which is a frame of mind adapted to the relation between man and his God, and thus becomes a definite sentiment towards God, we must attend to everything in which this frame of mind finds vent and this sentiment utters itself to words as well as deeds, which together constitute the language of religion. But it is evident that observances have value for our research only where we know the conception attached to them by believers, and thus learn their significance. If that conception has not been handed down, either in the doctrine in general or in special records, or if it does not appear in the prayers and hymns associated with the observance, or in the attendant ceremonies, we then are confronted with a riddle the solution of which we can only guess. The old axiom that when two or more persons do the same thing, yet it is not the same thing, is here verified. A Sumerian text of the ancient Babylonian period says that the father lays down his son's life for his own. Thus did King Mesha of Moab, when, in view of the Jewish and Israelitish camp, he sacrificed his first-born son on the ramparts. And there is more than one Aryan tradition to the same effect, resting on similar views. An entirely different view is presented by the well-known narrative of Genesis. There Abraham is not required to sacrifice his son to save himself, but in order to show his steadfast faith and obedience. Or, to take another example, in the New Testament Jesus is said to have been

anointed by two women, and some exegetes consider the two narratives to be different versions of the same event. Now, although both pour costly perfume over the Master's body, the one does it with the reverential love of a penitent sinner, while the other not only shows the overflowing love of a grateful friend, but, as she anoints the head and not the feet of Jesus, she at the same time foreshadows His consecration as the Messiah, whereas Jesus, though greatly commending her, disclaims the augury, and accepts the anointment as for His burial, for His consecration to death.

Or take an observance which is intended to be a repetition of the symbolical act performed by Christ in the midst of His disciples on the last evening of His life, and which, according to the apostolic tradition, He commanded them to continue in His memory-the last Supper. The whole of Christendom, with a few slight exceptions, has kept up this observance. The Reformers have rejected several sacraments of the Roman Catholic Church; but this sacrament, along with that of baptism, they and their Churches have retained. Need I add that the observance is only outwardly and historically the same, and that the widely different significance attached to it by Catholics, Lutherans, and Evangelicals, by Zwingli, Luther, and Calvin, renders it a very different ceremony in each case? In short, in the science as well as in the history of religion, those observances whose religious significance can be dis

Conceptions

covered and traced are alone valuable. mythically or dogmatically, symbolically or philosophically expressed, must ever be the fountainhead of our knowledge of that religious spirit which is the true essence of religion.

These are merely introductory reflections, in which I have endeavoured to convey my conception of the science of religion and of the method applicable to it. In the following lectures I shall try to develop the principles of the science, to indicate how it works, and to state the general results it has yielded. As already pointed out, the task of our science is to make us acquainted with religion, to enable us to trace its life and growth, and thus to penetrate to its origin and its inmost nature. Our study thus naturally divides itself into two main parts-(1) the morphological, which is concerned with the constant changes of form resulting from an ever-progressing evolution; and (2) the ontological, which treats of the permanent elements in what is changing, the unalterable element in transient and ever-altering forms-in a word, the origin and the very nature and essence of religion. The first of these parts will be the subject of the present course. The ontological part will be reserved for the Second Course, and, if God vouchsafes me health and strength, will form the conclusion of the task I have to-day begun.

LECTURE II.

CONCEPTION OF THE DEVELOPMENT OF RELIGION.

THE first task of our science is, as already pointed out, to survey religion in its development. At the outset, however, we must define what we mean by development; but I shall not attempt as yet to determine the essentials of religious development, for these we can only discuss after having traced its whole course. Such an attempt would be premature.

What, then, do we generally understand when we speak of development? This is the first question that must be answered. And it is necessary, because people often have a mistaken notion both of the term and of our understanding of it. It is necessary also because the term is a figure borrowed from natural history, and is only applied by analogy to man's higher nature or spiritual life. Development is growth. From the green bud the flower bursts forth as from its sheath, and reveals the wealth and brilliance of its

colours. From the tiny acorn springs up the mighty oak in all its majesty. The man in the prime of his strength, the woman in the summer of her beauty, have once been helpless children, and we know that their growth began even before their birth. These are instances of what we call development. But the term is not applied to physical life alone. We use it also in speaking of mental endowments, of artistic skill, of individual character, and generally of civilisation, art, science, and humanity. We therefore think that, in view of what the anthropological-historical investigation of religion has brought to light, we are fully entitled to apply the term to religion also. And for doing so we may appeal to no less an authority than Jesus Himself, who compared the kingdom of heaven to a grain of mustard-seed, which is the smallest of all seeds, but grows up into so mighty a tree that the fowls of the air lodge in the branches thereof. What else does this mean but that the seed sown by Him in the bosom of humanity was destined to develop into a mighty religious community?

But although we are obliged to use a figure of speech in order to translate a very complex fact into a single word, especially when that fact is of a spiritual nature, the figure is but a simile which needs further explanation. What do we imply when we speak of development? In the first place, we imply that the object undergoing development is a unity; that the