Ulaberfortr Hiirarg Hectureg 
 
 THE RELIGION OF AN 
 EDUCATED MAN 
 
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flaberforti ILibrarg ILectures 
 
 THE RELIGION 
 
 OF 
 
 AN EDUCATED MAN 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANCIS GREENWOOD PEABODY 
 
 PLUMMER PROFESSOR OF CHRISTIAN MORALS 
 IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY 
 
 ^ OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
 NebJ gork 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 
 
 1906 
 
 AU rights reserved 
 
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 HfiAL' 
 
 Copyright, 1903, 
 By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 
 
 Set up, electrotyped, and published November, 1903. Reprinted 
 January, 1904. 
 
 New edition September, 1906. 
 
 NortoooU iPw2g 
 
 J. S. Cashing & Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 
 
 Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
J^afterforti Eibrannj Eecturw 
 
 From the provisions of the donor : 
 
 ** The money [;^ 10,000] to be kept safely invested, 
 the Income only to be used for an annual course or 
 series of lectures before the senior class of the College 
 and other students, on the Bible, its history and its 
 literature, and, as way may open for it, upon its doc- 
 trine and its teaching.** 
 
 ">vT>4 
 
THREE LECTURES 
 To THE Students of Haverford College 
 
 I. Religion as Education. 
 II. The Message of Christ to the Scholar. 
 III. Knowledge and Service. 
 
I. RELIGION AS EDUCATION 
 
UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
 I. RELIGION^nSBuCATION 
 
 MEET you in the happy- 
 companionship of the aca- 
 demic life, as sharers of 
 the ideals of educated men. 
 I meet you also in the 
 larger fellowship of the 
 religious life, which this 
 college was founded to express, and which 
 these lectures are designed to strengthen. 
 At such a point of meeting, where the 
 paths of education and religion join, and 
 where one pauses as at the crossing of the 
 roads, it is inevitable that he should glance 
 along both these great highways of human 
 life as they traverse the hills and valleys 
 of experience, and should inquire whither 
 each road directs the traveller and which 
 way it is best to go. What is the relation 
 of education to religion ? How far do 
 these two highways coincide and at what 
 point do they part? Do their diverging 
 tracks involve a lasting separation, or do 
 the roads meet again as they approach 
 a common end ? What is it to be edu- 
 cated ? What is it to be religious ? What 
 is the religion of an educated man ? 
 
 When one hears these questions raised, 
 he may well imagine that he is threatened 
 with a renewal of the long-protracted de- 
 
bate concerning the relation of science and 
 religion, — a debate on whose issue the life 
 of the Christian Church has often been 
 supposed to depend. What was to be- 
 come of religion in an age of science ? 
 How could the Mosaic cosmogony be ad- 
 justed to the doctrine of evolution ? Was 
 there room for miracle in a world of law ? 
 What was left of the Bible if its origin and 
 its diversities of teaching were thoroughly 
 / explored ? Must religion be dismissed 
 from attention by a modern scholar as a 
 survival of the pre-scientific view of the 
 world ? Was there any such thing as the 
 religion of an educated man ? — such have 
 been the questions which for generations 
 seemed of critical significance for religion, 
 and these bitter and prolonged controver- 
 sies necessarily involved much temporary 
 doubt of mind and distress of heart. The 
 adjustment of religion to the habit of mind 
 of an educated man was often a painful 
 process and often an impossible task. 
 
 Fortunately for us all, however, this con- 
 troversy between science and religion has 
 had its day, and the pathetic history of 
 superfluous antagonism and of misplaced 
 loyalty now interests only a few belated 
 materialists and a few overslept defenders 
 of the faith. The chief privilege of a 
 
serious-minded young man who begins his 
 mature life with the beginning of the twen- 
 tieth century lies in the fact that he is not 
 likely to be involved in this heart-breaking 
 issue between his spiritual ideals and his 
 scholarly aims. Philosophy, science, and 
 theology are all committed to the problem 
 of unification. 
 
 Nor has the issue of this momentous 
 conflict been a truce, as though each party 
 had withdrawn to its own territory and 
 were guarding its frontier against hostile 
 raids. Science and faith have discovered 
 a common territory which they possess, 
 not as rivals, but as allies. Faith has com- 
 mitted itself to scientific method; science 
 has recognized that its work begins in 
 faith. " The world of science,'* remarks 
 one of the greatest of American philoso- 
 phers, " is a world of faith. . . . The 
 faith which is the basis of religion and the- 
 ology is only the extension and completion 
 of this faith that the universe is a perfect 
 and organic whole." ^ Thus the most alarm- 
 ing Intellectual conflict of the last generation 
 has already become of merely historical in- 
 terest to the thought of to-day. A census 
 of preaching on a certain Sunday last year 
 
 ^ C. C. Everett. Tbe Psychological Elements of Religious 
 Faith f Macmlllan, 1902. 
 
Y- 
 
 by a certain Christian communion disclosed 
 the encouraging fact that of all the sermons 
 preached that day but one had concerned 
 itself with the controversy between science 
 and religion. 
 
 No sooner, however, has this issue con- 
 cerning the territory of science and religion 
 been dismissed, than a new and not less 
 serious question opens concerning the very 
 habit of mind, the instincts and prepos- 
 sessions of educated men, in their relation 
 to the religious life. Have we not here, 
 it is now asked, two ways of human disci- 
 pline which are in their very nature and 
 principles distinct ? On the one hand is 
 education, — a gradual, progressive, con- 
 tinuous work. Classical scholars, I be- 
 lieve, do not favor the etymology which 
 finds in the word itself the thought of nur- 
 ture, — the e-ducing or drawing out of the 
 pupil's mind. Yet classical writers certainly 
 emphasize this aspect of the teacher's work. 
 Education to Plato was nurture {rpocfyy]). 
 The lower desires, he says, are wild and 
 must be tamed. The eye of the student 
 must be turned toward the light. In short, 
 the object of education to Plato is personal, 
 ethical, spiritual growth ; and the ends 
 of education are manliness {avSpeia) and 
 self-mastery, balance, soundness of mind 
 6 
 
{cra)<f>poavur])} Education is the word ap- 
 plied by Roman writers not to intellectual 
 training only, but to the care of children, 
 to the suckhng of young, to the providing 
 of imperishable food, — the assisting of a 
 growth from within, involving patience and 
 faith, nurture and time.^ 
 
 Whatever, then, may be the etymology 
 of the word, education is not merely instruc- 
 tion, or the building up of knowledge ; it is 
 the building up of the scholar's mind ; the 
 bringing the mind to self-consciousness ; 
 the birth of the intellectual life. The 
 quality of education is not to be defined 
 through the subject of education, but 
 through the effect of that subject on the 
 student's mind. That subject is most 
 educative which most draws out the stu- 
 dent. No subject contributes to educa- 
 tion if it be mechanically, repressively, or 
 stupidly taught. The end of education is 
 lot information, but inspiration ; not facts, 
 rules, tables, but insight, initiative, grasp, 
 growth, character, power. Physical science 
 
 iSee the admirable Essay of R. L. Nettleship, "The Theory 
 of Education in Plato's Republic," in E. Abbott's Hellenica. 
 Rivingtons, 1880. 
 
 2 Educit enim obstetrix, educat nutrix, instituit paedagogus, 
 docet magister. — Varro, quoted in Nonius Marcellus, 5.105. 
 
 Vitulus marinus educat mammis fetum. — Plin. 9. i 5. i . 
 
 Alere est victu temporali sustentare, educare autem ad satietatem 
 perpetuam educere. — Nonius, 5.5. 
 
may be the summons of education to one 
 nature; classical learning to another; tech- 
 nical skill to another ; and all are justified 
 in education, not because they are old 
 subjects, or new subjects, or academic sub- 
 jects, or bread-and-butter subjects, but 
 because they awaken the student's mind. 
 The great word of modern thought, evolu- 
 tion, is but another word for education. 
 Education is the evolution of the indi- 
 vidual ; evolution is the education of the 
 race. 
 
 And meantime what is religion ? Accord- 
 ing to the still surviving tradition of many 
 churches religion is not a process of evolu- 
 tion, but a process of revolution ; not a way 
 of education, but a way of transformation ; 
 not a growth, but a surprise. It delays its 
 approach, it is inaccessible to the natural 
 state of mind or the natural qualities of the 
 child. It springs upon one out of the mys- 
 tery of the universe; it shines on one with 
 a sudden flash of light, as on Paul by the 
 I Damascus road ; it revolutionizes the 
 j nature ; it is a second birth. Religion and 
 J education are thus set far apart. Life is 
 like a ship with water-tight compartments, 
 in one of which we may carry the habits 
 of our education, and in the other of 
 which we may say our prayers ; as Fara- 
 8 
 
day is said to have dismissed from his 
 mind the methods of his laboratory when 
 he went to worship in his little Sandema- 
 nian chapel. Here and there, indeed, the 
 roads of religion and of education may 
 meet, but they cross, as it were, on higher 
 and on lower levels, where the collision 
 of thought which might occur at a grade- 
 crossing may be happily escaped. 
 
 Now it is unquestionably true that the 
 experience of religion is often tumultuous, 
 sudden, surprising ; the access of a new hfe ; 
 the birth of a new power. The history of 
 conversion is not the history of an illusion 
 or of a fever. The growth of Christian 
 virtue, as Bushnell remarked, is not a vege- 
 table process. But are not the same inci- 
 dents of crisis, revelation, awakening, birth, 
 to be observed in the history of education ? 
 Does there not arrive in many experiences 
 of the intellectual life a moment of intellec- 
 tual conversion, the starting into life of an 
 unsuspected capacity or desire? Education 
 is not inconsistent with regeneration. The 
 development of the mind is made pictu- 
 resque and dramatic by the frequent disclos- 
 ure of new aspects of truth which beckon 
 to the student as a new vista of beauty- 
 surprises the traveller at a new turn of the 
 road. Nothing is so delightful to watch 
 
In the life of a college, and nothing so fully 
 rewards a faithful teacher, as to observe 
 this awakening of a young mind to the 
 persuasiveness of the truth ; this transfor- 
 mation of irksome tasks into positive and 
 commanding interests. The mind is born 
 again ; the youth, like the Prodigal Son, 
 comes to himself, and the teacher says. 
 This my son was dead and is alive again ; 
 he was lost and is found. 
 
 Under the same law, though with pro- 
 founder emotional experience, occur the 
 rebirths of the reHgious life. Sometimes, 
 indeed, they are Hke startling convulsions 
 of nature, volcanic and unanticipated, 
 breaking in upon the normal habit of the 
 soul as a sudden volcanic eruption over- 
 whelms a sleeping town. Yet these criti- 
 cal upheavals of the human spirit are no 
 more typical of the religious life than 
 they are of the process of education. A 
 volcanic eruption is not representative of 
 the order of nature. It reveals a region 
 of interior fire which here and there 
 bursts forth with amazing power, but it 
 is an abnormal incident in the tranquil 
 process of the evolution of the world. 
 Nothing could be more exaggerated than 
 the inclination of my brilliant and beloved 
 colleague. Professor James, to regard the 
 
 lO 
 
ecstasies and fevers, the earthquakes and 
 volcanoes, of spiritual experience as normal 
 aspects of the religious life. Under such 
 a view religion would be not a form of 
 health and sanity, but a form of intoxi- 
 cation or fever ; and the religious life, 
 intermittent, spasmodic, hysterical, must 
 fail to command the rational confidence of 
 an educated man. These abnormal inci- 
 dents, these volcanic eruptions, in fact, 
 make more impressive the orderliness and 
 continuity which mark the normal con- 
 dition of the spiritual life. The religious 
 nature is no more abnormal and revolution- 
 ary than the physical or the intellectual life 
 of man. It is not a scene of catastrophes 
 and pathological excesses, but of a silent 
 process of evolution and education, not 
 without friction, reversion, and effort, but 
 with a general movement of expansion, 
 progress, and growth. Both education and 
 religion have their crises, their awakenings, 
 their calls to self-expression, as a river has 
 its turbulent rapids and its sudden falls, 
 where the course of the stream is marked 
 by surge and foam ; but through these the 
 river makes its way, as through quiet 
 reaches and sunny meadows, and the occa- 
 sional agitations are but incidents in its 
 steady movement toward the sea. 
 
 II 
 
Here, then, is the conviction with which 
 /one must begin if he would commend 
 
 ^' religion to an educated man. [Religion it- 
 self is education. 3It does not sever into 
 two sections the rational nature of man. It 
 
 V is consistent with the growth of the mind; it 
 confirms the principle of evolution. Other 
 aspects of religion may make their appeal 
 to other conditions of life, to moods of dis- 
 couragement, or repentance, or doubt, or 
 fear, or sin ; but to the academic life the first 
 condition of responsiveness to religious 
 influence is the recognition that in their 
 fundamental method and final aim religion 
 and education are essentially consistent, 
 coordinate, mutually confirmatory, funda- 
 mentally one. 
 
 Let us look, then, at each side of this 
 proposition which affirms the unity of 
 education and religion. Religion is educa- 
 tion : that is the first statement of the 
 truth. We have seen that education con- 
 cerns itself not so much with subjects 
 studied, as with the educative effect of 
 whatever subject may be approached. In 
 other words, the subject of education is 
 not the task, but the person. Through 
 what discipline, asks the modern educator, 
 and by what method within that discipline, 
 can one draw out from the complexity of 
 
 12 
 
human purposes a person, with intentions 
 and ideals which shall fit him for the effective 
 service of the modern world ? Education, 
 said a wise leader of academic life the other 
 day, is simply the making the most of 
 one's self for usefulness. " The aim of 
 education," according to Professor Hanus, 
 " is to prepare for complete living . . . and 
 the factors of educational value are incen- 
 tive and power." ^ " It becomes impossi- 
 ble," remarks President Butler, " for us 
 ever again to identify education with mere 
 acquisition of learning. ... It must mean 
 a gradual adjustment to the spiritual pos- 
 sessions of the race." ^ 
 
 Is not precisely this intention of educa- 
 tion, however, the primary intention of 
 religion ? What is it for which churches 
 are built, and for which forms of worship 
 and Sunday-schools are maintained ? Is it, 
 as it often seems to be, for the propagation 
 of a creed, or the defence of a dogma, or 
 the extension of denominational control P 
 Are churches forts whose mission is war 
 and whose ammunition is words ? Even 
 the most zealous controversialist would 
 deny this charge. Behind the appearance 
 
 1 Educational Aims and Educational Values. Macmillan, 
 
 1899, p. 5- . 
 
 2 The Meaning of Education^ and other Essays. Macmillan, 
 
 1900, p. 16. 
 
 13 
 
of such hostile activity there lies in the 
 intention of the churches a unity of pur- 
 pose which makes the mission of the com- 
 peting sects essentially one. They are in 
 reality not forts, but schools. They may 
 be rivals in education, as colleges may 
 be rivals, through differing methods, ad- 
 vantages, or aims ; but their fundamental 
 . intention is, like that of all the colleges, 
 / one. It is the nurture and development 
 of human souls. The soul , ^^^r ^^L S ?iiii^ 
 for th e church^ but the church for die 
 
 IMM II ■■•Ml I Ml '"-TIT ' "III I mm\*\ llliiiu \i';^n.:t'^tfkgiMlt -,-«Jwi«*«,«*«s«****-? ;^«^^«» 
 
 squl. What God asks of man is not pri- 
 marily adoration and recognition, but obe- 
 dience, loyalty, faith. " Bring no more 
 vain oblations," says the prophet; "cease 
 to do evil, learn to do well"; "Not every 
 one that saith unto me. Lord, Lord," says 
 the Master, "shall enter into the kingdom, 
 but he that doeth the will of my Father 
 which is in heaven." The initial purpose 
 jCtLreligion, that is to say, Is to Hraw out 
 from the mingled motives and conflicting 
 desires of the undeveloped life a conscious 
 ^' consecration, which shall issue into a new 
 ^ sense of capacity, resistance, initiative, and 
 power. 
 
 One of the most striking aspects of the 
 teaching of Jesus is created by the fact 
 that his appeal is primarily not to the 
 
 14 
 
emotions, or the opinions, but to the will. 
 " Follow me," he says ; " Take up thy 
 cross and follow me '* ; " Be it unto thee 
 even as thou wilt" ; " Whosoever shall do 
 the will of God, the same is my brother " ; 
 " If any man wills to do the will, he shall 
 know of the doctrine." The discipleship 
 of Jesus, that is to say, is not sentimental, 
 occasional, emotional ; nor is it doctrinal, 
 intellectual, philosophical ; it is ethical, edu- 
 cative, a form of obedience, the beginning 
 of spiritual growth. The unmeasured re- 
 bukes of Jesus are reserved not for the 
 sinners with weak wills, but for the self- 
 righteous with wills strongly and wrongly 
 set. The religion of Jesus is a religion of 
 education. It is the drawing out of the 
 person ; it is the discipline of the will. 
 
 Religion is education. If this proposi- 
 tion is true, then the method of religion 
 must proceed in the same faith which edu- 
 cation implies, and must in the main fol- 
 low the same road. And what is the faith 
 which justifies the process of education ? 
 It is a twofold faith — a faith in truth 
 and a faith in persons. The wise teacher 
 believes, first, in the significance and dig- 
 nity of the truth. Every expression of the 
 truth, however insignificant, deserves recog- 
 nition and respect as the open road which 
 
 15 
 
leads from the less to the greater, from 
 truths to truth. That is what gives to the 
 teacher his patience. He does not expect 
 to educate the mind all at once ; he has 
 heard the great saying : " He that is faith- 
 ful in that which is least, is faithful in that 
 which is much." The teacher makes him- 
 self the servant of the least of truths for the 
 sake of the greatness of the whole of truth. 
 
 The teacher believes, secondly, in per- 
 sons, in the capacity of his pupils to learn, 
 in their responsiveness to truth when 
 fitly presented, in the possibiHty of a 
 kindled interest and a determined loyalty. 
 He believes in these young lives even 
 when they do not believe in themselves. 
 Neither their dulness, nor their indiffer- 
 ence, nor their wrong-headedness over- 
 comes his faith in their interior nature as 
 adapted to truth and as given for him to 
 e-duce. Thus, in education the growing 
 mind meets the growing truth, until at 
 last the things that are in part — the par- 
 tial truth and the partial mind — are done 
 away, and the whole mind and the whole 
 truth meet face to face, and then the pro- 
 cess of education is complete. 
 
 If this is education, what, we ask once 
 more, is religion? Religion, we must 
 answer, comprehends these same acts of 
 i6 
 
faith ; and by the completeness of this 
 twofold faith religion, like education, is 
 to be judged. 
 
 On the one hand religion rests on faith 
 in truth ; faith in the rational revelation 
 of truth ; faith in its growth from less to 
 more ; faith that the real will in due time 
 open into the ideal. If there is any mis- 
 take in the teaching of religion which has 
 alienated from its influence great numbers 
 of young minds, it is the mistake of de- 
 manding full-grown religion from a half- 
 grown life. It is a pedagogical error of 
 which no skilled teacher would be guilty. 
 Education must begin, not with the ab- 
 normal, the unrecognizable, the remote, 
 but with the natural, the near, the verifi- 
 able, the elementary. Education proceeds 
 from the demonstrably known to the less 
 obviously unknown, from the geography 
 of the neighborhood to the map of the 
 world, from the observation of the neigh- 
 boring field to the comprehension of the 
 planets and the atoms. 
 
 The same demand is laid upon religion. 
 It is preposterous to expect from the child 
 the conviction which mature experience 
 alone suggests. To thrust upon young 
 lives a demand for emotions or opinions 
 which are unreal and premature is to 
 c 17 
 
encourage weak minds to hypocrisy and 
 strong minds to reaction. Religious edu- 
 cation takes the facts of the spiritual life 
 just as they are, imperfect, unformed, 
 elementary, and draws out their signifi- 
 cance and suggestiveness. It lays on a 
 young mind no complication of con- 
 formity, no conventional consent. It says 
 to him : " Here is your life with its 
 real experiences, its doubts and fears, 
 its ambitions and regrets, its duties done 
 and undone, its desires for generous ser- 
 vice, its repentance for foolish mistakes. 
 It is not to be expected that these facts 
 will adjust themselves outright to the 
 prevailing creeds, or catechisms, or confes- 
 sions. Take the facts as they are, recog- 
 nize them, harmonize them, follow them, 
 obey their admonitions, listen to the 
 teachers who understand them, and by 
 degrees, stumblingly indeed, and with 
 many mistakes to correct along the way, 
 the process of your education will proceed, 
 through the truths you possess, to the 
 truth which shall make you free. The 
 Spirit of the Truth, the Comforter, shall 
 guide you into all truth." 
 
 How wonderful was this pedagogical 
 instinct in Jesus Christ ! How reason- 
 ably both his friends and enemies were led 
 i8 
 
to call him Teacher, so that this word 
 is applied to him more than forty times in 
 the New Testament! He believed in the 
 growth of the soul, from an elementary- 
 obedience to a sufficient faith. The figures 
 of speech through which he would teach 
 his doctrine of the kingdom are almost 
 invariably figures of growth : the mustard 
 seed; the leaven; the sower; the blade; the 
 ear ; the full corn. He begins where people 
 are ; he uses the little to make it much ; 
 he puts small attainments at interest. Even 
 the single talent should earn its increase. 
 The scribes and Pharisees were enforcing 
 a system ; Jesus was watching a growth. 
 The one is the method of the hothouse ; 
 the other the method of the open air. The 
 one was art ; the other was nature. The 
 one was religious instruction ; the other 
 was religious education. So is the king- 
 dom of God — says Jesus — as though a 
 man should plant corn in his field, and 
 the seed should spring up and grow, he 
 knoweth not how. That is the miracle 
 with which rational religion surprises the 
 discouraged soul. The seed of loyalty, 
 once planted, groweth up one knoweth 
 not how; and the truths which once 
 seemed fragmentary and meagre ripen 
 into a harvest of reasonable faith. 
 
 19 
 
On the other hand religion, like educa- 
 tion, demands faith in the capacity of the 
 individual soul. The work of a teacher 
 becomes simply heart-breaking if he is 
 not sustained by faith in the potential 
 quality of each young life. Somewhere, 
 somehow, beneath the dulness and inertia 
 of the most unresponsive mind there 
 lies, he believes, an interest in something ; 
 and to discern that point where the mind 
 touches reality, to draw out the intellectual 
 life as by the magnet of a compelling truth 
 — that is the challenge which the true 
 teacher welcomes and obeys. / 
 
 Precisely this act of faith in the soul 
 marks the beginning of religious teach- 
 ing. As one surveys the dealings of Jesus 
 Christ with the varied types of persons who 
 claimed his interest, what is more impres- 
 sive than the faith he has in them ? He 
 believes in them before they believe in 
 themselves ; he claims them before they 
 think themselves fit to follow him ; he 
 takes them where they are, and by his 
 faith in them makes of them more than 
 any one but he believes they could be- 
 come. If any leader of men ever had a 
 right to give up any follower, certainly 
 Jesus was justified in cutting off from 
 fellowship the unstable Peter. How could 
 20 
 
any man seem less like a rock, and more 
 like the sand which a rising tide of oppo- 
 sition sweeps quite away ? Yet Jesus sees 
 even in this man the capacity for leader- 
 ship, trusts him, forgives him, shapes the 
 sand into firmness until it becomes sand- 
 stone, and verifies the promise, which to 
 many a hearer must have seemed almost a 
 jest, " Thou art Peter, thou shalt be called 
 a rock." How contrary, therefore, to the 
 spirit of Jesus, and how destructive of 
 religious education, is any depreciation or 
 denial of the spiritual possibilities of any 
 human soul. Many a young life has 
 swung clean away from religion, because 
 it seemed to demand of him quite another 
 nature than his own. He is wilful, care- 
 less, foolish, doubtful of much, sure of 
 little. What part has he among the saints? 
 Religion, let him remember, is education. 
 Its very purpose is to accept the unful- 
 filled desire and the unrealized dream, 
 and to draw them out into firmness, sta- 
 bility, permanence, realization. Sound re- 
 ligious experience verifies the strange 
 prophecy which the aged Simeon made 
 concerning the infant Jesus, that through 
 him " The secrets of many hearts should 
 be revealed." A man commits himself to 
 the way of Christ, conscious of imperftct 
 
 SI 
 
knowledge and halting discipleship, and 
 by degrees there are revealed to him 
 secrets in his own heart which he himself 
 had never fully known, and that which he 
 was meant to be grows out of what he 
 thought he was, as naturally and gradually 
 as a flower of surprising fairness blooms 
 out of a gnarled and unlovely stalk. 
 
 Religion is education. It is the truth 
 first clearly stated, perhaps, for modern 
 scholars by Lessing in his epoch-making 
 proposition that " Education is revelation 
 for the individual, revelation is education 
 for the race.'* It is the truth first com- 
 municated to the New England theology 
 by Horace Bushnell's treatise in 1847 ^^ 
 " Christian Nurture,'' a book which came 
 like the dawn of the first spring morning 
 after a harsh winter of New England cold. 
 " Calvinism," wrote Bushnell, " is a reli- 
 gion which begins explosively, causes little 
 or no expansion, and subsides into a tor- 
 por. Its religion is a kind of transcen- 
 dental matter, which belongs on the outside 
 of life — a miraculous epidemic, a fireball 
 shot from the moon." The Christian life, 
 he teaches, begins with nurture. " The aim, 
 effort, and expectation should be, not as is 
 commonly assumed, that the child is to 
 grow up in sin, to be converted after he 
 22 
 
comes to a mature age ; but that he Is to 
 open on the world as one that is spiritually 
 renewed." "The child is to grow up a 
 Christian and never know himself as being 
 otherwise." ^ 
 
 Shall we then say, asks many a mind, 
 that this normal, unconstrained education 
 of the spiritual life is a natural or a super- 
 natural growth ? Does the power which 
 thus lifts life act from below or from 
 above ? Is this education of the soul 
 human or divine ? That, we must an- 
 swer, is as if one should ask whether the 
 growth of the plant proceeds from the 
 action of the soil, or from the action of 
 the sun. It proceeds from both, from the 
 nourishing earth and from the inviting 
 sunshine. It is both natural and super- 
 natural. No analysis, thank God, can 
 determine which fragment of the stalk, 
 which petal of the flower, is a product of 
 the earth or of the sky. In every cell of 
 the meanest flower that breathes, there is 
 manifested the unity of the universe. So 
 it is in the growth of the soul. The nat- 
 ural and the supernatural conspire. The 
 light within Is one with the light from 
 above. What Is revelation to the Indi- 
 vidual Is education for the race. This is 
 
 1 Christian Nurture y Scribner, 1861, p, 10. 
 
 23 
 
the truth which most dignifies the history 
 of the society of Friends — the truth of 
 the normality, reality, accessibility, im- 
 mediateness, of the revelation of God to 
 the personal soul of man. " The early 
 Friends,'' wrote one of their historians, 
 "made a practical experiment of Chris- 
 tianity from the inside. The secret light 
 that shone in the heart was a revelation of 
 God ; the faint streak of dawn which began 
 the heavenly day." The Inner Light is 
 described by George Fox, now as the 
 " Christ within," now as the " Seed." It is 
 from within and yet it is from above. It is 
 I — yet not I, but Christ that dwelleth 
 in me. " God has given to us," wrote 
 Fox, to those whom he called Friends of 
 the Truth, or Children of the Light, " God 
 has given to us, every one of us in par- 
 ticular, a light from himself shining in our 
 hearts and consciences, and we have found 
 this light to be a sufficient teacher to lead 
 us to Christ Jesus." 
 
 Such, then, is the aspect of religion which 
 for the moment concerns us. Religion is 
 education. It is impossible, however, to 
 dismiss the analogy without observing in 
 a word its other side. If it be true that 
 religion is in one aspect education, it is 
 also true, and should be constantly re- 
 
 24 
 
called in the academic life, that education 
 is fundamentally one aspect of religion. 
 It is often debated whether education 
 should be wholly secularized, or whether 
 there should be superadded to the pro- 
 gramme of education some teaching of the 
 principles of religion. Nothing could tes- 
 tify more plainly than this debate to the 
 prevailing misinterpretation of the nature 
 of religion. If, as is often assumed, reli- 
 gion is a matter of theological dogma or 
 ecclesiastical rule, then it certainly makes 
 a field of knowledge which may be divided 
 from the work of the school and the uni- 
 versity, and reserved as the field of the 
 church. When, however, it is thus pro- 
 posed to detach the method of education 
 from religion, the only rational answer 
 which can be made is that such a separa- 
 tion is essentially inconceivable, because 
 education is in itself a religious work. 
 The relation of the teacher to the youth 
 is not mechanical and occasional, as though 
 the young mind were a pump from which 
 an intermittent flow of knowledge may be 
 laboriously drawn. The teacher, as we have 
 seen, stands before the undeveloped capacity 
 of the scholar as an agent in the evolution 
 of a personal. He is a laborer together 
 with God, a participant in a creative work. 
 
 ^5 
 
What sustains him in the routine and de- 
 tail of his task is the reverent sense of 
 this participation with the Eternal. He 
 works by faith, not by sight. 
 
 When a mature mind looks back on the 
 process of its education, what are the in- 
 cidents which seem significant? They are 
 the moments, perhaps infrequent, when 
 through the forms of study there flashed 
 some suggestion of the meaning and uses 
 of life. And how did such disclosures 
 arrive ? They proceeded from the teachers 
 who were able to impart themselves and 
 to draw out one's hesitating nature into 
 loyalty, discipleship, appreciation of the 
 beautiful, reverence of the truth. But this 
 communication of power is of the very 
 essence of the religious life. This which 
 redeems one from being a book-worm, a 
 critic, a pedagogue, a cynic, and shows one 
 how to be a scholar, an idealist, a person, — 
 this is the beginning of the religion of an 
 educated man. The Holy Spirit, the spirit 
 of the truth, is the spirit of education. The 
 true teacher may reverently repeat what 
 Jesus Christ humbly said of himself, " No 
 man cometh unto me, except the Father 
 draw him." The issue of education is the 
 great confession of St. Paul, " The spirit 
 beareth witness with our spirit that we are 
 26 
 
the sons of God.'* Religion is education ; 
 but education, when its process and end 
 are revealed, is religion. 
 
 A student may fancy that he may evade 
 his tasks in education, may waste his years, 
 may sit on the margin of the academic life 
 and watch its stream flow by, and may lose 
 little out of life but a few profitless bits of 
 information and a few academic grades. 
 A teacher may find himself tempted to 
 mechanical methods, may be almost 
 crushed under the dead mass of unre- 
 sponsive minds, may be overweighted by 
 the burden of routine. What shall renew 
 vitality, courage, effectiveness, responsive- 
 ness in teacher and taught? It is the 
 conviction that education is religion. Not 
 somewhere else, in churches or forms 
 of worship, are educated men to expect 
 the witness of the spirit of God, but in 
 the increase of the student's fidelity, in the 
 steadiness of the teacher's hope, in the 
 grasp and vision which issue from educa- 
 tion, in the patient faithfulness to that 
 which is least and the happy disclosure 
 of that which is much, in revelation through 
 education, and self-discovery through self- 
 discipline. When an academic community 
 perceives that education is itself a religious 
 task, then there need be no further debate 
 
 27 
 
concerning religious teaching in a college. 
 It is already there, just as health and good 
 air and appetite and hope and laughter 
 and duty are there ; and the spirit of edu- 
 cation expands because it breathes the 
 atmosphere of the spirit of God. When 
 a teacher takes up his work, not as though 
 he were one cog in a machine, but as 
 though he were a person among persons, 
 a laborer together with God in the unfold- 
 ing of a student's nature, called to unveil 
 within the truths which perplex men, the 
 Truth which makes men free, — what is 
 this but one form of the Christian ministry, 
 a priesthood ordained to teach the religion 
 of an educated man ? Life, such a teacher 
 demonstrates, is not divided and discord- 
 ant ; it is harmonious and one. That 
 which on its academic side is education is 
 on its human side religion. One is not a 
 teacher except he kindle, waken, commu- 
 nicate the contagion of personality, show 
 the way of the spirit of truth ; but he who 
 is thus a teacher is at the same time a 
 minister of religion. It is as Matthew 
 Arnold said of teachers like his father at 
 Rugby : — 
 
 ** Servants of God ! — or sons 
 Shall I not call you ? Because 
 Not as servants ye knew 
 
 28 
 
Your Father's innermost mind. 
 He, who unwillingly sees 
 One of his little ones lost — 
 Yours is the praise, if mankind 
 Hath not as yet in the march 
 Fainted, and fallen, and died ; 
 See ! in the rocks of the world 
 Marches the host of mankind, 
 * * * * * 
 Strengthen the wavering line, 
 Stablish, continue our march. 
 On, to the bound of the waste. 
 On, to the City of God." 
 
 The true teacher verifies what was 
 spoken of Jesus, "When He putteth 
 forth His sheep, He goeth before, and 
 the sheep follow Him for they know His 
 voice/* Over the hills and valleys of 
 thought the teacher goes before his little 
 flock, until at last the tracks of the various 
 shepherds along the bypaths of education 
 meet at the cross-roads where religion and 
 education join ; and those that have heard 
 the voice of the faithful teacher find them- 
 selves in the great company which moves 
 together toward the fold of truth, following 
 the shepherd of souls. 
 
 29 
 
II. THE MESSAGE OF CHRIST 
 TO THE SCHOLAR 
 
 OF THE "^ 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
II. THE MESSAGE OF CHRIST 
 TO THE SCHOLAR 
 
 HE religious life has many 
 aspects and interprets va- 
 rious needs, but to the 
 academic mind the most 
 commanding fact concern- 
 ing religion is its analogy 
 with education. 
 Religion, as we have seen, is the edu- 
 cation of personality. Religion, as educa- 
 tion, reveals life to itself by revealing 
 within the life of man the spirit of God. 
 Religion, as education, begins with faith 
 in the capacity of man to respond to the 
 spirit of truth, and proceeds, like educa- 
 tion, through faith in the revelation of 
 truth. Finally, religion idealizes education 
 itself, and touches both teacher and taught 
 with a new sense of obligation, reverence, 
 patience, and power. 
 
 Thus far we have been led through the 
 principles of education toward a defini- 
 tion of the religion of an educated man. But 
 what, we now go on to ask, is the finished 
 product of education ? What is the type 
 of personality which issues when educa- 
 tion has done its work ? It is the scholar. 
 Before the student stands ever the ideal 
 of the scholar ; before the teacher lies the 
 
 D 33 
 
 .y 
 
 / 
 
problem of converting a student into a 
 scholar. And what is a scholar ? There 
 are many misconceptions of the scholar's 
 life. It is sometimes fancied that a man 
 of information is a scholar, but a walking 
 encyclopaedia is no more a scholar than 
 a catalogue is a library. Again it is fan- 
 cied that when one becomes a critic of 
 scholars, he becomes a scholar himself. 
 The critic is familiar with the habits 
 and products of scholars ; he quotes and 
 judges and condemns as though the crit- 
 ical temper were a mark of the scholarly 
 mind. Criticism, however, though it may 
 rise to the dignity of scholarship, may 
 easily sink into mere imitation of the 
 scholar, as though a valet were to dress 
 himself in the clothes of the gentleman 
 whom he attends. Nothing is more remote 
 from the nature of the scholar than the 
 critical spirit. The scholar is a creator, — 
 with the chastening, humbling sense of a 
 part in the work of creation; while the 
 critics, as the most scholarly of American 
 critics has said, are like a chattering flock 
 of barn-swallows who circle round this 
 creative work, building their nests against 
 the Infinite, 
 
 " And twittering round the work of larger men. 
 As they had builded what they but deface.'* 
 
 34 
 
What, then, is the mark of that way 
 of life which the philosopher Fichte called 
 the vocation of the scholar ? The scholar, 
 we must answer, is the person whose mind 
 is educated. Through whatever way of 
 study he may have come — and who shall 
 say what road he must follow? — his mind 
 has been gradually disciplined, until it has 
 become the effective instrument of his will. 
 The mark of the scholar is not that he is 
 well informed, for a schoolboy may know 
 many facts unknown to him ; it is not 
 that he is merely well read, for a critic may 
 quote more freely ; it is that he has ac- 
 quired — not without much self-discipline 
 and renunciation of many other aims in 
 life — the capacity to think straight, and 
 to discriminate between the seeming and 
 the real. He knows, as Emerson once 
 said, " that a pop-gun is a pop-gun, though 
 the ancients and honorable of the earth 
 affirm it to be the crack of doom." He 
 has acquired a susceptibility toward truth 
 and an applicability of mind to the prob- 
 lems of his calling, as they shall from day 
 to day arise. He is, as Fichte said, a 
 priest of truth, looking upon his vocation 
 as the purpose of God for him. The 
 truth has made him free. He dedicates 
 his life to the truth. "In silence," says 
 
 35 
 
Emerson, "in steadiness, in severe ab- 
 straction, let him hold by himself apart, 
 enough if he has this day seen something 
 truly/' 
 
 Such is the scholar, the servant of the 
 least of truths, because the seer of the great- 
 ness of Truth. As one of the most gifted 
 of American scientific scholars has said : 
 " Behind this manifested nature of which 
 we know an infinitely small part, there is a 
 vastly greater infinite of the imminently 
 possible yet never happening, of which we 
 know nothing. ... In such a realm the 
 spirit may contentedly dwell, feeling that 
 it is in its own fit house." -^ Here is the 
 privilege of the scholar's life ; here is the 
 persuasion which draws one to the habits 
 and ideals of the academic world. In an 
 age and country, where the solicitations 
 of commercialism are so overwhelming, 
 fortunate are those who may, as Emerson 
 says, " raise themselves from private 
 considerations and breathe and live in 
 illustrious thoughts.'* Here is the only 
 aristocracy which a hurrying, shifting, 
 democratic world can permanently respect 
 — the aristocracy of unambitious and 
 unworldly scholars, content to Hve simply 
 
 ^ N1 S. Shaler. International Review. December-March, 
 1902-3, p. 301. 
 
 Z6 
 
if they may live in the world of the ideal, 
 regarding as the true wealth of life the 
 wealth of the true, the beautiful, and the 
 good. 
 
 But what relation, we go on to ask, has 
 this life of the scholar with the habits and 
 motives of religion ? Even if it be true 
 that education is a religious work, is it not 
 true that the scholar is at last set free from 
 the method of education, and has become 
 a law unto himself? Has he not found a 
 religion of his own, in which his study 
 becomes his shrine, where in the solitude 
 of his thoughts he worships his own ideal 
 of the truth ? Does not the scholar look 
 from his study windows and see religion 
 doing its work among the ignorant, the 
 sinners, the outcasts of the world, and 
 may he not thank God that he is not as 
 other men are, and draw his curtains on 
 this struggling, tempted world, to give 
 himself to his own sacred and happy task ? 
 
 Certainly, we must answer, the religious 
 life comprehends many a circle of human 
 experience in which the scholar's vocation 
 has no place. Whatever other privileges 
 the scholar enjoys, he certainly has not, 
 as the learned have often believed they 
 had, a monopoly of religion. The meas- 
 ure of learning, as Schleiermacher said, 
 
 37 
 
IS not the measure of piety. On the con- 
 trary, the scholar, by his very immunity 
 from many of the solicitations of the 
 world, is at the same time set out of reach 
 of many a wave of religious feeling, which 
 sweeps in upon more exposed souls and 
 cleanses the nature as by an inflooding and 
 surprising tide. The message of Jesus 
 was not primarily delivered to the scholars 
 of his time. These were, on the contrary, 
 the persons who were least accessible to 
 his message. " I am not come," he said 
 in lofty satire, " to call the righteous, but 
 sinners to repentance.*' " They that are 
 whole need not a physician, but they that 
 are sick." It is not until the scholar 
 emerges — as some day he is certain to 
 emerge — from his secluded life of learn- 
 ing into the world of common human life, 
 with its passions and regrets, its obligations 
 and opportunities, its pity and its fellow- 
 ship, that he comes into any realization 
 of the scope and power of religion, or any 
 understanding of the gospel of Christ. 
 
 Yet there is a message of Christ to 
 the scholar. There are conditions of the 
 effective use of learning which are not 
 intellectual, but ethical and religious. 
 The teaching of Jesus has, indeed, noth- 
 ing to say concerning the acquisition of 
 
 38 
 
knowledge or the materials of modern 
 education. The gospel is not a text-book 
 of instruction from which modern scholars 
 can derive the materials for their task. 
 Accurately speaking there is no such 
 thing as Christian sociology, or Christian 
 economics, or Christian science. The teach- 
 ing of Jesus concerns itself with the 
 relation of human life to the life of God, 
 and with the principles of human duty 
 among the life of men. It does not class- 
 ify people as scholarly and ignorant. It 
 gathers up all the different types of human 
 life into a comprehensive unity of disci- 
 pleship, so that one is no longer peculiar 
 or isolated, a scholar or a peasant, rich 
 or poor, teacher or scholar, but is held 
 in the great companionship of strug- 
 gling, doubting, sinning, repenting, rejoic- 
 ing human souls. Yet, 1 repeat, there is a 
 message of Christ to the scholar. Just as 
 his teaching sometimes seems peculiarly 
 directed to the poor, as when he quotes the 
 Prophet's word, " The poor have the gospel 
 preached to them " ; just as again it seems 
 a message to the sinner, as when St. Paul 
 writes that, " Jesus came into the world to 
 save sinners"; just as those who mourn 
 open the gospels and are comforted ; just 
 as those who are happy turn to it and 
 
 39 
 
read, " That my joy might remain with 
 you and your joy be full ** ; so among the 
 diverse types of life which Jesus meets 
 are the scholars, and to them also he 
 announces the conditions which control 
 the Christian use of their special gifts. 
 
 It may, at the first statement, appear 
 improbable that Jesus has any message of 
 importance to offer to the scholar. The 
 prevailing tradition of the Christian Church 
 has emphasized the lowly, untutored, pro- 
 vincial conditions of his lot. The lower the 
 level of his education and opportunities 
 was set, the higher have seemed his super- 
 natural claims. He fulfilled, it is held, the 
 prophecy concerning the Messiah, that he 
 should be despised and rejected of men. It 
 is probably true that he was not a student 
 in the higher schools of Hebrew learning, 
 so that when the Pharisees said of him, 
 " How knoweth this man letters, having 
 never learned ? " they perhaps meant to 
 say : " How is it that this man knows our 
 law, when he has not learned it in our 
 schools ? " 
 
 Yet, as this very passage indicates, Jesus, 
 though not bred in the academic circle of 
 his day, seemed to those who heard him by 
 no means an untutored peasant or inspired 
 carpenter. He knew letters, though he had 
 40 
 
not learned them of the scribes. On almost 
 every page of the first three gospels there 
 is disclosed in him the student of the Scrip- 
 tures, the master in dialectic, familiar with 
 the scholar^s method of logic and rejoinder, 
 with a mind which was disciplined, self-con- 
 fident, and keen. When, at the beginning of 
 his work, he is tempted to the misuse of his 
 ministry, he shows himself already familiar 
 with the literature of the ancient Scriptures, 
 quoting to the tempter, " It is written; it is 
 written.** When he returns to the synagogue 
 in Nazareth, he is recognized and received 
 by his old neighbors as a trained teacher of 
 the holy word, and there is dehvered to him 
 the book for to read. When he opens the 
 book, he knows where the Scripture is to 
 be found which makes the lesson for the 
 day and reads the passage whose signifi- 
 cance he was to fulfil. When the learned 
 people about him propose to convict him 
 of self-contradiction or blasphemy or trea- 
 son, they do not hesitate to confront him 
 with the dicta of the law, assuming him to 
 be instructed in it like themselves ; and 
 Jesus on his side meets these learned per- 
 sons with their own weapons of logical 
 dialectic, and parries their talk, and thrusts 
 so keenly, that they durst ask him no 
 more questions. Jesus, in short, must have 
 
 41 
 
seemed to those who met him not merely 
 a spiritual seer, a beautiful soul — as 
 Strauss calls him — but an intellectual 
 master, with extraordinary resources of 
 argument and rejoinder, of lofty irony and 
 intellectual refinement. He had a right, it 
 seems, to deliver a message, not to the 
 meek and lowly alone, but to that aristoc- 
 racy of scholars who regarded it as their 
 vocation to interpret the learning of the 
 law. 
 
 Yet this evidence of intellectual fitness 
 is not the trait in Jesus which is of most 
 importance in his message to the scholar. 
 Beyond this technical training, adequate 
 though it may have been, the gospels re- 
 port in Jesus a much profounder quality 
 which immediately impressed his hearers, 
 and which we perceive at once to be the 
 quality which distinguishes the scholar 
 from the merely learned man. It is the 
 quality of wisdom, insight, foresight, 
 grasp, discernment — a habit of mind not 
 to be derived from instruction alone, not 
 dependent upon the amount of informa- 
 tion one has acquired, but the mark of 
 intellectual power, of spiritual force, of 
 original genius. The merely learned per- 
 son reads many books, and reports their 
 but before the mind of Jesus 
 
there were open the marvellous books 
 of nature and of life, the secrets of the 
 fields and sky, the motives hidden in 
 men*s minds, the movement of events, 
 the destiny of Israel. When as a little 
 boy he delayed to hear the debates of the 
 learned at Jerusalem, the trait that startled 
 those graybeards was a certain intuitive 
 wisdom which penetrated their subtle dis- 
 tinctions with the candor and insight of 
 a mind already at home among great 
 thoughts. They were astonished, it is 
 written, at his understanding and his an- 
 swers ; just as many another learned person 
 has had^ his elaborate reasonings con- 
 fronted and overwhelmed by the untaught 
 wisdom of some winsome, candid, gifted, 
 little boy. From that time on, it is re- 
 corded, Jesus increased not in stature and 
 in charm alone, but in wisdom also. 
 When his public life began, the first im- 
 pression of his teaching was derived, not 
 so much from what he said, as from the 
 manner in which he spoke ; the mastery 
 and authority which distinguished his wis- 
 dom from the learning of his time. The 
 people were astonished at his doctrine, be- 
 cause he taught them with authority and 
 not as the scribes. 
 
 This is the quality which gives to the 
 
 43 
 
higher scholarship its distinction. When 
 one reads Emerson, or Goethe, or Mill, 
 or Martineau, he anticipates, of course, 
 that these scholars shall be well informed 
 in the learning of the past ; but it is not 
 their erudition which gives them their 
 primacy. It is their insight and compre- 
 hensiveness, their discernment of motives 
 and tendencies, their capacity to read the 
 mind of the world, to interpret life and 
 history as other men read open books. 
 When Mr. Emerson was asked for the 
 arguments which supported his doctrine 
 of the immanence of God, he answered: 
 " I could not possibly give you one of the 
 arguments you cruelly hint at on which 
 any doctrine of mine stands, for I do not 
 know what arguments mean in reference 
 to an expression of thought. I delight in 
 telling what I think, but if you ask why 
 I dare to think so, or why it is so, I am 
 the most helpless of men." If we raise 
 that habit of mind, with its calm assur- 
 ance, its indifference to demonstration, to 
 its highest power, we come into view of 
 the kind of wisdom which marks the 
 teaching of Jesus Christ. Very rarely does 
 he descend into the region of proof. 
 There is no proof in the gospels of the 
 Fatherhood of God ; no proof of the su- 
 
 44 
 
premacy of duty ; no proof that the peace- 
 makers and the pure in heart are blessed. 
 Once he approaches an argument about 
 the truth of immortality, but even this is 
 touched with a gentle irony, as though 
 designed to meet the Sadducees on their 
 own ground. Jesus moves in the religion 
 of assertion, of spiritual axioms, of intel- 
 lectual authority. The musician does not 
 argue for his art ; he utters it, and those 
 who have ears may hear. The bird does 
 not prove the possibility of a flying ma- 
 chine ; he spreads his wings and flies, and 
 his self-expression is the demonstration 
 of his power. So it is that Jesus utters his 
 truth, and spreads the wings of his spir- 
 itual flight. He looks upon the world of 
 nature, its sowing and reaping, its lilies 
 and its weeds, its birds and grain, and the 
 scene is to him a book from which he 
 teaches his message. He looks into hu- 
 man lives, their impulses and obstacles, 
 their sins and repentance, their capacities 
 for heroism and sacrifice, and reads the 
 meaning of natures that are hidden from 
 themselves, so that one disciple answers, 
 " Whence knowest thou me ? " He looks 
 into the mystery of the universe, and 
 while the learned debate of its origin and 
 tendency, he reads the story of his Father's 
 
 45 
 
love, and a new theology and a new mo- 
 rality issue from his teaching of the life of 
 God in the soul of man. In Jesus Christ, 
 then, we have a teacher to whom a scholar 
 may not unreasonably listen. The mes- 
 sage of the gospel does not proceed from 
 ignorance, or superstition, or mysticism, 
 or the visionary schemes of an Oriental 
 peasant, but from a mind not untrained 
 in the learning of his time, but enriched 
 by an extraordinary and untaught endow- 
 ment of spiritual wisdom. Nothing but 
 the still profounder traits in Jesus Christ, 
 of religious vision and moral cogency, 
 could have obscured the intellectual great- 
 ness which justifies his message to the 
 scholar.^ 
 
 What, we go on to ask, is this message 
 of Jesus, the teacher, to the intellectual 
 hfe ? It is a twofold message. It speaks, 
 first, of the nature of the truth with which 
 the scholar has to deal ; and, secondly, of 
 the nature of the scholar who has to deal 
 with the truth. It considers, first, the 
 approach of truth to the scholar ; and, 
 secondly, the approach of the scholar to 
 the truth. 
 
 As to the eflfect of truth upon the scholar, 
 
 1 See also, Hibbert Journal^ July, 1 90 3, p. 691 fF,, "The 
 Character of Jesus Christ.** 
 
 46 
 
we may begin by observing the teaching of 
 Jesus in its negative form. Who are the 
 persons among the varied types of hu- 
 man life which from day to day confront 
 him, whom Jesus regards with the most 
 unmeasured condemnation ? What kind 
 of sins appear to him most fundamental, 
 irremediable, hopeless ? One of the most 
 surprising traits of the gospels meets us at 
 this point. The classification of conduct 
 to which we are accustomed, the order of 
 sins of which our law and social judgments 
 take account, are, in the teaching of Jesus, 
 without argument or protest, reversed. 
 Jesus is astonishingly merciful toward 
 many faults which the common judgment 
 of the world holds to be beyond forgive- 
 ness. He accepts the penitent adulteress, 
 saying, " Neither do I condemn thee ; 
 go, and sin no more." He has no severe 
 rebuke for the doubt of Thomas, or the 
 half-heartedness of Nicodemus. He can- 
 not bring himself to abandon even the 
 plotting Judas. He sees beyond the lie of 
 Peter to a possible atonement through a 
 strong, brave life. This extraordinary toler- 
 ance, however, seems checked when Jesus 
 contemplates another kind of sin, which is 
 apparently much more venial, but which 
 seems to affect him with a loss of hope. 
 
 47 
 
Who are these, who in his moral classifica- 
 tion are set in the nethermost circle of all ; 
 the only sinners of whom he can bring 
 himself to say, " Woe unto you ! " Curi- 
 ously enough, they are not adulterers, or 
 betrayers, or deniers ; but, on the contrary, 
 persons of social consideration, leaders of 
 the church, scholars in the law. And 
 what is it in these scribes and Pharisees 
 which smites the heart of Jesus with this 
 sense of hopelessness? It is their self- 
 sufficiency, their unteachableness, their 
 impenetrability. The truth cannot reach 
 them in their self-complacency. The light 
 shines into their darkness and the dark- 
 ness comprehends it not. Seeing, they 
 see not ; hearing, they cannot understand ; 
 for their heart, as the prophet said, " has 
 waxed gross." The approach of his mes- 
 sage to the human mind demanded, he 
 knew, first of all a quality of open-minded- 
 ness, docility, receptivity, intellectual 
 humiUty ; and straight across that way of 
 approach which truth must take to man 
 lay the obstacle of the closed mind, the 
 satisfied nature, the intellectual inertia of 
 the satiated mind. These were they who 
 entered not in themselves, and suffered not 
 those that desired to enter. This was the 
 sin against the Holy Ghost ; the turning 
 
 48 
 
the back upon the light, which could not 
 be forgiven in this world or in the world 
 to come. 
 
 Who, we ask, are the persons most 
 tempted by this sin of spiritual satiety ? 
 They are now, as they were then, the 
 scholars. This is the besetting sin of the 
 intellectual habit ; the obstacle that stands 
 between a man who intends to be a scholar 
 and the work he wants to do. Many a man 
 has fulfilled the discipline of his student 
 life, and sees straight before him the voca- 
 tion of the scholar, and then he is smitten 
 with the scholar's palsy, the paralyzing 
 sense of sufficiency, self-consciousness, or 
 conceit. He has gained the technique of 
 his art, but he has lost its passion. He has 
 acquired a style and has lost reality ; he 
 knows much and fancies that he knows it 
 all. His knowledge is that which, as St. Paul 
 said, puffeth up. He has gained the whole 
 world of the scholar and lost the soul of 
 the scholar. What can be done with such 
 a man ? How can he be made meek and 
 lowly of heart, poor in spirit, teachable, 
 hungry and thirsty after righteousness, 
 with the simplicity that is toward Christ ? 
 Here is where the hope of Jesus for men 
 hesitates. A complete reversion of mind 
 is demanded, from complacency to humil- 
 E 49 
 
ity, from arrogance to simplicity, from the 
 confidence of a master in Israel to the 
 spirit of a little child. How perplexing to 
 many a learned man must have been the 
 symbolism of Jesus, when among the 
 scholars of his day he set a little child, 
 and made the childlike spirit a condition 
 of entrance to his kingdom ! How prepos- 
 terous seems this reversion to childhood ! 
 Is it not this, we ask, that one has in his 
 education outgrown ? When I was a child, 
 one says, I thought as a child, but when I 
 became a scholar' I put away childish 
 things. Should not the child look to the 
 scholar, instead of the scholar to the child ? 
 Should not thechild say, except I become as 
 this scholar I cannot enter into the kingdom 
 of truth ^ Yet, if there be any mark of 
 the scholar it is, as Jesus said, his child- 
 likeness. The wonder and dimensions of 
 the truth, its potential revelations, its 
 baffling mysteries, keep him in the attitude 
 of an eager, docile, wondering child. The 
 ocean of the unknown stretches away 
 before him and he is, as Newton called 
 himself, a child, gathering pebbles on its 
 beach. Self-importance and self-satisfaction 
 drop away from the scholar like a disease 
 of immaturity; and his scholarliness is like 
 the change in Naaman when his flesh 
 
 50 
 
came again like the flesh of a little 
 child. 
 
 Here is the difference between learning 
 and scholarship. The scholar is humbled 
 by his task and chastened by his ideals. 
 The higher he climbs among the things 
 that are known, the broader becomes the 
 horizon of the unknown. The greatest 
 scholars are marked by that childlike 
 temper for which Jesus looked in his 
 disciples, the humility of the learner, the 
 reverence of the truth-seeker, the attitude 
 of faith. It is a safe rule to distrust 
 the learning which leads to arrogance ; 
 and to avoid the scholar, who, as was 
 said of one distinguished Englishman, 
 makes science his forte and omniscience 
 his foible. The scholar leaves the conceit 
 of learning to those who have not dis- 
 cerned the dimensions of truth ; and, as 
 in the days of Jesus, the poor in spirit 
 inherit the kingdom of the truth, and the 
 spirit of the little child alone enters that 
 kingdom. 
 
 Such is the teaching of Jesus concern- 
 ing the effect of truth upon the scholar. 
 The approach of truth to the educated 
 mind creates, not self-sufBciency, cynicism, 
 and conceit, but humility, simplicity, and 
 reverence. The scholar, as the first Psalm 
 
 5» 
 
says, does not sit in the seat of the scorn- 
 ful, because his delight is in the law of the 
 Lord. The other aspect of the teaching 
 of Jesus concerns the scholar's approach 
 to truth. What are the conditions of the 
 scholar's insight ? What is it which gives 
 him discernment, effectiveness, penetra- 
 tion, wisdom, and breadth ? The answer 
 to this question might seem to be simple 
 enough. The scholar is the finished prod- 
 uct of education, the perfected intellectual 
 machine. He thinks straight, writes forci- 
 bly, observes accurately, generalizes pru- 
 dently. He may be defective in other 
 quaUties, feeble in body, infirm in moral- 
 ity, deficient in spiritual insight ; but if the 
 machinery of his professional thinking 
 works smoothly, he would seem to many 
 persons to be a scholar. It may even 
 happen that his training as a scholar has 
 involved definite weakness in other parts 
 of life, robbed him of his bodily health, 
 stifled his imagination, paralyzed his moral 
 enthusiasm, yet his professional capacity 
 would make it possible for him still to 
 claim the title of scholar. 
 
 It is quite true that on the surface of 
 the scholar's life it has this appearance of 
 mechanical or technical proficiency. It 
 is even true that specialized capacity tends 
 
 52 
 
to exclude certain spheres of sympathy and 
 knowledge, as in the famous confession of 
 Mr. Darwin that music, which had once 
 delighted him, was no longer a source of 
 pleasure, and that his mind seemed atro- 
 phied toward this aesthetic resource. The 
 scholar, like other men, falls into the rut 
 of habit, and as that rut grows deeper the 
 escape from it involves a severer wrench. 
 When, however, we look beneath the task 
 of the scholar to those qualities which create 
 the scholar, it becomes plain that he is much 
 more than a computing, observing, or ana- 
 lyzing machine. He is a thinker, projecting 
 his guesses into the universe, and justifying, 
 correcting, or refuting them by the facts. 
 He is a dreamer, anticipating an invention, 
 imagining a process, pursuing an analogy, 
 tracing an elusive possibility, and then with 
 sanity, restraint, and infinite patience, veri- 
 fying or denying the dream. He is a phi- 
 losopher, holding in his thought a picture of 
 the universe, and thinking God's thoughts 
 after him. If this, however, is the nature of 
 the scholar, if this is what we call the scien- 
 tific habit of mind, then these approaches 
 to truth demand something much more than 
 mechanical accuracy or specialized training. 
 They call for perfect fidelity, transparent 
 sincerity, an instinct for truth, an unflag- 
 
 53 
 
ging self-control ; and these are quite as 
 much moral qualities as intellectual gifts. 
 What we may call intellectual morality is, 
 in short, a condition of the scholar's work. 
 His task is not one of cleverness alone, but 
 of character. This is what the philosopher 
 Fichte described as " the integrity of the 
 scholar." The scholar must be not only 
 quick of wits, but clean of heart. The 
 scientific habit of mind is not alone the 
 power to see straight and reason rightly ; 
 it is quite as much the power to wait, to 
 sacrifice, to free one's self from passion, 
 prejudice, and foar. A greater gain to the / 
 world, perhaps, than all the growth of ;>( 
 scientific knowledge is the growth of this 
 scientific spirit, with its courage and seren- 
 ity, its disciplined conscience, its intellectual 
 morality, its habitual response to any dis- 
 closure of the truth. 
 
 If this is the fairest flower of the scien- 
 tific mind, it is certainly most interesting 
 to observe that precisely this moral quality 
 in the intellectual life is what Jesus de- 
 mands in his message to the scholar. He 
 is not, it is true, a teacher of science con- 
 cerned with the discovery of truth ; he is 
 a teacher of religion concerned with the 
 character of the soul. Yet he sees with 
 perfect clearness that the character of the 
 
 54 
 
soul counts in the discovery of the truth. 
 The first approach of the mind to truth, 
 he teaches, must be made, not by intel- 
 lectual acuteness, but by moral obedience. 
 " He that willeth to do the will, he shall 
 know the doctrine." The path to insight 
 is through fidelity. " To him that is faith- 
 ful in the least, that which is much is 
 given.'* Sympathy, he teaches, is a trait 
 not of the emotions alone, but of the in- 
 tellect. Thou shalt love the Lord not only 
 with thy heart, but with thy mind. There 
 is such a thing, that is to say, as intellec- 
 tual aflfection. According to Jesus, in one 
 of his loftiest axioms, discernment of the 
 highest truth depends not on the mind 
 alone, but on the cleanness of one's spir- 
 itual nature. The pure in heart, he says, 
 have this blessing, that they shall see 
 God. It is as though the mind were a 
 telescope, through which the stars were to 
 be seen, while the moral nature were the 
 lens which gave the instrument its power. 
 The lens is but a part of the instrument 
 and does not direct its mechanism, yet the 
 least fleck upon the lens blurs the image of 
 the star. So the unflecked character has its 
 part in the scholar's task. Not every pure- 
 minded man becomes a scholar, for the 
 lens needs to be set within the intellectual 
 
 55 
 
life; but, when through the instrument 
 of the disciplined mind the truth shines 
 upon the unstained heart, then the uni- 
 verse opens its mystery to the scholar as 
 the depths of the heavens report them- 
 selves to the perfect lens, and the pure 
 in heart see truth which is unrevealed to 
 the soiled or tarnished soul. 
 
 " Talent," said Emerson, " sinks with 
 character ; the moment of your loss of faith 
 will be the solstice of your genius." " What 
 impresses one," said Phillips Brooks, " in 
 the most Godlike men we have ever seen, 
 is the inability to tell in them what of their 
 power is intellectual and what is moral." 
 Here is the point where many a man fails 
 to be a scholar. He has done all the work 
 that seems to make a scholar, but has just 
 missed the character which is demanded 
 of the scholar. It is as though he had 
 laboriously climbed to the heights of his 
 vocation, and a subtle mist had crept 
 round him and shut off the view. The 
 atmosphere of the true scholar's mind is 
 clarified by his sincerity, integrity, and 
 sacrifice, and the truth lies with broad 
 horizon and in right perspective at his feet. 
 
 Such is the twofold message of Christ 
 to the scholar. The approach of truth to 
 the scholar demands of him responsive- 
 
ness, teachableness, and humility ; and the 
 approach of the scholar to truth demands 
 of him obedience, purity of motive, love. 
 What, then, is this relation of the scholar 
 to truth which is attained when the truth 
 and the mind thus meet and know each 
 other ? Is this relation of reverent accept- 
 ance and loving loyalty the scholar's schol- 
 arship alone ? Have we not reached the 
 point where the scholar's religion comes 
 into view, and where at last the ways 
 of education and religion meet in the 
 scholar's faith ? This is the answer of the 
 scholar to the message of Jesus Christ. 
 As the scholar's knowledge grows from 
 more to more, so more of reverence in 
 him dwells. As he ascends into the hill 
 of the truth, he comes with clean hands 
 and a pure heart. It is not the whole of 
 the religion of Jesus. Other messages are 
 delivered by him to other needs of life ; 
 but to the scholar Jesus still says that he 
 alone who does the will can know the 
 doctrine, and he alone who is pure of 
 heart can see. 
 
 Is this faith of the scholar, we ask 
 in conclusion, a sudden and unanticipated 
 attainment, like the abrupt conversion of 
 many souls, or is it a slow growth of ex- 
 perience issuing from many efforts and 
 
 57 
 
mistakes ? Sometimes, no doubt, it is a 
 sudden transformation. The scholar is, 
 not infrequently, born again in an intel- 
 lectual conversion. A man who has been 
 dabbhng in scholarship, a dilettante, an 
 amateur, hears one day a call to serious 
 learning, and for the sake of truth accepts 
 in a moment the life of self-denial, self- 
 discipline, humility. But this is one of 
 the miracles of experience. In the order 
 of nature the attainment of the scholar's 
 faith issues from the normal growth of the 
 student's mind, and marks the ripening 
 and enriching of his powers. 
 
 In three widely scattered passages of the 
 fourth gospel there are written the three 
 successive chapters of this evolution of a 
 scholar's faith. It is the case of a man 
 named Nicodemus ; and the story of his 
 life is a summary of all that we have said. 
 He was not, like most of those who came 
 to Jesus, a fisherman or peasant; he was 
 a cultivated gentleman, bred in the schools 
 of learning; and the message which he 
 could receive must be a message to the 
 scholar. He came to Jesus, first of all, 
 not with the noisy crowd, but in a quiet 
 hour when he could calmly study truth. 
 It was a prudent plan. His was a scien- 
 tific mind. On that uninterrupted even- 
 
 58 
 
ing Jesus made his great demand of the 
 scholar, that he should become a child 
 again if he would receive the perfect truth. 
 " Except a man be born again he cannot 
 see the kingdom of God." The scholar 
 goes out into the night, unconvinced and 
 unconverted, saying, " How can these 
 things be ? " and for two years we do not 
 hear of him again. But what a change has 
 come over his mind, when once more 
 Nicodemus steps out of the shadowy back- 
 ground of the gospel. He has proceeded 
 from childlikeness to candid sympathy, 
 from obedience to fidelity. The message 
 of Jesus, he now says, shall have its hear- 
 ing. " Doth our law judge any man before 
 he hear him ? " The truth has now ap- 
 proached the scholar, as the scholar at first 
 approached the truth. Nicodemus is no 
 longer a critic ; he has become the brave 
 and patient student, the candid judge of 
 truth. Then once more this cultivated 
 gentleman disappears from the record until 
 the life of Jesus ends. The truth seems 
 nailed upon the cross and buried in the 
 grave. Pilate has said to Jesus, '' What is 
 truth ? " and then has added, " Take him 
 away and crucify him.** It is the moment 
 when all who believed in him have fled. At 
 that moment comes once more the scholar 
 
 59 
 
— he who had once wanted to debate and 
 judge. He comes no longer to criticise or 
 to defend, but silently and loyally to serve. 
 He brings his myrrh and aloes for the 
 body of Jesus — nay, he brings his own 
 life as an offering for the truth which he 
 has learned to love. At the moment when 
 the truth seems defeated, the evolution of 
 the scholar's religion is fulfilled. Step by 
 step the mind of the educated man has 
 moved, from criticism to sympathy, from 
 sympathy to sacrifice, until at last, pre- 
 cisely when many an untrained mind takes 
 flight, it is the scholar who brings the 
 rational offering of service as his answer 
 to the message of the Christ. 
 
 60 
 
III. KNOWLEDGE AND SERVICE 
 
III. KNOWLEDGE AND SERVICE 
 E have traced together 
 the successive steps in 
 the religion of an edu- 
 cated man, the growth of 
 religion through educa- 
 tion, and the emergence 
 of education into religion. 
 It is like the story of growth in nature, 
 not without its surprises and its crises, but 
 with the steady, normal expansion of 
 natural evolution, as a plant fulfils its des- 
 tiny from stalk to blade, from blade to 
 flower. The religious life unfolds as the 
 natural flower of the process of education, 
 and the process of education reaches its 
 fragrance and richness as it blooms into 
 the scholar's religious life. The same per- 
 suasion of the ideal, like the warmth of 
 the sun in spring, draws out the scholar 
 from the roots of education and then bids 
 his growing thought blossom into the 
 scholar's faith. 
 
 Precisely at this point, however, when 
 the story of this growth from root to 
 flower seems complete, we are confronted 
 by a new demand which is made of edu- 
 cated men by the spirit of the modern 
 world. It is the demand for service. By 
 one of the most extraordinary transitions 
 
 63 
 
in the history of human thought, the 
 mind of the present age has been led from 
 the problem of individual development to 
 the problem of social service. Philosophy, 
 economics, science, ethics, — all these fun- 
 damental studies now concern themselves 
 in a quite unprecedented degree with the 
 conditions, relations, and needs of social 
 life. It is the age of the social question, — 
 of the renaissance of philanthropy, of the 
 search for industrial peace, of sociological 
 speculations, of Utopian dreams, of reli- 
 gious unity. Never before were so many 
 persons, rich and poor, employers and 
 employed, learned and ignorant, so stirred 
 by the sense of the life in common, and 
 applying themselves so devotedly to the 
 interpretation and amelioration of social 
 life. 
 
 With the age of the social question 
 arrives a new test to be applied to the 
 gifts and institutions and acquisitions of 
 all classes and conditions of men. It is 
 the test of utility, of social value, of 
 human service. To the scientific or 
 aesthetic mind it may be still interesting 
 to trace a growth from root to flower, 
 but the new spirit proceeds to the new 
 inquiry concerning the fruit which is to 
 follow. It is not whether the growth is 
 
 64 
 
fair or fragrant that the mind of the pres- 
 ent age inquires ; it is whether it is noxious 
 or serviceable, applicable to social welfare 
 or cumbering the ground. Never was there 
 a time when the test which the teaching 
 of Jesus applies to his discipleship was so 
 thoroughly accepted concerning all truth 
 and life : By their fruits ye shall know them. 
 What, asks the modern world, does any 
 social movement or custom or tendency 
 contribute to the common good ? What 
 fruit does it bear for social service ? Is it to 
 be counted among the causes and resources 
 of the better world? Is it worth producing 
 or maintaining as an instrument of social 
 salvation ? It is not only he that would be 
 great, as Jesus said, but it is every philo- 
 sophical formula or economic scheme or 
 social institution that would be permanent 
 which must prove itself the servant of all. 
 Such a test of excellence may well appear 
 at its first statement a crude and even 
 brutal way of estimating worth. Is there 
 not, one may ask, an intrinsic excellence 
 in truth and beauty, quite detached from 
 questions of utility ? Are we to become 
 wholly utilitarian ? Is there no such thing 
 as pure science ? Is not beauty its own 
 excuse for being? Is not the useless often 
 admirable and the wayside weed a source of 
 F 65 
 
joy ? This interpretation, however, of the 
 spirit of the modern world as a reaction from 
 ideaHsm to utilitarianism does not represent 
 the real character of the age of service. 
 A reaction of this nature was seriously pro- 
 posed by philosophy two generations ago 
 and is not quite abandoned. What the 
 modern spirit contemplates is not a retreat 
 
 I from idealism, but an expansion of ideal- 
 ism. It enlarges the scope of personal ends 
 through observing their social relations. 
 It deals not with man alone but with man 
 among other men ; not with the atom but 
 with the organism ; not with a Ptolemaic 
 doctrine of the universe revolving round 
 the single life, but with a Copernican 
 doctrine where the single life finds its 
 orbit within the larger world. The spirit 
 of social service is not a reversion from 
 idealism, but a new appreciation of the 
 
 I unity, size, and range of the world in which 
 
 I the idealist is set. 
 
 Whatever institution, then, or problem 
 of modern hfe one may consider, he finds 
 the new idealism applying to it the new 
 test of social service. The institution of the 
 family, for instance, has been for many 
 centuries a comparatively unquestioned and 
 accepted social unit ; but there is now 
 applied to this domestic relation a new 
 66 
 
test. "What," asks the i^W^^pifit, "does 
 this coherent group signify, not merely for 
 those whom the law describes as ' the 
 parties concerned,* but for the social order, 
 the stability of civilization, the future of 
 the race ? " The problem of marriage and i 
 divorce when thus approached acquires ' 
 new significance. Is the family, as some 
 affirm, an obstacle to plans of social trans- 
 formation, an inconsistency with the social 
 commonwealth ? Then the present insta- 
 bility in the domestic tie has the signifi- 
 cance of social destiny. Or is the family the 
 unit of civilization, the issue of social evo- 
 lution, the chief defence against social revo- 
 lution ? Then the preservation of the family 
 is a part of the protest against economic 
 socialism, and the problem of the family is ^^i y 
 the very crux of the social question. All 
 this new significance comes of regarding 
 the family, not from the point of view or 
 the convenience or whims or lusts of indi- 
 viduals, but as one aspect of the larger prob- 
 lem of social service and social stability. 
 
 In the same way the new spirit judges 
 the extraordinary modern phenomenon of 
 the multiplication and concentration of 
 wealth. The test which is now applied to 
 the rich man, the only justification of his 
 power in the world which commends itself 
 
 67 
 
to the present age, is to be sought in the 
 principle of service. We speak of a man 
 as being worth a certain sum ; but modern 
 idealism asks, " How much is he really 
 worth? Is he worth having? Are his 
 possessions, as Mr. Ruskin once asked, to 
 be described as wealth, because it is well 
 with him, or ought they rather to be called 
 his ill-th, because it is ill with him ? " Many 
 a rich man, as Mr. Ruskin says in another 
 place, is like the man who, when his ship 
 was wrecked, tied a belt of gold pieces 
 round his waist, with which later he was 
 found at the bottom ; and one may fairly 
 ask whether, as he was sinking, the man 
 had his gold or whether the gold had him. 
 If, then, a rich man is not worth having 
 when tested by the principle of social 
 service, if he is an obstruction or a menace 
 in modern life instead of an effective instru- 
 ment of social welfare, then — according to 
 the new spirit — he must be regarded as 
 a danger to civilization, which must be 
 somehow mitigated or removed. By one or 
 another means of legislation or taxation, 
 or perhaps of confiscation, the accumulation 
 or transmission of great wealth might be 
 made extremely difficult, if not impracti- 
 cable ; and all these ways of relief from 
 what are regarded as the dangers of wealth 
 68 
 
are being freely proposed by the social 
 agitators of the time. Nothing is more 
 obvious than that wealth is being scruti- 
 nized and weighed as a question of social 
 utility ; and nothing is more touching 
 than to observe the efforts of a few rich 
 men to demonstrate that they are worth 
 enough to justify their existence. 
 
 The same test of service is applicable, 
 and is, indeed, being already unspar- 
 ingly applied to the educated man. How 
 much is he worth? Is he worth what I 
 he costs ? Among the problems and needs 
 of modern life is there a place for the 
 higher education, or does a liberal train- 
 ing detach and disqualify from effective 
 service, and breed mere loungers and 
 lookers-on? We have heard for some 
 years much contemptuous talk of the 
 scholar in politics. We now hear the 
 same talk of the scholar in business. 
 More than one employer of labor has 
 expressed his scepticism about the ser- 
 viceableness of education, and his opinion 
 that the new world calls for a new man, 
 shaped in the iron-works and the rail- 
 ways rather than in the colleges and the 
 universities of the land. The spirit of 
 democracy cares little for traditions of 
 superiority, but mercilessly threshes the 
 
 69 
 
chafF from the wheat ; and education — like 
 the institution of the family, like the accu- 
 mulation of wealth — must justify itself by 
 the test of social service and prove itself fit 
 to survive as adapted to the new environ- 
 ment of the age of the social question. 
 
 Such, then, is the new test of value 
 applied by the spirit of the modern world. 
 The condition of permanence and of pri- 
 macy is the capacity for service. When, 
 however, we look again at these same 
 conditions of society, we are confronted 
 by another fact which is equally impressive 
 and significant. For as one observes the 
 signs of the present time he is at once 
 impressed by the unprecedented demand 
 made on every hand for knowledge as the 
 condition of service. It is not only true 
 that service is the test of excellence, but it is 
 still further true that the capacity to serve 
 calls for a new quahty of preparedness, 
 discipline, alertness, breadth, and force. 
 One of the most striking traits of modern 
 civilization is its constantly increasing de- 
 mand for higher grades of service to util- 
 ize the complex mechanism of a new world. 
 The motor-man who succeeds the car-driver 
 must be a more observant, disciplined, 
 silent, sober man. The engineer who runs 
 sixty miles an hour instead of twenty must 
 70 
 
be a better man than his predecessor, both 
 in mind and in morals. The very switch- 
 man controls an intricate system instead of 
 a single crank. It is sometimes asserted 
 that this transformation of industrial 
 methods has brought with it nothing but 
 degradation to the working class ; that the 
 age of machinery has reduced the hand- 
 worker to a machine, or, rather, to a single 
 cog in a machine ; and it is, of course, true 
 that much of the work of life is done in 
 dehumanizing and mechanical ways. It is 
 still further true that with every shift of 
 industrial method there is temporary dis- 
 arrangement, which bears hardly on the 
 least adapted, and involves friction, anxiety, 
 and even tragedy for some ill-adjusted 
 lives. This is that solemn aspect of social 
 evolution which is described as the cost of 
 progress. When, however, we turn from 
 these economic maladjustments to the total 
 scene of modern life, it is obvious that the 
 industrial movement is on the whole not 
 one of general degradation, but one of 
 general elevation. The pull of the indus- 
 trial world is in the main a pull upward. 
 The way out of industrial distress is the 
 way up. There is a constant summons to 
 the best, an updraught which draws the 
 more effective to the higher service and 
 
 71 
 
creates a vacuum into which the less com- 
 petent may rise. Never was there a time 
 when it was so far from true that the work- 
 ing classes were as a whole sentenced to a 
 dehumanized and mechanical career. On 
 the contrary, there was never such a chance 
 for intelligence, or such a reward for fidel- 
 ity. The more complex is the machinery 
 of life, the more competent must be the 
 man who shall run it. A man must be 
 active, sober, and teachable, in order to 
 keep his place in the whirling machinery 
 of the modern world. The best agent of 
 temperance to-day is the nature of modern 
 industry. The best encouragement of popu- 
 lar education, technical training, sober 
 habit, and inventive skill is the new de- 
 mand for knowledge as the condition of 
 service, which is giving to the hand-workers 
 of this country their place as the best paid 
 and the most productive in the world. 
 
 This demand for intelligent service 
 becomes still more conspicuous when we 
 turn from industrial affairs to the spe- 
 cifically intellectual and spiritual enter- 
 prises of modern life. A whole series 
 of undertakings, which have for genera- 
 tions been guided by sentiment, kindli- 
 ness, piety, and emotion, now present 
 themselves as problems of knowledge, 
 72 
 
science, discipline, expert skill. The relief 
 of the poor, for instance, has seemed in 
 the past sufficiently safeguarded if it were 
 stirred by compassion, generosity, and 
 tender-heartedness ; but it has been at 
 last discovered that the agent of charity 
 must be not only pitiful, but educated, 
 and many a half-trained giver, who has 
 confused alms-giving with charity, looks 
 back at the mistakes of his sympathy and 
 wonders whether he has not done more 
 harm than good. And how is it with the 
 cause of temperance in alcoholic drink ? 
 Is it not for the moment most obstructed, 
 not by lack of devotion and self-sacrifice, 
 but by the wide-spread doubt whether the 
 right method of approach has as yet been 
 found, whether half-truths can do the 
 work of the whole truth, and intemper- 
 ate agitation can promote temperate habits ? 
 With still more pathos the industrial 
 movement of the present age is calling for 
 a new kind of capacity to interpret and 
 direct its perplexing issues. We find our- 
 selves suddenly involved in a complex 
 industrial machinery which we have not 
 learned to control. Combinations of capi- 
 tal and combinations of labor have out- 
 grown the skill of those who are responsible 
 for them ; we are run away with by forces 
 
 73 
 
which our own hands have made; and 
 the confusion is only intensified by those 
 who leap to our rescue, fancying that 
 some special, outright, wholesale change in 
 society will check the disorder and set the 
 world right again, or believing that these 
 runaway forces should be permitted to 
 upset the whole industrial order, so that 
 out of the fragments a better world may 
 be made. In the midst of these noises of 
 the time, how we are groping for wisdom, 
 comprehensive judgment, consecrated com- 
 mon sense, to rein up the runaways and 
 direct them toward industrial peace ! 
 
 What shall we say, finally, of the teach- 
 ing of religion — this which has in the 
 past seemed so simple a matter, address- 
 ing itself to the individual will and heart 
 and to the end of personal conversion ? 
 Why is it that the Christian ministry has 
 lost so much of its leadership, and is 
 already regarded by millions as a mere 
 survival of the days of faith, a side- 
 tracked, ecclesiastical, specialized profes- 
 sion, looking toward the past with pious 
 sentiments rather than to the future with 
 masculine authority and interpretative 
 power ? It is certainly not because the 
 characteristic traits of service, devotion, 
 consecration, sympathy, and pity are lost ; 
 
 74 
 
for there never was in fact a more gener- 
 ous and comprehensive love of man than 
 prevails in the Christian Church to-day. It 
 is because the representatives of religion 
 have not matched their love of service 
 with adequate knowledge, are not equipped 
 for the work of a new world, speak pre- 
 cipitately, pledge themselves to imprac- 
 ticable panaceas, and stamp Utopian 
 programmes of reform with the name of 
 Christ. Among the perplexing issues of 
 our national life, its industrial conflicts, its 
 problems of races at home and of depen- 
 dencies abroad, what sillier words have 
 been spoken than by tender-hearted Chris- 
 tian ministers, who have fancied that kindly 
 emotion was a sufficient substitute for edu- 
 cated training in the economic and ethical 
 problems of the day ? The new world, 
 that is to say, not only calls for new arti- 
 sans, new charity-workers, new temperance 
 reformers, new captains of industry ; but 
 for a new ministry, a new expansion of the 
 range of studies appropriate to the teachers 
 of religion ; that the ancient spirit of un- 
 selfish service may be directed by a new 
 education which shall make men fit to 
 control the forces of the time. 
 
 If, then, this is in any degree a true 
 picture of the modern world, we are 
 
 75 
 
brought to a most striking and suggestive 
 situation. On the one hand is the demand 
 of the age for service as the end of knowl- 
 edge ; on the other hand is the need of the 
 age for knowledge as the means for ser- 
 vice. One cannot justify education to-day 
 except in terms of social welfare ; but one 
 cannot get far in the promotion of social 
 welfare except through education. The very 
 complexity of modern life makes its dis- 
 entanglement the task of the age ; but this 
 task involves the patience, insight, and 
 versatility of the educated mind. Such a 
 situation is full of significance, both for 
 the future of education and for the future 
 of social service. On the one hand it indi- 
 cates a new theory of education ; and on 
 the other hand it gives a new dignity to 
 work. It democratizes the one and it ideal- 
 izes the other ; and both these changes 
 must be recognized with care. 
 
 First, there is the change in the theory 
 of education. If the test of education is 
 service, then that man is educated who is 
 best adapted for the environment of duty 
 which his special life must occupy and use. 
 To many a mind, trained in the earlier 
 tradition, such a definition of education 
 seems a break with sound learning, which 
 must be deplored and contended against 
 
 76 
 
to the last. Education to almost every 
 one who began life fifty years ago was 
 comprehended in one uniform type of 
 liberal learning, which was practically a 
 survival of the Middle Ages and the 
 Renaissance. At the centre of such cul- 
 ture stood what we still call the classics, 
 as though no modern language and but 
 two ancient languages were sources of 
 noble thoughts and vigorous style ; and 
 round these essentials of an educated man 
 were grouped much mathematics, a little 
 history, chiefly of Greece and Rome, some 
 speculative philosophy, and here and there 
 a smattering of hearsay science. The fin- 
 ished product of this education was a re- 
 fined, appreciative, tolerant mind, a citizen 
 of the world, — or, rather, of the ancient 
 world, — with the consciousness of belong- 
 ing to a separate and Brahmin class, who 
 could be called gentlemen. Educated men 
 all the world over could recognize each 
 other. They used the same dialect; they 
 quoted from the same authors ; they could 
 appreciate each other's citations from the 
 classics. The last thing which concerned 
 them was the applicability of knowledge to 
 service. It was even urged that a subject 
 lost its educational value if it was assumed 
 to be of practical utility. The bread-and- 
 
 77 
 
butter sciences were distinguished from the 
 liberal sciences. The educated class were 
 thus the spiritual descendants of the mon- 
 astic orders, with the same intellectual 
 leisure and the same quiet superiority to 
 the toiling, downward-looking, productive 
 masses of men. I have heard the claim 
 proudly made by an institution of learn- 
 ing that its curriculum was devised six 
 hundred years ago ; and the claim reminds 
 one of Longfellow's picture of the pious 
 monk, looking down from his monastery 
 to the shore : — 
 
 *' Where the waves and mountains meet. 
 Where, amid her mulberry trees 
 Sits Amalfi in the heat. 
 Bathing ever her white feet 
 In the tideless summer seas. 
 
 On its terraced walk aloof 
 Leans a monk with folded hands. 
 Placid, satisfied, serene. 
 Looking down upon the scene. 
 Over wall and red-tiled roof; 
 Wondering unto what good end 
 All this toil arid traffic tend. 
 And why all men cannot be 
 Free from care and free from pain. 
 And the sordid love of gain. 
 And as indolent as he." 
 
 78 
 
What has become of this detached, self- 
 centred form of education? It lingers only 
 as a survival in little groups of English 
 dons and dilettante scholars, who sit on the 
 edges of the stream of modern life and do 
 not fling themselves into the age of ser- 
 vice. To name any uniform type of train- 
 ing which stamps a man as educated is 
 no longer possible. One is educated when 
 he is master of himself and of his task. 
 The trade-school educates a man to be 
 a plumber or a bricklayer; the technical 
 school educates another to be an engineer ; 
 the college a third to be a teacher ; but all 
 have their part in the new education which 
 is to make, not one corner of the world, 
 but the whole diverse world of social life, 
 the field of service for an educated man. 
 What is this, indeed, but one more step 
 in the history of democracy ? We have 
 become familiar with the democratizing of 
 government, we are in the midst of the 
 movement to democratize industry, and 
 now we are bidden to the democratizing 
 of knowledge. " Democracy," Mr. Lowell 
 once said, " means, not, I am as good as 
 you are, but, you are as good as I am." 
 The first prejudice which democracy 
 overthrows is the prejudice of caste, the 
 patrician temper, the aristocracy of acci- 
 
 79 
 
dent, privilege, or status. I was talking the 
 other day with a young negro at Hampton 
 who was mending a wagon wheel, and I 
 remarked that I should be sorry to have 
 that job set before me. " Yes," replied the 
 young man with perfect simplicity and self- 
 respect, " but there are many other things 
 which you can do and which I cannot." 
 Was not that a perfect statement of the 
 scope, diversity, and dignity of democratic 
 education ? 
 
 Does all this mean, then, one may appre- 
 hensively ask, that the day of hberal culture 
 is gone ? Are gentle manners, classic style, 
 and literary appreciation to be supplanted 
 by technical, bread-winning, wagon-mend- 
 ing training ? On the contrary, the age of 
 service, rightly understood, is precisely the 
 age when intellectual discipline and insight, 
 power of expression and scientific habit of 
 mind, are needed as never before to direct 
 and interpret the world. A time so com- 
 plex in its problems, so intense in its 
 desires, so restless in its purposes, is just 
 the time for the academic, scholarly, un- 
 materialized mind to have its full effect ; 
 and it is one of the most striking facts of 
 the progress of the elective system in uni- 
 versity life that, while large groups of 
 students are led, as they should be led, to 
 80 
 
those applied sciences where their minds 
 naturally belong, the interests of literature, 
 classical learning, and pure science were 
 never so devotedly or so productively 
 served. 
 
 In short, the principle of service sees 
 the world no longer as divided, fragmen- 
 tary, a disconnected series of spheres, in 
 which various grades of education may 
 be set ; but as one world, an organism, a 
 Cosmos, a single sphere, in which is no 
 higher or lower, no academic aristocracy 
 or detached group of the learned, but an 
 interdependent, associated, common life, 
 involving the researches of the recluse and 
 the bent back of the man with the hoe. 
 There are diversities of gifts and of work- 
 ings, says the apostle, but one spirit. To 
 one is given the word of wisdom and to 
 another gifts of healing, and to another 
 the interpretation of tongues, but in the 
 philosopher and the physician and the 
 linguist alike works the selfsame spirit, 
 dividing to each one severally as he will. 
 
 If it is thus true that the effect of ser- 
 vice is to be the democratizing of knowl- 
 edge, it is equally evident that the effect 
 of knowledge is to be the idealizing of 
 service. Utility, efficiency, serviceable- 
 ness — these words still have to many 
 G 8i 
 
minds a sound of cheapness, narrowness, 
 and materialism, as mottoes of uneducated 
 and merely practical men. But suppose 
 that instead of a world divided between 
 utility and learning, practice and theory, 
 service and knowledge, one sees the world 
 as undivided and integral, where the whole 
 moves forward if one part is stirred. Sup- 
 pose one thinks of human lives as in an 
 organic world, as members one of another 
 in the social body, — then the dignity 
 and significance of each life become deter- 
 mined, not by the kind of service it per- 
 forms, but by the performance of that 
 specific service to which it is assigned. 
 Here, for instance, at one end of the 
 working world, is the man of pure science, 
 detached from all consideration of human 
 welfare, investigating with equal enthusi- 
 asm poisons and antidotes, disease and 
 health, bacteria that kill and bacteria that 
 cure. What, to him, is a practical age ? 
 What sympathy has he with the people 
 who are running up and down trying to 
 do good ? Does not the thought of utility 
 even vitiate his research ? Shall he not 
 hide in his laboratory from the spirit of 
 the age of service ? Yes, this is the pure 
 search for truth, the passion for knowl- 
 edge, the asceticism of the scholar. And 
 82 
 
yet, both the inspiration and the romance 
 of the scholar's hfe He in the perfect as- 
 surance that any truth, however remote 
 or isolated, has its part in the unity of 
 the world of truth and its undreamed- 
 of appHcability to service. This is what 
 makes the history of pure science so full 
 of dramatic interest — that as one traces 
 the new resources and conveniences and 
 securities of life to their origins, he comes 
 upon some lonely student in his labora- 
 tory, or upon some series of investiga- 
 tors dealing with abstract truths, and sees 
 them, without conscious participation in 
 the affairs of the world, becoming the 
 benefactors of their race. The unity of the 
 world gathers them, whether they will or 
 no, into the life of service ; and the truth 
 they discover becomes the truth which 
 makes men free. It is said of Faraday that, 
 in his investigations concerning the insu- 
 lating properties of various materials, he 
 was asked of what use such work could 
 be, and answered, " Of what use is a 
 baby ? " and behold, within a generation, 
 the practical serviceableness of his infant 
 discovery found undreamed-of applica- 
 tions, and every electric cable was wrapped 
 in the material which he in his laboratory 
 had found best. 
 
 83 
 
Here again, at the other end of the work- 
 ing world, are the drudgery, routine, and 
 mechanical toil to which many lives seem 
 altogether condemned, and from which no 
 life can wholly escape. This is the service 
 which is as far from knowledge as pure 
 science is from service, — the animal drag 
 and automatic duties of the daily tasks. 
 How to idealize drudgery, how to dignify 
 routine, how to rescue one's soul from 
 being a mere cog in a great machine, — 
 that is the cry of those who are caught, 
 as which of us is not, in the incessant 
 mechanism of the modern world. To this 
 cry for a human life, this demand for 
 a menschenwurdiges Dasein, the answer is 
 plain. It is not to be reached, as many a 
 chafing spirit has fancied, by escaping from 
 the machinery of the world and reverting 
 to nature, simplicity, and liberty. That is 
 the method of the runaway, who would 
 save himself and let the world be lost. 
 Nor may one imagine that a change in 
 conditions will free him from the sense of 
 weariness or compulsion ; for no social 
 class is so overwhelmed by ennui, despond- 
 ency, and mechanism as those who would 
 seem to be most unconstrained and free. 
 No, the satisfactions of life must be ob- 
 tained just where one is, and the escape 
 
 84 
 
from drudgery is discovered not by going 
 round it but by going through it. 
 
 Suppose, however, that knowledge comes 
 to the rescue of service ; suppose that the 
 routine of Hfe is perceived to be the es- 
 sential machinery which harnesses spiritual 
 power; suppose that one may look upon his 
 task as an essential part of the total work 
 of the world ; detached, it may seem, like 
 the pure science of the scholar, from all 
 appearance of utility, but held no less in 
 the unity of social service, — then what 
 new dignity is given to labor, and what 
 spiritualizing to the mechanism of life, 
 and what significance is restored to insig- 
 nificance, and what self-respect stirs within 
 the unimportant, shut-in, effaced life ! One 
 starts up with a happy surprise and says, I 
 am not a machine, I am not a wheel, I am 
 not a cog; I am a living factor in the creative 
 purpose, an instrument of the total plan ; 
 and fidelity in my own place is the test of 
 effectiveness in the whole vast design. Thus, 
 the unity of the world, which has democra- 
 tized knowledge, turns itself now to the 
 idealizing of service, and as it saves some 
 men from the conceit of wisdom, so it saves 
 other men from the despondency of work. 
 
 So far we are brought, then, by these cor- 
 relations of knowledge and service toward 
 
 85 
 
the new idealism which holds the scholar 
 and the hand-worker in the unity of the new 
 world. But having come thus far we must 
 speak one final word; for the conclusion 
 we have reached carries us in reality quite 
 beyond the region of philosophy and of 
 social service into that frame of mind 
 which marks the religious experience of 
 an educated man ; and the dedication of 
 knowledge to service which we have traced 
 reproduces the social ideal of the teaching 
 of Jesus Christ. 
 
 Nothing is more striking in the gos- 
 pels than the balance of the Master's 
 mind, as he deals on the one hand with 
 the life of the individual, and on the other 
 hand with the truth of the unity of the 
 world. First he turns to the person as the 
 instrument of his purpose. Nothing is 
 so precious to Jesus as the single soul. 
 The shepherd seeks the one sheep ; the 
 woman searches for the one coin. The 
 first discovery of Jesus Christ, it has 
 been said, was the discovery of the pre- 
 ciousness of the individual. But why is 
 the single soul thus precious ? At once 
 the other side of the teaching of Jesus 
 answers the question. The individual is 
 precious for the sake of the kingdom which 
 Jesus came to found. He came, says the 
 86 
 
first statement of his purpose, into Galilee, 
 preaching the gospel of the kingdom. 
 With the vividness and completeness of 
 one to whom the movement of history 
 was disclosed, he conceived of the scat- 
 tered atoms of personal lives as wrought 
 into the organism of social service ; and 
 the limited Hebrew thought of the king- 
 dom of God expanded in his hands into 
 the comprehensive unity of the Christian 
 commonwealth. The kingdom was ever 
 the end, but the person the means to that 
 kingdom. The redemption of Jesus was 
 not to be of persons from the world, but 
 of the world through persons ; not an 
 escape from the sinking ship of the world, 
 but a discipline fit to save the whole ship- 
 load of human desires and needs and bring 
 it to its destined port. 
 
 Even of himself Jesus announces that 
 this twofold law of life holds true. " For 
 their sakes," he says, in the greatest words 
 he ever uttered, " I sanctify myself" " For 
 their sakes," — that is the principle of ser- 
 vice; "I sanctify myself," — that is the edu- 
 cation of the individual ; and in the giving 
 of a consecrated individual for the sake of 
 an unconsecrated world the desire of Jesus 
 Christ, even for himself, is fulfilled. 
 
 What a deep, strengthening renewal of 
 
 87 
 
fidelity, patience, and self-respect comes to 
 many a hesitating, struggling, ineffective 
 life, as it pauses thus among these issues 
 of knowledge and service and hears the 
 message of Jesus binding together the world 
 of study and of work ! We do not know just 
 how or where the Master of the world is to 
 use the lives that are consecrated for other's 
 sakes. We may not prophesy when knowl- 
 edge shall become service, or when service 
 shall demand knowledge. But this we know, 
 that it is all one world which holds the 
 scholar and the worker, and that, both for 
 those who study and for those who toil, 
 religion is education and education is reli- 
 gion. We are like those tapestry weavers 
 of Paris, who do their task at the back of 
 the picture they create, and see only the 
 fragments of design which they copy and 
 the tangled threads and loose ends which 
 they leave as they go on, until from time to 
 time they rise from their corner and pass 
 round to the other side and see the total 
 form and color in which their hands have 
 wrought. So, perhaps, some day, in this 
 life or in another, we may be permitted 
 to rise from our corner in the workroom 
 of life and go round to the other side of 
 things and see the total picture in which 
 v/e have had our insignificant yet essential 
 88 
 
part ; and then at last it will be plain that 
 the plan of the Great Designer is perfected 
 through the consecration of each servant at 
 his task, and that knowledge and service 
 are but the opposite sides of life, which 
 find their unity in the religion of an edu- 
 cated man, 
 
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 89 
 
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 OF 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 BERKELEY 
 
 Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 JAN 30 1948 
 
 ^AW5 3355 
 
 LD 21-100m-9,'47(A5702sl6)476 
 
YB 29486