or that great civilized nation of antiquity. It is true that ancient Israel had about her, on the right and on the left, the religious second-hand shops of over-civilized peoples, from which syncretistic temerity could easily derive whatever it liked. But one who does not merely stand outside and look over the hedge into the Old Testament knows that the religion of Israel, however manifold and however wise its cross-breedings, is, neverthe- less, grown from the kernel. We Old Testament students are there- fore not at all in the fortunate, or at least comfortable, position of being able to limit our study of comparative religion either to the lands on the Euphrates and the Tigris, or to a small group of civilized countries in Hither Asia; for we have repeatedly learned that the most primitive forms of religion afford striking and exceedingly useful points of comparison for the Old Testament. Now, these facts have an important bearing upon the position of the Old Testament in the academic programme. Of late the cry sounds ever louder that the department of the history of religion is indis- pensable to the theological faculty, and that the subject absolutely must be added to those already presented; indeed, this is in many cases already an accomplished fact. I do not know whether this is to be considered an unqualified advantage. The familiar definition of theojogy as the science of religion I consider wide of the mark. Theology is, as I have already said, not a pure but an applied science, busy with life within sharply defined limits. To penetrate to the depths of the general history of religion, within the time which is allotted to the study of theology, in addition to the enormous range of studies already included, is an absolute impossibility. A short course of lectures on the subject might do harm rather than good, by leading the student to think that he possessed genuine knowledge, 556 OLD TESTAMENT whereas the treatment could hardly be made to include much more than nomenclature and dates. More valuable, but at the same time incomparably more difficult, would be a course upon what is cus- tomarily called the philosophy of religion, but which should be termed the biology of religion; upon the regularly recurring mani- festations of the life of religion. The preparation for this, the actual illustration — and that is the most important part — has long been everywhere offered by Old Testament science, just because the Old Testament is so exceptionally rich in most varied religious phenomena. Here it is possible to penetrate to the depths, and to study the life itself; something necessarily denied to one in the case of a sum- marizing treatment of the whole field. Therefore as substitute, as proxy for the general history of religion, as the science of one religion outside of Christianity, which gives us the training to enter into the mysteries of our own, Old Testament science will in the future more firmly than in the past maintain its position within Christian theology. But not alone in the relation of our department to the whole organism of theology has there lately come a decided change; the boundaries of the department itself have also been extended, and the gap which separated it from its sister-discipline, New Testament theology, has been closed. For the church the Old Testament was only the collection of canonical books of the synagogue, because they were alone believed to be inspired of God. Besides these, only the so-called Apocrypha, taken from the LXX, enjoyed an esteem which was variously graduated from a degree nearly equaling that given to the Holy Scriptures down to a decided distrust and rejec- tion. We know to-day that the belief in inspiration is nothing more than an error — to be sure, an easily explainable error — a lifeless form of the belief in revelation which is itself indispensable to religion ; and we now know that divine revelation in the right sense, always relative, always through human mediation, and in the most varied shades of intensity, exercises its quickening influence through the whole wide world. With this the barriers fall, and all the phenomena of religion of the people of the Old Covenant, wherever set down, become valuable material for Old Testament theology. This is particularly true of the whole extra-canonical writings, which in recent times have received such manifold and unexpected additions. So far as these belong to pre-Christian Judaism, they fall to the share of the Old Testament department, and thus appreciably enlarge the field of our duties and of our tasks; indeed, they so greatly enlarge it that we must ask ourselves whether we are in a position to meet these increased demands without loss of thoroughness. But even before the question is settled whether the blame for this is to be laid to our incapacity or to our apathy, necessity comes to its own rescue. All this extra-canonical literature belongs to the last pre- RELATIONS OF OLD TESTAMENT SCIENCE 557 Christian centuries, which are, indeed, not without representation in the Old Testament canon, but only by way of "exception and con- trary to the opinion and intention of the synagogue. Now, since this body of writings is not only in point of time nearest neighbor to the New Testament, but emphatically its cradle, it has, naturally enough, attracted much more attention from our New Testament colleagues than from ourselves. Under the unattractive name of New Testa- ment contemporary history, it has developed as an independent branch, and a whole school of New Testament students have devoted themselves with zeal and thoroughness to this inter-Testament time and literature. We Old Testament men ought not to lose touch with this field; in fact, it is greatly to be desired that there shall always be some of us who bend our chief energies toward its particular investigation. But its complete incorporation into our department has been prevented by the facts; and, moreover, the study of Israel of the earlier time will long make such demands upon our undivided strength that it will employ by far the greater number of our workers. In another direction the necessity for division of labor seems even less open to question, but rather fundamentally justified. Only uncertain boundaries naturally separate that body of popular writ- ings, the so-called Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, from the literature of talmudic Judaism, in which alone the Hebrew language, together with the Jewish Aramaic, continued to exist and to develop. The roots of this body of writings stretch back into the pre-Christian period, and thus reach as well into the fields of Old Testament science. What is therein handed down to us is absolutely indispens- able for the reconstruction and exposition of the canonical books; indeed, the form in which we possess the latter is simply that of the synagogue. The insight into post-Christian development is also of great value for us, because in this connection lines are running on which trace their beginning to pre-Christian Judaism in the Old Testament, so that they must serve as guides to the full recognition of the possibilities contained in the Old Testament. All this does not invalidate the truth that our peculiar task is ended when talmudic Judaism has fully developed and gained the mastery. For us it is not a matter of our own territory, but of frontier lands. Here, too, Old Testament science has worked and has given contributions of the greatest importance, and it always will be to our advantage, as well as to that of the science of Judaism, to send to that camp from ours some workers who will there perform their chief labor. Most of us will have to be content with much less in order really to ac- complish something in our own particular field. But the Old Testament has not spent its life and its influence solely in its original language and among the people from which it sprang, but, as a component part of the sacred book of Christianity, 558 OLD TESTAMENT it has been translated into the language of all Christian peoples, where it has gained a new life deeply influenced by the peculiar nature of such new homes. By means of these translations, most of all through the Latin, the Old Testament has during all succeeding centuries influenced and fructified the development of civilization among all the Christian nations, and this, moreover, not only in the religious field, but throughout its whole extent and compass. The lit- erature and the art of the Middle Ages show at every stage deeply im- pressed traces of this influence, which become the more intricate and the more complicated because of the venerable antiquity and mys- terious heterogeneousness of the Old Testament to those who searched it. So the Old Testament gains a new life, a second existence; its original being is doubled by translation and exegesis, by the whole wide field of tradition. That here, too, obligations rest upon us is not in the least to be denied, for only one who is master of the original meaning will be in a position fully to disclose the maze through which thought and imagination have wandered with these texts. Often I have stood ashamed that I could give no satisfaction to philo- logists, historians, and students of the history of art who turned in all confidence to me with burning questions from the field of tradi- tion. One needs a particular talent to be able to cultivate this field with success; a taste for miscellaneous peripheral investigation, com- prehensive learning based on a tenacious memory, a liking for psychological labyrinths and for turning up forgotten old trash. I have in mind to-day one learned man in particular who possesses this equipment in abundance, and gives many valuable proofs of it; but he should be able to devote to it all his time and have many assistants in order to cover this need. It is not necessary that all should be of us, but all must have gone out from us. Thorough Old Testament study would furnish a worthy equipment for close research in nearly all fields of the Middle Ages. On the other hand, for this task, far from fruitless in itself, the majority of Old Testa- ment specialists must admit their incapacity. In returning to the central point, whence we followed a longi- tudinal section through the ages, we find that there lies in the breadth of our territory on all sides such an enormous amount of work to be done that upon it we unquestionably need to concentrate our ener- gies. Of neighbors — no, of co-workers — beyond the borders of theological science we have an unusual number. The Old Testament worker is, first of all, a linguist; as such he represents an independent branch of the Semitic linguistic stock, the Hebrew, in particular the old Hebrew, language. This is not the place to speak of its relation to other branches of the same family. It need hardly be said, however, that to make a thorough study of these tongues is the duty of the Old Testament worker, in order to RELATIONS OF OLD TESTAMENT SCIENCE 559 gain a foundation for the real mastery of his peculiar linguistic domain. This task alone is very comprehensive and difficult, and has become increasingly so since to the Arabic and Aramaic linguistic stock, with their ramifications, the magnificent discoveries on the Euphrates and the Tigris have added the Assyro-Babylonian. The majority of us older men, whose period of growth coincided with the beginnings of these new studies, must, in our relation to them, content ourselves with the role of outsiders. But even for the younger generation one may be permitted to ask the question whether it is necessary — yes, whether it is salutary — to strive for citizenship in the whole domain, now so expanded, of the Semitic languages. The almost invariable result will be that one of the principal fields will be decidedly favored. In fact, those representatives of the Old Testament who are linguistically well prepared for their task are already separating into those grounded in the Arabic and those grounded in the Assyro-Babylonian language. And thus it must remain, if liriguistic preparation is not to flatten out into an ency- clopedic polymathy — an unfortunate condition which is already too frequently noticeable. To-day it may not be superfluous to emphasize two points in particular: first, that the Semitic language of the cuneiform inscriptions is not called to supplant the other dialects as a foundation for Hebrew; second, that in the study of the dialects the unique quality of the Hebrew is never to be forgotten or neglected. Because the bulk of the writings is but slight, and the vocabulary and constructions correspondingly meagre, Hebrew is by no means to be acquired incidentally, and as it were in leisure hours. Often enough a miserable failure has resulted when capable Semitists of reputation, knowing themselves thoroughly at home in Arabic, Syriac, or Assyrian, thought that as Hebraists also they could speak a decisive word. It is and always will be a life-work to acquire a liv- ing sense of the genius of the Hebrew language, and it will be better, if the choice must be made, after once a solid linguistic foundation has been laid, to neglect the outposts rather than to reject the full mastery of the Hebrew. Moreover, our linguistic equipment is not completed even with the inclusion of the Semitic languages; the old versions already men- tioned as the vehicles of tradition, as the transmitters of the content of the Old Testament to different periods and to different civilized countries, are our indispensable aids to the philological discovery of its original text. To-day an Old Testament worker without a thorough familiarity with the idiom of the Septuagint is incon- ceivable, and the identification and purification of the text of the Septuagint require a knowledge of nearly all languages of the Roman orbis terrarum, at least of its larger eastern portion and of its neigh- boring countries. Especially since Lagarde^s telling work a special 560 OLD TESTAMENT Septuagint science has grown up, and will not for a long time to come lay down its authority. With this we are standing in the midst of philology, to which in its whole range, as to a sister-science, we also lay claim. Even the authentication of the text, in the case of our literature, meets with very unusual difficulties. For, as is well known, all this work on the versions must be directed solely toward securing a single independent form of text, apart from that which, since the second century A.D., has been handed down by the synagogue in stubborn exclusion, and to the destruction of all variants. Even the best preserved of the books — no one to-day doubts this — still demand a great deal of philological work; the condition of the others is simply lamentable. The amount of help which the versions, especially the Septuagint, offer varies widely. With such meagre outward evidence everywhere, the inner evidence must be drawn out as a decisive factor, and con- jectural criticism here opens up a wide field, in which, besides much chaff, also much good fruit has been gathered. Another branch of philological activity has been employed in textual criticism, and has attained special prominence in recent years. I refer to metrics. Indeed, the Hebrew metric exerts so strong an attraction that even remote distinguished representatives of lin- guistic departments have applied themselves to it with great en- thusiasm and industry. Here, too, as in textual criticism, we are in a worse plight than the majority of our colleagues; for here too we lack the most essential foundation — there is no tradition at all handed down to us. When, in the light of the sad condition of our text, there is an attempt to use metrics in their widest sense for the reconstruction of its original form, then, in the face of this lamentable state of affairs, the circulus vitiosus is evident. This method is not to be opposed on principle, for its legitimacy is indisputable, and is, moreover, proved by certain definite results; but we must again urge the greatest caution, since the standard itself by which the correct- ness of the text is to be measured — I mean the system of metrics — can be gained only through the strongest participation of the critic's own subjectivity. The very foundations of the structure are still in question; let us carefully avoid rearing up hasty air-castles. Of exegesis almost nothing need be said; its laws are universally the same, as are also the particular demands made upon it by indi- vidual periods. In the Old Testament, as well as elsewhere, the historical, psychological, and aesthetic sides of the task are to-day much more strongly emphasized than in the past. But surely it is but just to call particular attention to the mighty service which has been done for the Old Testament in the last one hundred and fifty years by literary criticism. Seldom will such difficult problems be assigned to it, and seldom will such complete, safe, and far-reach- RELATIONS OF OLD TESTAMENT SCIENCE 561 ing solutions be achieved. The history of this work, especially of the Hexateuch criticism, taken at a bird's-eye view, where individuals, with their weaknesses and their limitations vanish, affords a truly classical example of methodical procedure. Notice the possibilities, the application of fundamentally differing, yes, of antagonistic, critical methods, and the repeated tests for the same results. And throughout all this, Old Testament science worked without precursors; indeed, it offered incentive to all other fields of literature, and served them as prototype. The final and complete victory was won by an attack along the whole line. Abraham Kuenen and Julius Wellhausen were successful by combining the internal criticism of men like Reuss and Vatke with the formal criticism of such as Astruc and Hupfeld. Everything essential now stands so fast that the dilettante attacks from outsiders who come up from the right and from the left give no cause for fear. Nowadays the realistic criticism, essentially founded upon facts of the religious history of Israel, holds the foreground, while the battle chiefly rages about the prophets. Here now and then the same bold sallies of discovery are undertaken as formerly in the investigation of the historical books. It may be questioned whether we shall here ever attain to equally positive results in details; the large outlines we already see with sufficient clearness. The advance from the abstract analysis of former times, which produced only negative results, to the living synthesis, the insight into the political and religious conditions of every writing, makes it now also possible to produce, instead of the old-fashioned introduc- tion to the Old Testament, a history of Old Testament literature, pro- ceeding in chronological order and showing the organic development of the spirit of Israel. The work which Eduard Reuss planned a half-century ago, and carried out in a genial experiment a quarter- century ago, we, with our better equipment, should not now hesitate to take in hand anew. Such a genuine history of literature would of necessity demand to be incorporated into the whole history of the people, and therewith we ourselves enter the ranks of the histo- rians. In fact, the task rests upon us, and upon no one else, of writing the history of that nation, in itself petty, but for the development of humanity extraordinarily important, of old Israel during the one and a quarter millenniums of its pre-Christian existence. The unusual difficulty of clearing up the sources makes our department as good as inaccessible to a student of ancient history who has not been trained in our school. This was sufficiently evinced in the past generation by such examples as M. Duncker and L. Ranke; and the present, espe- cially the Assyriological, school of historians seems to rival them in proving the same thing. On the one side the attack is made by the exponents of tradition, who apply everything discovered from the monuments to the biblical department in order to prop up the old 562 OLD TESTAMENT ecclesiastical tradition, now become a dogma which they themselves have not outgrown. From the other side the onset is made by the my thologists, who endeavor in one way or another to resolve the plain historical facts into dull, monotonous trains of thought. They will all offer us an occasional contribution; but in the main their work will be vain, because they lack training for the right use of the sources as well as comprehension of the spirit of the Old Testament. There- fore we intend to hold on to our task of writing the history of the people of Israel in its whole extent, and to perform this task increas- ingly well. In this connection we make grateful use of all that the related sciences of every kind have to offer — geography, ethnology, archaeology, and all the rest; indeed, we feel ourselves everywhere as fellow workers, and hope to do our duty to the utmost of our power. We follow with particular interest the prodigious progress in the exca- vations on the ruined sites of those nations which lived at the same time as Israel, and, in part, long before; the new branches of science which have sprung up from these researches astonish us with their magnificent results. We are often reproached with the opposite atti- tude, with indifference and apathy, and the consequent stagnation and retrogression in our own work. But our legitimate caution does not deserve such censure. Joyfully as we hail everything which comes forth from the excavations, we still have no desire to fill the yawning trenches with our present possession, with the books of the Old Testament. Sueh things as are there brought up are at first riddles, sphinx forms; what we have in our hands speaks to us a plain language, incapable of misconception. We gladly accept the correct interpretation of the monuments as a substantial enrichment of our own possessions; but the groundwork for an understanding of the people of Israel we must always derive from what has been handed down by this people. Overwhelmingly great as was the phys- ical and intellectual power of the world -empire on the Euphrates and the Tigris; superior as was the kingdom on the Nile, and many another, in comparison with the petty kingdom of Israel, we still have here, in spite of all influences from the most diverse directions, to do with an independent national individuality, and with one so energetic and so vigorous that it ultimately set up for itself its own laws and its own aims. This is preeminently true (to return to the kernel of the matter and to the beginning of this survey) of the religion of Israel, in which its life reached its supreme and exhaustive expression. Supported by such presuppositions and preliminaries as are here developed, we can, I dare say, with greater confidence than at the beginning of this survey, associate ourselves and our department with the represent- atives of the general science of religion; and this in spite of our Christian theological stamp, which we neither can, nor desire to, dis- RELATIONS OF OLD TESTAMENT SCIENCE 563 claim. We strive, in fact, to understand the remarkable, the unique, appearance of the religion of Israel as such in its historical devel- opment; we are determined to overlook no characteristic which is likely to distinguish it, and to make it more possible of comprehen- sion. That this task offers the greatest difficulties does not terrify us; that it brings us into contact with so many branches of science makes us proud. But we need many associates, and they must be of very differing qualities. The compass of the work is so great that it demands division of labor. No one should be accused of one-sidedness if he carefully tends his own particular part of this great field, and really promotes our work. But let no superficial dilettantism find place among us. As we older men slowly withdraw from the scene of action, may the men of the new generation escape the danger of scattering their forces, and strive with success to concentrate on every point, however small, the most thorough possible scholarship! SECTION D — NEW TESTAMENT SECTION D — NEW TESTAMENT (Hall 1, September 23, 10 a. ra.) CHAIRMAN: PROFESSOR ANDREW C. ZENOS, McCormick Theological Seminary. SPEAKERS: PROFESSOR BENJAMIN W. BACON, Yale University. PROFESSOR ERNEST D. BURTON, University of Chicago. SECRETARY: PROFESSOR CLYDE W. VOTAW, University of Chicago. THE Section of the New Testament in the Department of History of Religion was presided over by Professor Andrew C. Zenos of the McCormick Theological Seminary of Chicago, Illinois. In introducing the speakers Professor Zenos said, in part, that this Section might be regarded as the central one of the whole system of the Congress of Arts and Science. The religious is the highest nature of man, and among religions Christianity is conceded the place of preeminence, even from the point of view of the purely scientific student of relig- ion. Christianity emerges in a definite historical setting and under clearly ascertainable conditions. That its origin is buried in a myth- ical age, that the facts regarding its foundation and first stages are lost beyond recovery, is a theory which was put forth and defended with great acumen by the brilliant Hegelian of the early nineteenth century. But the greater the ability with which it was expounded and urged, the more certain is its untenableness since its complete collapse and abandonment. Nothing stands better established than the absolute historicity of the basal facts of the Christian religion. The field was much larger than it first appeared. First into one part of it, then into another, research has been pushed until, out of the apparently simple and single study of the New Testament as a book of religious instruction, there have arisen one after another the associated sciences of New Testament Philology, New Testament Archaeology, New Testament Criticism (Higher and Lower), New Testament History, with its subdivisions of the Life of Christ, the Life of Paul, the Apostolic Age, New Testament Times, and finally to crown the whole group, the Biblical Theology of the New Testament. A great science has truly been born. A living interest, always existing in the first writings of Christian men, has found a legitimate field and a large and diversified expression. New Testament science stands to-day before the world, not as a seeker for consideration upon extra-scientific grounds, but because it offers a great and su- premely important field to its votaries, and because its methods are just those which inspire confidence in every science throughout the whole scheme. 568 NEW TESTAMENT But our humanity is one and indivisible, and we cannot stand here as mere scientists forgetting what the New Testament means to us personally, or to the religious community to which we belong. It is the charter of their existence and the source of our inspiration and life. As the artist, who studies the principles of his technique or the chemistry of his colors and thinks he has done justice to his work, has failed as an artist, so the Christian scholar cannot investi- gate the New Testament as a mere field for historical research and be satisfied that his task is completed. He must be possessed by the spirit of its religion and filled with the sense of its tran- scendent power. THE RELATIONS OF NEW TESTAMENT SCIENCE TO KINDRED SCIENCES BY BENJAMIN WISNER BACON [Benjamin Wisner Bacon, Professor of New Testament Criticism and Exegesis, Yale Divinity School, Yale University, b. January 15, 1860, Litchfield, Con- necticut. B.A. Yale, 1881; B.D. ibid. 1884; M.A. ibid. 1892; D.D. Western Reserve University, 1892; Litt.D. Syracuse, 1894; LL.D. Illinois College, 1904. Pastor of First Church (Congregational) , Old Lyme, Connecticut, 1884-89; Pas- tor of Congregational Church, Oswego, New York, 1889-96; Professor in Yale Divinity School, 1896 . Member of Society of Biblical Literature, American School of Oriental Research in Jerusalem. Author of Genesis of Genesis; Triple Tradition of the Exodus; Story of St. Paul; and other works.] MR. PRESIDENT, AND FELLOW SCIENTISTS, — When the chairs of New Testament science in our principal New England universities were founded, the discipline was entitled New Testament Criticism and Interpretation. At that time "criticism" meant scarcely more than the establishment of the exact text of the twenty-seven canon- ical books; "interpretation" meant the grammatical rendering of the strict verbal sense. This was a finality. With author's text and meaning you had all that could be asked without impiety, the ulti- mate "word of God." Relations with other sciences conformed to this estimate of our relative importance. To-day we may still employ the same subdivision; but we mean more by "criticism," more by "interpretation," and much more by "the word of God." We have not begun to think of our science as profane, but we see something sacred in other sciences. Criticism now includes the higher as well as the lower. It traces the antecedents as well as the life-history of the writing, its origin as well as transmission, derivation of thought as well as transcription of words. It involves even the genetic study of ideas older than any literature; traditions, beliefs, in which no author, certainly no in- spired author, can claim exclusive rights. Inevitably this widening of scope has established new points of contact; for the history of ideas is even less tolerant of artificial segregation and classification into sacred and profane than the history of institutions and events. Let the earlier embodiment be written or oral, be the ideas clearly traceable in surviving documents of parchment, stone, clay, papyrus, or only in institutions, forms, traditions; in either case the modern method leads directly into the wide, free ranges of the history of religious thought. Even textual criticism overflows its former bounds. To Westcott and Hort a clearly extraneous variant was almost a negligible quantity. "Corruptions," except as they might furnish a clue to the original, 570 NEW TESTAMENT only detracted from the value of a manuscript. Why wish to know the views of writers not inspired, perhaps even heretical? If a dis- tinguished classical philologian now enters our field to reconstruct the neglected Western form of the text and give us a new apprecia- tion of its value, advancing the curious theory of two inspired texts, one for the longitude of Antioch, the other for Rome, we shall, indeed, do better to return to Westcott and Hort for an explanation of the origin of the variants, but we should not lose our new sense of their historical value. Thanks to Professor Budde we know that the doctrine of "survivals" applies in textual and higher criticism as well as in biology. The source an historian has employed does not at once cease to circulate. It is only gradually superseded by the writing ultimately preferred. In the mean time transcribers will persistently tend to complete, expand, or assimilate the extracts by comparison of the original. The process is abundantly illustrated in the scribal treatment of New Testament loans from the Septuagint. The variants in this case display the characteristics of atavism, or reversion to type; they may give the pre-canonical form. We know, in fact, that the most extensive and important of the Western vari- ants, the pericope adulterae, is an actual extract from the Gospel according to the Hebrews. Other cases also can be identified, which represent "survivals" from the extra-canonical, if not pre-canonical literature. This explains why the important variants are confined to the historical books, and are most frequent in Luke-Acts, a nar- rative confessedly based on earlier documents. Historical value may even attach to corruptions reflecting only later ideas. But pass to the higher criticism, which asks, Whence has the author himself his ideas and materials? Here the field is full of "survivals" to be traced in their origin as well as in their later adaptation. In relation to Old Testament literature and history this discipline once bore the name "Connections." Earlier, and for a wider range, it was called "Introduction." Let it not be counted disrespect to the great names of Baur and Holtzmann if we demur to their definition of " introduction" as "Crit- icism of the Canon." That issues in treatment of the subject as a branch of polemics. But the canon is no more a subject for scientific criticism than the particular selection of books which my religious taste and personal experience may lead me to place on my shelf of private devotions. These twenty-seven are the books which the fathers found to embody their religious faith and to nourish their religious life. Vox ecclesiae, vox dei. Of what use to question their taste? Popes and councils are the only judges of canonicity. Nor can we agree with Jiilicher, who defines "introduction," as "that branch of the history of literature which deals with the New Testament writings." The New Testament books do not form a RELATIONS OF NEW TESTAMENT SCIENCE 571 literary class. The biblical critic is not an art taster. Matthew Arnold has indeed entered our field, but as an amateur. We higher critics are not concerned with the history of literature, but of religion; and we treat the canonical books as sources for that history. They are to us an expression of the leading type of spiritual life in its pro- gressive phases. The rank and station of each element of our science, and of the science as a whole, is measured by its service to this end. Introduction — the higher criticism, analytical and constructive — is subsidiary, as truly as the lower. Criticism exists for interpretation, and interpretation for the sake of the history of religious thought and life, for that is the "word of God." The revelation of God is not in the letter, but in the life; and because the life cannot be isolated, but is a spiritual evolution of the race, therefore we find our point of contact with kindred sciences in the field of the history of religion, the phenomenology of spiritual life. The development of the higher criticism, so distinctive a feature of the century just closed, cutting quietly away the whole ground of contention from what we used to designate the " conflict of science and religion," has been in this aspect simply a removal of misunder- standings. The gradual adoption of the historical point of view has brought the Bible into the field of science without withdrawing it from that of devotion. For what we found true of the term "criticism" is true in still higher degree of the term "interpretation." Its history during the past half-century has been one of immeasurable enlargement. From having been almost exclusively grammatical and philological, often minutely verbal, exegesis has become historical. From apolo- getic it has become objective. At first context was disregarded; then it was seen to be essential to the historical sense; then the idea was widened. Now we no longer mean by context merely the next phrase or adjoining sentence. Not the whole book or author's works includes it all. The context which throws fullest light upon the meaning is the whole complex of contemporary life and thought, its inheritance from the past, its problems, its aspirations, its pre- possessions, its whole mode of looking at things. So exegesis too has found God's world not a world of isolation. It is incomplete without the history and sciences once called "profane." "Continuity," "evolution," have become watchwords in this field also. It may be an independent phenomenon; it may be an effect of the Zeitgeist thus to broaden New Testament science, compelling it to interconnect itself with kindred studies and find its place in the general stream of the history of religion. Such, at all events, is the fact, to our immeasurable uplift and inspiration. The age which saw the rise of the higher criticism could not fail to give us, as it did, our first great histories of New Testament times, and of Jewish 572 NEW TESTAMENT and Hellenistic religious thought. It gave us for the first time a succession of great Lives of Jesus and of Paul. The very fact that in this World's Congress of Arts and Science we are gathered, not in connection with the Division of " Social Culture," as a sub-department under the head of "Religion," but under the Division "Historical Science," as a branch of the "His- tory of Religion," shows appreciation of the facts. The group of canonized writings to which we apply the processes of criticism and interpretation are an emanation of the religious thought and life of the race in the period of its greatest manifestation. It presents both direct and indirect reflections of this life, but it is impossible that we should understand either the direct reflection attempted in the Synoptic Gospels and Acts, or the unintended reflection which lends to the Epistles, Apocalypse, and Johannine writings their highest value, if we study them apart from the broad stream of contemporary religious development, both Jewish and Gentile. For, as we well know, in that great age of the humanities, when national barriers had broken down, Oriental religion, Greek philosophy, art and literature, and Roman government had become the common property of a united race, religious thought and practice were also intermingled as never before. It is the distinctive feature of New Testament science in our time that it recognizes this inter- connection of Christianity in its origins with contemporary religious life and literature, as has not been the case since the great church historian of the fourth century gave us, as a pendent to his critical review of Christian literature, the Preparatio Evangelica. I might mention as symptoms of the wider outlook here at home the new chair of the History of Religions, by which Harvard has created a meeting-point for its two departments of religious literatures and of divinity. Harvard has wisely placed in it a Yale man, the fore- most biblical scholar of America, and first speaker of this Depart- ment. Had the means been forthcoming, Yale would probably have anticipated her elder sister; for the aim is identical in both univers- ities. Nor is it exceptional. The joint establishment, by cooperation of our greater universities in East and West, of an annual intercol- legiate lectureship on the history of religions bears witness to the same. Once for all New Testament science has become a branch of the history of religion; its canonical books are no longer an end, but a means. We employ them as sources to comprehend the life and thought which produced them. Is this disloyalty to Christian prin- ciple? Far from it. It is only what might have been done eighteen centuries ago if the church had appreciated as clearly as our Fourth Evangelist the true attitude of Jesus toward the bibliolatry of the synagogue : " Ye search the Scriptures because ye think that in them RELATIONS OF NEW TESTAMENT SCIENCE 573 ye have eternal life; and these are they that testify of me; but ye will not come unto me that ye may have life." That is a just and genuine reflection; for to Jesus even the written revelation of his own people, the divine Torah of Moses, was secondary to that "in the creation of God," in nature's bounty and beauty, and in the sense of fatherhood and sonship. To Jesus the life was the revelation; Scrip- ture was a means of approach to it, and was tested by it. But as symptoms of the times, let us survey rather some results of recent scholarship that are ours only as they belong to Christen- dom. The trend will be found unmistakably " religionsgeschichtlich." We appreciate the splendid contributions which have come of late to Hellenistic grammar and philology, from the study of papyri and inscriptions and the scanty literature of Palestinian Aramaic. Instead of " Hebraisms " we hear now of " Aramaisms," " Septuagint- isms," and "Semiticisms." We are even called upon to surrender our belief that there is such a thing as Semitic Greek, distinguishable from the KOLVTJ, and that style and idiom are not philologically the same in the preface as in the ensuing two chapters of Luke. This demand belongs with the statements classified by the newspapers as "important if true." After all the main advance is along other lines, intersecting those of explorers from other fields. We do not forget Deissmann and Dalman, Moulton, Redpath, or Blass. Ramsay's studies of the political, geographical, and social relations of Asia Minor make us feel less crippled by the loss of Mommsen, however much we desiderate Mommsen 's historico-critical judgment. Percy Gardner brings to bear his knowledge of Greek religious thought and institutions to present an Historical View of the New Testament, and as a third contribution from a like quarter Jane Harrison's Prole- gomena to the Study of Greek Religion puts in its true light the great reversion to the mythology of the ancient dithonic divinities which accompanies the decay of Greek national life and the spread of religious mysticism in the rites of mystery-religion. Frazer's Golden Bough sets the example of a study in comparative religion, disproving the notion that the conception of a deliverer-god, incarnate, dying and rising again, effecting the redemption of humanity by sacra- mental union with himself, is the monopoly of any race or tribe. Can the student of Paulinism and its development on Greek soil be indif- ferent to such research as this? Years ago Lightfoot's essay on St. Paul and Seneca made the existence in both of a common element of Stoic doctrine indisputable. Grafe now helps to set us on the right track by demonstrating Paul's affinity with and employment of the Jewish-Stoic Book of Wisdom, and Tennant strengthens the chain by tracing the development of the Doctrine of the Fall and Original Sin, that seems so strange an innovation on the teaching of Jesus, through the post-canonical 574 NEW TESTAMENT Jewish literature down to II Esdras and the Talmud. Pfleiderer, chief of our modern students of Paulinism, revises his Geschichte des Ur- christenthums , largely to make use of Cumont's Textes et Documents relatifs au Mithracisme, and shows how mystery-religion not only paved the way for Paul, but furnished him with forms of thought and even of ritual. Still deeper must we penetrate for the origins of the religious dualism which colors the non-Pauline books. The mixed and seething chaos of Syrian magic, theosophy, and mysticism, out of which appears that gnosticism which soon rivals Christianity in its claims upon the religious thought of the Graeco-Roman world, seems almost to defy analysis. But Friedlander's Vorchristliche Gnosticismus has obtained now a wider and sounder basis of fact from Brandt's schol- arly study of the Mandaean Religion with its astonishing survivals of the mythology and legend-lore of the mixed peoples of the East. Nor are there wanting investigators of the more doubtful analogies of Buddhistic and Egyptian religious thought and literature. There will be pursuit of false clues, and premature conclusions, among which I must venture to reckon our own lamented L. L. Paine's resort to Philo and the Alexandrian school as ultimate source of Paul's Logos doctrine; as if Philo himself were not rendering into the language of the schools that older Palestinian form of cosmological speculation which he, as well as Paul, found already reflected in the Hochmah literature with its Hebraized Stoicism, and its hypostasis of creative and redemptive Wisdom. No; the Evolution of Trin- itarianism was a far less simple matter than a patch of Philo and a patch of Paul. Still, like the other great racial religious ideas, it was an evolution — and all the more divine for that. It belongs to the phenomenology of religion. Therefore, Gunkel and Bousset and Charles seem to me to be working the richer lodes of our day, and certainly our Congresses and Conventions are " religionsgeschicht- lich." At Stockholm in 1897 it was Chante'pie de la Saussaye who discussed Religious Research by the Comparative Method, and he was followed by Arnold Meyer, who reported the progress of our science under the title Die moderne Forschung uber die Geschichte des Urchristenthums; but the burden of his admirable summary must be given in his own language: " Es gilt, das Urchristentum hineinzustel- len in einen grosseren Zusammenhang, seine Geschichte als einen Teil der Religions-, Kultur- und Menschheitsgeschichte iiberhaupt zu begreifen, sein Werden und Wachsen zu beobachten, innere und aussere Vorgange in ihrer Wechselwirkung zu betrachten." Or, to borrow Meyer's own quotation from Sabatier, "To understand Christianity, implies a clear and comprehensive grasp both of the bond which unites it with the religious development of mankind, and of the vital element which distinguishes it; also of the sequence and RELATIONS OF NEW TESTAMENT SCIENCE 575 character of the forms which it has assumed." A better definition of the relation of our science to kindred sciences cannot be formulated. It was also well to emphasize, as Meyer has done from the very start, what is that vital, distinctive element of Christianity, which has enabled it to take up and assimilate congenial elements from sur- rounding soil, instead of being itself assimilated. " Not primarily the belief in Jesus as the Son of God, but Jesus' own belief in his mission and his relation to God his Father." "Not primarily the belief in Jesus as the Son of God," because the gospel as Paul preached it is already secondary. But the gospel of Jesus is for us approachable only through the secondary gospel, whose distinctive feature is certainly this belief. It is also significant from this standpoint to note how just a year ago Pfleiderer, at the International Congress of Theologians at Amsterdam, denned the preliminary problem of Paulinism. His address was entitled Das Christusbild des urchristlichen Glaubens in religionsgeschichtlicher Beleuchtung; and he too lays chief stress upon the need for reaching the distinctive element in the Gospel of Paul through its embodiment in conceptions and forms current in both Gentile and Jewish religious life. For Paul was the natural heir of the latter, but adoptive heir of the former also, and through him more than all others Christianity became endowed with the great Greek and Stoic ideas of a creative Logos, a mystic union, sacramentally renewed, of the human spirit in its weak and corruptible embodiment with the life-giving divine spirit, and of a race brotherhood, or new social order of humanity. This absorption by Christianity of the aspirations and cravings expressed in the contemporary world-move- ments of religious thought Pfleiderer has summed up as follows: " The postulate of a Deliverer-god (0e6? o-omjp) who shall guarantee both the salvation of the individual soul in the hereafter, and also the dominion of redemption and peace for the social commonwealth on this earth, was already present in the visions and cravings of the Gentile world at the beginning of our era; the question was only, Whence should it obtain the certainty of his real existence? The Christology of the Church gave th'e answer by welding into a personal unity the Messiah-king of the earthly kingdom of God and the mysti- cal conqueror of death and dispenser of life. Thus arose the ideal form of the eternal Son of God, who historically became man, died, passed through the underworld overcoming Death and the Devil, rose victo- rious, ascended to heaven, sits on the right hand of God as Sovereign of the world, and is to come upon the clouds to judge the quick and dead. All these doctrinal conceptions are also found already present in the religious cults of decadent antiquity, here and there, in Orient and Occident, in the varied forms of Jewish apocalypse, Oriental mys- ticism and Gnosis, Greek speculation and Roman emperor-worship. 576 NEW TESTAMENT Only the unifying subject was wanting for the synthesis of these predicates, the nucleus of crystallization, about which this ferment- ing, chaotic mass of religious ideas might shape itself into a new world of faith and hope comprising both the present and the hereafter. This point of unification was supplied in the person of Jesus, the Galilean national Redeemer and King of the Jews, who through the cross became the World-Redeemer and King of the universal kingdom of God." Such utterances make plain the trend of New Testament science in our day. Both criticism and interpretation have become historical, and, as subsidiary to the history of religion, have been brought into closest contact with kindred sciences. It remains to be seen to what extent the growing sense of what is held in common enables us to differentiate with greater precision that which is distinctive and vital; absorbent, but not absorbed. Since Baur we apprehend Christianity historically as made up of the Petrine and the Pauline factors. What, then, is essential Paulin- ism and essential Petrinism? Light comes when we begin to see that Paul is more than a Rabbi, far more than a Rabbi of that period of anti-Christian reaction, after the destruction of the temple, which so dominates our conceptions of Rabbinism. Paul may or may not owe to Gamaliel, the great latitudinarian of his age and student of Greek literature, something of his later broad-minded attitude toward " whatsoever things are pure, are noble, are worthy, are of good report." Anyway we must appreciate his sense, not only of a divine summons in his conversion to an "apostleship to the Gentiles," but of having been even before it "set apart," like Jeremiah, "from his mother's womb to be a prophet to the Gentiles." Paul regarded the ideas imbibed in his pre-Christian career as a providential equip- ment for the proclamation of his world-gospel. He is touched as no Palestinian Jew could be with' the Gentiles' " groping after God, if haply they might feel after him and find him." He has a feeling of the burden of human guilt, of the inheritance from Adam of a sin- polluted, weakened nature such as no Jewish writings reveal save those deeply impregnated with the moral earnestness, and at the same time the pessimistic dualism of the Stoic school, the Wisdom literature which evinces the contact of Judaism with Hellenism on its higher levels. Paulinism is only half intelligible until we know how other national religions besides Judaism were disintegrating under the double solvent of a world-empire and a cosmopolitan philosophy, and giving place to individual religions, distinguished like Christianity by their adaptation of ancient beliefs to a sacra- mental mysticism aspiring to participation in the divine nature, their avatar doctrines of the redeeming Saviour-god, their hope of personal immortality, and ideals of a universal brotherhood of believers. RELATIONS OF NEW TESTAMENT SCIENCE 577 So, too, we shall fail to understand the more conservative, the Petrine type of Christianity, if we frame our ideas of popular Judaism exclusively on the basis of that which, after the extermination of priestly hierocracy and zealot nationalists, and the extrusion of Christianity, carried reactionary Pharisaism to unimpeded control. The doctrine of vicarious atonement is so far from being a Pauline innovation, that in its simpler form, the application of Isaiah LIII to the suffering of Jesus, we only come across it once in all the Pauline Epistles, and that is not where Paul is giving his own doctrine, but the teaching "received" by him at his conversion, "how that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures." The doctrine of the atonement is pre-Pauline. In the simple, non-ethical form of sub- stitutionary expiation it is a doctrine of IV Maccabees, of I Peter and perhaps of I John; but Paul does not so much as refer to the Isaian Suffering Servant. Needless to say, it plays no part in the message of Jesus. Yet it is so great a factor in Christianity that Ritschl can say: The doctrine of the atonement is the Gospel. Paul superim- poses upon it his " moral view" by adding the conception of mystical death and resurrection with Christ; but its origin is Petrine. Almost as much might be said of what we used to designate the "higher Christology " of Paul, which has two roots, the apocalyptic and speculative or cosmological, both tinctured by Hellenism. There is not the slightest consciousness in Paul's epistles of any occasion for defending his Logos doctrine — for such it is in all but the name — against Ebionite conceptions in the mother-church. He argues strenuously against a kind of Arianism which commits the illogical compromise of assigning to the Son a place among angels, principalities, and powers, where he is neither human nor divine; but there is no sign that Paul's doctrine of the divinity of Christ was obnoxious to the Twelve, nor even that his assumption of Christ's preexistence as Second Adam gave offense. On the con- trary his bloody persecution of the Way, "even unto foreign cities," seems already to presuppose a cult Paul could honestly consider as violating the prohibition of Deut. xui, against teaching to serve other gods." Again we must say the doctrine of divine sonship is not derived from Paul's cosmology and Wisdom doctrine, but vice versa. The order is first the gospel of Jesus the Son of God, second the Synoptic superimposition from apocalyptic sources of the Son of Man, third the Pauline Second Adam in opposition to a type of Arianism before Arius, merging into the Johanninc Logos doctrine. Gunkel's Schopfung und Chaos was one of the epoch-making books to teach us not to judge Judaism as it was in the days of Jesus and Paul by documents of the Rabbinic period, expurgated and altered by censors whose special object was to prove that Christian ideas never had the slightest justification in the authentic and orthodox 578 NEW TESTAMENT teaching. R. H. Charles's editions of the apocalyptic and pseudepi- graphic writings, and Kautzsch's translations are compelling us to see something more of Judaism than what its official defenders hold up for us to see in the Talmud and the officially delimited canon. The ideal of the religious purists, attained after all disturbers of the peace had been cast out, was by no means the actuality of the earlier time. My colleague at Yale, Professor F. C. Porter, once pointed out that the attitude of the prophets toward the Messianic hope of their time is not that of introducing a new truth. They merely criticise and refine an accepted popular expectation. In the period of apo- calypse this popular hope appears with further accretions from the crude mythology of popular syncretism, whose Gentile affinities have been shown by Brandt, Gunkel, and Bousset. The rabbinic censors of Jamnia and Tiberias made easier work of the later apo- calyptic literature by excluding it from the canon altogether. But the Gospels move in an atmosphere saturated with the 'apocalyptic ideas of the post-canonical literature, and even Paul, the critical Rabbi, rejoices in his "visions and revelations of the Lord." Apocalypse is the very root of his religious life, his cosmology is reflective. The teaching of Jesus presupposes a religious life and thought already affected to the core by the antithesis of a present and future world, and by a morbid supernaturalism into which he infuses the antidote of a simple and teachable faith, seeing God in things as they are. So it comes that the portrait of contemporary Judaism requires to be repainted, as well as that of Hellenism. The Petrine gospel, too, has a far broader substructure than mere Old Testament religion. The transition from the prophets to the period of the New Testament is a transition to a world imbued with a sense of race-unity, conscious of a world-order under a single supreme Being, aspiring to individual immortality. The mere change from national supremacy to individual life in the world to come as the goal of religious hope is revolutionary. If, then, Pauline Christianity is but half intelligible without the Book of Wisdom and II Esdras, what can we make of Petrine without the literature which rabbinic Judaism repudiated when it cast off the Minim and all their works? We have need that Baldensperger rewrite his Messianisches Selbstbeumsstsein Jesu, devoting a full volume to Die Messianischapokalyptischen Hoffnungen des Juden- thums, that Charles should give us his Critical History of the Doctrine of a Future Life in Israel (1899), and Volz his Judische Eschatologie. Our understanding of Petrinism required all the researches of Well- hausen, Lietzmann, and our own Nathaniel Schmidt, on the origin and significance of the title Son of Man. But these were partial con- tributions. The comprehensive need was that the great work of RELATIONS OF NEW TESTAMENT SCIENCE 579 Gfrorer, already lifted to a plane of superb scholarship by Schiirer, should be still further advanced by Bousset's Religion des Juden- thums im neutestamentlichen Zeitalter (1902), and that the ensuing year, the year just past, should see the issue by Bousset and Gunkel of a series of Forschungen zur Religion und L/iteratur des Alien und Neuen Testaments, beginning with Gunkel 's demonstration, not in a spirit of depreciation, but as an evidence of its vitality and adapt- ation to the function of a world-religion, of the syncretistic origin of Christianity. His monograph is well entitled: Zum religionsge- schichtlichen Verstdndnis des Neuen Testaments. I must deal briefly with the question of the distinctive vital factor in the gospel of Paul, of Peter, of Jesus. It is more nearly related to the subject of my colleague, Professor Burton, than to mine. The stride from the relatively simple Gospel of Peter, reflected in substance by the Synoptists, to the Gospel of Paul, is a prodigious one; so great that the Greek churches, indoctrinated in Paul's speculative, mystical presentation of the spiritual Christ, with in- tentional subordination of the historic Jesus, might well have been expected to go the way of the Gnostic theosophists, or Marcion, out- Pauling Paul, separating from the Palestinian mother-church, where emphasis was laid rather upon historic tradition and the nova lex. The fact that Christian theology advanced rather upon a new plane of higher unity, doing justice to both Semitic and Hellenic conceptions, is due to the inspired genius who brings forth at Ephesus, centre of the Pauline Greek church, the so-called Johannine literature. In the Epistles and Gospel of John true Paulinism reacts against the ultra-Hellenistic tendencies, combining his higher Christology, his mysticism, and his rapidly Hellenizing eschatology with a determined hold upon the historic manifestation of the Logos "in the flesh" and insistence upon the new-old Commandment of Love. The Johannine literature represents Christianity in its twofold develop- ment from the Petrine and from the Pauline type. It takes the via media of historic tradition and ethical earnestness, combined with freedom and spirituality of interpretation; while on either flank are seen the extremes of Ebionite reaction and Gnostic syncretizing theosophy. The Petrine, the Pauline, and the Johannine transitions all repre- sent great strides of religious thought; too great for our compre- hension if we forget the conditions of the age, and fail to realize that what Peter, what Paul, what the Johannine writer, furnished, was not the elements, but the pole of condensation; not the predi- cates, but the unifying subject. The age was the world's transition from national to world-religions, an age of the interfusion of Orient and Occident. It held the elements of new racial types of thought and aspiration, new conceptions of the world-order, new aspirations 580 NEW TESTAMENT for the individual human soul in its relation to the whole, in tem- porary mechanical suspension. Paul's cosmology, as we have seen, is built upon elements of largely Greek and Stoic origin, though the point of infiltration is to be sought further back than we used to seek it, back of Paul himself in the Hochmah writers with their hypostatizing of the divine creative Wisdom, and the effort of scribal theology to adjust its growing con- ception of God's transcendence to the doctrine of his special provi- dence to which they were bound by the past. Paul comes by his doctrine of the preexistence of Christ as the Divine Wisdom, not by what he learned from Peter, nor even from Stephen, but from the school of Gamaliel. He vitalizes and transfigures it by the religious and moral principle of Christianity: Love as the essence of the Creator's motive and the ethical principle of the creature. The mystery of being, hid from the foundation of the world, but now made manifest, is that " God in love foreordained and chose us in the person of the Beloved to be an adoption," "joint heirs" with our Christ of the Creation. Paul's soteriology and connected doctrines, his anthropology, doctrine of flesh and spirit, redemption, mystic union with the Redeemer in death and life,. rest largely upon conceptions held in common with mystery-religion: the avatar doctrine of incarnation and redemption, the 0eos o-omfc, and €^ouo-tao-/xo's of Greek and Oriental cults. Here too the primary point of contact was earlier than Paul's time. The avatar doctrine of Ephesians, with its picture of the descent and ascent of the Spirit of the divine Wisdom, which, according to the Book of Wisdom, "fills "the world," the Spirit of God in Christ victorious over the hostile powers of the underworld, ascending to God's throne, and thence filling the universe of animate being with the emanation of its own vitality, was not new when Paul advanced it; it had become almost as much a part of Jewish apo- calypse as of Greek and Oriental mystery-religion. Jesus' parable of the Strong Man armed, whose goods are spoiled, his captives freed by the Stronger than he, in which the fathers see an allegory of Christ's descent to the underworld and victory over its hostile powers, already affects Paul's representation of the triumphal march of the Spirit of God in Christ in Ephesians and Colossians. Paul even quotes therewith a pre-Christian Jewish apocalypse whose theme is this avatar of the divine Logos awakening dead Israel, while the Gospel of Mark itself puts Jesus personally in the place of that Spirit of God which in the original form is victor over the Strong Man armed. Paul vitalized a Jewish-Oriental interpretation of Ps. 68 by identi- fying that Wisdom and Power of God which takes its redeeming, vic- torious way from heaven to earth, from earth to the realm of death, delivering death's prisoners, and thence to the right hand of God, RELATIONS OF NEW TESTAMENT SCIENCE 581 and which is diffused again from heaven through all animate creation, with " the mind which was in Christ Jesus, who humbled himself and took on him the form of a servant and became obedient unto the death of the cross." "Wisdom" has sometimes for Paul also the character of a demiurgic hypostasis, a divine effulgence as in the Book of Wisdom identifiable with the preexistent Christ. But it has not the Greek type of simple rationality (vous or Aoyos). It is the Hebrew Wisdom, redeeming divine Love, going forth to seek and save the lost. This ethical character of the Pauline Logos doctrine is retained by the Johannine. Paul's eschatology, mediating, by his doctrine of the spiritual body, between the crudities of the undeveloped Pharisean idea of resurrec- tion as a return to flesh, and the Greek of spiritual immortality advances from the idea of a New Jerusalem, brought from heaven to us, to that of a departure to be with Christ. It gradually supplants the enlarged Judaism of an " Israel of God " by the conception of a com- monwealth of redeemed humanity — nay, of beings on earth and in heaven, visible and invisible. This doctrine was not a creation ex nihilo, nor was Paul the first Hellenist nor even the first scribe of the kingdom of heaven to bring forth things new as well as old. It seems a long step from the brotherhood Jesus recognized among all who made it their aim to do the will of the common Father; but the principle of service as the measure of greatness, " even as the Son came not to be ministered unto, but to minister," must inevitably reach this result as soon as it assimilated the Stoic principle of the organic unity of the race. The single point of crystallization was the doctrine that " Jesus is Lord," the Son of God; and to Paul that involved the right to meta- morphose the Son of David and Son of Man of the Petrine gospel into the Second Adam, the avfyjwrros eTrovpavtos, the feos o-wr^p, of his own. Were we in like manner to analyze the embodiment of the Petrine gospel, we should find here two elements, largely from the popular religion of apocalypse, but largely also from the Galilean peasant's sense of sin and hope of forgiveness, crystallizing around the nucleus of a new gospel. Jesus, too, from the nature of the case, built upon and embodied at least the conceptions of the forgiveness of sin and the eschatology of apocalypse in his teaching. It is a matter of serious doubt, however, whether the identification of himself with the coming Son of Man ever formed part of his message. For my own part, I cannot accept the radical view which wholly denies his use of the term. I am fully convinced that its wide dissemination in the synop- tic gospels is a later transformation dating from the period when the primitive church lived in the atmosphere of apocalyptic expectation. But grant that the grammatical sense of the Aramaic words be sim- 582 NEW TESTAMENT ply "the man," or "the mortal," and that whatever specific sense attached to it would be by virtue of a semi-mythologic supernatural use which Jesus cannot have applied to his own person, I still fail to see why he may not have employed the term objectively in his eschatological teaching, of the coming Judge, the purifier and refiner of Israel proclaimed by Malachi and by John the Baptist. We must leave it to criticism whether Jesus' references in the third person to this apocalyptic figure were not transformed after his resurrection into a representation that he himself would thus appear. This un- conscious change would require but slight lapse of time when the elements were already in solution. I think, however, in spite of this being called "the self-designation of Jesus," that we may already say such was not the fact. However marked the apocalyptic features of his preaching, Jesus' favorite conception of his mission, and his rela- tion to God and men was not that of the apocalyptic figure who comes to judgment with the clouds. The supreme question, as Meyer has so wisely said, is, after all, the vital, distinctive element in the gospel of Jesus himself; not the doctrine that he was the Son of God, though that became the focus of all later developments, but " his own belief in his mission, and his relation to God his Father." This relation is indeed expressed by the designation "the Son," so frequent in the Fourth Gospel, but not by "the Son of Man," and not by the "Son of God," as usually under- stood. We learned long since not to import into this synoptic title the metaphysical sense of the Fourth Gospel. The synoptic writers, and certainly Jesus himself, in relating his vocation as the Son of God, were not dreaming of superhuman attributes. The commentators tell us the title is employed in the " theocratic sense " as belonging to the heir of the throne of David ; but while there are in Acts two allusions to " the sure mercies of David " and the promise of the con- tinuance of his dynasty, there is no phase of the Messianic hope which so little appeals to Jesus as this, none which he so uniformly antagon- izes and suppresses. Of all types of Messianism nationalistic zealotry was least that of his mission. How, then, does Jesus' sense of his Messianic vocation express itself in the form of the Bath Qol at his baptism, " Thou art my Son " ? * We must answer this question by observing, first, a general principle Charles has established regarding all Messianic titles, that they apply reciprocally to Israel and its representative; second, by noting the feature distinctive of Jesus' own teaching. On the principle of Charles we perceive at once in what 1 The variation of the tradition (Luke in, 22, Western text, has, " this day have I begotten thee," instead of " in thee I am well pleased "), and the Pauline cast of the Markan phrase (cf. Mk. I with Eph. i) which underlies Matthew and Luke (a text) justify the suspicion that only the words " Thou art my Son " represent the original. RELATIONS OF NEW TESTAMENT SCIENCE 583 sense the Messiah is called " the Son. " He is the Elect or Chosen, as representative and head of the Elect or Chosen people. He is the Beloved because they are " the Beloved people." He is called o "Ayios, " the saint, " because they are ol dytoi, " the people of, the saints of, the Most High. " Nay, even the designation which is most relied on by sticklers for a difference in kind as well as degree between Christ's sonship and ours, the Johannine /xoi/oyei/^s, the "only-begotten," is paralleled thus in II Esdras : " Thou hast said that Israel is thy first- born, thy only-begotten." In short, there is nothing so fundamental in the Messianic hope as the doctrine resting on Ex. iv, 22, that Jeho- vah chose Israel out of all the nations to be an adoption. He "called his son out of Egypt." This conception of the sonship of Messiah, the Son par eminence, is far more fundamental than the so-called theocratic, and it is that which really corresponds both to Jesus' personal consciousness, and to his proclamation of his mission. It is not a sense of royalty that is expressed in the utterance, "All things are delivered unto me of my Father, and no man knoweth the Son save the Father, neither the Father save the Son and he to whomsoever the Son willeth to reveal him." It is a personal sense of adoption giving the peace of filial communion to one who in the purity of his own heart has seen God, and knows he can bring all that will receive his easy yoke into the same blessed communion ; one who knows the kingdom at hand, because in its essence he knows it realized within him. He knows himself a Son because he has entered the kingdom. He knows himself the Son because as yet others await his revelation to become fellow heirs. The proof that Jesus' consciousness of sonship is of this type is to be found in the proclamation of his mission in his most undisputed utterances. What is the \vhole aim and purport of the Sermon on the Mount but to show what kind of conduct corresponds with the daily manifested disinterested goodness and forgiving kindness of God; and that men must imitate this in order to " be sons of the Highest; for he is kind even to the unthankful and the evil." What does Jesus offer to those who writh him forsake home and kindred that they may hear the will of God and do it? They are to be his spiritual kindred, children of the one Father, his "brother and sister and mother." It is true that Jesus has deep sympathy for the apocalyptic escha- tological preaching of the Baptist, that he reacts at last in strong antagonism against the religion of scribes and Pharisees, the ortho- doxy of his day. But it is after all this dominant type, nomism, legalism, on which Jesus mainly builds, and from which he takes his departure. The ideal of the genuine Pharisee and his are essentially the same. Israel, the people of God, is to be his son, and as such his heir, lords of the creation. This is to be realized in God's kingdom, his sovereignty, which is the doing of his will on earth as it is done 584 NEW TESTAMENT in heaven. Only, for scribe and Pharisee the will is all revealed in the written Torah, the Law, ceremonial and moral. Whoso accepts its yoke is a son, the common people that know it not are accursed. For Jesus the will is revealed in the impulse of kindness in the heart of a compassionate Samaritan, in the daily example of the living, loving Father in heaven. He offers his call to publicans and sinners — yes, when faith comes to meet him across the barrier of race and religion, he offers it even to the heathen Syrophoenician. Entrance into the brotherhood has at last but one condition, "Whosoever will do the will of my Father." This is the one aim for himself and his followers, " Thy will, not mine, be done " ; but the will is not the mere written Torah as given to them of old-time. It is what the God whom Jesus sees and knows is ever doing in his spirit of limitless loving-kindness. Paul has paraphrased it as no other could, " Be ye imitators of God as beloved sons (the Messianic aim), and walk in love (make love your halacha) even as Christ also (the Beloved Son) loved you and gave himself up for us an offering of a sweet savor unto God." This is the "reasonable worship" (XojLKrj Xarpaa) by which we are "trans- formed from this world by the renewing of our minds," and come to "know (as sons who boast of 'knowing the will') the good and acceptable and perfect will of God." The consciousness of Jesus is personal and ultimate. It is a con- sciousness of divine sonship. It lays hold upon the Messianic hope of Israel because that is akin to it, but it is the greater absorbing the less, not vice versa. The kingdom of God is to Jesus the doing on earth by all of the will of his Father. But the knowledge which he has of his Father, of his nature and of his will, is not delivered to him by the scribes or wise men of his people; it is given to him of his Father, who is seen of the pure in heart, and reveals it "unto babes." What verification by actual observation is to the calculations of the astro- nomer, that the insight of Jesus is to the religious heritage of his people. He sees God in nature, in history, in man, and therefore knows. As voicer of the highest, truest, religious instinct of humanity we may indeed call him Son of Man. But call him rather just " the Son." Our highest knowledge of the Father is that which the Son hath willed to reveal. This is the distinctive element of the gospel, the nucleus from which our New Testament science must ramify in all its relations with kindred sciences. THE PRESENT PROBLEMS OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDY BY ERNEST DE WITT BURTON [Ernest De Witt Burton, Professor of New Testament interpretation, and head of New Testament Department, University of Chicago, b. February 4, 1856, Granville, Ohio. A.B. Denison University, 1876; D.D. ibid. 1897. Studied, Uni- versity of Leipzig, 1887; University of Berlin, 1894; Instructor in New Testa- ment Greek, Rochester Theological Seminary, 1882-83; Associate Professor and Professor of New Testament Interpretation, Newton Theological Institution, 1886-92; Professor of New Testament Interpretation, and head of Department, University of Chicago, 1892 — . Member of Society of Biblical Literature and Exegesis. Author of Syntax of the Moods and Tenses in New Testament Greek, 1893; Short Introduction to the Gospels, 1904, etc.] THE topic of this paper was not chosen by me, but assigned by the Programme Committee of the Congress. I am required to state the problems of New Testament study as they confront scholars to-day. I am asked to take my stand on the frontier of New Testa- ment study and formulate the questions which the scholarship of the immediate future will be called upon to investigate and answer. As far as possible personal opinion is to be eliminated, and the state- ment to be objective and representative of the most enlightened New Testament scholarship. The progress of biblical study has converted the New Testament student from an interpreter of a body of sacred and authoritative literature into the historian of a movement of mighty significance in the history of religion, the rise of Christianity. So long as Christian thought was controlled by the conception of the plenary inspiration of the New Testament Scriptures and the final authority of each passage of them, the only function of the New Testament student was that of the literary interpreter, and his only tasks that of inter- pretation and such others as were necessary to it. To the inter- pretative task the history of the canon was subsidiary as showing the process by which the books contained in the canon attained - rightly, of course, it was held — their position of eminence and author- ity. Textual criticism furnished the letter of the inspired text. Grammar and lexicography were implements of its interpretation. And there was even a place for the history of New Testament times, and the introduction to New Testament books, since these contrib- uted to the interpretation of the books by furnishing their historic setting. Such was once the point of view from which the work of the New Testament student was defined. Such is still the point of view from which some regard it. But with the great body of New Testa- ment students this is no longer true. Clear definition of the nature of the interpretative process and the more faithful application of it to the New Testament have made it impossible to maintain that 586 NEW TESTAMENT there are no inconsistencies in statement of fact or of doctrine in the books of the New Testament, and have compelled the interpreter, if he would be truly an interpreter, to become historian, pledged, not to the discovery, in the books that he studies, of a self-consistent body of Christian doctrine and a self-consistent representation of historic facts, but rather pledged to find the thought of the several writers, whatever that is, and to set it forth with all attainable ac- curacy and clearness. Here, of course, the New Testament student might have made a stand, defined his task rigidly as that of the interpreter, and rested content with the exposition of the thought of each book, regardless of the consistency of this with the statements of other books in refer- ence to historic fact or doctrine. But to have pursued this course would have been to deny the motive under the impulse of which he had undertaken his task. For the study of the New Testament has not been, as a rule, carried on by men who were simply pro- fessional interpreters, satisfied to carry to its perfection a scholastic process, arbitrarily defined. They have been men who were seeking for truth, and who, discovering differences in statement of fact in their sources, could not be content with the mere historic fact of such difference, but were impelled by the very motive that made them students of the New Testament to inquire what the historic fact was of which the sources contained these diverse representations; and, finding in the New Testament books different conceptions of religious truth, could not rest content with the statement that as interpreters their task was finished when they had found the thought that underlies each of the variant representations, but have been compelled to press on to ask how these different conceptions are related to one another, if not also ultimately how each of them is related to reality. But this transformation of New Testament study into an his- torical discipline raises some new and difficult questions concerning the scope and definition of the discipline — questions on which there is not as yet entire agreement among New Testament scholars, and which it belongs to this paper therefore to state. If the New Testament student is simply an historian, can he any longer claim to possess a distinct field, or must the New Testament department be merged in that of the history of early Christian lit- erature, or in that of early church history? To the proposal that it be merged in the history of early Christian literature the answer of the great body of New Testament students will, I am confident, be a prompt and decided negative. The books of the New Testa- ment are in the broad sense of the term literature, and, being early Christian writings, may properly be included in a history of early Christian literature. But it is not as literature that the New Testa- PROBLEMS OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDY 587 ment student is now or ever will be chiefly interested in them. To him they are incomparably more important as the sources for history — a history of events and ideas. In this history literature indeed has a place, but only as the record and reflection of a tremendously important religious movement, namely, the rise of Christianity; and the rise of Christianity was not a literary event, and can never be adequately viewed from the point of view of a history of liter- ature. It is quite another question, however, whether New Testament study is to be merged in early church history. The rise of Christ- ianity certainly belongs to the history of Christianity, and it is a question fairly open to debate whether it is scientific to recognize a New Testament department, the limits of which are defined in advance by the limits of the canon adopted by the church, and whether this field of study should not rather be turned over to the church historian, who in dealing with the early period will, as in every other period, use whatever sources are at his command. Nor when it is once granted that the New Testament student is properly an his- torian, dealing with the history of literature, events, and ideas, can it well be denied that they are right, in principle at least, who maintain that the New Testament department must be transformed into the history of the rise of Christianity? The student of the life of Jesus or of the life of Paul can never be debarred from using any trust- worthy source for these chapters of history because the church of the second or of the fourth century failed to include it in the sacred collection. In fact, this principle is already practically conceded. The transformation of the New Testament department from an interpretative and semi-systematic discipline into a distinctly his- torical study is already well advanced, and lacks little but a change of name to complete it. Granted the correctness of Oscar Holtz- mann's critical judgment respecting the historical character of the Gospel according to the Hebrews and the Gospel according to John, who would deny that he is right in his attitude toward these books as sources of the life of Jesus? Yet, on the other hand, it still remains true — and, so far as there is now any basis for forecast, is likely to remain true — that the books included in the canon furnish the incomparably most important of all the direct sources for the history of the rise of Christianity. So predominant, indeed, are the books of the canon among these sources that little would be gained from any point of view by a change of name. The principle that whatever other literature furnishes contributory information, either respect- ing the general historical situation or more directly concerning the origin of Christianity itself, is and must be used by the New Testa- ment student, is so generally conceded, alike by those who would change the name of the discipline and by those who would oppose 588 NEW TESTAMENT the change, that the question is increasingly reduced to one of name only. We cannot be far wrong in affirming that, however we may for convenience divide or name departments, the New Testament student of to-day recognizes that the books of the New Testament constitute his chief sources, but claims for himself also all other literature that can contribute to the accomplishment of his task of discovering how Christianity arose; recognizes that the interpretation of these books is his central work, to which all else must be related as contributing to it or as built upon it; yet refuses to be limited to the business of literary interpretation, and claims the right as historian, not only to discover that his sources affirm this and that, but also to inquire whether and how far what they say corresponds to historic fact; and so defines as his field the beginnings of Christianity and as his problem whatever within that field belongs to the historian. When, therefore, we speak in this paper of the books of the New Testament, it should be understood that what is really referred to is all those early Christian books which constitute the sources for the history of the origin of Christianity, and that in so designating them we are simply naming the whole group a parte potiori. But this very definition of New Testament study as distinctly his- torical raises another question pertaining to the scope of the science. Does historical study include the interpretation of events and the valuation of teachings as well as the interpretation of literature, the statement of teachings, and the tracing of historic connections? Into this question, which is of far-reaching importance for the definition of the nature and the determination of the function of New Testament study, alike the limits of space and regard for the rights of my colleague, Professor Bacon, forbid me to enter at length. It may perhaps, however, be permitted me to offer two suggestions. First, I venture to think that historians in general, and New Testament historians in particular, will not long consent to exclude from their own field that which Harnack l well calls "the business and highest duty of the historian," namely, to "deter- mine what is of permanent value." If with Percy Gardner 2 they hold " that events of history, when interpreted, may be the basis of doc- trine," they are not likely to concede that such a process is illegit- imate, or that the New Testament student is debarred from under- taking it. The impulse which alone is adequate to promote vigorous prosecution of New Testament study will not permit the student to content himself with statements of objective historic fact, consent- ing to be debarred from asking questions of value and permanent validity. The strength of the impulse to exceed these bounds is shown in such books as Wernle's Beginnings of Christianity and 1 What is Christianity, p. 13. * Hibbert Journal, April, 1903, p. 569. PROBLEMS OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDY 589 Harnack's What is Christianity ? — in both of which the historian is evidently chiefly interested in the question : What is of permanent validity? What is, not simply historically true, but normative for human life? If it be maintained that these are not questions for the historian, then it will be necessary to answer that the New Testa- ment historian must always be something more than an historian. My second suggestion is that, if the New Testament historian may legitimately claim the right to enter this field, it is equally evi- dent that he cannot as New Testament historian claim exclusive right to it. Events can be interpreted only when seen in relation. For the crudity that can discover profound meanings in events apart from their place in history the historian can have no tolerance. And the broader the view which one is able to take, the wider the horizon in which he can set the events of New Testament history, the truer are his interpretations likely to be. To extend that horizon to include all the history of early Christianity is well, not to say indispensable to any just interpretation of events. To take in all biblical history is better — shall we not here also say indispensable? To sweep in the whole history of Christianity, this is undoubtedly better still. To include the knowledge of religion at large, and, not least, a know- ledge of religious experience as it can be studied in living men, this is best of all. The New Testament student who best apprehends the nature of his task will most gladly welcome every coadjutor who brings to the study a large historical knowledge and a large horizon in which to set the knowledge which the New Testament student himself possesses in his own special field. With such a definition and conception of the field of New Testa- ment study, we may divide it into four great divisions. I. Preparatory studies: those which are prerequisite to literary interpetation, including — (1) Textual criticism. (2) The language of the New Testament. (3) The history of New Testament times, both in the Jewish and the Grseco-Roman world. (4) Introduction to the New Testament books. II. Literary Interpretation of the New Testament books : the dis- covery in respect to each New Testament book of the course of thought of which it was the expression. III. New Testament History, including both the history of events and the history of thought and, as a necessary element of the process, criticism of the results of interpretation as respects matters of historic fact. IV. Indirectly contributory sciences: such as the history of the canon, the history of the text, the history of interpretation, and the historv of criticism. 590 NEW TESTAMENT I. Preparatory Studies (1) Textual criticism. By the common confession of scholars, the present period of textual criticism of the New Testament dates from the publication of Westcott and Hort's text and introduction in 1881. Availing themselves of the immensely valuable work of such scholars as Griesbach, Lachmann, Tischendorf, Tregelles, and Scrivener, the Cambridge scholars so organized and interpreted the accessible facts that all who have succeeded them are compelled to state their views very largely in the form of agreement with or dissent from their opinions. Nor are there to-day visible upon the horizon any signs to justify the expectation either of another work so epoch-making as theirs, or of an achievement comparable for significance with that foundation-laying task which was accomplished by those great prede- cessors of Westcott and Hort already named. What remains to be done belongs rather to the completion of a structure which in its main line is already built, than either to those pioneer tasks which prepare the way for great constructive work or to such constructive work itself. Yet the tasks that remain are in themselves both large and important, and there is every reason to be glad that there is so large a body of earnest workers whose tastes incline them and whose ability fits them to undertake and accomplish these labors. The work of Westcott and Hort was significant in three directions : (a) in the formulation of the methods of textual criticism; (6) in the outlining of the history of the New Testament text, especially in the first four centuries of its existence; (c) in the actual construction of the text. In all three of these particulars their work marked an advance on that of their predecessors. In respect to the first and second of them, few scholars will deny that in the main the views of Westcott and Hort have been sustained by the verdict of scholarly criticism and by subsequent discovery. Yet it would have been surpassingly strange if their work had been in all these things so decisive as to leave no room for doubt or further investigation. So strange a thing has, at any rate, not happened. In two important respects Westcott and Hort were compelled to work with but an imperfect presentation of the data: in the matter of quotations from the New Testament in the Fathers, and in that of the text and history of the early versions. The tasks with which scholars since their day have been engaged, and with which those of the next following decades at least are likely to be engaged, are chiefly in the more thorough working of these two fields, and in the criticism of the Westcott and Hort theory of the history of the text on the basis of such reworking. Definite and full results in reference to the quotations must await for their achievement the completion of those editions of the Fathers now in preparation, and in which such splendid progress has already PROBLEMS OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDY 591 been made — the Berlin and Vienna editions of the Greek and Latin Fathers, and the Paris editions of the Oriental Christian literature. As these tasks progress, it will become increasingly possible to replace those great collections of quotations which Burgon made with others that will be of far greater value because they will be of wider scope, and based, as respects the Greek and Latin Fathers at least, on a critically edited text. In the matter of the versions, Wordsworth and White are steadily carrying forward their tasks of editing the Latin texts of the New Testament, and so laying a foundation for more exact knowledge of the history and character of the Latin versions. Horner is prosecuting his work of editing the Bohairic version of Egypt. The practical recovery of Tatian's Diatessaron, and the discovery by Mrs. Lewis and Mrs. Gibson of the Sinaitic manuscript of the Syriac gospels, supplemented by the scholarly labors of Gwilliam, Harris, Burkitt, Hjelt, and others, not only in spite of, but in part because of, their differences of opinion on many points, are laying a foundation for a far more accurate knowledge of the history and text of the Syriac versions than has hitherto been possessed. In respect to the Sahidic, Armenian, and other ancient versions scarcely more than a beginning has been made. The monumental work of Tischendorf and Gregory in collecting and classifying the ascertained facts in all parts of the field is now to be supplemented by that of Von Soden and his associates in the preparation of a new critical edition upon a magnificent scale. Final criticism of the views of Westcott and Hort in respect to the history of the text must, as intimated, await the completion of some of these investigations. Yet in the mean time scholars are not idle in this direction. Few are left to-day either to dispute the correct- ness of the genealogical theory which Westcott and Hort did so much to state with clearness, or to deny that their contention respecting the Syrian text was substantially correct, save perhaps in imputing to its producers too much of a deliberate intention to create a new text. Respecting the pre-Syrian texts the case is somewhat different. The validity of the distinction between the Neutral and Alexandrian texts has been disputed by more than one scholar of repute, and the precise nature of the relation between these two types of text still remains to be determined with certainty. The progress of knowledge in respect to versions and quotations will, it is to be expected, lead after no long time to a more definite solution of this problem than has hitherto been possible. But it is in respect to the Western text that there is to-day perhaps the sharpest difference of opinion and the greatest probability of a revision of the Westcott and Hort view. That the Western text is not properly called Western Hort himself recognized; it is now questioned 592 NEW TESTAMENT whether it is properly a text, and does not rather (to use the words of Burkitt) "represent the unrevised and progressively deteriorated state of the text throughout the Christian world in the ante-Nicene age." To the solution of the origin, nature, and value of the so-called Western text, perhaps the most important question now at issue in this field, all those are contributing who are working either in the versions or the quotations or in the study of the facts brought out by the laborers in these fields. It would be rash to predict what will be the outcome of all the investigations now in progress or waiting to be undertaken. But at present it seems probable that the result will not be so much any con- siderable revision of the text as a different interpretation of the facts respecting the history of the text, in which is involved also the possible discarding of the name "Western," a new grouping of so-called Western documents, and a new valuation of the testimony of certain combinations of witnesses. Closely connected with the peculiar variations of the Western type of text in the gospels, especially in the Gospel of Luke and in the Acts, is a problem which arises from the nature of the process by which the synoptic gospels were produced. As the facts in respect to the text of Acts and Luke suggest the possibility of two editions of the same work, each having a claim to be accepted as genuine, so the evidence that the synoptic gospels were not produced each of them independently, and by a single act of individual authorship, but in part at least by compilation and a process of editorship, the precise length and limits of which it is difficult to define, raises the question, What is to be considered the original text? In both cases the pro- blem of textual criticism becomes tangent with, if it does not even merge into, that of historical or literary criticism, and the need arises for the clear definition of the textual critic's task, and of its relation to documentary criticism. Whether the unfavorable verdict which at present scholars seem inclined to pass upon Blass's theory of the double text of Acts and Luke will be confirmed or not, it can scarcely be doubted that the whole problem of the text of the synoptic gospels and Acts calls for investigation by one who is equally at home in the facts and principles of textual criticism and in the synoptic problem. (2) The language of the New Testament. The lexicons of Grimm- Thayer, Cremer, and others, and the grammars, such as those of Buttmann, Blass, and Winer-Schmiedel, are monuments of diligent and successful work already achieved in reference to the New Testa- ment language. Yet the authors of these books would probably be foremost in declaring that this portion of our field abounds in unsolved problems and unaccomplished tasks. The studies of Dalman in relation to the Greek used by New Testament writers, the publication of papyri, in Germany especially by the scholars of Berlin, and in PROBLEMS OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDY 593 England by Petrie, Grenfell, and Hunt, and others, and the discus- sions of Deissman and Moulton, have opened up a wide and most interesting field, at the same time that Cremer's prosecution of his great task and the publication of many notable monographs have pointed the way to a more scientific method of using all available materials. Our problems are of four classes: (a) those that pertain to the general history of later Greek, and the place in that history of the Greek used by various New Testament writers, including in particular the question whether we are to cease to speak of New Testament Greek, and cease to write New Testament grammars and lexicons, merging these simply in the works on later Greek; and spe- cifically (6) those that deal with the forms of words; (c) those that pertain to syntax; (d) those that pertain to the meaning of words, lexicography. These problems may be studied from two points of view: first, from that of the nature of the Semitic influence upon New Testament and contemporary Greek writers; and, second, from that of the relation of the language of the New Testament writers to contempo- rary Greek, as exhibited not only in the literature of that period, but in inscriptions and papyri. From the first of these two points of view, it is necessary to dis- tinguish more accurately, if possible, than hitherto between the influ- ences which the New Testament writers brought with them to their task — those Semitic elements which had already become a part of their natural speech — and, on the other hand, those which came through the medium of the sources used by them. Among the influ- ences affecting the current speech, we may distinguish those which came directly from the living Aramaic speech and those which came through the use of the Bible, chiefly from the Septuagint. For however true it is that attention has hitherto been directed too exclu- sively to the Septuagint as an influence affecting the language of the New Testament, it is not less true that the reaction of the Septuagint upon the Greek written by Jews is an element of the problem that cannot be wholly ignored. Among the influences of the second class we may distinguish those which proceed from the fact that Jesus spoke in Aramaic and those which are due to possible Semitic sources of New Testament books. On the side of contemporary Greek usage very valuable results may yet be expected both in the study of syntax and in that of lexi- cography. It would be easy to name many scientific problems, in each of these departments, that await the solution of a competent investigator; in some of these — as, for example, to mention but a single instance, the study of the use of the article in later Greek — the student will have to undertake tasks which might, naturally falling to the share of the classical scholar, have been substantially accom- 594 NEW TESTAMENT plished by him; but in others — for example, in reference to the syntax of the verb — he can wisely build upon the foundation already laid by the classical scholar. To state in a word the inclusive problem pertaining to the language of the New Testament, what is required is the more complete applica- tion of the historical method, and this both in the sense that the basis of historical induction shall be broadened and that the historical point of view shall be more rigidly maintained. He who would write the grammar which New Testament students need, must do it upon the basis of a more thorough knowledge of the results of comparative philology than has usually been possessed hitherto, and must also add a wide knowledge both of Semitic philology and of the usage of later Greek writers, as well as an equipment of psychological insight which will enable him as a true interpreter to discern for what forms of thought those whose language he is studying employed this or that form of word. In the realm of lexicography it is required, not alone that there shall be produced from contemporary and approximately contemporary literature vouchers for the meanings which are ascribed to a word, but that the whole historical development of the usage of the word and of the idea for which it stood, shall be traced, and the word as it is used in New Testament times be seen from the angle of vision from which the New Testament writer, as the heir of this historical development, viewed it. The last quarter of a century has seen steady advance both in the widening of the field of induction to include not simply classical writers, the Septuagint, and the New Testament, but all accessible Jewish literature, and now also the inscriptions and newly discovered papyri, and in the more thorough recognition of the genetic nature of the process by which meanings develop, and the consequent necessity of employing a genetic method in investigation. But much remains to be done, and the field is open and inviting. ' (3) The history of New Testament times. In the history of New Testament times, so far as it pertains to the record of external events, whether in the Jewish or Grseco-Roman world, there is little reason to expect great progress in the immediate future. On the Jewish side, Schiirer, Hausrath, Oscar Holtzmann, and others have so thoroughly employed the now available material as to leave little for others to do; and the historians of the Roman Empire may be trusted to furnish to New Testament students all the accessible information in this field. But in the history of thought, the situation is quite different. It would be too much to say that we are here only upon the threshold of our task; the work of the writers already named, and of Charles, Conybeare, Weber, Bousset, and others scarcely less emi- nent, has carried us well beyond the entrance to the territory. But that much remains to be done in the dating, analyzing, and interpret- PROBLEMS OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDY 595 ing the Jewish literature, both Palestinian and no n- Palestinian, and yet more in the still more difficult task of coordinating into one his- torical view results derived from the study of many documents, in- cluding Psalms, Apocalypse, Targums, Midrash, and Mishna, none who have even an elementary knowledge of the subject will deny. Whether there are tasks that still await accomplishment in the field of Graeco-Roman literature and thought, it does not belong to this essay to say. But the New Testament student is well aware that the suc- cessful accomplishment of his task requires a broad and accurate knowledge of the history of the Roman Empire in the early Christ- ian centuries, and that there is still much to be accomplished in the investigation of the question of the extent to which, and the points at which, the thought of the New Testament writers has been af- fected by Greek ideas concerning God and man and the world and their relations one to another. But here perhaps we are trenching upon another division of our field — the interpretation of New Testament books and the history of New Testament thought. (4) Special introduction, to speak from the point of view which we have assumed and defended, deals with questions pertaining to the origin of those books which constitute the sources for the history of the rise of Christianity. Such a definition of the field raises a ques- tion concerning the particular books to be included in it, which was formerly regarded as answered by the limits of the canon. In gen- eral, what we seek is the creative period and literature of Christianity, the period of those who not simply received Christianity, but exerted a formative influence upon it, determining in some measure the char- acter of the new religion. Among these Jesus stands preeminent and unique, and because he did not write books, but the record of his life and teachings comes to us in the writings of others, we must include in the scope of our study any and every book which makes a real contribution to our knowledge of his life and teachings. But while Christianity rightljr takes its name from Jesus, it would be idle to deny to Paul a place among the makers of Christianity in a second- ary but true sense, forward though he himself would be to refuse to stand in any sense upon the plane with Jesus. But Paulinism was not the only formative force, after Jesus, that was active in the formative period of Christianity, and to the sources for the life and teachings of Jesus, and those that give us like information concern- ing Paul, we have to add such other books as the Apocalypse, the epistle to the Hebrews, and some at least of the catholic epistles which illuminate for us the early days of our religion. The boundary to be drawn is not a strictly chronological one, as if the creative literature of the character of which we are speaking necessarily ceased to be produced as soon as that of a more secondary character was produced. But we shall probably not be far from right if we 596 NEW TESTAMENT define the period of which we are to construct the history as extend- ing approximately to the end of the first century, and the literature to be examined as all that which makes a real contribution to our knowledge of the Christianity of the first century. But the modern definition of the function of New Testament scholarship compels also a revised definition of the question which is to be answered concerning these books. Formerly the question of genuineness occupied the centre of the stage and was thought of as almost synonymous with the question of the right of the book to a place in the New Testament. To-day the question that introduction asks is not, Has the book a right to a place in the New Testament? but, on the one side, What information can we gain concerning the origin of this book, its authorship, occasion, and purpose, in the light of which its real meaning may be discovered? and, on the other, To what period and stage of the history of Christianity does the book itself belong, and what is the value of its assertions in the realm of historic fact ? Introduction is thus purely an historical discipline, both in itself and in the end that it serves. The questions that it asks are questions of historic fact; the problems to the solution of which its answers contribute are wholly historical. The question of genuine- ness becomes simply the question of authorship and date, important because on its decision depends in some measure the interpretation of the book, but more especially either because by the answer to it we are able to place the book and its contribution in its proper his- toric position, or because the decision helps us to give the right value to its statements of fact. The field is so broad that clearness of exposition requires its sub- division into parts. We may speak separately of - (a) The letters ascribed to Paul. (6) The synoptic gospels and the Acts. (c) The Fourth Gospel and the Johannine letters. (d) The Apocalypse. (e) Hebrews and the epistles of James, Peter, and Jude. The letters ascribed to Paul. In respect to the Pauline letters there meets us at the very outset the question whether it is incumbent upon us to vindicate our right to use the term " Pauline letters " at all, as against those who would permit us to speak only of pseudo- Pauline epistles dating from the second century. The era of New Testament criticism that began with Ferdinand Christian Baur has been distinguished, not simply by the recognition of certain letters of Paul as genuine, but even more fundamentally by the perception of the fact that the student of the New Testament is a student, not simply of literature, but of history, and by the attempt on the basis of literature, properly dated and placed, to write the history of the origin of Christianity. Is that era past? Have we now to become, PROBLEMS OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDY 597 as previous to the nineteenth century biblical scholars as a rule were, students of literature rather than historians, and are we to confess that of the origins of Christianity we have, at least in the Pauline letters, no authentic monuments? Are we no longer in the age of Baur, but in that of Loman and Van Manen? The question, if it requires consideration at all as one of the living problems of New Testament study, is one of very serious import. For if it is true that the rightfulness or wrongfulness of Van Manen's position is for scholarship an open question, then it must be answered before we can even ask any others in respect to the Pauline literature, not to say the apostolic age. It is now more than twenty years since these views were first presented to scholars in articles published in the Theologisch Tijdschrift, and sixteen years since they were presented at length and in easily accessible form in Steck's Galaterbrief. Elab- orate refutation, it must be admitted, they have not received. As certainly have they not gained any general or enthusiastic approval. Nothing comparable to that which ensued upon the publication of Baur's Paulus has happened in the scholarly world in respect to the writings of Loman, Volter, Steck, and Van Manen. Is it because New Testament scholarship is staggered, silenced, consciously put to rout? Even Van Manen, who complains of the neglect with which these views have been received, does not venture to affirm that this is the explanation of it. No; it must be admitted that the com- parative silence of scholars means, not that there is nothing that could be said in reply, but that in their judgment little need be said. Van Manen's plea for attention may perhaps call forth — ought perhaps to call forth — a presentation of the reasons why New Testa- ment scholars believe that Paul wrote some at least of the letters which have come down to us bearing his name, at once more sub- stantial than has hitherto been put forth and more worthy of the importance of the subject. But unless New Testament scholarship shall experience a very decided change of mind, it mil not take this up as a vital question, the answer to which is in such sense in doubt that, pending the solution of it, all other work upon the life and teaching of Paul must be held in suspense; but rather as a buttressing of foundations whose strength has already been fully established. If, then, we are right in believing that in the field of the criticism of the Pauline letters we are still in the epoch that dates from 1831, not from 1882, then we possess in Galatians, Corinthians, and Romans a basis of knowledge respecting the life of the apostle Paul, and a firm basis of judgment respecting his type of mind, his literary style, and his theological position. There remain, no doubt, important problems affecting these letters : respecting Galatians, the location of the churches addressed and a considerable group of minor pro- blems associated with this one; respecting Second Corinthians, the 598 NEW TESTAMENT question whether this is really one letter or a collection of parts of several letters moulded into the form of a single letter, not by the writer himself, but by a considerably later editor or scribe; respect- ing Romans, the question of its integrity, especially as pertains to the fifteenth and sixteenth chapters. But however these problems may eventually be solved, we are still in possession of that most important advantage in any field of study — a foundation on which to build, a base-line from which to triangulate the region of greater or less uncertainty. But in so stating the matter we understate the positive element of the situation. For as is well known, it has gradually come to be recognized that the kind of evidence which establishes the genuine- ness of Galatians, First and Second Corinthians, and Romans exists also in the case of First Thessalonians, Philippians, and Philemon. The present attitude of scholarship is represented, not by the phrase "the four undisputed letters of Paul," but rather by the expres- sion "the generally accepted letters of Paul." That there is entire unanimity on this point, even among those who reject Van Manen's position, is not here affirmed. There are problems still to be solved respecting First Thessalonians, Philippians, and Philemon, even as there are in respect to Galatians, Corinthians, and Romans. But the question of their genuineness can no longer be counted among the acute problems of New Testament study. Respecting Second Thessalonians, Colossians, and Ephesians, the situation is somewhat different. The trend of opinion is very strongly toward the acceptance of Colossians, in the main at least, as a real letter of the apostle himself, any differences of point of view between it and the other letters reflecting the progress of the apostle's own thinking under the influence of contact with different types of thought in the Grseco-Roman world, rather than the thought of a period subsequent to that of the life of Paul. That Ephesians is not in the strictest sense a letter, but a sermon or theological essay, cast somewhat in the form of a literary epistle, and that only as such can it be regarded as a genuine letter of Paul, is now generally ad- mitted. The apostle cannot have written such a letter specifically to the Ephesian church. The impersonality of its tone can be accounted for only by recognizing its semi-literary character. The view that the author intended it to pass as a letter of the apostle to Ephesus involves the consequence that authorship and destination are both a literary fiction. The question, therefore, is: Which is more probable, that the apostle put forth a similar letter intended for the reading of a group of churches, following the same general lines of thought which the situation in Colossae had led him to adopt in writing to the church in that place, or that a Christian of the post- apostolic age availed himself of the epistle to the Colossians to build PROBLEMS OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDY 599 up on the basis of it a pseudonymous letter which he represented as addressed to the Ephesians? The trend of judgment seems to be toward the former view, but the question is still treated by New Testament scholarship as a fairly open one, and must be classed among the problems. The objection to the acceptance of Second Thessalonians as Paul's on the ground that the eschatological views embodied in its apocalyptic section are inconsistent with those expressed in First Thessalonians is accorded less weight than formerly, and there are probably few who would favor the solution of the problem, advocated, for example, by Schmidt, which treats the apocalyptic section as an interpolation. The similarity of the epistle in much of its content to First Thessalonians, though there must of necessity have been a con- siderable interval between them, is a phenomenon that doubtless requires explanation; but it must be doubted whether it is not easier to account for this than for the creation, with no clearly evident mo- tive, of an epistle so closely resembling Paul's in general tone and style, yet proceeding in fact from another and considerably later hand. Further investigation of the thought of the apostolic and post- apostolic age, or the discovery of more delicate psychological tests by which to weigh the probability of an author repeating himself after an interval of some weeks, may be necessary before the question can be transferred from the class of the open to that of the closed. The problem of the pastoral epistles attracted serious attention some years before the criticism of Baur dealt with the Pauline epistles as a whole. As early as Schleiermacher, the Pauline authorship of First Timothy was disputed, and others soon extended the doubt to Titus and Second Timothy. Nor could this have failed to be the case as soon as the New Testament was dealt with in the critical spirit. The differences between these letters and the letters gener- ally accepted as Paul's, in vocabulary, style, and the reflected con- dition of the churches, as well as the difficulty of rinding a place for them in the life of Paul, as this is known to us from the Acts or from the accepted letters, combine to present a problem which could not but raise the question whether these letters really belong to the lifetime of the apostle, or are not rather to be assigned to a consider- ably later period. The question formerly argued as a simple alter- native, genuine or not genuine, has of late taken the form of a choice among these possibilities: wholly Pauline, partly Pauline, wholly post-Pauline. To many scholars it has become almost an axiom that these letters are, at any rate, not wholly Pauline. But it is recognized with greater clearness than formerly that to point out difficulties, even serious or seemingly insuperable difficulties, in the way of ascribing the letters to the apostle, is not to solve the whole problem; the task of the historian is to say, not only when 600 NEW TESTAMENT the letters could not have been written, but when they were written. And the attempt to find for them — or for the non-Pauline portions of them, if they be recognized as of composite character — a location subsequent to Paul's death, to which they fit themselves more per- fectly than to any point in his life, lacks something as yet of perfect success. On the whole, the unity or composite character of these letters, the period from which they come or the periods from which their component elements arose, the situation in the apostle's life which they or their Pauline elements reflect, or the situation which the later author sought to meet and affect by them — these must still be accounted as problems, on which, indeed, many scholars have made up their minds, but which to New Testament scholarship as such are still problems for future investigation. The synoptic gospels. It might seem that the diligent labor which since the days of Schleiermacher, Eichhorn, and Gieseler has been bestowed upon the problem of the origin of the synoptic gospels, in which is included, of course, that of their relation to one another, would before this have sufficed, not only to propose every possible hypothesis, but also to reach a definite solution through the elimina- tion of those that are inadequate. It is true that the field of debate and possible difference of opinion has, in the judgment of most scholars, been very greatly narrowed. That the gospels are inter- related, not simply independent narratives of events in part the same is universally confessed. That the relation between them is mediated in part, and indeed mainly, by written documents, is the judgment of the great majority of those who have studied the problem at first hand. That Mark, or a document nearly identical with it, was a chief source of the first and third gospels, and that these two gospels had also another common source, is almost as generally held. But the demonstration of these propositions, granting them to be demon- . strated, falls far short of a complete solution of the problem. The predication of a common source of Matthew and Luke additional to the Mark source but inadequately accounts for the facts. There is much in the peculiar relation of the non-Marcan elements as found respectively in Matthew and Luke to indicate that, even aside from the infancy narratives, and other portions of these gospels that may perhaps be treated as fragmentary, the non-Marcan source of Matthew and Luke is resolvable into distinguishable elements, which call for enumeration and identification. Nor is this probably the end of the scholar's task in this direction. For there are facts that suggest at least the possibility that when the sources immediately employed in common by Matthew and Luke, or by either of them alone, have been enumerated, these documents themselves will call for analysis into the elements from which they were derived. The preponderance in threefold material of the agreements of Mark and Luke against PROBLEMS OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDY 601 Matthew, and of Mark and Matthew against Luke, over those of Matthew and Luke against Mark, has long been recognized, and its cardinal importance for the synoptic problem has been perceived. But this preponderance of the two kinds of agreement over the third does not annihilate the third class of agreements, or justify the ignoring of them. This has, indeed, been clearly recognized, espe- cially of late years, nor have there been lacking proposals by which this third class might be accounted for. Yet it must be confessed that this unexplained remainder still awaits a satisfactory solution, and that in it lurks the possibility of a discovery which may yet greatly modify the now generally accepted theories. That this problem probably lies, as has already been suggested, partly in the realm of textual criticism, and that its solution will perhaps come through a clearer recognition than has been usual of the existence, in respect to the synoptic gospels at least, of a frontier where textual and documentary criticism meet and merge, points to the necessity that the study of the details of the synoptic problem be supplemented by an investigation of the principles in accordance with which such problems are to be solved. It is a fair question whether further progress in this field of inquiry would not be most facilit ited by a clear exposition of the canons in accordance with which it i> necessary to proceed in the process of discovering the nature of the relation between documents, between which there is evidently a relation of some kind. Of the problems pertaining to the synoptic gospels, other than that of their origin and relation to one another, such as their date and the specific purpose of each, it is not needful to speak at length. In so far as fairly definite results have not already been reached, the solution of them is likely to be involved in that of the main ques- tion of the origin and mutual relation of these gospels. The book of Acts. Peculiar interest must always attach to the book of Acts as the one work, dating from the early age of the church and having any plausible claim to trustworthiness, that gives a con- nected narrative of events in the apostolic age. Inferior as an author- ity to the strictly first-hand testimony of the Pauline letters, it possesses, by virtue of the systematic scheme of events which it furnishes, a value which even the Pauline letters lack. This unique position of the book among the sources for the rise of Christianity gives a peculiar importance to the problem of its authorship, sources, and date. That it employed sources, that these were of unequal value, and that among these the " we-document" is of first-class authority, quite equal in its way to the Pauline letters, are among the assured results of criticism. But how much the we-document included , whether the author of the we-source is also the compiler of the whole work, what the other sources were, of what value they are, when the 602 NEW TESTAMENT book was written and with what purpose -•— all these questions are still in litigation. Progress toward a final solution of them can be made only by the slow process of even more careful exegesis, more exhaustive and minute archaeological research, and even more critical weighing of evidence and sifting of hypotheses. Fortunately, in all these lines progress is making, and it is not unreasonable to hope both for new light from archaeological discovery and for progress toward assured results. As in the case of the gospels, so here also the solution of the problem will contribute to the elucidation, not only of the period covered by the narrative of the book, but also of that in which the book arose. The Fourth Gospel. If the synoptic problem must still be included among those that are only partially solved, this is still more emphat- ically true of the problem of the Fourth Gospel. Once and again in the last half-century affirmed to be now at length finally settled, sometimes by those who have reaffirmed its strict apostolic author- ship, sometimes by those who have reduced to a minimum its con- nection with the circle of Jesus' disciples, it persists in reappearing among the most difficult and perplexing of all the problems presented to us by the New Testament. For a time indeed there seemed to be an increasingly general recognition that the truth of the matter lies at neither extreme: neither with those who would make the book the naive record of the aged John's recollection of Jesus, nor with those who would assign it to the latter half of the second cen- tury and deny it all connection with the immediate followers of Jesus and to its author all knowledge of his subject. But of late a reaction has set in, and to-day the most diverse opinions are ex- pressed by men who have no reason for disagreeing other than their inability to interpret the facts alike. The difficulty of the problem, which is so complex that its elements cannot even be enumerated here, lies largely in the apparently con- trary indications of the evidence. Beneath the surface of a smooth and uniform style there lie, on the one side, strong indications of Jewish authorship and Palestinian origin, and, according at least to their prima facie meaning, both internal evidence and direct asser- tion of close association of the author with Jesus; yet, on the other hand, such divergences from the testimony of the synoptic gospels, not only as respects the chronology of Jesus' ministry and the place of his work, but also as to the manner and substance of his teaching, and such a reflection of the influence of philosophical thought not otherwise associated with Palestine, as suggest an author of quite different characteristics from those which we naturally attribute to John the son of Zebedee. The external evidence is not less perplexing. If, on the one hand, the testimony of Irenseus concerning what he learned from Polycarp, together with his undoubted acceptance PROBLEMS OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDY 603 of the fourth gospel as from John the son of Zebedee, seem to estab- lish an unbroken chain of ancient testimony to the Ephesian resi- dence of John and his authorship of the Gospel; on the other, we are compelled to recognize that the silence of the Fathers of the first half of the second century, and especially of those who belonged to Asia Minor, the perplexing character of the testimony of Papias concern- ing two disciples of Jesus both bearing the name of John, and the great difficulty of accepting as conclusive the testimony of men who ascribe to the same author both the Apocalypse and the Gospel, create a situation which is by no means clear or easy of interpretation. The question is one in which sentiment and a prejudice not to be wondered at, hardly to be condemned, enter in to complicate a pro- blem difficult enough in itself. The church will not readily consent to surrender the apostolic authorship of that Gospel which has ever been to very many the most precious of the four. Yet it cannot be doubted that in the end a solution will be found which will do justice to all the evidence, and that this view will find general acceptance among scholars, whatever their previous prejudices or predilections. The problem of the Johannine epistles is inseparably connected with that of the Gospel. For the similarity of style and spirit is so great as to compel the ascription of them to the same period and group of writers; probably, indeed, to the same author. The Apocalypse. Perhaps in respect to no other book of the New Testament has so rapid and real progress been made in recent years toward the obtaining of the key to the understanding of it as in respect to the Apocalypse. The value of the historical method is here conspicuously evident. That the book belongs to that series of apocalypses of which the first and adjacent centuries produced so many, and the several numbers of which were not so much successive, independent works, together constituting a class of literature, as successive portions of a stream from which each author in turn drew and into which he poured his contribution — this now generally recognized fact is fundamental for the understanding of the book, and determinative for the method of its interpretation. It deals the deathblow to all those schemes of interpretation which are controlled by the assumption that the key to the meaning of the prediction in the book is to be found in what in the first century or subsequently actu- ally took place in fulfillment of these predictions. Add to this recog- nition of the apocalyptic character of the book, and its consequent relationship to other apocalypses, that other fact, which by no means contradicts or detracts from the first one, namely, that the book had its place and its function in the life and experience of the early church, and was in this way related to the period in which it arose; and the further fact that its date is fixed with approximate certainty for the last decade of the first century, and a long step has been taken 604 NEW TESTAMENT toward such an understanding of the book as will make it a most important source for the history of the early days of Christianity. That much remains to be done in determining with greater definite- ness the influences under which the writer worked, the sources from which he drew, the extent of his own contributions, and the ends that he sought to achieve, cannot obscure the fact that now at length the New Testament student is in a position to make substantial progress in his task of understanding this book, and of deriving from it its contribution to the story of the rise of Christianity. The epistle to the Hebrews. Of the many questions which the epistle to the Hebrews raises, several may safely be reckoned as no longer in the category of the unanswered. That the letter was writ- ten, not by Paul, but by a Christian who on the one side shared in general the Alexandrian-Jewish view of the Old Testament, and on the other side held, though with much independence of thought, substantially the Pauline conception of Christianity; that it is a letter, not simply an essay under the mask of a letter; and that the danger to which its readers were exposed was not that of a return to Judaism, but of apostasy from Christianity in the direction of irreligion and worldliness — these may be considered as established propositions. The search for the identity of the author is certainly one of legiti- mate curiosity. But in view of the negative results so far achieved, and the apparent impossibility of connecting the book with any one the connection with whom would facilitate the understanding of the letter itself, it can scarcely be reckoned as other than one of curiosity. That which is at the same time practicable and necessary for the interpretation of the book is the definition of the writer's intellectual and religious position, and this must be accomplished through the study of the book itself. To such a knowledge of the author it is scarcely less important to add the determination of the position of the reader. And here it is of importance, first, for the understanding of the letter to define the intellectual and moral status of the com- munity addressed; and, second, for the most effective use of the results of interpretation in the construction of the history of early Christianity, to locate the community geographically and the writing of the letter chronologically. These are to-day the open questions respecting the epistle to the Hebrews. Strong as is the tendency to displace the older view that the readers were Jewish Christians with the judgment that they were gentiles, or that they were, in the view of the writer, neither Jews nor gentiles, but simply Christians, the newer view can hardly be said fully to have established itself or com- pletely to have explained the strong indications that the writer had in mind chiefly men who like himself had grown up under Jewish influence. If Jerusalem has been abandoned as the home of those addressed, and if the strong preponderance of opinion is toward PROBLEMS OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDY 605 Rome, this also awaits more perfect substantiation; and if Rome be accepted as the home of the readers, it is still to be decided whether the letter was intended for the whole Christian community in the city to which it was sent, or to a smaller group of Christians. It is evi- dent that all these questions have an important bearing on the contri- bution which this letter makes to our knowledge of early Christianity, since on the decision of them turns in part our knowledge of the extent to which, the region in which, and the time at which the special type of Christian thought reflected in this letter was prevalent. First Peter. The authorship and date of the epistle known as First Peter must also be reckoned as among the open problems of New Testament study. The excellent character of the Greek, the distinctly Pauline character of the doctrine, the clear literary depend- ence upon Romans and Ephesians, and the destination of the letter to Pauline churches are serious problems for those who would accept the claim of the letter itself to be from the hand of Peter. Yet an explanation of all these things may be found in the relation of Sylvanus to the writing of the letter, if only it be also admitted as possible that Peter may in the latter years of his life have cooperated with Paul, or have taken up the work that Paul had laid down, and that in this period he came to hold substantially Paul's conception of Christianity and was capable of writing under the dominating, even if temporary, influence of Paul's own writings.1 To many indeed such a confessedly complicated, and in part conjectural, hypothesis is less probable than the simpler, though not less hypothetical, view that the letter was written long after Peter's death by a Pauline Christian who deliber- ately assumed the name of Peter to give greater weight to his writing. The problem must still be counted among the unsolved. Were the Petrine authorship established, and its date definitely fixed, the letter would make a most significant contribution to the history of the apostolic age. Respecting the remaining books of the New Testament canon a very few words must suffice. That there is to-day so wide difference of opinion as still exists concerning the place of James in the early history of Christianity is a testimony possibly to the perversity of men's minds, but even more to the difficulty of the problem which may be presented by a brief book of almost purely ethical and didactic character. Such books may be written in almost any age. Respecting Jude and Second Peter the case is different. The evi- dences of late date are such as almost to exclude them from among the sources for the history of the rise of Christianity. But if there are in the New Testament canon books which are 1 Despite the weight of B. Weiss's name and opinion, we need scarcely reckon seriously with the view that First Peter is earlier than the Pauline letters to which it shows relationship. 606 NEW TESTAMENT so late as perhaps to fall outside the scope of the historian of the origin of Christianity, are there outside the canon books which are of so early date and of such character as to demand consideration as possible sources for the history of the rise of Christianity, and so inclusion in the scope of New Testament introduction in the sense which we have given to it? To answer this question definitely and specifically would carry us beyond the proper limits of this paper. It must suffice to answer that, as the historians of the life of Jesus are recognizing that they must consider the possible value for their science of the gospel according to the Hebrews, the Oxyrynchus logia, and any material of like character which may be discovered, so intro- duction, if it be in fact the preliminary study of the literature which is available for the history of the rise of Christianity, must in like manner consider all literature having a prima facie claim to be included among such sources, and include all that can substantiate such claim. II. Literary Interpretation of New Testament Books The discovery of the meaning of the individual books of the New- Testament, once the culmination of New Testament study and almost its only clearly defined task, must now be looked upon as a means to the still higher task of constructing the history of the origin of Christianity. Yet it retains a place of eminence, and may properly be designated as the central division of the whole field. For covering the whole New Testament literature, all the subjects heretofore discussed prepare the way for it, and, on the other hand, on the results of the work of interpretation must be built all subsequent achieve- ment in historical construction. It is, so to speak, the reservoir into which all the preparatory studies pour their results and from which must be drawn the material for the constructive historical work. The problems of this central division of the field are too numerous even to catalogue. There is not a book of the New Testament collec- tion that does not present questions of interpretation, which, despite all the work of centuries, still call for further study. Progress in the solution of these problems will come partly through the more perfect performance of the preparatory tasks, partly through a clearer con- ception of the nature of the interpretative process itself. A more perfect exegesis demands a more perfect lexicography, a more perfect grammar, and, most of all, perhaps, a more perfect knowledge of the thought of New Testament times both in the Jewish and non-Jewish world, and a setting of the books in the bright light of such knowledge. The effect of achievement in this direction will be twofold: first, it will enable us to see with greater clearness the thoughts which the New Testament writers meant to express; and, second, it will help PROBLEMS OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDY 607 us to perceive the relative value which they themselves put upon their various ideas. It is at this point perhaps that the nature of the inter- pretative process calls for more accurate definition than it has generally received. For however common it may have been in the past to assume that all a writer's thoughts are for him, and so must be for the interpreter, upon one unbroken level, this is certainly an error. Interpretation has for its task the recovery of the whole state of mind of the author of which the passage or book under considera- tion is the expression. But just as surely as men have different thoughts, so surely do they themselves value their various thoughts variously. One idea is simply an inheritance from the past, which a man holds without repugnance, but without enthusiasm. Another is a current notion that he will use to-day for illustration, and to- morrow discard for its opposite. A third is the central, vitalizing element of all his thinking, that by which he lives and for which he would be willing to die. The interpreter who recognizes the full breadth and depth of his task will see that it is just as much his duty to discover the relative values which the author puts upon his thoughts as to find out his thoughts themselves. Knowledge of the thought of the time will help to solve the question of genesis; and knowledge of genesis will help to the discovery of value. But genesis and value are not necessarily correlative. What is inherited from the past is often, and often rightly, precisely that which is held most tenaciously. The problem of value is often a complex one, but it is none the less a necessary one. That interpreters are already beginning to give practical recognition to this important phase of their task — asking, for example, not simply what ideas Paul expresses in his various epistles, but what was the source and genesis of these ideas, and how they were related to one another; which are vital and central, which peripheral and 'illustrative — is an encouraging mark of progress. The principle, we must believe, is destined to be yet more fully recognized, to be more exactly defined, and to become more influ- ential, not only in the constructive historical work, but in exegesis proper. III. New Testament History We come at length to consider that division of New Testament study in which, as already indicated, it culminates: New Testa- ment history, or, more accurately stated, the history of the rise of Christianity, including both the history of events and the history of thought. The definition of the field as that of the rise of Christianity, rather than as that for which the books of the New Testament furnish the material, has already been defended. The inclusion of events and teachings in one general division follows almost as a matter of 608 NEW TESTAMENT necessity from the recognition of the problem of the New Testament as essentially historical. The division of the field into that of New Testament theology and New Testament history, the latter dealing specially with the life of Christ and the life of Paul, while doubtless possessing some practical advantages, is open to serious objection, if it be considered as anything more than a division of convenience, and even thus can scarcely escape separating things that are intimately related. That is really the more scientific method of treatment which is adopted in such works as Weizsacker's Das apostolische Zeitalter and Pfleiderer's Urchristentum, but which has been less commonly and less thoroughly applied in the case of the life and teaching of Jesus. For, in fact, neither Jesus nor Paul nor any of the founders of Christianity were philosophers of the closet, who, dwelling in isolation, wrestled in solitude with the problems of ultimate being, but men of action whose doing and thinking were inseparably knit together; and neither can the teaching of Jesus be adequately understood in separation from the life, nor the doctrine of Paul in isolation from his whole experience. Nor can the division of the field be justified from the point of view of the end sought. While New Testament thought, whether that of Jesus, Paul, Peter, John, or Jude, was viewed as normative, New Testament theology was naturally enough distinct from New Testa- ment biography and history, and scarcely distinguishable in theory from Christian theology. The adoption of the historic point of view has compelled the recognition of the necessity for distinguishing the teachings of the various New Testament teachers and writers; it must in the end lead to the recognition of the essential unity of the historical problem, and bring all phases of it under the one category of the history of the rise of Christianity. If, as is doubtless the case, divisions of the field must be recognized for the sake of practical convenience, the lines of division will be drawn, not between deeds and words, but between the lives of individuals or between successive periods. The chief line of division will then necessarily fall between the life of Jesus and the apostolic age. The life of Jesus. If we assume that New Testament introduc- tion has already determined for us the sources of the life of Jesus, and that interpretation has given to us in detail the meaning of those sources, the problem of the life of Jesus is to reproduce as fully as those sources make possible the historic person, Jesus, in a true historic setting and with a true representation of his character, deeds, and teachings. Of the many specific problems which are involved in the one, it must suffice to name a very few of the most important questions which confront the New Testament historian to-day. And first of all let there be named one which enters as an element 609 into every other great problem that we might name. I mean, the historicity of the sources. The interpreter pure and simple may ask for the Jesus of the gospels or of a single gospel; the historian must seek the Jesus of historic fact. However congenial to Christian feeling it may be to assume that the two are identical, the New Testament historian cannot make that assumption. New Testament introduction by its classification of the sources and discovery of their relation to one another compels the recognition of the unequal value of different parts of the record. But the work which it thus begins it only begins. It furnishes certain criteria for the solution of the question of historicity, but cannot of itself solve all such ques- tions. Statements of a clearly derivative character are, indeed, thereby discredited. But that an assertion is made in a late docu- ment does not prove it false. And while the presence of a statement in the oldest sources creates a presumption in its favor which is to be overthrown only by strong evidence, yet tne possibility of error even in an original source cannot be a priori denied. And not only so, but the historian cannot ignore the fact that the original sources of the gospel narrative are, in part at least, original only in the sense that they are the original written form of a narrative which had been transmitted orally for a period of some years. Nor can he forget that even an eye-witness can only, strictly speaking, testify to his experience, yet as a rule must of necessity throw that testimony into the form of an interpretation of his experience, expressed in terms of objective fact. All these considerations, which pertain to the records of the life of Jesus in general, and yet others, demand to be taken into account when the historian confronts the difficult question of the historicity of the miraculous in the gospel narrative. That there were even in the life of Jesus miracles in the sense of events which lay outside the realm of law, the products of extra-legal, unprincipled divine action - to admit this is for the historian so difficult to-day, in the face of his knowledge of history, that he is compelled at least to scrutinize with extreme care the apparent evidence of such events. On the other hand, that Jesus wrought miracles in the sense at least in which, as testified by Paul, Christians of the apostolic age wrought them, is attested by evidence too strong to be set aside. That there were in the life of Jesus miracles which transcended the limits of anything that happened in the apostolic age or has happened since, it would be rash to deny. For the unparalleled is not of necessity extra- legal or unhistorical. But that the gospels contain narratives which, on the one hand, so far transcend human experience as otherwise historically known, and, on the other hand, are so lacking in the support of the oldest and most trustworthy sources, or so amenable to amendment on the basis of the distinction between the experience 610 NEW TESTAMENT of the observer and his interpretation of that experience, as to forbid the historian to give to them unqualified acceptance, must be admitted. No other problem of the New Testament historian more imperatively demands sober judgment and careful weighing of evidence than this determination of the class to which each of the apparently miraculous events recorded in the gospels really belongs. A second great problem of the life of Jesus pertains to the recovery of his teachings. As already indicated, the problem of historicity confronts us here also. If there is little room for doubt concerning his fundamental ethical teachings, or concerning his conception of relig- ion so far as it concerns the relation of men to the heavenly Father, or concerning his claim of authority as a moral teacher and as a moral leader, yet the problem ceases to be simple when it is asked what was his attitude toward the messianic idea, what he said con- cerning his own nature, and what was his expectation concerning the future of himself, his disciples, and the nations of the world. Criti- cism and interpretation become intimately interlaced, and questions of detail not simply contribute to, but wait upon, the solution of larger problems, such, for example, as the intellectual characteristics and horizon of Jesus. The question of the eschatology of Jesus is to-day in the forefront of discussion. Do the gospels, when their testimony has run the gauntlet of a just and discriminating criticism, and when that testi- mony has been set in the light of full knowledge of the apocalyptic ideas of the time, give us the evidence that Jesus shared the apoca- lyptic conceptions and expectations of his day, fitted his own esti- mate of himself and of his mission into the framework of those expectations, and looked for his own speedy return after death to inaugurate in Palestine a reign of the righteous both living and risen from the dead; and was this what he meant when he spoke of the kingdom of God as nigh at hand? Or when we view the testimony of the gospels in the light of the process by which those gospels arose, and of the unquestioned tendency to interpret Jesus' words by the conception of the future held by Jew and Christian alike (though not indeed in identical form) , and in the light of the sanity and thor- ough independence of the thought of his contemporaries that are so preeminently characteristic of Jesus, does it become more probable that the church has in its report of Jesus' teaching unintentionally confused the thought of Jesus concerning the coming of the kingdom of God with his thought concerning the coming of the Messiah, and unwittingly assimilated the memory of his teachings to its own expectations and hopes, than that Jesus, in other things so independ- ent in his thought, and so endowed with spiritual insight and dis- cernment, was in this matter caught in the stream of apocalypticism and assimilated his thought to that of his age? The question is PROBLEMS OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDY 611 one of far-reaching significance for our estimate of Jesus. If the trend of scholarly opinion at this hour seems almost wholly in one direction, it is still to be recognized that the discussion is not yet closed, and the final verdict may perhaps be different from that of this hour. A third great problem concerns the narratives of the resurrection. That behind these narratives, including the testimony of the apostle Paul, there were veritable experiences of the early Christians; that those experiences had a mighty influence in the production of the early Christian church; and that they kept alive, if they did not create, that faith which is at the very heart of Christianity, it is impossible to deny. But that the narratives present peculiar difficulties to the interpreter and the historian, that the experiences are themselves of a character to call for the most careful discrimination between the interpretation which the witnesses themselves put upon them and the objective facts that gave rise to the experience, and that to a record of veritable experiences there may have been added nar- ratives of inferior historical character — these things also it would be rash to deny. The truth that is at the heart of the resurrection narratives and of the faith of the early church in the resurrection, Christianity will never willingly surrender. But neither will it cease its inquiry into these records until it has determined with all possible exactness what actually happened in the experience of the disciples and at the tomb of Joseph. Of other problems that pertain to the life of Jesus, partly to his teachings, partly to more external matters, a bare catalogue of some of the most important must suffice. Such are the parentage of Jesus and the historicity of the narratives of the infancy, the question whether he possessed a consciousness of preexistence, the time and length of his ministry, and his relation to the baptism and the Lord's supper which we find as established usages of the apostolic church. But all these are of minor consequence, save as they contribute to the solution of that central and most vital problem of the life of Jesus, and indeed of all New Testament study, What is the signifi- cance of Jesus for religion? What is his place in human history? That this cannot be solved by lexicography and grammar, exegesis and documentary criticism, does not exclude it from the province of the New Testament student, but only emphasizes the largeness of his task. It is the goal toward which all study of the gospels must move, the hope of its attainment is the inspiration under which it labors. The apostolic age naturally falls into three parts, or is viewed from three points of view: primitive Christianity, the work of Paul, the Christianity of the later apostolic age. That Paul was the most potent single personality in the apostolic age can be doubted only by supposing that the extant records do not exhibit the facts in 612 NEW TESTAMENT anything like their just proportion. This, however, but makes it the more important to obtain the clearest possible picture of Christ- ianity as it was before Paul became a factor in the situation. Yet of literature from this period there is none, if the early date of James be denied, and we are therefore thrown back chiefly upon the tes- timony of the early chapters of Acts and the indirect evidence of the epistles of Paul. On the basis of a critical examination of this evidence, New Testament scholarship has to frame for itself as accu- rate a representation as possible of the company of Jesus' disciples, their faith, their hopes, their relation to one another, their thought about Jesus, especially concerning his death and resurrection, their relation to their fellow Jews, the steps by which they became more and more differentiated as a religious community from them, and the outward expressions of their religious life in organization, worship, and ritual. In the life and work of Paul New Testament scholarship finds a problem surpassed in interest and importance only by that which is presented by the life of Jesus. The end to be achieved is the discov- ery of the significance of that life as a reflection of, and a contribution to, Christianity in its plastic and formative period. The problem is psychological and biographical in its content, historical in its aim. It is a study of the experience of a man for the purpose of understand- ing a great historic movement. It can be solved only by a genetic study, which, taking full account of the environment, Greek, Jewish, and Christian, shall trace the course of Paul's experience, his in- tellectual and religious life, from his youth on through the days of his pharisaic zeal and of his career as a Christian apostle to its end. The recognition of the genetic character of the problem is not new. Weizsacker, Holsten, Feine, and Pfleiderer have all dealt with it from this point of view. Nor is it possible to enlarge the list of the factors which were influential in making Paul what he was: Old Testament history and literature; Pharisaic Judaism; primitive Christianity and its report of Jesus and his teaching; Paul's own personal experience, especially the vision of Jesus as raised from the dead ; and Hellenism, especially in its Alexandrian Jewish develop- ment. But the task of relating all these to one another, and of dis- covering how they acted and interacted in the mind and life of Paul, still calls for further study. Especially do we desiderate a clear perception of the significance which Paul attached to the death of Jesus, and of the sources and nature of his thought about the pre- cxistence of Jesus. Not less do we need that which has already been spoken of as necessary in connection with the problems of literary interpretation, — a clearer perception of the values which Paul himself attached to the several sources from which he drew his thought and to the several elements of his thought itself. Was PROBLEMS OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDY 613 the Old Testament, or Hellenism, or the transmitted teaching of Jesus, or his own personal experience, the ultimately controlling factor in his conception of what constituted the gospel? Or if to no one of them can be attributed the place of imperator, how did they relate themselves in his thought? Is it possible to define more exactly than has yet been done the precise attitude of Paul to the Old Testa- ment, to which he apparently ascribed authority in some sense, yet whose teachings on some matters he unhesitatingly and emphat- ically set aside? To a relative ranking of the sources from which he derived his opinions and convictions did there correspond a relative ranking of these opinions and convictions themselves? That Paul was a man of intense convictions there can be no manner of doubt. Did it result from this that all his opinions were convictions held with equal intensity and assurance; or is it rather true that the few central convictions that he held entered freely into combination, which might almost be described as chemical, with every phase of thought with which he came into contact, appropriating and con- verting to their own use whatever lent itself to such conversion, rejecting and consuming whatever threatened itself to destroy those governing ideas of the apostle? Is the gospel of Paul essentially and centrally eschatological? Is reembodiment as an element of the future blessedness of the believer vital to his thought, or the product of his gospel combined with the Palestinian Jewish anthropo- logy? Is the Christology of the later Pauline letters the late emerg- ence of an element held as vital and central from the beginning of his Christian thinking, or the late unfolding of what was latent in his primary thought, or the product of his primal conception of Jesus and contact with a type of thought with which he came into influential touch only in the latter part of his career? All these questions are but phases of the search for the real Paul, the effort to present him to ourselves not simply in a list of his deeds and a catalogue of his doctrines, but in the true perspective of his life and the emphasis of his thought; and this again to the end that we may more perfectly apprehend the history of the origin of Christianity. The problems of the later apostolic age are, as already indicated, complicated by questions of the authorship and date of the writings that constitute the sources for the period, and which are either con- fessedly of uncertain date and authorship, or are the subject of great difference of opinion on these points. That Christianity is in this period struggling to adjust itself to its environment, not by surrender, but by conquest, and this both in respect to Judaism and Hellenism, and at the same time to solidify the foundation on which it rests its faith — this is fairly clear. But possessing neither a connected narrative of events nor the clear presentation of any commanding 614 NEW TESTAMENT personality to guide it, scholarship still struggles with but imperfect success to reconstruct the story of Christianity in this later period. What were the experiences of the Jewish Christian communities, with their predilection for pharisaic legalism and apocalyptic messi- anism, and confronted by the downfall of the Jewish temple and state, are in some measure reflected in the first gospel and the Johan- nine apocalypse, if not also in the epistle to the Hebrews. How the Christian of Jewish extraction, but of universal sympathies, sought to commend the gospel to men of Greek ways of thinking, and to trans- late it into their forms of thought, we see in the Johannine gospel and epistles. But it is only as trees that we see men walking. The progress of past years gives reason to hope for still greater achievements in the future, but the goal of full understanding of this period still recedes. IV. Indirectly Contributory Sciences Concerning those lines of study which in our classification we designated as indirectly contributory, namely, the history of the canon, the history of the transmission and criticism of the text, the history of interpretation and of criticism, a very few words must suffice. They might all be included under the general title of the history of the attitude of the church toward the New Testament literature. Each division of the field is important, and each offers its own peculiar problems. If the history of interpretation and criticism belongs to New Testament study only as the history of any science belongs to that science, and has its value chiefly in enabling. us to criticise our own efforts and achievements in the light of the work of our predecessors, a knowledge of the history of the text, at least its early history, is 'an indispensable tool for the recovery of the text. And the early history of the canon, especially the history of the process by which the conception of the canon of the New Covenant arose and the limits of such canon were fixed, closely related as it is to the history of the origin of the books thus canonized, and showing the attitude of the church toward the literature which sprang from its own bosom, is of the highest value, not only for the light which it throws back upon questions of origin and date, and the possibilities in respect to anonymity, pseudonymity, and the like, but also as defining to what extent and in what sense Christianity was in its origin a book-religion. The limits of this paper forbid discussion, or even detailed enumeration, of the problems in this field. If I have in any measure truly apprehended and set forth the nature of the problems which to-day confront the student of the New Testament, I have shown that New Testament study is to-day an historical discipline; that progress is to be made precisely through the more perfect domination of it by the recognition of its historical PROBLEMS OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDY 615 character; that large and difficult as are the problems of the New Testament student as such, the ends for which he works and under the impulse to attain which he toils can be adequately achieved only as New Testament study is related, on the one side, to the study of the Old Testament and of later Judaism, and, on the other side, to the history of Christianity at large, and finally to the history of religion and the study of religious experience. SUPPLEMENTARY PAPERS PROFESSOR C. W. VOTAW, of the University of Chicago, presented an interesting paper on "The Oxyrhynchus Sayings in Relation to the Gospel-making Move- ment of the First and Second Centuries." The speaker said in part that the labors of Drs. Grenfell and Hunt, excavators for the Egypt Exploration Fund, have recently brought to our possession three short portions of extra-canonical second-century gospels. These papyri containing the Sayings of Jesus were un- earthed at Oxyrhynchus, one hundred and twenty miles south of Cairo, in 1897 and 1903. A description of these papyri and their condition followed, together with a careful comparative analysis of the Sayings. They are in part parallel to the Sayings of Jesus preserved in the canonical gospels, somewhat more than one half of the new material duplicating what is contained there, but in form these passages exhibit considerable differences from the canonical accounts and not a small degree of independence. There are also among the Oxyrhynchus Sayings some very important ones which the canonical gospels do not contain. Several of these have parallels in extra-canonical gospel Sayings quoted by the Church Fathers of the second and third centuries; a few have no parallels in any Christian literature. The main problems discussed were the exact meanings of the Sayings, and whether they are to be attributed to Jesus himself. The conclusion reached by the speaker was that the Sayings are fragments from one, two, or three second- century gospels; that the collection or collections of gospel material to which these Sayings belonged were of considerable extent; and that these Sayings, while of first-century origin, have been handed down without direct relation to the canonical gospels and are independent of any known gospel, even where parallel- isms exist. The gospel-making movement did not stop abruptly at 100 A.D., and although the canonical gospels entered the second century with great prominence and prestige, there was still to be a long period through which many other gospels were to compete with them for public favor. The question whether Jesus could have said this or that attributed to him in these fragments was a question which second-century Christians would scarcely have raised, and could not well have answered. They understood fairly well, and highly appreciated, Jesus and his teaching. He was to them of supreme interest and importance. But they did not apply a rigid method of historical investigation to the oral and written tradition of his life. The canonical gospels increasingly manifested their superiority over all other gospels, from the time of their composition until the latter part of the second century, when they became the only fully recognized evangelic narratives. They early surpassed in favor and use such collections as the Oxyrhynchus Sayings represent, for they were in the main nearer in form to the original utterances of Jesus, better in arrangement, and more complete in their contents. It was right that they should increase, and these other competing gospels decrease. PROFESSOR WILLIAM BENJAMIN SMITH, of Tulane University, New Orleans, La., presented a paper on the "Meaning of the Epithet Nazorean (Nazarene)." The text of the paper was drawn from Matthew 2: 22-23, " Being warned of God in a dream, he withdrew into the parts of Galilee, and came and dwelt in a city called Nazareth: that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophets, that he should be called a Nazorean." In a most interesting critical discussion the speaker SUPPLEMENTARY PAPERS 617 pointed out the unreality of the reason assigned in the text, and that it was no- where spoken through the prophets that he should be called the Nazorean; but inasmuch as the name was attached to Jesus, the least objectionable way to derive it was from a place of early residence. A city or town called Nazareth, however, saems to have been a geographical imagination, unmentioned in the Old Testa- ment, in the Talmud, in Josephus, in Apocrypha, or anywhere prior to Eusebius. In fact, none of the histories or traditions mention the city or town as based on decisive testimony. The epithet "Nazorean," however, occurs repeatedly in the oldest layers of the gospel-story, without any suggestion of tendency, especially in Acts. It is used also in the Talmud and Koran. The name seems to have been highly distinctive and familiar, and it would be passing strange if it were derived from a most obscure village otherwise unknown. It is used most often in denoting the Christians and in nearly all of its etymological relations is connected with the Hebrew Nosrim. This word occurs repeatedly in the Old Testament in the one sense of "guards" or "watchers," and its root.nasar, is one of the best known in the Semitic lan- guages, meaning always to watch, observe, keep guard, defend, and preserve. In the latter sense it occurs repeatedly in the cuneiform inscriptions, with the same meaning. Now since ha-N6srlm was thus the perfectly familiar term for the Guards, the Preservers, it follows that when the term was used, or its Greek equi- valent " ol vafapatoi," the suggestion of the well-known meaning was inevitable. Even if the name had actually been derived from the hamlet of Nazareth, no one would have thought so ; every one would have thought of the household meaning instantly and irresistibly. If a class of persons were called the Preservers, every one would understand it so, as they that preserve ; no one would dream of deriving their name from the unknown village of Preserveth. We insist upon this because it seems decisive. It seems reasonably certain that vafapalos had originally nothing to do with the imaginary village Nazareth; that it was a descriptive appellative, like others so commonly appended to Divine names, both classic and Semitic (cf. Zeus Xenios, Hermes Psychopompos, Dionysos Hypokolpios, Apollo Pythios, and the like); that it designated the Deity in the aspect, character, or person of Guardian, Preserver, being nearly identical in meaning with 6 'Irivovs, the Saviour. 10 -i j>. 'Jilt ,; <>mu« DJ ^l slid// ".ji( GOLGOTHA Photogravure from the Painting by Jean Leon Gerdme Golgotha, the scene of the Crucifixion of Christ, was situated without the gates of Jerusalem on the east side of the city, although the common opinion, handed down from the Middle Ages, erroneously places it to the northwest. In the fourth century a church was built by Constantino over what was sup- posed to be the site of the Crucifixion. According to some authorities, the present mosque of Omar, called by the Mohammedans " The Dome of the Rock," occupies the real site of the Cruci- fixion of Christ. St. Matthew, St. Mark, and St. John refer to the site as " Golgotha," while St. Luke calls it Calvary. " Then delivered he him therefore unto them to be crucified. And they took Jesus, and led him away. And he bearing his cross went forth into a place called the place of a skull, which is called in the Hebrew, Golgotha, where they crucified him, and two others with him, on either side one, and Jesus in the midst." — St. John xix, 16-18. SECTION E HISTORY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH SECTION E HISTORY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH (Hall 2, September 24, 10 a. TO.) CHAIRMAN: PROFESSOR ERI BAKER HULBERT, University of Chicago. SPEAKERS: PROFESSOR ADOLF HARNACK, University of Berlin. PROFESSOR JEAN REVILLE, University of Paris. THE RELATION BETWEEN ECCLESIASTICAL AND GENERAL HISTORY BY KARL GUSTAV ADOLF HARNACK (Translated from the German by Prof. T. Bailey Saunders, by courtesy of The Contemporary Review) [Karl Gustav Adolf Harnack, Professor of Sacred History, University of Berlin, Germany, b. May 7, 1851, Dorpat, Russia. Privat-docent, Leipzig, 1874-76; Special Professor, Leipzig, 1876-79; Regular Professor, Giessen, 1879-86; ibid. Berlin, 1886— — . Member Royal Academy of Sciences of Prussia, Scientific Committee of Royal Prussian Historical Institute of Rome, and various other societies. Author of History of Old Christian Literature; Text-book of the History of Dogmas; The Essential Characteristics of Christianity; together with many other noted works and papers on sacred history.] How is ecclesiastical history related to general history? This is a question which is either not treated at all in text-books on ecclesi- astical history or treated very briefly. The omission is easy to under- stand, for it proceeds from a view taken in earlier times and not yet exploded. The ancient and the medieval church regarded the his- tory of the church as something that differed from the history of the world. The Catholic churches of our own day still regard it in the same light. They are convinced that the church is under God's special guidance, possesses an infallible doctrine, is governed by men appointed by the Deity Himself, and has received a promise that it shall remain unchanged until the end of all things. The church and its affairs are thus sharply separated from the rest of history; and while the rest of history, of course, exercises an effect on the church, the effect is only on the circumference and does not reach the centre. This way of looking at the matter found its classical expression in the earliest account which we possess of ecclesiastical history, namely, that given by Eusebius. According to him the history of the church is only the further operation and fuller development of the fact that in Jesus Christ the divine Logos came down from heaven, and since that time the history of the church has a place 622 HISTORY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH within ordinary history as a history of another kind. This is a view which is in no way affected by putting the beginnings of ecclesiastical history in some sense or other as far back as the beginnings of the human race. Such, indeed, was the attempt which Eusebius, fol- lowing Justin Martyr, tried to make, and which Augustine actually carried out in his great work On the City of God. But by going back to the beginnings of the human race it is obvious that the whole conception of a church and its history may easily be frittered away and destroyed. There were liberal theologians in early times and in the Middle Ages who thus destroyed it — Abelard, for instance. This, however, was not the way in which the church itself understood that its history should be carried back. On the contrary, it clings to the belief that within the general course of events there is a sacred history which is supernatural. The Protestants of the sixteenth century did not really break with this conception. They did, indeed, deny that the church with its external forms and its government was a divine creation. The whole idea of the church they explained from within. But of the spirit- ualized church, which they often saw only in the form of a small community, they asserted very much the same thing as Catholicism maintains of its big church. They hardly did anything to shake the notion that there were two kinds of events, and the church remained, as before, the scene of a second history. Orthodoxy in the Protestant churches in our own day still persists in this view. Whether there is any fundamental justification for it is a question on which we shall touch at the close; but certain it is that in the form in which ortho- doxy still clings to the idea it is untenable. The very fact that there is absolutely no criterion by which we can distinguish two kinds of history is enough to destroy it. Moreover, it is also shown to be incorrect by the further fact that all the forces which the church was unwilling to recognize as of equal importance with itself, it had to combat as enemies, thus producing a state of permanent unrest. Finally, experience itself refutes this view, for only when belief in a special kind of history was given up did the history of the church begin to be understood. It was in the seventeenth century that certain enlightened spirits first shook off this wrong notion. The eighteenth century further developed the knowledge thus won; in the nineteenth it was partly obscured again, but in the end it held its own. We can now say: The history of the church is part and parcel of universal history, and can be understood only in connection with it. But if the history of the church is a part of universal history, it is closely bound up with other factors and developments, not as some- thing alien, but as something akin to them; nay, it is only when thus bound up that it exists at all. The more attention we pay to these ECCLESIASTICAL AND GENERAL HISTORY 623 connections, the better we shall understand it. There are four large departments of history with which we are here specially concerned : I. Political history. II. The history of religion in general. III. The history of philosophy and of knowledge as a whole. IV. Economic history. I have purposely refrained from speaking of the history of civiliza- tion in particular, because it cannot be treated scientifically without being divided into various sections. i; Political history, in the widest sense of the word, is history proper; for on the way in which men are formed into communities, every- thing else that happens and all development depend. We may say, then, that the history of the state is the backbone of general history. If we fail to recognize this we reduce history to a series of romances or a sort of clever argument. For the scientific study of ecclesiastical history, therefore, we must insist, first, that the political or social character of the church shall be kept well in mind; and secondly, that its relation to the state in which it grew up, and to the states and communities in and among which it lives, shall be carefully examined. That the church is a political organization has, of course, in some form or other, always been recognized. Even Eusebius spoke of it as a "polity." But it was only with the historian Mosheim that the first serious attempt was made to present this point of view. Up to his time people shrank from doing so, because they feared, not without reason, that the " divine " nature of the church would suffer .if its political character were placed in the foreground. The clue which Mosheim gave was not sufficiently attended to by the philo- sophical historians in the Romantic movement during the first half of the nineteenth century, unless I except Richard Rothe; nay, even now the correct view has yet to make its way. The results which it gives us I may state at once : In every age the first thing to consider is the constitution of the church. But in every period of the history of the church its constitution has been dependent on the general political conditions and ideas of the time; or, to put the matter more accurately, the church has at all times shown a tendency to copy within itself the constitution of the state in which it lived, or to prescribe to the state the constitution which the state was to have. The truth of this proposition may be proved at every point in the history of the church. Consider the Roman Catholic Church — what else is it but the old Roman Empire reproduced in the ecclesiastical domain? At the opposite pole to the Roman Church stand the Free 624 HISTORY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH Congregational churches. But do not they, too, correspond to the political ideal which prevailed in the land of their birth at the time when they arose, and still prevails? And all the different forms of churches which lie between these two extreme limits — are they riot all of them ecclesiastical imitations of the political constitutions in and among which they exist? Everywhere the constitution of the church has followed the pattern set for the time being by the state, or anticipated the constitution which the state was to take. But by tending to copy the constitution of the state in which it lives, the church comes into a double relation to the state — a friendly and a hostile relation. Up to a certain point this tendency helps the state to carry out its necessary aims. Yet on the other hand, as a result of this same tendency, the church becomes the rival of the state. The state must inevitably desire that everything devel- oped within its borders shall be homogeneous with it, so far as law, authority, and the relations of the various classes are concerned. In this sense it is very glad to extend its toleration, nay, even to give privileges, to a community formed in accordance with its regulations. But the church, as a religious community, also possesses rights of its own, and as soon as it extends these over the whole field of its political organization, it enters into secret or open opposition to the state: it becomes its rival. The conflicts, however, which in these circumstances were inevit- able, led to complications of a still greater kind. For, in the first place, the church claimed to be the legitimate successor of the theo- cratic Jewish State, however much it also emphasized the fact that it itself was something new and of a different nature. In making this claim it at once, protest as it might to the contrary, advanced polit- ical pretensions of the most comprehensive character, even if at first it asserted them only negatively. In the second place, the church was not content with simply copying within itself elements in the organization of the state. It refused to allow anything that it copied to have any value outside its own pale. By its own marriage-law it depreciated the civil marriage-law. By the development of its official hierarchy it lowered the authority of the state officials. By its Papacy it lowered the Imperial dignity. Finally, in the third place, after compelling the state to accept the Christian creed, it put the state into a position of the greatest difficulty. By accepting the creed, the state placed itself on the ground taken by the church, and declared the ideals of the church to be the right and the highest ideals. If it was now driven to defend itself against the claims of the church to be master, it was compelled to fight with broken weapons, because it dared not attack the ultimate principles of the church from which its own power was derived. The " Christian " state, then, when confronted by the church, was bound to come off worst; for it was only half what the church was entirely. The Christian state is the state undermined and sucked dry by the church. It is like a towering tree brought to decay by the creeper that has fed on its sap. But when the state decays the national consciousness is always in danger of disappearing as well. With certain exceptions, however, things did not come to this pass even in the Middle Ages. In the East the state found ways and means of taking over important functions of theocratic government, and of effecting an intimate fusion between church and nationality. In the West the tension between church and state led to struggles which promoted the progress of civilization; for at the very moment when the church appeared to have attained its aim, the proof was afforded that, however capable it may be of winning a victory, the church is unable to keep possession of the field. Nay, the great developments then began which led to the formation of our modern states and of the Protestant churches. It is part of the very charac- ter of modern states that they no longer are, or aim at being, Christ- ian in the same sense as medieval states, and Protestant churches have either wholly or in part given up all theocratic pretensions. But in this connection we must not overlook the fact that even the constitutions and ecclesiastical ideals of the Protestant churches, although they derive their basis from the inherent nature of Protest- antism and from the Bible, are in strict dependence on the political theories and ideals which modern times have produced. The state church, the national church, more particularly as it is developed in Germany, offers in all its stages a precise parallel to the developments of the modern state, and the various theories of the state. In the same way, wherever free churches are formed, they are dependent upon the republican and democratic ideas of the period. The converse, it is true, has also happened : a Christian idea has preceded the polit- ical idea; but it was the political idea which first produced an ecclesiastical polity corresponding to it. The Christian idea, too, as a rule, asserted itself only when political ideas akin to it came to its aid. This shows us that the study of political history is the necessary preliminary to the study of ecclesiastical history. Without it the most important developments remain unintelligible. In the history of the church, however, every stage of the political history of the last two thousand years is still, as it were, actually present. In the two great Catholic churches, the Roman and the Greeco-Russian, the forms and tendencies of the Middle Ages are embodied; they still live on in them and still threaten us to-day — in Jesus Christ's name - with that Babylonian theocracy which destroys all national and individual freedom. We know how it came about that this universal theocratic ideal could establish itself on Christian ground. A great 626 HISTORY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH fraternity embracing the whole human race — have we not there one of the inalienable ideals of Christendom, yet also an ideal which gave room for the mistaken notion, nourished as it was by Old Testament ideas, that this union could be attained in the quickest and safest way by a universal political church-system? The notion is far from being exploded, but it will be driven from the field just in proportion as the ideal of a Christian fraternity on the basis of freedom becomes a power. On the basis of freedom — and on the basis of nationalities; for another lesson which political history, when examined in connection with ecclesiastical history, teaches us is that in the latter nationalities play an enormous part, and that any attempt to get rid of them is in vain. Every great nationality has made itself at home in the church in its own way. We can distinguish a Greek, a Latin, a German, an English, an American church-system, etc., etc., and the distinctions that obtain here are more important than all others. They are appar- ent, above all, in the mode of worship and in the way in which Christ- ianity is practiced; but even the development of doctrine has always been subject to strong national influences. No one who overlooks these distinctions, or explains them wrongly, can help falling into the grossest mistakes and making history obscure. The Christian fra- ternity at which we aim will come, not as a union of denationalized individuals, but as a union of friendly peoples, each one of which will have developed the best qualities of its race and nationality. This cannot take place unless each nation knows its own and others' national peculiarities. Nor can the ecclesiastical historian dispense with this knowledge if he wishes to understand the past and prepare for the future of the church. II National history leads us direct to the history of religion in general; for the religions of the peoples to which the church came are very closely bound up with their national peculiarities. If, then, we are to study the history of the Christian religion, a thorough knowledge of the religions of the Greek, the Roman, the Germanic peoples, etc., is necessary. What resistance did these religions offer, what kind of resistance was it, in what respect was it strongest and in what weak- est, and by what means did the church overcome it? — these are the questions which at once arise and demand an answer if we are to understand the history of the church. But there is something more. We should be very short-sighted if we conceived the relation between the Christian religion and other religions solely as a contradiction. That they, too, have had an influence on the development of the Christian religion has long been ECCLESIASTICAL AND GENERAL HISTORY 627 known. Formerly, indeed, it was believed that this influence must be limited to the Christian heresies. It was held that the existence of the Gnostic sects and the rise of other phenomena were to be explained by the influence of paganism on Christianity. But it has become evident in an increasing degree that the church itself was also affected by the alien religions with which it fought. Their influ- ence is apparent in the most varied fields, but especially where rites and ceremonies, sacraments, and popular religious ideas are con- cerned. In Catholicism a religion of the first and a religion of the second order can be distinguished as existing side by side. If the first kind was to a considerable degree affected, the second was very strongly determined by extra-Christian superstitions. To investigate the extent of this influence in regard to each particular problem is always, no doubt, a task demanding a great deal of care and critical tact. We are more inclined in these days to overvalue than to under- value the influence of alien religions, and we are too ready to assert dependence where all that is in question is a parallel set of phenom- ena, developing here and there spontaneously. The abuse of this method, however, must not prevent us from seeing that there are many important phenomena in the inner history of the church which can be explained only by taking account of alien religions; and that, when we are dealing with this history, to look at it from the point of view of the general history of religions is a method that has already borne rich fruit and promises still more. But it is not enough to study the influence of alien religions on the history of Christianity. Nay, we have seen with increasing clearness in the last few decades that the origin, too, of Christianity cannot be understood without taking account of them. The Christian relig- ion, no doubt, is the religion of Jesus Christ; but it came when "the time was fulfilled." The Christian religion, then, is the Jewish religion fulfilled, that is to say, brought to a completion and trans- figured. But the Jewish religion in Jesus' time was not a simple affair; on the contrary, through the labors of the prophets and the influence of other religions it had become a spiritualized but also a highly complex fabric. In the breadth of its development it w;as a syncretistic religion, but even on its inner side it was deepened and enriched by extra-Jewish elements. In the course of its transform- ation into Christianity it did not lose these component parts of its nature. That is why we must go back to Babylon and Assyria, to Egypt and Persia, to discover the origin of important elements in Christianity. We are doing this to-day, but in doing it we too often overlook the more serious and difficult business of studying the changes in meaning which the received elements underwent. Merely to state that they exist, and to say whence they come, carries us a very little way. Nay, we shall become involved in huge misunder- 628 HISTORY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH standings and confusions if we do not attend to the place which the old material held and the new meaning which it received in the Christian Church from the very beginning. It is no doubt true that the seven great Angels came from Babylon, the Devil from Persia, the Logos from Greece. But in the gospel and the apostolic writings the Devil means something different from Ahriman, and the Logos of John and Ignatius is not the Logos of Philo. We can only desire with all our hearts that not only in regard to the Old Testament, but also in regard to the New, the investigation of religious history shall go on; but we must just as earnestly insist that in this process the great changes in the meaning of ideas and conceptions shall be clearly kept in view. Even where the dependence of Christian ideas and practices on pagan is particularly evident — I mean in the case of the sacraments — we must not be content with merely pointing out this dependence; for the Christian doctrine of the sacraments has char- acteristic features of its own; as is proved, for example, by Justin Martyr's account of baptism. There is another reason, too, why we must study the history of religion in general. We must study it not only because the history of the church in nearly all its stages has acted on other religions and been itself affected by them, but also because a complete understand- ing of one religion cannot possibly be obtained without a knowledge of others. It is true that the historian of the Christian Church is here at an advantage compared with the historian of any other religion; for Christianity — together with its precursor, Judaism — is, in space and time, content and development, something so universal that almost all conceivable religious phenomena are to be found in its history. Nevertheless we cannot hope to obtain a definitive know- ledge of Christianity unless we compare it with other religions. We run too great a risk of taking what is important for what is unim- portant, what is primary for what is secondary, and vice versa, if we do not compare — so far as comparisons are at all possible. Here, too, the words of the poet apply: Ehe es sich riindet in einem Kreis 1st kein Wissen vorhanden; Ehe nicht Einer Alles weiss 1st die Welt nicht verstanden. I do not, of course, mean that our Faculties of Christian Theology should be turned into Faculties of the General History of Religion - we are not here concerned with any merely academic question — but still I am quite sure that the student must not separate the history of Christianity from this wider history, and that the progress of know- ledge depends on observing the connection of both. Ill The history of religion in general leads us to the psychology of religion, and here we have a fresh means of understanding the facts of ecclesiastical history. It is only in the last ten years that we have begun to bring religious psychology and the comparative history of religion into connection with each other, and we have thereby ob- tained some very valuable results already. Let me specially mention the labors of William James. They have shown us that to study the history of the Christian religion on its dogmatic side alone is not enough, and that together with and previous to this study we can and must pay attention to the fundamental manifestations of religion themselves. In this way the independent character of the religious life has been more vividly brought to mind, and we have been able to get a better view of the question as to what is morbid and what is healthy in religion, what is eccentric and what is central. Still, these investigations are more applicable to the religions before Christianity than to Christianity itself; for, owing to the close con- nection between religion and ethics which Christianity exhibits, all manifestations of religion that are devoid of an ethical meaning lose their force. They seem to us only just tolerable but not characteristic or normal expressions of religion. Then again, the clear and certain character of the Christian idea of God leaves no room for a state of religious emotion based on the feeling that the Deity is a dark and overwhelming force. Christian piety, as the apostle Paul says, is a "reasonable service/' and therefore it stands nearer to the highest qualities and activities of the mind than to the lower. To philosophy, too, therefore, and to knowledge generally it stands in close relation. This was noticed even in the earliest ages. The Christian apologists of the second century explained Greek philo- sophy as due to the same spirit of which the full revelation was exhibited in Jesus Christ; and Clement of Alexandria regarded it, equally with the Old Testament, as a preliminary stage of the Christ- ian religion. The development of dogma in the primitive church stood under the influence of Greek philosophy, more especially of Platonism; and in the Middle Ages Aristotle helped to build up the church's intellectual system. In modern times the philosophy of Leibnitz, Kant, Hegel, and Schelling has had its effect on Protestant dogmatics; and in our own day theology has been strongly influ- enced by the modern theory of knowledge and by psychology gener- ally, as well as by the theory of development. This is all so evident and so notorious that there is no need to expatiate on the fact that without a knowledge of the history of philosophy we cannot study the history of the church. But Hegel and his followers ask us to take a step further: Christian doctrine and 630 HISTORY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH philosophy, they say, are not only intertwined with each other, are not only akin to each other, but are in the last resort identical. The considerations leading to this hypothesis are as follows: Religion exhibits the relation between man and the Absolute, and a knowledge of the Absolute is that to which our intellectual efforts are directed. In the lower stages of religion, however, this relation is at best only felt; and hence these stages are incomplete, particularistic, and incumbered with alien matter. As development progresses they become more and more pure and spiritual, until they reach their culminating point in Christianity. God is then revealed and recog- nized as the absolute and immanent Spirit. According to this view, the history of the formation and development of Christian dogma is the real history of the Christian religion; and the most important elements, too, in dogma are the speculative assertions, especially those on the nature of the Trinity and on Christology ; for in them the pure, pantheistic knowledge of God comes to expression, in part clearly and plainly, in part only lightly veiled. In this way the history of philo- sophy and the history of higher, especially of the Christian, religion, are, rightly understood, identical; nay, in their identity we get not only the true history of the human spirit but also the history of God Himself: in this history the Absolute Spirit "has come to itself." This magnificent conception of the history of the church is not, indeed, without some value; but, for all that, it cannot be accepted. That the knowledge of God as the Absolute Spirit forms a main element in the Christian religion is true. On the other hand, since the aim of philosophy is to get at the ultimate reasons for everything, and these are not to be found in anything material, an elective affinity is thereby established between philosophy and spiritual religion. Moreover, the higher forms of religion have at all times made use of philosophical thought in order to justify the idea of God and give it a fuller development; and, conversely, philosophy has taken account of the ideas expressive of religious and more particularly of Christian faith. But these circumstances must not blind us to the fact that religion and a philosophical theory of the world, so long as the latter keeps to its own ground, are two different things. Religion is a definite state of feeling and will, basing itself on inner experience and on historical facts. This it remains even in its higher stages; and hence the intellectual element in it, although an absolutely necessary ele- ment, always takes the second place. Again, religion is never "dis- interested," as any theory must be; on the contrary, it has to do with hopes and aspirations; nay, we may even say that religion is the instinct of self-preservation in a higher form — an instinct, however, which in the Christian religion is not concerned with the empirical Ego and with earthly life, but with the inmost core of this Ego, which in another world, the world of Freedom and the Good, sees its ECCLESIASTICAL AND GENERAL HISTORY 631 true home. Philosophy cannot and may not know anything of all this, except in so far as it calls religion to its aid when it attempts to study the philosophy of religion. For without religion philosophy remains bound down to the five senses and the whole apparatus of psychology and logic, which everywhere carry it back to at least two fundamental factors and one uniform process. In religion, on the other hand, it is one fundamental factor and two processes which we are led to accept. The obscurities to which this state of things sometimes give rise; the "belief" of philosophy in the unity of the fundamental factor and the -half-belief of the theologians in the God of religion, have produced endless confusion in the course of history, and brought about the erroneous notion that the results of pure knowledge and of religion are essentially akin to each other or even identical. No! they are different; they are two parallel lines which — religious philosophy apart, which is not pure philosophy — are connected only, as it were, by the bridge of certain analogies, or by the flights of fancy which merge their different fields into one in order to give them life. However — be the distance between them what it may — in the actual history of things they are very closely bound up with each other. They have done each other great service, and together they represent the higher life of humanity. How much does religion, even the Christian religion, owe to the progressive achievements of philosophy and the various forms of knowledge! How much they have done to purify it, to clear it of false ideas, and to free it from impossible pretensions! Religion, no doubt, is very tenacious in clinging to old prejudices, and the history of the relation between philosophy and religion is also the history of a struggle. Andrew White has described it for us. Religion seems always to have had to surrender; but it only seems. All that it did was to abandon out- works that were no longer of any use to it. It shed the leaves in which there was no more life. On the other hand, in none of the intellectual systems that have prevailed from time to time has the human mind ever spoken its last word, and nearly all of them have borrowed something from religion. The human mind has had to take these systems back again and again, and put others in their place. The more closely and attentively the ecclesiastical historian examines this struggle of the mind in itself and in its relation to religion, the deeper he will go, and the more indispensable he will make the study of his subject to the science of history as a whole. IV We said just now that the human mind has never spoken its last word in any of the intellectual systems that have prevailed from time to time. Is that true? Have we not, perhaps, its last word in the 632 HISTORY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH theory which tells us that it is economic conditions — I mean food, the supply of food, and the place where it can be obtained — which ultimately determine all intellectual life and all higher development, including that of religion? I must not try within the limits of this lecture to explain my reasons for declining to accept such a theory. I may say, however, that it seems to me to be refuted by the mere fact that the most material element acting upon man always produces feelings and ideas which themselves act as forces in their turn, and stand in no simple proportionate relation to their material causes. Moreover, as long as men continue to sacrifice their possessions, their blood, and their life, for ideal aims, it will be impossible for any one to maintain the materialistic view of history except with the help of sophisms. But although we decline to explain everything that happens by the play of economic conditions, we may still gratefully acknowledge that this latest, the economic, view of history has shed and will con- tinue to shed a great deal of light on the history of the church. Let me show what I mean by a few examples. The great extension of Christianity in the early centuries cannot be explained without keeping the social and economic views and practices of the Christian communities in view. Every one of these communities not only tried to relieve the poor, to provide for widows and orphans, the sick, the weak, those who were out of work or persecuted, etc., but it was also a regular association for mutual help. By the union of all these com- munities in the Empire into a firm alliance with one another a social organism arose which could not fail to attract, in the highest degree, the economically unfortunate. That this is really what happened is shown by pagan writers themselves. It was shown, for instance, by Lucian in his Peregrinus Proteus. But not only did the church step in where social relations were concerned ; its thoughts and ideas were also determined by its attitude in questions of economics. iThe distrust which the church shows toward wealth and capital is in part to be explained by the poverty of the early communities; and here, too, its theories about earthly possessions have one of their roots. When it afterwards came to number both rich and poor in its ranks, it retained that distrust. This had a very paradoxical result: The dangers of wealth, it was said, exist only for the individual Christian; they do not exist for the church, which is preserved from them by its sacred character. There is no harm, then, in the church becoming rich. Rich, accord- ingly, it became. Part of its wealth was due to the fact that in the dark days of inner and outer convulsion a man's possessions and his capital were still safest under its protection. Hence men often handed over their property to the church, not only in order to save their souls, but also to secure themselves from high-handed acts or ECCLESIASTICAL AND GENERAL HISTORY 633 sheer robbery. The church entered on the Middle Ages as a great and wealthy and therefore aristocratic power; and the immense struggles between Emperor and Pope, Princes and Bishops, were all in the last resort struggles for wealth and dominion. The whole history of the church in the Middle Ages may there- fore, nay must, be studied from the economic point of view. This is very evident even in the history of monasticism. Up to the time when the orders of mendicant friars arose, the development of Western monasticism has a place in the history of the large landed estate. An abbey would sometimes form the centre of such an estate, and the abbot nolens volens had to provide for his monastery before he provided for the spiritual welfare of his monks. But even the move- ment which produced the mendicant friars very quickly became in its turn part and parcel of an economic movement, although of a different kind. Light may also be shed on the development of the Papacy from the same source, for one of the conditions of its becoming a sovereign power was the possession of landed property. In the struggle about the investiture of the bishops the questions at issue were concerned just as much with property as with dominion; and as a European power whose possessions were not on a par with its position, the Papacy was especially affected by the economic upheaval which took place in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. If it was to survive, ready money had to be collected from all sides. To get money it had to raise its spiritual pretensions in every direction, and make them into fresh rights; nay, more, it had to multiply the means of grace which the church offered, and exploit them as financial resources. Just because it was a financial power, however, the Papacy now began to excite distrust and dislike, and this it was that paved the way for the reforming movements. We can thus see how greatly religious theories and ecclesiastical arrangements were dependent on this development. Of the new sacramental observances, of the multitudinous rites and ceremonies, and of the fresh dogmas framed upon them, a large number had their origin in economic and financial necessities. In this respect the upheaval which the Reformation denoted did not involve any radical change. Here, too, economic and social con- ditions played a great part. That the Reformation got the upper hand among a portion of the German people was due, first and fore- most, to the princes, who aimed at creating territorial churches for themselves and being masters in their own house. In this connection, however, we must not forget that in the larger towns and in the country districts the Reformation assisted the class consciousness of certain aspiring orders in the community, and that, on the other hand, the knights of the Empire, who were in a bad way economically, attempted by its means to regain their previous position. But it is in 634 HISTORY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH France and, above all, in England, that the close connection between the Reformation and social and economic conditions is particularly plain. Even after England had shaken off the Papacy it was social and economic conditions which determined religious parties and struggles: the King and the aristocracy held to the church of the Thirty-nine Articles; the higher middle classes were Presbyterian; the aspiring lower middle classes were Puritan and rallied to Crom- well's flag. When we look, too, at the way in which, both there and in Protestant Germany, the character and aims of the church were then settled by the theologians, it is plain that side by side with political conditions the theories adopted were strongly acted on by social influences as well. These influences extend even to dogmatics and ethics (the "divinely appointed" orders), and to show that in detail is one of the tasks of the future. We must never allow ourselves to forget, however, that behind the economic factors there are always the political, and that it is these that really turn the scale. In power and effect they outweigh all other factors, so far as externals are concerned. That the history of the church is most closely bound up and inter- woven with all the great branches of general history, is what I have tried to show. In recognizing this fact, and in shaping our study accordingly, there may possibly be some risk of our losing sight of or undervaluing the special character which attaches to the history of the church. We shall guard ourselves against any such danger if we always bear in mind that all our labors in this sphere ought to help us to throw light on the question, What is the Christian religion? This must ever remain the guiding-star of our researches, however wide the range which they will have to take. If ecclesiastical history loses sight of that guiding-star, it will also lose the right to form a special subject of study within the science of history. If it follows that star, then what is characteristic of every independent subject of knowledge will also hold good of it — that it unveils itself only to the man who devotes himself entirely to it. Grimm once made the fine observation that knowledge has no secrets, though it has its secrecies; it has no Geheimnisse, but it has Heimlichkeiten. The history of the church also has its Heimlichkeiten. The man who is half-hearted in his efforts about it will see nothing; it is only when he woos it with the loyalty of a Jacob that he will win the bride. In the history of the church, however, these Heimlichkeiten go very deep and are very precious. We have seen that there is no such thing as a double history, and that everything that happens enters into the one stream of events. But there is a single inner experience which every one can possess; which to every one who possesses it is like a miracle; and which cannot be simply explained as the product ECCLESIASTICAL AND GENERAL HISTORY 635 of something else. It is what the Christian religion describes as the New Birth — that inner, moral, new creation which transmutes all values, and of the slaves of compulsion makes the children of freedom. Not even in the history of the church can any one get a direct vision of this inner evolution accomplished in the individual, nor by any external facts whatever can any one be convinced of its possibility and reality. But the light which shines from it throws its rays on what happens on the stage, and lets the spectator feel in his heart that the forces of history are not exhausted in the natural forces of the world, or in the powers of head and hand. This is the Heimlichkeit of the history of the church because it is the Heimlichkeit of religion. PROGRESS OF ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY, ESPECIALLY ANCIENT, DURING THE NINETEENTH CENTURY BY JEAN REVILLE [Jean Reville, Professor of History of Christian Literature, University of Paris; Directeur d'Etudes in Church History at 1'Ecole des Hautes Etudes, Paris; Directeur Revue de 1'Histoire des Religions, b. 1854, Rotterdam, Netherlands, of French parentage. D.D. University of Paris, 1886. Minister, Lutheran Church at Sainte Suzanne, 1880-83; Chaplain, Reformed Church, Lyc6e Henri IV, Paris, 1886-94; Maltre de conference, 1886; Directeur d'Etudes, 1903, a 1'Ecole des Hautes Etudes; Secretaire de la Section des Sciences re- ligieuses de 1'Ecole des Hautes Etudes since 1886. Author of many books in French on religious subjects; Le protestantisms liberal; La Religion fi Rome sous les Severes, etc., some of which have been translated into German, the first one also into English.] LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, — In this paper I have to condense the progress of ecclesiastical history during the nineteenth century and to describe its present state. Ecclesiastical history, that is, the history of the Christian Church in all its forms and of the Christian religion in all its varieties, is a very extensive science, including the whole religious and moral history of the Christian world. And that history itself is intimately joined to the whole of the spiritual life as well as to the political, social, and economical evolutions of the different Christian peoples. It is not in a few minutes that one can draw up an inventory of such an immense field.1 My aim is only to put down some guiding-marks, which may be fit to point out the progressive course of this history, especially in the field of ancient Christianity, and to show the present direction of our studies. Ecclesiastical history is born out of the Renaissance and the Reformation.2 In the Middle Ages there were chroniclers, not properly historians. The Reformation, while claiming to be a restitution of pure primitive Christian doctrines and institutions which had been spoiled and corrupted by the Roman Church, was obliged to justify such a pretension by historical proofs.3 The Catholics, at the other side, endeavored to refute the historical arguments of the Protest- ants.4 Ecclesiastical history, thus from the very outset subdued to church controversy, took first a confessional character. But the passion of the contest and the importance of the cause imparted 1 Amongst the conditions imparted to European official speakers the second was: "The time to be occupied in the delivery of an address shall be, as nearly as practicable, forty-five minutes." 2 We are speaking here of ecclesiastical history in modern Christianity. Ancient Christianity has had a first-rate historian, Eusebius from Cesarea, and others, who left useful writings, although not equal by far to his. But we may say, without doing harm to them, that none of them had the sense of history as we understand it now in modern times. 8 For instance, Flaccius and the Centuriae Magdeburgenses. 4 See Baronius and his followers. PROGRESS OF ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY 637 to the scholars a life and an ardor, which they would never have exerted without this continuous stimulation, and so ecclesiastical history got the start of all other sections of historical science.1 After all, with many of them the blessing which results from conscientious researches of the truth prevailed over care of con- fessional apologetic. One cannot praise sufficiently the admirable works of the monastic scholars and of the masters of Protestant high schools in France and in the Netherlands during the seventeenth and the first half of the eighteenth century.2 They have strongly built the layers upon which the scholars of the nineteenth century have erected the edifice under which we take shelter. In a solemn occasion as this one we ought to pay homage to the forefathers, who have founded the greatness of our house. The result of the intense controversy between Catholic and Protestant scholarship was quite different from what the opponents looked for. It had illustrated the errors on both sides, the prejudices and the party spirit of both. Unconfessional critique availed itself of this experience. Rationalistic history arose, especially in Protestant countries, in England and Germany. In France the source of religious scholarship was exhausted by the persecution of the Protestants and of the Jansenists, by the gradual weakening of the Gallican Church.3 French philosophy in the eighteenth century disdained to study the past of a religion or of a church which were considered as duly con- victed of error and imposture, and the Roman Church did not care for researches which seemed to be dangerous for her. Since, and till the pontificate of Leo XIII, Catholic countries did not contribute any more to the progress of ecclesiastical history otherwise than on secondary questions of archaeological nature or of local history, or by the work of some freethinkers and some Protestant countrymen. 1 Historical criticism is really born out of ecclesiastical history. From there it extended into what is called "profane" history. 2 So we may mention: among the Jesuits, Sirmond, Fronton du Due, Petau, Labbe, the first Bollandists; among the friars of the Oratoire, Jean Morin, Le Cointe, Thomassin, Richard Simon; amongst the Benedictines of St. Maur, Mabillon, d'Ache'ry, Martene, Durand, Montfaucon, Ruinart, etc.; among the men of Port-Royal, Le Nain de Tillemont; the authors of the Gallia Chris- tiana; further on, Elie Du Pin, d'Herbelot, Baluze, etc. And among the masters of the Protestant reformed academies: G. Vossius, Fr. Spanheim, Vitringa, Hottinger (in Switzerland), Louis Cappel, D. Blondel, Jean Daille", Basnage, Leclerc, de Beausobre, Samuel Bochart, etc. We must mention also in England: John Pearson and Usher. In Germany the only scholar, who at the end of the seventeenth century has some qualifications of an historian, is Arnold. He was one of the first who were able to appreciate the historical value of heretics. 3 Among the Protestants Pierre Bayle, and among the Catholics Huet, Bishop of Avranches, are at the beginning of the eighteenth century the last represent- atives of scholarly trained ecclesiastical historians (with some Benedictine friars, who continued, though with less profit, the work of their predecessors). Bayle and Huet are both anti-dogmatic writers, but with the second skepticism tends to submit reason to the authority of the church; with the first, on the contrary, skepticism inspires toleration and free criticism. Bayle, who died in 1706, is for a good deal a forerunner. 638 HISTORY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH Rationalistic ecclesiastical history, though claiming to be inde- pendent of dogmatic prejudices, nevertheless obeyed some doctrinal ideas. One while, especially in England, it aimed chiefly to identify true Christian religion with natural religion, and to denounce, as sacerdotal and theological adulterations, fortuitous or voluntary, all doctrines or institutions of the churches which did not agree with that so-called natural religion, that is, with their own religious philosophy.1 Another while, especially in Germany, it endeavored to show, not only that all things in the history of the church must be explained in a way satisfactory for reason, — which is indeed a postulate of scientific history, — but still more, that all teachings of true Christianity, supernatural as well as natural, were perfectly reasonable.2 Rationalistic historians of the eighteenth century have done a very useful work of clearing away. Their criticism was short-sighted; they do not go to the bottom; the proper sense of religion is not very sound in their works and their philosophy of history is very poor. However, they dealt a blow to the traditional dogmatic conception of ecclesiastical history, after which it could not rise again on scientific ground. Their work will be taken up later on by men of a freer spirit and of a less vulgar common sense, like Schrockh, Standlin, Spittler, Planck, and later on still, by Gieseler and Hase, whose sense of re- ligion and feeling of historical continuance fired the scholarship, whilst their respect for the texts and the documents secured the soundness of their work. But let us not anticipate. Between the rationalistic historians of the eighteenth century and those famous masters of ecclesiastical history in the nineteenth century, the spiritual world had been renovated by a great and teeming revolution of idealist philosophy. Ecclesiastical history, indeed, like every science of information, excludes all party and dogmatic or philosophical prejudice. Its sole allowable aim must be to reconstitute men and facts of the past in their objective reality and to teach how events proceed the one from the other. But experience makes out that historical investi- gations must be led by certain principles to be productive, and it is philosophy which inspires those principles. After all, we observe that in our studies we are indebted for all progresses to certain 1 So, for instance, in the works of Lord Herbert of Cher bury and Lord Shaftes- bury, of Matthew Tindal, Toland, Collins, and of the historians of Locke's school. Hume's skepticism had most fatal consequences for rationalism and favored a re- vival of authoritative faith for practical use. 2 See the works of Semler, J. A. Ernesti, Michaelis, Walch, Mosheim, etc. The last one has sometimes been called "the father of ecclesiastical history." We ought also to take into account the influence of the "pietism" of Spener's school. Although not favorable to scientific study of religion, it conduced to throw off the yoke of orthodox intellectualism by urging the importance of piety to the prejudice of the right doctrine. The pietists became anxious to know the history of religious life and feelings, hitherto too much neglected. . PROGRESS OF ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY 639 regulating ideas, which are directing the activity of our mind. Con- jecture, which may be looked for as the sounding-lead of science, springs up from the impression made upon our mind by the first observation of facts; so the state of our mind, that is, the whole of our knowledge and of our ideas, is contributing for a great part to its springing up. Quite as an engineer or a geologist cannot seek after hidden treasuries of ore in any country, without being guided by certain principles or by the results of previous inquiries, so the historian cannot sound the past without being directed by some presuppositions. To be guided by conjecture without being sub- dued to it, to be able to change it as soon as the study of documents require, that is just the historian's skill. In the field of historical study it is not, as in that of philosophical researches, Kant whose influence was directly quickening. His ab- stract idealism and his quite static criticism do not care for history. Like the leading thinkers of the French Revolution he looks only after human nature in itself and does not want to study it in time or space. The teeming principles for ecclesiastical history came from other thinkers: from Lessing, who regenerated the old purely intellectual rationalism by his esthetical sense of spiritual life's sound realities and by a thoroughly human conception of religion and ethics; from Herder, the poet and the prophet, the first perhaps who possessed that living sense of history which we have now, one of the first certainly who was gifted with that precious ability of feeling intimately what other civilizations and other peoples had thought or experienced, instead of judging them all by the measure of his own time and of his own spirit; Herder, the generous author, who set forth the organic conception of history considered as the education of humanity, without isolating the individual man from society nor humankind from nature; from Schleiermacher, who acknowledged the specific character of religion, that is, the con- sciousness of the band which unites the finite and the infinite being, and who taught thus theologians to distinguish in every particular religion what is temporary, local, and special in it from what is properly and fundamentally religious in it; and above all others from Hegel, whose philosophy proclaimed identity of the real and the rational and by his identification of "sein" and "werden" assigned to moral as well as to physical science the no longer con- tested duty of recognizing the logical evolution of things and beings. Thus the whole religious history of mankind was involved in the organic unity of universal evolution as the highest expression of the internal dialectics which are the life of the Spirit or the Being. To be sure, the influence of those great thinkers was not always a good one. Historians, who drew their inspiration too exclusively from one or the other of them, fell victims of their imagination, of 640 HISTORY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH their theology, or of their speculations. Too romantic pupils of Herder or of Schelling wrote romances instead of strict and conscien- tious history. The theologians, who followed Schleiermacher, too anxious to reconcile their scientific work with their ecclesiastical or dogmatical belief, forfeited treasuries of scholarship in sad com- binations of the " Vermittlungstheologie." 1 The too zealous disciples of Hegel made history subordinate to philosophical speculation and wrote historical works, which in spite of their more severe form were, in the main, not much different from the historical romances. But those who knew how to derive profit from such a strong spirit- ual education, without giving up what requires a severe historical method, had a great influence over our studies. It will be sufficient to notice that from Schleiermacher proceeds Neander, the historian who perhaps better than any other knew how to bring to life again some of the great Christian personalities of the past, and that we owe to the Hegelian school F. Chr. Baur and D. F. Strauss. Strauss's work has been chiefly negative. His impressive criticism overturned the precarious display of the midway theologians and proved the weakness of many traditional certainties which passed for inexpugnable. But his criticism was too theoretic, too little caring for precise texts and facts as to be able to produce lasting positive results. F. Chr. Baur is of another value. With him begins really the modern era of ecclesiastical history. For once and for all he put in a clear light the principal tendencies whose clash forms the woof of the first Christianity. His chronological or critical judgments on several texts or documents of ancient Christian literature may be sometimes erroneous; the Hegelian dialectics may have mastered him more than it ought; he may 'be too much an intellectualist, too anxious for evolution of the ideas and not enough for that of feelings, of religious life, or of the real and complicated conditions of social life. Nevertheless, his dissection of primitive Christianity — the antithesis of the Judsean and the universalist Hellenic Christianity, the very importance of the Gnostic movement (already hinted at by Neander indeed) — has supplied data which have become since a common good for us all and which are no longer contested. Before him none had cleared so distinctly the internal dialectics of the Christian dogmatic evolution or of the origins of the Catholic Church. At least he was one of the first ecclesiastical historians who saw so distinctly how important it is to know other ancient religions to understand the history of ancient Christianity. Ecclesiastical history as conceived by Baur is just the contrary 1 Most of the representatives of that " Vermittlungstheologie " are dogmatists rather than historians. Such are: Twesten, Nitzsch, Julius Miiller, Dorner. More properly historians are Ullmann and chiefly Alexander Schweizer (of Zu- rich), the most original of Schleiermacher's continuers. PROGRESS OF ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY 641 of that which the rationalistic historians of the "pragmatic school," like Schrock or Planck, wrote before. These took up with the data of the historical witnesses, linked the facts together with the tend- encies and the needs of the individuals who carried them out; they explained the course of history by general and exterior teleology, and judged men or facts of the past at the measure of their own reason and their own conscience, without taking into account the difference of time and country. Neander had already reacted against this quite exterior manner of writing history. He did not attach much importance to institutions or to the concrete realities of social life, but tried to penetrate into the inmost personality of the souls and to raise up some great representative men of the past for illustrating the successive periods of Christian history. Endowed with an intense power of bountiful and generous sympathy, he took up especially the edifying side of history. It was for him a school of Christian experience. But, if he has indeed depicted with a masterful talent the history of some very best Christians, he left thus a series of por- traits rather than an organic history such as a scientifically trained mind requires. Baur, on the contrary, treats the history of Christianity as before all the evolution of ideas. Great individualities are neglected by him, or, better, they are but representatives of ideas; I might rather say, nearly symbolic persons. They are not the agents of history; they are themselves the instruments of the internal dialectics which are unfolding through centuries. A grand and imposing structure, indeed, and — let us say immediately — not only a theoretical work, for his materials are elaborated by an untiring scholarship and by strong critical researches; but, after all, sometimes an artificial building, where the intellectual part, the ideas, are preponderating to the prejudice of sentiment, piety, and intuition. Baur's work, however fundamental, wanted thus to be amended and completed. Some of his pupils, like Ed. Zeller and Weizsacker,1 tried to do so. Others, like Ritschl and his school, engaged with a really excessive passion in a reaction against the too abstract and too speculative tendency of his historical conception. Others still, the continuators of ancient rationalism, like Gieseler and Hase,2 although availing themselves of the "Tiibinger School," took good heed not to be urged by speculation and, as they preserved them- 1 The historians who proceed directly or indirectly from the Tiibinger School are very numerous. We shall mention only: Schwegler, Kostlin, Hilgenfeld, H. Holtzmann, Hausrath, Holsten, and Pfleiderer. 2 Ancient rationalism had its last survivor in Dr. Paulus. But it had been re- newed by Kant's philosophy, with scholars like Bretschneider and Wegscheider, and, under the influence of Schleiermacher and of the philosopher Fries, it had been enlivened by de Wette. It seems inconvenient to speak here of the supernatural- ist, doctrinaire and intellectualist school of Hengstenberg, because he made his scholarly work wholly dependent on doctrine and ecclesiastical tradition. 642 HISTORY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH selves also from the sentimentality of the Schleiermacherian school, they imparted to their historical work a more objective character and a more measured spirit. Now we arrive at the quite modern and nearly contemporary period of our studies. Here our report is of a more delicate nature, not only because we should have to speak of scholars still living, like Pfleiderer and Harnack, the two masters we have the privilege to greet respectfully at this Congress, but also because there is not yet enough distance for judging impartially scholars and tendencies with which we are ourselves connected. Two statements require at the first sight our attention. While during the first half of the nineteenth century ecclesiastical his- tory was but little studied except in German universities, since about 1860 other countries have taken a more and more active part in the common scholarly work.1 First of all, Dutchland with the great school of Leiden,2 afterwards England,3 the United States 1 AVe do not forget one moment that in our days, as before, the share of German scholarship is preeminent in the field of ecclesiastical history. Many special periodicals, a great quantity of unequaled handbooks bear witness to the rich production of scholarly work which is continually afforded to students and theologians. We omit mentioning names; complete pages would be required to do so. We shall only point out the contributors of the Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichtc der altchristlichen Literatur, edited under the direction of Ad. Har- nack. von Gebhardt, and, during the first period, also of Zahn; of the Theologische Literaturzeitung, edited by Ad. Harnack and E. Schiirer; of the Theologische Rundschau, under direction of Bousset; of the Realencyklopadie fiir protestantischc Theologie und Kirche, the second and third editions of which have been presided over by A. Hauck; of the Byzantinische Zeitschrift, edited by Krumbacher; of the Zeitschrift fiir Kirchengeschichte, edited by Brieger; of the Zeitschrift fiir die neutes- tamentliche Wisscnschaft, edited by Preuschen and Kriiger; of the Zeitschrift fiir Theologie und Kirche, edited by Gottschick; of the Zeitschri.fi fiir Wissenschaftliche Theologie, edited by Hilgenfeld. We ought to join the Studien zur Geschichte der Theologie und Kirche, edited by Bonwetsch, the Protestantische Monatshtfte, the Theologische Studien und Kntiken, the Schweizerische Theologische Zeitschrift (edited by Meili in Zurich). Roman Catholic theologians, on their side, took an active part in the work of ecclesiastical history, not only in former time with Moehler and with the old Catholics Friedrich and Dollinger, but also more recently with Funk, Bardenhewer, Denifle, Ehrle, Ehrhardt, etc. See also the contributors of the Archiv fiir Literatur und Kirchengeschichte des Mittelalters, the Biblische Studien, the Forschungen zur christlichen Literatur- und Dogmengeschichte, the KirchengeschichflicheSt udien, the Theologische Quartalschrift, the Zeitschrift fiir katholische theologic. 2 It will be sufficient to recall the names of Scholten, Kuenen, Rauwenhoff, Tiele, etc. For ecclesiastical history in Dutchland let us mention also the con- tributors of the Theologisch Tydschrift, the Nederlandsch Archie f voor kerkgeschie- denis, the Teyler's theologisch Tydschrift, the Theologische Studien. 3 Since the publication of the Essays and Renews, in 1860, and chiefly since the spirited activity of Robertson Smith, free historical criticism has emancipated itself from ecclesiastical tradition and has taken its flight. We may mention here some names only: the Bishop of Durham, Lightfoot, Davidson, Edwin Hatch, Estlin Carpenter, Armitage, Robinson and his contributors of the Texts and Studies, contributions to biblical and patristic literature, the authors of the Studio biblica and ecclesiastica of Oxford, the contributors of the Critical Review, the Expositor, the Hibberl Journal, etc. The most significant example of the flight of wholly independent criticism on the field of religious history in England is the recent simultaneous publication of the Dictionary of the Bible, edited by Hastings, and of the Encyclopaedia Biblica, planned by Robertson Smith, but elaborated under the direction of T. K. Chevne and Sutherland Black. PROGRESS OF ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY 643 of America, and allow me to join without counterfeit modesty also France, where under the influence of the Ecole de Strasbourg and of Renan, foremost after the renovation1 of higher studies since 1870, the scientific production in the field of ecclesiastical history has much increased.2 The peculiar character of the present period is the dreadful quantity of publications of all kinds which appear every year in five or six different languages, so that it is more and more difficult to be acquainted with the ever-increasing historical production. The reproduction only of titles of the books, papers, tracts, or essays, published every year, fills a whole volume.3 Where is, under such conditions, the man who may pretend to study by himself and directly the whole history of the church? Each of us is obliged to confine himself within the bounds of a special depart- ment of the large field, and this excessive specialization is not favor- able to the education of the mind nor to the formation of historical judgment. It is of great importance that periodicals may provide for our insufficiency by publishing serious and impartial reviews of the largest possible number of new works. This superabundance of historical contributions not only results from the extension of the area, where church history is cultivated. It arises also — and this is our second statement — from the un- contested triumph of the historical method in the religious field. Scientific concurrence not only became universal like economical 1 To be mentioned in the Strasbourg school : Edward Reuss, Baum Cunitz, Ch. Schmidt, Colani, de Pressens6 (who followed afterwards another direction), Albert ReVille, Auguste Sabatier. After the war of 1870 the French Protestant faculty of Strasbourg was transferred to Paris by Lichtenberger and Sabatier. There it has become what is called in the theological world the "school of Paris," whose most authorized representative is now Mene'goz. 2 Under the influence of Duchesne a young school of learned and free-minded historians arose in the present French Catholic clergy, to whom belong men like Abb6 Loisy, Lejay, Hemmer, Houtin, etc. There should also be mentioned the contributors of the Bulletin Critique, the Revue biblique Internationale, edited by the Dominican friars of Jerusalem, the Melanges d'histoire et d'archeologie, edited by the Ecole francaise de Rome, the Revue d'histoire et de littfrature religieuses. See also in Belgium the Anecdota Marcdsolana and the Revue Benedictine, edited by the Benedictine friars of Maredsous, the Museon, the Revue de I'Hisfoire ecclesi- astique, edited at Louvain by Cauchie and Ladeuze; and with the old Catholics in Switzerland the Revue Internationale de theologie, edited at Bern, by Michaud. What will become of this interesting flight of free scholarship, which was in- spired by Pope Leo XIII, if the spirit which seems now to be prevalent at the Vatican gets the better? Independent of any denominational tie are in France the Revue de I'Histoire des Religions, the BMiotheque de V Ecole des Chartes (for medieval history), and the Revue de I'Orient Latin. There is no French Protestant periodical specially devoted to ecclesiastical history; but the Revue de theologie et de philosophic, at Lausanne, the Revue de theologie et des questions religieuses, at Montauban, the Revue Chrctienne, edited by John Vie'not, at Paris, often publish historical papers. We ought also to mention the Bulletin de la Societe de I'Histoire du protestantisme fran^ais, edited by Weiss, and the Annalcs de bibliographic theologique, by E. Ehrhardt, in Paris. 3 The Theologischer Jahresbericht, published in Berlin by the editor Schwetschke, and the Bibliographie der theologischen Literatvr, by the same. We ought also to mention here the excellent bibliographv, which appears everv fortnight in the Theologische Literaturzeitung , edited by Professor Schiirer (Berlin, Hinrichs). 644 HISTORY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH concurrence, but everywhere in religious scholarship historical and critical studies became so preponderating that they have nearly displaced all others. Look at the programmes of whatever theo- logical or higher religious school. You will certainly observe that all professors teach history or practice historical and philological criticism: the professor of dogmatic grounds his teaching upon the history of dogma, the professor of exegesis upon the history of the text or upon the historical explanation of the personality of the author, of his ideas, of his style, and so further in all branches of theological teaching. In the department of religious science as well as hi all other moral sciences, the second half of the nineteenth century has been, before all, the age of the historical method, that is, of the scientific and critical method, even with those men whose dogmatic or philosoph- ical convictions seem to require other agents in history than the forces of rational determinism which historical criticism requires. The historian who now relies on miracle or upon arguments of a confessional kind is, so to say, disqualified amongst all those who are not imbued with the same confessional faith. So the most noto- rious supernaturalists and the most decided partisans take great care commonly not to ground their historical conclusions on dog- matic reasons. Philosophical speculation is also no longer appreciated by the ecclesiastical historians of to-day. Hegel's dialectical evolutionism has been amended by that of Darwin or of Spencer, and Aug. Comte's positivism lias influenced us all, even those amongst us who are not positivists. Under a myth or under a legend we want to dis- cover the real fact which gave rise to it. The great development of experimental sciences has reacted upon moral sciences and increased the sense of reality and the need of precision. Now records are more strictly respected -and the authority of duly ascertained facts has taken root in the historian's mind more deeply than before. Theories are mistrusted, even when they are supported by the most powerful dialectics. What we require essentially from ecclesiastical as well as from all other historians, if they aim at any authority for their works, is: to inquire as completely as possible after all records or testimonies, interpreting them by the most firmly established rules of philology, subjecting them to a most severe criticism, but without any prejudicial view, analyzing them minutely so as to see things as they are and not as we may want them to be; to search for truth in itself without any apologetical prepossession; to replace men of the past in their real life and not in an abstract outline ; to discover for each event, for each fact, for each action of men the reason sufficient to explain them rationally and to place them in the universal con- catenation of all phenomena. PROGRESS OF ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY 645 Here appears another characteristic of the present conception of ecclesiastical history. It is no longer a history above the common run, of a nature different from all others, and which requires special treatment. Formerly the history of Christianity seemed generally to be fpart, as a special compartment cut off from the rest of history, a sacred territory separated from the profane world. Now the progress of our general historical knowledge makes us recognize ever better that the history of Christianity — of Christian religion as well as of Christian Church — is intimately bound with the economical, moral, social, and religious history of the surrounding world. The water- tight bulkhead which separated the so-called "profane" from the so-called " sacred " studies has been removed, even for the period of the New Testament. Not only is the same method to be used in both branches, but there is no one to-day who may contest that early Christianity is connected, not only with biblical Judaism, but also with a Judaism quite permeated with Chaldsean, Iranian, and Jewish Alexandrian survivals. Every one must recognize how large is the influence of Hellenism and of Roman pagan tradition in Christianity as it became by conquering the ancient world. Nobody can over- look the eminent contribution of Germanic religion and morals in the Christian world of the Middle Ages. Christianity did not evolve of itself, by its sole proper principles, with only internal logic and without the influence of the surrounding world: its evolution was continually determined by the nature of the different societies among which it was developing and by the precedents of the people among whom it was operating. This characteristic of our present conception of ecclesiastical history seems to me so decided that I dare to say it is plainly dis- tinctive of our scientific situation to-day. For it implies a deep transformation of the ancient idea of revelation, even much deeper than most of the theologians think, who practice this modern histor- ical method, although they maintain more or less of traditional doc- trines of the special origins and the particular fate of the Christian religion.1 It is not in our province here to elaborate this dogmatic side of the problem. We have only to notice it. Thus the history of Christianity becomes a section of the general history of religions.2 It becomes secularized. This is a capital point, 1 When enumerating the periodicals devoted to ecclesiastical history, we observe that the distinction between Catholic and Protestant publications is still widespread. The reason is that most of these periodicals are connected with faculties or schools preparing ministers for the different ecclesiastical denomina- tions. But their essays may claim historical authority only in the measure in which they are free from any confessional character or any theological or philoso- phical prejudice. 2 We must notice the large development of the general history of religions in the last twenty years: foundations of new lectureships devoted to general religious history in Dutch! and, in Switzerland, in France, in Sweden, and especially in the United States, where this movement was from the first welcomed (Everett 646 HISTORY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH for it is only under that condition that it may claim its place in the cycle of sciences. Even the very programme of this Congress of Arts and Science in St. Louis is the confirmation of my statement. To improve really our studies, we ought to push them forward in the direction so indicated. There are, at the present time, most im- portant problems to be solved. On the one side we cannot understand the psychology of early Christianity nor its theological and ecclesi- astical formation without becoming better aware of the precedent religious state of the people who became Christian, and growing familiar with the pagan world where Christianity took its historical shape. On the other hand, we cannot appreciate the religious value of the ancient Christian data without being able to compare them with other religious data of the same kind in other religions. For instance, if we want to understand the origin of Christian monas- ticism, it is necessary not only to know the spiritual tendencies which in the Christian Church itself drove out of the civil life such a lot of believers, but no less the parallel tendencies which were at work in the pagan society of the same time. And if we want to appreciate this great historical event, we ought to be able to compare Christian asceticism and monasticism with the similar movements in other religions, as, for instance, in Buddhism. We ought not to be taken up wholly by little monographies. 'They are indeed absolutely necessary. But they are fruitless, if they remain without connection with a more general historical study. There are certainly still many special points to elucidate in the proper field of ecclesiastical history, especially in the period follow- ing the Nicean Council; but those points are generally of secondary importance. Let them be studied in a great number of careful mono- graphies. That is excellent; that is necessary! But this dust of scholarship cannot by itself improve our scientific knowledge, if it be not worked up by men of a larger and more comprehensive mind, able to use all those little and painfully elaborated pieces of stone to make up the mosaic in which the evolution of living history is re- presented. Alas! that is what we most want. How few are the scholars able to join an immense learning in all details with -har- monious and powerful general views, like the master at whose side I have the honor of speaking to-day ! Scientific research does not consist only in resuming ever and ever the same subjects. Beware of generalizing early and prematurely! Warren, Goodspeed, Toy, Morris Jastrow, Jr., G. F. Moore, Nathaniel Schmidt, and many others; collection of Handbooks on the History of Religions}. Two special reviews are devoted to these studies: the Revue de VHistoire des Religions, edited, by Jean ReVille in France, and the Archiv fur Religionsvrissenschaft, edited in Germany by Achelis, and, since 1904, also by Dieterich. Concerning this recent development of the general history of religion, see the article in the Revue de I'Histoire des Religions, t. XLIII, p. 58, sqq. PROGRESS OF ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY 647 Such generalizations are the very negation of scientific method. But let us not be afraid to enlarge the field of our researches and to bor- row from the neighbors all that may enlighten our mind. Our highest ambition should be to enlarge our historical material.1 If there are probably no more important discoveries to make in the libraries of central and occidental Europe, except perhaps in some palimpsests 2 — there are in all likelihood still fine records to dis- cover in Oriental countries. Till now we have thoroughly studied Christianity only in the Grseco-Latin and in the Germanic world. How much remains to be done before we can know the development of this same Christianity among Oriental or Slavonic peoples! How uninformed are we still of the religious change which took place at the conversion of a great part of the Christian world from the religion of Jesus to that of Muhammad? Asia Minor, Syria, Palestine, Egypt, perhaps also Persia, certainly still conceal vast unknown historical treasures. We have to direct the scholars to that side also. Finally I should like to account more exactly for the real sense of what I called the secularization of ecclesiastical history. The same rational and critical method, which is used in all other parts of his- torical scholarship must be applied to religious or ecclesiastical his- tory: that is a fact beyond all further discussion. But to be able to apply it in this special department, you ought to know, of your- self, what is religious feeling or religious emotion. A scholar quite devoid of religious disposition will study religious history only as a deaf man might study the history of music or a blind man that of painting. He lacks the sense, which alone enables him to recog- nize and appreciate the inmost value of religious doctrines, rites, or institutions. Let us not forget this : in the history of the Christian Church as well as of all other religions, the work to be done is not alone of intellectual 1 The discovery of a document like the Philosophoumena, for instance, has contributed more to our knowledge of Gnosticism than all dissertations on texts already known. In the last quarter of the preceding century our historical material for the knowledge of ancient Christianity has been largely increased by the discovery of new texts, such as various Logia Jesu, the Didache, fragments of the Gospel and of the Revelation of Petrus, the Syriac Sinaitic version of the gospels, the Acts of Paul, fragments of several apocalypses and apostolic acts (for instance of John and of Peter) , of Coptic apocryphal gospels, the old Latin version of the Epistle of Clemens Romanus to the Corinthians, new versions of the Didascalia, the Apology of Aristides, new Gnostic texts (chiefly the Pistis Sophia, the treatises of the Codex Brucianus, magic formulas and incantations), acts of martyrs, original texts of " libelli," writings of Hippolytus (Commentary on Daniel, chiefly) and of Methodius, fragments of Melito of Sardes, of Origenes, of Peter of Alexandria, writings of Priscillian, the Peregrinatio Silviae ad loca sancta, the History of Dioscoros by Theopistos, and numerous fragments of the Church Fathers. More- over the writings of the Latin Fathers are reedited in the best conditions in the Corpus scriptorum ecdesiasticorum latinorum, and those of the Greek Christian writers of the first three centuries are published again with all the resources of modern paleography and criticism in the Corpus edited under the patronage of the Academy of Sciences of Berlin. 2 This is shown, for instance, by the discoveries of Dom Morin published in the A nccdota Maredsolana. 648 HISTORY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH nature. You must penetrate the soul of men in the past; you must feel as living realities what was living in their mind, in their heart, in their conscience; you must lay hold not only of the dead formula but of the very spirit. We should not go back to the edifying kind of history, as practiced by the pietists or by Neander. We leave to preachers and to moralists the important duty of working up the precious lessons which history affords them. We claim only justice and truth. So long as we have not acknowledged the feelings, the emotions, even the impressions produced by a doctrine, by a relig- ious personality,1 institution, cult, or any other religious state- ment; so long as we have not caught what needs they satisfied, and to what moral dispositions they gave satisfaction; so long we may not claim to know them really. History of dogmas or of cultural observances is the intellectual notation of religious and moral experiences; as long as we have not recognized what these experi- ences are, we have the shell but not the nut of religion. In different terms we ought to give more place in our historical works to religious psychology, but to a psychology large-minded and open for all forms of religious life in human kind, an unsectarian psychology, gifted with that generous sympathy which alone enables us to penetrate the inmost nature of other people and to understand even those moral experiences which are most unfamiliar to ourselves, because it makes us lay aside our own peculiarities and revive in others. Secularized ecclesiastical history ought not to be a withered history, mere anatomy. We have to present to our contemporaries, not fossils, but living beings, who have worshiped, cried for assist- ance, glorified, who have sung and lamented, who have trembled before the Great Mystery, who revolted and bethought themselves, who loved and prayed, — not only theologians, priests, or rituals. 1 In religious history an important place is to be assigned to great personalities. The experience of our day as well as the most trustworthy records of the past bear witness to the intensity of the influence of certain personalities, which are pro- ductive of moral and religious life. Those who believe in some one are perhaps more numerous than those who believe in something (a doctrine, an idea, or the virtue of a practice). This is especially true in ethic religions. SUPPLEMENTARY PAPER A short paper was contributed to this Section by Professor Henry C. Sheldon, of Boston University, on "The Contributions of Alexandrianism to New Testa- ment Thought." The speaker denned Alexandrianism briefly as marked by the following peculiarities: "(1) A prodigal use of allegorical interpretation, largely under the stimulus of an ambition to show the accord of the Sacred Oracles with various products of Greek philosophy. (2) Great stress upon the tran- scendence of God and a somewhat dualistic conception of his relation to the world. (3) Interposition between God and the world of a mediating agent, this agent being termed in Philonian phrase the Logos, and embracing in its significance the gist of the Platonic doctrine of ideas and of the Stoic doctrine of an immanent reason in the world. (4) Affiliation with the Hellenic anthropology in a disparaging estimate of the body as a clog or fetter to the spirit. (5) A somewhat abstract representation of the future life, a representation setting forth the general notion of an immortal existence of disembodied souls, and discountenancing or ignoring the idea both of a bodily resurrection and of a world crisis." The speaker first considered at some length the possible obligation of Paul to Alexandrian teaching, but held that the resemblances are not such as to testify to any explicit borrowing, and, even where it appears, it is still to be proved that he borrowed specifically from Alexandria instead of imbibing through contact with the general sphere of Hellenic culture. On the whole the speaker agreed with the conclusion of Professor Harnack, that the writings of Paul afford very little indication of the influence of Philo. In the Epistle to the Hebrews, however, we enter into an atmosphere which bears an unmistakable tinge of Alexandrianism. Concerning the Johannine writings the speaker concluded that while they reflect in a measure the Alexandrian, there is no good reason to suppose such a radical dependence of the one upon the other, as some writers have assumed. The author of the Fourth Gospel used the Philonean teaching, not as a copyist, but as a man of strong original bent uses material from any source. BIBLIOGRAPHY: HISTORY OF RELIGION The following general bibliography of the Department of Religion was prepared through the courtesy of Professor Nathaniel Schmidt, Professor of Semitic Lan- guages and Literatures in Cornell University, and Director of the American School of Archaeology in Jerusalem, Syria. The bibliography on the earliest forms of religion, and on the various ethnic faiths, which follows the general bibliography, is also contributed by Professor Schmidt. GENERAL ALVIELLA, G. D', Introduction a 1'histoire ge'ne'rale des religions, 1886. BERNARD, J. F., Ceremonies and Religious Customs of the World, 1723. BRUNO, G., Spaccio della Bestia Trionfante, 1584. CAIRD, J., Introduction to the Philosophy of Religion, 1880, 2d ed. 1900. Evolution of Religion, 1893. CLARKE, J. F., The Ten Great Religions, 1886. COMTE, I. A. M., Cours de philosophic positive, 1830-42. CONSTANT, BENJAMIN DE REBECQUE, De la religion conside're'e dans sa source, ses formes, et ses deVeloppements, 1824-31. DUPUIS, C. F., L'Origine de tous les cultes, ou religion universelle, 1795. EMERSON, R. W., Essays, 1841. FEUERBACH, L., Das Wesen der Religion, 1840. GILLIOT, E., Etudes historiques et critiques sur les religions et institutions com- pare"es, 1883. HARDWICK, C., Christ and Other Masters, 1855-58. HARTMANN, E. v., Das religiose Bewusstsein der Menschheit, 1882. HEGEL, G. W. F., Philosophic der Religion, 1832. HERBERT OF CHERBTJRY, De Religione Gentilium, 1663. HERDER, J. G. v., Ideen zur Philosophic der Geschichte der Menschheit, 1829. HUME, DAVID, The Natural History of Religion, 1757. JEVONS, F. B., Introduction to the History of Religion, 1896. JASTROW, MORRIS, The Study of Religion, 1901. KANT, IMMANUEL, Die Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der blossen Vernunft, 1793. LEGGE, JAMES, The Chinese Classics, 1861-73. The Texts of Taoism, 1891. LOTZE, R. H., Grundziige der Religionsphilosophie, 1882. MEINERS, A., Allgemeine kritische Geschichte der Religionen, 1806. MENZIES, ALLAN, History of Religion, 1895. MILL, JOHN S., Three Essays on Religion, 1874. MUELLER, MAX, Lectures on the Science of Religion, 1872. Origin and Growth of Religion, 1878. Natural Religion, 2d ed. 1892. Physical Religion, 1890. Anthropological Religion, 1891. Theosophy, or Psychological Religion, 2d ed. 1899. ORELLI, C., Allgemeine Religionsgeschichte, 1899. PFLEIDERER, OTTO, Die Religion, ihr Wesen und ihre Geschichte, 1869-78. Religionsphilosophie auf geschichtlicher Grundlage, 1878-93. RAWLINSON, G., Religions of the Ancient World (s. a.). BIBLIOGRAPHY: HISTORY OF RELIGION 651 RENAN, J. E., Etudes d'histoire religieuse, 2d ed. 1857. REVILLE, A., Prolegomenes de 1'histoire des religions, 1881. Les religions des peuples non civilises, 1883. Ross, ALEXANDER, Pansebeia, or a View of All Religions in the World, 1653. SABATIER, A.,Esquisse d'une philosophic de la religion d'apres la psychologic et 1'histoire, 1897, 6th ed. 1901. SAUSSAYE, C. DE LA, Lehrbuch der Religionsgeschichte, 2d ed. 1897. SCHELLING, F. W. J., Einleitung in die Philosophic der Mythologie (posthumous), 1856. SCHLEIERMACHER, F., Ueber die Religion, Reden an die Gebildeten unter ihren Verachtern, 1799. SPENCER, HERBERT, Principles of Sociology, 1876-80. SPINOZA, BENEDICT, Tractatus Theologico-Politicus, 1670. TIELE, C. P., Hoofdtrekken der godsdienstwetenschap, 1876. The Elements of the Science of Religion, 1897-99. Geschiedenis van den godsdienst in de oudheid tot op Alexander den Groote, 1893-01. TYLOR, E. B., Primitive Culture, 1871. Anthropology, 1881. The Natural History of Religion, 1900. WETTE, L. W. M. DE, Ueber die Religion, ihr Wesen, ihre Erscheinungsformen , und ihren Einfluss aut' das Leben, 1827. Annales du Musee Guimet, 1888 ff. Archiv fur Religionswissenschaft, edited by F. Achelis, 1898 ff . The Sacred Books of the East, edited by Max Miiller. Revue de 1'Histoire des Religions, edited by J. ReVille, 1880 ff . Numerous articles in — Journal Asiatique. Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenlandischer Gesellschaft. Journal of the American Oriental Society. Proceedings of the Society for Biblical Archaeology. Theologisch Tijdschrift. Giornale della Societa Asiatica. The New World. American Journal of Theology. The Hibbert Journal. Articles in — Lichtenberger, Encyclopedic des Sciences Religieuses, 1877-83. Encyclopaedia Britannica. Hastings Bible Dictionary, especially vol. v. Cheyne's Encyclopaedia Biblica. The New International Encyclopedia. La Grande Encyclopedic. WORKS ON THE EARLIEST FORMS OF RELIGION ALVIELLA, GOBLET D', Les Origines de 1'Idolatrie, in Revue de FHistoire des Religions, 1885. BACHOFEN, J. J., Das Mutterrecht, 1861. BROSSES, C. DE, Du Culte des dieux fetiches, 1760. CASPARI, O., Die Urgeschichte der Menschheit, 1873. FRAZER, J. G., Totemism, 1887. The Golden Bough, 2d ed. 1900. 652 BIBLIOGRAPHY: HISTORY OF RELIGION FUSTEL DE COULANGES, La cite" antique, 1864. GUBERNATIS, A. DE, Zoological Mythology, 1872. La Mythologie des Plantes, 1878-82. Manuale di mitologia comparata, 1880. HOEKSTRA, S., Bronnen en grondslagen van het godsdienstig geloof, 1864. LANG, ANDREW, Custom and Myth, 1884. Myth, Ritual, and Religion, 1887, 2d ed. 1899. Magic and Religion, 1901. LECLERCQ, A. BOUCHE, L'Histoire de la divination dans 1'antiquite1, 1879-82. LIPPERT, JULIUS, Der Seelencult in seinen Beziehungen zur Althebraischen Religion, 1881. LUBBOCK, JOHN, Origin of Civilization and the Primitive Condition of Man, 1870. MACLENNAN, J. F., The Worship of Plants and Animals, 1869-70. Primitive Marriage, 1865. REVILLE, ALBERT, Les religions des peuples non civilises, 1883. ROSKOFF, G. V., Das Religionswesen der rohesten Naturvolker, 1880. SCHULTZE, Fr. Der Fetischismus. Ein Beitrag zur Anthropologie in der Reli- gionsgeschichte, 1871. SMITH, W. ROBERTSON, Kinship and Marriage in Early Arabia, 1885. TYLOR, E. B., Primitive Culture, 1871. WILKEN, G. A., Het Animisme bij den volken van den Indischen Archipel, 1884-85. Das Matriarchat bei den Alten Arabern, 1884. ZF,LLER, E., Ueber Ursprung und Wesen der Religion, 1877. POLYNESIA GILL, W. W., Myths and Songs from the South Pacific, 1876. GREY, G., Polynesian Mythology, 1855. REVILLE, A., Les religions des peuples non civilise's, 1883. SCHIRREN, C., Die Wandersagen der Neuseelander und der Maoris, 1856. AMERICA MUELLER, J. G., Geschichte der Amerikanischen Urreligionen, 1867. REVILLE, A., Les Religions du Mexique, de I'Ame'rique Centrale et du Pe"rou. 1885. AFRICA BASTIAN, A., Ein Besuch in San Salvador, 1859. REVILLE, A., Les religions des -peuples non civilise's, 1883. WILSON, J. L., Western Africa, 1856. CHINA DOUGLAS, R. K., Confucianism and Taoism compared with Christianity, 1879. EDKINS, J., Religion in China, 1878. HARLEZ, C. DE, Textes Taoites, traduits desoriginaux chinois et commente's, 1891. JULIEN, STANISLAS, Le Livre de la Voie et de la Virtu, 1842. LEGGE, J., The Religions of China, 1880. PARKER, E. S., China and Religion, 1905. PLATH, J. H., Die Religion und der Cultus der Alten Chinesen, 1862. PLATH, J. H., Confucius und seiner Schuler Leben und Lehren, 1867-74. REMUSAT, A., Me"moire sur la vie et les opinions de Lao-tsen, 1820. ROSNY, L. L. L. DE, Le Taoisme, 1892. BIBLIOGRAPHY: HISTORY OF RELIGION 653 JAPAN COBBOLD, C., Religion in Japan, Buddhism, Shintoism, Christianity, 1894. FLORENZ, K., Japanische Mythologie, 1901. GRIFFIS, W. E., Religions of Japan (from the dawn of history to the era of Meija (1895). NANJO, BUNYO, A Short History of the Twelve Japanese Buddhist Sects, 1887. ROSNY, L. L. L. DE, La Religion des Japonais, 1881. Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan. INDIA : ON BRAHMANISM EARTH, A., Religion of India, 1890. BERGAIGNE, A., La Religion Vedique, 1878-83. DEUSSEN, P., Das System des Vedanta, 1883. HOPKINS, E. W., Religions of India, 1895. MUELLER, F. Max, Lecture on the Vedas, 1865. Theosophy or Psychological Religion, 1899. REGNATJD, P., Mat£riaux pour servir a 1'Histoire de la Philosophie de I'lnde, 1876-78. SCHROEDER, L. v., Pythagoras und die Inder, 1884. WILLIAMS, MONIER, Brahmanism and Hinduism, 1887. INDIA: ON BUDDHISM ALABASTER, A., The Wheel of the Law (Buddhism illustrated from Siamese sources by the Modern Buddhist, Chao Phya Thipakon), 1871. BURNOUF, EUGENE, Introduction a 1'Histoire du Bouddhisme Indien, 1876. DAVIDS, RHYS, History and Literature of Buddhism, 1895. HILAIRE, BARTHELEMY SAINT, Le Bouddha et sa Religion, 1862. GRUNDWEDEL, A., Mythologie des Buddhismus in Tibet und der Mongolie, 1900. KERN, J. H. C., Geschiedenis van het Buddhisme, 1895. OLDENBERG, H., Buddha: Sein Leben, seine Lehre, seine Germeinde, 1881, 2d ed. 1897. SCHOTT, W., Ueber den Buddhismus in Hochasien und China, 1845. SENART, EMILE, Essai sur la Legende de Bouddha, 1895. JAINISM JACOBI, H., Jaina Sutras, in Sacred Books of the East. LEHMANN, E., Beziehungen der Jaina Literatur zu anderen Literaturzweigen, 1883. WARREN, S. J., De Godsdienstige en wijsgeerige Begrippen der Jainas, 1875. WEBER, OTTO, The Sacred Literature of the Jains, 1893. WILLIAMS, MONIER, In Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, 1888, vol. xx. PERSIA DARMESTETER, JAMES, The Zend-Avesta, 1892-93. HAUG, MARTIN, Essays on the Sacred Language, Writings and Religion of the Parsis, 3d ed. 1884. JACKSON, J. W., Die Iranische Religion in Grundriss der Iranischen Philologie 1900-03. Zoroaster, the Prophet of Ancient Iran, 1889. 654 BIBLIOGRAPHY: HISTORY OF RELIGION LEHMANN, C., Die Perser, in Saussaye's Lehrbuch der Religionsgeschichte, 2d ed. 1897. Zarathustra, 1899-1902. MENANT, D., Les Parsis, Histoire des Communite's Zoroastriennes de 1'Inde. 1898. SOEDERBLOM, NATHAN, La Vie Future d'apres le Mazd6isme, 1901. Editor of Tiele's Kompendium der Religionsgeschichte, 1903. TIELE, C. P., Zarathustra, 1864. Geschiedenis van het godsdienst in de oudheid, 1897-1901 . ASSYRIA AND BABYLONIA JASTROW, M., Religion of Babylonia and Assyria, 1898. JENSEN, P., Die Kosmologie der Babylonier, 1890. TIELE, C. P., Geschiedenis, vol. i, 1891. Articles in — Zeitschrift fur Assyriologie. Recueil de Travaux. Journal of Biblical Archaeology. SYRIA BAETHGEN, K. F., Beitrage zur Semitischen Religionsgeschichte, 1883. BAUDISSIN, W. W. v., Studien zur Semitischen Religionsgeschichte, 1876-78. LUCIAN, De Dea Syra. PHILO-BYBLIUS, In Eusebius' Preparatio Evangelica, 1842. PIETSCHMANN, R., Geschichte der Phonizier, 1889. JUDAISM BACHER, W., Die Agada der Tannaiten, 1884-90. Die Agada der Palastinensischen Amoraer, 1892-99. BOUSSET, A., Eschatologie des Spatjudentums, 1903. CHARLES, R. H., Critical History of the Doctrine of a Future Life, 1899. DRUMMOND, JAMES, The Jewish Messiah, 1877. HILGENFELD, ADOLF, Die Judische Apokalyptik, 1848. LAZARUS, MORITZ, Ethik des Judenthums, 2d ed. 1901. SMEND, RUDOLF, Lehrbuch der Alttestamentlichen Religionsgeschichte, 1893, 2d ed. 1899. SMITH, W. ROBERTSON, The Prophets of Israel, 1882, 2d ed. 1895. STADE, B., Geschichte Israels, 1885. WELLHAUSEN, J., Israelitische und Judische Geschichte, 1894, 4th ed. 1901. Articles in — Zeitschrift fiir Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft. Zeitschrift fur Wissenschaftliche Theologie. Journal of Biblical Literature. Revue des Etudes Juives. CHRISTIANITY AQUINAS, THOMAS, Summa Theologiae, 1260. AUGUSTINE, Civitas Dei, 413-426. BARCLAY, ROBERT, An Apology, 1675. BAUR, F. C. v., Paulus, der Apostel Jesu Christi, 1845. Die Christliche Gnosis, 1835. CALVIN, JOHN, Christianae Religionis Institutio, 1536. BIBLIOGRAPHY: HISTORY OF RELIGION 655 DENCK, HANS, Von der Wahren Liebe, 1527. HARNACK, ADOLF, Lehrbuch der Dogmengeschichte, 1886, 3d ed. 1894. Geschichte der Altchristlichen Literatur bis Eusebius, 1893. HOLTZMANN, H. J., Neutestanientliche Theologie, 1896. IGNATIUS OF LOYOLA, Exercitia Spiritualia, 1523. JUELICHER, A., Die Gleichnisreden Jesu, 1898. KEIM, THEODOR, Geschichte Jesu von Nazara, 1867-1872. KEMPIS, THOMAS A., Imitatio Christi, 1450. LUTHER, MARTIN, Die Freiheit eines Christen Menschen, 1520. MARTINEAU, JAMES, The Seat of Authority in Religion, 1890. MORE, THOMAS, Utopia, 1516. NEWMAN, JOHN H., Apologia pro vita sua, 1864. PFLEIDERER, OTTO, Das Urchristentum und seine Schriften, 1902. RENAN, J. E., Vie de Je"sus, 1863. REVILLE, ALBERT, Jesus de Nazareth, 1897. REVILLE, JEAN, Le Quatrieme Evangile, 1901. RITSCHL, ALBRECHT, Die Christliche Lehre von der Rechtfertigung und Ver- sohnung, 1870-1874. SCHLEIERMACHER, F. E. D., Reden iiber die Religion, 1799. SCHMIDT, N., The Prophet of Nazareth, 1905. SERVETUS, MICHAEL, De Trinitatis Erroribus, 1531. STRAUSS, D. F., Das Leben Jesu, 1835. ARABIA BARTON, G., Sketch of Semitic Origins, 1902. DOZY, R. P. A., Het Islamisme, 1863. GOLDZIHER, I., Muhammadanische Studien, 1889-90. KREMER, A. v., Geschichte der herrschender Ideen des Islam, 1868. MACDONALD, D. B., Muslim Theology, Jurisprudence and Constitutional Theory, 1903. MUIR, WILLIAM, Life of Mahomet, 2d ed. 1894. MUELLER, AUGUST, Der Islam in Morgen- und Abendlande, 1885. SMITH, W. ROBERTSON, The Religion of the Semites, 1889, 2d ed. 1894. SPRENGER, A., Das Leben und die Lehre des Mohammed, 1861-65. WELLHAUSEN, J., Reste Arabischen Heidentums, 2d ed. 1897. EGYPT BRUGSCH, HEINRICH, Religion und Mythologie der Alten Aegypter, 1884. LEPSIUS, R., Le Pantheon Egyptien, 1881. LIEBLEIN, J., Egyptian Religion, 1884. MASPERO, GASTON, Etudes de mythologie et d'arche'ologie Egyptiennes, 1892- 98. Histoire Ancienne, 1895-1899. MEYER, EDUARD, Geschichte des Alten Aegyptens, 1887. MUELLER, F. MAX, Egypt, in Encyclopaedia Biblica. PIETSCHMANN, R., Der Aegyptische Fetischdienst und Gotterglaube, 1878. PLUTARCH, De Iside et Osiride. RENOUF, O. LE PAGE, Lectures on the Origin and Growth of Religion as illus- trated by the Religion of Ancient Egypt, 1879. GREECE GRUPPE, P. O., Griechische Kulte und Mythen, 1887. MEYER, ED., Geschichte des Alterthums, 1884. 656 BIBLIOGRAPHY: HISTORY OF RELIGION PRELLER, LTJDWIG, Griechische Mythologie, 1854, 4th ed. 1887-98. ROHDE, E., Psyche, 2d ed. 1898. ROSCHER, V. P., Lexikon der Griechischen und Rdmischen Mythologie, 1894. USENER, H., Gottemamen, 1896. WELCKER, F. G., Griechische Gotterlehre, 1857-63. ROME BOISSIER, G., La Religion Romaine d'Auguste aux Antonins, 1874. PRELLER, L., Romische Mythologie, 3d ed. 1881-83. USENER, H., Italische Mythen, 1875. WISSOWA, GEORG, Die Religion und Kultur der Romer, 1901. GERMANY AND SCANDINAVIA GRIMM, J., Deutsche Mythologie, 4th ed. 1875-78. MANNHARDT, W., Germanische Mythen, 1858. Die Gotterwelt der Deutschen und Nordischen Volker, 1860. RYDBERG, VIKTOR, Germanisk Mythologi, 1889-90. SAUSSAYE, C. DE LA, Religion of the Teutons, 1902. TACITUS, Germania. KELTS ARBOIS JUBAINVILLE, Introduction & 1'etude de la Litte>ature Celtique, 1883. Le Cycle Mythologique Irlandais et la Mythologie Celtique, 1884. BONWICK, J., Irish Druids and Old Irish Religions, 1894. CAESAR, JULIUS, De Bello Gallico, vi, 13. RHYS, JOHN, Lectures on the Origin and Growth of Religion as Illustrated by Celtic Heathendom, 1888. SLAVS LEGER, L. P. M., Mythologie Slave, 1901. SPECIAL WORKS OF REFERENCE The following bibliography covering Section A, Brahmanism and Buddhism, was prepared through the courtesy of Professor Hermann Oldenberg, of the University of Kiel. ARYAN IMMIGRATION INTO INDIA GEIGER, W., Le Musdon (Louvain), 1884. SCHRADER, 0., Reallexikon der Indogermanischen Altertumskunde, Strassburg 1901, 878 pp. COMPARATIVE MYTHOLOGY KUHN, A., Die Herabkunft des Feuers und des Gottertranks, Berlin, 1859. MUELLER, F. MAX, Contributions to the Science of Mythology, 2 vols. London, 1897. OLDENBERG, H., Aus Indien und Iran, Berlin, 1899. Die Religion des Veda, Berlin, 1894. RELIGION OF THE INDO-IRANIAN PERIOD DARMESTETER, J., Ormazd et Ahriman, Paris, 1877. OLDENBERG, H., Aus Indien und Iran. TIELE, C. P., Geschichte der Religion im Altertum, vol. n, part 1. Gotha, 1898. CONNECTION OF RESEARCHES ON INDIAN RELIGIONS WITH ETHNOLOGY OLDENBERG, H., Religion des Veda. Aus Indien und Iran. SUPPOSED INFLUENCE OF INDIAN WISDOM ON PYTHAGORAS SCHROEDER, LEOPOLD VON, Pythagoras und die Inder, Leipzic, 1884. INFLUENCE ON NEO-PLATONISM GARBE, R., Die Samkhya-Philosophie, Leipzic, 1894. CHRISTIANITY AND BUDDHISM AIKEN, CHARLES F., The Dhamma of Gotama the Buddha, and the Gospel of Jesus the Christ, Boston, 1900. BERTHOLET, A., Buddhism us und Christentum, Tubingen and Leipzic, 1902. Der Buddhismus und seine Bedeutung fur unser Geistesleben, Tubingen and Leipzic, 1904. EYSINGA, G. A. VAN DEN BERGH VAN, Indische Einfliisse auf Evangelische Er- zahlungen, Gottingen, 1904. HOPKINS, E. W., India, Old and New, New York and London, 1901. PISCHEL, RICHARD, Sitzungsberichte der Koniglich Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1903. SCHROEDER, L. VON, Buddhismus und Christenthum, Reval, 1893. SEYDEL, R., Die Buddhalegende und das Leben Jesu, 2d ed., Weimar, 1897. 658 BIBLIOGRAPHY: HISTORY OF RELIGION ON THE BARLAAM AND JOASAPH ROMANCE KUHN, E., Abhandlungen der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, vol. xx, 1894. THE KRISHNA LEGEND BARTH, A., The Religions of India, 3d ed., London, 1891. HOPKINS, E. W., India, Old and New. WEBER, A., Ueber die Krishna janmashtami, Abhandlungen der Kdniglich Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1867. THEORY OF SACRIFICE HUBERT, H., et M. MAUSS, Essai sur la nature et la fonction du sacrifice; Anne'e Sociologique (Paris), 1898. GREEK PHILOSOPHY AND BUDDHISM OLDENBERG, H., Aus Indien und Iran. GENERAL METHODS OF THE COMPARATIVE STUDY OF RELIGIONS TIELE, C. P., Inleiding tot de Godsdienstwetenschaff, 2 vols. Amsterdam, 1897- 1899. SPECIAL WORKS OF REFERENCE The following list of special works of reference, to accompany Section D, New Testament, was prepared through the courtesy of Professor Benjamin W. Bacon of Yale University, and Professor Ernest D. Burton of the University of Chicago. AALL, Geschichte der Logosidee, i, 1896, u, 1903. ANRICH, Das antike Mysterienwesen, 1904. ANZ, Zur Frage nach dem Ursprung des Gnosticizmus, 1897. BALDENSPERGER, W., Der Prolog des vierten Evangeliums, 1898. BARTH, FRITZ, Die Hauptprobleme des Lebens Jesu, 1903. BAUR, F. C., Paul, the Apostle of Jesus Christ, 1875-76. BEYSCHLAG, W., Das Leben Jesu, 1893; and New Testament Theology, 1895. BLASS, Grammar of New Testament Greek, 1905. BOTJSSET, W., "Die Religionsgeschichte und das neue Testament," in Theol. Rundschau, vn, pp. 353-365. Die Religion des Judenthums im neutestamentlichen Zeitalter, 1903. BOVON, JULES, The"ologie du Nouveau Testament, 1893-94. BRANDT, Die mandaische Religion, 1889. Mandaische Schriften, 1893, also "Schicksal der Seele nach mandaischer und persischer Vorstellung," in Jahrb. f. prot. Theol. xvin, pp. 405-438, 567-603. BRIGGS, DRIVER, and PLUMMER, eds. The International Critical Commentary, 1895 . BURKITT, F. C., Evangelion Da-Mepharreshe, 1905. CARMAN, "New Testament Use of the Greek Mysteries," Bib. Sac. L. (October, 1893), pp. 613-639. CHARLES, Eschatology, Hebrew, Jewish, and Christian (Jowett Lectures, 1898- 99). CHASE, F. H., The Credibility of the Book of the Acts of the Apostles, 1902. CLARKE, J. F., Ten Great Religions of the World, 1871. CLEMEN, CARL PAULUS, Sein Leben und Werken, 1904, and Die Apostelgeschichte, im Lichte der neueren Text, Quellen- und historisch-kritischen Forschungen, 1905. CUMONT, Textes et monuments figure's relatifs aux mysteres de Mithra, transl. by McCormack, 1903. DALMAN, GUSTAF, The Words of Jesus, considered in the sight of Post-Biblical Jewish Writings and the Aramaic Language, 1902. DEISSMANN, G. A., Bible Studies: Contributions chiefly from Papyri and In- scriptions, 1901. DIETERICH, Mithrasliturgie, 1903. DOBSCHUETZ, ERNST v., Christian Life in the Primitive Church, 1904. DRUMMOND, JAMES, The Jewish Messiah, 1877, and An Inquiry into the Character and Authorship of the Fourth Gospel, 1904. FRAZER, The Golden Bough, 1900. FRIEDLAENDER, Der vorchristliche jiidische Gnosticizmus, 1898. GARDNER, Exploratio Evangelica, 1899, and A Historic View of the New Testa- ment, 1901. GFROERER, Jahrhundert des Heils, 1838. GREGORY, C. R., Tischendorf s Novum Testamentum Graece, editio octava critica major, vol. in, Prolegomena, 1884-94. 660 SPECIAL WORKS OF REFERENCE GRILL, Verbreitung der Mithramysterien, 1903. GXJNKEL, Schopfung und Chaos, 1894, and Zum religionsgeschichtlichen Veretand- niss des Neuen Testaments. GUILLIAM and PUSEY. Critical Edition of Peshitto. HANDMANN, RUDOLF, Das Hebraer-Evangelium, 1888. HARNACK, ADOLF, The Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries, 1904-05, and Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur bis Eusebius, 1893-1904. HARRISON, Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion, 1903. HATCH, The Influence of Greek Ideas and Usages upon the Christian Church (Hibbert Lectures, 1888), and Essays in Biblical Greek, 1889. HOEFDINQ, Attis, seine Mythen und sein Kult, 1903. HOLTZMANN, H. J., Lehrbuch der historisch-kritischen Einleitung in das Neue Testament, 1892. HOLTZMANN, OSCAR, Neutestamentliche Zeitgeschichte, 1895. The Life of Jesus, 1904. HOLTZMANN, LIPSIUS, SCHMIEDEL, und VON SODEN, Hand-Commentar zum Neuen Testament, 1891-1901. HORNER, The Coptic Version of the New Testament, 2 vols. 1898. JEVONS, An Introduction to the History of Religion, 1896. JTJELICHER, A., Encyclopaedia Biblica, s. v. "Mystery," and Introduction to the New Testament, 1904. KEIM, THEODOR, The History of Jesus of Nazara, 1876-83. KENYON, F. G., Handbook to the Textual Criticism of the New Testament, 1901. KUENEN, A., National Religions and Universal Religions (Hibbert Lectures, 1882). LOBECK, Aglaophamus, 1829. MATHEWS, SHAILER, The Messianic Hope in the New Testament, 1905. McGiFFERT, A. C., A History of Christianity in the Apostolic Age, 1897. MEYER, A., Die moderne Forschung tiber die Geschichte des Urchristenthums, 1898. MEYER, H. A. W., Der kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar tiber das Neue Testa- ment, 1888-1902. MOFFATT, JAMES, The Historical New Testament, 1901. PAINE, L. L., The Ethnic Trinities, 1901. Palestine Exploration Fund, Maps and Memoirs, 1880-. PFLEIDERER, O., Das Christusbild des urchristlichen Glaubens in religions- geschichtlichen Beleuchtung, 1903, and Das Urchristenthum, 2d ed. 1903, and Paulinism, A Contribution to the History of Primitive Christian Theology, 1891. RAMSAY, Encyclopaedia Britannica, ed. ix, s. v. " Mysteries." ROBINSON, EDWARD, Biblical Researches in Palestine, 1857-60. ROHDE, Psyche, 2d ed. 1898. SANDAY, The Criticism of the Fourth Gospel, 1905. SAUSSAYE, CHANTEPIE DE LA, Lehrbuch der Religionsgeschichte, 3d ed. 1905. SCHUERER, History of the Jewish People in the Time of Christ, Eng. transl. 1891, 3d edition, German original, Geschichte des judischen Volkes, 1898-1901; and Das messianische Selbstbewusstsein Jesu Christi, 1903. SCRIVENER, Introduction to the Criticism of the New Testament, 1894. SEYDEL, Das Evangelium Jesu in Verhaltniss zu der Buddhasage, 1893. SMITH, G. A., Historical Geography of the Holy Land, llth ed. 1904. SODEN, v., Die Schriften des Neuen Testaments, in ihrer altesten erreichbaren Textgestalt hergestellt auf Grund ihrer Textgeschichte, 1902. SPITTA, Die Apostelgeschichte, ihre Quellen und deren geschichtlicher Werth, 1891. 661 STANTON, The Jewish and the Christian Messiah, 1886, and The Gospels as Historical Documents, 1904. STAVE, E., Ueber den Einfiuss des Parsismus auf das Judentum, and Verwandt- schaft der Jiidischchristlichen mit der parsischen Eschatologie. STEVENS, G. B., The Theology of the New Testament, 1899. STEWART, HASTINGS, Bible Dictionary, s. v. " Mystery." THAYER, J. H., Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament, 1887. TIELE, Geschichte der Religion im Alterthum (German transl.), 1896. TISCHENDORF, C., Novum Testamentum Graece, ed. viu, 1869-72. USENER, Religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen, 1889. VAN EYSINGA, VAN DEN BERG, " Indische Einfliisse auf evangelische Erzahlung- en," in Forsch. z. Kelig. u. Lit. Heft. IV. VITEAU, JOSEPH, Etude sur le Grec du Nouveau Testament, 1893-96. VOLZ, Jiidische Eschatologie von Daniel bis Akiba, 1903. W ATKINS, Modern Criticism considered in its Relation to the Fourth Gospel, 1890. WEISS, BERNARD, The Life of Christ, 1883-89, and a Manual of Introduction to the New Testament, 1889; and Das Neue Testament, 1902-05. WEISS, JOHANNES, Ueber die Absicht und die literarischen Charakter der Apostelgeschichte, 1897. WEIZSAECKER, CAKL, The Apostolic Age of the Christian Church, 1894-05. WENDT, The Gospel according to St. John, 1902. WERNLE, Die synoptische Frage, 1899, and The Beginnings of Christianity, 1903-04. WESCOTT, The History of the Canon of the New Testament, 1889. WINER, Grammatik des neutestamentlichen Sprachidioms, Aufl. 8te, neu bear- beitet von P. W. Schmiedel, 1894. WOBBERMIN, Religionsgeschichtliche Studien zur Frage der Beeinflussung des Urchristentums durch das antike Mysterienwesen, 1896. WORDSWORTH and WHITE. Novum Testamentum Domini Nostri Jesu Christ! Latine, pt. 1, 1889-98. WREDE, Charakter und Tendenz des Johannesevangeliums, 1903. ZAHN, THEODOR, Einleitung in das Neue Testament, 2te Aufl., 1900 [Eng. trans. soon to be published] ; Geschichte des neutestamentlichen Kanons, 1888-92, and Kommental zum Neuen Testament, 1903. MUSIC IN THE MONASTERY Photogravure from the Painting by Edward Gruetener. MUSIC MUSIC STYLE IN MUSICAL ART.1 BY SIR CHARLES H. H. PARRY (Sir Charles Hubert Hastings Parry, Professor of Music, University of Oxford, since 1899; Mus. Doc., LL.D. b. in 1848; educated at Eton and Exeter Col- lege, Oxford. Director Royal College of Music, 1894. Among his composi- tions are Music to the " Birds " and " Frogs " of Aristophanes; Judith, an oratorio; Ode for St. Cecilia's Day; The Lotus Eaters; Job; King Saul; Magnificat; Kong of Darkness and Light. Author of Studies of Great Composers; Evolution of the Art of Music; Summary of Musical His- tory; and Music of the Seventeenth Century.] It must be confessed that one can hardly think of style in man or nature or art without being importunately haunted by a familiar French proposition, which conveys to the superficial mind the view that manner counts for more than man. No doubt the familiar ' Le style c'est I'homme ' compares unfavorably with the more ancient saying ' By their fruits ye shall know them/ but it is probable that it was not intended to attribute so much importance to externals as the aptitude of men for misunderstanding things which are too tersely stated leads them to infer. There are thousands of things by which a man's nature may be gauged besides style. Everything that is part of him may in some sense be a gauge of him. Just as a great naturalist has been said to be able to reconstruct some unknown animal from a single bone, men say you can tell a man's nature by the shape of his nose or his hand, or the expression of his mouth, by his walk, by the tone of his voice. Everything may serve the quick-witted as a basis of inference, though all may not be equally trustworthy. Style is mainly an external attribute — a means to an end, and in no wise comparable to actual qualities of character or action in man, or the thought embodied in what is said in poetry, or the idea embodied in art. But it is an essential. It is present in everything which has real vitality, and in every moment of art's existence. And as it is infinitely variable in relation to the condi- tions in which artistic work is presented, it serves as a very compre- hensive means of inferring the genuineness either of man or of artistic work. i This lecture was originally delivered in Oxford. 666 MUSIC Differences of style are the outcome of the instinct for adaptation. In art the most perfect style is that which is most perfectly adapted to the conditions of presentment. Many different factors minister to its development. For instance, material counts for a great deal. If a work has to be executed in stone the particular qualities of the material necessitate a style of art different from that of works executed in iron. The effects which can aptly be produced in one material are quite different from those which can be produced in another. The result of trying to imitate effects which can be produced in one kind of material in another which has quite different properties is either stupid or vulgar in proportion to the dexterity of the worker; and style is either gratifying or repulsive in propor- tion to its just relation to its conditions. It is the same in life as in art. To take an extreme case : the style of an untutored savage in a very hot climate might be quite picturesque and appropriate in his own country, but if any ill-regulated being were to adopt it in the streets of a cool and civilized city he would probably have to be suppressed. There is a technique of life as well as of art, and the style of every section of society varies in accordance with its condi- tions; and the outcome of attempts to adopt a style belonging to one branch of society in a branch of society whose conditions of life are altogether different is vulgarity. "When we come to apply these considerations to music we find circumstances of the same nature. In music the simplest parallel to the differences of material in plastic arts lies in the varieties of means by which music is to be performed and made appreciable to sense. All music which is worthy of the name must in the nature of things be written to be performed by instru- ments or voices. And they all have their particular idiosyncrasies. Organs have their special aptitudes and their special inaptitudes; and the music which is written for them, if it is to attain to any degree of artistic perfection, must be based upon the recognition of them. Violins have their special powers of expression and effect, and their limitations ; horns have theirs, and trombones theirs. Voices can do certain things that instruments cannot do, and all instruments can do things which voices cannot do. There is, as it were, a dialect appropriate to each instrument and each class of voice; and there are even ideas which can be better expressed in one dialect than an- other; and the employment of any particular means of utterance, whether violins, pianofortes, organs, hautboys, bassoons, voices, harps or trumpets is only justified when they are used for passages which can exactly be given with fullest effect by them. If there is a style for each individual member of the orchestra, even more essentially is there a style for the orchestra as a whole. It is capable of almost unlimited complexities of rhythm and figure, of varieties of color which are countless. In power of tone it is tre- STYLE IN MUSICAL ART 667 mendous, in depth of expression infinite. To venture to put such an engine of power into motion at all seems to be courting responsibility. And to put it into motion to utter things which would be quite ade- quately expressed by a pianoforte or a set of voices is like calling the House of Lords together to cook a homely omelet. People do not hear orchestral music often enough to realize what the highest instru- mental style is. But any one who has a sense of the adequate adapta- tion of technique to material or means of performance revolts at choral music written in the style of a brass band, organ music which is mere pianoforte music, or orchestral music in disguise. But the hurry and lack of concentration of modern life, and the habit of producing for a public which has neither discrimination nor education, and the habit of playing such a vast amount of arrangements all tend to dull people's sense of the essential meaning of style, and to make composers miss the higher artistic opportunities in the urgent desire to gratify ephemeral whims. But style is far from being regulated only by the essen- tial peculiarities of the instruments by which the music is to be performed. Every detail in the situation for which the music is intended, the attitude of mind to which it is to appeal, and the circumstances under which it is to be performed have bearing upon the methods suitable to be employed, and therefore upon the style. When music is intended for domestic consumption it entails a totally different style from that which would be suited to some great public function. It entails its being pure enough to live with, and rich enough to sustain constant interest, and a level of thought more near to the contemplative than the active. While the music of the public function must be stirring and brilliant, direct and forcible, and it attains its highest standard when it is elevating and noble in diction. Even in characteristic deteriorations the difference of style peeps out. The risks of the domestic style are sentimentality and languorous and unhealthy sensuosity, and the risk of the public- rejoicing style is blatant vulgarity. Of style in relation to attitude of mind and mood that of the old Church music is probably most char- acteristic. Its contemplative and devotional character, its quietude and inwardness, were partly owing to the limited development of artistic technique before the latter part of the sixteenth century, and to the fact that no other style was sufficiently developed to distract the minds of composers. The effect of the circumstances and the atti- tude of submission to the authority of the Church was to produce a style so subtly consistent and so perfectly regulated that hardly any- thing in the range of modern art can compare with it. The instant true secular music came into being it was doomed. The secular phraseology could not be kept out of it, and in no great space of time submerged the devotional element, and the hybrid which resulted was 668 MUSIC of the most mixed quality. Sometimes even divinely beautiful, and at others grossly repulsive. Sometimes vibrating with human love and tenderness, and sometimes redolent of the most nauseous vulgari- ties of the opera. But in either case the style was mainly governed by the attitude of mind to which the composers intended to appeal. Conspicuous difference of style is induced by different conditions of presentment. This is obviously the case in respect of music which is associated with words, and music intended to be performed without them. , In music associated with words it is absolutely inevitable that the mood and expression of phrase and figure and melody and har- mony, and even of form, must be in close and intimate relation with the words. The more perfect the instinct of the composer for the musical equivalents of the sentiments expressed by the words, the more perfect will be the style; and the more perfect the invention which can dispose of the ingredients in an effective and original man- ner, the more complete the work of art. The composer has the moods and details of expression supplied him, and the hearers understand the music through its relation to the words. But in music that is intended to be performed without words the composer is himself an- swerable for the moods he presents, and he has to find inherent justi- fication for every bar he writes in some artistic, intellectual, emo- tional, or aesthetic principle. To write music for instruments in the style of vocal music is doubly fatuous, for it is not only inadequate on the grounds that instruments can do so much more than voices, but that the absence of words leaves it entirely without ostensible reason for existence, when there is little or no intrinsic interest in the work- manship. Even in the various departments of word-wed and wordless music there are infinite shades of variety of style. The music of the the- atre absolutely demands a method and style different from that ap- propriate to vocal music of the concert room, and from the style of the domestic art song. The dramatic music of the theatre gains both ad- vantages and disadvantages from its associations with scenery and action. For, while the mind is distracted in one respect, and pays no attention to artistic qualities which would be prominent in a quartet or a symphony, it is helped in others which would be out of place in instrumental music. The listener would probably miss the develop- ment of figures and the subtleties of abstract design if he attended to the drama, but would be quick to feel the intention and purpose of progressions, harmonies, resolutions, and successions of keys which would be unintelligible, without the words, but become vividly effective from the situations with which they are associated and the develop- ment of passion which they portray. In songs which are not intended for the theatre, the qualities and methods used in quartets and son- atas are much more appropriate, because the mind is less distracted STYLE IN MUSICAL AST 669 from the music itself, and has more attention to spare for interesting constructive features and subtleties of detail. In the just apportion- ment of style for emotional and dramatic effects in theatrical music and domestic music the resources are so different that they can hardly be judged on the same footing. People who judge of what is dramatic in the light of what is histrionic would hesitate to call anything dra- matic which was in the true style of a solo song. But indeed there is a just way of expressing tragedy, pathos, despair in the style suited to solo song, and a different way of expressing it for the stage. The opportunities of the one are more analytical and subtle, and of the other more direct and sensational. It is by no means essential that a thing shall be in histrionic style in order to justify a claim to being dramatic. The histrionic style is a specialty which I hope to consider more in detail another time. But so is the song style — and both are limited by the more delicate instinct of highly organized artistic beings in such a way that much which would be admirable in one style is positively vulgar in the other. But if the provinces of two different kinds of vocal music are so strongly distinct, the differences between the style and even the ma- terial of operatic music and pure instrumental music are more strik- ing still. The differences of method are so pronounced that the his- trionic and the absolute seem to represent distinct territories in the musical art; and most people who call themselves musical live almost entirely in one of them, and make little effort to appreciate the good features of the other. It cannot be said that either party has all the right on their side. It is quite true that people who are very fond of the opera are most frequently not musical at all in any sense. But there are a good many who really take it 'from the artistic point of view and understand it, and are perfectly justified in objecting to operas written in the style and with the methods belonging to instru- mental music. On the other hand, it may fairly be said that men of high artistic taste and perception, habituated to the purer style of absolute instru- mental music, are not altogether liberal in their judgment of operatic music, and are not sufficiently ready to admit what is admirably de- vised for its conditions. They are apt to fall into the misconception that because certain principles of form and procedure are almost indispensable to instrumental music, any music in which they do not find them is necessarily bad. In this connection it is impossible not to think of the violent antipathy which Wagner's style produced in men of intelligence and cultivated taste. His mature style was certainly as strcngly different from that of composers of instrumental music as it is possible to conceive. It was the product of a disposi- tion more essentially dramatic and poetically imaginative than mus- ical. It repelled musicians who appreciated highly the time-honored methods of art which had been consecrated by the greatest masters of 670 MUSIC instrumental music, because the composer aimed, with an instinct of genius never before shown in such a degree, at a style which was essen- tially adapted to the conditions of the stage; with all the distractions of the acting, the scenic display, and the interest of the drama. It repelled, because the composer in the instinctive search after a new ideal of style disregarded all the conventions which had grown up in connection with the only branches of art which had hitherto been really mastered. It disregarded the classical rules of resolution of discords, progressions of chords, conventions of design and clearness of tonality. Yet to the great mass of cultivated people his ideal of style proved convincing. He at all events did not make the mistake of supposing that his principles of procedure were applicable to instrumental music of any kind. That mistake was left to his imita- tors. The unsuitableness of the operatic style for instrumental music is obvious to all people of taste and artistic intelligence; but in truth the employment of the style which has been developed for pure instru- mental music in operas is just as futile. In both cases it is the em- ployment of resources which have been developed for one group of conditions in conditions to which they are unsuited. And there is no reason why operatic music should not be just as well provided with beauty and interest of detail as instrumental music. Coarseness and commonness of texture are not confined to operatic music, though found there more frequently than in other branches of art. There is plenty of flabby and conventional instrumental music, which the world has gladly let drop and be forgotten. The difference of style which is entailed by the bestowal of loving care on details or indif- ference to them is more a question of disposition than a necessary basis of contrast between operatic art and instrumental art. The difference is illustrated in the widest sense by the broad distinctions between the tastes of the southern and the northern races. The southern races seem to delight in what is voluptuous, and in the ele- ments of art which appeal to sense. They set no great store on purity, and enjoy their art with indifferent promiscuity rather than with love and reverence. The northern races treat their art with more respect, and look for qualities of virginal purity upon which they can dwell with constant loving contemplation. The southerns delight in broad sweeping effects, in which details are of little conse- quence. The northerns, without losing anything in general imposing effect, love to make every part of their artistic work vital and inter- esting, so that nowhere shall commonness and the insincerity of indolence or convention be visible. The effect is shown in a very interesting phase by the story of organ music in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The Italians set the ball rolling in grand style with the help of many noble composers, of whom Frescobaldi was STYLE IN MUSICAL AET 671 chief. But deterioration soon set in when a facile style was adopted, in which the details were merely conventional formulas; and the southern school of organists came to worse than nothing. While the northern organists, putting their whole souls into every part of their work, rose higher and higher; and attained first to the luxury of fancy and richness of appropriate detail which is shown in the works of Buxtehude, and ultimately to the supreme ideal of the highest possibilities of art in the organ style in the work of J. S. Bach. The work carried out with real love and devotion has a higher and more permanent interest than work done under a more vague and uncritical impulse. The difference in such respects be- tween the southern and the northern attitude is well illustrated in the respective styles of Handel and Bach. Bach's style was evolved in the intense devotion to personal ideals. Though he studied all schools of art and absorbed from all quarters such principles as were available for his peculiar artistic disposition, he always worked with the true northern bias to present his thoughts with perfection of detail as well as of general impression; and the subordinate features of his work are therefore in the highest degree interesting and rich. While Handel, following general public taste, which was mainly Italian, aimed at greatness of general impression, at what have been de- scribed as cosmic effects, and was often voluptuous in melody and conventional in phraseology, and presents much less interest in the details. Handel holds his own by sheer weight of greatness, but the works of a great number of composers who work on the same lines and in the same style have deservedly fallen into complete ob- livion. Qualities of style are eminently illustrative of sincerity of intention. The periods in which men wrote half-heartedly, with no genuine personal intensity, prove in the end to be styleless. If the style is not distinctive, the product generally proves to be intrinsically worth- less. The truly great individual masters of style are such as we know to have been passionately in earnest, and deeply absorbed in the endeavor to attain an ideally perfect presentation of their thoughts. Beethoven and Bach, who had the most consistent degree of per- sonal style, attained to it by infinite labor in pruning, rewriting, remodeling, and constant self-criticism. The composers who had phenomenal facility are by no means those whose style is most indi- vidual. Handel was individual in his greatness, but not in the man- ner of his diction. Mozart was pre-eminent in his sense of beauty, not in the originality of his manner. The most striking and persis- tent qualities are such as belong to the adamantine natures, not to those which are most easily malleable. The rugged manner of Car- lyle cost himself and his friends untold misery; and the powerfully distinctive style of Brabms must have cost him extraordinary con- 672 MUSIC centration of faculty, even if he mended and pruned less than Bach and Beethoven. It must be admitted that perfect consistency in style is not to be hoped for. Nothing is absolute in human affairs, and though the greatest men in their greatest moments employ the style which enables them to cover the most ground — in other words, such as is most perfectly adapted to the conditions of presentment — even the greatest are sometimes forced by circumstances to employ traits which are drawn from alien sources. A great deal of the music in Mozart's operas is not essentially either histrionic or operatic, but an outcome of the traditions of the conventional Italian operatic enter- tainment of the early part of the eighteenth century, which made scarcely any pretence of being a dramatic or a histrionic product at all. Conversely we come across passages with an operatic flavor occa- sionally in Beethoven's instrumental compositions. But the greater men are less frequently betrayed into such bewilderments than those who take their responsibilities lightly. At the same time there are infinite shades of variety of style from the highest to the lowest. As there is a style for the greatest things, so there is for the least. There is a style for the music hall, which of its kind may be good and consistent, as well as for the grandest works of art. A great deal of the low and repulsive vulgarity to be met with in such quarters arises from the fact that the true ratio of style has not been found. Even popular comic operas can be admirable when the true style has been found; when they are repulsive it is mainly because the makers of them have no sense of style at all. And it would be absurd to consider the style of light art of no consequence. There must be in all men's lives infinite degrees of mood, from serious to playful. It is a very poor nature that can never be gay; but it is of great importance that the gaiety shall be of good honest quality, and not degenerate into brutishness. And it seems to be even more important in this country than elsewhere. For almost the only English music which has been cordially welcomed by the great mass of intelli- gent English people throughout the world is the music of farcical topsey-turveydom. It is probably the outcome of that dislike of appearing to be pedantic and solemn, which is characteristic of certain classes, which causes them to refuse to take music anyhow but as a joke. Such taste in music is the counterpart of the habit of persi- flage which has been justly attributed to a large section of upper- class wealthy society, which does not necessarily imply an incapacity for being serious and devoted, but a dislike of showing it. It is an affectation of nonchalance which is really more dangerous in art than it is in everyday life. For the persistent habit of using an art, which is one of man's most sacred inventions, for mere trifling and fooling, is not only a degradation and an insult to the art, but is bound to produce deterioration of the standard of appreciation, and a low- STYLE IN MUSICAL AET 673 ering of the intention and faculty of composers. English people seem to have less quickness in perception of style than many other nations, especially in things musical. Hence the question of style in light things becomes of the more importance, since, having this predisposi- tion for farcical and irresponsible music, lack of style will the more surely leave them wallowing in sheer unalloyed stupidity. While insisting that style is a desirable and possible quality in every standard of art, it must be admitted that it is no positive cri- terion of the quality of the thoughts expressed in the style. The style can be no more than a criterion whether the thing is good of its kind or no. Yet style is so closely interwoven with every moment jf art's existence that a great thought is hardly separable from the style in which it is expressed; and a great thought which comes from a full heart is almost sure to be expressed in a style which is con- sistently noble and dignified. Whereas a thought that a man is only trying to make appear great is often betrayed by some triviality of detail, some glaring inconsistency of phraseology which betrays the mountebank or the charlatan. The greatest achievement in point of style is to convey the idea which belongs to the artist or the speaker in its widest significance in the exact terms — no more and no less — which will make it take the most complete' hold of the human mind. The perfect style does not weary with superfluous explanations, nor leave in doubt by lack of decisiveness. It anticipates how far a suggestive word will carry the mind, and how much can be left out. It plays with associations, with relations of terms to one another, with the lilt of rhythm and the infinite variety of tone. The resources of artistic appeal to men's sen- sibilities and intelligence seem almost inexhaustible. But there is a very important qualification, which restricts the range of what is available, and that is consistency. All things are neither lawful nor expedient. It is the misuse of resources which is mainly responsible for vulgarity: the hodge-podge of phraseology belonging to the pulpit and the street; the jumble of symphonic style and the histrionic. Some methods of art are capable of absorbing far greater variety of traits drawn from many different quarters than others. The greater some- what easily absorbs the less. And yet the greater easily drops and its nobility is tarnished by the deliberate utterance of a triviality. An inconsistency of style may be an accident. But if the accidents recur what seemed to be an accident becomes an essential. Many gifted com- posers have gone so far as to give the world a noble phrase which seems to have the qualities of fine music. But the impulse does not last. Lack of fibre, lack of the power of persistence, prevents the maintenance of the high level of thought, and then comes the inevit- able make-up — mere phrases decked in futile and superfluous orna- ment ; tricks of art which have no real relation to the mood at first 674 MUSIC suggested. The incapacity to maintain the standard of style betrays the lack of genuineness of the momentary spasm of inspiration which seemed to promise such great things. The great minds maintain the relevancy of the mood and the style. There is no variableness nor shadow of turning in the rugged Promethean spirit of the first move- ment of the Ninth Symphony, no shuffling make-believe to mar the fiery concentration of the first movement of the C minor, no mundane irrelevance to weaken the triumphant sweep as of the singing of an infinite heavenly host in the Sanctus of the B minor Mass. The consistent elevation of the style is equal to the depth and fervor of the thought. All things are neither lawful nor expedient in style, but those only which are perfectly consistent with the conditions, the material, and the mood which the composer expresses. There is the style which is apt for things mundane, and a style which is apt for things devo- tional; a style for things pathetic, a style for things gay. Trivial phraseology is out of place in times of mourning, tragic violence in times of merriment. And as the style which is inconsistent with the mood makes the product ring false, so is it with inconsistency in relation to conditions of presentment — the operatic work written in the style of absolute music, the instrumental music written in the histrionic style. There may be positive vulgarity in thought, but the greater part of vulgarity arises from misapplication of style. While even things little and light may be made admirable by dexterous con- sistency of style, the greatest inspirations cannot dispense with it. In the end style is the sum of the appearances of all the factors which make up a work of art or an entity. It is the sum of the out- ward manifestations of qualities. The style of an apple-tree is the sum of the appearances produced by the shape, color, texture, and set of the foliage, the ruddy red of the fruit, and its relation to the color and character of the foliage, and the angles of the ramifications of the branches. The style of an orange-tree is quite different. The glossy leaf, the bright yellow fruit, the scent, the method of growth of the boughs, present quite a different effect, and suggest a different climate and different conditions and surroundings. We can hardly imagine such a monstrosity in nature as a tree made up half in the style of an apple-tree and half of an orange. The absurdity of gathering grapes of thorns or figs of thistles is self-evident. Yet the law of con- sistency in art is just as essential and as logical as in things organic. A perfect work of art is a perfectly organized presentation of an original unity. If apples are found on one bough and figs on another, men may guess that it is a sham. The perfect adaptation to condi- tions entails perfect unity of style, and it may be inferred conversely that complete perfection of style is to be found in perfect and relevant con?i?tonov. SINGING AS AN ART 1 BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE [William Shakespeare, Professor of Singing at the Royal Academy of Music, London; b. in 1849 at Corydon, London, where he became choir boy and organist at an early age at St. Andrew's; studied at Royal Academy of Music, 1860-65, where he won the King's scholarship in 1866; and the Mendelssohn scholarship in 1871; studied composition at Leipzig Conserva- tory, 1871-72; took course of singing instruction under Lamperti, in Milan, 1872-75; returned to London, 1875, and became famous as a teacher of the Art of Singing; has frequently delivered lectures in England, and lectured in 1900, in the United States. His compositions comprise music for orchestra, pianoforte, concertos, string quartets and songs. For five years con- ducted concerts of Royal Academy of Music. Author of The Art of Singing. The limited time at my disposal compels me to be brief in my lecture on " Singing as an Art." I must preface what I have to say with a few words on the historical development of the art, recalling to your memories the names of some of the most eminent of the writers for a single voice. We know that Henry Lawes, born 1595, wrote capital songs, de- manding some sustaining power, and that Purcell, born 1658, com- posed his touching and sustained air, " Dido's Lament," as well as songs demanding the execution of scale passages, such as " Let the mighty engines." Alessandro Scarlatti, born 1659, wrote such airs as " Toglietemi la vita ancor," and "0 cessate di piagarmi." Lotti, born 1667, who used modern harmonies with freedom and grace, com- posed "Pur dicesti," and Caldara (1678) wrote the air " Selve Amiche," which is a splendid specimen of the sostenuto or sustained style. These and many other composers wrote splendidly for the voice. All goes to prove that at this period there existed already a school of singing. Bernacchi, born 1690, was equally celebrated both as a singer and as a singing master. He received instruction from Pistocchi, then the first singing-master in Italy, where, we read, there were not a few of such at that time. Bernacchi was engaged by Handel in 1717 to sing in his opera " Rinaldo." Porpora, a pupil of Scarlatti, teacher of singing and composer, was born at Naples in 1686. He wrote many operas and established a school for singing, whence issued those wonderful pupils who made his name so famous. He was the greatest singing master who ever lived, and from his pupils have been handed down to us the relics of a grand style. 1 Lecture, originally delivered in London, presented here to supplement the lectures originally prepared for the International Congress of Arts and Science. 676 MUSIC Porpora has left us no written account of his manner of teaching, and his solfeggi, or vocalises, differ from others of his time in being more exclusively directed to the development of flexibility of the voice. To a profound knowledge of the human voice and an intuitive sym- pathy with singers, Porpora must have united the genius of imposing his will on others. It is said of him that he kept his pupil Caffarelli to a sheet of exercises for five years, and on the pupil asking if he might not be allowed to sing an aria, the master replied, " Go, my son, I have nothing more to teach you, you are the greatest singer in Europe." Caffarelli excelled in slow and pathetic airs as well as in the bravura style, and v/as unapproachable in beauty of voice and in the execution of the trill. Porpora's pupil, Farinelli, when the Emperor Charles the Sixth expressed his regret that so consummate an artist should devote him- self entirely to exhibitions of skill and bravura, struck by the truth of the criticism, resolved to appeal more to emotion, and proved ade- quate by becoming the most pathetic as he had been the most brilliant of singers. Farinelli had an inimitable power of swelling a note by minute degrees to an amazing volume and afterwards diminishing in the same manner to a mere point. This singer excited such enthusiasm in his audiences that one lady ejaculated the phrase (perpetuated by the painter Hogarth in " The Eake's Progress") " One God and one Farinelli." It was Farinelli who sang a cadence in a song with a trum- pet obligate, and after finishing a long note, so that the trumpeter had to give up out of breath, extended the cadence with a further vocal passage in the same breath. Farinelli, however, was not so fortunate when singing with his great rival Bernacchi, whom I have already mentioned, for on their meeting in public, after Farinelli had sung an air with great effect, Bernacchi repeated this with the same trills, roulades, and cadenza in such a superior manner that Farinelli, who possessed the sweetest and most modest disposition, owned his defeat, and entreated his con- queror to give him further instruction, which Bernacchi generously did. Farinelli thus perfected his style, and became the most remark- able singer, perhaps, who ever lived. Pachiorotti, who, with a defective voice, possessed high intelligence, and made himself a consummate artist, was followed by many great singers. Among them were Gizziello and later on Crescentini. In the time of Mozart the singer Faustina was credited with such extraordinary powers of respiration that it was supposed she could sing while taking in as well as sending out the breath. The roll of famous artists in modern times includes among others Catalani, Malibran, Grisi, Rubini, Tamburini, Lablache, Guiglini, Mario, down to Adelina Patti, Santley and Jenny Lind. The last SIEGING AS AN ART 677 mentioned genius I myself heard sing Mozart's air from his opera " II Ee Pastore," and in this she sang a trill with violin obligato in the most perfect legato style, so that every note agreed with the trill of the violin, — a marvellous achievement, but in addition, the feeling of the song was expressed in the most touching way. Now what are the technical terms which can convey the qualities of this grand vocal art? Surely they are the unerring attack of the note in the very centre of the sound : the sostenuto, or sustaining all notes and joining them to others with a perfect legato without either jerkiness or slurring, and with the quality of expression intended; the messa di voce or swelling from piano to forte and back to the softest sound without loss of quality; command over execution; expression and pathos; breadth of phrasing which is only possible to those who have command of a long breath ; and intensity or carrying power suffi- cient for the largest halls or theatres. Handel, Bach, and Mozart, and, among the moderns, more especially, Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti and Verdi, knew how to bring into play all the resources of their singers in respect to the points I have just mentioned. They gave them time to breathe and collect themselves between the phrases by a bar or two of the orchestra, in a manner quite different from later composers who often give little or no time for the singer to breathe. Bach and Handel, both born in 1685, were two of the greatest musi- cians who ever lived Handel, in 1706, travelled all over Italy, met the well-kno',\ru singers of the c'ay and com o- fed opera:: In- them, and for many years was connected with the King's Theatre, London. In the numberless masterpieces of this great composer we meet with every device favorable to the singer's art. Matchless recitative — loveliest airs — slow, sustained notes fostering messa di voce — many spaces for the singer to recover breath and calm — trills and passages — invocations and triumphant phrases. For recitative, " Deeper and deeper still," and for sustained notes, " "Waft her, angels," and " Com- fort ye " ; for vigorous passages, " Ev'ry valley " and " Love sounds the alarm " ; for prayerful utterance, " Pious orgies " ; for invocation, "0 sleep," "Father of Heaven," and "0 Liberty," also "Heart, thou source of pure delight" (" Acis and Galatea"). How many of these commence with the voice unaccompanied ! Note the phrasing of Handel, where he interrupts the musical phrase, sometimes more than once, on a single word, in the air " Where'er you walk " from " Semele." Sebastian Bach, who was neither a traveller nor a writer of operas like Handel, at times gives to the singer uncouth and awkward pas- sages, difficult chromatic intervals — words recited on the highest notes — a voice-part perhaps treated too much like a solo stop on the organ — disregarding the compass or most favorable parts pertaining to the different voices. Yet in spite of all this, what effects ! In 678 MUSIC recitative and sostcnuto, " Ah, Golgotha " ; and the following air, in religious fervor and slow passage singing, " With Jesus will I watch and pray " ; for quicker passage singing, " Haste, ye shepherds " ; for holy devotion, " Into Thy hands my spirit I commend," etc. Gliick, a German composer, born 1714, studied in Milan, and his first operas met with some success. Handel, however, declared his music at this period to be detestable, and asserted that he knew no more about counterpoint than his (Handel's) cook. Gliick went on per- severing. He entirely reformed the style of writing for the stage, and in 1762 brought out his opera " Orfeo ed Euridice." He was not sat- isfied until he introduced what he considered a still more truthful kind of declamation, and banished all false and useless ornaments from operatic music. Note the profoundly dramatic accents of Orfeo in the recitative and lovely air " Che faro." In the air, how he uses the legato effects of the voice in often giving more than one note to a word. What a stirring climax there is at the end of the piece ! Now, unfortunately, little is known of the methods adopted by the old masters of singing. They were not in the habit of printing their secrets as nowadays. According to precepts handed down to us, we may gather that singing " as an art " consists in freedom of the throat and command over the breath. That is to say, by breathing out slowly on an imaginary object with perfect command so that the breath goes out as one wills and, furthermore, by loosening the throat — a much more difficult matter — so that all the notes sound to this controlled breathing, the result is "perfect production." The voice can now be produced with greater force — a force proportioned to the increased command of breath and to the perseverance of the singer in developing his vocal range. The interesting question now arises : — What would a singer of the old school find if he were to appear to-day? He would ask himself, " Is singing still an art ? " and how could he use his masterly effects, so necessary in a past age ? He might inquire " What is there to sing to in modern vocal works ? " Could he make use of his sostenuto, his legato, the mcssa di voce, the fioritura execution and trills? I fear he would find that modern music affords no scope for these effects. Mod- ern music has generally a separate syllable for every note — only forte singing is required, by reason of the presence of elaborate and power- ful accompaniments. A voice that has always to be produced at high pressure will, in the end, of necessity fail to produce a pure sound. We constantly hear singing out of tune. The artist can scarcely avoid fatigue in making the strenuous efforts which are demanded under modern conditions, and one result is that audiences become gradually indifferent to per- fect singing in tune, and to steadiness of voice, and are no longer sensitive to delicate effects. SINGING AS AN ART 679 How then is an artist to touch his audience when they have become accustomed to notes that are not commenced in the centre of the sound, and to a forcing of voice and sentiment alike? There is only one possible way of attaining the desired result. He must do what Verdi has asserted to be essential, namely ritornare all' antico, i. e., return to the old Masters, and he must begin afresh to educate his audience to a higher appreciation of the art of singing. If the artist only perseveres he is bound to succeed in this, and we shall see a restoration of the true art of singing. It is time now to give a short sketch of the technique of singing as practised by a past age. Singing is a prolonged talking, and must be higher and louder than the voice we use in ordinary conversation, and more especially is this the case when the voice has to be used in a large hall. Some people say " breathe naturally." One may as well tell the gymnast to perform naturally. His wonderful feats may appear natural, but they are the result of a vast extension of that which is natural to us. If when we draw in the breath we feel expansion about the soft place under the breast bone, we have done so by using the diaphragm. Another mode of drawing in the breath is to expand the ribs. Now the ribs, when we raise them move outwards and the cavity inside is made larger than before. A singer must use both these methods; he must feel an expansion of the body at the soft place, and he must also feel an expansion of the sides by lifting the ribs. Perhaps the greatest fault that we can make is to raise the ribs by the muscles which are fixed to the points of the shoulders in front. We should avoid this error by the use of very powerful muscles which are felt at the back under the shoulder-blades and under the arms, and so expand enormously the sides of the body. The muscles by which we drive out the breath are principally situated in the abdomen. They perform a double duty : one is to pull down the ribs, and the other is, by their pressure inwards, to cause the diaphragm to ascend again. By the control of the breath we mean that we can regulate the action of the muscles which draw in the breath, at the same time that our expiratory muscles are sending it out. There is then a struggle be- tween these two forces, the one force causing a continuous steady pres- sure while the other regulates, controls and economizes this same pressure, which if not regulated would let the breath escape altogether and the phrase sung would come to a premature end. We see the result of a clumsy way of breathing in the unpleasant gaspings and noisy breathing produced by those who rely on the rais- ing of the chest and shoulders. The poet puts this correctly when he says, " My bosom heaved with many a sigh." On the other hand, the result of a right method of drawing in the breath is a noiseless and 680 MUSIC imperceptible respiration. It should be so imperceptible that the audi- ence is unaware of the breath being taken. The old Masters knew nothing of anatomy, yet Science only proves how right they were in their ideas of breathing. In accordance with the accepted axiom " Summa ars celare artem" (the highest art lies in its concealment), they insisted that the goal of the singer should be "imperceptible and inaudible breathing." The celebrated singing master, Lamperti, was never tired of insisting that the points of the shoulders must be free, and that the breathing of a singer should re- semble that of a swimmer. The great tenor, Eubini, was once closely watched for several min- utes by the equally celebrated bass, Lablache, and although the latter was holding Eubini's hand while singing a duet, he declared that he was unable to observe when or how he breathed, so noiseless and imper- ceptible was his method of respiration. An oft-repeated anecdote of Rubini, however, describes that, later in his career, being desirous of bringing out the high B flat he used so much force as to break his collar-bone ! First, I do not believe this story, but, if it were true, either the artist's collar-bone had become very brittle, or else he was not singing with that schooled respiration described on the occasion of his duet with Lablache. A friend of mine tells me that his father knew Lablache intimately, and that this artist one day for fun sang a long note from piano to forte and back to piano, then drank a glass of wine, and, without having breathed, finished by singing a chromatic scale in trills up the octave all in the same breath, and finally blew out a candle with his mouth open ! There were giants in those days ! A word on voice-production. When we sing, the delicate edges of the vocal chords are brought together so that the pressure of trie breath sets them into vibration, and prolonged sound is the result. The muscles connected with the vocal chords enable us to tune them to the notes of the scale, and melody ensues. Whilst many earnest scientists have endeavored to determine the exact action of the most delicate muscles in the larynx, nothing of so simple a character has yet been discovered as to make the study of singing any easier. We shall learn more by observing what happens to the muscles which form the floor of the mouth. They assist in holding the larynx in its proper position, and become tenser as we ascend the scale in the different registers. The muscles, however, connected with the different movements of the tongue lie just above these; indeed, they also help to form the floor of the mouth. The least rigidity of the floor of the mouth involves the muscles of the tongue, and the tone as well as the pronunciation is distorted SINGING AS AX AKT 681 through the awkwardness of the singer. The term "placing the voice " is so commonly used that I do not hesitate to employ it here. But when the voice is rightly produced the placing muscles do not interfere with the muscles above them which move the tongue, and so pronunciation and tone are new unimpeded, for they act inde- pendently. By whispering a sentence, and then suddenly singing it, we can observe the placing muscles come into play, and how they are quite different from those we employed in whispering only. Thus we see that the difficulty lies not in the pronunciation itself, but in singing in such a manner that unconscious pronunciation is a result. In bad singing the jaw is always fixed; indeed a triple combination for evil is coincident in the fixedness of the tongue, throat and jaw. When one is rigid all are rigid, and this could be easily explained scientifically. The old masters of singing, without any knowledge of anatomy, held it to be of the greatest importance that during the singing of scale passages the jaw was not to move. Their maxim was " He who moves the mouth cannot sing." Pachiorotti held that "He who knows how to breathe and how to pronounce " knows how to sing. Crescentini averred that " Looseness about the neck and the voice on the breath " is the art of singing. If we do not produce the voice rightly, either the throat contracts in a manner which we recognize as throaty, or the nasal cavities are rigidly held and we say the sound is nasal; or we hear a hooting, lugubrious sound, terribly monotonous and sepul- chral; or silly sounds are produced which have been called in Italian vocc bianc, voix blanche by the French, or white, blatant, colorless voice, like that produced by the half-witted. Awkward rigidity about the floor of the mouth is also fatal to the freedom of the muscles which tune the larynx. So when a note starts exactly on the pitch intended, it is the most important sign of perfect voice-production. Many of us at times have sung a note which seemed to roll out in unconscious freedom and with great sonority. The art of singing is to find out how this excellence may be attained in all the notes of the voice. There are placing muscles and tuning muscles. When length, breadth and thickness of the vocal chords are rightly adjusted, the intrinsic muscles of the larynx can tune the different notes in un- conscious ease. Moreover such notes respond to the right breath con- trol. We learn from the old Masters that they arrived at placing the voice, poising the larynx on the breath, by the very simple method of endeavoring to sing a note while they measured the breath by breath- ing on a mirror or against a lighted taper held opposite the mouth. They could thus judge whether the note sounded fully without dis- turbing the breath. Supposing the note was not placed, the singer 682 MUSIC was compelled to press more than he could do without upsetting the breath control. This caused a puff, which was considered a disaster. Under this system it was found that that was the right note which produced the most sound with the least breath. Scientifically they were right, for they produced a greater result with less means. The student, in trying to sing a note, frequently forgets his breath control, and this will bring home to him the truth of the old saying, " The art of singing is the school of respiration." The looseness of the neck and unconscious feeling about the throat during singing caused the old singers to boast that the Italian singer has no throat. They might have added no jaw and no tongue. Then a note may be described as placed if it speaks to the breath we are able to control, if it can be produced in the very centre of the sound intended, if it leaves in freedom the pronunciation and the expression. The essence of the teaching of the old Masters is contained in the axiom : " Every note of .the voice should be produced by a column of air over which the singer should have perfect control." The attack of the note (that is to say, the art of starting a sound with frankness in the very centre of the pitch intended) has always been regarded as a great test of good singing. The many scoopings up to, or " seeking or feeling for the note," are, of course, a sign of bad production. The accomplishment of what is known as " legato singing," namely, that joining of the notes which yet must at the same time all be " clean cut out," was looked upon by the old Masters as another of the great signs of good singing. They said, " He who cannot join cannot sing." All the notes of a passage on the same vowel should be " like pearls on a string," and the string supporting them is the right control of the breath. Those who have mastered breath control and freedom of the throat and tongue are now in a position to add tone to the voice through the loose, unrestrained condition of the space behind the tongue and the nasal cavities. The throat in its normal state and when we are asleep is wide open, and only bad singing interferes with this. For some vowels the throat space undoubtedly has temporarily to be some- what contracted, and possibly as we sing higher there may be a cor- responding modification of the throat space. But all these changes are unconscious, and the contortions of the bad singer render these nat- ural conditions impossible, just as the unconstrained throat of the good singer leaves nature free to utter her loveliest tones. With the throat wide open, the vowel sound which is emitted is ah. This pure ah was the goal towards which the Italian singers never ceased to advance, as affording the greatest test of tone and facility of pronunciation. SINGING AS AN AET 683 As an aid to the freedom necessary to this perfect vowel the student was wont to practice a rapid tongue movement before the ah, and the consonant I was generally adopted on account of its demanding a free movement of the whole of the tongue. On singing lah rapidly the inclination to stiffen the instrument was overcome. This sudden tongue movement, when done with entire absence of hesitation, and in conjunction with a proper breath control, became the foundation, for the attack of the note, and the freedom and richness of the ah was found to depend on its daring and spontaneity. The value of lah as a foundation study cannot be over-estimated by the student, who through it will discover freedom of throat. The sudden, rapid move- ment of the tongue in reiterated lahs was the device used by the old Masters for bringing about the freedom of the tongue and jaw which invariably accompanies good singing. Sing with frank and fearless attack lah, lah, lah, lah, lah, on the same note. Was the tune commenced in. the very centre of the sound intended ? Was there no hesitation at the commencement ? Was the jaw in repose and independent of the movement of the tongue? Another mode of finding the perfect ah is to repeat it in a slow, staccato manner on the same note in the same breath. If we tune with absolute accuracy, and if we open the throat so as to emit a pure ah, we shall be compelled to control the breath rightly. These exer- cises each produce in the end precisely the same result, viz., the fullest natural tone. Let us now take a step forward and vary the vowel sounds used in the exercise, while strictly regarding the rules just laid down for naturalness of tone. We will sing, lah, leh, lee, ah, eh, ee. Can we change the position of the tongue (which rises somewhat in the centre for eh, and still more for ee), without moving the jaw, or allowing the breath to slip and the throat to close ? We have now arrived at the last test of good singing, which I must insist upon. When we sing two or more notes on the same syllable do they join in the legato style? Dare we sing with unerring tuning? We have arrived very nearly at the goal of voice production if we can do this on consecutive notes on all the intervals. Lastly, if we can sing in the legato style we have arrived at a state of freedom which will permit, with practice, the execution of the most rapid passages. A word about registers. In Italy the stops of the organ are called the registers. Now because of this, the three different characteristic series of tones which exist in every voice have been named the three registers. One might say these three stops are the grand stop, the brilliant stop, and the flute stop. We have all heard of the chest voice. This simply means that the lowest notes of the voice when produced naturally in a certain way 684 MUSIC cause a remarkable sensation of vibration in the chest which can be physically felt by the hand of the performer, as well as heard by the audience. Such notes are manly and grand in character. In the middle of the voice, immediately above the chest register, is another series of notes usually termed the medium register. In these notes the most characteristic sign of singing correctly is the extra- ordinary sense of vibration of the air in the mouth, which seems to strike the upper teeth. The notes of this series of sounds are distin- guished by their brilliant and silvery quality. The third register is known as the head voice, by reason of the sensation felt by the singer, and recognized likewise by the listener, that the sound reverberates in the skull beyond the last upper teeth. All the teeth that are shown when we smile must be shown when we sing the head register. These head notes are characterized by a fluty and bird-like character of surpassing loveliness. The first notes of all the registers are weak and a source of trouble to the student, for the breath slips out until some experience is gained. For this reason, instead of strengthening the lower, weak notes of the medium register, the inclination of all singers is to hurry on their studies by forcing up the chest notes when they ought to sing medium, with the result that the men are said to shout or bawl, or yell like the men in the streets, and the contraltos and sopranos force up the chest notes and emit sounds like boys shouting to each other. Mezzo-sopranos and sopranos, moreover, are very prone to avoid the cultivation of the head-notes altogether, and to force up the medium register, with a sad result. It is no longer singing in a high sense, it is not expressive of lovely feelings, pronunciation is impossible, and the characteristic sound of the voice is described as screaming, screech- ing ; whereas nothing in nature is more lovely and truly womanly than the sound of the head voice. The registers so dovetail one into the other, or overlap one another, that we can sing softly some notes in one register and repeat the same notes loudly in another register. We can also commence a note p.p, and swell it out to /./., and return to the softest p.p., but probably not always with the same throat mechanism ; indeed, the achievement of this was formerly considered the culminating effort of the singer, and was termed the messa di voce. It is, however, as necessary to sing with loose throat to do this as it is to join the notes in the legato style. The trill was another of the accomplishments highly thought of as proving the mastery of the vocal art. It is, perhaps, the most delight- ful of all the embellishments of music. The trill is still used in piano- forte and violin pieces, where it is still regarded as a worthy aid to expression. Singers, however, finding its accomplishment beyond their powers are wont to assume that, together with scales and passages, it ia SINGING AS AN AET 685 unworthy and meretricious and that as an ornament, it is but an empty and stale device for showing off the voice. The trills have not yet been cut out of Beethoven's Sonatas, so we may not deem them unworthy of a word here. As the performance of this delightful ornament is a sure sign of the greatest freedom of the instrument, the two notes must be perfectly produced by one or both of the devices already mentioned. That is to say, we must sing the two notes on lah, la, la la, faster and faster until an even trill is the result, or we must do staccato notes more rapidly until the notes join and trill of themselves. In practicing this, never sing faster than you can sing exactly in tune, exactly in time (that is, not jerking), with the perfect pronunciation of ah, and with a smiling tone which must reveal absolute ease of manner. The portamento is another graceful effect. PRONUNCIATION. — The vowels of the English language are thirteen in number, and as we have conquered the pronunciation of the typical ah, we must sustain the other twelve sounds with similar freedom. Starting with ah, we find such sounds as at, a (and air], et, ii, and ee, which are different upward tongue positions; then come changes of lips and throat, such as oo, hood, aw, o, ot, cr and -at. As singing words at first takes our attention from the unerring tuning which we should associate with our studies, beware of com- mencing too soon to attempt singing with words. The old Masters insisted on solfeggi and vocalises or songs without words for a consid- erable time before permitting an aria. INTENSITY AND EXPRESSION. — By intensity the good singer means the intense pressure of the breath on the voice which gives effect to any and every emotion he chooses, because he has power over the breath that intensifies, and has acquired the freedom of the instru- ment. By means of this he can make the loudest sounds possible ex- pressive, and he can also cause the softest sounds to be carried to the farthest end of the theatre or concert hall. The artist when he inten- sifies a pianissimo note can make this travel to the end of the room and touch his hearers, and arouse emotions as of distance brought near to us, or of memories of the past recalled. The bad singer has to rely on his loud notes, which become monotonous ; he dare not sing softly, he would most likely become inaudible. Let us never cease striving to bring out all the force and intensity with which nature has endowed us; but, at the same time, let us en- deavor never to give out more force than that with which we are able to express. The real amount of fervor we can produce depends on our instinct and individuality, and the result is the depth and intensity of expression of which we are capable. The sacred warmth of expressive melody is the gift of the gods, and without it there will be little emotion. 086 MUSIC The play of the face varies the expression of the voice. How could the inanimate face produce sounds other than monotonous ? It is impossible to smile with the face and express sorrow with the voice. Every emotion has its appropriate facial expression. So if we insist on expressing with the face the sentiment we sing, and at the same time control the breath, we shall certainly succeed in our art. PHRASING. — Let us study the words and music we have to sing until both are mastered mentally, the picture of the words and the phrasing of the music; the crescendo of the ascending notes of the melody and the diminuendo of the falling cadence; the accents neces- sary to the words, the sensitive loveliness of the accents which belong to the melody. The effect of diminishing the power of the voice on nearing the end of a phrase is sometimes magical. Let us avoid dragging and hurrying. The greater the artist the less he tampers with the time of the music, without due consideration. The old Masters prided themselves on their phrasing, on the calm- ness of the tempo on the just accent, and on the crescendo and diminuendo. The singers were so sensitive to lovely phrasing that the clarinetist, Lazarus, whom I knew intimately, on being asked " Where did you learn your exquisite phrasing ?" said, " I learned it from the singers at the opera, some fifty years ago." On the other hand, a great tenor, on being asked, " From whom did you learn your phrasing ? " said, " I fancy I learned more from hearing Lazarus play the clarinet than from any one else." Nowadays the instru- mentalists are certainly ahead of the singers in loveliness of phrasing, but formerly the contrary was the case. The development of the orchestra has, of course, been carried to its highest pitch by Wagner. But, unfortunately, while he has increased the volume, the richness and complexity of the orchestra to an unpre- cedented degree, he has been unable to add anything whatever to the volume of the human voice. There still live composers who have written music full of deep feeling, true loveliness and dramatic charac- ter, yet not well-fitted for the voice, and, indeed, sometimes almost incapable of successful performance. As a public singer I have had to sing cantatas and other works which, though written for a tenor, were quite unsuitable, and I have heard many times artists singing music too low, or painfully laden with words on the highest notes, parts almost impossible to render with any true vocal effect. Vocalists have asked the composer, " For what voice is this written ? " He answers, " Well, I do not mean exactly any particular kind of voice; it is for a kind of baritone or mezzo- eoprano." What a confused idea of the capabilities of the different voices ! Some two years before his death, I begged the great Brahms to SINGING AS AN AET 687 write some songs specially for a tenor voice. I told him I found hii lovely songs too low. He said, " Transpose them higher, for I like them to be transposed according to the voice." " But," I said, " if I put them up, then there are notes which will be too high, for the tenor voice is only good between the two A flats. Your songs are too extensive in compass." " Ya, ya ! " he said, " that is what my friend Walther, the tenor, tells me." What a loss to singers it is, then, that the beautiful songs of Brahms, as well as those of other great com- posers, were not written for some particular voice, like the music of the Italian composers. The question suggests itself, Why do not composers study singing before writing for the voice, just as they must study the pianoforte or the violin before writing a concerto for these instruments? It is well known how much Mendelssohn was indebted to his friend David for the excellence of his violin part in the Concerto, one of the most grace- ful works ever written for any instrument. Brahms, too, sought the assistance of Joachim when engaged in composing his violin Concerto. In the olden times, singers were frequently composers and com- posers were singing-masters. Furthermore, Handel and Mozart both went to Italy and studied singing, and associated with singers. I believe the time is fast coming when there shall spring up composers who will study singing and singers, and find the legato style of sing- ing — the long, expressive notes, the invocation and all the charms of a classic school as worthy of their attention as the pianoforte, violin, and other instruments. There exist the same splendid voices now as ever, and the same poetic imagination. There are already signs everyr where that an inquiry is being made relative to singing and singers, which augurs well for the art. The more the subject is discussed, the better. Such discussions can not fail to be the means of bringing together the composer, the singer, and the singing-master, and it is only by the constant association of these three that we shall realize the great object on which the hopes of all of us are set, namely, great works of art that shall open to us new fields of beauty through the medium of the only instrument that is at once human and divine. THE DRAMA THE DRAMA THE IDEA OF TEAGEDY1 BY WILLIAM L. COURTNEY [William Leonard Courtney, Editor of the Fortnightly Review since 1894; b. in India in 1850; educated University College, Oxford; LL.D. St. Andrews; member editorial staff of Daily Telegraph, London; and one of the directors of Chapman and Hall's Publishing House; produced his drama, Kit Marlowe, in 1893; and in 1903 a dramatic version of De LaMotte Fouque's story, Undine. Author of The Metaphysics of John Stuart Mill; Constructive Ethics; The Development of Maeterlinck; three lectures on Tragedy; and Studies at Leisure. THERE is a curious passage in one of Heine's prefaces in which he says that while writing his poems he seemed to hear the whirring of the wings of a bird above his head. He asked some of his brother poets in Berlin whether they had had a similar experience, but they only looked at each other with a strange expression and declared that nothing of the kind had occurred to them.2 The wings which Heine had heard, and the young Berlin poets had never heard, were the rush and whirr of new ideas. Only those who are conscious of this wing-winnowing are inspired by the thoughts of a newer era, and are awake when the dawn appears. To Euripides, at all events, who, though to some extent contemporary with the older poets, ^Eschylus and Sophocles, was a whole age after them in thought, there must have come the strange sounds which Heine heard ; for no one more characteristically than he became the exponent of a period of revolution and change. It was a new heaven and a new earth, or, at all events it was a new earth, which figured itself in his imagination, an earth in which rationalizing thought, a clear logical intelligence, and a determination not to accept unverified and un- verifiable dogmas wrought havoc with the older scheme of things. There was much in the contemporary state of Athens, so different from the Athens of the Persian wars, to explain and account for the transformation; but the phenomenon itself which was being exhibited in the Ionic capital can be sufficiently interpreted from the spiritual or intellectual side alone. No one can be sure whether Euripides was the friend of Anaxagoras or of Socrates; but the point is of little consequence, for there was a certain kinship between 1 This lecture was originally delivered at the Royal Institution, London, Eng- land, and is presented here to supplement the lectuies originally prepared for the International Congress of Arts and Science. 2 Heine's preface to his New Poems. 692 THE DEAMA the two philosophers, and the dramatist may have caught the domi- nant notes of the newer era from either the one or the other. The older Olympians were being stormed by a young divinity called after no names of imperial or divine majesty, but by the simple term of "intelligence," " vovs " Whether the human analytic intelligence is applied to antique structures of religion, or superstition, or old- fashioned political theory, or hoary dogmas of morality, the result is always primarily destructive; and a chaotic period supervenes be- fore reason can mould out of the scattered and inconsistent theories the fabric of a better and more intelligible world order. Shall we look at it on the side of ethics? There comes the dis- covery that there are no abstract moral laws, true forever and in all places, but only recognized conventions which one country or city can adopt, and another community can reject. Shall we look at it from the side of political theory? We shall make strange discoveries as to the real seat of authority in a state, the meaning of justice, the rationale of civic law, the justification of state punishment. Shall we look at it from the side of religious belief ? Here for the poet and the imaginative artist the acid seems to bite deeper still. Either the gods are good, and then the stories told about them are false, or else the stories are true, and then the gods are no gods at all. How can Zeus and Apollo have carried out their dominion over the earth by means of actions reprobated by the better feeling of humanity ? Cheat- ing and stealing and adultery, these are the acts which the ancient legends impute to the gods, to say nothing of an absurd jealousy and a miserable system of favoritism. Such, speaking in general terms, was the character of the destructive work done by the Sophists and teachers of the new enlightenment. The ordinary conception held in Athens about Socrates was that his influence was exerted on similar lines. He was brought up on a charge of corrupting the youth. It was an absolutely unjust charge, if we may trust Plato, who, indeed, gives us a glorified Socrates. Yet even Socrates' great pupil has to allow that dialectics, the business of argument and discussion and controversy, taught young men to wran- gle like puppies and Aristotle said without hesitation that people ought to have come to years of discretion before they learned moral philosophy. Euripides, however, lived in the flood tide of these ideas, and whether he learned from the lips of Anaxagoras the notion that intelligence was the supreme principle in the universe, or caught from Socrates the trick of argument and analysis of the current notions of the day, his dramas, ostensibly like some of the older ones, are yet inspired by a perfectly different spirit. The effect in his case is all the more interesting to us because there are many superficial and some real likenesses between the age of the Sophists in Greece and that spirit which has been called fin de siecle in our modern world. THE IDEA OF TKAGEDY 693 Skepticism is, of course, the first result. Much learned contro- versy exists as to whether Euripides was really a skeptic ; but there is no manner of doubt that his handling of the older myths and his treatment of the divinities of Greece were conceived in a skeptical vein. Listen to the nai've way in which Ion coming out of the tem- ple in the early morning light, rebukes his patron god Apollo for the treatment he had meted out to his mother. " I must needs rebuke Phoebus," he says. " He betrays virgins and abandons them, and allows his own children to perish. Not so, Phoebus: since you have the power, try to be virtuous. The gods -punish a man who conducts himself badly. Is it just that the authors of the laws imposed on mortals should themselves transgress them ? " Listen in " Andro- mache " to the words of the messenger who has told us of the death of Neoptolemus. " The god who inspires oracles, who reveals to all men the rules of justice, see how he has treated the son of Achilles. Like a villain he has wreaked vengeance for an ancient quarrel. Where then, is his wisdom ? " But, indeed, I need not quote examples which are familiar to all those who have read the plays of Euripides. No one was more daring than he in making the characters rebuke the gods for their extraordinarily low ethical standard. One of the ap- parent exceptions is furnished by the " Bacchantes," in which Euri- pides seems to recommend the worship of Dionysus. But he was writing for a Macedonian Court, and the meaning of the " Bacchan- tes " is one of the most contested points among Euripidean com- mentators. Skepticism is the half sister of pessimism, and the thinker who has adopted the one glides almost insensibly into the other. Here we reach a point which is of peculiar importance to us in reference to the idea of tragedy, and I must be pardoned for dilating a little on this subject. It is obvious that tragedy itself is born of pessimism, and could scarcely be conceived as having any other origin. Unless a poet is keenly alive to the sufferings of humanity, unless he feels to the full the irony of mortals whose everyday dream is of happiness, and whose everyday experience is of disappointment and unhappiness, he would hardly adopt tragic themes for the exercise of his muse. Everything, however, turns on the meaning that we attach to this word pessimism, and the particular form in which it becomes the inspirer of dramatic efforts. In a previous lecture, when speaking of the pessimism that was in Shakespeare, I attempted to distinguish be- tween the pessimism which despaired of human happiness and the pessimism which despaired of human virtue. That is looking at the matter from the point of view of the moralist. Now we must occupy ourselves with the standpoint of the artist. There are some forms of the philosophic theory of pessimism which appear to cut at the very root of the artistic impulse. If they ever 694 THE DRAMA produce fruit in the imaginative sphere, the fruitage is singularly bitter, stunted, abortive. Take, for instance, a scheme like that of Schopenhauer. Beginning with an assurance that there is a large preponderance of misery over happiness in this world, he explains that we are all the victims of a great, mysterious, blind, but all- powerful force, which he calls " the will to live." If you and I and all other men and women are alike miserable, the reason is that we are at once the creatures and playthings of a great impersonal, natural volition, driving us to live our dreary lives, to fear death, and cling to existence, whether we will or no. Intelligence which is given to the human race is the dreariest of mockeries, for it is powerless against this insatiable craving. All that intelligence can do is to throw light upon the turmoil, to make us comprehend the fatal condi- tions in which we are ensnared, and thus to make us more unhappy than we were before. Now observe the moral which Schopenhauer draws from his philosophical scheme. He tells us that we should deny the will to live, not so much by suicide, for that would be a wilful act, and our object is to get rid of will — but by asceticism, self-restraint, resignation to passivity, such as was practiced and is now practiced in the East. Now, if we suppose that any dramatic artist accepted Schopen- hauer as his guide, philosopher and friend, he would have to believe that passivity was better than activity, and would be essaying the almost impossible task of painting by means of action a goal of in- action. The essence of drama is human activity ; the very word signi- fies action; and the idea is absolutely eviscerated of all meaning by the assumption that a denial of the will to live is our real object. Schopenhauer's own notion of tragedy illustrates this. It is only at best a sort of alleviation or temporary consolation — part and parcel, therefore, of that lamentable gift of intelligence which shows how hideous is the chaos in which we live. " What gives to all tragedy, in whatever form it may appear, the peculiar tendency towards the sub- lime is the awakening of the knowledge that the world, life, can afford us no true pleasure, and consequently is not worthy of our attachment. In this consists the tragic spirit; it therefore leads to resignation." x • But the artist must believe in his work as a free and joyous form of activity, not assuredly as a mere anaesthetic, an anodyne, a mode of sending to sleep a ceaseless grumble of indignation and despair. Such pessimism as this is, I say, for the most part fruitless, or if it bear fruit, such fruit is atrophied, abortive, bitter, like dead sea- apples in the mouth. It is difficult, perhaps, to suggest a work of art which is conceived in this spirit, and is the direct fruit of Scho- penhauer's pessimism. But perhaps Mr. Hardy's Jude the Obscure i Schopenhauer's " World as Will and Idea." Book III, cap. 37. THE IDEA OF TRAGEDY 695 comes the nearest to it, a work which depresses human vitality, and therefore, as I take it, sins against humanity. Better examples can perhaps be found in some of Zola's novels — S'Assomoir, La Terre, and others. Nevertheless, the conditions of life may be regarded as miserable, and yet human actions stand on a higher plane than before. On a dark background of gloom the higher qualities of the human being — his love, devotion, passion, self-denial, recklessness — may stand out in almost radiant colors. Let us grant with the pessimist that man, as he exists in the midst of a nature that is alien to him, and under social conditions which stunt or retard his growth, is not likely to secure much happiness. Nature, as we know, is harsh and cruel, and her laws are those which are terrible for the individual though helpful, it may be, for the world's progress — the laws of struggle for existence, the survival of the fittest, and development by means of unlimited competition. Or if we take it from another side of science - the science of biology — there is reason to suppose that the sins of the fathers are visited on the children, and that many men and women begin their careers crippled and maimed by a hereditary taint. Or once more, the social order is found to be oppressive, framed as it is for the convenience of the majority — the incarnation of trium- phant commonplace, the victory of the conventionally useful rather than the ideally good, the despotism of a majority which, as Dr. Stockmann declares in Ibsen's Enemy of the People, is at least quite as often wrong as right. Such things may well breed a sort of pessimism, may produce for the thinker and philosophic student a mood of nervelessness and gloom. But the artist who approaches these subjects not as a thinker or as a student, but as an observer of the flash and play of human life, sees that on this background of darkness he can paint his human beings with all their rich vitality and spontaneousness of effort, trans- figured and ennobled by contrast. And he has this justification to begin with — that all the nobler and higher activities of man, whether in founding States, creating rules of morality, or even building hospi- tals, are done in the teeth of nature, and constitute a direct challenge to the dull mechanical cruelty of her laws. But the sovereign vindi- cation for the artist is the exceeding beauty of all human vitalities, whether they are effective or ineffective, whether they succeed or fail. It is life as such that the artist loves, strong, exuberant, magnificent life, defying laws of time and space, and conquering the impossible — circumscribed, indeed, if we look at its scientific conditions, but abso- lutely free and untrammeled in its spiritual essence. If an artist who feels the intoxication of life writes tragedies, they do not in reality depress us, because, instead of making the pulse flag and beat slower, they stir us, as it were, with a trumpet-call, they cause the 696 THE DRAMA blood to flow more eagerly through our veins. Did any one ever feel his sense of vitality lowered by either reading or seeing on the stage the ruin of Othello or the tragedy of Lear ? It is more difficult to find contemporary examples, but one can feel much the same thing with regard to many even of the modern novelists whose books are often classed as pessimistic. Take, for instance, the two books of that strong, original writer, who calls herself " Zack " — On Trial and Life is Life. They are pessimistic enough in all conscience, if we mean by the word that the authoress is keenly conscious of the sorrow of things. But the artist has known how to enhance the dignity of human effort, even when she proclaims it to be hopeless. We do grievous wrong to works of art if we dismiss them because they seem to preach a gloomy moral. There is a gloom which is paralyzing; there is another gloom which a man or woman of strong creative per- sonality can turn into a very mainspring of pulsing action and life.1 If, therefore, we class Euripides as a pessimist, we must be .careful to define what kind of pessimism he represents. He is an apt parallel to the moderns because he comes after the first primitive artistic impulse has waned; he lives in an age when for the majority the native hue of resolution had been sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought. But on a canvas of vacillation and doubt, with a background of skepticism as to the nature and existence of the gods and a resolute acknowledgment that life is in many respects evil, he paints, with all the more touching and picturesque pathos, suffering, struggling, doomed, passionate, but always vigorous humanity. It is the pathos of things, indeed, the lacrimae rerum which so occupy Euripides that he becomes almost romantic in the treatment of his themes. It is this sense of pathos and pity which made Aristotle call him the most tragic of the poets, and was in the mind doubtless of Mrs. Browning when she wrote of " Euripides the human with his droppings of warm tears." Men and women in the Euripidean drama are always alive: they sin passionately, they transgress all moral and divine laws; they destroy one another with a fierce fero- city, they make glorious failures — but they are vital. And just because the play of life was so infinitely interesting to Euripides, whether it was Anaxagoras who told him this lesson or Socrates or his own artistic genius, he can put into clear light quite as many virtues as the vices of which he is so prodigal. Many critics have called him misogynist, and certainly he says very hard things of the female sex. As a matter of fact, in the tragi-comedy of existence, he realizes far more clearly than his predecessors the extraordinary value from an artistic standpoint of women-characters. He . knows how they can embroil and embellish human things, how they can at i See an essay by Mr. William Archer (contributed to the Fortnightly Review), entitled "Tragedy and Pessimism." THE IDEA OF TRAGEDY 697 once disturb and improve, ruin and save. By the side, therefore, of his splendidly villainous women like Phaedra and Medea and Sthene- boea, women who break through every natural impulse with un- daunted recklessness, he will give you women who are patterns of high moral duty, women filled through and through with the idea of self-sacrifice, willing victims, like Polyxena and the beautiful Iphigenia — not, as in the older dramatist, killed by her father, but going voluntarily to the altar for the sake of the Trojan expedition. So, too, there is no higher example of conjugal love than that of Al- cestis, who died for her unworthy lord. Like Virgil after him, Euripides sees also the artistic value be- tween man and maid. This was a complete innovation in tragedy. Plato thought that love itself was not a worthy theme in drama. Aristophanes derides it. But the poet's contemporaries who were themselves perhaps learning a softer mood of romance, as the great patriotic impulses of the Persian wars were dying away, appreciated the novelty as though it were indeed a revelation. Take the young Haemon with his love of Antigone, cheerfully dying for her sake, or take the moving treatement of "Perseus and Andromeda," which seems to have captivated Athenian audiences though it only exists for us in fragments. Andromeda, as Professor Lewis Campbell remarks in his interesting book on Greek tragedy, says the very words to her deliverer which Miranda in " The Tempest," says to Ferdinand : " Sir, take me with you, whether as your servant, or wife, or hand- maid," anticipates Miranda's " To be your fellow you may deny me, but I will be your servant, whether you will or no." Euripides may or may not have been a misogynist, but at all events he was one of the " Feminists," a protagonist in that movement which so profoundly influences the Norwegian dramatist Ibsen. In what I have said I have already anticipated some of the condi- tions of a modern age. In a remarkable speech to a club of work- ingmen at Drontheim in 1885, Ibsen declared that " the Revolution now preparing in Europe is chiefly concerned with the future of the Workers and the Women. In this I place all my hopes and expecta- tions, and for this I will work all my life." Here are certainly two points which will mark the lifework of an advanced thinker in con- temporary times. The rise of what is known as the Feminist Move- ment, the echoes of which are even heard in France, as proved by such remarkable novels as Femmes Nouvelles, by the Brothers Mar- gueritte, and Une Nouvelle Douleur, by Jules Bois, must naturally alter the point of view of any dramatist who is concerned with the social aspects of the era.1 Themes therefore, which treat of the con- i The note is, of course, different in England and France. In England it is the practical inconvenience of the revolting female; in France it is the voluble indignation of the baffled male. 698 THE DKAMA trast between the two sexes, and of woman's economic moral and in- tellectual emancipation, come to the forefront, and indeed could scarcely be expected to be absent in any author who is inspired by the newer lights. So, too, with regard to the other great question, which in its general tendency is called socialism. The various classes of society, their differences of station, their life struggle, the contrast between rich and poor, the great gulf fixed between social influence and social impotence, these will not leave themselves without evidence in the works of a modern thinker. Add to these a characteristic mark of the latter part of the 19th century — the solution of all questions on scientific grounds and by means of scientific formulae — and we have the main ingredients of that environment in the midst of which a contemporary dramatist has to work. Materialism — a practical ma- terialism which makes wealth one of the objects of men's lives, and a theoretical materialism which makes the doctor the great hero of modern life, because all diseases, spiritual or mental, are in the last resort declared to be physical; a social order in which woman is ac- claimed as the arbiter of her own destiny — these are the general aspects, the contemporary features which art has to work with, and, if possible, mould to her own purpose. There is, however, another point which, for our immediate object, is more important still. We are not dealing with a young civilization such as was to be found in Greece in the sixth century B.C., and in Italy in the early Eenaissance. We are dealing with a society which has lost, to a large extent, its faith in ideals, which has become skeptical of its own efforts, more than a little weary of the higher aims, more and more content to relapse on the lower levels of life and thought. To an age of this kind, to a civilization which can be de- scribed in these terms, how will the general idea of tragedy be altered ? It depended, you will remember, on a certain equipoise be- tween an external compelling fate and an internal power of initiative and resistance. The one was the element of necessity, the imper- sonal order of the universe; the other was the element of freedom, the personal fount and source of action. Now, when Shakespeare was attracted by this problem — the sphere allowed to human volition in the midst of a great overpowering en- vironment— he slowly worked towards a conclusion which was con- sistent with his own energy of temperament and with the general characteristics of his age, that what we mean by Destiny and Fate is nothing more nor less than a man's character. Man has not to look outside for the impulses which govern him, but the tyrants which rule his birth are found within the four walls of his own personality. Such a doctrine might suit the strong youthful times of art and of a na- tion's vigor, because, under such conditions, the value of human THE IDEA OF TEAGEDY 699 efforts is recognized as the one great thing in the universe; but when the times have grown older, when there has appeared a certain lassi- tude in art and in national existence, such a doctrine is too hard to be borne. It is so much easier for those who are already fatigued and wearied with much experience and much knowledge of the falla- ciousness and failure of human effort to say that destiny comes from the outside, and is an irresistible force overbearing human wills. In Maeterlinck, for instance, you find the conclusion that man is the plaything, the sport of Destiny. At all events this is true of Maeterlinck's earlier dramas, where the human figure is so faintly drawn that the notion of spontaneity or freedom is absurd and im- possible. " Pelleas and Melisande," were both the victims of fate, which they could not control; so, too, were Aglavaine and Selysette; so, too, was the unlucky Princess Maleine. If you reduce human vitality to a thin, almost incorporeal vapor, if, instead of human be- ings that have length, breadth and thickness, you have frescoes on a wall, it is absurd to ask if things like these can alter their fates, or recognize that the supreme fate lies in their character. They will be driven hither and thither as leaves in a wind, puppets dangled on wires over which they have no control, dolls which the dramatist takes out, dresses up, and when they have finished their task, puts into the box again. What Maeterlinck will do hereafter is another matter. He has written a fine book on Destiny and Character, and for aught we know may be devising in his mind quite other characters and dramas from those with which we are at present conversant.1 It is more than commonly difficult to arrive at any just estimate of the position of Ibsen as a dramatist. It would not be true to say of him, as I venture to say about Maeterlinck, that he depresses the sense of human vitality. His thought, if not always quite clear, is always vigorous; he has a singular grasp of many of the insistent problems that vex the modern world, and for reasons that are con- nected with his unique personality, he wields a curious power of fascination in many ways disturbing to the judgment. There is much of the sorcerer in him, so that however much one may dislike his themes, he holds us, like the Ancient Mariner, with his glittering eye, compelling us to read what he has to say to the last page. Moreover, he is so unconventional that he gives a vivid impression of originality, not always, I think, quite deserved. Many of his social themes, for instance, appear in French dramatists, who raise, though in a different form, the precise questions which Ibsen raises. But no one could deny him the name of a dramatist. He is a master of theatrical technique, in the presentment of his themes, and in the * i In what 1 have said I am only dealing with the dramatic qualities of Maeterlinck. The poetic qualities, the haunting and suggestive beauty of his scenes and some of his lines, are quite another matter. 700 THE DRAMA evolution of such plot as he allows himself. Both his characters and the phrases which from time to time he puts into their mouth have a distinct power over our imagination, so that they become un- forgettable. Indeed, I might go further. They obsess the mind like a nightmare that we should like to shake off, but cannot. If all this means anything, it means that Ibsen is a real dramatist. Think, for instance, in one of the least satisfactory of his dramas, " Little Eyolf," how admirably the first act is arranged, how clearly it puts the issues before us, how instantly we understand the situ- ation of the father and mother now that their boy is lost. Some- times, as in this case, Ibsen begins with a catastrophe, and works out its consequences ; sometimes, as in " John Gabriel Borkman," the catastrophe has happened before the curtain goes up. In each case we are put as close as possible to the critical moment, and the con- centration of interest which is thereby gained is found to be of no little dramatic value. The Norwegian writer prefers to work analyti- cally rather than synthetically. He does not show how the tragedy grows, but, breaking it into its component parts, he traces the effects of the tragedy on his characters. Nevertheless there remains one constant quality for which it is not easy to find a word. It is a quality of grimness, of ruggedness, of irritability, as though • life and the world had got on his nerves and filled him with spleen. His dramas are never written in a serene artistic temper, but too often represent the unfathomable indigna- tion of the idealist who looks from Dan to Beersheba and finds the whole country barren. It is not an uncommon effect of analysis that it leaves few of the fair structures of life standing. The analytic mind, whether in the man of science or in a disappointed and thwarted poet like Ibsen, by resolving a thing into its component parts, loses the sense of its general value, mars its beauty, destroys its serviceableness in the order of the universe. We know, for in- stance, how victorious analysis, in the sphere of practical and moral science, has done its best to resolve the notion of duty into con- venience or pleasure or personal utility, and the idea of conscience into an inherited fear of the spirits of dead ancestors. Something of the same kind must happen when an isolated thinker like Ibsen probes the ordinary conventions of social life and finds them hollow, taps at all the shutters and discovers that what is be- hind them is valueless, throws open the closet-doors and reveals the skeletons, tears the veil from human affections, and displays their meanness and littleness. Mankind must appear very despicable to a man who makes Peer Gynt the hero of a drama, paints the conven- tional husband under the form of a self-satisfied idiot like Helmer, and has an especial fondness for introducing the Norwegian eman- cipated young woman as the destroyer of connubial felicity. The THE IDEA OF TRAGEDY 701 human animal is either a knave or a fool, and generally contemptible ; nor does Ibsen even spare men like Master-builder Solness, or wounded Napoleons like Borkman, albeit that they are supposed to enlist our sympathies. It is not an age for the male being, Ibsen would seem to tell us; on the other hand, it is emphatically an age for the female being. In this, of course, the dramatist is true to the ideas of his century, the latter half of which has been overridden by the claim of women to fashion their own world as they will, to succeed or fail, self-taught and independent, and to have no kind or manner of reverence for hoary social institutions. In Ibsen the woman is often treated with a tenderness which stands out in vivid contrast with his natural moral suspiciousness. Take, for instance, these lines, from an early play, " The Pretenders." The King says, " Every fair memory from those days have I wasted or let slip;" and Ingeborg, the woman, replies, "It is a man's right," or in the later edition, "It is your right to forget." " And, meantime," the male continues, " you, Ingeborg, loving, faithful woman, have sat there in the north, guarding and treasuring your memories in ice-cold loneliness." To which the woman simply answers, " It was my happiness to remember." As she leaves the stage she utters the beautiful words, " To love, to sacri- fice all, and be forgotten ; that is woman's saga." Although this little dialogue is conceived in a tender and gracious spirit, it reminds one of those keen heart thrusts which pass between husband and wife in " A Doll's House." Helmer : " No man sacri- fices his honor even for one he loves." Nora : " Millions of women have done so." We cannot easily forget the piteous wife of the Master-Builder who has kept all her old doll's clothes in a drawer; nor, better still, the figure of Agnes in " Brand." Agnes, poring over her little dead boy's suits, or placing her candle in the window so that its light may fall across the snow on his grave, and give the little one a gleam of Christmas comfort, is drawn with some of the most exquisite touches, full of a soft and radiant sweetness in the midst of an almost habitual gloom. Nor can the man be said to have failed in understanding the feminine nature who has drawn such remarkable figures as Eebekka in " Eosmersholm " and Hedda G abler in the play called after her name. You will find, I think, that many actresses have liked to act in Ibsen's plays, because the heroine appeals to them. Even Eleanora Duse has acted in " A Doll's House," albeit that her masterful vitality and the richness of her artistic nature made the little butterfly Nora, who suddenly wants to discover " whether society is right or she is," a more paradoxical character than before. There is, however, in Ibsen, despite the fact that he is above all a thinker and a student, a certain incoherence of ideas which has 703 THE DRxiMA sometimes a very baffling and confusing effect. Partly this is no doubt due to the fact that some of his earlier dramas were written under the inspiration of a Danish thinker, Soren Kirkegaard, an influence which evaporated when he executed his later studies. The tragedy of " Brand " and the work " Love's Comedy," which, thanks to Professor Herford, those of us who do not know Norwegian can now peruse for ourselves, are especially overshadowed by the thoughts of Kirkegaard. I say " overshadowed," because of all the thinkers who have made life difficult for us mortals this Danish philosopher is the most paradoxical. He is an idealist, who seems to have begun in the school of Kant, but his paradoxes are even more remarkable than those famous antinomies of reason and experience which made the German philosopher of Konigsberg so full of hard sayings even for a Teutonic audience. In " Brand," for instance, the Kirke- guardian god, whom the hero worships, is a deity who demands the most appalling sacrifices of all human ties and associations before he can be approached and understood, or subsequently revealed as a deus caritatis. Brand lets his mother go to hell, is the cause of the death of his own child, and finally sacrifices his wife — all in the pursuit of an ideal righteousness, a peculiar state of will, wholly remote from our actual life in some impossible transcendental sphere. How a god who required such sacrifices as these, who demanded so urgently and cruelly that all human feelings should be eradicated, can be afterwards proclaimed as the god of love, when his sovereign power had emptied such a word of all meaning, is impossible to understand. Observe, too, a curious cynicism with which this pursuit of para- doxical idealism manifests itself in " Love's Comedy." In a board- ing house are collected a number of young men and maidens, mostly ordinary and conventional, under the care of a lady who boasts her- self to be one of the most successful match-makers of her time. But there is one thinker, Falk, and one true woman, Swanhild, who stand out above the common herd. They are the predestined lovers, because each has understood in the other where the need of true com- panionship lay, and because they had real spiritual affinities. Never- theless, when this love is mutually confessed, they decide to separate, and Swanhild elects to marry a practical elderly merchant, Guldstad. Why ? Because love is such a rare thing, it has such a delicate essence of its own, that when caught in the nets of matrimony it is only too apt to disappear. It is better to have loved and to remem- ber, than to love and get married. Love which prompts the need of union is apparently the very thing which dies when the union is consummated. Of course such a doctrine has an obvious common sense truth of its own, but for the idealist it is based on a confusion between the ma- terial form and the spiritual essence of love. Passion, being a fugi- THE IDEA OF TEAGEDY 703 tive and inconsistent thing, may and will certainly die, but the butterfly will often soar with all the brighter colors because the chrysalis shape has been thrown off. Observe, however, the sort of moral which the mocking spirit of Ibsen seems to draw from his play. Conventional marriages — marriages de convenance — can safely be recommended. No injury can be done by them, no mortal wound inflicted on love. And yet this is the man who afterwards will storm and rail against conventional marriages, because they de- stroy human individuality. Cynically to recommend an union which is afterwards found destructive to the human soul, betrays what I venture to call incoherence of ideas. Nor is this the only form in which this incoherence is exhibited. There is a tendency in many of the later plays to employ high- sounding phrases apparently of deep symbolical value, but which on examination seem to contain but little or nothing. "We hear of " the great law of Change," a pretentious phrase to signify that human character is more or less fickle ; or " the great law of Retribution," with which, indeed, every dramatist should deal without investing it with capital letters. Nor shall I hesitate to say that over and over again the word " Liberty " is used as if it could only mean irrespon- sibility. Sometimes the freedom for which Ibsen is constantly pining is hardly to be distinguished from license. I touch with hesitation on another point which I believe forms a somewhat envenomed subject of debate between the older and the newer schools of criticism. I refer to a certain poverty of mise en scene, a designed squalor in the range and meaning of the plot, a provincialism, as it were, in the intrigue and management of Ib- sen's dramas. You will remember that Matthew Arnold believed that the only true literature was the literature of the centre, something that belonged to the main line of literary development on the ground of its style, its manner of treatment, its arrangement of data. Ibsen's literature could never be described as that of the centre. Perhaps the time has come when literature ought no longer to belong to the centre, but to the circumference, and there are many signs among our contemporary writers that they have definitely accepted this view of the circumference as the chief object of their interest. Mean- while, from the point of view of tragedy, which Aristotle said to deal with great things, and which has been depicted in poetry as tragedy " with purple pall," as though some regal splendor should belong to those whose ruin is depicted before our eyes, the tragic drama that you find in Ibsen is singularly mean, commonplace, paro- chial — as if Apollo, who once entered the house of Admetus, was now told to take up his habitation in a back parlor in South Hamp- stead. There may be tragedies in South Hampstead, although expe- rience does not consistently testify to the fact; but, at all events 704 THE DRAMA from the historic and traditional standpoint, tragedy is more likely to concern itself with Glamys Castle, Melrose Abbey, Carisbrooke, or even with Carlton House Terrace. Behind some of the grandiose tragedies of Shakespeare, there is the suggestion of a world-catastrophe as if palsied King Lear shaking his menacing finger at the waterspouts was the crazy prophet of a cosmic ruin. Such an atmosphere never surrounds the Ibsen drama. For instance, " The Enemy of the People " is a play on much the same subject as " Prometheus Vinctus." In both there is a pic- ture of the one man, never so strong as when he is all alone waging on the ground of his superior knowledge and insight, war against the forces of ignorance, and blind, unreasoning force. Dr. Stockmann is a Prometheus, a Prometheus who has his front windows broken, instead of having his liver eaten by Zeus' eagle. In the one case the scene is laid in the Caucasus with winged messengers of Heaven, with patient or impatient victims of divine injustice, thronging the stage; in the other case the scene is laid in the editorial room of a provincial newspaper, with disputes between the business manager and a contributor, and a general apparatus of printer's devils to take the place of lo and the daughters of Oceanus. There is something in the " grand manner " after all ! The same result is arrived at if we study most of the social dramas, by which Ibsen has made himself notorious. There is that triumphant masterpiece of squalid obscurity, with all its incisive analysis of a petty woman's soul, which is called " Hedda Gabler," or there is that dreary record of provincial meanness and pessimism enshrined in the exceedingly clever play " The Wild Duck." Neither the heroines nor the heroes are really great. Perhaps Ibsen has taken pecu- liar pains to destroy the titles of his heroes and heroines to great- ness. Was, for instance, Master-Builder Solness an architect of com- manding rank? Was John Gabriel Borkman a real Napoleon of finance? In both instances you have a peculiarly poignant picture of success followed by failure; but are the characters typical enough to make us feel that they are decisive examples of masterful skill or masterful rapacity? Solness is almost a symbolical figure, and the symbolic character tends to failure as an ordinary human being. Just as a mere phase of individual idiosyncrasy will not necessarily make a personage dramatic, so, too, will character in a tragedy fail to bring home to us the desolation of failure, unless he be in a real sense not symbolic but typical.1 What, in fact, is Ibsen's idea of tragedy ? As far as I can see, it is the failure on the part of a given individual to achieve his mission. i It is necessary to distinguish between a symbolic figure and a typical figure. A symbolic figure is an abstraction; a typical figure may be full of the ripe juices of humanity. THE IDEA OF TEAGEDY 705 In some dim way we realize that the broken down heroes or heroines of Ibsen have had some task which they ought to have been able to perform, and some object of life which, under happier circumstances, they might have achieved, and their disappointment and disgust make the tragedy. This, of course, might be the description of every tragedy in the world's history. To know that one has a life vocation, to sin against it, and consequently to acknowledge oneself a failure, is of the very essence of the tragic idea. Nevertheless, if we are thinking of the impression upon ourselves, the character of the per- sonages and the circumstances which are too strong for them have both to be considered. Well, the indubitably great thing about Ibsen's characters, perhaps the only great thing about them, is their vanity; while the circum- stances against which they have to struggle are, for the most part, relative to the circumscribed conditions of life in a young, crude, im- mature civilization in Norway. We know that when Ibsen had pro- duced his extraordinarily impressive play of " Ghosts," and found that instead of sympathy he had won derision, he shook the dust off his feet against his native country and lived abroad. He realized that he was too advanced in thought and feeling for his Norwegian home. He is always full of the idea that the cramping circumstances of life in Norway are fatal to individuality, to human liberty. But he is a real revolutionary in this respect, that he does not care for liberty as a possession, but only as a pursuit. If heaven were to offer him freedom in a socialistic community on the one hand, and a vehement conflict on behalf of liberty in an old aristocratic and oligarchic state on the other hand, he would unhesitatingly choose the latter. For him it is the conflict which is sweet, not the victory. Nor is he a pessimist in the proper sense of the term. He does not despair of human happiness under all circumstances, he only despairs of it under special and limited conditions. So much of the early idealism belongs to the disappointed and bitter poet that he thinks happiness well worth striving for. He will put all social insti- tutions into the melting-pot, and wage ceaseless war against the es- tablished, the conventional, and the decorous, because the individual human being has a right to struggle ceaselessly for happiness. A later Ibsen play, " When We Dead Awaken," leads to much the same con- clusions. I have left myself but small space in which to deal with the con- temporary movements of the drama. For many reasons it is better that I should pass over such points as still remain with only a brief notice. There is something invidious, perhaps almost distasteful, in the criticism of one who has no very large knowledge of the English theatre, and yet ventures to lay down dogmas in an authoritative way on artists who know their business a great deal better than he can 706 THE DRAMA know it. One or two general remarks, however, may be hazarded. In the present age there is no particular liking or room for tragedy. The world is apt to shut its eyes to the deeper aspects of existence, because any attempt to pierce below the surface is held to involve unpleasantness. Comedy may or may not be a great success, but at all events it is far more likely to win its triumphs in an epicurean age than its elder sister, tragedy. People go to the theatre in order to be amused and to laugh; they hardly care to be made to feel. Some of the most earnest work of contemporary authors falls flat because it is held to be out of tune with fashionable surroundings of leisure and wealth, and artists themselves acquire a wilful petulance and an accent of revolt owing to this atmosphere of carelessness or apathy. There is, too, that phenomenon, the literary drama, which has a paralyzing effect, — the drama, never intended to be acted, which under present circumstances comes to be recognized as the only form of dramatic writing that the leaders of the literary world care to essay. Many of Browning's dramas belong to this class, all of Swinburne's and, according to some critics, a good many of Tennyson's. Neverthe- less, there are some signs of a return to serious dramatic writing. There is the work of Mr. Laurence Irving and of Mr. Esmond, by no means devoid of promise. Quite recently we have been reading Mr. Stephen Phillip's " Paolo and Francesca," in which the beautiful legend of Dante has received a worthy setting of literary beauty; and Mrs. Craigie's " Osborn and Ursyne," vigorous, poetical, and rife with sincere emotion. But, after all, the great reason for optimism with regard to the future is the fact that Mr. Pinero has given us in our modern age a play which is a masterpiece, " The Second Mrs. Tanqueray." Here- after we shall know better, I think, than we do now how great an achievement Mr. Pinero's " The Second Mrs. Tanqueray " really is, how true a tragedy in form, management and style. "We stand too close to it at present to see its true proportions, and the real issue disappears because it is classed not only among other plays of his, but superficially described as a study after the model of Ibsen. In form it is much more like a play of the school of Dumas the younger, although Dumas did not often write anything half so good. The character of Paula Tanqueray is one of the most triumphant crea- tions which has ever been composed for the stage, in the fearlessness and truth of its portratiure and the artistic cunning of its present- ment. Dumas wrote "La Dame aux Camelias" when he was a young man. Mr. Pinero wrote " The Second Mrs. Tanqueray " in the maturity of his powers. While the one gives a theatrical glorification of the courtesan, the other dares to draw her as she really is, in all the THE IDEA OF TRAGEDY 707 pathetically good instincts, and also the littleness and bitterness of her artificially developed soul. The style is in every sense worthy of the theme; indeed, here and there are classical passages, classical in their restraint, sobriety, and clear-cut form. Listen to the fol- lowing, when Aubrey and his wife are sitting amid the hopeless ruin of their fortunes, discussing the probability or possibility of beginning again. The sentences ring with suppressed emotion, but the logical situation is exposed with a master's hand. Aubrey. We'll make our calculations solely for the future, talk about the future, think about the future. Paula. 1 believe the future is only the past again, entered through another gate. Aubrey. That's an awful belief. Paula. To-night proves it. ^ou must see now that, do what we will, go where we will, you'll continually be reminded of — what I was. I see it. Aubrey. You're frightened to-night; meeting this man has frightened you. But that sort of thing isn't likely to recur. The world isn't quite so small as all that. Paula. Isn't it? The only great distances it contains are those we carry within ourselves — the distances that separate husbands and wives, for instance. And so it'll be with us. You'll do your best — oh, I know that — you're a good fellow. But circumstances will be too strong for you in the end, mark my words. Aubrey. Paula ! Paula. Of course I'm pretty now. I'm pretty still — and a pretty woman, whatever else she may be, is always — well, endurable. But even now I notice that the lines of my face are getting deeper; so are the hollows about my eyes. Yes, my face is covered with little shadows that usen't to be there. Oh, I know I'm " going off." I hate paint and dye and those messes, but by-and-by 1 shall drift the way of the others; I shan't be able to help myself. And then, some day — perhaps very suddenly, under a queer fan tastic light at night or in the glare of the morning — that horrid, irresistible truth that physical repulsion forces on men and women will come to you, and you'll sicken at me. Aubrey. I ! Paula. You'll see me then at last with other people's eyes, you'll see me just as your daughter does now, as all the wholesome folks see women like me. And I shall have no weapon to fight with — not one serviceable little bit of prettiness left me to defend myself with. A worn-out creature, broken up, very likely some time before I ought to be — my hair bright, my eyes dull, my body too thin or too stout, my cheeks raddled and ruddled — a ghost, a wreck, a caricature, a candle that gutters; call such an end what you like! Oh, Aubrey, what shall I be able to say to you then ? And this is the future you talk about! I know it. 1 know it. (He is still sitting staring forward, she rocks herself to and fro as if in pain.) Oh, Aubrey! Oh! Oh! Aubrey. Paula! (Trying to comfort her.} Paula. Oh, and I wanted so much to sleep to night ! * """''™~'\ And the future ? Of that, too, I perhaps may venture to say a word. The future of the drama depends more upon the temper of the i Mr. Pinero's "The Second Mrs. Tanqueray," Act IV. 708 THE DRAMA people than upon anything else. For years past there has been a period of increasing prosperity, in which notions of ease and comfort and security have forced into the background all graver questions as inconvenient and irksome. How can the artist thrive when the standard of living is fixed by the men who run theatres for various motives: because it is not a bad form of investment, because the patronage of the drama is fashionable, but mainly because they want to be amused ? It is under such circumstances that English comedy becomes farce, or else a so-called musical play; while those who might appreciate tragedy, if they saw it, have to content themselves with vulgar and extravagant melodrama. But when the people alter, these things will too, be different, and it is possible that even before our eyes the temper of the nation is transforming itself. Tragedy born of the people is at its best and fullest when it is contemporaneous with a great outburst of national life. Are we not living at present under a wave of indignant emotion, which is sweeping away class distinctions, destroying the false notion that wealth is a form of nobility, bringing down the rough estimate of things to the bare human level, the qualities which make a virile and efficient man ? Never in history has a nation awakened to the consciousness of its real sources of great- ness without finding expression for its heightened feeling in art. That I take it is the hope, as eventually it will be the glory, of the twentieth century. THE CORNERSTONES OF MODERN DRAMA.1 BY HENRY ARTHUR JONES [Henry Arthur Jones, dramatic author, b. Grandbor rough, England, in 1851; produced his first play, A Clerical Error, in London, in 1879; made a great hit in 1882 with his melodrama, A Silver King, which was written in col- laboration with H. Herman, and had a long run both in London and New York. This play was followed by many other successes, noted for cleverness of dialogue and stagecraft, and which were mostly comedies and dramas reflecting various social phases of modern life. His plays include The Middleman, Judah, The Dancing Girl, The Tempter, The Crusaders, The Hasqueraders, The Physician, The Case of Rebellious Susan, Saints and Sinners, The Triumph of the Philistines, The Rogue's Comedy, The Liars, The Manoevres of Jane, Mrs. Dane's Defence, and The Evangelist. He has delivered lectures on the Drama both in England and the United States. Author of The Renascence of the English Drama.] Let the first words I speak be those which shall most frankly and heartily own my great debt of gratitude to American playgoers. If to-day I am free from pressing, sordid cares, it is largely due to the continued favor which your nation has shown to my plays. For nearly a quarter of a century my work has been seen in all your leading cities, and every year has been a year of welcome and en- couragement on your part, and every year has been a year of renewed and increasing indebtedness on mine. A few weeks ago America re- ceived my last play with an unparalleled generosity of enthusiasm. Such a welcome as was then given me I can never forget. But it leaves me still more hopelessly in your debt. I cannot pay. Let me, then, simply own my insolvency, and offer to you and through you to the great body of American playgoers, my most inadequate, but most deeply felt, most lasting, most sincere gratitude. A friend of mine in England pardons himself any lapses from general truthfulness by affirming as a splendid compensation, " I never tell lies about art." I believe that a clear vision and a high sense of rectitude in all the arts would develop a new sense of na- tional beauty and national dignity both in America and in England, and would also be a valuable lever to both nations in matters of con- duct and character. I am persuaded that this clear vision, this right- thinking and right-doing in the popular art of drama, would have a wide, compulsive influence on national manners and behavior. There- fore, I hope you will allow me to adopt my friend's motto and to say, *A lecture originally delivered in Sanders' Theatre, Harvard University, and presented here to supplement the lectures originally prepared for the Interna- tional Congress of Arts and Science. 710 THE DRAMA " I never tell lies about the drama." I am sure you would wish me to deal with this subject with the utmost candor and courage, to speak out of the fullness of my heart. And if I tell you some hard truths and ask some harsh, rude questions, you must not think that I am exceeding the liberty and courtesy of a guest; for the same hard truths must be told, and the same rude harsh questions must be asked about the drama in England. Indeed, I hope you will allow me for the moment to class England and America as twin nations in the affairs of the drama. So much interchange of plays and actors has taken place between the two countries; the means of communication have been so constantly quickened and increased, that now, for many years past, large currents of the two main streams of national drama have filtered through to each other, and have com- mingled, and are now flowing together. In the higher reaches both of the modern and of the poetic drama, England and America may be largely reckoned as one coun- try. Therefore, I am not speaking simply to and for American play- goers. I still remain your debtor, and at the outset I must own that if you had a National American Drama such as I desire for you, such as I see many signs of your compassing in generations to come — I say, if that National American Drama were already an accom- plished fact, I fear you would not so readily have welcomed my plays for the last twenty-four years, and I fear you would not care to listen to me now. If we throw one sweeping glance over the whole past history of the drama, we are deeply impressed by two main, commanding fea- tures. The first of these is the perennial and universal existence of the dramatic instinct, always and everywhere seeking expression, always and everywhere pushing up its shoots into the national life. Often repressed, often debased, often childish, often vulgar, often obscene, often the emptiest, silliest bauble, formless, ribald, violent, grotesque, a feast of indecencies, or a feast of horrors, there has yet rarely been a time, or a country, where some kind of a drama has not been fitfully and precariously struggling into existence. That is the first main feature in the world's dramatic history. The second main feature is inverse and complimentary. Twice in the past the Drama has splendidly emerged, has seized, possessed, inflamed and interpreted the whole spirit of the nation, has become the supreme artistic achievement of the age and people. Twice it has thus emerged — once in Greece, and once in Elizabethan Eng- land. But a Frenchman would say that three times, and a Spaniard would claim that four times in the world's history have there been great creative outbursts of drama. Well, we who possess Shakes- peare will generously allow that there have been four such great cre- ative outbursts which have left standing these lowering mountain THE CORNERSTONES OP MODERN DEAMA 711 ranges of drama for us to wonder at. France, in the seventeenth century, was the scene of the last of these great creative outbursts, and the incomparable Moliere was the head and front of its glory. This brings me to the purpose of my lecture, which is, indeed, to ask this practical question : " By what means can a worthy art of the Drama be fostered and developed in America and England to-day ? " I think we may best get an answer to this question by comparing the history and status of tne Drama in France and in England from the time of Moliere down to the twentieth century — down to the modern Drama of the day before yesterday. Here 1 must beg time and space for a rather long but quite rele- vant parenthesis. No glance at any corner of the Modern Drama can leave out of sight the ominous figure of Ibsen. A great de- stroyer, a great creator, a great poet, a great liberator, in his later prose plays he has freed the Euopean drama, not only from the minor conventions of the stage, such as the aside and the perfunctory solilo- quy, but from the deadlier bondage of sentimentality, of one-eyed optimism, and sham morality. As there is no modern playwright who understands his craft that does not pay homage to Ibsen's tech- nique, so there i? no serious modern dramatist who has not been directly or indirectly influenced by him, and whose path has not been made clearer, and straighter, and easier by Ibsen's matchless veracity, courage and sincerity. Throughout these later plays, again and again he shows us how far more poignant and startling are in- ward spiritual situations and the secret surprises and suspenses of the soul that outward physical situations and the traps and surprises of mechanical ingenuity. Like all the greatest artists, he is greatest, not where he is most realistic, but where he is most imaginative. It is true he does not reach through the middle zones of cloud and tempest; he does not attain those sunny heights of wisdom and serenity where Sophocles and Shakespeare and Goethe sit radiantly enthroned, watching all the turbid stream of human life as it flows a thousand leagues be- neath their feet. Ibsen for the most part looms darkly through a blizzard, in a wilderness made still more bleak and desolate by the great lava streams of corrosive irony that have poured from his crater. Yet by this very fact he becomes all the more representative of his age, and of the present cast and drift of European thought and philosophy. His generation has heard and received his insistent new gospel, " Live your own life." But human hearts will always long for that strain of higher mood which we seem to remember, " Who- eoever shall seek to save his life shall lose it; whosoever shall lose his life shall preserve it." Ibsen is a citizen of a small country; this gives him many signal advantages and some monstrous disadvantages. If his eyes avert 712 THE DRAMA their ken from half of human life, yet his vision is the more keen and strenuous for the half that lies before them. If he is a sour and shabby courtier to beauty, he is never a traitor to truth. He will never be surpassed in his angry scorn for lies. He has great fascination, but little charm. Joyous youth will never hobnob with him. For happy lovers he grows no sweet forget-me-nots. The poor in spirit he crushes. They who have rooted themselves at ease in the rank stubble of modern commercialism shudder at him, as a weed at the plowshare, as a cancer at the knife. For two-thirds of human kind, he has only a command of self-contempt and a sentence of despair and destruction. But the strong he fortifies ; the steadfast he establishes; he is a scourge to slaves, but for them that are free he enlarges the bounds of freedom. They honor him who honor the truth, and they welcome him who welcome the growl of the thunder and the dart of the lightning rather than stagnancy and miasma and the fitful shimmer that dances around corruption. A test of Ibsen's quality is supplied by the characters of the men who have most hated and vilified him. Some tribute may, perhaps, be offered, belated, but I hope, not too late, by those whom his tense and shattering genius has at length conquered and brought to own with great regret that they have in part misjudged, in part under- estimated him. He will long stand forth, a frowning landmark in the domain of the Drama. Weak creatures may now be counseled to shun him, and to cease from cursing and shrieking at him. He remains. But at present Ibsen, by his circumstances, by his character, by the nature of his genius, by the language he wrote in, abides a solitary figure, and, though he has alarmed and shifted the whole Modern Drama, he stands mainly apart from it. And that we may get an answer to my prime question : " How can we foster and develop a worthy art of the Drama in America and England to-day ? " I must take you back to a comparison of the history of the Drama in England and France during the last 250 years. Let us look at England first. Immediately after Moliere we have Dryden and the brilliant and corrupt Restoration Comedy, largely drawing its inspiration from France and Moliere. But our leading Restoration Dramatists had not the immense advantage of Moliere's practical acquaintance with the theatre, and their plays, compared with Moliere's, are badly and loosely constructed. Further, there is a profound, instinctive, all-pervasive morality in Moliere. Moliere's morality is sure, intrinsic, inevitable; like Dante's, like Ibsen's, like nature's morality. Our English Restoration Comedy is arid, heart- less, degrading; essentially mischievous, corrupt, and depraved. Our love for Charles Lamb must not tempt us for a moment to accept his ingenious and audacious excuse for Restoration Comedy. We THE CORNERSTONES OF MODERN DRAMA 713 will not withdraw our censure from these Restoration heroes and heroines on the curious plea that they are fairy rakes and harlots living in a fairy land of cuckoldry. In spite of Charles Lamb we will, if you please, very heartily and wholesomely condemn them, and feel all the better and more self-righteous for having done it. Our Restoration Comedy, then, has vanished from our stage on the score of bad construction and bad morality; more, I fear, because of its bad construction than of its bad morality. But though the Restora- tion Comedy no longer holds our stage, the splendor of its wit, and the vividness of its portraiture of town life insure it a lasting place in English Literature. Since the Restoration Comedy, what place has the English Drama held in English Literature ? I was dining the other night with a book-collecting friend. He brought out first editions of " The Rivals," " The School for Scan- dal," and " She Stoops to Conquer." " There ! " he exclaimed, " that's all the harvest of your English Drama for the last 200 years." Those three little volumes were all that a wealthy collector thought worthy to preserve of the dramatic art of the Anglo-Saxon race in the past 200 years — that Anglo-Saxon race which during that same 200 years has held sovereign sway and masterdom in Literature, in Science, and in Arms, which once held the sovereignty of the world in Drama; a race of restless and inexhaustible achievement in almost every field; a race of action, and therefore, essentially a dramatic race; a race whose artistic instincts would irresistibly find their natural and trium- phant outlet on the stage. And in 200 years all that the Anglo-Saxon race has produced of drama worthy to be preserved as literature i3 contained in those three tiny volumes. Why have we made such a beggarly mess of our Drama ? Now, if we turn from England to France and survey the French Theatre and the French Drama, we shall find that there has been an almost continuous stream of great writers for the stage from Moliere onward to the present time. In the seventeenth century, Mo- liere stands not only at the head of the French Drama, but also at the head of French Literature, holding the same relative place as did Shakespeare in England half a century earlier. If France were asked, "Who of your sons since Moliere dare claim the garland of eternal and universal renown ? Who in your later days is fit to stand in the circle of Homer, Virgil, Dante, Shakespeare, Milton, and Goethe?" if France were asked that question, I suppose she could only send in the name? of two candidates — Voltaire and Victor Hugo. But these, her two most famous men of letters in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, are also her leading playwrights. As Moliere in his century headed both literature and drama, so do Voltaire and Victor Hugo in theirs. But what a crowd of illustrious 714 THE DKAMA companions swarm round these great men! Look down the long li.-t of them — Regnard, Marivaux, Beaumarchais, Dumas, Alfred de Musset, Casimir Delavigne, Dumas fits, Augier, Labiche, not to men- tion half a dozen living writers who are yearly throwing out powerful dramas, dealing faithfully, sincerely, and searchingly with the vital characters, scenes, and issues of our modern social life. Take the long list of French writers of the first rank, and you will scarcely find one who has not been more or less successful on the stage. The French Theatre has not been merely in constant touch with French Literature; the French Theatre and French Literature have been wedded to each other for the last 200 years, bone of one bone and flesh of one flesh. Every play by a leading French playwright is not only eagerly discussed and judged in the theatre ; it is immediately published and eagerly discussed and judged as literature. .A year or two ago I remember taking up at a little wayside French book- stall a copy of the two hundred and eightieth thousand of " Cyrano de Bergerac." Further, during those two centuries, there has been a constant method of training actors and actresses. Acting is known to be a great art in France. The all-round performance of a strong emo- tional play in Paris is immeasurably above the all-round performance of a strong emotional play in London; while the exhibition of quite amateur performers in leading parts, such as is not rarely seen on the London stage, would be a thing disgraceful or impossible in any leading city of France, to say nothing of Paris. Again, in France the Drama is reckoned as a fine art, and is judged on that level ; that is, as a means of providing amusement by the representation and inter- pretation of life. The French are a nation of cultivated playgoers alert to seize the finest shades of the actor's and the author's mean- ing. In England the great mass of playgoers have lost all sense that the Drama is the art of representing life, and go to the theatre mainly to be awed by scenery, or to be tickled by funny antics and songs and dances that have no relation to life, and merely provide a means of wasting the evening in entertainments not far removed from idiocy. If the English Drama for 200 years makes a beggarly show when looked at by itself, how abject and meagre and utterly despicable does it appear when compared with the Drama of France in the same period. Once more we are brought around to the question, "What are the causes of the present pitiable condition of the Anglo-American Drama to-day?" Again I claim that the Anglo-American race is naturally and instinctively a dramatic race; a race of action; a race fitted for great exploits on the outer and larger stage of the world's history, and also for great exploits on the inner and smaller stage of the theatre. We have proved our mettle on both stages. We hold the world's price for Drama. Why, then, are we so far to seek ? Why THE CORNERSTONES OF MODERN DRAMA 715 are we lagging behind in this our own native art of the Drama, where by right we should lead the other nations at our heels ? How is it that these three poor thin volumes of plays are all that we have to show for 200 years, while of living, serious, operative Modern Drama to-day America and England have barely a fragment that will stand the final test of a quiet hour in the study ? The fundamental reason is to be found in the character of our race. We are a dramatic race; we are also a deeply religious race. Reli- gion easily runs riot to fear and meanness and madness, and creates abominable hells in its panic. After the mellow pomp of the Eliza- bethan age Religion ran riot in England. We owe the imbecility and paralysis of our Drama to-day to the insane rage of Puritanism that would see nothing in the theatre but a horrible, unholy thing to be crushed and stamped out of existence. Let our Puritan friends ask themselves how far their creed is responsible, by the natural and inevitable law of reaction, for the corruption of the national Drama at the Restoration, and for its pitiable condition ever since. The feeling of horror and fright of the Theatre, engendered at the Re- storation, is even to-day widely prevalent and operative among reli- gious classes in England and America. It muddles and stupefies our Drama, and degrades it from the rank of a fine art to the rank of a somewhat disreputable form of popular entertainment. I have pointed out what I believe to be the underlying cause of the intellectual degradation of the Anglo-American Drama to-day. But attendant on this primary cause, are those other secondary and result- ant causes and signs of degradation which we have glanced at in comparing the English and French Drama. I will repeat them in the order of their importance. I. The divorce of the English Drama from English Literature, of which it is, indeed, the highest and most difficult form, and of which it should be the chief ornament. Accompanying this divorce of Liter- ature and the Drama is the contempt of Englishmen of letters and literary critics for the Theatre ; their utter ignorance of the difficulties of the dramatist; their refusal to recognize the modern Drama as literature, which refusal again reacts upon the dramatist, and tends to lower the quality of his work, inasmuch as he is left without en- couragement and without any appeal to high standards of literature and good taste. II. The general absence from the English Theatre and from mod- ern English plays of any sane, consistent, or intelligible ideas about morality, so that, while the inanities and indecencies of Musical Com- edy are sniggered at and applauded, the deepest permanent passions of men and women are tabooed, and the serious dramatist is bidden to keep his characters well within the compass of that system of mor- ality which is practiced among wax dolls. 716 THE DRAMA III. The divorce of the English Drama from its sister Arts; its deposition from any assured place in the intellectual and artistic life of the nation. IV. The absorption of the English Drama into popular amuse- ment; the absence of any high standard whereby to judge acting or plays; the absence of all great traditions, the absence of all pride in the Drama as a fine and humane and dignified art. V. The want of a training school for actors — the want of any means for giving promising novices a constant practice in varied roles, that they may gradually acquire a sure grip of their art, and make the best of their natural gifts; and that the author may have a Bufficient supply of competent actors to interpret his characters in such a way that his play may be seen to good advantage. VI. The elevation of incompetent actors and actresses into false positions as stars, whereby, in the dearth of any general level of experienced and competent all-round acting, the possessor of a pretty face or a fine physique is able to dominate the situation, and to rula what plays should be produced, and how they shall be cast and mounted. The general lack of all interest in the play, or in the author's study of life and character, apart from their being the vehicle for some star actor to put or keep himself in a leading posi- tion, with his actor brothers and sisters as his satellites. VII. A widely spread dependence upon translations and adapta- tions of foreign plays, inasmuch as they can be bought at a cheap rate, and as owing to the absence of any general care or knowledge as to what a National Drama should be, they are just as likely to pro- vide the actor with a personal and pecuniary success, while they also largely set him free from all obligations to that objectionable and interfering person, the author. Now all these discouraging symptoms and conditions of our Modem Drama which I have glanced at are inextricably related to each other; many of them are, indeed, only different aspects of the same facts; they are woven all of a piece with each other, and with that Puritan horror of the theatre which I believe to be the cardinal rea- son that neither America nor England has to-day an art of the Drama at all worthy the dignity, the resources, and the self-respect of a great nation. Many of these discouraging symptoms and condi- tions are perhaps more widely prevalent, and more pronounced in England than in America. But I hope you will not think I have given an ill-natured or exaggerated sketch of the present condition of the Anglo-American Drama. If I have wounded your susceptibili- ties, I have done it with the good intention of rendering you some small help in your noble design of building up a great national school of American Drama. And, as an Englishman, I must regretfully own that I see a great chance of your having a National Theatre THE CORNERSTONES OF MODERN DRAMA 717 and a National Drama, while we are left fumbling about among the grotesque futilities of French adaptations, and the imbecilities of musical farce. Now, if I have struck my finger on the place in pointing to the religious dread of the theatre, and the consequent abstention from it of the best and soundest elements of our nations — if I have traced our difficulties and shortcomings to their true source, it is clear that before we can hope for any signal advance in dramatic art, we must win over a large body of public opinion to our views. In their attitude toward the Theatre and the Drama, we may, I think, make a rough division of the Anglo-American public into three classes. Both in England and in America we have large masses, who may be counted by millions, of mere amusement seekers, newly en- franchised from the prison house of Puritanism, eager to enjoy them- selves- at the theatre in the easiest way, without traditions, without any real judgment of plays or acting; mere children, with no care or thought beyond the delight of the moment in finding themselves in a wonder-house where impossibly heroic and self-sacrificing persons make love and do prodigious deeds, and marry and live happy ever afterward; or in a funny house where funny people do all sorts of funny things. These form a great bulk, I think, of American and English playgoers. Then we have a very large class of moderate, reasonable, respectable people, who go to the theatre occasionally, but with some feeling of discomfort at having done a frivolous, if not wicked thing; who are not actively hostile to the Drama, per- haps, but who are quite indifferent to its higher development and to its elevation into a fine art. This class contains many refined, culti- vated people, — that is, they seem to be cultivated and refined in all subjects except the Drama. It is a constant puzzle to me why men and women who are thoroughly educated and developed in every other respect should suddenly drop to the mental range of children of five the moment they think and speak about the Drama. Again we have a third class, a very large class, which contains some of the soundest and best elements of the Anglo-American race — very influential, very respectable, very much to be regarded, and consulted, and feared. And this large, influential, religious class is in more or less active hostility to the Theatre, and to the Drama, and to everything and everybody connected therewith. We may call these three classes, respectively, the amusement-seeking class; the moderate, reasonable, indifferent class; the hostile, religious class. This is the very roughest and loosest division, and, of course, all these classes blend and shade into each other without any rigid line of distinc- tion. I do not know how actively hostile to the Drama are the religious elements in American society. I am told that while the religious 718 THE DRAMA prejudice against the Theatre is dying away in the eastern seaboard States, it is still most potent and aggressive in the West. But a story that was told me before leaving England will, I think, convince you that this religious prejudice is still a terrible hindrance to the highest development of your Drama. There is nothing in which Americans can more legitimately take pride than in the magnificent public spirit shown by their wealthy citizens. Englishmen stand agape and envious at the large sums given by your millionaires to advance and endow all kinds of scientific, artistic, and social enter- prises. I am told that a very large amount was designed by a wealthy American to found and endow a National American Theatre on a most lavish scale, but he was persuaded by a religious friend to hold his hand and shut his pocket because of the evil that a National Theatre might work in your midst. Consider what mischief was done to the whole American • com- munity by the frustration of that most wise, most humane, most benevolent scheme. Consider how many hundreds of thousands of your fellow-citizens will in consequence waste their evenings in empty frivolity when they might have been drawn to Shakespeare and Goethe. Therefore, we must still count that the hostile, religious spirit is very active and potent on your side of the Atlantic as upon ours. It everywhere sets up a current of ill-will and ill-nature toward the Drama throughout the two entire nations; it everywhere stimu- lates opposition to the Theatre; it keeps alive prejudices that would otherwise have died down two hundred years ago, and it is, in my opinion, the one great obstacle to the rise and development of a serious, dignified, national art of the Drama. I fear there will always be a crew of unwholesome, religious fanatics in America and England who will be doomed at their birth to be hostile to the Drama. It is useless to argue with them. You cannot argue the jaundice out of a man, and advise him that it is foolish to have a sickly green complexion. He needs something far more drastic than advice and argument. We must leave the fanatics to rave against the Theatre and against all art and beauty. But among this actively hostile religious class, and also among the moderate, reasonable, indifferent class, there must be thousands who, having been nurtured to regard the Theatre as frivolous and empty and evil, have adopted the ideas current around them, and have never taken the trouble to examine their stock prejudices against the Drama, and to inquire whether there is any ground for them. To this large body of American and English citizens, to the heads and leaders of all those religious sects in America and England who are now hostile to the Drama, and especially to that large allied class of influential, educated men in both countries, who, if not actively hostile, are supercilious and cold and indifferent and blind THE CORNERSTONES OF MODERN" DRABLY 719 to the aims and possibilities of this fine art — to all these citizens representing the best and soundest elements in the Anglo-American race we may make a strong and friendly appeal. I propose that we shall say to them: " Brother Puritans, brother Pharisees, the dramatic instinct is ineradicable, inexhaustible, it is entwined with all the root? of our nature; you may watch its incessant activity in your own children; almost every moment of the day they are acting some little play; as we grow up and strengthen, this dramatic instinct grows up and strengthens in us; as our shadow, it clings to us; we cannot escape from it; we cannot help picturing back to ourselves some copy of this strange, eventful history of ours; this strange, earthly life of ours throws everywhere around us and within us reflections and re- reflections of itself; we act it over and over again in the chambers of imagery, and in dreams, and on the silent secret stage of our own soul. When some master dramatist takes these reflections and com- bines them and shapes them into a play for us, very nature herself is behind him, working through him for our welfare. So rigidly economical, so zealously frugal is she that what is at first a mere im- pulse to play, a mere impulse to masquerade and escape from life — this idle pastime she transforms and glorifies into a masterpiece of wisdom and beauty; it becomes our sweet and lovable guide in the great business and conduct of life. " This is what she did for us in Shakespeare and Moliere. Consider the utility of the Theatre, you practical Americans and Englishmen ! You have noticed cats teaching their kittens to play at catching mice. But this is their great business and duty in after life. You have noticed puppies pretending to hunt and shake and kill game. But this is their great business and duty in after life. That is what all children and young things do. They play at their father's business. So that their playtime is not wasted, but is, indeed, a wise, amusing way of preparing for life. So nature teaches us, her children, to play at life in the theatre, that we may carelessly and easily learn the great rules of conduct; that we may become insensibly instructed in the great art of living well, insensibly infected with a passion for whatsoever things are true and honest and just and pure and lovely and of good report. " This, then, is the use of the theatre, that men may learn the great rules of life and conduct in the guise of a play, learn them, not formally, didactically, as they learn in school and in church, but pleasantly, insensibly, spontaneously, and oftentimes, believe me, with a more assured and lasting result in manners and conduct. Is not that a wise form of amusement ? Ought not every good citizen to foster and encourage it ? Then why, Brother Puritans, why, Brother Pharisees, are you found in such bitter opposition to it ? If 720 THE DRAMA you are the veritable salt of the earth, as by your demeanor we seem to sniff, and as by this appeal we are willing to allow — if you are the veritable salt of the earth, where can you exhale your savor to better effect than in the theatres of your native land ? Come among us and brace and strengthen us; incidentally we may sweeten and humanize you, and give you a larger outlook upon life. " Look at the vast population of our great cities crowding more and more in our theatres, demanding there to be given some kind of representation of life, some form of play. You cannot quench that demand. During the next generation hundreds of theatres will be opened all over America and England. If you abstain from visiting these theatres, you will not close them. Millions of your countrymen, the vast masses, will still frequent them. The effect of your absence, and of your discountenance, will merely be to lower the moral and intellectual standard of the plays that will then be given. Will you never learn the lesson of the English Restoration, that when the best and most serious classes of the nation detest and defame their the- atre, it instantly justifies their abuse and becomes, indeed, a scandal and a source of corruption ? Many of you already put Shakespeare next to the Bible as the guide and inspirer of our race. Why, then, do you despise his calling, and vilify his disciples, and misunderstand his art ? Do you not see that this amusement which you neglect and flout and decry is more than an amusement; is, indeed, at once the finest and the most popular of all the arts, with an immense influ- ence on the daily lives of our fellow-citizens ? Help us, then, to organize and endow this fine art in all the cities of our Anglo- American race, wherever our common tongue is spoken, from London to San Francisco. Help us to establish it in the esteem and affec- tions of our fellow-countrymen, as the measure of our advance in humanity and civilization, and in that knowledge of ourselves which is the end and flower of all education ! " Some such appeal may, I think, be made to the more seriously- minded of our countrymen on both sides of the Atlantic. I have given it great prominence in this lecture because I feel that before we begin to build we need to clear the ground of the rank growths of prejudice and Puritan hatred which still choke the Drama. Both in England and America we seem to be waiting for some great national impulse, some word of command for a general forward movement toward a creative school of Drama. In spite of many discourage- ments and humiliations during the last ten or twelve years; in spite of the hatred of the religious world, the indifference and contempt of the educated and artistic classes, the debased frivolity of the multi- tude, the zealous envy and rage of those whose ignoble trade and daily bread it is to keep the Drama on a degraded level — in spite of all these hindrances, I believe that word of command will be spoken, and THE COKNEBSTONES OF MODEKN DEAMA 721 that we shall march to it. But if there is to be any stability and permanence in the movement, it must be a national one. We must engage the sympathies and co-operation of all classes. We have many schisms and sects in religion; let us have none in the Drama. I have taken much time, and, I fear, I have taxed your patience in thus clearing the ground. But having cleared the ground, we can begin to lay the cornerstones. I have already told you what seem to me to be the cornerstones of any school of Drama worthy to be called national in such countries as America and England. Perhaps I may here repeat them in the order of their importance. They are these : I. The recognition of the Drama as the highest and most difficult form of Literature; the establishment of definite and continuous relations between the Drama and Literature. II. The acknowledged right of the dramatist to deal with the seri- ous problems of life, with the passions of men and women in the spirit of the broad, wise, sane, searching morality of the Bible and Shakespeare, his release from the hypocritical fiction that his fellow- creatures are large wax-dolls stuffed with the sawdust of sentimen- tality and impossible self-sacrifice. To sum up, the establishment of definite and continuous relations between the Drama and reality. III. The severance of the Drama from popular entertainment ; the recognition of it as a fine art' which, though its lower ranges must always compound with mere popular entertainment, and be confused with it, is yet essentially something different from popular enter- tainment, transcends it, and in its higher ranges is in marked and eternal antagonism to popular entertainment. To sum up, the establishment of definite and continuous relations between the Drama and her sister Arts. IV. The establishment of those relations between actor and author which shall best aid the development of the Drama; the recognition by the public that there is an art of the Drama as well as an art of Acting; the assignment of their due place and functions, and oppor- tunities to each; the breaking down, so far as may be possible, of the present deadening system of long runs; the provision of training schools for actors so that they may get constant practice and experi- ence in varied roles, so that the auxiliary arts of the Drama and the Theatre may keep pace and tune with each other; so that the art of Acting may not languish for lack of new plays, and that the art of the Drama may not languish from the lack of competent and serious actors. To sum up, the establishment of rigidly definite rela- tions and well-marked boundaries between the art of the Drama and the art of Acting, to the benefit and advancement of both actor and author. These seem to me to be the four cornerstones upon which we must 722 THE DKAMA build, if we are ever to raise, in England and America, an art of the Drama with any real influence and import and dignity in Anglo- American civilization. But each of these four divisions of the Drama demands consideration and examination by itself. Especially I should have liked to speak in this place upon the Modern Drama and Literature. But I felt that clearing of the ground was of primary importance. And now that I have given so much time to that troublesome operation, I fear you have been think- ing that in Harvard at least the ground has been already cleared, and the first cornerstone, the cornerstone that is to bind together Litera- ture and the Modern Drama, has been already laid by Professor Baker, Well, that is a most encouraging fact which I gladly recog- nize and acclaim. After years of unsuccessful endeavor to get our English playgoers to read and examine in the study the plays that had delighted them on the stage, I one day received from Prof. Baker a letter to the effect that, as Professor of English Literature, he had given his Harvard students a course of modern English plays. Of all the many encouragements and rewards that I have received in England and America, I value most of all the recognition that was conveyed in that letter. It was a bold and original action on Prof. Baker's part. He must have met with considerable opposition, and perhaps some derision. I wonder what Oxford would say if it was suggested to her that modern English plays should form a part of her teaching. Oxford might rouse herself for a moment if some bold messenger dare knock at her gates on such an errand, and her reply would be: "Aeschylus I know, and Sophocles and Euripides I know, but who are ye ? " " Representatives of the modern Drama ! " "Modern Drama? The parvenus, Shakespeare and Moliere, have pushed their way into my precincts. They represent the modern Drama here." " No ! No ! Not the Drama of three centuries ago and of a van- ished civilization, but the Drama of to-day, the modern Drama." " There is no modern Drama," Oxford would sternly reply. " Yes ! Yes ! Our plays run for hundreds of nights and take up a vast quantity of the winter leisure of our city millions, and help to fill the empty spaces in their skulls where their brains ought to be." " Blank verse ? " " No — plain prose." " Polished English prose ? " Oxford would ask. " No — unfortunately the English and American public have abandoned for the present the habit of speaking -in blank verse, or even in polished prose, and for the most part talk a slovenly, slangy THE COKNEKSTONES OP MODEKX DRAMA 723 shorthand, which, faithfully taken down, reads much like a sport- ing-man's telegram. If we were to put into the mouths of our char- acters a dignified, resounding prose, with nicely balanced cadences, we should be told we were stilted and unnatural. So we put into the mouths of our characters the actual phrases of the market place and the drawing-room, and we are scorned for not being men of letters and writing literature." " But are you men of letters ? Do you write Literature ? " Oxford would solemnly demand. " Well, scarcely at present," we could only stammer. " Then, why should Oxford lose her hoary dignity and condescend to such as you ? " " W, ell, we trusted that Oxford as the center of English learning and education, might aid us in rescuing the English Drama from chaos and imbecility; and, incidentally, in helping to set a standard of manners and conversation all over the English-speaking world." " This smacks to me of elevating the masses, and never will I unbend my reverend energy to such revolting drudgery. The masses ! The masses ! Let them darken in labor and pain without my gates ! I am the home of lost causes and decaying superstitions ! What con- cern have I, Oxford, with the masses ? " " But it isn't merely the masses. You must have noticed how all classes of society regard our modern Drama — " " Modern Drama ! " Oxford would thunder. " All things modern I abhor. Has not my old age been vexed and shaken enough by modern Science ? Modern Drama ! Forsooth ! There is no modern Drama ! Away ! You are raw ! You are crude ! You are vulgar ! I suspect you are improper ! And I allow none but classic improprie- ties within my hallowed cloisters ! Away, you plebeians ! You moun- tebanks ! You interlopers ! Profane not my gray serenity with your uncouth diction. Avaunt and quit my sight ! Your blood is warm ! Your bones are full of the marrow of youth ! Your eyes flash back the sunlight ! You are alive ! And I suffer none but the dead to enter here ! " Thus would Oxford answer, I fear, and let fall the massive port- cullis of her learning, shutting us out forever, while she goes dream- ing on among her dreaming spires. But Harvard has \velcomed us. Harvard has welcomed us, and the other American universities have also opened their doors. I have said that Prof. Baker did a notable and courageous thing in recog- nizing the modern English Drama at Harvard. I believe he also did a wise and far-seeing thing, a deed that may return in future days, like a happy harvestman bringing sheaves of ripe and benign con- sequences to American Art and Civilization. When I was in America last autumn after an absence of twenty 724 THE DRAMA years, I could not help feeling myself in the presence of immense forces that are gradually shifting the foundations and changing the drift of Anglo-American civilization. I could not help feeling that the sceptre of material prosperity is slipping from our hands in your vigorous, remorseless grasp. I could not avoid the uneasy presenti- ment that in a few generations the centre and seat of whatever sys- tem of Anglo-American civilization may then be current will be irrevocably fixed on this side the Atlantic. That cannot be other than a saddening, chilling thought to an Englishman who loves his coun- try. I cannot but think it will bring some sympathetic regret to many Americans. Yet, after all, your chief feeling must be one of pride and triumph in your young nation, and you will chant over us your Emerson's ringing notes : The Lord is the peasant that was, The peasant the Lord that shall be; The Lord is hay, the peasant grass, One dry, one the living tree. But the Empire of Mammon sucks after it other empires; perhaps in our modern commercial world it will suck after it all other empires, all arts, all interests, all responsibilities, all leaderships. Yet we must still trust that in the days to come, as in days of old, it will not be the sceptre of material prosperity that will finally hold sway over the earth. Granted that, in a short time as reckoned by the life of nations, we shall have to hand over to you, with what grace we may, the sceptre of material prosperity, shall we not still hold that other magic wand, shadowy, invisible, but more compulsive than sceptres of gold and iron, — the sceptre of literary, intellectual, and artistic dominion ? Or will you wrest that also from us ? May we not rather hope to see both nations united in a great array to build one common monument of graceful, wise, beautiful, dignified human existence on both sides of the Atlantic ? Your nation has what all young nations have, what England is losing, the power to be moved by ideas and that divine resilient quality of youth, the power to be stirred and frenzied by ideals. If a guest whom you have honored so much, if your most fervent well-wisher may presume to whisper his most fervent wishes for a country to whom he is so deeply indebted, he would say : " As you vie with us in friendly games and contests of bodily strength, may you more resolutely vie with us for the mastership in art and in the ornament of life; build statelier homes, nobler cities, and more aspiring temples than we have built ; let your lives be fuller of mean- ing and purpose than ours has lately been; have the wisdom richly to endow and unceasingly to foster all the arts, and all that makes for majesty of life and character rather than for material prosperity and THE CORNERSTONES OF MODERN DRAMA 725 comfort. Especially foster and honor this supreme art of Shakes- peare's, so much neglected and misunderstood in both countries; en- dow it in all your cities; build handsome, spacious theatres; train your actors ; reward your dramatists, sparingly with fees, but lavishly with laurels, bid them dare to paint American life sanely, truthfully, searchingly, for you. Dare to see your life thus painted. Dare to let your Drama ridicule and reprove your follies, and vices, and de- formities. Dare to let it mock and whip, as well as amuse you. Dare to let it be a faithful mirror. Make it one of your chief coun- selors. Set it on the summit of your national esteem, for it will draw upward all your national life and character; upward to higher and more worthy levels, to starry heights of wisdom and beauty and resolve and aspiration." THE PLAYS OF HENEIK IBSEN.1 BY PHILIP H. WICKSTEED. [Philip Henry Wicksteed, M.A., English Unitarian clergyman, and University Extension Lecturer since 1887, on Dante, Ibsen, and Economics; b. in Leeds, 1844; educated University College, Manchester, and New College, London; entered Unitarian Ministry, 1867; officiated Little Portland Street Chapel, London, 1874-97. He translated and wrote the notes of Dante's Paradise, Temple edition. Author of Dante, Six Sermons; Alphabet of Economic Science; the Coordination of the Laws of Distribution; and Henrik Ibsen. 11 BRAND " and " Peer Gynt " were fierce invectives against Nor- way, but they were welcomed with boundless enthusiasm by the very people they lashed. It may be doubted whether such a phenomenon has ever been par- alleled. Dramas filled with scathing satire and denunciation of the Norwegians have become as it were the Norwegian national epics. They have given Norway an exalted sense of national, existence and national significance. They have been read by high and low, are known almost by heart by hundreds of Norwegians, and have en- riched the thought, the proverbial wisdom, the imagination, and the language of Norway. To the wanderer over fell and fiord, they are ever present; their magic lines so blending with the scenery they describe, that he sees them in the snow-field and ice tarn; and the author of " Peer Gynt " and " Brand " is forgotten and lost — absorbed into the invisible and impersonal genius of the place which has be- come articulate through his words. But Ibsen's direct polemic against his people was not yet com- pleted. « Brand " and " Peer Gynt " were followed by " The Youth- ful League" (1869), a satire on the political parties and the political motives of Norway. This brilliant play is naturally one that ill bears transplanting, but English readers are in a position to form their own opinion of its merits in an English dress, and it is not my purpose to dwell upon it further than to point out that it is the first of Ibsen's plays written in that limpid simplicity of current modern prose which stamps his dialogue in all his later work with unsurpassed verisimili- tude and naturalness in the original, and with the inevitable appear- ance of baldness in even the best translation. 1 Lecture originally delivered at Chelsea, England, and presented here to sup- plement the lectures originally prepared for the International Congress of Arts and Science. IBSEN'S PLAYS 727 :c The Youthful League " checked Ibsen's rising popularity. It was received with indignation in his native land. The philosophical observer may find much food for reflection in the fact that the people which not only admired, but positively exulted in " Brand " and " Peer Gynt," indignantly resented the " Youthful League." But this, too passed away. My copy bears the date of 1883, and shows that in that year the work reached its fifth edition. After writing these three plays, Ibsen at last returned to " Julian the Apostate," and in 1873 the two dramas, respectively entitled " Caesar's Apostasy " and " The Emperor Julian," but also embraced under the common title, " Emperor and Galilsean," made their ap- pearance. In some respects this is the most ambitious, as well as the most bulky, of Ibsen's works. It has great merits, so great, indeed, that it would not be easy to exaggerate them; but yet it is almost the only one of Ibsen's published works that can fairly be called an artistic failure. Critics, I think, are substantially agreed on both these points. The drama gives evidence of a historic sense, the more remarkable since Ibsen was presumably not much of a Greek scholar, and must have de- pended largely upon translations and secondary sources for his vivid reconstruction of the epoch of Julian. The intolerable atmosphere of suspicion, hypocrisy, and treachery in which Julian passed his youth; his own timid, feverish, superstitious, yet attractive character; and the heroic potentialities which never rise into heroism, the talent which never becomes genius, the capacity which never ripens into greatness, and the all-penetrating, all-corroding vanity that are the distinctive characteristics of Julian, are thrown into vivid relief in the first of the twin dramas. In the second we witness the moral and intellectual collapse of a fanatic who lacks inspiration. Julian is a pedant, not a prophet; and his pedantry swallows up his humanity, and dictates actions as revolting and less excusable than the wildest excesses of the Christian fanatics. But he never can adopt the role of a persecutor with a whole heart. He is ashamed of himself, and is half conscious all along of the hollowness of his own cause. He is engaged in a hopeless struggle against fate, and its hopelessness does not bring out the tragic grandeur of his nature, but saps his force and vitality, and reduces him to insignificance, indecision, and at last to mere helpless superstition and crazy arrogance. It is a relief to all, a relief chiefly to himself, when he receives his death wound, can drop the weary struggle, and can cry, " Galila?an ! Thou hast triumphed." The whole picture is drawn with deep insight both historical and psychological. But it cannot be denied that the dialogue often drags and sometimes overstays the climax; and that the second of the two dramas has no sufficient development, and no sufficient interest to sustain it at any rate through the first three of its five long acts. 728 THE DRAMA But in spite of all this, there is, perhaps, not one of Ibsen's works which the serious student of the social plays can less afford to ignore than the " Emperor and Galilsean," for here, if anywhere, Ibsen sets forth his formal creed. Julian perceives rightly enough that the official Christianity of his day is hollow and hypocritical. It does not make men spiritual, but it lays a ban upon their earthly enjoyments, and corrupts and corrodes them. It has quenched the beauty of the old pagan religion of joy, and has planted in its place a grovelling religion of superstition, of fear, of bargaining, and of treachery. But now that it has once come and has made the old religion wither, as under a blight, it is vain to endeavor to recover that old religion again. A man may seek relief from the present by transporting him- self into the past, but he cannot bring back the past into the present and make it live again. When Julian has been crowning his brow with vine-leaves, and seek- ing the fresh life of joy and freedom that reigned of old, and has then fallen into a conversation that stirs in his heart thoughts of the pas- sionate earnestness of the early Christian spirit, he cries out that the only real life is to be found in the fire of martyrdom and the crown of thorns ; and as he strikes his hand upon his brow, it falls upon the vine'crown ! Sadly he removes it and gazes on it, then flings it away with the bitter cry, " The new truth is true no more, and the ancient beauty is no longer beautiful ! " And yet he perpetually strives to recover that ancient beauty, though he feels that it is now hateful. As he rides through the streets in Bacchic triumph with the panther skin thrown over his shoulders and the wild chorus of revellers round him, he tries to imagine that he is restoring ancient beauty; but no sooner is he alone than he feels the hideous hollowness of the whole thing. Is a band of drunkards and harlots paid to sport in the streets, while the abashed or amused crowd stares in bewilderment, or raises a mercenary shout to please the Emperor, — a shout with no joy, no conviction, no ring in it — is this beautiful ? Beautiful ? Nay, he cries out for a bath, a bath for the body ana the soul, to wash away the stench of it ! And thus in the war of philosophy against superstition, of tolera- tion against fanaticism, of beauty and freedom against anxious ear- nestness, he has changed sides without knowing it. He finds himself engaged in a crusade against luxury, worldliness, and indifference. He strives to lay a new consecration upon men, instead of leading them back into frank and free enjoyment of life. The Galilaean has laid a spell upon the world, and his foe can no more escape it than his followers can. It i? clear enough, then, where Julian is wrong. But what would IBSEN'S PLAYS 729 have been the right ? The Christianity he knew was rotten. He could not acquiesce in it. But the true way out of it into something better lay forward, and not backward. This doctrine is expounded — in a jargon which, it must be con- fessed, severely tries our patience — by the mystic Maximus. The " Third Kingdom," which is neither that of the Emperor nor that of the Galilasan, and yet is both, which is neither that of the flesh nor that of the spirit, and yet both, neither of beauty nor of truth, and yet both, — the " Third Kingdom," the consummation and harmony of its imperfect predecessors, towards which all rebels against what is have dimly felt their way, which none can describe because none have seen the unborn — this " Third Kingdom " is to be reached through the past and the present. Infancy has its beauty, which dies, but is not lost when youth swallows it up. Youth has its beauty, which dies, but is not lost when manhood succeeds it. You cannot go back to recover infancy; you must go forward to preserve both it and youth transfigured and embraced in manhood. Thus decisively is the reactionary solution of social and religious problems rejected. When the truths that once inspired men have become mere catchwords, salvation lies in an advance which will recover and reincorporate, while transmuting and transforming, their essential spirit, not in a retreat which will attempt to preserve the perishing or resuscitate the dead formula. And again : the mere fact of any truth being accepted, recognized, formulated, patronized, enforced, and established, itself tends to make it a lie; for it tends to become a convention instead of a formative power, a tradition instead of a conviction, a profession instead of a belief. Hence Julian's established Paganism has all the vices of the established Christianity it superseded, in addition to its own reaction- ary unreality; and the only vivifying power which his zeal for Pagan- ism really exercises is its purifying influence upon the Christianity which he perscciitcs. In this, and in this only, he" is really effective; for he thus helps to re-invigorate the Christians, and push them for- ward towards the new truths they had ceased to seek. Such. I take it, is the meaning of the "Emperor and Galilacan;" and it will be seen how closely it all bears upon the faiths and scepti- cisms, the advances and reactions of our own day; and what a flood of light it throws upon Ibsen's attitude towards all the problems of mod- ern life in the social plays. . . . And thus we have come to understand the meaning and the mission of the "poet of doubt," Is it not enough after this merely to enumerate the social plays ? "The Pillars of Society," "The Doll's House," "Ghosts," "The Enemy of Society," " The Wild Duck," " Eosmersholm," " The Lady from the Sea," " Hedda Gabler." 730 THE DRAMA Well has the " poet of doubt " fulfilled his mission. If he were the mere cynic, with no eye to beauty, and no belief in nobility of character, who can only see, and only cares to see, what is foul, mean, or repulsive, he would, indeed, have little enough significance for us. But we are speaking of the creator of Lona Hessel and Martha Ber- nick and her sister, of Dr. Stokman and his wife and daughter and sea-faring friend, of Hedvig Ekdal and Juliane Tesman. For myself I could add many more, but their names might be challenged; and these are enough to vindicate the poet of doubt from the charge of indiscriminate cynicism. Again : the poet of doubt is not the poet of negation. We have had many apostles of negation, who thought they had found the formula of emancipation in the gospel of reason, and the negation of all that reason cannot render an account of. How many of them could stand before Ibsen's judgment-seat, and come away with the same light-hearted conviction that everything which they could not demon- strate was mere superstition ? Surely the terrible poet of doubt will not spare them any more than other believers. There is many a one besides Fru Alving, who holds that any feeling for which he cannot give a reason is a mere " Ghost." Do they know the meaning of their creed? Let them go with her through the horrors of that night in which she is called upon to judge whether every instinct of her nature, and at last whether the very central purpose and passion of her whole being is a mere " ghost," and they will, at least, come forth from that ordeal chastened and sobered, with the glib confidence in their inde- pendence of the past shaken as perhaps none but Ibsen could shake it, with the knowledge that they have hardly begun to ask the ques- tions they thought they had already answered. Or where can we find anything more searching than the light thrown in " Rosmersholm " upon the self-deceptions of a man and woman, who think that, in their relations one with another, they can ignore the garnered wisdom and experience of ages, and dismiss as superficial conventions that have no reference to them, the resultant beliefs and mandates of society? Or where can we find a bolder or more virile representation at once of the necessity and of the danger of the rupture with an established moral or religious order already antiquated, but not yet replaced, than is embodied in this same " Rosmersholm " ? Or yet again: if you think you have got the formula of life in a war cry against conventional reticence and lies, and a belief in probing instead of skinning over wounds, go with Gregers Werle on his cru- sade, and learn how easy it is to think you are setting a man's feet upon the rock of truth when, in fact, you are calling upon him to act on principles he only respects at second hand, and to profess sentiments he neither feels nor understands. But where am I to stop? There is scarcely one of Ibsen's social IBSEN'S PLAYS 731 plays which we can read without being forced to admit that we had somewhere stopped short of the full meaning of our own questions, and accepted an answer that concealed from us the duty, and robbed us of the strength, of deeper questioning. The poet of doubt has, indeed, fulfilled his mission ! But people say he is " immoral." What do they mean ? Do they mean that the moral nature is braced by the habitual con- templation of noble and beautiful things ; that it is dwarfed and poi- soned by habitual contemplation of horrible, foul, or ignoble things; that there are some who delight in unwholesome familiarity with what is hateful, and some who are banefully fascinated by it, even while they loathe it; and that Ibsen is therefore a depressing moral influ- ence P If this is what is meant I believe there is truth in it. I doubt not that Ibsen has done, is doing, and will do, moral harm to some of his readers. The same may be said of Thackeray. And — for very dif- ferent reasons — the same may be said of Goethe, of Carlyle, and of many more. There are minds capable of deriving harm, and perhaps incapable of deriving good, from Ibsen as from these others. But do people mean more than this when they say that Ibsen is immoral ? Do they mean that he makes vice seem attractive, or that he stimulates the imagination to vicious activity ? I cannot conceive of such a charge being intended by any man who has read Ibsen; but, unhappily, many use language calculated to convey to those who have not read him, the impression that this is the charge they bring. Or do they mean that Ibsen's writings tend to confuse moral issues, and therefore to weaken moral restraints ? Inasmuch as his works have a terrible solvent power, they may indeed tend to reduce a man to a condition of ethical agnosticism, with all its attendant dangers; but this may be said of all who challenge accepted ideas ; and Ibsen is singularly free from the sin of representing a tinsel nobility as genu- ine, or failing to appreciate the true ore of humanity wherever it is found. In Ibsen, as in Thackeray, the moral stress is always true. But what really lies at the basis of all morality ? Is it not the sense of the magnitude of the issues of our thoughts, words, and deeds ? He who saps, deadens, or overbears the sense of responsibility, is the really immoral writer. Will any one bring this charge against Ibsen ? Who, in our day, has brought home with greater force the significance to others of what we do, what we think, and what we are, than Ibsen ? Or who has made us feel the responsibility sitting closer to us for frivolity in rejecting, or hypocrisy in accepting, the current code and creeds of society ? But enough cf this cheap reproach of immorality. Let us turn again to the central problem of Ibsen's social plays. That problem 732 THE DEAMA ' I take to be the relation of the individual to his social and personal surroundings. Everyone who has given a moment's serious attention to social facts knows that our personal and individual life comes to us in and through our " human environment," and can only express itself fully and richly when it goes out towards, and in some sense loses itself in, the life of others. And yet this " life of others " constantly presents itself to us as a hampering and dwarfing power, forcing con- ventions and unveracities upon us, and preventing us from ever be- coming ourselves. " To be oneself is to slay oneself." Yes, but, un- happily, there are many other ways of slaying oneself besides self- realization ; and many there be that find them. Now, there is one special case of this problem of self-surrender and self-realization so obvious and so complex, that it cannot fail to have a quite specific attraction for Ibsen; and, moreover, conventional mor- ality and tradition choose persistently to ignore its true nature. It is the problem of a woman's life when she marries. Here is a special field for the bold questioner, whose voice, once heard, may be cursed • or ridiculed, but cannot be forgotten. If a woman has a life and individuality of her own before she marries, she is called upon to reconcile self-realization with self'sur- render in a manner so conspicuous that the blindest cannot fail to see it, when once their attention is called to.it. Fatherhood is an inci- dent. Motherhood is an occupation. A man marries and apparently remains himself. When a woman marries she becomes someone else. She changes her name; she changes her home; she changes her occupation; and her new name, her new home, and her new occupa- tion, are determined by her husband and her children. Hence mar- riage, regarded from the woman's point of view, is the problem of society, focussed and epitomized — the problem of self-realization in and through self-surrender. The same problem meets us all, men and women, in all the relations of life; but in none is it so obvious and so tangible as it is here. Again, the change in a woman's life when she marries is so great that it may seem to offer her an almost complete escape from conditions that oppress and confine, or haunt, or tease her. She may have at least the appearance of reason on her side if she separates herself from her circumstances and refuses to believe that she is herself the greatest and most important factor in her own life. She may pant for an escape, and may believe that mar- riage will give her a career. A man may look to marriage for many things, but hardly as in itself opening a career to him. Hence, a woman's temptation to a refined form of mercenary motive in mar- riage. When she seems to be giving her heart to the man who loves her, she may be in truth bartering herself to him for a position and a career. IBSEN'S PLAYS 733 Ellida. Now, just listen, Wangel. What is the use of our lying to our selves — and to each other ? Wangel. Lying, do you say ? Is that what we are doing ? Ellida. Yes, that is what we are doing. Or, at any rate, we are hiding, the truth. For the truth, the pure, clean truth, is just this, that you came out there — and bought me. Wangel. " Bought " ! do you say " bought " ? Ellida. Oh ! I wasn't an atom better than you were. 1 agreed to it. 1 went and sold myself to you. Wangel. Ellida! have you really the heart to call it so? Ellida. But what else can 1 call it? You couldn't endure the void in your house. You were looking about for a new wife. Wangel. And a new mother for my children, Ellida. Ellida. Well, perhaps, incidentally, though you hadn't the least idea whether I was fit for the position. You'd only seen me and talked to me once or twice. And you took a fancy to me, and so — Wangel. Yes ! call it whatever you please. Ellida. And i, on my side — there was I, all helpless and resourceless, and utterly alone. It was so natural for me to fall in — when you came and oiFered to look after me for all my life. Ellida feels that she was forced into the transaction which she calls a sale, and her husband calls a marriage. At the very time she is speaking thus to him, Bollette is arranging a transaction, very differ- ent in its terms but identical in its nature, with Arnholm. Nora Helmer and Fru Alving presumably drifted into marriage, and promised to surrender themselves before they had come to any con- sciousness of who and what they were. Not one of them had any real choice, or knew what she was doing. If they had had a choice they would have known that their problem was the problem of life — to find oneself by losing oneself. I am convinced that it is in this typical significance of marriage, and not in any special interest in the so-called " woman question " as such, that we are to seek the reason of Ibsen's constant recurrence to this theme. Suppress individuality and you have no life; assert it and you have war and chaos. The principle of life is found when we can reconcile the strong utterance of self with self-abnegation; and the necessity of harmonizing these two is absolutely forced upon us when we think of marriage. The mere freedom of choice on which Ellida Wangel and Nora Helmer lay such stress is but a condition, not a principle of healthy life. Hedda Gabler neither drifted nor was forced into marriage; but she deliberately and shamelessly paid the flattered and delighted Tesman in the forged coinage of love for opening to her a retreat from the career she had exhausted, and an entry into the best career she could still think of as possible; and we see the result. Without the spirit of self-surrender free choice will never secure self-realization. Ibsen may well say that his forte is asking questions, not answer- ing them ! In this particular matter his questioning began early. T34 THE DRAMA And this brings me to the only part of my proper task which I have not yet attempted. There is one of Ibsen's most celebrated and most brilliant metrical dramas that I have not yet so much as mentioned. It is his first work on the conditions of modern society, his first satire, and the first utterance that roused that indignant resentment which has from time to time flamed out against him from that day to this. I refer to "Love's Comedy," written in 1862, when Ibsen was still living in Christiania. Its subject is love, courtship, and matri- mony, and its hero and heroine are Falk (or Falcon), a young poet and author, and Svanhild, the eldest daughter of the lady with whom he boards. To us Englishmen there is always something supremely ludicrous in the approved Continental customs and ideas concerning courtship ; and Ibsen's relentless satire will be keenly enjoyed by all English- men who are fortunate enough to be able to read it in the original. But how can I give those who are not in that happy position any conception of the bevies of fluttering maids and matrons that thrill with delight at the announcement of another engagement, of the ex- citement which pervades them on the report of a " little misunder- standing " between the newly-engaged couple, of their officious zeal in bringing about a " reconciliation," of their rapturous exclamations when one of them sees Lind kissing Anna's glove, of their vexation and disappointment when the lovers seem tired of being exhibited, of their dismay when the poor harassed " quarry," as his friend calls him, escapes for a moment; of the clergyman who seizes every occa- sion of solemnly descanting on the beauty and sanctity of domestic joys, and waves his hand towards the eight daughters (out of twelve !) who are on the scene, with their mother, as living tokens and pledges thereof; of the sobbing matron, who, with her handkerchief at her eyes, tenderly dwells upon her " record " as a match-maker, " seven nieces — and all of them with boarders " ! And yet, when the curtain falls upon husband and wife and en- gaged couples, old and new, kissing each other two and two, to a grand chorus of the " triumph of love ! " it is difficult to exaggerate the sense of desolation which swallows up and overwhelms all amuse- ment, and makes the concluding scene of " Love's Comedy " one of the saddest pieces of writing in Ibsen's works. Falk has noted from the first with disgust and scorn how all this " officialism," as it were, marks the grave of love. As soon as a " lover " is promoted to the recognized privileges of " my love," the poetry is gone out of life. Falk looks upon the parson, who braved public opinion and risked all his future in early life, for the girl he loved, and who is now the very embodiment of commonplace, con- ventional, worldly respectability; upon Styver, who once wrote poetry by the ream, and did not mend his pen, but tuned it, and who now IBSEN'S PLAYS 735 reats his fiancee with an almost more than marital indifference ; upon his friend Lind who was intoxicated with love till his engagement was announced, and now forlornly seeks a moment's esacpe from Anna and her friends and aunts, — he looks upon all these as corpses. Only he and Svanhild who do not wear their hearts upon their sleeves, who — so far from parading their love — have never uttered it even to one another, and like a modern Benedick and Beatrice are at perpetual war with each other, only they are alive ! But of course this cannot last. A misunderstanding forces Falk into a passionate declaration lest he should lose Svanhild too soon; but his declaration has in it the sublimity of masculine selfishness and arrogance which Ibsen knows so well how to paint. He is a Falcon, and he must fly against the wind ! He needs Svanhild's support and inspiration to achieve the height of his poetic calling. It is her glo- rious mission to protect his belief in beauty and love from " falling " like Adam, during all the spring of her life and his; and when she has performed this noble mission and the leaves begin to fall in autumn, then the world may claim her, and their ways will part. The whole relation of course is to be a purely spiritual one, the idealism of which will not be soiled by the vulgar cares that make courtship and matrimony the grave of love ! Svanhild, in answer, reads Falk a lesson under which he writhes. But the result of it is to make him resolve with such intensity as he never put into anything in life before, to win her as his wife, and prove, up to the hilt, the falsity of the creed which he himself held but now. For true love need not shrink from any test and strain of practical life; and the vital breath has deserted all these spouses and betrotheds, not because they have left the ideal for the real, but because they themselves are of the earth, earthy. He and Svanhild will prove that is so. His satire becomes fiercer than ever now, but there is a ringing tone of triumph in it, and when he gives as his toast amongst all the pairs, married and to be married, " the late lamented love," he knows that his own love is victorious. And so it is. Svanhild is won. She and Falk, side by side, will wage war against the miserable conventions and pretences of love, and will live the reality. Then comes Guldstad, the rich middle-aged merchant, and explains to Falk and Svanhild that marriage is after all a very practical busi- ness, involving many considerations that have not the least connection with love. You are in love with a woman, you marry a wife; and a wife has to do and be many things that a lover, blinded by his love, does not consider. Guldstad himself does not profess to be in love with Svanhild, but he is convinced that she would make him an •excellent wife, and he can offer her the quiet stream of a warm 736 THE DRAMA and friendly affection and respect, a sense of the happiness of duty, the peace of home, and mutual bending of will to will, a tender care to smooth the path of life for her, a gentle hand to heal her wounds, strong shoulders to bear, and a strong arm to support and lift. Can Talk offer her as much ? If so let her take him, and he, Guldstad, who has no belongings and no claims upon his wealth, will deal with them as his son and daughter. Then Guldstad leaves them together. Their love cannot bear the test he has applied to it. Would it last in all its triumphant glory, they ask, right on till death ? It is so much more than Guldstad has to offer now, but if it should fade and pine, and die down into mere friendship, what a fall were there ! " It will last long," says Falk. But Svanhild answers, " ' Long ! y, ' Long ! ' Oh wretched word of beggary ! How will * long ' serve love's turn ? It is death's sentence ; mildew on the seed. ' I hold that love has life eterna,! ' shall no more be sung ; and the cry shall be, 'A year agone I loved thee ! ' : Will it really be more than this ? Who shall dare to say ? Who shall dare to risk it ? Not Svanhild. No ! Their love shall know no autumn. It shall remain forever with its beauty undimmed. Their mid-day sun shall know no setting ! And Falk accepts her decision. She is his love but must never be his wife. Only by leaving and by loosing her can he win her truly. So he goes his way. The bevies of ladies eagerly repeat the news, " She's rejected him ! she's rejected him ! " Her mother presses Guldstad's eligible offer upon her. She asks for a respite "till the leaves are falling ; " and as all the " pairs " exult over the discom- fiture of the arch-enemy, Falk, who has met his deserts at last from Svanhild, Guldstad offers her his hand, which after an involuntary start, almost a shuddei, she meekly accepts, and the curtain falls upon " the triumph of love." What did Ibsen mean by it all ? Was the creed of Falk and Svanhild his own ? If so he here fairly succumbed to the danger indicated in some of his poems, and fell into the twin vices of senti- mentality and cynicism. For I take it that a man who regards the passion of love as the richest and most beautiful thing in life, and who also holds that familiar human intercourse is essentially and necessarily destructive of it, is at once a cynic and a sentimentalist. The real is incapable of being idealized to him, and therefore he is a cynic ; and his emotional life is essentially unreal, therefore he is a sentimentalist. But was this Ibsen's creed ? I cannot tell. In any case "Love's Comedy " was a comparatively early work, and though it bears a dis- IBSEN'S PLAYS 737 tinct relation to Ibsen's maturer representations of love and mar- riage, yet it does not embody them. Guldstad's sober but earnest conception of marriage as a deliber- ately considered choice, involving manifold relations not to be en- tered into lightly, and affecting every branch of practical life, remains the keynote of Ibsen's treatment of the subject. And observe that, in all this, marriage is a type of human relationships in general. There is nothing specific or unique in it. Now, the love that 'draws the op- posite sexes one to the other is something quite unique, but not speci- fically human. It pierces right through the animal and vegetable kingdoms. It is organic and pre-human in its origin. Eemember that profoundly suggestive saying of Peer Gynt's. He had descerated his relationship to Solvejg, and he says it cannot be patched up again. A fiddle can be mended, but a bell cannot. A fiddle, with its delicate mechanism, is constructed, and when con- structed it can be tuned, patched, replaced in pieces, broken and mended. A bell is cast whole in the one molten rush that creates it. It has one note, a note that appeals to something in us deeper than all art, not to be analyzed, in one sense not to be developed, to live un- changed — till the bell cracks, and then to be gone forever. What we call " falling in love " rings the bell-note in our lives. In its nvysterious infra-and-supra-human simplicity it thrills down to the very roots of our organic nature, and yet fills us with the sense of a more than human life. Where it is absent the union of the sexes is unhallowed, and becomes what Ellida calls it, a bargain and a sale; and for men and women who buy and sell in this matter there should be but one name. But marriage is a great deal more besides this " bell-ringing."' It is a many-sided and complicated human relationship, and the bell-note, however clear and true it may ring, does not suffice for married life. Details which you may call prosaic if you will enter into the duties of husband and wife. They must be to each other much that partners in business must be, much that servants or other employes must be, much that friends and advisers must be. In a word, their life together must be built up and con- structed out of many parts and pieces, to the harmonious fitting of which friendship, good-will, kindly forbearance, and consideration are essential, but which are not secured by " love " in the narrower sense, and may exist without it. And if a man and woman who are " in love," but are not suited to enter into the complicated relations of husband and wife with each other, none the less marry, there is indeed nothing unhallowed in the fact of their union ; but the bell is pretty sure to crack ere long. And what is there left then ? Off they go pell-mell to* the altar, set up a home in the very shrine of happiness, pass a season in an orgy of triumph and faith; and then comes the day of reckoning, and lo, and behold ! the whole con- 738 THE DRAMA cern is hopelessly bankrupt. The wife's cheek is bankrupt in the bloom of youth, and her heart bankrupt in the flowers of thought. The husband's breast is bankrupt in victorious courage, bankrupt in every glowing spark that was struck of old; bankrupt, bankrupt is the whole concern ; though they two entered life as a first-class firm of love. Then does Ibsen teach that because " falling in love," though it be never so many fathom deep, gives no sure promise of wedded happi- ness, therefore the element of passion should be ignored in marriage ? I cannot tell. But this is certain, that he lays the stress of his repre- sentations not upon the truth that being " in love " is essential to an ideal marriage, but upon the other truth that it is not enough for an ideal marriage. He seems always to represent " love," in the romantic sense, in its misleading and delusive character. Johan Tonnesen is in love, and in consequence he does not " so much as see " Martha Bernick who had been tried and found as true as steel, and who was made to be the companion of his life ; and he marries a girl of whom he knows noth- ing. Torvald Helmer is in love — note that — in love after many years of married life, still thrilled by the same magnetic influence, still finding in Nora's society the same unreasoning and unanalyzable delight which first drew him to her. And therefore he thinks himself a model husband, when really his relations with his wife have never risen above mere organic attraction, and have never been human at all. Rebekka "West is in love, and her love leads her into depths of treachery and cruelty that make " Rosmersholm " one of the most appalling of Ibsen's dramas; and Rosmer himself is in love, and his love drives him to leap with Rebekka into the dark pool below the foss. And lastly, Ellida is in love, and in her the untamed, pre-human nature of love, as Ibsen conceives it, comes out in its full significance. Like the heaving of the sea to the moon, like the craving of the stranded mermaid for the deep ocean, unreasoning, and not to be reasoned with, dark and deep and wild, this elemental drift and up- heaval of our nature must be tamed and mastered, that our relations, one with another, may be sober, well-considered, and human. And is this all ? Does Ibsen know that in considering marriage in this sober, human, rational style, he is leaving out the specific element in it, and dealing with it only as typical of all human relationships ? Does he ignore the truth that in the ideal marriage the bell-note rings from first to last, and that all else is dominated and glorified by it ? Does he know that it is only that " love " which has its roots far down beneath our humanity that can raise marriage, as such, into a truly human relationship ? I will not answer for him. There are indica- tions, deep rather than numerous, especially in " The Doll's House " IBSEN'S PLAYS 739 and in " The Lady from the Sea/' that he knows all this as well as any of us. But at any rate he does not choose to dwell upon it. He chooses to dwell upon marriage under its other aspects. And can we afford to be ungrateful to him ? How many marriages are there that, tried by the ideal standard, will not be found wanting? They may be few or many, but at least they are something less than all. And what of the others ? The bell is cracked. Are husband and wife simply to sit down and say that life is a failure, or at least that they can be nothing to each other now ? Surely they may be much. The tenderness of considerate friendship, and the mutual helpfulness of loyal partnership are not love, but in their measure they are beautiful and life-giving; neither is love a substitute for them, even where love is. That the bell is sound, or that the bell is cracked, is an equally foolish reason for not mending the broken riddle, or tuning its neg- lected strings. With respect to marriage, then, I do not find in Ibsen the highest truth insisted on with any distinctness or directness. He even leavea me in doubt whether he is not profoundly mistaken in his teaching; but he works out some aspects of the problem with a piercing insight and a relentless truth, for which I have no words but those of grateful admiration. If I can find the husband and wife who show me that they have read and understood " The Doll's House," " Rosmersholm," and " The Lady from the Sea," but that they had nothing to learn from them, then I will lay down Ibsen, and ask leave to sit at their feet. But I do not expect that this will be either to-day or to-morrow. The strength and the weakness of Ibsen's much discussed treatment of marriage lies in the fact that he does not deal with it as marriage at all, but as the most striking instance of the ever recurrent problem of social life, the problem that we may hide in other cases, but must face here, the problem of combining freedom with permanence and loyalty, of combining self-surrender with self-realization. WHEN Ibsen turned his back upon "the dear North," and tried to forget the life that lay behind him, lie bathed his soul for a time in the warmth and beauty of Italy. His thoughts and studies turned to the ancient world, and he planned and partly executed the work that afterwards grew into the two plays, of which Julian the Apostate is the hero. But the spell of the North was still upon him. It forced his mind back to the bleak and chill home of his childhood with all its freezing memories. The unfinished work was set aside, and before it was taken up again and completed, "Brand," "Peer Gynt," and "The Youthful League" had flowed in rapid succession from Ibsen's pen. In "Brand" the poet turns fiercely upon his native land, but amid all his passion and contempt learns and tells the truth that there is no redeeming power save in love. 740 THE DRAMA Brand is a young Norwegian clergyman, to whom the heroic age has vanished, and who regards his contemporaries as a paltry, tim- orous, and sordid race, who plead their own self-inflicted feebleness as the excuse for shrinking from every sacrifice, who believe they have been stamped as farthings in the mint of God, and are content to have it so, and who are yet not content to give up all pride in the past, and all aspirations for the future, and frankly own themselves the slaves of earth. He finds them striving to be a little of every- thing, to have a little faith and earnestness for use on Sundays, a little patriotism for national anniversaries, a little hilarity and good- fellowship for festive occasions after work, a little recklessness and abandon in making promises, a little caution and sobriety in fulfilling them, a little attachment to the good old times and their customs and memories, a little perception of the changed spirit of their own day. Their life is all broken up into fragments, and each fragment ham- pers, contradicts, deadens all the rest so that they can never live a full life. Their religion is in perfect keeping with all this. One might per- haps, think that their very materialism had, at least, given unity to their lives — but no, it is haunted and broken by memories of a spirit- ual religion that make a discord with it. Men still repeat the Lord's Prayer, but there is a line of it that is winged with will and has in it such deep and anxious insistence of demand as will launch it heavenwards with the full ring of prayer, save the fourth petition: "Give us this day our daily bread." This has become the people's war-cry and the password of the world. Wrenched from its context and stamped upon every heart this prayer remains — the storm-tossed spar that tells of the wreck of faith ! Yet this very survival is the testi- mony that men are not contentedly and whole-heartedly material. They snip and trim the kingdom of God till it can all get inside the Church walls, but they must have "a little" of it. They have none of the fresh manhood of faith that can bridge over the chasm between spirit and flesh, but they still haggle for "a little" of the spiritual consolations now dealt out in retail by the ecclesiastical hucksters. "A little" idealism and spiritual exaltation is quite essential as an element in their existence. Into such a society Brand leaps with his awful and heroic motto, "All or nothing," and in the name of the jealous deity who "will have no other gods by his side," seeks to build up human nature into unity, to remake, out of these stumps of soul and torsos of spirit, out of these scattered heads and hands, such a whole that God may be able to recognize once more his noblest work in man. For the current religion Brand has neither sympathy nor even pity — nothing but scorn. The God men worship is a superannuated and feeble dotard, that did miracles long ago, and was once a jealous God, IBSEN'S PLAYS 7-U but is now quite easy-going, and content with his fragment of the human heart, willing enough to accept the service of one day out of seven, and altogether past working miracles. The very doctrine of Christian redemption has made men look upon themselves as no longer called upon for any sacrifice as long as they formally assert their claim to a share in the great sacrifice made for them long ago. Against this miserable, sordid, and decrepit religion Brand de- clares war to the death. Better become frankly material and godless, better give oneself up to the world and become an acknowledged muck-raker on the one hand, or Bacchanal on the other, than cheat oneself with such a sham. It must be "everything or nothing," and if there be a God to serve, then his service must be "everything." And such a God there is. If we must picture him under human form, then he is no benevolent and weak old man; he is young and strong as Hercules, his love is the love that could listen to the prayer of an- guish in Gethsemane and yet not take away the cup. He demands the whole life and will accept no less. He who offers God one-seventh or one-half, or none-tenths of his life flings it into the abyss — it must be all or nothing. Brand's God can still work miracles, and the life that is given wholly to him may still be divinely harmonious as of old. When we iirst see Brand he is fired with the thought of preaching this living God to all the world, and, as he contemptuously puts it, burying the dead God that men still profess to worship. With the so-called "practical" spirit of the age he has little sym- pathy, still less with its tolerant and humane culture. Its "practical" spirit means putting material things before spiritual, with the poor hope of achieving a true humanity by means of increased material appliances. It thinks a new road and a new bridge of more pressing consequence than a bridge between faith and life, fails to see that until we are men we heap up wealth in vain, and if we are men we do not need it. And the humane and tolerant spirit of the age is only a fine name for indifference to truth, for weak shrinking from giving or bearing pain, for dissipation of energy, — for the devil's breath of compromise and cowardice. To this man, with his motto, "All or nothing," there is no common measure between material and spiritual things. You may stay your steps on God's errands because you can not go farther, but never because you dare not, or because you will not. If his way leads him over the crevasse-crossed glacier, and the mists fall upon him as the ice rings thin and hollow beneath his feet, and the roar of the hidden waters threaten him with instant death, he has no thought of pausing or turning back. It is enough for him that he can go farther, and while his peasant guide leaves him in mortal terror, though his dying daughter lies on the other side of the snow-field and cannot be at 742 THE DRAMA peace without seeing him, the intrepid priest, with no reason to cross to-day rather than to-morrow, save that each day is a day to be de- voted to his mission, pursues his way. No physical suffering moves him. He passes untouched through the starving town, where the blue-grey ring round every hollow eye shows that death is holding his assize, and is only moved to a deeper ecorn when he sees that the scourge brings out the brute rather than the angel in the sufferers. But a tale of the mental anguish of a father who has slain his child that he might not see it starve, and now himself lies dying, stirs him to deepest compassion, and in a storm through which even the wife of the dying man dare not venture with him, he crosses the fiord in an open boat to stand by the bed of the murderer and suicide as the messenger of God. Then the call comes to him to relinquish all this thoughts of a cru- sading march through his land, and an attack in the face of all the world upon the idols it serves, and to bury himself in a sunless town on a remote fiord, where the memory of his lonely childhood broods like night over his soul, where his miserly mother, who bartered away her soul for wealth in her early days, and hopes to save it in her old age by dedicating her son to the Church, oppresses him with her unre- claimed sordidness, and where every influence seems most hostile to his life-work. And yet in truth the sacrifice is no sacrifice at all. For Agnes has already convinced him that his crusade must be fought out at home and not abroad. And who is Agnes? We see her first, with her lover, Einar, the painter and poet, in the sunshine and beauty of the morning on the hill-side. Einar. Agnes, my beautiful butterfly, thee will I capture in sport! I am weaving a net with meshes so fine, and the meshes so fine are my songs. Agnes [dancing back before Mm and darting out of his reach]. If I'm a but- terfly little and fine, then let me still sip from the ling-bloom ; and if you are a boy that delights in his game, then chase me, but catch me not ever. Einar. Agnes, my beautiful butterfly, now have I woven the meshes; sure your fluttering flight will avail you naught— soon you sit in the net fairly captured. Agnes. If I'm a butterfly young and bright, rejoicing I swing in the sport; but should I be caught 'neath your woven net, then brush not against my wings. Einar. Nay! With such care on my hand will I lift thee, and lock thee right into my heart; and there shalt thou play thy whole life long the gladest of games thou e'er knewest. But when Agnes hears Brand speak of the feebleness and poverty of the age and of the stern gospel it needs, she wakes from her but- terfly existence as from a dream. It is in vain that Einar strives to pick up the thread of sport where they dropped it. Agnes answers him without hearing, and in her turn asks, without looking at him, IBSEN'S PLAYS 743 in a hushed whisper as if in church : "But tell me, did you see — how he grew while he was speaking ?" Then when Brand is ready to cross the storm-torn fiord and none dares to go with him, Agnes bids Einar join him, and when he shrinks back in terror the whole world-ocean stretches between him and her. She herself leaps into the boat and braves the storm with Brand. When he leaves the death-bed to which he had come to stand be- tween the dying sinner and his fighting soul he sees Agnes sitting in the clear sunshine, rapt as if in a vision. See how there she sits and listens, as to songs that fill the welkin. In the boat she sat and listened, as it cleft the troubled waters; as she grasped the thwart she listened, listened as she shook the storm-spray from her clear, un- clouded forehead. 'Twaff as though the sense had changed its seat, and with her eyes she listened. What is her vision, as she sits there listening with her eyes? She sees the crude forces of an unborn world, with its torrents, its clouds, is lightning glow, its wild winds, its desert stretches, its unmeasured possibilities, waiting to be created — and created by her ! For in her own breast she recognizes its counterpart in the swelling of untamed forces like mountain torrents, in the rising light of the new day, in the widening of the reach of life, in the new quickening and move- ment of thought and deed, as though their hour of birth had come, in the sadness and the joy that are as one, in the divine voice that rings in her ears, "Now shalt thou create, now be created! Now art though redeemed or lost ! Do thy work — thy work of dear account." When Einar comes and claims her once again she stands between him and Brand. Brand warns her that he is uncompromising in his demands, requiring "all or nothing," that if she fails half way, then all her life will have been flung into the sea, that she must look for no concession in time of need, no yielding to any weakness, that if her life-strength falls short she must face death itself. Einar cries to her that she is choosing between storm and calm, between peace and sor- row, between night and morning, between life and death. And she answers, "Into the night. Through death. Behind, there gleams the morning dawn." At the beginning of the third act we find Brand and Agnes, with their baby boy, living on the margin of the sunless fiord under the overhanging rock, and we learn something of the progress of his work. He is still true to his old motto, "Everything or nothing." His un- compromising devotion and his overmastering individuality have pro- duced a profound impression in his parish. The commonplace, ma- terial, matter-of-fact tradition of the place, impersonated in the bailiff of the town, though not overcome, is forced into a kind of acquiescence in his leadership, and a new spirit seems to be abroad. And Brand himself is in one sense changed. Till now no strong human affection 744 THE DRAMA has ever claimed him. In the home of his youth and at school he was a stranger. A hideous act of covetous heartlessness, of which he was an unsuspected witness, completely alienated him from his mother when he was yet a child. The grandeur and heroism of his character had been untempered hitherto by the personal tenderness the whole wealth of which he now pours out for his wife and child. But Agnes complains that to others his love is still hard, and that in the terrible sternness of his demand, "all or nothing," he repels instead of win- ning. His old mother yearns with a superstitious longing to receive the sacrament and the assurance of forgiveness from him on her deathbed. He lays down the condition that before she dies she shall give away the whole of that wealth for which she has sinned, and toiled, and pinched, and lived a loveless and sunless life, and shall go naked into her grave. In vain she pleads that he is bidding her scatter her very soul to the winds. He is inexorable. In the anguish of a deathbed repentance she sends messengers to him. She offers half her wealth, at last nine-tenths of it; but is only met with the old answer, "everything or nothing," and dies muttering, "God is not so hard as my son," comforted, so says the almost broken-hearted Brand, by the old lie, looking upon God, as all the rest do, as a good- natured huckster that may be beaten down if he cannot get his full price. And yet this man, now that his love is awakened, is visited in spite of himself by seasons of compunction if not of doubt. To stand before men with his awful "everything or nothing," draws tears of blood from his heart. In loneliness he bites the tongue. with which he has chastised, and when he lifts his arm to strike, the passionate longing comes over him to embrace the weak and sinful brother. Then comes his own trial. He and Agnes both notice, though neither will confess it, the pale cheek and waning strength of their boy. Surely, says Brand, God cannot take him from them. Yet what if he can? May not God do to-day what "the terror of Isaac" did long ago? Then comes the doctor's verdict. It is certain death to the child to stay another month on the sunless fiord, and Brand in an agony of apprehension orders immediate preparations to be made for leaving their home that very hour. Then one after another, from the mouth of the doctor himself, from the parishioner who has heard a report that he means to leave them on receiving his inheritance from his mother, from the poor mad girl, Gerd, who is so strangely connected with his fate, from every Bide come echoes of his own teaching, "all or nothing." He has given up his ambition, he has given up his life to his work in his remote parish, he has refused to yield or to depart, has nailed his flag to the mast and declared that here he will stand or fall in conflict with his foe. He has given much for his work on the fiord. Yet it is nothing if he will not give all. Now he realizes what he has been de- IBSEN'S PLAYS 745 mantling of others, and stands horror-smitten before his own motto, "all or nothing." Nominally he throws the choice upon Agnes, but not till he has shown her that there is no choice at all. Brand's awful God seems to pass by in the thick darkness before our very eyes as Agnes lifts her child on high and cries — "God! the sacrifice thou can'st demand I can lift up towards thy heaven! Guide me through life's horror! " When next we see Brand and his wife their child has been lying for months beneath the sod of the churchyard. It is Christmas eve, the children's festival. Brand is not content with having made the sacrifice; he demands that there shall be no repining, no tender idolatries, no cherished memories making the season of rejoicing into a season of mourning. Agnes must not dwell on the contrast be- tween this Christmas and the last; she must not draw the curtain back that the light may stream upon the little grave; she must not even plead for time and beg her husband to have patience with her. And at last when a wild gypsy woman, with her mouth full of pro- fanity and her heart full of defiance, bursts into the house and begs, or rather demands, the little garments that Agnes keeps as sacred relics, that she may wrap them round her own child born among curses and, as it were, baptised in gin, she must part with all her treasure, must not retain even a single relic — "all or nothing." Agnes has at one point rebelled like a wild thing driven to bay; but now a serene and perfect joy overspreads her countenance, now she is free and triumph- ant, but as she turns to her husband and thanks him for the strength with which he has uplifted her, and for the awful but now glorious vision of God that he has revealed to her, she bids him remember the old word, " He who sees Jehovah dies." Then there sweeps upon Brand the vision of his lonely life and strife when Agnes shall be gone, and he folds round her the arms of a giant and declares that she shall not be taken from him. Nor need she be taken. She tells him that if he will sink her down again into the life from which he raised her, it will hide from her once more the God that he has revealed, if he will bid her return to her idol-house and forget his "all or nothing," she will have no power against him as he unteaches any more than she had as he taught. Then she can live and be his wife. But to see Jehovah is to die ; and unless he takes her back she must pass on and leave him to fight alone. "Soul! " cries Brand, "Be steadfast to the last. Tis victory's victory to forfeit all. The sum of loss has framed thy gain, only the lost is our own for ever! " Agnes used to say that the " church was too small," but she could give no account of what she meant by it. The truth was that the church with its associations and forms and traditions oppressed her; 746 THE DRAMA and the feeling of narrowness and oppression translated itself into a sense of physical confinement. Everything else was too big for her, she sometimes felt. Her husband, his vocation, his purposes, his pres- ence, his will, his ways; the mountain that overhung her, the fiord that locked her in, her sorrows, her memories, her darkness, her strife, all were too big for her, only the church was too small. The mad Gerd said the same. The church down there in the valley was poor and hideous because it was so small. She knew of a church up on the mountain height, a church of ice and rock, and snow, where waterfall and avalanche read the mass, and the wind preached amongst the snow-peaks. And Brand felt that the ruinous and mouldering edifice, with its cramped and narrow walls, was the symbol of the pining and pal- try spirit of a religion in its second childhood. He would dedicate his mother's wealth to the rearing of a church worthy of the religion he peached. It should be the symbol of a wider and a stronger faith in which life should find its unity. Its vault should stretch not only over faith and doctrine, but over all to which God has given the right to be human in life — the day's toil, the evening's rest, the cares of night, the fresh delight of childhood — all that can claim a lodgment in a human heart. The river that foams down its course, the waterfall that roars through the cleft, the voice from the storm's great lungs and the sounds that ring from the sea soul-caught should melt into one with the organ notes and the stave on the people's tongue ! So Brand builds his church-symbol. And from all around the peo- ple stream to fill the air with commonplace laudations of his generos- ity, to give him knowing advice as to the best way of turning his gift to the advantage of the State and his own; to burn in upon his tortured soul the fact that of all his deeds this one is least under- stood ; to madden him by showing him that his symbol has none but a material meaning for the world; to drive him to fanaticism when he sees that all he does or says feeds the very spirit of commonplace against which he is fighting; to teach him that his church itself has become one huge lie and that its dedication will be his lying reward. Overladen now with his sorrow and his defeat, and losing all touch with practical reality, goaded yet further on the path he has been tak- ing, and no longer recognising any physical limitations or conditions of his mission, he turns the key contemptuously in the lock of the church door and flings it into the river, and summoning the people to follow him on his crusade through the world, and show that "life" and "God's sacrifice" are one, he leads the multitude upon to wild mountain heights whither they follow him in the belief that he is an in- spired prophet and can work miracles for their sustenance and glory. When, hungry and footsore, they halt, and learn, in answer to their demands, that they must look for life-long toil, must strip themselves IBSEN'S PLAYS 747 naked of every joy and comfort, that a crown of thorns pressed upon every brow will be their wages, and a free soul their reward, they turn round fiercely upon the " deceiver " and chase him with blows and curses out into the snow-fields. Weary, bleeding, and alone, Brand now sees as in vision the people for whom he has sacrificed himself, the God whom he has striven to serve, the home and happiness that he has lost. Those miserable thralls, whom he has given his very life to raise out of their sordid cares, will sink lower and lower. Their national hostory passeth before him. He sees them sheltering their cowardice under the plea of feebleness, sitting still while their brethren in Denmark are crushed; bribed by English gold to pollute their land with smoke and their hearts with greed ; drawing aside from the great spiritual battles of the world, suffering the old faith to die, and taking no part in es- tablishing the new; for their stake in the world's redemption is too small to fight for. Not for them was the cup drained, not for them did the crown of thorns strike its teeth into the Saviour's temples, not for them the thrust of the Eoman lance into his side, not for them the burning of the nails that pierced his hands and feet, not for them the bearing of the cross — the purple ridge that rose upon his shoulder under the leather thong with which the cobbler Ahasuerus smote him, is Norway's "fraction of the passion." These are the -men he, Brand, had sought to redeem! And as for the God whom he had striven to bring men to serve with whole heart, had he not accepted his all and then rejected him? Had he not quenched every light that shone upon his path, had he not suffered him to be crushed in utter defeat, had he not flung back his prayers to him and deserted him in his utmost need? Through the storm he hears the sentence of doom chanted, Never, never can'st be like him, for in flesh hast thou been made. Do his bidding or desert him, either way alike thou'rt lost! Worm, thou never can'st be like him, though thou drain the cup of death! Follow after or desert him, either way thy deeds are doomed. Dreamer! ne'er shalt thou be like him; lands and goods though thou hast lost; all thou giv'st can naught enrich him — for the earth-life wast thou formed. And in the service of this inexorable and unapproachable God, for the sake of these sordid and unredeemable earthlings, what had he lost? Agnes and his baby boy might yet have been his — may yet be his, for Agnes appears to him, in his fever, and tells him that all the loss and sorrow is but a dream. She is still living, and so is their boy. They may have peace and joy if he will but strike a line through these words, "everything or nothing," and fall into the even easy ways against which he has fought in vain. No, never ! If indeed it has been a dream, then he will now make that dream a real- ity, will lose wife and child and everything sooner than endure the 748 THE DRAMA devil's breath of compromise! Whereat the shadowy form of the tempter vanishes with a shriek, " Then die ! The world has no use for thee." Then comes the end. From the mad Gerd he learns more than the wisdom of the wise had taught him. He learns in penitential tears that while the name of Jesus has been on his lips, he has never been bathed in his spirit, that while proudly thinking himself another Saviour by whose wounds the world may be healed, he has not even found salvation for his own poor soul. With still unbroken will, recignising himself as the poorest thing that creeps the earth, feeling that he stands on the lowest round of the ladder, yet still with fresh hope as new truth breaks upon him, Brand rises to begin his journey anew. But his weary and shattered powers are spared the fresh trial. For Gerd brings down an avalanche by a rifle shot, and as the great snow- slip sweeps over him and her, Brand cries to God from the jaws of death to answer whether man's modicum of mil weighs a single grain in the ecales of salvation. And as the crashing of screes and ice overwhelms him and fills the valley, a voice thunders the answer, "He is the God of Love." SPECIAL REFERENCE WORKS RELATING TO MUSIC AMBROS, Geschichte der Musik. APTHOEP, Musicians, Music-Lovers and Other Essays. BEAUQUIER, Philosophie de la Musique. BITTER, Geschichte des Oratoriums., BRENDEL, Geschichte der Musik. BROOKS, Olden Time Music. BURNEY, History of Music. CHAMPLIN, Cyclopaedia of Music. CHAPIN, Masters of Music. CLEMENT, Histoire de la Musique. CROWEST, The Story of Music. DICKINSON, Guide to the Study of Music-History. DOLE, Famous Composers. EDWARDS, The Prima Donna — Her History in the Seventeenth, Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. ELSON, (A.), Modern Composers of Music. Woman's Work in Music. ELSON, (L. C.), National Music of America. Great Composers and Their Work. EMERSON, Oration on Music. ENGEL, The Literature of National Music. FAY, Music Study in Germany. FETIS, Biographie des Musicians. La Musique mise a la portee de tout le monde. FINK, Wesen und Geschichte der Oper. FORKEL, Augemeine Geschichte der Musik. FULLER-MAITLAND, English Music of the Nineteenth Century. GRAF, Die Musik in Zeitalter der Eenaissance. GREY, Studies in Music. GROVE, Dictionary of Music and Musicians. GUERBER, Stories of Famous Operas. HADOW, Studies in Modern Music. Oxford History of Music. HART, The Violin and its Music. HAWKINS, General History of Science. — Music. HENDERSON, How Music Developed. The Story of Music. HOGARTH, Memoirs of the Opera. HUGHES, Contemporary American Composers. HULLAH, Modern Music. HUNT, Concise History of Music. HUTCHINSON, The Music of the Bible. KELLER, Illustrirto Geschichte der Musik. KIESEWETTER, Geschichte der Europaischen Musik. KILBURN, The Story of Chamber Music. KREHBIEL, Bibliography of Music. How to Listen to Music. LANGHANS, History of Music. LAVIGNAC, Music and Musicians. LAVOIX, Histoire de la Musique. LEGGE, Music in the Nineteenth Century. MACFARREN, Musical History Briefly Narrated. MARETZEK, Crotchets and Quavers. Sharps and Flats. MARSILLAC, Histoire de la Musique Moderne. MASON, From Grieg to Brahms. 750 BIBLIOGKAPHY OF MUSIC MATTHEW, The Literature of Music. MATHEWS, Hundred Years of Music in America. MAZZINI, Philosophy of Music. MEBIAN, Illustrirte Geschiehte der Musik im Neunzehten Juhrhundert. MOORE, Cyclopaedia of Music. NAUMANN, History of Music. NOHL, Allgemeine Musikgeschichte. OUSELEY, Treatise on Harmony. PARRY, Evolution of the Art of Music. Music of the Seventeenth Century (in Oxford History of Music). PERKINS, History of the Handel and Haydn Society. REISSMANN, Das Deutsche Lied in seiner Historischen Entwickelung. Geschiehte der Musik seit Beethoven. Handbuch der Musikgeschichte. EITTEE, Music in America. Music in England. ROCKSTRO, General History of Music. EOWBOTHAM, History of Music. SCHLETTERER, Das Deutsche Singspiel. Studien zur Gerschichte der Franzb'sischen Musik. SHARP, History of Music in the Nineteenth Century. STRAUSS, Die Musik. VIARDOT, Histoire de la Musique. WAGNER (R.), Opera and Drama. WEINGARTNER, The Symphony since Beethoven. WILLEBY, Masters of English Music. WILLIAMS, The Story of Natation. The Story of Organ Music. SPECIAL REFERENCE WORKS RELATING TO THE DRAMA ADAMS, Dictionary of the Drama, Vol. I. ARCHER, English Dramatists of To-Day. ARNOLD, Das Moderne Drama. BAKER, Books on Drama and Literary Criticism. (Columbia University Bul- letin.) BARON, Histoire de 1'Art Dramatique. BERGH, The Drama, Painting, Poetry and Song. BISSON, The Drama an Element of Education. BROWN, History of the New York Theatres, 2 Vols. BRUNETIERE, Conferances de 1'Odeon. COLLIER, History of English Dramatic Poetry to Shakespeare. CREIZENACH, Geschichte des Nueren Dramas. DEVRIENT, Dramatische und Dramaturgische Schriften. DIDEROT, De la Poesie Dramatique. DOUMIC, De Seribe a Ibsen. Du MERIL, Les Origines Latines du theatre moderne. DUNLAP, History of the American Theatre. EDWARDS, Famous First Eepresentations, 1666-1850. FLEAY, Biographical Chronicle of the Drama, 1559-1642. FREYTAG, Die Technik des Dramas. FOWLER, Influence of the Theatre. GAUTIER, Histoire de 1'art dramatique en France. GOEBEL, Ueber tragische Sehuld und Siihne. GOTTSCHALL, Zur Kritik des modernen Dramas. GREIN, Dramatic Criticism. GUBERNATIS, Storia del teatro dramatico. HAGEMANN, Die Schaubiihne und ihr Einfluss. HARDEN, Literatur und Theater. HAZLITT (W.), Lectures on the Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth. HAZLITT (W. C.), English Drama Under the Stuarts and Tudors. HENNEQUIN, The Art of Playwriting. HUNEKER, Iconoclasts; a book of dramatists. HUTTON, Plays and Players. KERR, Das Neue Drama. KLAAR, Geschichte des modernen Dramas. KLEIN, Geschichte des Dramas, 15 Vols. KOEHLER, Die Weisheit der Tragiker. KOERTING, Geschichte des Theaters. LARROUMET, Etudes de Critique Dramatique. Etudes de 1' Histoire Dramatique. LEMAITRE, Corneille et la Poetique d' Aristotle. LESSING, Hamburgische Dramaturgie. LOWE, Bibliographical Account of English Theatrical Literature. MATTHEWS, The Development of the Drama. French Dramatists of the Nineteenth Century. MAZZINI, On the Historical Drama. MEREDITH, Essay on Comedy and the Uses of the Comic Spirit. MOULTON, Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist. POUGIN, Dictionaire historique et pittoresque du theatre. PRICE, Technique of the Drama. PROELLS, Geschichte des neueren Dramas. BEES, Dramatic Authors of America. ROYER, Histoire Universelle du Theatre, 6 Vols. SEILIIAMER, History of the American Theatre, 5 Vols. SAINT MARC, Cours de Litterature Dramatique, 5 Vols. SCHLEGEL, Dramatische Kunst und Litteratur, 3 Vols. 752 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE DRAMA SCOTT, Drama of Yesterday and To-Day. SITTENBERGER, Studien zur Dramaturgie der Gegenwart. STEIQEB, Das Werden des neuen Dramas, 2 Vols. SYLE, Essays in Dramatic Criticism. TREE, Some Fallacies of the Modern Stage. TUNISON, Dramatic Traditions of the Dark Ages. ULLRICH, Kritische Aufsatze ueber Kunst und Theater. ULRICI, Ueber Sakespeare's Dramatische Kunst. WALKLEY, Dramatic Criticism. WARD, English Dramatic Literature, 2 Vols. WEYMSS, Chronology of the American Stage, 1752-1852. WETz,«Vom mittelalterlichen Drama. WHIPPLE, Literature of the Age of Elizabeth. WOLFF, Geschichte der Deutschen Literatur in der Gegenwart. — Drama. WOODBRIHGE. Drama, its Laws and its Technique. ZABEL, Zur modernen Dramaturgie. ADDENDA PAGES FOR LECTURE NOTES AND MEMORANDA OF COLLATERAL READING UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY II Illl! INII Illl II A 001 356 287 CENTRAL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY of California, S« »•*> DATE DUE "JUNTO ' 16j?L rt «>«>/ flAR 1 'A