jectivism except by a patent inconsistency.1 God is, on Ritschlian principles, at best a postulate, arising from the judgment which the human spirit makes of its own wo th.

You will gather that in my opinion the whole system is ruined by its attempt to exclude 'judgments of being 'science and philosophy in fact from any part in the formation or determination of religious Faith. This is partly the result of a very inexcusable confusion of terminology. Just as the Ritschlians extend the province of will, to cover feeling and even unconscious instinct, so they limit reason by regarding it as the faculty which merely observes and reflects on the causes of things. This is psychologically incorrect, and theologically disastrous. The creative Reason, as we learn from St. Paul and St. John, is the immanent cause and end of things. Without Reason the Will is blind, deaf and dumb. And the supreme exercise of the human consciousness, which is to energise in concert with this creative Power, assuredly contains an intellectual element I shall show in my next lecture that we need by no means despair of reaching solid ground by means of the intellect.

Ritschlian theology is generally as orthodox as it can persuade itself to be, and much more so, in words at least, than its principles warrant it in being. When set free from dogmatic presuppositions, the school of thought which we are now considering tends sometimes to the metaphysical (or rather epistemological) theory called pragmatism, which we have already discussed so far as seemed necessary for our purpose; and sometimes to a purely moralistic conception of religion. On the whole,

1 If, however, any friends of Ritschl wish to remind me that their master has also said the exact opposite, I admit it. In the first edition of his great work (Rechtfertigung und Versöhnung, p. 192) he says: The acceptance of the idea of God is no practical faith, but an act of theoretic knowledge.' In the third edition (p. 214) this disappears, and we read: "The acceptance of the idea of God is practical faith, and not an act of theoretic knowledge.' The second opinion is more in harmony with the dominant ideas of his system, which, however, is riddled with contradictions and inconsistencies.

2 This is especially true of Herrmann, whose inconsistency is sharply rebuked by Pfleiderer, Philosophy of Religion, vol. ii. pp. 202, 203.

this theory of Faith appears in the most favourable light when it is made to support nothing except a system of ethics. The ultimate authority, on which the whole structure rests, is then the categorical imperative' of Kant, the autonomous conscience.1 The will is king-the will to obey conscience, to do right and make the right triumph. As a theory of Faith, it has seized one side of the truth; for the fundamental religious instinct does develop, on one very important side, into an imperious desire to shape our surroundings. The religious equivalent of the pragmatist's 'conation which determines truth' is the thirst for God which bears witness that it is caused by God. Desire does not determine truth, but truth does determine desire, and makes itself known through and as desire. But as in former chapters, we find here too that one-sidedness is fatal. I am certain that one of the great causes of what are called 'difficulties' in the way of Faith is the assumption that the universe was designed simply and solely as a school of moral discipline and probation for human beings. It appears to me that this is a survival of a pre-scientific view of the universe. It was tenable when geocentric theories prevailed; it is not tenable now. Our planet, and our species, have no such exclusive importance. And as for the exclusively moral character attributed to the Deity, do we really admire a character which is exclusively moral? Do we feel much respect for one who is blind to all sense of beauty and willingly ignorant of all facts that cannot at once be converted into moral obligations? Is

1 Note the following definition of Faith by the Ritschlian Herrmann: 'Religious Faith in God is, rightly understood, just the medium by which the universal demand of the moral law becomes individualised for the individual man in his particular place in the world's life, so as to enable him to recognise its absoluteness on the ground of his self-certainty, and the ideal drawn in it as his own personal end.' Thus God vanishes in the moral order of the world and religion in morality. This however, was not Ritschl's own position: he distinguishes between religion and morals, and compares Christianity to an elliptical figure revolving round those two foci. But this part of his system -one of his many illogical concessions-seems to me of very little interest or importance.

it really a worthy or a possible conception of God, that He is interested only in conduct, and is destitute of anything corresponding to what in us are called intellectual and æsthetic interests? If we wish to believe in such a Deity, we are certainly wise to construct a world for ourselves out of our wishes and sentiments, for the real world will contradict our belief at every turn.

The limitations of exclusive moralism are very apparent. It is an irrational type, since it has no standard except the moral consciousness. It will not even ask why things are right or wrong; and so it often confounds things indifferent with things morally wrong, and erects senseless puritanical tabus. It rejects happiness and beauty as objects, and lays a coarse and heavy hand on the beautiful things of the world. It is apt to be hard and unsympathetic, and does not escape a sort of sour worldliness.

Matthew Arnold calls this type the Hebraic, as opposed to the Hellenic, which represents the intellectual and artistic ideals of life. He accuses his fellow-countrymen of following the Hebrew ideal too exclusively, and neglecting the Hellenic. Santayana, in speaking of the typically Protestant civilisation, brings a similar indictment in clever satirical form. Protestantism is convinced of the importance of success and prosperity; it abominates what is disreputable; contemplation seems to it idleness, solitude selfishness, and poverty a sort of dishonourable punishment. It is constrained and punctilious in righteousness; it regards a married and industrious life as typically godly, and there is a sacredness to it, as of a vacant Sabbath, in the unoccupied higher spaces which such an existence leaves for the soul. It lacks the notes of disillusion, humility, and speculative detachment. Its benevolence is optimistic and aims at raising men to a conventional well-being; it thus misses the inner appeal of Christianity, which begins by renunciation and looks to

spiritual freedom and peace. It is a part of Protestantism to be austere, energetic, unwearied in some laborious task. The end and profit are not so much regarded as the mere habit of self-control and practical devotion and steadiness. The point is to accomplish something, no matter what; so that Protestants show on this ground some respect even for an artist-when he has once achieved success.'1

Such are some of the fruits of making Faith exclusively an act of the will, or moral sense. In my next lecture I shall show how the prevailing distrust of theoretical constructions has given birth to a peculiar kind of empiricism in religion, which has produced rather startling developments in the Roman Church.

Santayana, Reason in Religion, p. 116.

CHAPTER X

FAITH BASED ON PRACTICAL NEEDS-MODERNISM

THE rulers of the Roman Church have always fully recognised the great influence of Faith upon conduct, and have paid careful attention to the formation of beliefs. The whole educational method of Romanism assumes quite frankly that it is desirable to prejudice the minds of the young in favour of certain beliefs, and that it is justifiable to use almost any means to strengthen and confirm them. The mind of the child, under Catholicism, is moulded into a particular shape almost from his cradle; even in the elementary school-room he is not allowed to breathe a nonCatholic atmosphere; and in mature life he is forbidden to question, even in thought, what his Church has taught him. In many cases this system is as successful in producing the type of character desired as Sandow's gymnastic course is in producing a muscular frame. The Catholic lives and dies in an untroubled assurance that he has possession of the truth; he performs a number of actions, some morally estimable, others morally indifferent, some perhaps morally flagitious, in obedience to his directors, and abstains from others. Like a hothouse flower, he blooms luxuriantly when carefully shielded from the rude winds of free thought and free discussion.

Catholicism is best regarded as an art of holiness. The theory and method of the system are those of all artistic training. The disciple wishes to acquire certain aptitudes —in this case, a certain kind of character-and he puts himself under the care of trained experts who tell him how

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