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THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 LONDON 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 AN ESSAY IN CHRISTIAN PHILOSOPHY 
 
 ARTHUR ^HANDLER, MA. 
 
 RECTOR OF POPLAR, E. 
 FELLOW AND LATE TUTOR OF BRASENOSE COLLEGE, OXFORD 
 
 LONDON 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK : 15 EAST 16"' STREET 
 189I 
 
 <? 
 All rights reserved 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTION . . . . . vii 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY . . .1 
 
 II. THE NATURE OF MAN AND THE WORK OF 
 
 CHRIST ... 37 
 
 m. ETERNAL LIFE . . . -78 
 
 NOTE ON THE NEW TESTAMENT DOCTRINE 
 
 OF SPIRIT . ... 1X6 
 
 IV. FREEDOM 1 30 
 
 V. VIRTUE . .161 
 
 VI. INSTITUTIONS I93 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 This Essay is an attempt to suggest a few of the 
 philosophical implications, theoretical and prac- 
 tical, which Christianity contains. I have ventured 
 to make a humble contribution to a work which 
 much wants doing. Of late years the historical 
 claims of Christianity have been ably vindicated ; 
 the strength of its documentary evidence has been 
 successfully displayed. But, still, everyone must 
 necessarily approach the consideration of evidence 
 with certain antecedent notions and prejudices. 
 Certain facts he is ready to accept if sufficient 
 testimony can be adduced ; against others he 
 inexorably sets his face, and is resolved to regard 
 their so-called evidence as mere delusion which 
 must be explained away. These preconceptions 
 
INT ROD UCTION 
 
 may be roughly termed philosophical. They rest 
 on the views which a man entertains as to the 
 nature of knowledge and the nature of morality. 
 He is bound to reject a religion which seems to 
 involve false corollaries on these subjects ; and, on 
 the other hand, if its metaphysical and ethical 
 implications seem sound and valuable, he will be 
 ready to give a fair hearing to its historical attes- 
 tation. The subject is thus a vast one, alike in its 
 area and in its importance. In touching upon it 
 I have kept strictly to a single line, and have 
 merely emphasized the doctrine of individual 
 personality, which Christianity seems to me to 
 contain, and which is, as I think, the only true 
 foundation for a theory of knowledge and conduct. 
 Thus in the first chapter I have tried to show that 
 the Christian doctrine of creation guarantees 
 individuality in the acquisition of knowledge 
 without destroying the unity of truth, and allows 
 us to recognise a difference between reason and 
 sensation without thereby falling into dualism. 
 Of course it is true that Christianity, as such, is 
 committed to no special analysis of knowledge ; 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 and I have merely contended that the doctrine 
 alluded to adds completeness and intelligibility 
 to an analysis which commends itself on general 
 grounds. In the second and third chapters I have 
 argued that this personality is essentially spiritual, 
 that it was the work of Christ to re-create it in its 
 true nature, and that it is exhibited in an eternal 
 life to be lived on earth as well as in Heaven ; in the 
 fourth, that such a spiritual personality sets the 
 freedom of man on the only firm and intelligible 
 basis ; in the fifth and sixth, that its perfect 
 development throughout the human brotherhood 
 is the goal alike of morality and of the institu- 
 tions of society. Further, I have illustrated what 
 I conceive to be the Christian theory on these 
 subjects by contrasting it with the views of various 
 philosophers. These views I have had to state 
 shortly ; if I have misstated them, it is not due 
 to malice or, in many cases, to lack of admiration. 
 In particular, I am anxious to express my general 
 obligations to the philosophy of Hegel, and can 
 only regret -that, in spite of his extraordinary 
 insight into the facts of life, he should have 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 consented to sacrifice individuality to the exi- 
 gencies of Dialectic. 
 
 There are dangers as well as advantages in 
 the strong protest against individualism which is 
 making itself heard on every side. The indi' 
 vidualist is the Sophist of modern times, and is 
 being tracked out and hunted down with a zeal 
 and success not unworthy of Plato. His philo- 
 sophy has been laid bare as a great complex 
 fallacy, comprising sensationalism in Metaphy^ 
 sics, nominalism in Logic, sensualism in Ethics, 
 natural rights in Political Philosophy, and Calvinism 
 in Theology. The exposure has come none too 
 soon, and is matter for rejoicing. But the reaction 
 is tending to carry some thinkers to the opposite 
 and equally false extreme. It seems to be sup- 
 posed that the individual is necessarily an indi- 
 vidualist, and accordingly individuality itself has 
 become an object of suspicion and dislike. Under 
 the hands of writers belonging to most various 
 schools the individual is made to disappear alto- 
 gether. In metaphysics and morality he is re- 
 solved into an ' accident ' in the life of a world- 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 spirit ; in politics and religion he becomes a ' limb ' 
 in a social or ecclesiastical organism. This denial 
 of personal freedom and responsibility in knowledge 
 and conduct cannot be the true solution of the 
 problem. Freedom and responsibility must be 
 maintained if anything worth doing is to be done 
 in either sphere ; and Christianity believes that 
 they can be turned to good account. It is, in fact, 
 only by the recognition of the true nature and 
 objects of individuality that individualism can be 
 finally disproved as a theory of knowledge and 
 condemned as a principle of action. If I have 
 been able to illustrate in any way the truth and 
 clearness of the Christian theory on the subject, 
 my object will have been attained. 
 
 Lean well understand that many Christians, 
 whether theologians or not, may resent the in- 
 trusion of philosophy into matters of religion. 
 But I would venture to suggest that a Christian 
 philosophy is not the same thing as a philosophy 
 of Christianity. The latter is apt to ignore the 
 essence of religion, which consists in a personal 
 relation between God and the human spirit; it 
 
INTROD UCTION 
 
 merely collects the maxims and principles found 
 in Christian writers, combines them into a specu- 
 lative system, treats their devotional language as 
 local colour or Eastern mysticism, deprecates their 
 lack of scientific analysis and philosophical 
 phraseology, and finally consents to admit that 
 they contain, in a distorted form, some very ob- 
 vious truths of permanent importance. Christian 
 philosophy, on the contrary, starts with religion as 
 a living reality, and, in unfolding some of the 
 principles involved in it, treats them as mere 
 applications or illustrations of that spiritual re- 
 lationship which exists behind them and which 
 gives them their whole value and significance. 
 If it becomes apparent that these principles, thus 
 derived, yield a more coherent and satisfactory 
 view of life than is offered in other philosophies, 
 this fact may fairly be urged in favour of the 
 Christian Faith, and may, at any rate, suggest 
 a candid examination of the documents on which 
 the truth of that Faith is founded. 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 I 
 
 KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 
 
 What is the relation between the real world 
 around us on the one hand, and our knowledge of 
 it on the other? What relation does the know- 
 ledge of the naturalist bear to the objects which 
 he collects, or the knowledge of the mathematician 
 or the moralist to the facts which they investigate ? 
 Common sense is ready at once with an answer : 
 ' Knowledge is a copy of the real world outside us.' 
 Real objects endowed with figure, motion, and 
 colour exist independently of us, and knowledge 
 is the process by which they are reflected in our 
 minds. This is the theory, or rather the assump- 
 
 B 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 tion, with which, probably, all men start ; and any 
 attempt to question or examine it is resented by 
 many as an exhibition of hair-splitting metaphysics, 
 certainly useless, and probably also mischievous. 
 Nevertheless we may venture to inquire in what 
 sense it is asserted that knowledge is a copy of 
 a real outside world. Those items of knowledge 
 which are naturally quoted as being a kind of 
 message sent to us direct from things outside are 
 the feelings of which we are conscious through the 
 senses. But then it is obvious at once that the 
 feelings of sound and taste and smell cannot be 
 regarded as a copy, good or bad, of any archetype 
 outside. The utmost they tell us is that the thing 
 to which we refer theni must have the power to 
 produce these feelings in us. And the same is the 
 case with the sensation of colour conveyed in the 
 sense of sight. It is true, of course, that the sensa- 
 tions of colour have physical conditions in the 
 neural disturbances investigated by science, but 
 they cannot possibly be regarded as copies of 
 those conditions, The feeling itself Is utterly dif- 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 
 
 ferent from the antecedent conditions necessary to 
 our experiencing it. It is the sense of touch which 
 has always been regarded as the strongest and 
 clearest evidence concerning ' things outside.' But 
 this feeling is in itself merely a feeling of resistance 
 and in no sense a copy of the real constitution of 
 those things. Like the other sensations, it merely 
 suggests a power which 'things' possess to produce 
 this feeling in our minds. Thus, as far as sensa- 
 tion goes, the theory that our knowledge is a copy, 
 and that the ' real world outside ' is the pattern 
 from which that copy is taken, will not work. 
 Even in sensation our world goes far beyond the 
 real world, the real world being simply a collection 
 of unknown 'powers' for the production of items 
 of knowledge which are quite unlike and hetero- 
 geneous to those powers themselves.' 
 
 ' ' If Sugar produce in us the Ideas which we call Whiteness and 
 Sweetness, we are sure there is a Power in Sugar to produce those 
 Ideas in our minds, or else they could not have been produced by 
 it.' — Locke, Essay ii. 31, § 32. 
 
 ' There is nothing like our Ideas existing in the Bodies themselves. 
 They are in the Bodies, we denominate from them, only a Power 
 to produce those Sensations in us : and what is Sweet, Blue, or Warm 
 
 B 2 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 And this divergence of knowledge from ' reality' 
 is equally striking when we pass from sensation to 
 objects of experience, objects investigated by the 
 sciences. It is so even in that grade of science 
 which consists in observing and classifying things 
 that can be seen and touched. Here, indeed, we 
 might be disposed to -fight for our assumption, and 
 
 in Idea, is but the certain Bulk, Figure, and Motion of the insensible 
 Paitsin the Bodies themselves, which we call so ' {ib. 8, § 15). In 
 this passage, mere ' secondary ideas ' of colour and taste, and so 
 forth, are distinguished from Ideas of Primary Qualities, Bulk and 
 Figure, &c., as to which we are told that they, at any rate, are 
 ' resemblances of bodies,' and that ' their Patterns do really exist in 
 the Bodies themselves.' But we are dismayed to find that the 
 Pattern and Resemblance theory has to be abandoned even in the 
 case of the latter. ' Our senses failing us in the Discovery of the 
 Bulk, Texture, and Figure of the minute Parts of Bodies, on which 
 their real Constitutions and Differences depend, we are fain to make 
 use of their secondary Qualities as the Characleristical Notes and 
 Marks whereby to frame Ideas of them in our minds, and dis- 
 tinguish them one from another— all which secondary Qualities, as 
 has been shown, are nothing but bare Powers ' (ib. 23, § 8). In 
 fact, starting with the common-sense notion that the qualities of 
 bodies are copied in our ideas, Locke is compelled to resolve this 
 external pattern into three unknown factors : first, the unknown 
 substratum in which the qualities exist ; secondly, the unknown 
 bulk, texture, &c., which are the primary qualities of the body; 
 thirdly, the unknown powers which produce secondary ideas in our 
 minds, 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 
 
 maintain that the flowers of the botanist's know- 
 ledge are copies of real flowers outside. But in 
 maintaining this we should probably be thinking 
 principally of that part of his knowledge which 
 consists in the mere apprehension of colour and 
 scent, and we have shown already that colour and 
 scent have no archetypes from which they can be 
 copied. And, further, the apprehension of colour 
 and scent in particular flowers is a very small part 
 of the botanist's knowledge. His knowledge con- 
 sists mainly in his grasp of the relations which 
 connect or sever one sort of flower from another. 
 And this knowledge of affinities and distinctions is 
 not sensuously given with the object in perception, 
 but is intellectually inferred through laborious pro- 
 cesses of comparison. If we are still bent on 
 defending our position, we must hold not only that 
 the objects of knowledge exist independently of 
 knowledge, but also that in this independent exist- 
 ence they are equipped with a sort of ready-made 
 outfit of relations, in which they are flashed upon 
 the mind of the man of science. 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 And still more decisively does the photographic 
 theory fail us when we leave observation for experi- 
 ment, and investigate the inter-action of one object 
 with another. When, after carefully conducted 
 experiments, we know the law that two compounds 
 explode if mixed together, in what sense can the 
 principles of causation and uniformity, involved in 
 such knowledge, be regarded as copies of anything 
 outside ? 
 
 The fallacy which lies at the root of this whole 
 theory of knowledge is not hard to understand, 
 however difficult it may be to eradicate it. We 
 are all aware of some sense-stimulus coming to us 
 from without, in reaction upon which we fashion 
 our universe of knowledge. We don't know what 
 that stimulus was in itself ; we only know that, in 
 obedience to its promptings, we have constructed 
 our wonderful world of colour and figure, sound 
 and motion. But then, in reflecting upon this 
 world of our construction, we remember the original 
 pressure of that message from without. We wish 
 to acknowledge our obligations for that which we 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 
 
 then received. And, in doing so, we make the 
 hasty assumption that the stimulus from outside 
 was something of the same sort as the universe 
 which we have made, something like it, only more 
 so, related to it as the complete is related to the 
 fragmentary, and as the pattern is related to the 
 copy. Thus what we oppose to our own con- 
 structive activity is precisely that which this ac- 
 tivity has itself constructed ; what we are setting 
 up in antithesis to reason is not the mere sense- 
 stimulus, but the completion of that very world of 
 experience which reason itself has fashioned in 
 reaction upon sense-stimulus. We have trans- 
 formed bare sensation into rational fact ; we have 
 invested it with the fulness and richness of mean- 
 ing which belong only to the intelligible world. 
 And in doing so we have not only committed a 
 logical blunder, but have also made scepticism an 
 inevitable corollary. For we are aware that, in con- 
 structing our rational universe of truth, we have 
 ' interpreted ' and transformed the original datum 
 of sensation. Hence, if sensation is rational fact 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 knowledge is a continuous and progressive de- 
 parture from fact. If sensation is the archetype, 
 our rational copy of it is scandalously bad. Our 
 whole system of experience is a garbled and 
 untrustworthy version of the real universe outside ; 
 our knowledge is ' phenomenal ' in comparison with 
 an 'absolute' which fronts us as the unknown and 
 the unknowable. But we have no occasion what- 
 ever thus to set up an absolute system of reality 
 in antithesis to our own system of knowledge. 
 This is a false antithesis, in which two true and 
 valuable antitheses are distorted and obscured. 
 The first is the antithesis of distinct factors, which 
 together produce our system of knowledge. Since 
 reason constructs the universe of experience by its 
 work upon sensation, we may contrast reason and 
 sensation as logically distinguishable factors in the 
 formation of experience. But to set up that very 
 world of experience itself, and to contrast that with 
 reason, and to argue that, confronted with that, 
 reason and all rational products are vain things 
 fondly imagined, is to accuse reason of barrenness 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 
 
 and incapacity just because of the boundless 
 splendour and the inexhaustible suggestiveness of 
 her work. We are simply shying at our own 
 shadow when we set up an unknowable world of 
 real fact, in contrast with which our known world 
 of soi-disant fact is to be put to shame. Reality 
 stands in no outside relation to knowledge. Real 
 fact is rational fact, the product and not the 
 antithesis of reason. 
 
 And, secondly, we may legitimately contrast 
 our present achievement in the way of knowledge 
 with an ideal of fuller knowledge to be achieved 
 hereafter. The known may be contrasted with 
 the unknown — the ' unknown ' being equivalent 
 to the not-yet-known. This is a contrast between 
 the lower and the higher stages of our knowledge, 
 a distinction of degree and not a difference in 
 kind, a contrast within the sphere of knowledge 
 and not a contrast between knowledge itself and 
 something which defies it from without. It is a 
 sheer fallacy to mistake a distinction of degree 
 for one of kind, and to distort the unknown into 
 
10 THE SPIRIT OP MAN 
 
 the unknowable ; a fallacy rooted in a childish 
 impatience of difficulties, and issuing in the pas- 
 sionate assertion, that what we don't understand 
 can't be understood. 
 
 Thus Mr. Spencer is induced, by some diffi- 
 culties with regard to Time and Space, and by 
 a radical misunderstanding of the philosophical 
 meaning of infinity, to declare 'that the reality 
 existing behind all appearances is, and must ever 
 be, unknown.' ' Again : ' Ultimate Scientific Ideas 
 are all representative of realities that cannot be 
 comprehended. After no matter how great a 
 progress in the colligation of facts and the 
 establishment of generalisations ever wider and 
 wider — after the merging of limited and derivative 
 truths in truths that are larger and deeper has 
 been carried no matter how far — the fundamental 
 truth remains as much beyond reach as ever.' * 
 And so again : ' Manifestly, as the most general 
 cognition at which we arrive cannot be reduced 
 to a more general one, it cannot be understood.' ^ 
 
 ' First Principles, p. 69. ' lb, p. 66. • lb, p. 73. 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITV II 
 
 Now when the nature of Ultimate truth, or 
 Infinity, or the Absolute, is properly understood, 
 it does not guarantee such conclusions as these. 
 Infinity is to be sought in the system of know- 
 ledge, not outside it. It is not the negation of 
 experience, but the completion of experience as 
 an articulated whole. Absolute truth is being 
 gradually attained in the more and more thorough 
 grasp and comprehension of the various items of 
 truth in their systematic relation to each other. 
 It is difficult enough to attain to such a com- 
 prehension ; but this is no reason for calling 
 it impossible. And to do so has very serious 
 results. For, whilst the existence of an ' un- 
 known' stimulates inquiry, the assertion of an 
 ' unknowable ' paralyses it' The Absolute is 
 indeed unknown, in the sense that we have not 
 yet attained to that completeness of a coherent 
 and comprehensive system of experience in which 
 
 ' I notice an identical statement (' tlie unknown stimulates, the 
 unknowable paralyses, knowledge ') in a sermon published in Mr. 
 Aubrey Moore's Essays Scientific and Philosophical, p. 265. 
 
12 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 Absolute truth consists. 'The Infinite' is still 
 beyond us, as an ideal of knowledge, self-explana- 
 tory, self-bounded, and self-contained. But these 
 are ideals of a perfect knowledge, and' not the 
 bugbear of a blank and featureless unknowable. 
 They are ideals, moreover, which are being gra- 
 dually realised as fresh insight into the connected- 
 ness of things is painfully acquired, and as the 
 unity of a systematic whole makes itself slowly felt 
 in the midst of the disjointed and the irrelevant. 
 
 Our result so far is that the ' copyist ' view 
 of knowledge breaks down, because on analysis 
 we find that there is nothing to be copied. The 
 apparent archetype, which knowledge was to imi- 
 tate, turned out on examination to be the system 
 of knowledge itself, gratuitously ' ejected ' from the 
 mind, and humorously termed ' unknowable.' 
 
 The next step must of necessity be to identify 
 knowledge and reality. But in what sense ? Is 
 one of them to be sacrificed to the other ? And, 
 if so, which? 
 
 (ii.) The first possible theory subordinate 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 13 
 
 knowledge to reality — makes knowledge one 
 particular manifestation of force or energy. 
 
 On this theory very little need be said. It 
 cannot stand the smallest criticism, and has by 
 implication been dealt with above. 
 
 It tells us that knowledge is one of the many 
 forms which a Protean Force is capable of as- 
 suming. But then the very fact that Force is 
 manifold in its appearances goes against the 
 theory. For it is the distinguishing mark of 
 knowledge that it is a unity comprising differ- 
 ences within itself. Knowledge is a synthesis of 
 differences ; it is through knowledge that we hold 
 together the various manifestations of Force, and 
 have been able so to compare them as to arrive 
 at the conception of Force itself Knowledge, as 
 the identity in which differences exist, cannot 
 itself be one of those differences. If Force be 
 either motion, or sound, or thought, where is the 
 unity in which they are identified ? Where is the 
 central one-ness of Force itself? To thought there 
 can be Force, because thought can compare and 
 
14 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 discern an identity underlying the differences in 
 light . and sound and motion ; and this identity, 
 intellectually apprehended, is what we mean by 
 Force. But, if thought be co-ordinated with 
 motion and light and sound, the bond of union 
 is at once dissolved and we are left with a bare 
 juxtaposition of disconnected facts. Force is a 
 mental concept, an item of knowledge, due to 
 elaborate intellectual processes of abstraction and 
 comparison. There is no more sense in calling 
 knowledge a manifestation of Force than in 
 calling the solar system a manifestation of some 
 particular star which it contains. And the same 
 must be said of those 'corpuscles,' whose cause 
 is so vigorously championed by Professor Case 
 in his Physical Realism. Mr. Case argues that 
 sensations and ideas can never form a basis for 
 physical science, because the structures and 
 motions of imperceptible particles, which physical 
 science proves to exist, cannot be mferred from 
 merely psychical data. There is no passage from 
 the psychical to the physical. Thus, if the teach- 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 15 
 
 ing of science is to be accepted, the data of sense, 
 from which it starts, niust be physical and not 
 psychical ; they must consist in ' the nervous 
 system itself sensibly affected. The hot felt is 
 the tactile nerves heated, the white seen- is the 
 optic nerves so coloured ' (p. 24). 
 
 But, in the first place, it is difficult to distinguish 
 ' the hot felt,' which is a physical object, from the 
 feeling of heat, which is a psychical sensation, and 
 by which the object is ' apprehended.' And if they 
 are distinct, how can there be a transition from one 
 to the other ? If, as Mr. Case asserts, there is no 
 passage from the psychical to the physical, how 
 can there be one from the physical to the psychical ? 
 In other words, how can 'a psychical operation 
 apprehend a physical object ? ' and how can there 
 be a further transition from a physical ohiect psychi- 
 cally apprehended to those intellectual inferences 
 which establish the reality of the imperceptible 
 world of science ? 
 
 Secondly, apart from this argumentum ad 
 homineni, it must be asserted that we have no 
 
i6 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 right to oppose physical objects to mental ideas 
 in this absolute fashion. So far as material 
 things are known to exist, they are ipso facto 
 ideas, or objects of knowledge constituted such 
 by the interpretation of sense by understand- 
 ing. And this account, which holds of perceived 
 objects, will hold a fortiori of imperceptible struc- 
 tures. Having swallowed the body, we are not 
 likely to strain at the corpuscle. Having explained 
 bodies as objects of knowledge, in the formation 
 of which reason has had a share, we shall explain 
 corpuscles as somewhat more complicated objects 
 of knowledge, in which the work of reason has 
 been somewhat greater. The philosophy of the 
 corpuscle will have its place as one subdivision in 
 our philosophy of nature. Mr. Case's protigis are 
 ideas without ceasing to be things ; they are ideas, 
 as being objects of knowledge inferred by science ; 
 and they are also things in so far as this inference is 
 a valid one. 
 
 (iii.) In sharp antithesis to this we have the 
 Other extreme theory, which says that Knowledge in 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 17 
 
 itself Reality. Fact is here resolved into idea ; 
 the universe of fact is held to consis-t in men's ideas, 
 taking idea in the wide sense as content of the 
 mind. Reality exists fully and exhaustively in 
 our ideas, and to seek it elsewhere is a sheer delu- 
 sion. Now, this idealism falls into two subdivisions 
 according to the view taken as to the nature and 
 constitution of these ideas, {a) By one section 
 (that of the subjective idealists) they are regarded 
 as particular feelings, uncompounded and unanalys- 
 able, hard, separate, and self-dependent, received 
 by reason ready made, and then sorted and ar- 
 ranged by reason according to the particular 
 sequences and combinations in which they have 
 made their appearance on particular occasions. 
 Reason is not their parent, but rather their 
 guardian, safe-guarding their independence and 
 controlling their vagaries, and finally (in Hume) 
 dispensed with altogeither as an effete and unneces- 
 sary adjunct. Particularity is the key-note of this 
 form of idealism ; and its main defect is its failure 
 to give us («) any adequate criterion of truth, or 
 
 C 
 
i8 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 {b) any adequate basis for the generalisations of 
 science ; both these shortcomings being due to the 
 fallacy of regarding ideas as ready-made particu- 
 lars, and not as rationally constructed universals. 
 With regard to the first point, neither Berkeley 
 nor Hume have any satisfactory standard for dis- 
 tinguishing fact from fancy. With both of them 
 the test of truth is found simply in the strength 
 or persistence of ideas, their vivacity, steadiness, 
 coherence, &c., qualities which, as Hume admits, 
 are often possessed by the falsest of delusions.' 
 
 With regard to science, subjective idealism 
 declares general knowledge to be impossible. 
 Berkeley, as a true particularist, denies that he can 
 form any ' abstract ' general ideas. ' Whether others 
 have the wonderful faculty of abstracting their ideas 
 they best can tell. For myself, I find, indeed, I have 
 a faculty of imagining, or representing to myself, the 
 idea of those particular things I have perceived, 
 and of variously compounding and dividing them. 
 
 ' Berkeley, Principles of Human Knmvledge, § 33 ; Hume, 
 Treatise of Human Nature, Book I. Part I. §§ i, 3. 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 19 
 
 I can imagine a man with two heads, or the upper 
 parts of a man joined to the body of a horse. I 
 can consider the hand, the eye, the nose, each by 
 itself abstracted or separated from the rest of the 
 body. But then, whatever hand or eye I imagme, 
 it must have some particular shape or colour. 
 Likewise the idea of man that I frame to myself 
 must be either of a white, or a black, or a tawny, 
 a straight or a crooked, a tall, or a low, or a middle- 
 sized man. I cannot by any effort of thought 
 conceive the abstract idea above described.' * 
 
 Berkeley does indeed allow that observations 
 and experiments may still be made with regard to 
 nature, and general conclusions drawn from them ; 
 but the validity of such conclusions rests not on 
 ' any immutable habitudes or relations between 
 things themselves,' but on ' God's goodness and 
 kindness to men in the administration of the 
 world.' ^ And he adds this significant conclusion : 
 'By a diligent observation of the phenomena within 
 
 ' Introduction to Principles of Human Knowledge, § 10. 
 ' Principles of Human Knowledge, § 107. 
 
 c 2 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 our view we may discover the general laws of 
 nature, and from them deduce the other phe- 
 nomena ; I do not say demonstrate, for all deduc- 
 tions of that kind depend on a supposition that 
 the Author of nature always operates uniformly, 
 and in a constant observance of those rules we 
 take for principles, which we cannot evidently 
 know.' ' 
 
 This belief in general laws is thus a belief in 
 the probable uniformity of action by the Deity as 
 a corollary to His goodness to mankind. It rests 
 entirely on the theory that true ideas are a direct 
 communication from the Deity, and it merely 
 means that these true particulars will probably 
 continue to come to us in the same combinations 
 and groupings in which they have been received 
 before. It implies not the substitution of uni- 
 versal for particulars, but only the apotheosis of 
 the particular. And no solid foundation for science 
 can be supplied by the particular, from whatever 
 source it may be derived. With Hume the ' sup- 
 
 ' Principles of Human Ktuwledge, § 107. 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 
 
 position that the future will resemble the past' 
 rests entirely on the customary conjunction of the 
 objects in past experience, is, as he himself declares, 
 completely devoid of rational justification, and, 
 further, entirely fails to explain the establishment 
 of a causal nexus on a single crucial instance. 
 
 And these defects in Berkeley and Hume are 
 not due to any looseness of philosophic terminology, 
 but to a radical error in their systems. They were 
 caused, as already suggested, by their failure to 
 see that the ideas which they talk about are essen- 
 tially rational, saturated with inference, not par- 
 ticulars but universals, not disconnected atoms but 
 related elements in a single whole. The ' tawny 
 man ' whom Berkeley accepts is as much a rational 
 universal as the ' man ' whom he rejects. And 
 Hume's original experience of a pa.rticular con- 
 junction implies a synthesising work of reason 
 which is competent to form universal conjunctions 
 too. 
 
 The moral here is that a true attitude to science 
 depends always on a true theory of perception, and 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 that sensationalism as a theory of perception 
 must logically lead to scepticism with regard to 
 science. 
 
 iV) These defects are partly met by a second 
 kind of idealism, which resolves reality not into a 
 sequence of particular feelings, but into a system 
 of related thoughts. These thoughts are universals, 
 absolutely rational in character, and inter-con- 
 nected with each other as members of a system 
 which is reason itself. In England the late Pro- 
 fessor T. H. Green has been the ablest champion 
 of this Objective Idealism, and we may take him 
 as its representative. According to Green, then, 
 reality consists in rational ideas systematically 
 connected in a single whole, within which the 
 various members affect and are affected by each 
 other ; the relations in which they stand to each 
 other constituting both the distinctive nature of 
 each several item and also the significance of the 
 system as a whole. 
 
 What, then, is the character of these ideas which 
 are thus related to each other, and how are they 
 distinguished from the ideas of the subjective 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 33 
 
 idealists, from Berkeley's ' ideas of sense ' and 
 Hume's ' impressions ? ' The answer is that to 
 Berkeley and Hume ideas were given facts, consti- 
 tuted independently of reason, and with regard to 
 which reason could act only as a sort of receiving 
 clerk or organising secretary, interpreting, sorting, 
 and arranging, but in no sense producing, them. 
 But to Green there is none of this outside relation 
 between reason and idea. Reason is implied in 
 idea ; apart from reason ideas would have no 
 meaning and no existence. ' A sensation can only 
 form an object of experience in being determined 
 by an intelligent subject which distinguishes it 
 from itself and contemplates it in relation to other 
 sensations' {Prolegomena to Ethics, § 44). And 
 the ideas thus constituted by reason become part 
 of reason, ' bone of its bone and flesh of its flesh ; ' 
 reason is the unity of system, and they are its 
 constituent elements. 
 
 Here three questions at once suggest them- 
 selves : — 
 
 I. Whence do these ideas get the substantiality 
 and solidity which belong to fact ? 
 
24 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 2. What bond of union, or guarantee of per- 
 manence, is possessed by these rational systems 
 existing in a number of separate individuals ? 
 
 3. How is the growth of experience accounted 
 for? 
 
 The answer to all these questions is that know- 
 ledge in each individual thinker comes as a direct 
 communication from a divine self-consciousness ; 
 that an eternal intelligence ' partially and gradually 
 reproduces itself in us, communicating piecemeal, 
 but in inseparable correlation, understanding and 
 the facts understood, experience and the experi- 
 enced world.' ' 
 
 This theory of communicative self-reproduction 
 answers the question as to the substantiality of 
 rational ideas by referring these ideas, conceived as 
 substantial, to an eternal intelligence, from which 
 they and their substantiality (understanding and 
 the facts understood, &c.) are afterwards imparted 
 to us. There is certainly a beautiful simplicity in 
 this explanation. For, of course, we can get out ot 
 
 ' ProU%. § 36. 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 25 
 
 an eternal intelligence just what we first put into 
 it. But sucH aT meffiod of solving a difficulty in 
 human knowledge by assuming its solution in a 
 non-human intelligence can scarcely be considered 
 satisfactory. It would seem to be a simpler and 
 more adequate explanation to regard sensation as 
 the thickening ingredient which, when mingled 
 with rational processes, produces the solidity of 
 fact. Green, however, for reasons given below, 
 deprecates this distinction between ' the form and 
 matter of experience ' (§ 43), and prefers to import 
 rational fact in concrete indissolubility from an 
 eternal consciousness ; he merely substitutes a 
 system of unanalysed universals for the sequence 
 of unanalysed particulars which the subjective ideal- 
 ists present to us. And his theory has further an 
 obvious resemblance to Berkeley's, in regarding 
 truth as directly transmitted from the divine to 
 the human consciousness. 
 
 Secondly, the permanence of truth is explained 
 by the same reference to 'a consciousness for 
 which the relations of fact that form the object of 
 
26 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 our gradually attained knowledge already and 
 eternally exist;' ' and the unity of truth is similarly 
 accounted for on the theory that this one eternal 
 consciousness is reproducing itself in many minds. 
 But in this latter point he certainly seems to 
 prove too much. He explains the unity of know- 
 ledge in a way which turns diversity and error 
 into insoluble enigmas. It is true that, in the 
 reproduction of itself, the eternal consciousness 
 uses the sentient life of the soul as its organ (§ 71), 
 and it is apparently this fact which is held account- 
 able for the differences and the blunders which 
 occur in the conceptions of the world as held by 
 various individuals. But then our knowledge of 
 the sentient life is part of the knowledge commu- 
 nicated to us. We have been, in fact, expressly 
 told that such sentient life has no independent 
 reality ; that it is a fact only so far as determined 
 by relations, and that these relations do not exist 
 for it, but for the thinking consciousness on which 
 it and they alike depend for being what they are 
 
 ' ProUg. § 69. 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 27 
 
 (§ 48). And now, on the contrary, the sentient 
 life appears as ' a thing in itself in the crudest 
 sense, receiving, but at the same time scattering 
 and adulterating, the divine message which filters 
 through it. The dualism of which Professor Green 
 has such a horror seems to reappear here in an 
 aggravated form. 
 
 Nor, lastly, does this theory of the self-repro- 
 duction of an eternal consciousness in human 
 minds really explain the development of human 
 knowledge. The natural account of the matter 
 would seem to be this. Knowledge is produced 
 by the inter-action of two elements which, though 
 inseparable in fact, are clearly distinguishable on 
 analysis, namely, sensation and a synthesising 
 reason. And the progress of knowledge is the 
 increasingly thorough and comprehensive expla- 
 nation of items of experience thus produced. 
 Sensation stimulates reason to form an object of 
 experience ; and reason then attempts to grasp and 
 understand this object in the light of its conditions 
 and relations. 
 
28 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 Now Professor Green refuses, as we stated above, 
 to accept this distinction of elements as a real one. 
 His main ground for this refusal (as stated in Prole- 
 gomena, §§ 42, S i) is that pure sensation — i.e., sensa- 
 tion unqualified by thought — is not a possible object 
 of experience. This is, of course, perfectly true, and 
 perhaps required emphatic statement. But when 
 we have admitted, or rather insisted, that the work 
 of reason upon sensation is necessary to the most 
 rudimentary experience, we are scarcely justified 
 in concluding that therefore sensation has no dis- 
 tinctive nature at all. And yet this is Green's 
 inference in the sections of his work referred to. 
 It is, of course, his dread of dualism which makes 
 him take this course, though, as we have seen, 
 dualism avenges itself upon him at the last. He is 
 afraid of setting up two separate sources of experi- 
 ence, and thereby establishing two separate worlds 
 of fact. But the fear is really groundless. A 
 duality of elements in experience is not a dual- 
 ism of sources of experience. We may assert a 
 duality of elements whilst at the same time we 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 29 
 
 s 
 
 maintain the singleness of experience itself, and 
 the inadmissibility of pretending to any knowledge 
 of the nature of each element taken separately, or 
 of the quota which each contributes to the forma- 
 tion of the experience which results from their joint 
 action. Such a theory may require exactness of 
 statement to avoid misconceptions ; but it is better 
 to risk some misconception than to do such violence 
 to the facts as is involved in Green's treatment of 
 sensation. 
 
 (iv.) Both the attempts at identifying Know- 
 ledge and Reality, as just described, have identified 
 them by sacrificing one to the other. But a more 
 real and thorough identification is possible. We 
 may refuse to hold a brief for Reality against 
 Knowledge, or for Knowledge against Reality. We 
 may believe in an identical world of Truth, of 
 which Knowledge and Reality are different aspects, 
 and in which sensation and reason are the con- 
 stituent elements. Truth is thus a ' concrete 
 identity ' resting on a fusion of differences, a fact 
 complex and yet single, produced by the inter- 
 
30 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 action of those elements. In talking of this con- 
 crete identity of Truth, we may wish to lay special 
 emphasis on one or other of the elements or 
 differences involved in it. We may be regarding 
 it from the point of view of reason, looking at it 
 as a difficult mental achievement of our own, as 
 the outcome of laborious processes of inference, 
 and in that case we shall call it knowledge. Or 
 we may be considering it rather as objective fact, 
 as the interpretation of an imperious message from 
 without which may come^to^^thers too, as not 
 restricted to our own mental history, but as a 
 possession held by us in common with our fellow- 
 creatures — and in that case we shall call it reality. 
 But in distinguishing these aspects of truth we do 
 not mean to oppose them to each other. Know- 
 ledge is only a subjective name for reality, and 
 reality an objective name for knowledge. ' Reality ' 
 emphasises the presence of sensation : • Know- 
 ledge' gives prominence to the work of reason. 
 But sensation must be interpreted by reason to 
 produce reality ; and reason must be stimulated 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 31 
 
 by sensation to build up knowledge. Truth is one 
 indivisible whole, which may be called either 
 knowledge or reality according to the special 
 aspect which we wish to emphasise. We cannot 
 contrast knowledge with reality, because they are 
 the same. We can contrast sensation with reason, 
 but only as elements distinguishable on analysis, 
 elements equally indispensable for the production 
 of truth. It is vain to attempt any disruption of 
 that one universe of truth, vain to try to assess 
 the precise contribution of each of the two ele- 
 ments. We cannot say how much reason does, 
 and how much is brought with it by sensation. 
 All such speculations are fore-ordained to failure. 
 Truth is one concrete whole. And not the least 
 important of the lessons which Kant may teach us 
 is the one which in his own case was never wholly 
 learnt, namely, the impossibility of referring to 
 reason, apart from sense, a certain amount of truth 
 (e.g., that system of categories which is nothing 
 less than a complete ground-plan of the future 
 edifice of experience) ; and the impossibility again 
 
32 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 of crediting sense, apart from reason, with other 
 items of information, empirical information given 
 in the so-called judgments of perception.' In 
 opposition to all such attempts we must maintain 
 the unity and indivisibility of truth. And yet, on 
 the other hand, we must not ignore the fact that 
 within this unity of truth there is a diversity of 
 elements, elements which, are none the less distinct 
 in character because they are inseparable in opera- 
 tion. The synthesising reason is for ever distinct 
 from the stimulus of sense. And so the relation 
 of reason to the world of truth is not creation but 
 production. ' Macht zwar Verstand die Natur, aber 
 er schafft sie nicht.' 
 
 We still require an explanation of the ultimate 
 origin of these elements themselves. It is true 
 that we cannot profitably inquire what each of 
 
 ' See his Kritik oj Pure Reason, Analytik i. § 3, and Prolego- 
 mena, ii. § 55. Dr. Hutchison Stirling points out (Mind, Nos. 36, 
 37) that it was the treatment of the categories in the Kritik which 
 led to the treatment of perception in the Prolegomena. The doctrine 
 of concrete identity was one of Hegel's greatest contributions to 
 philosophy. 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 33 
 
 them would be in itself; but we are bound to ask 
 whence they come, and to form, at any rate, a 
 reasonable hypothesis on the subject. Now, Chris- 
 tianity is not itself concerned with a metaphysic of 
 knowledge, but it insists emphatically that God is 
 the creator of the universe, and incidentally this 
 doctrine has the greatest importance and signifi- 
 cance for such a metaphysic. It implies that both 
 our own interpreting reason and the message from 
 without which stimulates it to activity, come from 
 God, who is thus ultimately the creator of the 
 world we know, because He, has made both, those 
 elements from whose union and inter-action the 
 world of truth springs into being. And such a 
 doctrine has the great philosophical merit of assert- 
 ing an ultimate affinity between the constituent 
 elements of truth. They not only coalesce and 
 co-operate to produce experience, but also proceed 
 from a common source. United in their goal, they 
 are united also in their origin. Thus we have 
 here the final solution of the problem alluded to 
 above, It is impossible to recognise a juxta- 
 
 D 
 
34 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 position of alien elements in truth ; such a theory 
 Would put dislocation and multiplicity in place of 
 unity. And in our anxiety to escape from such a. 
 conclusion we are tempted to take refuge in a ' cheap 
 and easy monism,' which denies that there is any 
 diversity of elements at all, thereby contradicting 
 a patent fact of experience. The view before us 
 yields a far more adequate explanation. Accord- 
 ing to it, there is a distinction of elements within 
 the unity of truth, but these elements are in no 
 sense aliens but are made by the same divine 
 creator. The concrete identity of truth is finally 
 guaranteed and justified when the elements that 
 are differences in that identity are themselves seen 
 to be reconciled in a common origin. 
 
 The result is that the world of truth is both 
 our world and God's world. First, it is our world. 
 It is constructed by our reason reacting upon the 
 stimulus of sense. The whole universe of colour 
 and sound, of law and order, of connections and 
 affinities, is our own production, not a stranger 
 confronting us from without, but our own offspring, 
 
KNOWLEDGE AND REALITY 35 
 
 the child of our imagination and our thought. 
 Truth is not transmitted to us ready made from an 
 eternal self-consciousness, but is formed by each of 
 a number of individual spirits, who, as created and 
 not proceeding, have a nature different from, 
 though dependent upon, the nature of the creator. 
 In realising this individuality in the way of know- 
 ledge they may make blunders, and one man's 
 theory of the world may well differ from another's. 
 Individuality has its probation in the matter of 
 knowledge as well as in the matter of morality. 
 Patience and co-operation are required in the one 
 as much as in the other. 
 
 But, secondly, the world is also God's world. 
 God has created the elements from which the uni- 
 verse of truth is fashioned, and so we may be sure 
 that the self-consistent body of objective know- 
 ledge which we gradually attain by purging out 
 errors and removing prejudices has its counterpart, 
 under whatever form, in God Himself. Space 
 and time may be distinctively human forms of 
 thought, and may act as necessary limitations 
 
 D2 
 
36 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 to human knowledge; and, further, man may 
 have lost a directness of spiritual intuition which 
 he once possessed. To God, truth would seem 
 to be the contemplation of a person ; to us, it 
 is the interpretation of a message, and an in- 
 terpretation which wilfulness and conceit have 
 rendered unnecessarily hard. But, nevertheless, 
 the message, the ' irritant ' which stimulates us to 
 activity, comes from God, who has also created 
 the human spirit which responds to the appeal. 
 Therefore knowledge, however laboriously and 
 imperfectly acquired, is still a revelation of God ; 
 God is the pledge of its unity and permanence ; 
 our truth is also the truth as it is in Him. 
 
37 
 
 II 
 
 THE NATURE OF MAN AND THE WORK OF CHRIST 
 
 We have attempted to show that Knowledge and 
 Reality are related as different aspects of one con-. 
 Crete identity of Truth, which is on the one hand 
 our Truth (the conquest and achievement of many 
 individuals), and on the other hand is the Truth 
 (being due to the progressive ' inter-action of ele- 
 ments created by the . Deity). And the same 
 theory which holds of the nature of the universe, 
 will naturally hold also of the nature of man, 
 since Truth is the realisation and expression of 
 man's nature. As was the universe, then, so also 
 is man a concrete identity yielding differences of 
 aspect, because compounded of distinct elements. 
 And just as with regard to the universe blunders 
 
38 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 and fallacies resulted mainly from false abstrac- 
 tion, so in the microcosm of man speculative error 
 and moral sin proceed mainly from one-sidedness, 
 from inability to maintain that single-centred har- 
 mony of nature which is the perfection of humanity. 
 The different aspects of man's nature are familiar 
 enough to us ; they are body, and the rational soul 
 or mind. What is their relation to each other, 
 and how are they both included in the central 
 unity of man ? Speculative philosophy is apt to 
 contrast them as strangers and rivals ; and moral 
 philosophy then proceeds to inquire on what terms 
 they are to associate. Are they to be independent 
 of each other, or is one to be supreme and the 
 other reduced to bondage ? The latter alternative 
 is generally selected. The deep conviction which 
 every man possesses of the unity of his nature 
 makes it impossible for him to uphold a thorough 
 and consistent dualism in this matter. And so, in 
 ignorance of the real nature of the unifying prin- 
 ciple, he tends to identify himself with one or 
 other of these aspects of his nature. He either 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OP CHRIST 39 
 
 asserts that he is mind, and tliat body is an irra- 
 tional and rebellious animal, to be first subjugated 
 and then ignored, or he maintains that he is body, 
 a physical organism regulated by pleasure and 
 pain, and that ' reason is and ought to be only the 
 slave of the passions.' And yet the attempt to 
 establish the supremacy of either necessarily fails. 
 Suppose the body to be set up as sovereign, and 
 reason to be its minister, still the existence of 
 reason even in that subordinate position prevents 
 the man from becoming merely body. With the 
 best will in the world he cannot make himself a 
 brute so long as reason survives at all. And if 
 reason were to perish altogether, the victory of 
 body would >eally be defeat, since bodily Satisfac- 
 tions gain their allurement through self-conscious- 
 ness. And, on the other hand, a similar triumph 
 achieved by the mind would imply its complete 
 sterilisation and utter inactivity, since desire or 
 passion of some sort is necessary to action, and in 
 all passion and desire the body is a necessary con- 
 dition. All rational motives have their psychical 
 
40 TBE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 counterpart in desire, and, as motives are the 
 mainspring of action, the attempt to eliminate 
 desire means the paralysis of action. Thus the 
 victory of either combatant implies the destruction 
 of the other, and thereby also the ruin of itself. 
 Conflict, then, is pernicious and absurd, since each 
 element involves the other and cannot exist with- 
 out it. But cannot they associate together on the 
 terms of an armed neutrality ? Cannot body and 
 soul each live its own life, each respect the 
 interests and requirements of the other, and so 
 exhibit a sort of federal union within the self .' To 
 put the question thus still implies that body and 
 mind are more independent than is in reality the 
 case. In matter of fact they are but different 
 aspects of the self, which by a process of abstrac- 
 tion can identify itself now with the one and now 
 with the other. The self looked at from one 
 point of view is the body ; looked at from another 
 point of view it is the soul. It is the self alone 
 which has concrete truth. A loose federation, 
 therefore, between body and mind would be not 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 41 
 
 success but failure. It would not be the establish- 
 ment of friendly relations between powers that are 
 naturally independent, but rather the disruption 
 and dismemberment of what is essentially one. 
 This unity of the self is a primary characteristic of 
 human nature ('the rational soul and flesh are 
 one man '), and must be kept steadily in view. 
 Instead, then, of first positing an unreal severance 
 of body and mind, and then attempting to discover 
 a modus vivendi for them — instead, that is, of say- 
 ing what is untrue and then trying to evade the 
 consequences — it would be well to adhere to this 
 central truth of humanity, and to ask. What is the I 
 one self, of which body and mind are the different 
 aspects .' The answer may be given in the one 1 
 
 word ' spirit.' Spirit is the comprehensive unity | 
 
 1 
 in which mind and body, thought and feeling, are i 
 
 reconciled and combined. Spirit is the true and 
 essential personality of man ; the spiritual life is 
 the life lived by man in the wholeness and inte- 
 grity of his nature. In comparison with spirit, 
 mind and body are mere dislocated fragments of 
 
42 THE SPIRIT OP MAN 
 
 humanity. And the distinctness which they now 
 possess, the clearness of their severance from each 
 other, is itself the result of sin. The failure of 
 man was his failure to maintain this central unity 
 unimpaired, his attempt to identify himself exclu- , 
 sively with one or other of its different aspects, 
 ignoring or denying the existence of the other. 
 The Fall of Man was a fall from his true nature as 
 a spiritual creature ; and since man, as spirit, was 
 made in God's image, it was also an act of apostasy 
 from God. Man, as a spirit, was at first in full 
 and unclouded communion with God the Father 
 of spirits. Without the exercise of the discursive 
 understanding he enjoyed that which is now the 
 distant goal of moral, religious, and scientific effort, 
 namely, an eternal life in which the spirit of man 
 is in communion with God as the source and sum 
 of truth. The Fall was in its first phase an act of 
 rebellious self-will, undertaking the conduct of life 
 and the search for truth through severance from 
 God. Morally, it was the repudiation of the fact 
 of sonship and the adoption of the principle of 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 43 
 
 lawlessness; intellectually, it was the substitution 
 of mind for spirit. Instead of the intuitive con- 
 tact of spirit with Him who is the truth, we now 
 have tlie laborious, discursive, piecemeal opera- 
 tions of the understanding, adding and comparing 
 and inferring and conjecturing. The Fall was thus \ 
 a real fall. It was not a transition from igno- 
 rance to knowledge, but a transition from a higher 
 to a lower form of knowledge, from the insight of 
 the spirit to the inferences of the understanding. 
 It was, in fact, a disruption of the unity of the 
 spirit, a disintegration of spirit into the differences 
 of mind and body. He who before had been a 
 single-centred spiritual creature in immediate con- 
 tact with a spiritual creator, chose to turn rather to 
 the dissection of himself; and the result of this 
 dissection was the antithesis of mind and body. 
 Identifying himself with mind, he takes up an 
 attitude of outsideness and ' otherness ' to body. 
 Body, which was an essential element in spirit, is a 
 stranger, an alien, an object of curiosity to mind. 
 And so man, as mind, investigates body, and dis- 
 
44 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 covers that through body he is a part of nature, 
 with a kinship to the brutes, with antecedents and 
 connections to be examined, and a past that can 
 be partially recovered. He has resolved his 
 original unity of spirit into a dualism of alien ele- 
 ments, a material element and a rational element ; 
 and this schism which he has produced in himself 
 is the source of his unhappiness. Moreover, as 
 suggested just now, it is a schism which reaches 
 out beyond his own individual self. Having 
 posited body in antithesis to reason, he proceeds 
 to posit nature in antithesis to God. For nature 
 is body writ large. It is the material aspect of 
 truth which has been forced into a false abstrac- 
 tion, and endowed with an unreal independence, by 
 the disruption of the spirit. When man was un- 
 corrupted spirit, that which fronted him from with- 
 out was God, as the living reason and truth of 
 things. But now that man has resolved himself 
 into body and understanding, that which fronts 
 him from without is material nature, //«j the con- 
 ception of a maker. God, "the divine spirit, who is 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 45 
 
 the unity of truth, is resolved into a world of 
 nature on the one hand and a presumable creator 
 on the other. 
 
 But the Fall was even more than this. It was 
 not merely the false abstraction which thus posited 
 body in an unreal antithesis to mind, and nature 
 in a false antagonism to God. Things could not 
 stop at that point. A crude dualism had been 
 effected. Mind and body stood confronting each 
 through the corruption of the spirit. But a deeper 
 pitch of corruption was reached when man at- 
 tempted to overcome that antithesis by merging 
 himself in body, by making body the sovereign 
 power, and reason the slave of the passions. It 
 was a crude attempt to re-establish a unity of 
 nature by sacrificing the higher of the rival ele- 
 ments to the lower. Thus the first stage in the 
 Fall was the disintegration of spirit into body and 
 mind, and the second stage was the enslavement 
 of mind to body. It appears in the twofold form 
 of intellectual self-will and moral degradation, as 
 described both in Genesis and by St. Paul in the 
 
46 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 first chapter of. his Epistle to the Romans. St. Paul 
 
 well brings out this double nature of the Fall, 
 
 and shows that its fatal effects were a:lso twofold. 
 
 Intellectually it issued in vain reasonings and a 
 
 darkened understanding ; man's unaided efforts 
 
 after wisdom resulted in the folly of putting nature 
 
 in the place of God. But, inseparably connected 
 
 with this, there was a moral lapse into naturalism, 
 
 a glorification of natural desires, tending to sink 
 
 still lower into unnatural depravity. Man, dissa-' 
 
 tisfied with mind as a substitute for spirit, resorts 
 
 to animalism as a substitute for mind. Such was 
 
 the Fall : the introduction of schism and discord 
 
 into man's nature, the substitution of conflicting 
 
 elements, militant one-sidednesses, for the primal 
 
 unity of the spirit. And the subsequent history of 
 
 man is the history of his struggles to transcend 
 
 that dualism and find peace and truth once more, 
 
 struggles which are enshrined in the development 
 
 of Religion and Politics, Art and Science. All this 
 
 development is subsequent to the Fall, and is the 
 
 effort to meet its consequences and overcome the 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 47 
 
 discord which it introduced. Having forfeited his 
 immediate contact with the truth, man had to 
 grope after it by the patient toihng and scheming 
 of his reason, creeping slowly and painfully for- 
 ward until he reached once more the threshold of 
 the spiritual, and was enabled to be again admitted 
 to the spiritual life. 
 
 And here we must avoid a serious mistake. 
 The Fall must not be sought as a phase or event in 
 the history of man's development. It was rather 
 that which made his actual development both 
 possible and necessary. The Christian doctrine of 
 the Fall, following a sinless state, has nothing in 
 common with the legends of a Golden Age. It 
 does not tell us of a decline from a higher to a 
 lower grade of human culture. It does explain to 
 us how any gradual culture of man's mind and 
 conscience came to be required. In the eyes of 
 Christianity the course of human development has 
 ever been upwards from the lower to the higher, 
 but the original condition of this development itself 
 was man's fall from the spiritual state. The Fall 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 was not a process by which a civilised man became 
 a barbarian, but the process by which a spiritual 
 man became a natural man, and thereby entered 
 upon the course of development from savagery to 
 civilisation. This is beautifully expressed in the 
 following lines from the ' Dream of Gerontius : ' — 
 
 Woe to thee, man ! for he was found 
 
 A recreant in the fight ; 
 And lost his heritage of heaven 
 
 And fellowship with light. 
 
 Above him now the angry sky, 
 
 Around the tempest's din ; 
 Who once had angels for his friends, 
 
 Had but the brutes for kin. 
 
 O man ! a savage kindred they ; 
 
 To flee that monster brood 
 He scaled the seaside cave, and clomb 
 
 The giants of the wood. 
 
 With now a fear, and now a hope, 
 With aids which chance supplied. 
 
 From youth to eld, from sire to son. 
 He lived and toiled and died. 
 
 He dreed his penance age by age ; 
 
 And step by step began 
 Slowly to doff his savage garb, 
 
 And be again a man. 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORIC OF CHRIST 49 
 
 And quickened by the Almighty's breath, 
 
 And chastened by His rod, 
 And taught by Angel-visitings, 
 
 At length he sought his God ; 
 
 And learned to call upon His name. 
 
 And in His faith create 
 A household and a fatherland, 
 
 A city and a State. 
 
 Such progress was right and good. It started 
 from the dualism of mind and body, and refused 
 to acquiesce in the supremacy of body over mind. 
 It was man's struggle to establish the mastery of 
 mind. But at the same time this struggle was 
 accompanied by the growing conviction that he 
 could only attain success, or win salvation, in so 
 far as he was something more than mind. The 
 real goal was not the subjection of the body to the 
 mind, but the redemption of the body and its co- 
 ordination with the mind through the restoration 
 of a spiritual unity. 
 
 We are now in a position to glance at the 
 psychology of man as engaged in this process of 
 historical development. ' Spirit, soul, and body ' 
 
 E 
 
so THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 {irvsvua, ■^^vxV) o-&fia) are enumerated as constituent 
 elements by St. Paul.' 
 
 ^vxv seems to mean what we should call 
 sentient life, the life of an animal organism ; and 
 so, the whole group of powers, functions, and 
 impulses which are natural to such an organism. 
 Thus it is closely bound up with (tSujm, body; 
 ■^vyj] and o-w/ia together make up the nature of 
 man as an animal. And it is just because man is 
 something more than an animal, that the adjective 
 i/rw^iKos has a bad meaning in the New Testament, 
 It is used by St. Paul in sharp antithesis to 
 irvsvfiaTiKos, spiritual. The -y^vj^^Licos avOpcoiros 
 confines his view to the sphere of the visible and 
 tangible. Anything ideal or spiritual is foolish- 
 ness to him. The word, in fact, has very much 
 the same meaning as aapKiKos, carnal. Both refer 
 to a degenerate nature of man ; so far as the 
 terms are distinguished, i^rvxtKos would seem to 
 describe a more developed and self-assertive form 
 of evil. tapKiKos refers rather to immoral actions 
 ' I Thess. V. 23. 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 51 
 
 or desires ; ■^v')(i,kos to the immoral theory which 
 attempts to justify them. Qui o-apKtKos, the man 
 does wrong ; qui yfrvxtKos, he declares wrong-doing 
 to be ' natural ' or inevitable. The one state is 
 enslavement to the body ; the other is its corollary, 
 denial of the spirit. But the expression aapKiKos, 
 which is frequently used, is often made to include 
 in itself the more special significance of the rare 
 word ■ylrvxtKos} Finally, an intellectual faculty, 
 a mind or understanding, is of course involved in 
 this degenerate life ; but it is an understanding 
 which has been degraded by the service in which 
 it is enlisted. Its existence is made explicit in 
 such expressions as vovs aBoKi/Mos, or ^povqfia 
 a-apKos, ' a reprobate mind,' ' a carnal mind.' 
 
 XS)fUi, body, is a neutral term, applicable to man 
 
 ' The adjective ^vxiichs is only found six times in the New 
 Testament. Four of these passages are in St. Paul's First Epistle 
 to the Corinthians (ii. 14, xv. 44, twice, and 46). In all of them 
 the word is opposed to irveujiioTiKJs, and is translated ' natural. ' 
 In the other two (James iii. 15 and Jude 19) it is translated 
 'sensual.' In the former it is apphed to the wisdom which de- 
 scendeth not from above ; and in the latter it is explained as 
 unspiritual (' sensual, having not the Spirit'). 
 
 E2 
 
52 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 either in a sinless state or in his fallen condition. 
 Its special sense is fixed in various passages by the 
 adjective which qualifies it. The ■^v')(iKov a&fia, 
 natural body, is the body of materialised man, 
 subject to death and corruption. The irvevfiaTiKov 
 (T&fia, spiritual body, is the body of man restored 
 and renewed in the resurrection-life. Sometimes, 
 instead of an adjective, a qualifying expression is 
 added to fix the meaning, as in aiofia tov davdrov, 
 (T&na TTJs afiaprias, autfia rrjs rairsivaycrems, and 
 even (r&fia rfjs aapKos, ' body of death,' ' body of 
 sin,' ' body of humiliation,' ' body of the flesh.' ^ 
 
 Ii.vsvfia, spirit, is the highest and truest nature 
 of man ; it is man as he once was, as he ought to 
 be, and as he can be through the work of Christ 
 and the indwelling of His Spirit. It is a unifying 
 principle, gathering up all the elements and powers 
 of man's nature into a single whole. The body, 
 
 ' Romans vii. 24 ; vi. 6 ; Philippians iii. 21 ; Colossians ii. 11. 
 In Colossians i. 22, the words ' in the body of his jBesh ' are 
 used to express the physical body of Christ as distinct from His 
 mystical body, the Church, mentioned in verse 18. See Light- 
 foot, in loc. 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 53 
 
 with its bodily life and impulses, is drawn up and 
 purified and made instrumental to the life of the 
 spirit ; it becomes a spiritual body. The old 
 discord ceases. The spiritual life is the life which 
 is really ' natural ' to the body, since the body is 
 no longer an independent and gluttonous animal, 
 but a partner in a single spiritual personality. It 
 is sensuality which is unnatural as well as blasphe- 
 mous. It is unnatural because it rends asunder 
 the one orderly and harmonious human life, the 
 life of the spirit ; and blasphemous, because this 
 spiritual life is the image and reflection of the life 
 of God. Man, then, as made by God and as re-made 
 in Christ, is a spirit, with a spiiritual body and a 
 spiritual understanding. The latter is often im- 
 plied and included in the comprehensive expression 
 •jTvsvfiM ; it is, in fact, simply spirit on the intel- 
 lectual side. Where, however, special emphasis is 
 to be laid upon It, it is called vovs, and appears as 
 the discerning, 'interpreting' capacity, unfolding 
 the nature of that inner and essential communion 
 with God in which the life of the spirit consists. 
 
S4 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 ' If I pray in an unknown tongue, my spirit 
 prayeth, but my understanding is unfruitful. What 
 is it then ? I will pray with the spirit, and I will 
 pray with the understanding also.' ' 
 
 One is struck throughout, in reading St. Paul, 
 by the small importance attached by him to 'rea- 
 son ' as such, as opposed to the supreme importance 
 attached to it in most ancient and modern systems, 
 and by the disappearance of the familiar contrast 
 of ' body ' and ' mind.' Reason is assumed as a 
 matter of course in each of the typical lives, the 
 degenerate life and the true life ; but it occupies 
 a subordinate position in each of them. The 
 spiritual life includes a capacity of discernment ; 
 and the carnal life includes a corruption of that 
 capacity. But the crucial antithesis is not between 
 the understanding and the body, but between the 
 spiritual life, in which a spiritual body and a spi- 
 ritual understanding are implied, and the carnal 
 life, in which a moribund body and a reprobate 
 understanding are equally implied. Instead of a 
 
 ' Cf. I Cor. xiv. 14, 15. 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 55 
 
 false and superficial contrast between two comple- 
 mentary elements in human nature (the body and 
 the understanding), we get a deep and ultimate 
 contrast between two opposite states of will, in 
 each of which those elements of human nature are 
 present, but by each of which they are used for 
 opposite ends. 
 
 The spiritual and the carnal, each with their 
 instruments and accessories, are the facts which 
 are contrasted. And it is in this doctrine of the 
 spirit in antithesis to the flesh that the originality 
 and the truth of the Christian philosophy of man 
 consists. 
 
 St. Paul was not one of those thinkers who 
 quietly acquiesce in the antagonism of mind and 
 body as an ultimate fact, and whose ideal of 
 humanity is either the triumph of the former over 
 the latter, or else a ' patchy compromise ' between 
 the two. To St. Paul the triumph of mind over 
 body would have been an utterly unmeaning phrase. 
 How can a vovs aSoKifios triumph over a ■<^v')(ikov 
 aw/ia ? How can the <}>p6vTj/ia crapKos govern and 
 
S6 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 subdue the o-apf ? They are far too closely asso- 
 ciated in : a common degradation. The mind as 
 we know it has only come to be such through its 
 enslavement to the body ; and, on the other hand, 
 the body has only been invested with its spurious 
 show of independent reality through the rebellious 
 mutiny of mind. No ; a corrupt body can be 
 neither vanquished nor guided by a degraded 
 mind. Satan cannot cast out Satan ; the blind 
 cannot lead the blind. Man can only live his 
 true life by recovering his spiritual endowment, 
 in which body and mind may be once more 
 united, and by which they may be purified. And 
 the restoration of the spirit was the work of 
 Christ. 
 
 In order to understand the significance of that 
 work, we must conceive as clearly as we can, from 
 the side of man, the nature of the need. This 
 need was, as suggested above, nothing more nor 
 less than' the remaking of man as a spiritual 
 being, the restoration to him of that spiritual 
 nature which had been marred and degraded in 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST S7 
 
 the Fall. That was the problem ; and the charac- 
 ter of the problem imposed two conditions on any 
 solution that was to be satisfactory. First, the 
 restitution could only be effected by a creative act. 
 The unaided efforts of men themselves could never 
 have accomplished it. The Fall was the rending 
 asunder of man's spiritual nature, and his conse- 
 quent alienation from a spiritual God. And sub- 
 sequent history had emphasised and confirmed 
 these facts. The Law had convinced humanity of 
 weakness, of inability to observe a spiritual code 
 of commandments. And the moral struggle itself 
 had borne witness in the same direction. For 
 the moral struggle was a contest of rival ele- 
 ments, an attempt on the part of a naturalised 
 reason to control a group of animalised desires, 
 an attempt on which it entered without creden- 
 tials and without authority, an attempt in which 
 it was foredoomed to the failure of the sons of 
 Sceva. 
 
 Of course, men could still do something to 
 help each other. A feeling of human sympathy 
 
S8 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 prompted much noble philanthropic work, in which 
 the more generous minds attempted to make life 
 a little less miserable and comfortless for others. 
 But this materialistic philanthropy was in no sense 
 an answer to the problem. The problem was : 
 How can the spirit of man be restored to its eternal 
 life of union with God ? And materialistic philan- 
 thropy does not touch this question. It takes the 
 sin and misery of the world as a given fact, neces- 
 sary and inexplicable, and tries to make the condi- 
 tions of life in it a little less intolerable. It wages 
 war on untrapped sinks and defective dust-bins. 
 Its watchwords are thrift and sanitation. Its ideal 
 is a state of society in which every citizen shall 
 subscribe to a provident dispensary, and be a 
 member of a benefit society and a burial club. 
 The progress of society through the increase of 
 material comfort and the diffusion of useful know- 
 ledge, this is its aim and principle. It deals 
 in averages and statistics. The individual is an 
 instance of economic laws, an item in scientific 
 classifications. If we ask : What of the infinite 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 59 
 
 nature and the infinite destiny of each of these indi- 
 viduals ? such philanthropy is speechless. Brought 
 face to face with the pressing problem of humanity, 
 it has no answer to give and no remedy to propose. 
 It hovers on the circumference of man's degrada- 
 tion, and never pierces to the centre of the mystery. 
 It does what it can to meet the effects of sin, but 
 shrinks from attempting to eliminate the cause. 
 Moreover, a vague sense of this deficiency leads it 
 more and more to lose sight of the value of indi- 
 vidual personality. It feels that it can do very 
 little for the individual, and so tends to ignore and 
 disparage him, concentrating its attention rather 
 on the evolution of the race than on the salvation 
 of the man. But, as opposed to this philosophy 
 of despair — for such it is, in spite of the air of 
 complacent optimism which it usually assumes — 
 Christianity is occupied with the nature of the 
 individual man. To Christianity the crucial ques- 
 tion is not : How can the naturalised life of man 
 be made more endurable under existing circum- 
 stances, or under such a change of circumstances 
 
6o THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 as may be effected in the course of generations ? 
 but rather : How can this naturalised life be 
 abolished, and its place taken by a spiritual life 
 like that which man possessed at the beginning ? 
 Christianity is not behind any other system in the 
 importance which it attaches to hygienic and edu- 
 cational reform, or in the zeal with which it has 
 tried to accomplish them. Only it refuses to allow 
 such reforms to be severed from spiritual reform, 
 just as it refuses to allow the bodily life and desires 
 to have an independent nature and value of their 
 own. Man is one, and man is spirit, with a spiritual 
 understanding and a spiritual body. This is the 
 fact which must govern any attempt at restoration, 
 and it is a fact which condemns ignorance and 
 vice with unequalled authority, since in the light 
 of this fact they become, not merely foolish and 
 impolitic, but wrong and impious. Man, then, can 
 only be raised effectively if he is raised in one 
 piece and as a spirit. And this spiritual restora- 
 tion was only possible through a creative act. 
 Mere repentance was, as St. Athanasius argues, 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 6i 
 
 insufficient for the work. Sin had weakened and 
 
 corrupted the power of man's will, and repentance 
 
 could never by itself restore a capacity which had 
 
 been lost. ' If there had been sin only, and not 
 
 a consequence in the form of corruption, repentance 
 
 had been well. But if, when the transgression had 
 
 once made a start, men were forced into a condition 
 
 of natural corruption, and had lost the grace of 
 
 living in the image of God (ij rov Kar sIkovu ^dpis), 
 
 what was to be done ? What was wanted to recall 
 
 men to this grace but the Word of God, who at the 
 
 beginning had made all things out of nothing ? ' ' 
 
 And, secondly, the notion of a restoration implies 
 
 that the continuity of the human race should be 
 
 maintained. There was to be a re-creation of 
 
 sinful man, and not a fresh creation of a sinless 
 
 race. What was needed was that ' flesh and blood 
 
 which did in Adam fail, should strive again against 
 
 the foe, should strive and should prevail' The 
 
 original creation was from without; the re-creation 
 
 must be effected within the series of human history. 
 
 ' De Incam. Verb. vii. § 4. 
 
62 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 It must be the endowment of fallen man with a 
 power to rise from his fall and regain his spiritual 
 personality. 
 
 The two conditions of success, then, were that 
 the act should be (i) superhuman, and (2) within 
 the line of man's development. 
 
 ' In the fulness of time God sent forth His Son, 
 born of a woman.' In these words St. Paul de- 
 scribes how both conditions were fulfilled. The 
 superhuman nature and the human birth of Christ 
 are both affirmed, and both were necessary to the 
 performance of His work. In a similar sense 
 St. Athanasius writes : ' For this reason the incor- 
 poreal, incorruptible, immaterial Word of God 
 comes into our world, descending to it through 
 His love, and to manifest Himself to us. . . . 
 Seeing that all men had become liable to death, 
 pitying our race, and having compassion on our 
 weakness, and condescending to our corruption, 
 refusing to brook death's mastery over us, lest the 
 work which the Father had wrought upon men , 
 should be destroyed and come to nought, He takes 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 63 
 
 to Himself a body, and a body not alien to our 
 own.' ' 
 
 What, then, was this work of Christ, so far as 
 it affected and transformed human nature ? That 
 is the question with which in this connection 
 Christian philosophy is concerned. Its interest 
 lies in man ; it is content to view the redemptive 
 act from the side of man, leaving to theology the 
 speculations which centre round the Godhead. 
 Shortly, then, we may describe Christ's work by 
 saying that the divine Son identified Himself with 
 a degraded humanity, and thereby restored to 
 humanity its relation of Sonship to the Father. 
 And this work of atonement subdivides itself into 
 two facts : the fact of the Incarnation and the fact 
 of the Resurrection, a complete identification of 
 Himself with humanity, and the maintenance of 
 His own divine Sonship unimpaired. First came 
 the Incarnation. This was accomplished by His 
 human birth, by His earthly life, and by His death 
 upon the cross. In all three combined we have a 
 ' De Incarn. Verb, viii. § 2. 
 
64 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 single process, the process by which He made 
 Himself completely man. It is, I think, a mistake, 
 and one which has had unhappy consequences, to 
 confine the Incarnation to the birth of Christ. 
 This treatment gives an undue finality to what 
 was but the first step in the process whereby He 
 took our nature upon Him. A result which was 
 really effected by the birth and life and death of 
 Christ IS thus ascribed solely to the first, and the 
 consequence is that the significance of His life in 
 the scheme of salvation is apt to be ignored, and 
 the significance of His death is apt to be distorted. 
 His death was the finishing of the sacrifice, of His 
 condescension to our humanity, which had been 
 begun in His human birth and continued in His 
 human life. And, then, secondly, came the Resur- 
 rection, in which mankind, thus united to Christ, 
 was raised from the dead to a new life of freedom 
 and righteousness. Through the Incarnation Christ 
 had descended to the level of man ; through the 
 Resurrection man was carried up to the presence 
 of God. In the two together the great work of 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 65 
 
 the Atonement wa^ completed. But we must con- 
 sider each a little more in detail ; and, first, the 
 Incarnation. 
 
 By the birth of Christ, which was the first step 
 in that Incarnation, human nature was made the 
 vehicle of a pure and spiritual life. Creative spirit 
 put on the form and fashion of a creature ; in 
 Christ the body was made once more a spiritual 
 body; the course of the corruption which had 
 reigned in it was arrested ; the plague was stayed. 
 And this was much, but it was not all that was 
 required. Christ by His human birth was perfect, 
 spiritual man ; but, by the very perfection of that 
 spiritual manhood, was out of touch with a man- 
 hood which was carnal and degraded. The birth, 
 taken by itself, would have been merely a 
 stupendous, incomprehensible fact, but not a re- 
 novating power. The Son of Man must do more 
 than be born as a human creature. He must take 
 humanity with its weakness and its sins. It was 
 by His human life that He took to Himself the 
 weakness of humanity, identifying Himself thereby 
 
 F 
 
66 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 with the sickness and the weariness and the sad- 
 ness of the world. And the life thus lived went 
 far to make Him very man, as the gracious child, 
 born to- a stainless human nature, grew into the 
 man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. But 
 underlying the weakness of humanity, as its cause 
 and origin, there was the more baffling disease, 
 the deeper mystery, of sin. Sinfulness, too, must 
 somehow be received into His nature, if He was 
 to be truly and indeed the Son of Man. Spiritual 
 humanity was His at birth ; suffering humanity 
 had been won in the course of that earthly life ; 
 sinful humanity had still to be made His own 
 through the agony of Gethsemane and Calvary. 
 Only then had He conquered the whole field of 
 our faNen nature, only then was the Incarnation 
 finished. And He took to Himself the sin of 
 man without forfeiting His own spiritual sinless- 
 ness ; for He took it in the form of its desolating 
 consequences— alienation from God, and death. 
 By a stupendous act of love He steeped His spirit 
 in "the sin of others, felt its defilement and cor- 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 67 
 
 ruption as the defilement and corruption of Him- 
 self, and in the horror of that feeling was sundered 
 from His union with the Father. And, further, 
 He stooped to death as the natural outcome, the 
 sign and symbol, of human sin. Death came by 
 sin. Sin was the disruption of spirit, and the 
 naturalising of the body; death was the dissolution 
 of the body as a natural phenomenon. In sub- 
 mitting to death, then. He outwardly and visibly 
 made man's sin His own. In this way Christ's 
 death was a vicarious sacrifice. Being sinless. He 
 was essentially free from the law of death ; but, 
 having received the sense of sin into Himself in 
 order to make His humanity complete. He further 
 submitted to death as the external consequence of 
 sin. Just as He had first forgiven the paralytic's 
 sin and then healed his body, so here He vicariously 
 receives the curse of human degradation, first in- 
 wardly in the agony of Gethsemane, then out- 
 wardly on the cross of Calvary. He died instead 
 of us, for He died in consequence of our sins ; He 
 who knew no sin' was made sin for us. 
 
 F 2 
 
68 THE SPIRIT OP MAM 
 
 In this way sin as well as sorrow was assumed 
 by Him together with His raiment of flesh and 
 blood. Then at last He had descended to our 
 level ; the first part of His work was done, He was 
 made man in all the fulness and completeness of 
 the word ; that was finished. 
 
 Secondly, the Resurrection proved that in 
 spite of the completeness of that Incarnation, 
 His divine power was unimpaired. It proved 
 that He had taken the manhood into God, and 
 had not converted the Godhead into flesh. The 
 manhood with its weakness and corruption had 
 been assumed in its integrity, but the nature 
 into which it had been taken proved itself divine. 
 The Resurrection was thus the crowning action 
 in the work of Christ, that to which all the others 
 were preparatory, and without which they must 
 lose their meaning. If Christ's work had ended 
 with His death, it would have failed as far as 
 the re-creation of man's nature was concerned. 
 The death without the Resurrection would have 
 implied, not our at-one-ment with God, but His 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 69 
 
 own estrangement from the Father. It would have 
 implied that the burden of humanity had proved 
 too heavy for Him, that it had crushed and de- 
 stroyed His own divinity, that man's reunion with 
 the Father had not been accomplished, that we 
 were yet in our sins. Salvation is put within our 
 reach not by one portion of Christ's work, but by 
 that work as a connected whole. Historically, the 
 death and Resurrection were, of course, distinct 
 events, but as a redemptive agency they are indis- 
 solubly connected. Strictly speaking, it is not the 
 death of Christ, but His Resurrection after deaths 
 which enables us to ' die to sin.' We escape, that 
 is, from bondage to sin through the power which 
 Christ's Resurrection possesses to put a new life 
 within our reach. He dies with us as sinful and 
 death-stricken creatures, descends to the lowest 
 depths of our degradation, that we may rise with 
 Him as the glorified and life-giving Christ. ' He 
 died for our sins, and rose again for our justifica- 
 tion.' It is in His death, as the Son of Man, that 
 we can receive Him ; it is through His communi- 
 
70 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 cated life, as the Son of God, that He enables us 
 to die to sin. We thus tend to sever the grace of 
 His passion from that of His Resurrection. But 
 the human and the divine are inseparably bound 
 together in Christ ; and thus it comes about that 
 in receiving Him in His passion we may be said to 
 die to sin. ' Our old man is crucified with Him, 
 that the body of sin might be destroyed, that 
 henceforth we should not serve sin ' (Romans 
 vi. 6). Christ's Resurrection is implicit in His 
 passion, and therefore by being united to the 
 dying Christ we gain the new life which is hid in 
 God. This fact adds a new truth to the reception 
 of Him in the Holy Eucharist. On the one hand 
 we receive Him there in the depth of His conde- 
 scension, as the sin-bearer with whom sinners may 
 have immediate contact; but yet He whom we 
 thus receive as the death-stricken son of man is 
 also the eternal and righteous one, who rose from 
 death because it was not possible that He should 
 be holden of it. If the first fact fills us with com- 
 fort, the second must inspire us with fear. He 
 
NAl^VRE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 71 
 
 comes to us there , in the fulness of His perfect 
 purity as a testing and refining fire, smiting us 
 with pain and anguish as He burns away our vile 
 passions and kills our selfish life. Christ dies with 
 us, but we are also to die with Christ. He dies 
 with us in His vicarious sacrifice ; He kills our 
 'natural' life by His inherent righteousness, and 
 in killing that natural life endows us with new 
 spiritual powers.^ 
 
 Thus it is through our union with Him as the 
 suffering and risen Son of Man, in whom the 
 true capacities of man have been restored, that we 
 put away sin and win the life of righteousness. 
 Through that union we become once more spiritual 
 creatures in communion with God the Creator, 
 without ceasing to have our place in the general 
 series of human development. The continuity of 
 human history is preserved unbroken, only a new 
 power has been bestowed upon it. ' As many as 
 
 ' ' O easy and indulgent doctrine ! To have the bloody cross 
 reared within us, and our heart transfixed, and our arms stretched 
 out upon it, and the sin of our nature slaughtered and cast 
 out ! ' — Newman on Justification, vii. ^ 
 
73 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 received Him, to them gave He power to become 
 the sons of God.' How this union with Christ is 
 effected by individuals will be considered in the 
 next chapter ; but we must now attempt to con- 
 firm and establish the view here taken of the work 
 of Christ by considering a different interpretation 
 of it. 
 
 This interpretation ' attempts to dissociate the 
 moral ideas of the Christian faith from the histo- 
 rical facts on which it is founded. The moral 
 ideas, we are told, are the really important thing, 
 and they may be treated without reference to 
 the particular way in which they came to be 
 enunciated. Historical matters of fact are the 
 mere setting or framework in which they are 
 enshrined. The historical genesis of the ideas 
 has an archaeological interest, but is independent 
 of the eternal and universal significance of the 
 ideas themselves. The great moral idea with 
 which Christ has enriched humanity is the idea 
 
 ' See T. H. Green's Lay Sermons, and Pfleiderer's Hibbert 
 Lectures, 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 73 
 
 of unselfishness, the idea of dying to sin and 
 rising again to a new life of righteousness. This 
 idea had its historical setting in the story of the 
 work of Christ ; but it is itself independent of 
 that setting. The death and resurrection of Christ 
 are valuable not in themselves as historical facts, 
 but having occasioned the enunciation of the idea 
 which was involved in the narrative. Moreover, 
 the idea of a new life, arising from the abandon- 
 ment of sin, loses nothing of its truth and 
 validity, if the matters of fact with which it 
 was involved should turn out to be unhistorical. 
 In such an event Christianity would actually 
 gain rather than lose ; it would become all the 
 more 'spiritual' through ceasing to be 'super- 
 natural.' 
 
 Such is the interpretation, which gains plausi- 
 bility from the earnestness and eloquence with 
 which it has been urged. But on a very little- 
 examination the plausibility disappears. There 
 are two fatal objections to it. First, the moral idea 
 in question was not a new one. And, secondly, 
 
74 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 the main object of Christianity was not to put 
 forward any fresh moral idea at all. First, then, 
 the injunction, ' Die to sin, and rise to righteous- 
 ness,' was no novelty. It means simply ' Cease to 
 do evil and learn to do well ; ' or, more simply still, 
 ' Be unselfish instead of selfish.' And this was a 
 new idea ! It was an idea which had occupied 
 and agitated and harassed the minds of men ever 
 since the Fall. It had been the common starting- 
 point for moralists of every age and country. And 
 not only the essence of the idea, but also its 
 representation under the figure of a ' new life,' was 
 perfectly familiar. This notion of a new life had 
 been enunciated by Hebrew prophet and psalmist, 
 had expressed itself in the painful initiations of 
 Buddhism, and had been embodied in the form of 
 Eleusinian mysteries and Pythagorean brother- 
 hoods. If the value of Christianity depends on 
 the novelty of this ' idea,' Christianity is an im- 
 posture. 
 
 But, secondly, Christianity never pretended 
 that it was a new idea, never, in fact, came forward 
 
NATURE OF MAN AND WORK OF CHRIST 75 
 
 as an inventor of new ideas. What it really 
 offered was not a new moral law, but power to 
 keep the old one ; not a fresh set of copy-book 
 maxims, but a more abundant spiritual life. No 
 new precepts were required. Men knew perfectly 
 well that they ought to be good and unselfish, that 
 they ought to rise again to a perfect life. But they 
 couldn't do it. Their position is expressed with 
 the greatest clearness and insight by St. Paul. 
 They recognised that the moral law was holy and 
 just and good ; but they had no power to keep it, 
 to make it prevail over that other law in their 
 members, the law of a body that had become 
 carnal and sold under sin. And so, the good that 
 they would, they did not ; but the evil which they 
 would not, that they did. And the weakness and 
 misery of this position ring out in the despairing cry, 
 ' O wretched man that I am ! who shall deliver me 
 from the body of this death.'' That was the 
 problem to be solved. The demand was not for 
 a figurative moral maxim, but for a power that 
 could deliver, a power which should strengthen 
 
76 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 men to keep the law which they knew, and in 
 which they delighted after the inward man. 
 
 Men were in a condition of aKpaa-ia or incon- 
 tinence, knowing what was right but through 
 weakness failing to do it, a patent and obvious 
 state of mind that had much exercised the Greek 
 philosophers, who had first discussed it at length, 
 and then, having no remedy to suggest, had denied 
 that it existed, Christianity met the problem by 
 the offer of a spiritual power through which man 
 might act up to his knowledge of the right. And 
 this power is the power of Christ's Resurrection, 
 whereby humanity, which could not lift itself, was 
 lifted from the death of sin to the new life of 
 righteousness. 
 
 It is vain, then, to attempt to sever the moral 
 idea of Christianity from the historical fact in 
 which it is rooted. We may cordially assent to 
 the assertion that the whole value of historical 
 events is in their ideal significance. But in many 
 cases part of that which the idea signifies is the 
 fact that it has been exhibited in history. The 
 
Nature oP man and Wonii of cnmist 77 
 
 value and interest of the conquest of Greece over 
 Persia lie in the significant idea of freedom and 
 intelligence triumphing over despotic force ; but 
 surely a part, and a very important part, of the 
 idea is the fact that this triumph was actually won 
 in an historical past, and the encouragement for 
 the present which rests upon that fact. So, too, 
 the value to us of Christ's Resurrection lies in its 
 immense moral significance as a principle of life ; 
 but an essential part of that very significance is 
 the fact that the principle was actually realised by 
 one in whom mankind was summed up and 
 expressed, and by whom therefore the power of 
 reallising it is conferred on all who receive Him. 
 
78 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 III 
 
 ETERNAL LIFE 
 
 A TRUE life is restored to the human race in 
 Christ. But what is its general character ? how 
 does it mark itself off from other kinds of life ? 
 What is its attitude to men and things ? and how 
 is it appropriated by each individual man ? In a 
 single word we may describe it as an eternal life, 
 in the sense of absolute or complete. An eternal 
 life is a life which has wholeness, comprehensive- 
 ness, order ; a life in which heaven and earth, the 
 ideal and the real, have met together ; a life in 
 which the various rays of truth and intuition are 
 gathered to a single point ; a life both mystical 
 and practical, giving a solid and systematic ex- 
 pression to the most purely spiritual conceptions. 
 
ETERNAL LIFE 
 
 79 
 
 Christianity is an ' absolute ' philosophy, in that it 
 vindicates the singleness and trustworthiness of 
 truth, refusing to force its elements asunder into 
 unnatural severance. The ideal, the spiritual, is 
 not banished to another world, or regarded as a 
 harmless but unprofitable theme for visionary 
 minds. And the life on earth is not described as 
 ' material,' ' relative,' ' phenomenal,' as cut off from 
 all contact with genuine reality, as swayed for a 
 time, and then destroyed, by natural forces and 
 necessary laws. By Christianity the two elements 
 are fused in an absolute union. The eternal life 
 has all the actuality of earth combined with the 
 spirituality of Paradise. It is, indeed, this com- 
 bination of elements, and the completeness which 
 results, that is the meaning of the word eternal. 
 Eternity is not the same as indefinite duration ; 
 as has been often pointed out, it is symbolised in 
 the circle, not in the straight line endlessly pro- 
 duced. Eternity is not the negation of a time- limit, 
 but the negation of chaos and disruption. Ever- 
 lastingness is a mere corollary froni the proper 
 
8o THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 meaning of eternity. Eternity includes far more 
 than the barren conception of a life that never ends 
 (mere endlessness, as in the case of Tithonus, may 
 be a curse and not a blessing) ; it points to the 
 positive character of the life as a reason for its 
 endlessness. The eternal life can never cease, be- 
 cause it is in union with God, and an expression 
 of God's own attributes of order and completeness. 
 The eternal life, as we know it and may possess it 
 now, is the earthly life lived in the sight of God 
 in heaven, through union with one in whom earth 
 and heaven were fused and reconciled. 'This 
 is life eternal, that they might know Thee, the 
 only true God, and Jesus Christ whom Thou 
 hast sent.' 'This is the record, that God hath 
 given to us eternal life, and this life is in His 
 Son.' 
 
 In the light of this conception, full justice is 
 done to the visible world, its glorious beauty, its 
 inexhaustible interest, its humour and its pathos. 
 The world of nature is not regarded with suspicion 
 and reserve, as a garbled copy of some unknow- 
 
ETERNAL LIFE 8i 
 
 able real essence ; it is the direct expression of the 
 glory and the handiwork of God. And the men 
 and women who move up and down upon it are 
 no puppets of mechanical forces, whose evolutions 
 excite only the evanescent interest of a Punch and 
 Judy exhibition ; they are the deepest mystery of 
 all in a world of mystery ; the source and object 
 of their life is the same Spirit who made the world, 
 and union with Him, through all the educating 
 variety of scene and interest, is the essential 
 purpose, the explanatory law, of their existence 
 upon earth. Every detail of their lives has an 
 ideal value, a pathetic, often a tragic, significancei 
 The enthusiasm which spends itself on apparently 
 commonplace occupations ; the humour which 
 contrasts the homeliness of their surroundings with 
 the infinity of their destiny ; the fury which from 
 time to time turns upon those surroundings in a 
 mistaken protest against the limitations they im- 
 pose ; the heroism of love and self-sacrifice which 
 renounces the present life altogether in the in- 
 tensity of its faith, the reality of its grasp on the 
 
 G 
 
82 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 unseen, — these and countless other facts gain 
 their explanation, and their justification or cor- 
 rection, in the Christian doctrine of life eternal. 
 And this eternal life is just the j^zW/aa/ life, which, 
 from the point of view of psychology, was described 
 in our last chapter. Harmony, concrete unity, in- 
 tegrity, are its characteristic notes throughout. 
 Body and understanding, visible and unseen, real 
 and ideal, are the complementary elements which 
 it holds together in itself 
 
 Further, it is through the sacramental principle 
 that this eternal, spiritual life is appropriated by 
 individual men. This follows, in fact, necessarily 
 from the nature of Christ's work. In the person 
 of Christ, divine Spirit mingled with created 
 matter, in order to find and to rescue our mate- 
 rialised human nature. And this Incarnation of 
 the Word was not on the level of ordinary facts 
 which come into being and then pass away. The 
 fusion of spirit with matter was lifted from the 
 sphere of mere past historical events, and was 
 constituted an eternal truth, through the perpetual 
 
ETERNAL LIFE ,83 
 
 reunion of the man Christ Jesus with the Father 
 in the unity of God the Holy Ghost. And be- 
 cause the union of the material with the spiritual 
 has thus more than the archaeological and senti- 
 mental interest of a perished event in a distant 
 past, because it has the permanence of an eternal 
 fact, presented in God the Holy Ghost under 
 different guises to successive generations ; there- 
 fore the renovation of man through Christ is 
 continuously possible. Through the eternal rela- 
 tion of His manhood to the Father, in the unity 
 of the Spirit of life, He evermore makes all things 
 new. No longer, indeed, could there exist for man 
 the immediate contact of a pure spiritual creature 
 with the immaterial nature of God. That was 
 forfeited for ever at the Fall. The God to whom 
 man can now have access is not a God who reveals 
 Himself only as pure creative Deity, but a God 
 who has taken the material creation into Himself, 
 and from whom, therefore, a perpetual gift of spi- 
 ritual grace can be transmitted to a materialised 
 humanity. It is through Christ that we receive 
 
84 THE SPIRIT OF MAN. 
 
 this gift of the spiritual. Christ's complete and 
 eternal manhood is a constant bond between God 
 and man. The Incarnation is the greatest of 
 sacraments, being a perfect union of the material 
 and the spiritual ; and in the life of union with 
 Christ this sacrament is repeated. We cannot 
 have a direct union with God as pure Spirit. But 
 we may have a direct union with Christ as man ; 
 a;nd, through this human nature in Him, we may 
 have access to the Godhead. ' No man cometh to 
 the Father but by Him.' 
 
 The eternal life is thus necessarily sacramental 
 because it depends upon the reception of spiritual 
 grace by creatures of a material nature living in 
 material surroundings. And this reception was 
 made possible through the completeness of His 
 Incarnation. It is through the flesh and blood of 
 His human nature that we have contact with Him, 
 And so we find that it is from the side of this 
 human nature of flesh and blood that He offers 
 Himself to mankind in the institution of the Holy 
 Commtrnjon, 'Jake, gat, this is My Body." It 
 
kTERlfAt LIF£ . §s 
 
 was as the Son of Man that He offered Himself 
 to men. There they might touch Him, and by 
 thus touching the humanity, which was the hem of 
 His garment, might receive also the virtue of His 
 spiritual power. Only through the outer garment 
 of His flesh could men gain communion with His 
 Spirit The Holy Communion is thus a perpetual 
 witness to His manhood, the very occasion on 
 which it was instituted testifying to the thorough- 
 ness of His Incarnation, to the perfecting of His 
 manhood through agony and death. In what 
 relation, then, does the whole sacramental life 
 stand to the special Sacrament of the Holy 
 Eucharist ? Does the sacramental life depend on 
 the sacramental act ? or does the sacramental act 
 gain its significance from the sacramental life ? 
 On this subject it is fatally easy to hold an ex- 
 aggerated view in either direction. If we say that 
 eternal life depends entirely on the reception of 
 the Holy Eucharist, we shall be turning that 
 Sacrament into a sort of magical charm, dispens- 
 ing men from efforts of their own. If we say, on 
 
86 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 the Other hand, that the Holy Eucharist is merely 
 typical or symbolical of a spiritual life which 
 consists in the general imitation of Christ, we shall 
 be eliminating that attitude of dependence and 
 receptivity which is the essence of all true 
 worship. 
 
 But the two views are really complementary 
 and not antagonistic. The second presents Christ 
 to us as an example to be copied with all the powers 
 and activities of our nature. The first presents 
 Him as the source of life, from whom these powers 
 and activities are themselves derived. The one 
 tells us to imitate the life of Christ ; the other tells 
 us that only through a personal union with Christ 
 can we gain the strength to do so. The one says. 
 Apply your will to follow the example of Christ's 
 human life, and then you will receive His spiritual 
 gifts. The other says, Join yourself in worship to 
 Christ Himself, and you will then be able to follow 
 His example. 
 
 Will and worship are both necessary to a 
 perfect union with Christ's human nature ; and the 
 
ETERNAL LIFE 87 
 
 divine gift which flows from such a union will ap- 
 pear both in a stronger will and an intenser spiritual 
 life. 
 
 The Holy Communion is thus, on the one 
 hand, symbolical of an act of will ; and it is, on the 
 other hand, the reality of an act of worship. It is 
 symbolical of an act of will. It gathers together, 
 sums up, and expresses all the efforts and aspira- 
 tions of the practical working life, all the endeavours 
 to bring that life, even in its most secular depart- 
 ments, into harmony with the earthly life of 
 Christ. The Bread and Wine are a type of Christ's 
 humanity ; and the reception of them symbolises 
 the union of our humanity with His. But, further, 
 the Holy Communion has the essential reality of 
 an act of worship. The earthly Jesus is the source 
 of spiritual life just because He is also the glo- 
 rified Christ. It is through the presence of the 
 Godhead in the Eucharist that our union with 
 e manhood becomes a renovating power. His 
 personality cannot be rent asunder ; His twofold 
 nature demands at once our adoration and our 
 
88 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 attempts at imitation ; * in following Him through 
 the paths of the world we must at the same time, 
 with St. Peter, confess Him as the Christ. Only- 
 through this combination of will and worship can 
 we unite ourselves to Him as the perfect Man, who 
 is also the life-giving Son of God. Only thus can we 
 receive to the full His gift of spiritual life, through 
 which we shall be able to imitate Him better. 
 
 Such, then, is the eternal life, a sacramental life, 
 closely bound up with the Eucharistic service, in 
 which it is symbolised and from which it is in part 
 derived. The sacramental life is, in fact, an exten- 
 sion of the Holy Eucharist, just as the Holy 
 Eucharist is a perpetuation of the work of the In- 
 carnation. And the sacramental principle colours 
 the whole Christian view of men and things. It is 
 in the sacramental life that the redemption of the 
 
 ' As Dante sees the two natures of Christ reflected alternately 
 in the eyes of Beatrice : 
 
 Come in lo specchio il sol, non altrimenti 
 La doppia fiera dentro vi raggiava, 
 '_ Or con uni, or con altri reggimenti. 
 
 Purg. xxxi. I21-3i 
 
etMknal life 89 
 
 body is effected, and its impulses, powers, and pas- 
 sions made organic to a pure and undivided man- 
 hood. And so, again, in the light of this same 
 principle, the institutions of society become channels i 
 or vehicles of spiritual life. Commercial and civic 1 
 associations gain a higher value as representing the 
 co-operation and helpfulness of men w^ith each 
 other as fellow-citizens in a spiritual kingdom. The 
 very existence of the Church, as a visible and or- 
 ganised society, loyal to an unseen spiritual head, 
 is the clearest proof of these higher potentialities 
 of social institutions. The redemption of institu- ^ 
 tions follows indeed the redemption of the body. 
 They, like the body, had been lowered and degraded 
 in character through isolation from the spiritual. 
 They had become a mere arena for the rivalry and 
 competition of men in the selfish pursuit of material 
 wealth. Only it is a remarkable fact that this de- 
 gradation has been excused and defended in the 
 case of institutions long after it has been condemned 
 in the case of the body. In their case, severance 
 from the spiritual has been declared to be necessary 
 
90 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 and right, when in the case of the body it was 
 recognised as sinful. And yet there is no ground 
 for the differences of treatment. The dogma, for 
 a long time complacently accepted, by which trade 
 and commerce were exempted from the sway of 
 religion and morality, and made subject to ' busi- 
 ness principles ' and ' economic laws,' as they were 
 euphemistically termed, is just as false and blas- 
 phemous as the distinction which severed a man's 
 body from his spirit, and ascribed an independent 
 value and dignity to bodily lusts and appetites. 
 The two cases are exactly parallel. And so, if 
 the body is to be a yoke-fellow with the spirit in 
 the unity of a spiritual life, it follows that those 
 business connections and transactions, by which 
 men aim at bodily food and comfort, must also be 
 in harmony with the laws of the spiritual nature. 
 Friendship and co-operation, as between brothers in 
 Christ, must take the place of hatred, variance, emu- 
 lation, and the other ' works of the flesh,' which ex- 
 clude from the kingdom of God, whether they are 
 committed in business or in private life. 
 
ETERNAL LIFE 91 
 
 We have seen that eternal life is the fusion of 
 two elements, the spiritual and the material. We 
 may further illustrate its nature by asking what is 
 its exact relation to (i) the spiritual life as perfected 
 in the world to come ; and (2) the ordinary earthly 
 life with its multitude of varying interests ? 
 
 First, then, it is most important to insist that 
 the sacramental life and the heavenly life are not 
 different, as is too often thought, but are one and 
 the same spiritual life at successive stages of its 
 development. The sacramental life is the spiritual 
 life, as begun on earth ; the heavenly life is the 
 spiritual life, as continued in the presence of God 
 hereafter. The spiritual is the element of identity 
 which persists throughout and connects the two 
 together as phases in the growth of a single life. 
 And yet this connecting link is commonly ignored, 
 and in popular theology a sharp contrast is drawn 
 between the present life and the future life, as 
 things different in kind. ' Future happiness ' is 
 regarded as something quite distinct from the life 
 that now is. And so the questions arise, What is 
 
92 tse spirit op man 
 
 the relation between the two ? For whom is this 
 happiness reserved ? and why ? And various 
 answers are elaborated. The simplest of them all 
 is to be found in the theory of unconditional pre- 
 destination,' which says that the happiness is for 
 those whom God wills to select, and adds that the 
 reason for this selection is inscrutable, and bears 
 no relation to merit in any form whatever. 
 Secondly, we have a theory diametrically opposed 
 to this : the theory that the happiness in question 
 is earned or bought by individuals, at their discre- 
 tion, through certain modes of action in the present 
 world. In its extremest form it teaches that the 
 price required is to be paid in the form of pain and 
 misery voluntarily undergone, and that the Deity 
 will recompense self-inflicted and unmeaning anguish 
 by endless enjoyment in another world. Pain, 
 simply as pain, and not as discipline to character, 
 is here regarded as a passport to future pleasure. 
 This view is probably a relic of old pagan devil- 
 worship, in which the Deity is conceived as an en- 
 ' See next chapter. 
 
ETERNAL LIFE 93 
 
 vious and malevolent spirit who rejoices in, and is 
 propitiated by, the sight of human suffering. But 
 it has lived on in Christian times, and has been 
 characteristically softened and modified to express 
 the convictions of a commercial age. It is no 
 longer self-inflicted pain, but the abjuration of 
 certain forms of enjoyment, which is put forward 
 as the claim to future happiness. The world to 
 come is conceived as a profitable investment, which 
 the judicious mind must view with satisfaction and 
 approval. In order to gain so much pleasure for 
 oneself in the future, it is well worth while to sub- 
 mit to slight restraints and abstentions here. The 
 theory is essentially the same throughout, whether 
 expressed in its primitive and barbaric simplicity 
 or in the more refined phraseology of the modern 
 money market. In either form it conceives future 
 happiness as a commodity, which can be purchased 
 by a policy of far-sighted self-interest. Only it is 
 strange that its modern votaries do not see that 
 such a theory, however natural to ancient paganism, 
 is horribly out of place in Christianity ; strange 
 
,94 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 that they do not ask themselves why the Almighty 
 should consent to be a party to such an astounding 
 transaction as is here imagined. Perhaps, how- 
 ever, to raise this question would be considered a 
 mark of impiety. At any rate, we must protest 
 against this popular travesty of Christianity, this 
 degradation of religion to the level of the Stock 
 Exchange. And in the matter at issue we must 
 maintain that none of these bad bridges are re- 
 quired to connect the present life with the future, 
 because there is no gulf to be bridged over. There 
 is no contrast to be drawn between a present life 
 ^ and a future ; the only real contrast is between a 
 spiritual life, in its successive upward stages, and a 
 carnal life, in the various phases of its fall ; between 
 a spiritual life planted here and flowering hereafter, 
 and a carnal life dying here and dead hereafter. 
 Christianity thus transcends the popular distinction 
 between ' present ' and ' future ' (just as we have 
 se^n 1 that it transcends the popular antithesis of 
 ' body ' and ' mind '), and substitutes for it the far 
 ' See p. 54. 
 
E'lERNAL LIFE 95 
 
 deeper distinction between carnal and spiritual, 
 between a life devoted to self-seeking and one 
 lived in communion with God. It substitutes a 
 qualitative distinction for a merely quantitative 
 one, a difference in value for a difference in time. 
 Time does not affect the question at all, or only- 
 does so in the way of completing and developing 
 two fundamental different types. 
 
 And, further, the contrast between the spiritual 
 life and the carnal life is sometimes even more 
 sharply defined in the Christian writers by the 
 restriction of the word ' life ' to the former of the 
 two. The carnal life, being the negation of the 
 highest capacities of man, is not deemed worthy 
 of the name of life ; it is in matter of fact the 
 corruption and dissolution of man's nature, and is 
 therefore really death. And 'death' it is often 
 called ; whilst the term ' life,' without qualification, 
 is used to describe the activity of the spirit. Thus 
 we have here a double transformation of popular 
 phraseology. In ordinary language the present 
 life is contrasted with the future life, and death is 
 
96 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 a barrier between them. In Christian language 
 death is the corrupt degenerate existence, false to 
 man's best possibilities, withering now in severance 
 from God, and, unless the decay be arrested, ending 
 in a severance that is final and complete ; and life 
 is the spiritual communion with God, begun on 
 earth and perfected in heaven. The contrast 
 between present and future is abolished ; the 
 barrier between them disappears ; and there re- 
 mains the one permanent, fundamental contrast, 
 the short stern antithesis of spiritual and carnal, 
 life and death.' 
 
 • It is mainly in the writings of St. John that the Christian 
 meaning of ' life ' is developed. St. John clearly distinguishes 
 eternal from future life. The eternal life is, of course, everlasting, 
 but the meaning of the two terms is kept carefully distinct. Some- 
 times the two truths are mentioned together as complementary 
 facts. ' This is the will of Him that sent Me, that everyone which 
 seeth the Son, and believeth on Him, may have eternal life ; and 
 / will raise him up at the last day ' (vi. 40). And a few lines further 
 on : ' Whoso eateth My flesh, and drinketh My blood, hat/i eternal 
 life ; and / luill raise him up at the last day (ib. 54). So, too, in 
 the great declaration at Bethany, mention is first made of a future 
 life after death, and then of an [eternal] life, to which mere physical 
 death is no check or interruption. 'Jesus said unto her, I am the 
 resurrection and the life : he that believeth in Me, though he were 
 dead, yet shall he live : and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me 
 
ETERNAL LIFE 57 
 
 The spiritual life, as lived on earth, is thus the 
 
 salcraniental life of communion with God through 
 
 Christ's humanity. And this ' sacraniental life 
 
 grows by a natural course of development into 
 
 the heavenly life of unclouded union and unhesitat- 
 
 shall never die ' (xi. 25, 26). Physical death is mere sleep : ' our 
 friend Lazarus sleepeth' (ib. 11) ; continued earthly life is tarrying 
 till Christ comes (xxi. 22) ; eternal life is more than mere continued 
 existence, and is not interrupted by physical death, just as to St.' 
 Paul ' to live was Christ and to die was gain. ' It is faith in Christ 
 and union with Him which gives eternal life, whether here or in 
 heaven. ' He that believeth on the Son hath eternal life ' (iii. 36). 
 'Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth on Me hath 
 eternal life ' (vi. 47). ' This is life eternal, that they might know 
 Thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom Thou hast sent '. 
 (xxii. 3). Sometimes the term life is used alone. ' I am come 
 that they might have life, and that they might have it more abun- 
 dantly. ' And conversely, ' If a man keep My saying, he shall 
 never see death ' (viii. 51). So again, with both terms used in this 
 absolute sense : ' We know that we have passed from death' unto 
 life, because we love the brethren (l John iii. 14).. Sometimes, 
 again, ' life ' and ' eternal life ' appear as alternative forms of ex- 
 pression. 'The life was manifested, and we have seen it, and 
 bear witness, and she-w unto you that eternal life, which was with 
 the Father, and was manifested unto us ' (i John i. 2). 'This is 
 the record, that God hath given to us eternal life, and this life is in 
 His Son. He that halh the Son hath life, and he that hath not the 
 Son of God hath not life. These things have I written unto you 
 that believe on the name of the Son of God ; that ye , may know 
 that ye have eternal life, and that ye may believe on the name of 
 the Son of God' (I John V. 1 1-13). 
 
 H 
 
98 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 ing love. A spiritual life lived on earth is thus 
 the root from which the spiritual life to be lived in 
 heaven springs naturally without break or breach of 
 continuity. And it must be added, on the other 
 hand, that those to whom religion is a matter of 
 far-sighted selfishness, who make judicious sacri- 
 fices of enjoyment now in order to obtain endless 
 ' rewards ' in the future, are really killing in them- 
 selves the very germs of that heavenly life which 
 they so fatally misconceive. It is the Judas, and 
 not the true disciple, who sells his Master for a 
 reward. It is true, indeed, that Christ's followers 
 have a reward in heaven ; but that reward is the 
 fulness of union with Him whose life they have 
 tried to imitate below, in works of unselfishness and 
 love. To have lived the sacramental life on earth 
 is the condition of living the heavenly life here- 
 after ; or, rather, they are but the earlier and later 
 stages in one life that is continuous throughout. 
 
 And, secondly, what is the relation of the sacra- 
 mental life to the social system of the world in 
 which it is lived ? The answer is partly contained 
 
ETERNAL LIFE 99 
 
 in the very word ' sacramental.' That word by 
 itself implies that the Christian life is not to be 
 lived in isolation from the world with its human 
 interests and ties. Christianity sees in the social 
 system manifold opportunities of service, manifold 
 openings for the fulfilment of duties to the human 
 brotherhood, duties as various and complex as is 
 the life of man. When the earthly life is thus 
 understood, it is a necessary element in the sacra- 
 mental life. The sacramental life is this life of 
 human service, dedicated to Christ and strengthened 
 by the spiritual grace which flows from such a 
 dedication. The perfect life is not the life most 
 entirely cut off from domestic and civic duties, but 
 the one in which those duties are best performed^ j 
 Christianity insists, indeed, that man may attain 
 to an eternal spiritual life, which far transcends his 
 earthly career alike in its origin and its destiny ; 
 but it hastens to add that this eternal life depends 
 upon union with Christ's humanity, and that no 
 union with Christ's humanity is possible except 
 through love and devotion to Christ's brethren. 
 
100 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 The crucial point here is that this life in the world, 
 if it is to be thus sacramentalised, must be a life 
 of genuine service, of real self-devotion ; not one 
 which aims at private self-grati fication in an y 
 form. It is the career of unselfish work which 
 becomes the sacramental life by being dedicated 
 to Christ. Self-seeking here or elsewhere, worldli- 
 ness or other-worldliness, has no fellowship with 
 the sacramental life, because in no sense can it be 
 regarded as a union with Christ's humanity. The 
 sacramental life is rooted in the service of man. 
 Cut off from that service, it is cut off from all 
 communion with the Son of Man. And this 
 service may take the most various forms, according 
 as it ministers to the material or immaterial needs 
 of men. For instance, it may be intellectual as 
 well as practical. It may consist in supplying men 
 with truth, as well as in purifying their hearts, or 
 in perfecting their drains. All who minister to 
 any of the manifold needs of man with reverence 
 and unselfishness are united and bound together in 
 one great cause of human service. And to be 
 
ETERNAL LIFE lol 
 
 enlisted in that cause in some capacity or other is 
 a necessary condition of the highest life. The 
 reality of the service rendered, the purity of the 
 motive with which it is performed, that is the 
 important point. There is an obvious diversity in 
 men's natural spheres of work. None of them, as 
 such, is higher or lower than another. The one 
 thing needful is that each man should act disin- 
 terestedly in that peculiar sphere which suits him. 
 Thus the intellectual life may be a life of heroic 
 self-devotion to the good of man ; and, on the 
 other hand, the practical life may be corroded by 
 vanity and desire of applause. Each may be good 
 and useful : each may be corrupt and unprofitable. 
 It is the motive which makes the difference. And 
 it is important to see this, since praise and blame 
 are often unfairly meted out. If we are right in 
 blaming the contemplative life of refinement and 
 self-culture, we must blame it not because it is 
 intellectual, but because it is egotistic ; not because 
 it is barren of practical results, but because it 
 refuses to impart its knowledge as a contribution 
 
102 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 to the common weal, Soike contribution a man 
 must make, and make it in honesty and integrity 
 of purpose, if he is to lead the spiritual life. 
 
 In this matter Christianity takes a far richer 
 and wider view than Greek philosophy. Aristotle 
 agrees, indeed, with the Christian teachers that man 
 has, here and now, an eternal life to live, a life 
 which is not fulfilled or exhausted in the activities 
 of an ordinary practical career. He concludes 
 that, therefore, the practical life may be dismissed 
 as inadequate, and that the true life of man, the 
 life in which (as far as may be) he becomes im- 
 mortal, is to be found, in intellectual contemplation; 
 The philosopher represents a higher type than the 
 practical man, not on the ground that the philo- 
 sopher is ultihiately the better citizen of the two, 
 miaking a more valuable contribution to the 
 common welfare of the State, but because he is 
 more self-sufficing, more independent of the State, 
 more free from duties of any sort to his fellow- 
 cltizens, A , distinction of kind is drawn between 
 the .practical and the intellectual. The practical 
 
ETERNAL LIFE 103 
 
 life, as such, is the lower, and the intellectual, as 
 such, the higher type of existence. 
 
 In the eyes of Christianity, both practical work \ 
 and intellectual work, if unselfishly performed, may 
 be invested with a spiritual character, and become 
 the vehicle of an eternal life. It is not by being 
 intellectual, but by being unselfish, that a man may 
 ' become immortal,' may make himself able to 
 receive the gift of eternal life. And a man is not 
 cut off from such a life by being ' practical.' Be 
 the life practical or intellectual, if it is a life of 
 genuine self-devotion, it may receive a spiritual 
 endowment which imparts a new and eternal 
 significance to its driest details, and gives it the 
 assurance of a perfected development hereafter. 
 
 The Christian life is thus spiritual, without be- 
 coming useless and inactive. It is supra-mundane 
 in its origin and motives, without sinking into a, 
 condition of dreamy mysticism. Through prayer- 
 and meditation it holds communion with a Spiritual 
 Being, but a Being who has revealed Himself in . 
 flesh and blood, and who makes an immediate, 
 
104 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 claim on our active service. And so the eternal 
 life is to be maintained, not by absorption in 
 pure thought, and abstraction from the things of 
 sense, but by active work in the sunshine and rain 
 of the visible vv^orld, where He who is its source 
 ' and inspiration went about doing good, and lived 
 among men as he who doth serve. The life is 
 spiritual just so long as it acts and works. 
 
 But also, on the other hand, its effectiveness as 
 a working power largely depends on its spiritual 
 character. This is so, for instance, in the practical 
 life of beneficence. The life which is most perma- 
 nently useful in the world is precisely the life which 
 in essence and origin is not of this noisy world, 
 but silent and divine : the life which can look 
 beyond and above the bewildering needs of the 
 immediate present, and has laid hold on the 
 eternal principles which alone contain their ulti- 
 mate solution. The ' unpractical ' man, who sees 
 the workings of moral evil in the jnaterial degra- 
 dation and misery of the people, and insists 
 that the only lasting remedy is to be found in a 
 
ETERNAL LIFE loj 
 
 gradual moral education, who communes with the 
 unseen, and gains thereby clearness as to the work 
 to be done and strength in which to do it, who 
 believes that the eternal life of union with Christ, 
 with the self-sacrifice which is at once its condi- 
 tion and its result, is the highest good for others 
 as well as for himself, such is the man whose works 
 live after him as a permanent blessing on the 
 earth. His path is never lost through the tangle 
 of details or the pressure of passing perplexities. 
 A perfect and unchanging ideal is always before 
 him, forbidding any lowering of standards, any 
 evasive compromises, any easy acquiescence in 
 results already achieved. Higher heights arc 
 always opening up above him, and he has the 
 strength and the confidence to face them ; for he 
 is conscious of himself as an instrument for the 
 attainment of God's end through the methods 
 which God selects and by power which God 
 supplies. He works in the consciousness of an 
 eternal plan, an all-wise system, which is fulfilling 
 itself by means of him, if he acts to the best of his 
 
io6 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 knowledge and his strength, but which may be 
 hindered by his lack of intelligence or activity. 
 He is aware of a kingdom of God around him 
 and about him ; every part of the work which he 
 does is done in full consciousness of the whole to 
 which it belongs ; and the conception of this 
 wholeness and this kingdom ennobles and trans- 
 figures the most commonplace routine work done 
 in its service. Even in the arid and heated atmo- 
 sphere of boards and committees, even in the crude 
 and disappointing realism of common life, his zeal 
 will neither be hardened into cynicism nor narrowed 
 into priggishness. And he will deal with even the 
 most desperate ' cases ' in the strength of a death- 
 less confidence. He will label none as ' hopeless,' 
 the class of the ' incurable ' will have no existence 
 for him. Even in the hardened reprobate he 
 knows that unexpected capacities for good may 
 reveal themselves to the keener insight of perfect 
 love, and that, in viitue of such capacities, this 
 world's failures may still be God's successes. 
 
 And the spiritual temper is just as necessary 
 
ETERNAL LIFE 107 
 
 to the life devoted to intellectual work. In itself, 
 the pursuit of truth is a process of becoming, which 
 never issues in substantial achievement. It is an 
 effort ' never ending, still beginning,' towards a 
 goal that cannot be reached. For, by a necessity 
 of our nature, we are compelled to conceive truth 
 as a single system, orderly, coherent and compre- 
 hensive, a system in which law and order are 
 supreme, and in which subtle threads of affinity 
 bind all elements together. But, in face of an 
 ideal like this, what degree of attainment is possible, 
 even to the most colossal genius, within the limits 
 of one short, uncertain life-time ? 
 
 Forerun thy peers, thy time, and let 
 Thy feet, millenniums hence, be set 
 In midst of knowledge dream'd not yet. 
 
 Thou hast not gained a real height, . ^ 
 
 Nor art thou nearer to the light, 
 Because the scale is infinite. 
 
 A sense of the ineffectiveness of such search 
 for knowledge may well produce the ' melancholy ' 
 presented to us in Albert Diirer's masterpiece. 
 
loS THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 But in the light of Christianity all is changed. 
 To Christianity truth is not a far-off ideal which 
 mocks our efforts and recedes as we approach it, 
 but an ideal which has become incarnate, and has 
 entered upon those very limitations of time and 
 circumstance which we deplore. By so doing it 
 has abolished those limitations themselves, and has 
 substituted essential possession for hopeless search. 
 The ideal of truth is the incarnate Word, who 
 in the fulness of His living personality offers Him- 
 self to those who are seeking knowledge. Their 
 work becomes in consequence something more 
 than a mere ineffective striving. The essential 
 reality of knowledge is theirs throughout, when 
 they have linked themselves to one who is the 
 creative reason of the universe, one in whom are 
 centred all the different lines of truth which the 
 various sciences pyrsue. Patience and confidence 
 and energy follow. Patience : for men may well 
 endure to wait for the discovery of some of the 
 details of knowledge, when they dwell' in daily 
 communion with the living source of truth. And 
 
ETERNAL LIFE 109 
 
 confidence : for they know now that there must be 
 a unity of purpose underlying all apparent waste 
 and contradiction, and so can work on with that 
 faith in the rationality of the universe which is so 
 • necessary a condition of success in science. And 
 energy : for the pursuit of knowledge becomes a 
 religious work ; it is the act of comprehending and 
 entering into the mind of Christ ; it is transformed 
 into a philosophic e/awj, inspiring its votaries with 
 the enthusiasm of devotion to a person. In the 
 devotion to knowledge, as in the devotion to good- 
 ness, the end is with men at every stage, sv 
 OTt^ovv xpova TiXsiov to etSos. Completeness 
 marks each item of achievement. Each new fact 
 of knowledge which we grasp has its orderly place 
 and its eternal significance in the ideal whole 
 which dwells continually with us. 
 
 It used to be said, sometimes by men who 
 should have known better, that Christianity in- 
 troduced discord and sickness in place of the 
 wholeness and sanity which marked the Greek 
 conception of life. The main difficulty about 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 such a statement was that it is utterly unhisto- 
 rical. Anyone who goes to the Greek writers 
 themselves, instead of elaborating an a priori idea 
 of. what ' Hellenism ' ought to have been, finds 
 them possessed by a strong conviction of the 
 discordant, chaotic character of human life, a 
 conviction which was partly stifled in the keen 
 excitement of political embroilments, but which 
 re-appears in all the deepest thinkers. In fact, 
 those who still wish to maintain the contrast 
 between Hellenic sanity and Christian sickness, 
 find themselves compelled to locate the former in 
 pre-Socratic times, and to include all the best 
 known Greek philosophers in the condemnation 
 which they pass upon the latter. A recent writer, 
 who certainly has the courage of his convictions, 
 finds this ideal of sanity in the scanty and enig- 
 matical utterances of Heraclitus.' ' In Socrates, 
 Plato, and Aristotle,' he remarks, ' philosophy 
 underwent a change more radical than any other 
 
 ' Heraclitus of Ephesus, by G. T. W. Patrick, Ph.D., Profegsot 
 of Philosophy in the State University of Iowa, p. 76 seq. 
 
ETERNAL LIFE 
 
 in its history, a change that was ultimately to 
 revolutionise all thought, and, through its influence 
 on Christian theology, to enter as a large de- 
 termining element into all Western civilisation, 
 Heraclitus is the representative of what philo- 
 sophy was before that change. . . . Socrates repre- 
 sents the birth of self-consciousness. In practising 
 his maieutic art to this end, he little thought 
 that he was giving the death-blow to the most 
 beautiful trait , of his countrymen, namely, the 
 instinctive,* the unconscious, the naive. . . . There 
 was another respect in which the fall of man took 
 place in Socrates. The love of beauty and form, 
 and particularly beauty of the human body, 
 characterised all the Greeks until Socrates, but 
 characterises modern people in a relatively small 
 degree. Socrates cared nothing for outward 
 beauty, but, to the surprise of his fellow-citizens, 
 laid all the emphasis upon moral beauty. It may 
 be that the Greeks estimated physical beauty too 
 high ; but the rebound has been too great. Caught 
 up by the genius of Plato, and intensified by the 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 tenor of his philosophy, and met six centuries 
 later in Alexandria by a powerful current of the 
 same tendency . from Judzea, it effected the com- 
 plete destruction of the Greek idea, and with it, of 
 course, of Greek art. . . . There is still another 
 aspect of the Socratic apostasy, as important as 
 those we have mentioned, and so far-reaching in 
 its effects that it determines modern thought even 
 to the lowest ranks of society. In this movement, 
 begun by Socrates, but perfected by Plato and 
 Aristotle, the central thought of the Heraclitic 
 philosophy was denied, and denied with such power 
 that now, after twenty-two hundred years, it hardly 
 dares assert itself. We refer, of course, to the 
 Platonic transcendentalism. . . . Heraclitus, in a 
 wonderful conception of the world, had abolished 
 every antithesis, and enunciated a system of pure 
 monism. The Socratic school reversed his plan, 
 and set up a dualism of universal and particular, 
 noumenon and phenomenon, mind and body, spirit 
 and matter, which has dominated all philosophy, 
 religion, and literature.' 
 
kTMRMAt LiP£ iij. 
 
 A writer who incidentally accuses Aristotle ■ 
 of transcendentalism, and Plato of indifference 
 to beauty, has little claim on our unquestioning 
 faith in his imaginative reconstruction of the 
 philosophy of Heraclitus. But . there is one 
 grain of truth in- the remarkable passage just 
 quoted : . the dualism there alluded to did un- 
 doubtedly pervade Greek thought, after, if not 
 before, the time of Socrates, and was not invented 
 by Christianity. In matter of fact, Christianity 
 abolished it, substituting for it a whole-hearted, 
 single-centred view of man and of the universe; 
 The Pauline view of the spiritual nature, the 
 Johannine definition of eternal life, the Catholic 
 doctrine of the Sacraments, these contain the 
 Christian answer to the antitheses and dualisms of 
 Greek thought. It is true that dualistic theories, 
 partly Platonic and partly Oriental, attempted at 
 different times to establish themselves in Christian 
 Theology ; but the Church deliberately and suc- 
 cessfully rejected them in its determined oppo- 
 sition to Gnostic and Manichean : speculations. 
 
 I 
 
114 THS SPISIT OF MAN 
 
 Evil, it insisted, did not reside in any necessary 
 imperfection of matter, but in the rebellious self- 
 will of man"; redemption was not to be found in 
 negative asceticism, but in active consecration ; 
 Christ was not a juxtaposition of contradictory 
 principles, but one coherent Personality in which 
 two complementary natures are combined. : 
 
 We have now considered the meaning of the 
 eternal life, and the relation in which it stands to 
 the life in heaven and to the life in the world. We 
 have seen that it is related to the former as the 
 ' blade ' to the ' full corn in the ear ; ' that the two 
 are united as phases in the secret growth of a 
 single spiritual life. 
 
 And we have seen that it is related to the 
 earthly life (domestic, civic, intellectual) as the 
 seed is related to the soil in which it grows, and 
 isolated from which it would wither and die, since 
 it is to the personality of Christ on its human side 
 that we have direct and immediate access. Thfe 
 failure of much so-called mysticism has been due 
 to the attempt to discard the human in aiming at 
 
ETERNAL LIFE 115 
 
 the spiritual. It is by other paths, through unself- 
 ish work in the human brotherhood, by self-devo- 
 tion to the cause of goodness and of knowledge, 
 that men may lay hold on eternal life. And this 1 
 self-devotion itself is strengthened and purified 1 
 through faith in Christ. It is the grace of Christ ' 
 which endows the spirit of man with the insight 
 and the energy to know and to act aright. 
 
 In the light of these considerations, a double 
 splendour is seen to surround the active Christian 
 life, as lived on earth. First, its very activity 
 (moral or intellectual) endows it, through faith in 
 the Incarnation, with a higher, spiritual character. 
 And, secondly, the life which has thus become 
 spiritual is united in an unbroken continuity with 
 the life in heaven. All things in the world thus 
 glow with a spiritual light. The antithesis of 
 secular and sacred is at last transcended, not by 
 materialising that which is divine, but by recog- 
 nising the potential spiritual value of all self- 
 devotion to charity and truth. 
 
il6 THE SPIRIT OP MAN 
 
 NOTE ON THE NEW TESTAMENT DOCTRINE 
 OF SPIRIT 
 
 ' There is therefore now no condemnation to 
 them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not 
 after the flesh, but after the Spirit. For the law 
 of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made me 
 free from the law of sin and death. . , . For they 
 that are after the flesh do mind the things of the 
 flesh ; but they that are after the Spirit, the things 
 of the Spirit. For to be carnally minded is death ; 
 but to be spiritually minded is life and peace. . . . 
 Ye are not in the flesh, but in the Spirit, if so be 
 that the Spirit of God dwell in you. Now if any 
 man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of 
 His. . . . But if the Spirit of Him that raised up 
 Jesus from the dead dwell in you, He that raised 
 
7HE NEW TESTAMENT DOCTRINE OF SPIRIT i\<j 
 
 up Christ from the dead shall also quicken your 
 mortal bodies by His Spirit that dwelleth in 
 you.'' 
 
 Two questions are suggested by the words of 
 this passage. 
 
 I. In what relation is the Spirit conceived to 
 stand to God and to Christ } and (2) in what 
 relation to the human spirit 1 There is also (3) 
 the further question as to the relation of the Spirit 
 to creation as a whole. And, lastly (4), What is 
 meant by the ' spiritual body ' of the resurrection } 
 
 I. It was only after the incarnate Christ had 
 returned to heaven, that God was revealed in the 
 fulness of His nature as a Spirit, in whom are 
 included the absolute deity of the. Father, and the 
 incarnate deity of the Son. The Spirit unites 
 both, and is sometimes called the Spirit of God, 
 sometimes the Spirit of Christ. Both expressions 
 are found in Romans viii; 9, quoted above. For 
 the latter we may compare Phil. i. I9, ' the supply 
 of the Spirit of Jesus Christ,' and Gal. iv. 6, 'God 
 
 ' Rom. viii. I sq. 
 
n8 ' THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 hath sent forth the Spirit of his Son into your 
 hearts.' Further, in 2 Cor. iii. 17-18, the Spirit 
 seems to be both identified with Christ and dis- 
 tinguished from Him : ' Now the Lord is the 
 Spirit : and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there 
 is liberty. But we all, with open face beholding 
 as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed 
 into the same image from glory to glory, even as 
 by the Lord the Spirit' Christ, after His Ascen- 
 sion, is identified with the life-giving Spirit, in 
 whom He is eternally united to the Father, and in 
 whom both Father and Son dwell continually in 
 the hearts of believers. ' I will pray the Father, 
 and He shall give you another Comforter, even the 
 Spirit of truth. ... I will not leave you comfort- 
 less : / will come to you' ' And, again, ' If a 
 man love Me, he will keep My words : and My 
 Father will love him, and We will come unto 
 him;'^ explained further in verse 26: 'The 
 Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the 
 Father will send in My name. He shall teach 
 ' St. John xiv. 16-18. 2 n. 23. 
 
THE NEW TESTAMENT DOCTRINE OF SPIRIT 119 
 
 you all things.' So, too, He explains that it was 
 through the Spirit's ministration after His own 
 Ascension, and not in a gross material sense, that 
 men were to eat His body and drink His blood 
 in the Holy Eucharist. ' Doth this offend you ? 
 What and if ye shall see the Son of man ascend 
 up where he was before? It is the spirit that 
 quickeneth ; the flesh profiteth nothing : the words 
 that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are 
 life.' > 
 
 That God is a Spirit is the full and final 
 revelation, in which the revelation of the Father 
 and the revelation of the Son are both combined. 
 It is, in fact, this union of distinctions within the 
 Godhead which characterises the Catholic doctrine 
 of God, arid marks it off from Unitariariism on 
 the one hand and Polytheism on the other. The 
 Deity does not consist in blank unchangeableness, 
 nor in the act of change which is involved in the 
 takirig of the manhood into God, but. iti- spiritual 
 life, in spiritual personality, within, which there are 
 
 • St. John vi. 6v^l. 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 elements distinct indeed, but in absolute harmony 
 of will and operation. All personality involves 
 identity in difference ; and it is in knowing God as 
 a Spirit that we know Him as a Person. And the 
 same truth reconciles the transcendence and the 
 immanence of God.' God the Father is transcen- 
 dent and separate {^(opidTos), dwelling apart in 
 the light that no, man may approach unto; but 
 God the Holy Ghost, proceeding from the Father, 
 is immanent in the world, and dwells in the hearts 
 of Christians ; and this immanence was made 
 possible by the Incarnation of the Son. 
 
 2. It is often hard, in reading St. Paul, to 
 distinguish the indwelling Spirit from the spiritual 
 gifts {irvsvuaTLKh, %a/3^cr/iaTa) which He imparts, 
 and the spiritual endowment of man which they 
 compose. But this is no difficulty for those who have 
 grasped the Catholic doctrine in its stupendous 
 simplicity. Human individuality is never en- 
 dangered by the indwelling, but is perfected by it. 
 
 • Cf. Lux Mundi, p. 95 sq., where, however, the line of argu- 
 ment is somewhat different. 
 
THE NEW TESTAMENT DOCTRINE OF SPIRIT lai 
 
 There is, indeed, a danger of our ' quenching ' or 
 ' grieving ' the Spirit, but no danger of the Spirit 
 turning us into lifeless puppets. And this being 
 so, the difficulty of separating the operations of 
 the Divine Spirit from those of the human spirit 
 which is His home is a fact to be welcomed and 
 rejoiced at. It shows that Christians can attain to 
 the perfection of their personality, which consists 
 in freely identifying their wills and lives with the 
 will and the Hfe of God. Human efforts and 
 aspirations are taken up and completed by the 
 Spirit, who assists our weakness and offers up our 
 inarticulate prayers. ' Likewise the Spirit also 
 helpeth our infirmities : for we know not what we 
 should pray for as we ought : but the Spirit itself 
 maketh intercession for us with groanings which 
 cannot be uttered.' ' 
 
 3. St. Paul tells us that the dead body laid in 
 
 the grave is related to the resurrection body as the 
 
 seed is related to the blade of wheat which springs 
 
 from it. That is, there is an element of sameness 
 
 > Rom. viii. 26, 
 
122 THE SPIR.T OF MAN 
 
 and an element of difference. The man who 
 rises will be connected by an unbroken bond of 
 personality with the man who died, and yet the 
 'spiritual' body which is raised may be very unlike 
 the ' natural ' body which is sown. It need not, 
 for instance, consist of material particles. The 
 ■spiritual body would be no less a body by being 
 immaterial. Spiritual does not mean bodiless. 
 The spiritual man is not the disembodied man, 
 but the completed or perfected man ; and in this 
 completed manhood body in some form or other 
 is an integral element.' Instead of arguing. 
 Bodily is the same as material, therefore the resur- 
 rection of the body is a resurrection of material 
 particles, we should rather argue, Body is implied 
 
 ' ' Incofporales autem spiritus non erunt homines spirituales ; 
 sed substantia nostra, id est, animae et carnis adunatio assumens 
 Spiritum Dei, spiritualem hominem perficit' (Irenaens, v. 8, 2). 
 So, too, Origan : ' Materialis ista substantia hujus mundi habens 
 naturam, quae ex omnibus ad omnia transformatur, cum ad 
 inferiores quosque trahitur, in crassiorem corporis statum solidiorem- 
 que formatur, ita ut visibiles istas mundi species variasque dis- 
 ^inguat ; cum' vero perfectioribus iriinistrat et beatioribus, in fulgore 
 coelestium corporum micat, et spiritualis corporis indumetiiis vel 
 angelos Dei \e\fiHos resufrectionis exomat ' {De Princ. ii. 2). 
 
THB NEW TESTAMENT DOCTRINE OF SPIRH 123 
 
 in spirit ; therefore the spiritual man who rises will 
 have a body of his own. So true, indeed, is it that 
 spirit has body, that we only knew God fully 
 as a Spirit after the glorified body of Christ had 
 xeascended to union with the Father. The ' body 
 of His glory ' is certainly unlike our present ' body 
 of humiliation ;' but it is none the less a body, and 
 such will the Christian'^ body one day become.' 
 If an objection is raised from the appearances of 
 Christ after His resurrection, and in particular from 
 the words, ' A spirit hath not flesh and bones, as 
 ye see Me have,' ^ it must be remembered that this 
 argument is double-edged. If it is said that the 
 risen Christ could not be merely spiritual because 
 He had flesh and bones, we may reply that He 
 could not have possessed flesh and bones in the 
 ordinary sense of a 'natural' body, because He 
 could vanish and appear at will. Perhaps we best 
 represent the facts by saying that the risen Christ 
 possessed a spiritual body, and that, whilst moving 
 among men who were necessarily earthy in their 
 ' Phil. iii. 21. ^ St. Luke xxiv. 39. 
 
124 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 nature and perceptions, He from time to time 
 transformed this spiritual body into a natural body, 
 in order to assure them of His personal identity in 
 the only way in which the assurance could be con- 
 veyed to them. Such a naturalising was excep- 
 tional, and was only effected for purposes of proof. 
 In itself it was abnormal and mysterious : it was 
 not to be taken as a permanent state of the risen 
 Lord. ' Touch Me not, for I am not yet ascended 
 to My Father.' He was essentially spiritual, with 
 a spiritual body that could be spiritually appro- 
 priated and fed upon, and it was thus that men 
 were henceforth to touch Him. And so, just as 
 the ascended body of Christ exists still within the 
 unity of God the Holy Spirit, and is by Him com- 
 municated to us in the Holy Eucharist, so too 
 those who rise from the dead will be spirits clad 
 in a spiritual body. Two passages from Cardinal 
 Newman may be quoted in confirmation of this 
 view : ' Our own mortal bodies will then be found 
 to contain within them an inner man, which at 
 present exists but in germ, and which will then 
 
THE NEW TEStAM&Nt liOCfRINE OF SPIkiT iij 
 
 receive its due proportions, as the soul's har- 
 monious organ, instead of that gross mass of flesh 
 and blood which sight and touch are, sensible of.' ' 
 'The spiritual body, how or what we know not, 
 is formed within it, the same as it, yet different in 
 its accidents. Corruption, dissolution, mortality, 
 are but the accidents of the Christian's body, and 
 are separated from it for ever on its rising again. 
 What we see is not the real body, it is but the 
 outward shell ; the real body of the regenerate is 
 not material, but spiritual, of which the seed is 
 now deposited within us.' ^ 
 
 4. Lastly, in God the Holy Spirit creation as 
 a whole is transformed. Nature was taken back 
 into God through the Incarnation, and has its part 
 in the permanent dispensation of the Spirit. It 
 was man's fall which had sundered it from its 
 Creator; and the Incarnation reversed the fall in 
 this respect, too, that it restored the spiritual 
 character of the natural world. Nature becomes 
 
 ' Parochial Sertnons, iv. 14. 
 ' ' Lethires on Tustijieation., ix. p. 243, 
 
126 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 the vehicle of spirit. God is seen and approached 
 through the forms of material things. Nature 
 ceases to be a screen which hides God from us, or 
 a veil of Isis which no man can lift ; it becomes 
 the plastic gold in which the divine Artificer 
 fashions his eternal ideas.' ' The invisible things 
 of Him from the creation of the world are clearly 
 seen, being understood by the things that are made, 
 even His eternal power and Godhead! ^ Nature 
 is reunited to God in a sacramental union. Sacra- 
 mentalism takes' the place of symbolism. Nature no 
 longer conveys mere vague suggestions of another 
 world, but becomes itself a dwelling-place of the 
 Holy Spirit. Now in man alone is this spiritual 
 endowment articulate and self-conscious. Man 
 has received the liberty which comes where the 
 Spirit of the Lord is, though even in man the 
 adoption or redemption of the body is not fully 
 completed. Nature is body on a larger scale, and 
 the same redemption, the same deliverance from 
 vanity, waits for nature as a whole. When man 
 ' Plato, Timaeus, 50. ' Rom. i. 20. 
 
THE NEW TESTAMENT DOCTRINE OF SPIRIT 127. 
 
 uses his own body entirely as an instrument of the 
 Spirit, when he uses all material things as instru- 
 ments in the Spirit's service, then nature will again- 
 be 'very good,' and will fulfil the purpose for 
 which it was made, the revelation of God's power 
 and Godhead. After the fall nature becan^e a 
 school or discipline for man : ' Cursed is the ground 
 for thy sake ; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the 
 days of thy life.' After the Incarnation nature 
 received its own measure of the grace of Christ ; 
 cursed for Adam's sin, it is blessed for Christ's 
 atonement ; and this blessing will increase accord- 
 ing as man, the lord of nature, uses the spiritual 
 freedom vouchsafed to him. 'For the earnest 
 expectation of the creature waiteth for the mani- 
 festation of the sons of God. For the creature 
 was made subject to vanity, not willingly, but by 
 reason of Him who hath subjected the same in 
 hope, because the creature itself also shall be 
 delivered from the bondage of corruption into the 
 glorious liberty of the children of God. For we know 
 that the whole creation groancth and travailcth 
 
128 Tii& SPt&tt Of MaM 
 
 in pain together until now. Arid not only they, 
 but ourselves also, which have the firstfruits of 
 the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within our- 
 selves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the 
 redemption of our body.' ' 
 
 Conclusion. — The above considerations go to 
 show that our ordinary conception of the meaning 
 of spirit requires correction. Spiritual ordinarily 
 suggests something vague and unsubstantial, some- 
 thing which scarcely has any claim to be considered 
 a ' thing ' at all ; whereas it should rather mean 
 that which possesses concrete truth, that which is 
 in the fullest sense real. Thus the doctrine of 
 God the Holy Ghost is not a shadowy adjunct to 
 the doctrine of Christ. The Holy Spirit is the 
 eternal completeness of the Divine Personality, 
 which was temporarily manifested in the life, 
 words, and acts of the Incar'nate Son. It was 
 expedient' that the temporary manifestation should 
 be withdrawn, that the fulness of God's continual 
 indwelling might begin. Again, spirit does not 
 ' Rom, vHl. 19-23. 
 
THE NEW TESTAMENT DOCTRINE OF SPIRIT 129 
 
 exist in antithesis to body and in antagonism to 
 matter ; body and matter are tlie temple or dwel- 
 ling-place of spirit, and divorced from spirit they 
 lose their meaning and reality. 
 
130 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 IV 
 
 FREEDOM 
 
 PREEDOM is an essential attribute of the sacra- 
 mental life. As such it has been implied in the 
 discussions of the last chapter ; but the subject is 
 so important that it is worth while to deal with it 
 more explicitly. Freedom, then, belongs to man 
 as spirit ; it would be better described as the 
 freedom of man, or the freedom of the spirit, than 
 as the freedom of the will. For ' will ' is a term 
 of doubtful meaning. It was often understood as 
 a separate faculty in human nature, the relation of 
 which to its colleagues was left for the most part 
 undetermined. And when the tendency to mul- 
 tiply faculties became discredited, the will was 
 generally identified with reason, either pure reason 
 
FREEDOM 131 
 
 or reason mingled with desire. Before we state 
 the Christian account of the matter, it will be well 
 to examine shortly the theories held on this 
 subject by two of the greatest modern philosophers, 
 Kant and Hegel. It is through comparison with 
 other systems that the distinctive traits of Christian 
 philosophy become most clearly visible. 
 
 According to Kant, freedom belongs to man 
 as intelligence — as a being, that is, who is inde- 
 pendent of all natural causation. Man's nature is 
 twofold. On the one side he is a free, supra- 
 sensuous intelligence. On the other side he is a 
 natural phenomenon, an item in the sensuous 
 world, swayed by the laws of necessary causation, 
 the puppet of natural desire. For the moment 
 we must confine ourselves to the former aspect. 
 Reason constitutes freedom, and rational freedom 
 enables a man to aim at other ends than the 
 attainment of objects of desire which belong to 
 the natural world of phenomena. As a natural 
 phenomenon, he would be controlled by natural 
 -desire ; as intelligence, he can determine himself 
 
132 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 With reference to the pure rational form of the will, 
 and not with reference to its empirical matter. 
 This pure form of the will is, shortly, the con- 
 sciousness of reason as a bond of connection and 
 source of obligation between all members of the 
 human race. As pure will, a man rises above his 
 narrow, ' natural ' selfishness, and asserts his ' uni- 
 versal ' or ' objective ' nature as a member of a 
 society of rational beings, with duties to all other 
 members of that society. In this sense the pure 
 form of the will is described as the conception of 
 a law valid for all rational beings ; a law which is 
 expressed thus : ' Act so that the maxim of your 
 v(^ill may be a principle of universal law-giving.' 
 And free action is action performed from reverence 
 for this ' pure legislative form ' of the will ; or, in 
 other words, action governed by respect for the 
 rational personality of others. The deep conviction 
 of the sacredness of human personality forms the 
 undying merit of Kant's moral system. 'Treat 
 humanity in yourself and others always as an end 
 and never as a means' is the more intelligible 
 
FREEDOM 133 
 
 formula given in the Metaphysic of the Founda- 
 tion of Morals. In virtue of their rational endow- 
 ment, all men belong to one great ' kingdom of 
 ends,' each citizen in which is governed by respect 
 for the rights of others. It is a grand conception, 
 to which we shall return, and which we shall try- 
 to restate in a different form. As stated by Kant 
 himself, it is involved in inextricable difficulties. 
 His whole ethical system rests on an uncom- 
 promising dualism between man as intelligence, 
 where he is a ' Wesen an sich,' and man as a 
 ' Sinnenwesen,' subject to the necessary causation' 
 of desire. Human freedom is found entirely in 
 reason, and requires the absolute severance of 
 reason from the sphere of empirical desire. But, 
 as Kant admits, natural or empirical desire must 
 be felt in order that action may take place. How 
 then does freedom still assert itself in action } It 
 does so by insisting that, when we follow these 
 natural desires, we shall follow them not exclu- 
 sively in our own interest, but in the interest of 
 all. But, further, if these desires are to be realised 
 
134 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 in the interest of all, they must be desires which 
 are felt by all. Thus the lower and more common 
 a desire is, the better is it adapted to serve as an 
 exhibition of the moral law. This certainly strikes 
 us as very extraordinary. This universalisation 
 of the commonest desires seems a very round- 
 about way of expressing our respect for the per- 
 sonality of others. We inevitably ask, ' Why 
 cannot we assert our freedom by acting directly 
 and immediately for the good of others ? ' Kant 
 anticipates this question,' and answers that it is 
 impossible to do so, because in that case we should 
 be acting from mere empirical desire, and not 
 from the pure form of the will at all. The only 
 guise in which direct philanthropic sentiment 
 could appear in an act of freedom would be as a 
 natural desire felt universally by all men (which it 
 obviously is not), and capable of being gratified 
 universally for all. And even then the will, in 
 order to be free, would not be determined by the 
 philanthropic sentiment itself, but by the charac- 
 ' Practical Reason, i. § 8, note i ; p. 40 in Kirchmann's edition. 
 
FREEDOM 135 
 
 teristic of universality, the pure legislative form, 
 which must indeed have some common natural 
 desire to deal with, but to which the character of 
 that desire is absolutely indifferent. Free action 
 in the Kantian sense requires the presence of two 
 elements : first, common desires, contemptuously 
 classified together as natural events in the way of 
 causation ; arid, secondly, intelligence, which wills 
 their realisation impartially for all. 
 
 It is not hard to see that this lands us in a sort 
 of ' universalistic hedonism,' in which the pleasures 
 are sought under the influence of natural law, and 
 are universalised by a forcible restraint, which re- 
 quires them to be shared with others. Here there 
 is no freedom, but disruption and schism ; no 
 harmony of a united nature, but a dualism of 
 reason divorced from desire, and desire degraded 
 to the level of common natural appetite. There 
 is, in fact, in Kant's theory, a double negation of 
 freedom. Freedom is negated, first, in the ' natural ' 
 or 'necessary' character ascribed to desire; and, 
 secondly, it is negated in the unnatural universali- 
 
136 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 sation of impulses which, as thus conceived, are 
 essentially self-seeking. Kant's failure to main- 
 tain the freedom of man was thus due to the great 
 gulf which he assumed to exist between reason 
 and desire.' 
 
 To bridge over this gulf was one of the greatest 
 achievements of Hegel, whose brilliant and subtle 
 analysis of the will may now be considered. With 
 Hegel the will is free as long as it exists. Will 
 without freedom would be an unmeaning expres- 
 
 ' It is true that in the Kritik der Urtheilskraft he makes an 
 effort to bring the two words together. He there declares that 
 freedom can produce its own effects in the world of sense, that in 
 the production of these effects it may be brought into collision with 
 the processes of natural causation, and that such natural processes 
 may be employed by freedom in the realisation of its rational ends 
 (P- 35. Kirchmann's edition). But, in the first place, the very possi- 
 bility of the practical causality to be thus exercised by freedom is 
 declared to be incomprehensible ; and very justly, since it requires 
 the causality of freedom to be at the same time an item of natural 
 causality, whilst still determined by intelligence, although we have 
 just been told that the great gulf between the two domains cannot 
 be bridged over. And, secondly, there is no definite object to be 
 realised in this incomprehensible operation. Reason is to achieve 
 results ; but no result can be achieved unless desire is taken up 
 into reason and converted into a rational motive, and this remains 
 impossible with Kant. 
 
FREEDOM 137 
 
 sion.' Freedom belongs to will in the same sense 
 as weight belongs to body. So, instead of asking, 
 When is the will free ? we should ask, When does 
 will exist ? The answer is that the will exists, or 
 is free, as long as it is the fusion of two comple- 
 mentary elements. 
 
 The first of these is pure self- consciousness 
 {das reine Denken seiner selbsi) — that is, a man's 
 knowledge that he is something distinct from the 
 needs, impulses, and desires which belong to him, 
 and something, again, independent in a sense of 
 the conditions and circumstances in which he finds 
 himself Pure self-consciousness is thus marked 
 by indeterminateness ; it is, in Hegel's words, 'the 
 absolute capacity of abstracting from every deter- 
 mination in which I find myself, or in which I have 
 placed myself ; ' and, again, ' the flight from all 
 positive content, as from a limitation.' This ab- 
 stract universal is one side or element in an act 
 of will. But in itself it is negative, featureless, 
 and void of content ; and, ih fact, much the same 
 ' See the introduction to the Rechtsphilosophie. 
 
138 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 as Kant's ' intelligence.' But Hegel, unlike Kant, 
 refuses to allow that this empty universal con- 
 stitutes freedom. It must be supplemented by a 
 second element, which may be comprehensively 
 called the particular, including all the various 
 differences and distinctions which make up the 
 content of our various volitions. The particular 
 gives definiteness to the will, supplying it with an 
 aim and object. , Taken by itself, however, the 
 particular is as unsatisfactory, and negative as we 
 have seen the pure universal to be. It is charac- 
 terised by contingency and fortuitousness. And if 
 the will were to unite itself fortuitously, to the 
 particular impulse or desire, it would not be really 
 free ; for it would be negating its other aspect of 
 universality and identity. The man who is under 
 the sway of the mere particular, acts capriciously, 
 but not freely. He chooses, indeed, but only 
 chooses one particular in preference to another ; 
 he has disintegrated himself into a chaos of. par- 
 ticulars ; he is , not realising, his own universal 
 identity in them, but is sacrificing it to them. He 
 
FREEDOM 139 
 
 thinks that he is free, and grounds his pretension 
 on the fact that ' he does what he likes ; ' but this 
 very fact, Hegel declares, proves that he is not free. 
 Such slavery to caprice is the very opposite of 
 freedom. It is, in fact, the essential mark of moral 
 evil. 
 
 Now, as distinct from this abstract universal 
 and this equally abstract particular, an act of 
 genuine will, which is the same as an act of free 
 will, is one in which the two elements are fused 
 together into a single whole. Freedom, or will in 
 its concrete truth, is not the ' indeterminate univer- 
 sal, and not determination by particular caprice, 
 but self-determination, in which the particular is 
 taken up into the universal as a necessary element 
 in a systematic scheme, or a means of realising a 
 rational end. Instead of a dualism giving us a 
 blank universal on the one hand, and a chaos of 
 particulars on the other, we thus have a single 
 orderly whole made up of properly articulated and 
 related parts. 
 
 Hegel gives us here a discriminating analysis 
 
I40 THE SPIRIT OP MAIf 
 
 of the will as it exists in all self-conscious action ; 
 but it really leaves untouched the crucial problem 
 of freedom. We are still at the threshold of the 
 inquiry. We take the will, as thus constituted, 
 and proceed to ask, When and under what condi- 
 tions is it free? To repeat, in reply, that it is 
 always and necessarily free, since will is freedom, 
 proves too much and means very little. This free- 
 dom of will, qud will, is a merely formal freedom, 
 possessed by all who pursue consciously any object 
 whatsoever. It embraces all action performed by 
 people who are not positively insane ; it belongs 
 to the most saintly heroism in common with the 
 most deliberate and cold-blooded rascality. A 
 freedom like this, ignoring all the positive charac- 
 teristics in which real freedom consists, is ' a night 
 in which all cows are black.' 
 
 We have here an instance of a fallacy which 
 meets us so often in Hegel, the fallacy of ascribing 
 at the outset an unreal independence to the diiferent 
 elements in self-conscious activity, in order that a 
 triumphant and ostentatious union between them 
 
FREEDOM 
 
 141 
 
 may be subsequently effected. So here, the par- 
 ticularity of the will, the complete isolation of 
 desire from self-consciousness, is a fact that never 
 occurs, at any rate outside a lunatic asylum. If 
 the particular were really severed altogether from 
 the universal, the man would either be a mono- 
 manaic, if this happened in the case of one special 
 set of impulses, or a lunatic if it happened with 
 regard to all his impulses. A kleptomaniac is just 
 a man in whom a particular impulse has been 
 divorced from the control of self-consciousness, a 
 man in whom the particularisation of the will has 
 really taken place. The only case in which the 
 particular can be said to have triumphed over the 
 universal is the case of insanity, and not the case of 
 depravity. And as long as the thief, or anyone else, 
 continues to act consciously in view of the satis- 
 faction in question, so long the will must be said 
 to exist in its fusion of elements ; and so long on 
 Hegel's principles the man must be said to be free. 
 But it might be argued from the Hegelian 
 standpoint that, although the two elements of the 
 
142 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 will exist in such a ■ case, they are not properly 
 balanced or perfectly adjusted. The universal 
 here merely ratifies the demands of the particular, 
 performs a purely ceremonial function, reigns but 
 does not govern. And this is perfectly true, but it 
 is only a fragment of the truth. The whole truth 
 is that no perfect adjustment or balance of reason 
 and desire is possible so long as reason and desire 
 are regarded as the only and ultimate constituents 
 of a man's nature. So long there is a mere see- 
 saw of alien elements, one up and the other down : 
 an alternation of despotism, when reason coerces 
 desire, and anarchy, when the mob-law of desire 
 prevails. 
 
 Now there are two ways of meeting this diffi- 
 culty, the Hegelian and the Christian. The 
 Hegelian solution abandons the individual alto- 
 gether. According to it, will in its perfect adap- 
 tation of elements must not be sought in the 
 individual spirit a,t all, but in the spirit of the state ; 
 orrather in the world-spirit which develops itself 
 in and through the spirits of the states ; or rather. 
 
FREEDOM 143 
 
 again, in the restful self-contemplation of Absolute 
 Spirit. Now so far as such an answer involves the 
 admission that, in the' individual, no interaction of 
 reason arid desire can yield true freedom, we should 
 heartily endorse it. But how the world-spirit 
 (assuming its existence) is better off in this respect 
 it is difficult to see. To judge from its public 
 performances in history, it seems to find consi- 
 derable difficulty in the adjustment of its elements. 
 Nothing is gained by substituting world-spirit for 
 individual spirit. The Original difficulty is here 
 repeated on a larger scale ; the problem is not 
 solved, but merely magnified. And if we are told 
 that these elements are ultimately reconciled, not 
 indeed in the evolution, but in the self-contempla- 
 tion of Absolute Spirit, we must answer that this 
 has riothing whatever to do with the human will as 
 displayed in action. The very outlines of the 
 question at issue have here disappeared in a 
 luminous mist of dialectic. 
 
 We may now proceed to the Christian view, 
 having gained from Hegel two important truths : 
 
144 "^^^ SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 first, the interaction of reason and desire in every 
 act of will ; and, secondly, the inability of this 
 interaction to produce freedom for the individual 
 agent. The meaning of the second principle is 
 simply this, that passion is not purified by merely 
 being rationalised. Under the manipulation of 
 reason desire ceases to be blind appetite, but does 
 not thereby become moral. The man is free, not 
 when his impulses are intellectualised, but when 
 they are sanctified. The solution of the difficulty 
 (or, from the practical side, the salvation of man) 
 is not to be found in reduplicating the dualism of 
 desire and intellect on a larger scale, but by 
 transcending it altogether ; not by subsuming the 
 individual under the Absolute, but by spiritual- 
 ising the nature of the individual. Formal free- 
 dom may consist in the survival of reason ; real 
 freedom is the restoration of spirit. Formal free- 
 dom means that a man acts consciously, acts in 
 view of a satisfaction of his nature, whatever that 
 satisfaction may be ; real freedom is the power to 
 live the life of the spirit, the life of communion 
 
FREEDOM I4S 
 
 with God and of the disinterested service of man. \ 
 Real freedom does not allow the individual to be t 
 lost in the spirit of the state or the spirit of the | 
 world ; it insists that the state and all other insti- 
 tutions of the world are the machinery in which' 
 and through which the individual spirit purifies it- 
 self by works of unselfishness and love. Real / 
 freedom is citizenship in a spiritual kingdom of i 
 ends, in which each human personality is included, ' 
 and in which a sense of the value of that person- ; 
 ality is the stimulus to patriotism and self-sacrifice. / 
 And in this respect the significance of the work of 
 Christ is that it restored to each individual the 
 power of attaining the genuine freedom of a 
 spiritual personality, and thereby also the power 
 of serving his fellow-men with the reverence due to 
 spiritual beings, and with the zeal and enthusiasm 
 of purified desire. 
 
 Freedom in the Christian sense is thus fouiid 
 in the harmony of a single centred manhood, 
 within which reason and desire work smoothly ,to- 
 
146 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 gather for the attainment of a common end, body 
 and mind being reconciled in the unity of a spiritual 
 nature. 
 
 Freedom, then, is involved in the unification of 
 human nature through the new birth of the spirit. 
 And, moreover, as it is spiritual in its origin, it is 
 spiritual also in its object. Its origin dictates 
 its object. Being itself derived from union with 
 the Son of Man, it must of necessity aim at the 
 good of the human brotherhood. Freedom is, 
 in a word, the power of devoting the united 
 forces of a spiritual nature to the furtherance 
 of a spiritual kingdom including all mankind. 
 
 From the fact that freedom depends on union 
 with Christ, two other great principles are derived. 
 First, freedom must be within the reach of all 
 without distinction or reservation, since all may 
 unite themselves to Him as the universal Son of 
 Man. And, secondly, this freedom, like all spiritual 
 grace, is a gift that may be accepted or refused. 
 St. Paul expressly states the possibility of its rejec- 
 tion, the possibility of quenching the Spirit, of 
 
FREEDOM 147 
 
 treasuring up wrath by hardness of heart, of his 
 being himself a castaway. 
 
 And yet these principles, simple and obvious as 
 they are, have been denied respectively by two great 
 erroneous doctrines, the doctrine of unconditional 
 predestination, and the doctrine of efficacious 
 grace. The doctrine of unconditional predestina- 
 tion declares _ that particular persons are selected 
 from their fellows and pre-ordained to salvation by 
 an arbitrary fiat of the Creator ; and the doctrine 
 of efficacious or irresistible grace maintains that 
 the power of Christ overrules and forces the human 
 will. We have here a great twofold fallacy which 
 has had dark and desolating consequences, but 
 which nevertheless sprang from the distortion of a 
 noble instinct. It had its source in a deep sense 
 of sin, a profound conviction of weakness and un- 
 worthihess ; it was a perversion of the deep humility 
 which is so striking in St. Paul. St. Paul had felt 
 profoundly that in himself — that is, in his flesh — 
 dwelt no good thing, and that whatever he had 
 effected was done not by him but by Christ dwell- 
 
148 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 ing in him. St. Augustine, who, like St. Paul, had 
 passed through a momentous crisis altering all his 
 life, expresses a like feeling in an exaggerated 
 form. The other side of the truth — namely, man's 
 responsibility for accepting and using the proffered 
 gift of grace, a side which St. Paul had kept steadily 
 in view — is lost sight of in St. Augustine's impetu- 
 ous self-abasement. God's eternal purposes had 
 worked upon him, had called him from sin and 
 were maintaining him in holiness, in a manner and 
 with a power absolutely independent of himself 
 A predestination, unaffected by act of his, had 
 marked him out for mercy, and an irresistible grace 
 was holding him up. 
 
 Such is the inner argument expressing St. 
 Augustine's personal experience. The explicit 
 reasonings which , are its counterpart and support 
 are scarcely less interesting. In the early treatise 
 De Spiritu et Littera, which abounds in great 
 truths finely expressed, the argument is this : God 
 gives us the power to believe Him and trust Him ; 
 but this power is not compulsion. It is a power 
 
FREEDOM 149 
 
 which is to be used by man through his own 
 volition. All power comes from God, but this 
 cannot be said of all volition ; otherwise God 
 would be the cause of evil as well as good. Free 
 will exists as ' a middle force ' {vis media) which 
 can be turned to opposite ends. It is a natural 
 endowment conferred upon the rational soul at 
 creation {naturaliter attributum a Creatore animae 
 rationalt), and is the capacity of accepting or reject- 
 ing the divine influences of Gospel teaching or of 
 good desires within. All these influences, as well 
 as the power of obeying them, come from God. 
 Whether a man obeys or not depends on his own 
 volition {voluntas), which is rooted in the free will 
 {liberum arbitriuni) given to him as a rational 
 being. How is it, then, that these influences are 
 rejected by one and followed by another ? This 
 question is scarcely touched in the De Spiritu et 
 Littera, but the later treatises answer it by em- 
 phasising the degradation of the Fall, whereby 
 man's natural endowment was corrupted and 
 ruined. Free will, as part of that endowment, 
 
150 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 shares ' in the common ruin. Hence those who 
 resist God do so because they have forfeited their 
 power of free choice, and are the helpless slaves of 
 corruption. They are left by God's justice in the 
 weakness and wickedness by which all human 
 nature is infected. So, too, those who follow the 
 divine motions are not acting of their own free 
 will, but are laeing acted upon by God's mercy 
 which they passively receive, and by which they 
 are irresistibly controlled. Thus the 'vis media ^ 
 of natural freedom disappears in the general de- 
 gradation of the Fall, and we are left with the 
 sharp antithesis of a helpless and corrupt humanity 
 and an irresistible uncovenahted grace. 
 
 It is not difficult to see that St. Augustine was 
 wrong in regarding free will as a part of man's 
 ' natural ' endowment. On that theory it follows 
 logically that freedom is forfeited at the Fall, and 
 that irresistible grace is the only means of salvation. 
 Freedom is not an attribute of the anima rationalis, 
 but is due entirely to the communicated grace of 
 God ; it belongs to man not as rational but as 
 
FREEDOM 151 
 
 spiritual, and man was spiritual at the beginning 
 through the grace of union with God. Grace was 
 the source of freedom. Afterwards, in so far as 
 grace was extended to fallen man, it came to him 
 as a^ partial restoration of his freedom, a partial 
 emancipation from the darkness and slavery of sin. 
 It did not treat him as a puppet, but helped him 
 to be a man again. Grace and freedom are con- 
 nected as cause and effect, and should never be 
 dissevered. Their severance and alienation is the 
 flaw in each of the extreme theories. In the 
 Augustinian doctrine grace takes the place of 
 defunct freedom ; the cause works without pro- 
 ducing the effect. In Pelagianism freedom is set 
 up as independent of grace ; the effect boasts that 
 it can dispense with its cause. 
 
 But the Catholic doctrine recognises no such 
 anomalies. It declares that without grace there is 
 no freedom ; and that the more grace man receives, 
 the greater is his freedom. Pelagianism was wrong 
 in supposing that freedom can go a certain way 
 by itself and then requires the support of grace. 
 
IS2 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 Grace is not a reward for good works done, but a 
 power enalbling us to do them. (' Ideo datur, non 
 quia bona opera fecimus, sed ut ea facere valeamus ; 
 id est, non quia legeni implevimus, sed ut legem 
 implere possimus.' — De Spir. et Lit. lo) ; it is not 
 only a cure for sin but also 2. preventive. (' Sanat 
 ergo Deus non solum ut deleat quod peccavimus 
 sed ut praestet etiam ne peccemus.' — De Nat. et 
 Gr. 25) ; it gives the power of forming good desires, 
 as well as the power of giving effect to them ; ^ and, 
 lastly, it is grace which supplies that very freedom 
 of choice which can be used for the purpose of 
 rejecting grace. It is through the grace extended 
 to him that a man is free to take or refuse the 
 fuller grace which Christ offers him. Freedom, in 
 
 ' ' Si quis per naturae vigorem bonum aliquid, quod ad salutem 
 vitae aeternae, cogitare ut expedit aut eligere, sive salutari, id est 
 evangelicae praedicationiconsentire posse confirmat absque illu- 
 minatione et inspiratione Spiritus Sancti, qui dat omnibus suavitatem 
 in consentiendo et credendo veritati ; haeretico fallitur spiritu, non 
 intelligens vocem Dei in Evangelio dicentis : Sine me nihil po- 
 testis facere, et illud apostoli : non quod idonei simus cogitare 
 aliquid ex nobis, sed sufScientia nostra ex Deo e.st.' — Second Council 
 of Orange, § vii., given in Bright's Anti-Pelagian Treatises of 
 St. Augustine, p. 384 seq. 
 
FREEDOM 153 
 
 whatever degree it exists, is a prerogative of the 
 spiritual nature, and with the rest of that nature 
 is entirely a gift from God. ' So then it is not of 
 him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of 
 God that sheweth mercy.' The power of praying, 
 as well as the answer to prayer, is due to grace. 
 It is through grace that a man can turn to Christ 
 in order to receive from Him a more abundant 
 gift of grace.' 
 
 And, on the other hand, this more abundant 
 
 ' This is'admirably stated by St. Augustine himself in De Spiritu 
 et Littera, ch. xxx., where he declares that grace heals the soul 
 from the flaw of sin, and that from this healing flows the freedom 
 whereby alone the law is kept : ' Liberum ergo arbitrium evacuamus 
 per gratiam ? Absit : sed magis liberum arbitrium statuimus. 
 Sicut enim lex per fidem, sic liberum arbitrium per gratiam non 
 evacuatur sed statuitur. Neque enim lex impletur nisi libero 
 arbitrio : sed per legem cognitio peccati, per fidem impetratio 
 gratiae contra peccatum, per gratiam sanatio animae a vitio peccati, 
 per animae sanitatem libertas arbitrii, per liberum arbitrium justitiae 
 dilectio, per justitiae dilectionem legis operatio. Ac per hoc, sicut 
 lex non evacuatur sed statuitur per fidem, quia fides impetrat 
 gratiam qua lex impleatur : ita liberum arbitrium non evacuatur per 
 gratiam, sed statuitur, quia gratia sanat voluntatem qua justitia 
 libere diligatur.' This clear, true, and Pauline account of the 
 matter was distorted by the assumption that freedom is a natural 
 endowment, and the inference that, as such, it perished in the Fall. 
 
154 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 gift of grace is itself a fuller measure of freedom. 
 The more : grace a man receives, the greater be- 
 comes his capacity for doing right. As ' grace 
 increases in him,' his perception grows clearer and 
 his desires become purer. But it is always he who 
 perceives and desires what is right. Grace never 
 turns him into an automaton. Grace is the per- 
 fection of individuality, and not. its abolition ; the 
 source of freedom, and not its negation. 
 
 It follows at once that there is no such thing 
 as irresistible grace. A man retains the power of 
 apostasy froni God even when God's grace has 
 long been working in him. In such a case, of 
 course, freedom is distorted into mere license or 
 self-will. But then freedom would not be free- 
 dom if it were incapable of misuse. When God 
 endowed His creature with the grace of a free 
 and spiritual nature. He endowed it thereby 
 with the power of apostasy from Himself. With- 
 out this power of apostasy free loyalty would 
 be impossible. It was thus through the grace of 
 communion with God that man was originally able 
 
FREEDOM 155 
 
 to sever himself from God. And the same prin- 
 ciple holds good now. All freedom is due to grace ; 
 the more grace a man receives, the stronger and 
 more habitual becomes his loyalty to God, but 
 this loyalty is always free, and may be given up for 
 the wilful caprices of lawlessness. This principle 
 is enforced again and again by the collects of the 
 Church. They tell us that without God nothing 
 is good or holy; that from Him proceed holy 
 desires as well as good counsels and just works : 
 that His grace must prevent as well as follow us. 
 But they all proceed on the assumption that the 
 grace is a grace of restored freedom and not of 
 substituted force, that we are to give effect to the 
 good desires which God puts in our hearts by using 
 the strength which God supplies. They agree 
 throughout with the language of the loth Article, 
 which says that ' God's grace works with us,' not 
 instead of us. 
 
 This doctrine of grace in its relation to freedom 
 is an essential point in St. Paul's philosophy. He 
 is always insisting on the twofold fact, that with- 
 
156 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 out grace we can do nothing, and that grace is the 
 restoration of freedom. On the former principle 
 he proclaims the universality of sin, and of the 
 weakness and corruption which it engendered : the 
 natural man could no longer keep God's Law ; to 
 boast of works apart from faith was vanity ; it was 
 through faith in the free promise, afterwards ful- 
 filled in Christ, that the saints of the Old Covenant 
 attained to righteousness ; it was through no merits 
 of its own that the new Israel was called to 
 its high prerogative ; salvation was ' not of works 
 but of Him that calleth,' ' not of him that willeth, 
 nor of him that runneth, but of God that sheweth 
 mercy.' 
 
 And, on the other hand, this gift of grace is a 
 gift of life and liberty. ' The Law of the Spirit 
 of life in Christ Jesus hath made me free from the 
 law of sin and death.' ' Where the Spirit of the 
 Lord is, there is liberty.' The Spirit of Christ had 
 saved men from the letter of the Law, which was 
 nothing but a sentence of death, and from the 
 fleshly mind, which was death itself; the Christian 
 
FREEDOM 157 
 
 was called to freedom, a freedom which he must 
 not misuse, a freedom in which it was his duty to 
 stand fast, a freedom in which the material universe 
 may one day share, when creation is ' delivered 
 from the bondage of corruption into the glorious 
 liberty of the children of God.' 
 
 In a word, the Pauline doctrine is that man's 
 natural state is bondage to sin, with a darkened 
 understanding and corrupt desires ; that the grace 
 of Christ gives him spiritual freedom, and that he 
 is responsible for the use he makes of it. It is a 
 doctrine which on its two sides is true to the two 
 great declarations of Christ Himself: 'Without 
 Me ye can do nothing ; ' and, ' If therefore the 
 Son shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.' 
 
 Lastly, we may notice, as a corollary from the 
 above, that, since grace is the cause of spiritual 
 freedom, it enables men to become good, in the 
 ordinary sense of that word. By their own un- 
 aided efforts virtue could never have been achieved, 
 the Law could never have been fulfilled. But the 
 grace of Christ, in restoring our freedom, puts 
 
ISS THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 sanctification within our reach. It was the central 
 object of Christ's work to justify us in God's sight 
 by making us holy and acceptable to Him. 
 
 In what relation, then, does justification by 
 faith stand to sanctification by obedience ? They 
 are often regarded, as. rival principles, resting 
 respectively on the notions of imputed, righteous- 
 ness and of meritorious works. The Lutheran 
 theory of . justification regards with horror the 
 very idea of human righteousness ; boasting must 
 be excluded, and this can only be effected if it is 
 understood that man, even after Christ's redemp- 
 tive work, remains vile and miserable. Righteous- 
 ness, indeed, he must have, in order to obtain 
 salvation ; but it is the righteousness of Christ, 
 imputed to him by a forensic fiction, and not in 
 any real sense his own. Through the merits of 
 Christ's atonement we are called good, whilst we 
 remain bad ;. we are said to be that which we are 
 not and can never become — a, strange result, in- 
 deed, to ascribei to.the.work.of Him who is the 
 Truth. The opposite view, in its recoil from 
 
FREEDOM 159 
 
 Lutheranism, regards good works as not only pos- 
 sible and necessary, but as meritorious too, holding 
 not only that they are pleasing to God, but also 
 that through them we earn, and have a right to, 
 our salvation. But justification and sanctification 
 must not be thus severed from each other. They 
 are both together involved in the reception of 
 Christ through the Sacraments, by which we re- 
 ceive, first, forgiveness in respect of the past, and, 
 secondly, strength for the life that is to follow. By 
 the former gift our sins are wiped out, our account 
 is cleared, we are pronounced righteous, are made 
 God's children ; by the second our. sanctification is 
 gradually accomplished. Both are effected by 
 Christ's Atonement ; ' He died that we might be 
 forgiven ; He died to make us good.' Justification 
 by faith does not consist in the forensic substitution 
 of Christ's righteousness for our own, dispensing 
 us from individual efforts after holiness ; it consists 
 in the pardon of past sins, freely accorded to those 
 who unite themselves to Christ. And good works 
 constitute no ground for boasting, no claim for a 
 
i6o THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 reward ; we have nothing which we did not receive ; 
 we are unprofitable servants ; the good which is 
 done is done by Christ dwelling in us, and would 
 have been infinitely greater but for the hardness 
 and slowness of our hearts, whereby His gracious 
 will is thwarted and opposed. The indwelling of 
 Christ through the Holy Spirit justifies us from 
 past sin and sanctifies us for the future. By a 
 single process we are forgiven arid renewed, the 
 forgiveness being a pledge of the renewal, and 
 the renewal a result of the forgiveness. We are 
 pronounced just because we are to be holy, and 
 we become holy through the same indwelling of 
 Christ which gave us our forgiveness. ' Justifica- 
 tion,' then, ' comes through the Sacraments, is 
 received by faith, consists in God's inward presence, 
 and lives in obedience.' ' 
 
 ' Newman on Justification, Lecture xii. I have closely fol- 
 lowed Newman's admirable exposition in the above section. 
 
15i 
 
 V 
 VIRTUE 
 
 A MORAL philosophy, or theory of a man's duty 
 to his fellow-men, resolves itself into an answer to 
 three questions. First, what is the class of people 
 to whom duties are owed ? Secondly, what is the 
 nature of the good which is common to them and 
 which it is the virtuous man's duty to promote? 
 Thirdly, what is the power which is to incite the 
 man to virtue or the pursuit of such a good ? In 
 other words, moral philosophy has to determine, 
 first, the area; secondly, the object; "and thirdly, 
 the motive of duty. And these three subdivi- 
 sions of the inquiry are closely inter-connected. 
 The answer given to one of the above ques- 
 tions logically prejudges the answers to be given 
 to the others. For instance, if the area of 
 ' M 
 
i62 THE SPIRIT OF MAN. 
 
 duty is unduly narrowed, the conception of the 
 good to be realised within those bounds will 
 inevitably suffer, and the purity of the motive 
 be to some extent corrupted. And, again, any 
 theory which, in widening the pale of duty, comes 
 to take a low view of the nature of the common 
 good will be unable to exhibit any powerful 
 motive force at all. These two typical cases may 
 be briefly illustrated from the Greek morality and 
 Utilitarianism respectively, before we proceed to 
 consider the Christian doctrine on the subject. In 
 Greek ethics the area of duty was bounded by the 
 limits of the city-state. The common good which 
 the virtuous man had to promote was the welfare 
 of a small and select band of fellow-citizens, who 
 enjoyed the advantages of good looks, noble birth, 
 ample leisure, and a comfortable competency. 
 Within this charmed circle duty was recognised 
 and virtue flourished. Outside it, they were simply 
 non-existent. The citizens of any given Greek 
 state openly professed the most cynical immorality, 
 and made expediency their one law of action, in 
 
VIRTUE 163 
 
 their relations to the rest qf the world. Hence, 
 there is ghastly contrast between their home and 
 foreign polity, between the Athens of Pericles' 
 speech — all freedom, generosity, and refinement-^ 
 and the Athens of the Melian debate, with her 
 policy of cold-blooded and calculating cruelty. 
 The high-minded Greek citizen felt no obligations 
 towards the citizens of another state, much less 
 towards the slave population, by whose labour he 
 was supported. His fellow-citizens alone had 
 claims upon him. In what, then, was the common 
 good, the good common to him and them, conr 
 ceived to consist ? The answer follows logically 
 the view taken of the area of duty, and is — civic 
 security and civic splendour. The good man is 
 the man who performs his function as a member 
 of the city-state. And this performance of function 
 may be exemplified in the devotion of the soldier 
 or the statesman ; or, again, in the public-spirited 
 use of private fortune. In these ways the com- 
 mon good could be advanced. The state could be 
 piade to triumph by force or fraud over all its 
 
 M 2 
 
iS"4 THE SPtRiT OF MAM 
 
 'neighbours, and could then be glorified by beautiful 
 buildings and sumptuous theatrical displays. Such 
 an ideal of civic duty must have been full of charm 
 and attractiveness. And yet, on the other hand, 
 the conviction of the Greek philosophers, that this 
 ■practical self-devotion was not the highest life open 
 to man, is very significant. It was a conviction 
 which resulted naturally from the unworthy limi- 
 tation of the field of duty. Moral virtue, thus 
 cramped and confined, was not an adequate ex- 
 pression of man's capacities. The common good 
 was conceived in a thoroughly bourgeois spirit. It 
 is a good which consists largely in social position 
 and a balance at the bank. The fulfilment of 
 function requires a ' complete ' life. The man must 
 be adequately provided with external ' properties ' 
 if he is to play his part on the stage of citizen 
 life. What would happen, we inevitably ask, if 
 this external pi'osperity disappeared? Could 
 virtuous action realise the chief good if it were 
 deprived of all accessories ? This question is never 
 fairly faced by Aristotle, as may be seen from the 
 
VIRTUE 165 
 
 contradictions and contortions in which hig discus- 
 sion of Solon's celebrated maxim ends.' There is 
 in his conception of the common good a dualism 
 of virtue and prosperity — two elements which are- 
 utterly distinct, and which are not fused into a 
 single conception by being merely placed along-, 
 side of each other in a definition of the summum 
 bonum. It is a dualism which does not trouble, 
 him much, being natural to all bourgeois views of 
 life. In fact, the only ground for complaining of 
 it in Aristotle is, that Plato had succeeded in 
 transcending it. Plato had remorselessly cut 
 away all the tinsel and gilding of external position 
 and social respectability, and had fairly undertaken 
 to maintain that justice was good, owing to its 
 own intrinsic influence on the soul of man, even if 
 it escaped- the notice of both godS and men. 
 Plato's deeper insight made him utterly unable to 
 acquiesce in the municipal ideal. His impatience 
 vents itself, partly in dreams of a Pan-hellenic 
 nation,, such as had almost become . possible at 
 '- Ethics, i. 10. 
 
l66 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 the time of the Persian war, but, more often and 
 rtiore forcibly, in a sovereign contempt for civic life 
 and the exaltation of philosophy. Aristotle, too, 
 in spite of his more practical bent, is convinced of 
 the inadequacy of the practical career ; and both 
 philosophers give us a vivid picture of the educated 
 citizen, patriotic and public-spirited at first in 
 municipal matters, but gradually weaning himself 
 from political life, and finding a higher substitute 
 for it in the pure and permanent joys of contem- 
 plation. Thus, the value of social self-devotion 
 was impaired by the narrowness of the society in 
 which it could be exercised. 
 
 And, thirdly, what was the motive of Greek 
 morality? Why should a man live the virtuous 
 life of devotion to the welfare of the state ? The 
 Answer is, because his own life would be incomplete 
 and fragmentary unless he did so ; because he can 
 only fulfil his function, or achieve perfection, by 
 limiting and adapting his own impulses and desires 
 to the requirement of his citizenship — an answer 
 full of value, and fraught with a suggestiveness 
 
X^IRTUE 167 
 
 which is far from being exhausted in Aristotle's 
 own presentation of it. With him the motive ap- 
 pears as an intense feehng of patriotism, in which 
 family ties and civic ambition naturally went for 
 much. A man could act, and ought to act, for his 
 family, his friends, his fellow-citizens, and only in so 
 acting could he live a self-sufficing life. Moreover, 
 he could act disinterestedly for them, in so far as 
 virtue was the link of connection between himself 
 and them ; in other words, so far as the members 
 of these various associations were regarded as 
 moral agents — a conception which suggests Kant's 
 kingdom of ends, and contains the germs of a 
 development which, as Aristotle candidly admits, 
 would logically extend even to the case of slaves. 
 
 The Greek philosopher has here stated two 
 truths of vital importance : first, that it is the 
 selfish, individualistic life which fails and falls 
 short of completeness, the life lived for the whole 
 being alone adequate and satisfactory ; and, 
 secondly, that disinterested action is only possible 
 if a moral view is taken of the persons for whom 
 
i68 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 it is performed. Moreover, we may admit that it 
 was probably owing in great measure to the small- 
 ness and compactness of the Greek communities 
 that he was able to state these principles with such 
 insight. But yet, on the other hand, the restricted- 
 ness of the area corrupted the nature of the 
 motive. Reverence for the sacredness of human 
 personality, which is the only genuine moral 
 motive, appears in a cramped and distorted shape 
 as reverence for civil personality, respect for poli- 
 tical enfranchisement. It issues in a keen enthu- 
 siasm for kinsmen, citizens, and friends, but can 
 naturally give no incentive to duties which rest on 
 a sense of the value of personality as such. Truth- 
 fulness, or the duty of sincerity between rational 
 beings, and chastity, or the duty of reverence to 
 the body as an element in a spiritual whole, are 
 travestied or ignored. 
 
 This objection, of undue narrowness, which we 
 have brought against Greek ethics certainly does 
 not apply to Utilitarianism. • Every man to count 
 for one, and no man for more than one,' is its great 
 
VIRTUE 169 
 
 fundamental principle. The area of duty is as 
 wide as humanity. And what, then, is the nature 
 qf the good which is thus common to all mankind ? 
 The answer is given in simple and unambiguous 
 terms by Bentham, and is in one word. Pleasure. 
 ' Utility I he says,' 'is an abstract term. It ex-, 
 presses the property or tendency of a thing to 
 prevent some evil or to procure some good. Evil, 
 is pain, or the cause of pain. Good is pleasure, or 
 the cause of pleasure. That which is conformable 
 to the utility or the interest of an individual, is 
 what tends to augment the total sum of his 
 happiness. That which is conformable to the 
 utility or the interest of a community, is what 
 tends to augment the total sum of the happiness 
 of the individuals that compose it. . . . The logic 
 of utility consists in setting out, in all the opera- 
 tions of the judgment, from the calculation or 
 comparison of pains and pleasures, and in not 
 allowing the interference of any other idea. I am 
 a partisan of the principle of utility when I 
 
 ^ Princifles of Legislation, pp. 2, 3, 
 
170 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 measure my approbation or disapprobation of a 
 public or private act by its tendency to produce 
 pleasure or pain ; when I employ the words jusi> 
 unjust, moral, immoral, good, bad, simply as col- 
 lective terms including the ideas of certain pains 
 or pleasures ; it being always understood that I 
 use the words pain and pleasure in their ordinary 
 signification, without inventing any arbitrary defi- 
 nition for the sake of excluding certain pleasures 
 or denying the existence of certain pains. In this 
 matter we want no refinement, no metaphysics. . . . 
 He who adopts the principle of utility esteems 
 virtue to be a good only on account of the 
 pleasures which result from it ; he regards vice as 
 an evil only because of the pains which it pro- 
 duces.' Subsequent writers on Utilitarianism 
 have introduced some of the ' refinements ' which 
 Bentham deprecates, and have been guilty of 
 inconsistency in doing so ; but the School, in so 
 far as it has any coherence at all, has gone solid 
 for pleasure as constituting the common good. 
 Mill, indeed, attempted to establish distinctions of 
 
VIRTUE 171 
 
 kind between one sort of pleasure and another, 
 and thereby committed one of his many acts of 
 philosophical suicide. Bentham had seen clear!}' 
 what Aristotle had long ago pointed out, that 
 utility is a relative expression, and must therefore 
 refer to something else as the essential good. 
 Acts must be ' useful ' for something or other, and 
 this final end, to which reference is thus implied, 
 may appear either as pleasure or as moral 
 goodness. 'Kp-^a-iftov St' ov ryivsTai ar^adov rt rj 
 •fihovrj. Now, of these alternatives Bentham had 
 unhesitatingly selected pleasure as the end which 
 all acts were to subserve. Distinctions of intensity 
 and duration might well be drawn inductively 
 between one pleasure , and another ; but to intro- 
 duce a distinction of higher and lower is to wallow 
 back into the mire of mere morality, from which 
 Utilitarianism had washed us. 
 
 Mr. H. Spencer swerves also from the direct- 
 ness of Bentham's language by a variation in 
 phraseology whereby ' pleasure ' and ' happiness ' 
 and ' well-being ' are used as convertible terms. 
 
172. THE SP1RI7 OF MAN 
 
 This change of terms lends a spurious plausibility 
 to some of his statements. The conclusion that. 
 ' approach to perfection really means approach to 
 that which secures greater happiness,'^ would, 
 appear less acceptable if the last word were, 
 'pleasure.' And yet pleasure is what is meant^ 
 and ' pleasure ' is the word used in the more 
 exact formulations of doctrine, as where we are 
 told that 'it becomes undeniable that, taking 
 into account immediate and remote effects on all 
 persons, the good is universally the pleasurable.' * 
 The only serious alteration which Mr. Spencer 
 endeavours to introduce in Bentham's doctrine 
 rests on a further confusion of pleasure (or happi- 
 ness) with physical health. 'The view for which 
 I contend,' he says, ' is, that morality properly so- 
 called^the science of right conduct — has for its 
 object to determine how and why certain modes of 
 conduct are detrimental, and certain other modes 
 beneficial. These good and bad results cannot be ac- 
 cidental, but must be necessary consequences of the 
 • Data of Efhics, p. 34. ^ lb. p. 30. 
 
VIRTUS. 173 
 
 constitution of things ; and I conceive it to be the 
 business of Moral Science to deduce, from the laws 
 of life and the conditions of existence, what kinds 
 of action necessarily tend to produce happiness, 
 and what kinds to produce unhappiness. Having 
 done this, its deductions are to be recognised as 
 laws of conduct, and are to be conformed to, 
 irrespective of a direct estimation of happiness or 
 misery.' Such a proposal to invest the professors 
 of Biology with the functions of General Booth is 
 certainly original. The more consistent Utili- 
 tarians, however, naturally objected to this dog- 
 matic and deductive treatment of their pleasures 
 and pains, and Mr. Spencer is left lamenting that 
 ' it is supposed that in future, as now, utility is to 
 be determined only by observation of results, and 
 that there is no possibility of knowing by deduction 
 from fundamental principles what conduct must be 
 detrimental and what conduct must be beneficial' ' 
 We may return, then, to the main principle of 
 Utilitarianism, that the good which is to be realised 
 
 ' Data of Ethics, p. 58. 
 
174 T'HE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 for all mankind is pleasure. Those to whom 
 duties are owed are men conceived as creatures 
 capable of feeling pleasure. Now, creature capable 
 of feeling pleasure is animal ; and thus Bentham's 
 celebrated dictum comes to this : Every man to 
 count as an animal, and no man for more than an 
 animal. The peculiar endowment of man has 
 disappeared on the widening of the area of duty. 
 The inclusion of all mankind within the pale of 
 morality has been attended by the degradation of 
 man to the level of the other animals. And a 
 result of this is that there is no longer any strong 
 motive force to induce a man to promote the good 
 of his fellows. He and they are alike animals, 
 regulated by pleasure and pain ; animals whose 
 necessary instinct will be to pursue pleasure for 
 themselves, and avoid what brings pain upon 
 themselves. There is no power of cohesion, or 
 social solidarity, to be gained from the principle of 
 pleasure. If we tell a man that pleasure is the 
 chief good, we are telling him that self-sacrifice is 
 an absurdity. We may of course add that every* 
 
VIRTUE 175 
 
 one has a claim to pleasure. We may expound a 
 theory of the natural rights of all men to the 
 gratification of their desires. But we are still 
 inculcating a system of atomism. The pursuit 
 of pleasure is a principle of competition and not 
 of solidarity. A pleasure-seeker, as such, will 
 have no motive for helping other pleasure-seekers. 
 He may, indeed, do something for them, either 
 because he thinks he can thereby get more pleasure 
 for himself, or because he is forcibly compelled to 
 such action by the power of the state. In the 
 former case liberty is retained and morality is 
 frankly discarded ; in the second, liberty and 
 morality die together. 
 
 These objections to the philosophy of pleasure 
 have never been urged with more vigour and elo- 
 quence than by Mazzini. No system of morality, 
 he is always insisting, can be gained from con- 
 siderations of interest apart from religion, or of 
 rights apart from duties. Thus, after alluding to 
 the overthrow of ' the first high priests of the idol 
 of Interest,' namely, the kings, princes, and corrupt 
 
X^6 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 •governments of the day, he addresses the followers 
 of Fourrier and Bentham as follows : ' ' You, who 
 arose the day after, without strong religious beliefs, 
 from the height of which you might have justly 
 overthrown their ugly edifice, without sufficient 
 courage to engage in a death struggle with them, 
 have borrowed the weapons of the enemy, and have 
 said to your followers : They preach the interest of a 
 single class ; we will preach the interest of all. An 
 absurd and impossible dream ! Either you desire 
 to be true to the worship of liberty, of the human 
 person — and in that case you will never be able to 
 reconcile the general interest with that of the 
 individual, the victory of the strong over the weak 
 will meet you as the last outcome of all material 
 progress — or, in seeking to avoid this danger, you 
 will be constrained to violate liberty, which is the 
 bne guarantee of progress you possess.' 
 
 The doctrine of individual rights must issue 
 either in the exploitation of the weak or in a 
 despotic system of state socialism. Hence the 
 ' Systems and Democracy, § i. Complete works, vii. 342, 
 
VIRTUE 
 
 m 
 
 doctrine itself is wrong. 'Without' the religion 
 of Duty, no great transformation of society is 
 possible. Every such transformation implies an 
 increasing development of association. Now, from 
 the idea of right nothing can spring except indi- 
 vidual interest ; and individual interest does not 
 create association, but rather tends to dissolve it. 
 If the theory of well-being is the ruling principle 
 of the transformation, it leaves unbridled the 
 instincts which spur the individual to pleasure, 
 enthrones egoism in the soul, and sanctifies 
 appetite. No reform founded on such elements 
 could be permanent' 
 
 Now, as opposed to Greek Ethics, which deals 
 with man as citizen, and to Utilitarianism, which 
 deals with man as animal, Christianity is occupied 
 with the nature of man as man. In antagonism 
 to the narrow Greek conception, Christianity looks 
 at man in the true universality of his nature as a 
 person ; and, in antagonism to the low view of 
 Utilitarianism, it regards him in the light of his 
 
 ' Systems and Democracy, § i. Complete works, vii. 352. 
 
 N 
 
178 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 highest characteristic as a spirit. It is the peculiar 
 excellence of Christian morality that it maintains 
 this twofold point of view ; that, in breaking down 
 all bars of severance between man and man, it at 
 the same time exalts and magnifies the nature of 
 humanity. Christianity is, in fact, the only system 
 which deals fairly and frankly with man as man, 
 neither narrowing the area nor degrading the 
 substance. And it has in consequence an un- 
 equalled sureness of touch in developing the duties 
 of men. Duty, in the eyes of Christianity, does 
 not spring from membership in any exclusive 
 clique, but rests on the spiritual nature of the in- 
 dividual in his relation to other individuals. Thus, 
 in talking of duties between man and man, 
 Christianity means duties owed by spiritual 
 creatures to each other. The society within which 
 duties exist is mankind as a kingdom of spiritual 
 beings. And, accordingly, the common good which 
 the virtuous man is to further, the good aimed at 
 in Christian ethics, is not the corporate glory of 
 the state, or the private pleasure of the animal. 
 
VIRTUE 179 
 
 but the training and development of personality, 
 the perfecting of human character. Now, the true ! 
 personality of man rests on the fact of sonship to 
 God, involving necessarily a relation of brother- 
 hood to other men. The development of person- 
 ality consists, therefore, in a growing consciousness 
 of that fact of sonship, and a growing recognition 
 of that ethical relation ; and the perfect character 
 is one in which the sonship and the brotherhood 
 are supreme and ruling principles. 
 
 The good sought in Christian morality is thus 
 one in which two elements, the mystical and the 
 practical, faith and love, are fused together in an 
 indissoluble sacramental union. A man cannot 
 be taught his sonship to God without being taught 
 also the brotherhood of men. ' If a man say I 
 love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar. For 
 he who loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, 
 how can he love God, whom he hath not seen .'' 
 And this commandment hath we from Him, that 
 he who loveth God love his brother also.' And, 
 on the other hand, Christian ethics bases this love 
 
 N 2 
 
l8o THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 of man on the common fatherhood of God. This 
 raises and purifies the nature of the service to be 
 rendered. ' Man shall not live by bread alone.' 
 He is a son of God, to be treated with reverence ; 
 his self-respect must be safeguarded from abuse. 
 The cheap charity which turns him into a cadger 
 and a pauper is a direct violation of Christian 
 morality. It costs more than that to redeem his 
 soul — more trouble, and, incidentally, more money 
 too. True philanthropy is the love of man in the 
 light of his highest capacities and his noblest en- 
 dowment, as a being capable of union with God 
 and of duties to other men ; a being invested , with 
 a claim to reverence and with a debt of responsi- 
 bility. 
 
 Social work, if it is to achieve real and lasting 
 benefits, must thus think of man, neither ignoring 
 his mysterious greatness nor stifling his sense of 
 duty. The perfection of human character through 
 faith working by love — such is the nature of the 
 common good in the eyes of Christianity. 
 
 Faith is the capacity of spiritual insight ; love 
 
VIHTUM 181 
 
 is the substance of spiritual action. Both point 
 from themselves to God. Faith receives the grace 
 of God, and love puts it into operation. Neither 
 in itself is anything ; both are made what they are 
 by God's gift of grace. God sends the grace ; faith 
 is the receptive mind, and love is the renovated 
 will. Faith issues necessarily in works of love, 
 since the grace which faith receives is nothing other 
 than the indwelling and constraining presence of 
 Christ. That presence cannot be received and yet 
 remain inoperative. Lack of faith may reject it ; 
 but the act of faith which accepts it, accepts it as 
 an active power. Upd^si s^ avdyKTjs xal sS irpd^ei,. 
 And love in the same way implies faith ; it is the 
 manifestation or output of faith. The love of man 
 cannot dispense with faith in Christ. The only 
 true ultimate object of human service is to put 
 ieternal life within the reach of others. The sub- 
 sidiary object is to supply the conditions under 
 which they may lay hold of it, and to remove the 
 obstacles, such as oppression, or sin, or ignorance, 
 which keep them from it. Now, the work of love, 
 
i82 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 which would thus bring men to Christ, must itself 
 be inspired by faith in Christ. And, lastly, from 
 the union of faith and love springs hope. Hope is 
 a peculiarly Christian grace ; both faith and love 
 are necessary to its production. Faith without 
 love would be without hope also ; it would be the 
 faith of the devils who believe and tremble. And 
 love without faith must in the same way be 
 attended by despair ; it is a passionate defiance 
 hurled at fate by a heart which knows not what to 
 desire. But the faith which works by love, the 
 love rooted in faith, is sustained by hope ; for 
 Christ is Lord of all, and His presence is the light, 
 the support, the reward, the pledge of success, the 
 seal of blessedness, in all human affection and all 
 religious aspirations. 
 
 And, thirdly, the motive to Christian actions of 
 benevolence is reverence for the sacredness of this 
 human personality ; devotion to the well-being of 
 men for the sake of their humanity in its catholic 
 wholeness, not for the sake of that fragment of 
 their nature in virtue of which they are members 
 
VIRTUE 183 
 
 of a state, nor of that other, fragment, in virtue 
 of which they are animal organisms. It is the 
 reverence for human nature which is to impel men 
 to acts of loving- kindness. But an objection arises. 
 Humanity, it will be urged, includes whole classes 
 of people whom the fine taste of the Greeks had 
 rightly excluded from consideration. How can a 
 sense of fellowship with these disagreeable, and 
 often repulsive persons, become invested with a 
 power and attractiveness which shall prove stronger 
 than all the allurements of a pleasant and cultured 
 exclusiveness ? Is there not hypocrisy in the very 
 pretence that such a thing is possible ? Is not a 
 subtle self-seeking, a spirit of * other-worldliness,' 
 the real motive of these so-called philanthropists ? 
 In dealing with this objection we may lay down 
 two principles. First, if a man is to act disinte- 
 restedly for the good of other men, he must regard 
 them as members of a system or society to which 
 he himself belongs ; and the wider this system is 
 the more disinterested does the act become. And, 
 secondly, this society must be one which is capable 
 
I §4 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 of being strongly and attractively conceived. 
 Without the former condition, not even disinterested 
 emotion would be possible. Without the latter, 
 the disinterested emotion would be too weak to ex- 
 press itself in action. The ideal of unselfish action 
 requires that the system should be as wide as 
 possible in its area, and as attractive as possible in 
 its presentation. This sense of a common system 
 to which they both belong, a common nature which 
 they share, makes it possible for a man to love his 
 neighbour as himself. 
 
 Apart from such a conception of a common 
 nature, there can be no unselfish action, because, 
 apart from it, B must remain a mere outsider in 
 the eyes of A, and A in benefiting B will be only 
 exploiting him in his own interest. For instance, 
 A may be a candidate, and B a voter ; A may be 
 a prince, and B a jester ; A may be the possessor 
 of superfluous wealth, and B a beggar. In all 
 these cases A may do something for B, but in all 
 of them he will be really acting for himself, for his 
 own advantage, his own amusement, the relief of 
 
Virtus. i8s 
 
 his own feelings. For, whilst the people stand in 
 that sort of relationship, they are mere hetero- 
 geneous particulars, with no common nature in 
 which they are linked and bound together. A 
 universal middle term is as necessary for moral 
 action as it is for logical inference. And, secondly, 
 if the disinterested desire is to be strong enough to 
 issue in action, this common nature must be one 
 which is capable of being attractively presented. 
 In this sense we can readily admit the possibility 
 of disinterested action, not only within the limits 
 of a family, but also in the service of a small Greek 
 city-state. For there the bond of union was 
 obvious and intense. Now, if we pass from the 
 good of the family and the good of the city to the 
 good of all mankind, it is obvious that action 
 directed to the good of that wider whole would 
 be more genuinely disinterested. But can this 
 common nature be so strongly conceived and at- 
 tractively presented as to triumph over all selfish 
 motives and affirm itself in action ? Must not the 
 strength of the motive diminish in proportion to 
 
iB5 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 the width of the system which is to inspire it ? 
 Must not the pure disinterestedness, whereby man 
 should act for the good of man, be practically 
 powerless and remain a sentimental and visionary 
 ideal? We answer that this would undoubtedly 
 be the case if Christianity, in universalising the 
 area of humanity, had at the same time de- 
 graded its nature and attributes. But this, as we 
 have seen, it refused to do. It had maintained the 
 spirituality of man in the same breath in which it 
 had abolished the barriers between different sorts 
 of men. And therefore that very abolition had 
 enhanced, instead of sullying, the essential great- 
 ness of man. The splendour of his spiritual endow- 
 ment shone with all the greater lustre by being 
 stripped of alien and artificial ornament. Thus 
 conceived, his personality is seen to unite and 
 gather into itself all the different aspects of 
 humanity, which are apt to be taken in too great 
 isolation from each other. Those who find 
 humanity dull, commonplace, uninteresting, do so 
 because they have failed to grasp the concrete 
 
VIRTUE 187 
 
 fulness of man's nature, but have seized on some 
 one element in it, such as his body, or his intelli- 
 gence, and have distorted that into a spurious 
 whole. If they thus insist on regarding him either 
 as a pig or as a prig, it is no wonder that they 
 should cease to take an interest in him ; but in 
 either case they have themselves to thank for the 
 result. Of course it is inevitable that, both for 
 practical and for speculative purposes, man should 
 be looked at from different points of view, that 
 different elements in his nature should be empha- 
 sized and brought into relief But for that very 
 reason it is important never to forget that there is 
 a central unity of the man himself which holds 
 these elements together, and which defies the dis- 
 integrating solvents of scientific philanthropy and 
 philosophical analysis. And this is the unity of a 
 spiritual nature, which saves him from being that 
 hybrid dualism of alien elements into which we 
 complacently try to resolve him. 
 
 In Christianity man stands revealed in the 
 wholeness of his nature, in the splendour of his 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MAN' 
 
 'possibilities. Human personality and human cha- 
 racter henceforth take their place as the crowning 
 fact of the universe, the one great concrete reality, 
 "in comparison with which all else fades into 
 nothingness. All the forces and activities that 
 play about us, the discoveries of science, the com- 
 plicated system of trade and commerce, social and 
 political life, the multitudinous links of connection 
 between man and man, all combine into a subtle 
 and intricate web of machinery, of which the object 
 is to produce the fabric of perfect human character. 
 The world presents itself as God's great factory, 
 with the roar of its engines and the whirling of its 
 wheels ; whilst the end of it all is the making of 
 man, the perfecting of his manhood as a spiritual 
 unity. Personal character is the end. Civilisation 
 is the means. To train, or preserve, or rescue, this 
 spiritual personality throughout the whole society, 
 is the motive of Christian ethics, a motive which 
 appeals to all the generosity, the chivalry, the 
 Compassion which human nature is capable of 
 feeling. 
 
VIRTUE 189 
 
 Thus, in the hands of Christianity the good 
 of man becomes invested with an unparalleled 
 attractiveness ; it becomes an ideal capable of 
 exercising a sovereign fascination on the soul, an 
 ideal which can appeal to men's wills and emotions 
 with an even stronger power than that which the 
 welfare of the city-state exerted on the mind of a 
 Greek citizen. 
 
 In this way duty and not rights, religion and 
 not individual interest, is the motive force of 
 Christian ethics. It follows that Christianity can 
 work out its ends by free association. External 
 compulsion may be the only way to induce selfish 
 pleasure-seekers to respect each other's rights. 
 But the Christian may be trusted to use freedom 
 without abusing it, to exercise individuality with- 
 out becoming an individualist. For duty, the 
 duty of love, is the law of his life. The selfish 
 life is killed, and the Spirit of Him who raised up 
 Jesus from the dead dwells in his heart ; the fruit 
 of the Spirit is love, and love needs no compulsion. 
 A visionary ideal, contradicted by all the crude 
 
190 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 bestiality, all the smug self-seeking, of a so-called 
 Christian age ! Certainly the state of things is 
 blasphemous enough, but it is a still deeper 
 blasphemy to acquiesce in it as though it were 
 inevitable, a still more cruel wrong to advocate a 
 social system which treats man, the temple of the 
 Holy Ghost, as though he was necessarily nothing 
 but a glutton and an adulterer. Mazztni was 
 right in declaring that hedonistic socialism could 
 never rest on a permanent foundation. The 
 tyranny of the stronger would be sure to reassert 
 itself; the system of state regulations would 
 crumble into dust ; individualism would return, 
 with an increased measure of cruelty and meanness, 
 and freedom would be as far off as ever. The 
 real solution lies, not in assuming an exaggerated 
 degradation and propounding an impossible com- 
 promise, but in returning to a true view of human 
 personality. Man is the Spirit-bearer; Christ is 
 his life and his hope ; he can therefore love his 
 neighbour as himself, since both are members in 
 
VIRTUE 
 
 191 
 
 one and the same great spiritual kingdom of 
 ends. 
 
 What, then, on the whole, does Christianity do 
 for morals ? The answer may be summed up by 
 saying that it fixes aright both the area and the 
 object of duty, and supplies it with a motive force 
 both pure and , powerful. The good which 
 Christian ethics sets before itself is the essential 
 good of man — that is, the good of man as a 
 spiritual creature ; it refuses to allow this good to 
 shrivel into the good of a clique of men, or to 
 evaporate into the vagueness of mere pleasurable 
 feeling. And, secondly, the value and dignity of 
 man, as revealed in the person and the doctrine of 
 Christ, supplies philanthropy with a motive force 
 of unequalled strength. Christianity thus enables 
 us to widen the area of duty, without obscuring 
 the definiteness of its aim or weakening the power 
 of its appeal. And the Christian Church, in which 
 this service is to be rendered, thus becomes the 
 highest of all societies. It is a catholic Church 
 
1 92 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 in a combination of two important senses of the 
 word. It is open to every individual ; and it em- 
 braces the individual in the spiritual wholeness of 
 his nature. The former characteristic guarantees 
 the disinterestedness of the service rendered ; the 
 latter, the strength of its motive force. 
 
193 
 
 VI 
 
 INSTITUTIONS 
 
 We have insisted before on the importance of 
 institutions, such as the family, the Church, and 
 the State, as instruments for the perfection of 
 individual character, as opportunities for an un- 
 selfish life. Their value in this respect cannot be 
 exaggerated. It consists in the fact that they are 
 wholes, enabling the individual to transcend his 
 own selfish particularity and to live for a system 
 which extends beyond himself and unites him 
 to other people. The selfish life is a partial, 
 incomplete, fragmentary life. It is a life which 
 must be ' lost,' ' hated,' ' crucified,' if a man is to 
 find his true life^the life lived for the whole in 
 which he is a member. And the different insti- 
 
 O 
 
194 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 tutions, with their varying degrees of compre- 
 hensiveness, make up the progressive education of 
 the individual. He is trained, first, to live and act 
 as a member of a family, choosing the good of 
 the household instead of his own selfish pleasure. 
 Later, he is taught to take a wider sweep, and aim 
 at the welfare of his fellow-villagers or fellow- 
 townsmen. Then he is made aware of his mem- 
 bership in the State and his responsibilities as a 
 citizen. Finally, he discovers that he is a man 
 and belongs to a community which is nobler and 
 more inspiring in its nature and its aims than any 
 of the narrower societies below. It is thus in and 
 through institutions that a man is trained to 
 unselfishness, is led to take wider and truer views 
 of life, until he comes to recognise affinities 
 and duties which bind him in fellowship to all 
 mankind. The sacredness of institutions lies, then, 
 in the invaluable education which they give to 
 character. But this fact is often forgotten, and 
 their nature often misunderstood. In their zeal 
 for the institution, people often distort the relation 
 
INSTITUTIONS 195 
 
 in which it stands to the individual. They 
 tend to substantiate, personify, and even deify 
 the institution in its corporate capacity, as though 
 it had an existence, of its own apart from the 
 individuals of whose nature it is a partial reali- 
 sation. Hence spring all sorts of fallacies, which 
 have as their common result the misunderstanding 
 and degradation of individual life, and in all of 
 which the theorist simply falls a victim to his own 
 abstractions. It is true, indeed, that the highest 
 elements of human character are developed and 
 perfected in institutions ; but it is also true that all 
 these lines of development meet in the central 
 fact of individual personality. The whole sig- 
 nificance of institutions consists in the fact that 
 individuals are in them associating themselves 
 with each other in order to affirm and express 
 certain ideals and aspirations of their nature. 
 Institutions are not substantives but adjectives. 
 They are aspects or manifestations of the indi- 
 vidual. They qualify him as social, as related 
 in various ways to other individuals. It is indi- 
 
196 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 viduals alone who have substantial reality. And, 
 further, not only is every institution in the position 
 of an attribute, but each institution by itself is an 
 abstract attribute. Each is a partial outcome, a 
 limited expression of an individuality which in its 
 concrete variety transcends them all. No single 
 society to which a man belongs can exhaust the 
 fulness of his personality. One institution may 
 express his trade principles, another his political 
 opinions, another his religious convictions, and so 
 forth. But each of these relations is simply an 
 attribute of the man's comprehensive personality, 
 and each becomes an unreal abstraction if divorced 
 from its fellow-attributes. If we ascribe an inde- 
 pendent life and reality to each separate insti- 
 tution, we commit a twofold fallacy, and fall into 
 the silliest of all idolatries, the worship of an ab- 
 stract attribute. The error is rooted in a crude idea 
 that a fact cannot be real except in the sense of 
 material existence. People see that society and 
 its various institutions and associations are true 
 and all-important, and express their admiration in 
 
INSTITUTIONS 1 9 
 
 a blundering way by investing them with a hybrid 
 and spurious substantiality. The most familiar 
 form which the fallacy assumes is the doctrine of 
 the Social Organism, which has been made the 
 text for much ethical theorising and is the basis of 
 the so-called science of Sociology. The doctrine 
 itself is both false and degrading. It is false 
 because it ascribes a sort of gross material ex- 
 istence to society, which really consists of the 
 moral relations of individuals to each other. And 
 it is degrading because it regards individuals as 
 mere tissues in this fictitious organism, mere limbs 
 in this animal monstrosity, without free initiative 
 or rational responsibility. No ethical teaching 
 can rest on such a basis. The membership of 
 limbs in a body is a physical fact and not a moral 
 duty. It is a relation which in no way depends 
 on recognition and acceptance by the elements con- 
 cerned. But this recognition and acceptance are 
 essential to any moral relationship between rational 
 creatures, and, the deeper is their recognition and 
 the fuller their acceptance of it, the more perfect 
 
igS THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 ^7— 
 
 does the relationship itself become. In fact, to 
 tell a man to act as a member of a social organism 
 is to tell him to abjure his reason, deny his 
 responsibility, and become a ' limb ' moved by the 
 arbitrary fiat of a power in which he has no share. 
 
 Society is something far higher than an organ- 
 ism, inasmuch as free co-operation between rational 
 beings is higher than unconscious juxtaposition of 
 material particles ; and the higher cannot be 
 profitably illustrated from the lower. Of course 
 the object of the doctrine is to emphasise the 
 closeness of the connection which ought to exist 
 between individuals in society ; but it is neverthe- 
 less inexcusable that, with this object in view, a 
 theory should have been framed in which the word 
 ' ought ' has no meaning, and in which any self- 
 conscious connection is impossible. 
 
 The same fallacy appears in ' Sociology,' Vith 
 its claim to predict the tendencies of social develop- 
 ment. Indeed, as suggested above. Sociology is 
 rooted in the organism theory of society. It as- 
 sumes that society is a sort of monstrous animal, 
 
INSTITUTIONS 199 
 
 and goes on to maintain, first, that this animal 
 must have a body ; and, secondly, that the growth 
 of that body can be foretold by social anatomy and 
 social physiology. Just as, in the case of a child, 
 we can distinguish the growth of the body, which 
 can be predicted by science, from the action and ex- 
 periences which can only be stated biographically 
 after the fact ; so, it is argued, in society there is a 
 structure whose growth can be predicted, as dis- 
 tinct from the incidents which are stated after the 
 event in history. But if society is not an animal, 
 and has got no body, then this power of prediction 
 disappears, and sociology goes with it. And unless 
 we become slaves of an analogy which is very 
 obvious, very superficial, and very fallacious, we 
 must admit that there is nothing in society which 
 can be justly compared to the body of an indivi- 
 dual. Society consists entirely of the rational and 
 moral relations in which individuals stand to each 
 other. Undoubtedly some of these relations are 
 more permanent than others ; but if we must com- 
 pare the more permanent of them to anything in 
 
5o6 THE SPiRiT OF MAM 
 
 the individual, it will not be to his body but to his 
 habits. Just as habits issue from the continued 
 rational action of an individual, so permanent social 
 relations issue from continued inter-action between 
 rational individuals. Now the habits of an indivi- 
 dual cannot be predicted, because they depend not 
 on the growth of his body, but on his rational and 
 moral behaviour. And so too the permanent social 
 relations defy prevision, since they are the outcome 
 of the moral and rational achievements of aggre- 
 gated individuals, and would be modified by any 
 change in the moral and rational attitude of indivi- 
 duals to each other. 
 
 The same error of substantiating the institution 
 may be illustrated from Hegel. ' Since ethical deter- 
 minations,' he says, ' make up the nature of freedom, 
 they form the substantial reality or universal essence 
 of individuals, who are related to them as accidents. 
 Whether the individuals exist or not, is indifferent 
 to the objective ethical system, which alone has 
 permanence, and which is the power through which 
 the life of individuals is governed. The ethical 
 
iMSTitUTlOtfS 201 
 
 system has therefore been presented to the peoples 
 under the guise of eternal justice or absolute deity, 
 against which the vain striving of individuals is 
 but the play of rippling waves.' * And so again, 
 ' Spirit has reality, and the accidents of reality are 
 individuals.' ^ These are no isolated or exaggerated 
 expressions into which a philosopher may some- 
 times be betrayed ; they are the normal and ne- 
 cessary utterance of Hegelianism. ' Thought,' as 
 Professor Wallace says, ' which is the object of 
 the Hegelian logic, is not merely our thought. It 
 is the universe or totality, of which we and the so- 
 called things are merely fragments, held apart 
 by abstraction.' ^ It would be difficult to conceive 
 a more complete reversal of the truth than is 
 offered in this extract from the Rechtsphilosophie. 
 Instead of asserting that individuals are accidents 
 and abstractions, we must maintain that it is the 
 individual who possesses substantial reality, that 
 the ethical system gains all its significance in being 
 
 ' Rechtsphilosophie, p. 206. " /^. 21S4 ^ 
 
 ' ' Lo^c of Hegel, p. 275. 
 
THE SPIRIT OF- MAN 
 
 a channel for the fulness of individual life, and that 
 the dangers of abstraction could not be better illus- 
 trated than in this endowment of ethical relations 
 with a life and reality of their own. 
 
 But these theories after all only illustrate a view 
 of institutions which is very common, and which, 
 when logically thought out, issues in the extreme 
 forms which have been reviewed. If we regard 
 the good of the institution itself as an end to be 
 achieved, we have already by implication invested 
 it with an independent existence ; and whether we 
 consider it to exist as an animal or as ' pure deity ' 
 is a matter of comparative indifference. If we 
 would avoid this error altogether, we must be con- 
 tinually on our guard against the snares of abstrac- 
 tion. The temptation is real and insidious. We 
 see that men can only live a worthy and adequate 
 life in the institutions of society. Hence we talk 
 of Family and Trade Union, Church and State, 
 with an approval which, if we are not very careful, 
 leads us to distort their character and function. 
 Having started by regarding them lightly as means 
 
INSTITUTIONS 203 
 
 enabling individuals to live for each other, we come 
 to regard them wrongly as ends,' to which indivi- 
 duals are to be sacrificed. The transition is fatally- 
 easy. It is due to the very complexity and variety 
 of individual life. There are countless institutions 
 which touch the individual at different points, and 
 each of which has its own claim upon him. And, 
 further, there must be a clear definition of sphere 
 and object if each of them is to prove effective. 
 They each label the individual, accordingly, from 
 the point of view of their own inspiring motive ; 
 and it is only natural that the man himself in the 
 essential oneness of his nature should tend to dis- 
 appear in the multiplicity of institutions. He 
 seems to be rent asunder into a thousand frag- 
 ments, each one of which is triumphantly exhibited 
 by the various societies as a proof of their own 
 militant activity. The complex variety of indivi- 
 dual life is lost sight of, and the unfortunate man 
 figures merely as a unit in this, that, and the other 
 institution, where his value and significance lie in 
 the fact that, added to other units, he helps to swell 
 
204 TH£, SPIRIT OP MAN 
 
 the total and to effect an ' unprecedented average ' 
 of members. The corporate prosperity of the in- 
 stitution is apt to be aimed at rather than the wel- 
 fare of the individuals who compose it ; Friendly 
 Societies are tempted to unfriendly competition ; 
 Trade Unions are too often false to the sacred 
 principle of free combination in their treatment of 
 the ' blackleg ; ' and Churches are sometimes so 
 anxious to increase the numbers of their flock that 
 their work loses in depth what it gains in area. 
 Institutions, then, require to be reminded that 
 they are machinery meant for the perfecting of 
 character ; that they are the various modes in 
 which individuals may give expression to their 
 conviction of brotherhood and their capacity for 
 self-sacrifice ; and that they gain their peculiar 
 sacredness by being means to such an end. In- 
 stitutions were made for man and not man for 
 institutions. 
 
 Now, if institutions are to fulfil this function of 
 educating character, they must have liberty. They 
 must be free associations voluntarily formed and 
 
INSTITUTIONS 205 
 
 voluntarily maintained. Compulsion would utterly 
 blight their moral purpose. 
 
 Institutions are means for the establishment of 
 moral relationships between individuals ; their whole 
 glory lies in that fact ; and, further, the whole glory 
 of morality lies in its being freely and deliberately 
 chosen for its own sake. Compulsion kills morality, 
 and thereby ruins the whole character of institutions. 
 It kills morality ; for the excellence of morality 
 consists in the disinterested motive, and com- 
 pulsion cannot prescribe the disinterested motive 
 (unselfishness cannot be ordered by Act of Parlia- 
 ment), but, on the contrary, goes far to make it 
 impossible. It is very difficult to do from a high 
 moral motive an act which one is also compelled 
 to do. A coarse, brutal motive, avoidance of 
 punishment, takes the place of the moral desire 
 to do one's duty. Liberty is indispensable, not 
 because liberty is itself the chief good in life, but 
 because without liberty there can be no morality ; 
 not because ' everyone ought to act as he pleases,' 
 but because no one can act as he ought unless he 
 
2o5 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 acts freely. Of course this freedom to act aright 
 may degenerate into licence to act capriciously. 
 But then virtue would not exist unless vice was 
 open as an alternative ; and if vice were made 
 impossible, virtue would ipso facto disappear. 
 
 The question then is, Are men to be turned 
 into non-moral automata, aliens alike to vice and 
 virtue, or are they to remain moral agents, free to 
 devote themselves disinterestedly to virtue and free 
 to choose vice instead ? That is the broad issue. 
 We may regard man as an automaton, and we 
 may regard him as a moral agent. But the two 
 views cannot be combined and fused ; one or the 
 other must be supreme. If the moral agent view 
 is adopted. State interference will be minimised 
 and transformed. Compulsion will only be em- 
 ployed in order to prepare a soil in which freedom 
 may grow and flou^-ish. Freedom requires security 
 to life and property: hence State compulsion 
 rightly provides laws against murder and theft, 
 the Factory Acts being naturally included under 
 the former head. Freedom requires that children 
 
INSTITUTIONS 207 
 
 shall be taught the meaning of the issues on which 
 they will afterwards have to exercise their own 
 volition : hence the justification of compulsory 
 education. Freedom demands the right to form 
 combinations for the furtherance of social or 
 industrial welfare : hence the State has properly 
 interfered to remove barriers and restrictions in all 
 such matters. But when freedom has thus been 
 supplied with its necessary conditions, it must be 
 exempt from further interference if it is to be a 
 basis for morality or the perfecting of character. 
 Of course we may, on the other hand, frankly em- 
 brace the automaton theory, give up morality and 
 character altogether, and look simply at external 
 results. The State might conceivably make it 
 impossible for a man to get drunk ; it might regu- 
 late the hours of his work and fix the amount of 
 his wages ; it might build his house, order his 
 dinner, and send him to bed at a given hour. And' 
 such a policy would probably increase the material 
 well-being of the community ; society would be a 
 v5}v iroXis, the members of which would be com- 
 
2oS THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 fortable, well fed, and free from cares and anxiety. 
 Only we must not attempt to introduce any idea 
 of virtue into such a community. Morality 
 cannot be superimposed on conditions like these,' 
 If free co-operation is declared to be insufficient 
 and unnecessary in the lower and more elementary 
 needs of life, it will hardly survive to inspire its 
 higher and more impalpable ideals. The denial of 
 freedom and morality in one whole department of 
 life , is scarcely calculated to strengthen them in 
 others ; compulsion in one demands compulsion 
 in all. 
 
 Is, then, the State condemned to a masterly 
 inactivity ? And if not, what is its function with 
 regard to the misery and the struggles of indi- 
 vidual life? It may be suggested in reply that 
 
 ' ' The liberty, the dignity, and the conscience of the individual 
 disappear in an organisation of productive machines. It may, per- 
 haps, satisfy the physical life ; but it ruins the moral and intellectual 
 "life, together with all emulation, all free choice of vpork and free 
 association, all stimulus to production, all the delights of property 
 — everything, in fact, vifhich encourages progress. It regards the 
 human family as a herd which only asks to be led to an abundant 
 pasturage.' — Mazzini, Duties of Man, xi. 3, p. 121, popular edition. 
 Rome, 1875. 
 
fNStlTUfJdNS io^ 
 
 the State has here a twofold function : first, the 
 relief of destitution ; and, secondly, the recogni- 
 tion and encouragement of free associations. In 
 England, the first may be illustrated by its Poor 
 Law ; the second by its attitude to Friendly 
 Societies and Trade Unions. In the Poor Law 
 the State recognises the duty of supplying food, 
 shelter, and clothing to all destitute people. How- 
 ever imprudent or vicious a man's life may have 
 been, the State undertakes to provide for him to 
 that extent ; whilst at the same time it insists that 
 his lot as a pauper shall be less desirable than 
 that of the independent citizen. This condition is 
 absolutely necessary, in order to avoid as far as 
 possible any relaxation of moral ties and any 
 weakening of the feelings of duty and responsi- 
 bility between members of a family or a neighbour- 
 hood. If it is rigorously enforced, it safeguards 
 the sense of duty. It stimulates parents arid 
 children to help each other, and it also stimulates 
 private chairity to keep off the rates those who 
 iiave met with undeserved misfortune. The Poor 
 
 P 
 
210 THE SPlkiT OP MAN 
 
 Law, thus rigorously administered, represents the 
 high-w^ter mark of justifiable State help. The 
 State undertakes to save a man from dying of 
 starvation or exposure. It does not undertake to 
 relieve his neighbours and relations of the duties 
 laid upon them by the facts of kinship and humanity. 
 The relation which in England the State has 
 assumed towards free associations of working men 
 is very significant. Having passed through a 
 phase of hostility based on misunderstanding, it 
 has gradually taken up an attitude of friendly 
 recognition and encouragement. There has been 
 a great deal of legislation on the subject of these 
 societies, but extraordinarily little compulsion. This 
 fact is peculiarly striking in the case of Friendly 
 Societies. Such societies are encouraged to regis- 
 ter themselves, and certain privileges and respon- 
 sibilities accrue to those which do so. Every 
 facility for registration is supplied in the shape 
 of a Chief Registrar, supported by deputies, a 
 skilled actuary, and a staff of clerks ; but at the 
 same time it rests entirely with the societies them- 
 
INSTITUTIONS 
 
 selves to decide whether they will take advantage 
 of these facilities or not. No society is compelled 
 by the State to register itself Complete privacy 
 is within the reach of those which prefer it. The 
 duties imposed on registered societies are not very 
 alarming, i. They are required to submit to an 
 annual audit and make a return of their financial 
 position, as audited, to the Chief Registrar. 2. 
 They must also send in a quinquennial valuation 
 of assets and liabilities, which is useful in making 
 explicit the-exact financial position of the society 
 from an actuarial point of view. 3. The Chief Re- 
 gistrar has the right to intervene if a representation 
 of maladministration is made by a certain propor- 
 tion of members, to institute an examination, and, 
 if necessary, order the dissolution of the society. 
 
 The privileges conferred by the Act upon 
 registered societies may be shortly expressed by 
 saying that it gives them a legal status. They 
 receive the power of acquiring and holding 
 property, and of suing and being sued as cor- 
 porations ; and in cases of fraud they may have 
 
212 THE SPIRIT OP MAN 
 
 recourse to courts of summary jurisdiction against 
 their officers. Further, there is a very significant 
 enactment which shows the scrupulous respect 
 shown by the State for liberty and self-government 
 in these societies. ' Every dispute between a 
 member and the society or an officer thereof shall 
 be decided in the manner directed by the rules of 
 the society, and the decision so made shall be 
 binding and conclusive on all parties without 
 appeal, and shall not be removable into any court 
 of law or restrainable by injunction ; and appli- 
 cation for the enforcement thereof may be made 
 to the County Court.' ' 
 
 The State thus brings to bear the minimum of 
 compulsion on the societies which choose to accept 
 its regulations. The further control exercised over 
 individual members comes from within the societies 
 themselves, and is entirely self-imposed. Thus the 
 large registered Order of the Manchester Unity of 
 Oddfellows has a code of eighty-nine rules which 
 are authoritative throughout the Order. These 
 ' Friendly Societies Act, 1875, § 22. 
 
INSTITUTIONS 213 
 
 are supplemented in various local centres by 
 District codes incumbent on all lodges within the 
 district ; whilst, lastly, each separate lodge has its 
 own additional rules drawn up at its own discretion, 
 provided they do not conflict with the code of the 
 District or that of the Order. Now, the Manchester 
 Unity alone has a total of over 700,000 members, a 
 capital of 7,350,000/., a yearly income of 1,300,000/., 
 and an annual expenditure of 680,000/. on sick 
 benefits.^ Similar figures could be given for the 
 Order . of Foresters. And there are smaller 
 societies, such as the Hearts of Oak and, others, 
 which are thoroughly solvent, and do as great a work 
 in proportion to their numbers. In these friendly 
 societies, then, we have a group of beneficent, 
 self-governing institutions, merely endowed by the 
 State with a legal personality, and in return for 
 that privilege submitting to the slightest possible 
 amount of public supervision. 
 
 In the case of Trade Unions recognition by 
 the State has been more gradual and guarded, as 
 
 1 Grand Master's Inaugural Address, 1891. , 
 
214 THEiSPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 was only natural in view of their pugnacious and 
 semi-political character. But at last, after many 
 vicissitudes, it has been effected. The old laws 
 against combination of workmen were repealed in 
 the sensible and spirited Act of 1824; but new 
 restrictions, almost as rigorous, were introduced 
 in the reactionary measure which superseded it in 
 the following year. Then came a long succession 
 of labour disputes, strikes, trials, and royal com- 
 missions, until in 1871 the Trade Union Act 
 declared that ' the purposes of any trade union 
 shall not, by reason merely that they are in re- 
 straint of trade, be deemed to be unlawful, so as 
 to render any member of such trade union liable 
 to criminal prosecutions for conspiracy or other- 
 wise.' (§ 2.) The Act goes on to apply to Trade 
 Unions much the same treatment that we have 
 noticed in the case of friendly societies. It allows 
 them to register themselves, gives a legal status to 
 those which do sO, and requires them in return 
 to send in annual returns of their financial 
 position, &c. 
 
INSTITUTIONS aiS 
 
 But, on the other hand, the Criminal Law 
 Amendment Act, passed in the same year, made 
 labour disputes the subject of special penal enact- 
 ments ; and it was ngt until 1875 that s\\ privileges 
 against labour were finally repealed,'^ and liberty 
 of ' agreement or combination ' fully conceded, 
 subject only to sensible and necessary provisions 
 against ' intimidation or annoyance by violence or 
 otherwise.' We may notice, lastly, that the State 
 takes up the same line with regard to internal 
 disputes between trade unionists as with regard 
 to disputes in friendly societies. The Trade Union 
 Act, Section 3, says : ' No legal proceedings can be 
 entertained by any court for breach of any agree- 
 ment between members of a trade union as such, 
 concerning the conditions on which any members 
 shall or shall not sell their goods, transact business, 
 employ, or be employed.' Disputes of this sort, 
 together with questions as to the payment of sub- 
 
 ' The Employers and Workmen Act and the Conspiracy and 
 Protection of Property Act were both passed in that year, as well 
 as the Friendly Societies Act alluded to above. 
 
3l6 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 scriptions and application of funds, must be settled' 
 privately. 
 
 It has thus been the object of the State to 
 secure freedom at all points of industrial activity. 
 I. It has granted workmen freedom of combination 
 and a fair field in their negotiations virith the 
 employer. 2. It insists on freedom for non-unionists 
 to, dispose of their labour as they think fit. 3. It 
 encourages independence and self-government 
 among trade unionists in the regulation of their 
 business and the settlement of their disputes. 
 Or, to put the same facts in different language, 
 the State declares : i. That it will not itself 
 interfere as judge or umpire in the internal organi-. 
 sation of industry. 2. That it will not allow any 
 of the parties concerned to exercise undue inter- 
 ference with each other's liberty, condemning 
 equally the . tyranny of employers over workmen 
 and the tyranny of unionist workmen over non- 
 unionists. 
 
 There is to be freedom in a twofold sense — 
 freedom from external State control, and freedom 
 
INSTITUTIONS 217 
 
 from internal tyranny, throughout the realm of 
 industry. 
 
 In Friendly Societies and Trade Unions, taken 
 together, the workman possesses already, without 
 State aid, a comprehensive system of insurance. 
 In the Friendly Society he can insure against the 
 ordinary ills of life, such as sickness, old age, and 
 death ; whilst the Trade Union helps him to face 
 the special evils incidental to industry by the out- 
 of-work pay given in case of trade fluctuations, 
 and the strike pay given in case of trade disputes. 
 
 We have dwelt at this length on the relation of 
 our State to working men's associations because 
 the wisdom of its attitude is not sufficiently 
 known or recognised, and because a certain class 
 of theorists are advocating enactments which 
 would utterly and fatally contradict and .stultify its 
 past policy. It is argued that Friendly Societies 
 and Trade Unions are incompetent to solve the 
 labour problems of the age. Searching State 
 intervention, to be followed by permanent State 
 regulation, is accordingly demanded as. the. only 
 
2i8 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 means of dealing with the misery of the working 
 population. But it would be inexcusable to cut 
 the knot in this way, when so much has already 
 been done to untie it ; inexcusable to kill freedom 
 and morality through State compulsion, when free 
 association and moral effort have already done so 
 much to raise and dignify the labouring class. 
 More organisation on the same lines is what is 
 wanted ; organisation which shall extend to un- 
 skilled workers and shall teach them the lessons 
 of thrift, self-reliance, and solidarity which are 
 being so well mastered by the artizans and 
 mechanics. In that way, and in that alone, can 
 material well-being be achieved without the de- 
 struction of character. 
 
 Lastly, we may in a few words apply the fore- 
 going principles to the Church, as the greatest of 
 all social institutions. The Church has always 
 run a great danger of being conceived in a wrong 
 relation to individual life. The very magnificence 
 of its ideals, its divine origin, and its unbroken 
 ministry of grace, have increased the peril. Ac- 
 
INSTITUTIONS 219 
 
 cordingly we find that it has often been sub- 
 stantiated as an organism, and that in consequence 
 the nature of its communion and fellowship has 
 been degraded and misunderstood. For, if the 
 Church be an organism, individuals are limbs ; 
 blind adherence takes the place of free loyalty ; 
 rational responsibility is denied and spiritual 
 initiative discouraged ; Churchmanship becomes 
 an accomplished fact instead of a moral and 
 spiritual duty. And this organism view, with 
 all its corollaries, is being courageously accepted 
 by modern Roman Catholics. To them the 
 Church has a single and substantial existence of 
 her own, and therefore her present structure, with 
 all its anomalies, must be regarded as an orderly 
 growth from primitive conditions ; she speaks with 
 a single voice of infallible authority ; the develop- 
 ment of her thought and speculation is a develop- 
 ment of necessary doctrine ; with logical propriety 
 her reason and conscience have lately been vested 
 in a single centre, whilst her members have, as far 
 as their Church life is concerned, been relegated to 
 
220 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 the position of tissues in the ecclesiastical body 
 politic. And within the Anglican Church there 
 has been too much paltering with a theory of 
 which Rome is the only logical issue. In many of 
 the speculations concerning the catholicity of our 
 Church its defenders as well as its assailants have 
 accepted the ' limb ' theory of Church communion. 
 Its champions laboured to prove that, in spite of 
 appearances to the contrary, it is still a ' branch ' 
 or ' member ' in the one living organism. And its 
 assailants maintained with more plausibility that 
 this vital connection had been snapped, that by 
 the great schism of the Reformation the Anglican 
 branch had been cut off and withered, the An- 
 glican limb amputated for ever from the body 
 of the Church. It is imperatively necessary to 
 take a higher and truer view of the nature of the 
 Church. Like all institutions, it is something 
 far higher than an organism. It is a communion 
 of saints, a society in which individuals may help 
 each other to live the perfect life, a society which 
 consists in the free association and is developed by 
 
WSTIfUtloM zii 
 
 the free co-operation of its members, a society 
 through which these members may gain access to 
 the gifts of grace and truth which come by Jesus 
 Christ. The function of the Church is to bring 
 men to Christ. The ministry, the defence of the 
 faith, the rites, ceremonies, and traditions handed 
 down from the eariiest times, are the means by 
 which this end is sought. Apostolical succession 
 and primitive usage are valuable as a pledge and 
 assurance to men that in the Church they are 
 indeed being brought straight to the feet of their 
 incarnate Master. The unity of the Church lies in 
 its common apostolical origin, in the moral and 
 spiritual communion which exists between its 
 members, and in the consentient witness which it 
 bears to Christ. The catholicity of the Church 
 consists partly in its zeal for truth and its re- 
 spect for legitimate authority, and partly in the 
 universality of its sympathies and its power of 
 winning all sorts and conditions of men to the 
 recognition of the Faith. 
 
 In one sense, indeed, the doctrine of a social 
 
THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 organism is more legitimate as applied to the 
 Church than as applied to other institutions ; for 
 the Church has a life peculiar to itself and shared 
 in by all its members. This is the life of the one 
 indwelling Spirit, which may be appropriated by 
 each and every follower of Christ. In view of this 
 conimon inspiration the Church is described some- 
 times as a temple inhabited by the Holy Ghost, 
 sometimes as the branches of a vine, which is Christ, 
 or as members of a body of which Christ is the head. 
 But the unity thus expressed is always the unity 
 of the Divine Presence — 'the same Spirit,' 'the 
 same Lord,' ' the same God ' — and is a unity which 
 individual Christians must consciously accept. 
 The error of the limb theory, as applied to the 
 Church, is that it distorts the conception of a 
 mystical body, in which individuals have a con- 
 scious membership, into that oi a. physical hoAy, to 
 which they necessarily and unconsciously belong. 
 The unity of the mystical body is illustrated by 
 Christ and St. Paul from that of the physical 
 body. A proportion is being stated. The relation 
 
INSTITUTIONS 223 
 
 which subsists in the Church between the one life 
 and the many members is compared to that same 
 relation as it is found in the physical organism. 
 Rational individuals stand in the same sort of 
 relation to the one life of the Spirit as that in 
 which the limbs of the body stand to the natural 
 life which governs them. What is that relation ? 
 In a word, it is the relation of receptivity, by which 
 the gift of a higher endowment is felt and accepted 
 and exercised. Rational creatures are as much 
 transformed by being endowed with the life of the 
 Spirit as material particles are by becoming 
 organic to the physical life which gives them 
 unity and cohesion. In each case a new gift is 
 given, which is not earned or acquired, but simply 
 received — received, however, in the one case through 
 intelligent appropriation, in the other by uncon- 
 scious passivity. In the Roman theory this 
 difference is ignored ; an identity of ratios is 
 turned into an identity of substances, and the 
 result is that an invaluable truth is perverted into 
 a degrading fallacy. 
 
224 1'H^ SPIRIT OP MAN 
 
 And, again, the Church must, like all institu- 
 tions, have liberty of action. It must find room for 
 peculiarities of national character and give scope 
 to individual initiative. The ideal Church would 
 be perhaps a federation of national churches, sub- 
 jected to the minimum of State interference, each 
 independent of the other, each organising itself in 
 the manner best suited to its surroundings, and 
 each connected with the others in a common 
 descent, a common aim, and the fellowship of a 
 common belief 
 
 And, further, within each separate Church 
 there should be a fuller consciousness than at 
 present exists amongst individuals as to the duties 
 and responsibilities of Churchmanship. In par- 
 ticular it is becoming very necessary in England 
 that laymen should be stimulated to a more 
 intelligent communion. Diocesan conferences and 
 parochial councils are doing something in this 
 direction, but much remains to be done ; and in 
 the matter of efficient organisation, combined with 
 elasticity and adaptability of methods, and founded 
 
INSTITUTIONS 225 
 
 on individual zeal and intelligence, the Church 
 might learn much from the example of the Man- 
 chester Unity. It is to be hoped that this and 
 other lessons will be learnt. The Church surpasses 
 all other institutions in the splendour of its origin, 
 the spirituality of its life, and the purity of the 
 form of brotherhood which it upholds ; it should 
 surpass them also in the wisdom of its administra- 
 tion and in the freedom and spontaneity of its work. 
 We have thus expounded what seems to us a 
 true theory of institutions, and have illustrated it in 
 the case of Friendly Society, Trade Union, Church, 
 and State. We have insisted that the object of 1 
 
 institutions is the training of character ; that their ,; 
 
 j 
 method is freedom of association ; and that their | 
 
 basis is the fact of brotherhood. The nature of I 
 
 the method follows from that of the basis and the 
 
 aim. Without freedom, brotherhood is caricatured 
 
 and character destroyed. And in the light of all 
 
 the three terms combined, institutions are seen to 
 
 be sacred things. Every form of association into 
 
 which people enter, however dry or purely com- 
 
 Q 
 
226 THE SPIRIT OF MAN 
 
 mercial it may seem, has an element of friendship 
 at its root.' It gains its ultimate value and sig- 
 nificance by being a mode of asserting human 
 fellowship and perfecting human character. This 
 is true equally in the factory system, in which men 
 are made members in a great industrial whole and 
 trained in character by the discipline of regular 
 hours, and in the learned society, in which they 
 co-operate to dignify human nature by the acqui- 
 sition of knowledge. 
 
 This perfection of character is an, ideal which 
 no individual can fully attain in his life on earth. 
 But we shall not for that reason turn from the 
 individual and worship the institution; we shall 
 maintain the true infinity of the individual and 
 reject the spurious infinity of the substantiated 
 institution. We shall remember that the life of the 
 individual is both eternal and everlasting ; that 
 the unselfish devotion to a great ideal of know- 
 ledge and goodness has a measure of completeness 
 
 * Kafl' ^txov KoivavoviriVf ^iri TotroCrtiy effrt ^t\ia. — Aristotle, 
 SiA. viii. 9. 
 
INSTITUTIONS 227 
 
 even now through union with Him in whom the 
 ideal became incarnate ; that those who love the 
 brethren have already passed from death to life ; 
 and that this life will only be perfected hereafter, 
 when the Master will be known face \o face in the 
 fulness of His Christhood. 
 
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IN THEOLOGICAL LITERATURE. 13 
 
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 [continued. 
 
14 
 
 A CATALOGUE OF WORKS 
 
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IN THEOLOGICAL LITERATURE. 15 
 
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