CHAPTER IV

THE DEVELOPMENT TO HUMANITY

1. THE CONCEPT 'HUMANITY.'

The question, Do we live in an enlightened age? was answered by Kant,

with reference to his own time--which, as is well known, laid claim to

the distinction--flatly in the negative. He added, however, that the

age was doubtless one of increasing enlightenment. One might, perhaps,

be even more justified in raising a similar question with reference

to the relation of our own and of preceding ages to a universally

human culture, and in answering: We are on the way to this goal, but

are still far from having actually reached it. Indeed, in view of

human imperfection, it may be doubted whether we will ever be able to

reach it, unless the imperfection itself be included as an element

in such a culture. The ambiguity of the word 'humanity' is such that

it may signify human weaknesses as well as human sympathy and other

virtues. It was in the latter, the more favourable, sense of the term

that Herder, even in his day, attempted, in his "Ideas," to portray

the history of mankind as an "education to humanity." This expression

suggests that history manifests only a ceaseless striving toward true

humanity; the goal itself lies beyond the reach of possible experience.

Now, a survey of the course of progress described in the preceding

chapters may well cause us to doubt whether the presupposition

from which Herder set out in his reflections on the philosophy of

history is correct. The assumption that factors preparatory to the

development to humanity are already to be found in the original nature

of man--indeed, even earlier than this, in the general conditions of

his natural environment--is not beyond question. Neither primitive

nor totemic man shows the faintest trace of what we should, strictly

speaking, call humanity. He gives evidence merely of an attachment to

the nearest associates of horde or tribe, such as is foreshadowed even

among animals of social habits. In addition, he exhibits but occasional

manifestations of a friendly readiness to render assistance when danger

threatens at the hands of strangers.

It is not until the heroic age that we encounter phenomena such as

might properly be interpreted to indicate the gradual rise of feelings

of humanity. But if we take into account the entire character of this

age, we are more inclined to contrast it, precisely when it reaches its

zenith, with all that we to-day understand by humanity. Consider, for

example, the sharply demarcated State organizations of the heroic era,

its depreciation of strange peoples, and its repudiation of universal

human ties, brusquely expressed during times of war in its treatment

of the enemy and, during times of peace, in slavery. The question as

to whether and in how far the beginnings of our ideas of humanity

reach back into the past and prevail at lower levels of culture, is

confronted with a serious difficulty. Conceptions such as these are

obviously themselves products of a long development and have been

in constant flux. The concept 'humanity' suffers from an ambiguity

which has attached to it ever since the time of its origin, and which

has in no wise diminished as the word has acquired broader meanings.

The word _humanitas_, which in later classical Latin was practically

equivalent to our concept 'human nature,' in both its good and its

bad connotations, acquired an additional meaning in the language of

mediæval scholars. During this period of strong partiality for abstract

word formations, the term came to be used also for the collective

concept 'mankind,' that is, the Roman _genus hominum_--a concept

independent of value judgments of any sort. Thus, the word passed

over into our more modern languages with a twofold significance.

Although the German language developed the two words _Menschlichkeit_

and _Menschheit_, corresponding to the conceptual distinction just

indicated, the two meanings were again combined in the foreign word

_Humanität_. This is exemplified by Herder's phrase, _Erziehung zur

Humanität_ (education to humanity). For, in using this phrase to sum up

the meaning of history, Herder meant that the striving which underlies

all history was not merely for the development of the qualities of

humanity (_Menschlichkeit_), in the highest sense of the term, but

also essentially for their gradual extension to the whole of mankind

(_Menschheit_).

But, whatever our opinion concerning the possible success of such

striving and concerning the relation of its two phases, there can be

no doubt that the concept 'humanity,' which has become common property

among civilized peoples, combines an objective with a subjective

aspect. On the one hand, 'humanity' means the _whole_ of mankind,

or, at any rate, a preponderant part of it, such as may be regarded

as representative of the whole. On the other hand, 'humanity' is a

value-attribute. It has reference to the complete development of the

ethical characteristics which differentiate man from the animal, and to

their expression in the intercourse of individuals and of peoples. This

latter thought incorporates in the term 'humanity' the meaning both

of 'mankind' and of 'human nature,' although it ignores the secondary

implication of human imperfection which 'human nature' involves and

takes into account only its laudable characteristics. Humanity, when

predicated of an individual, means that he transcends the limits of

all more restricted associations, such as family, tribe, or State,

and possesses an appreciation of human personality as such; in its

application to human society, it represents a demand for an ideal

condition in which this appreciation of human worth shall have become

a universal norm. This ideal, however, is subject to growth, and,

like all ideals, is never completely realizable. Hence the following

sketch of the conditions which succeed the age of heroes and gods

cannot undertake to do more than point to the phenomena that give

expression to the new motives that dominate this later period. Sharp

demarcations are in this instance even less possible than in the case

of the earlier stages of human development. The more comprehensive

the range of human strivings and activities, the more gradual are the

transitions and the more fully are the underlying motives--precisely

because they involve the universally human--foreshadowed in the natural

predispositions and impulses of man. Tendencies to esteem man as man,

and a willingness to render him assistance, are not foreign even to

the primitive mind. Even at the beginnings of human culture there are

present, dimly conscious, those tendencies out of which the idea of

humanity may finally develop. Moreover, every later advance seems to

lead in the direction of this conception. The transition from tribe

into State, the changing intercourse of peoples, and the spread over

wide regions of the mental creations of a single people, of language,

religion, and customs--all these phenomena are obviously steps on the

way to the idea of humanity and to its permanent incorporation into

all departments of human endeavour. Neither in its rise nor in its

further changes, moreover, does this new idea entail the disappearance

of previous conditions or of the psychical factors involved in their

development. On the contrary, humanitarian culture takes up into itself

the creations of preceding eras, und allows them to take firmer root.

Thus, the idea of a cultural community of peoples has not weakened,

but, so far as we may conclude from the past course of history, has

strengthened and enriched, the self-consciousness of separate peoples

and the significance of the individual State. The dissemination

of cultural products has not resulted in their decrease. National

differences have led rather to the increase of these products, and have

thus enhanced the value attaching to the spiritual distinctiveness of a

people and of the individual personality. That we may here, even more

than in the case of the earlier periods of cultural history, speak

only of _relative_ values, needs scarcely be remarked. Humanitarian

development includes a vast number of new conditions, in addition to

those that underlie the preceding stages of culture. Since, moreover,

the synthesis at which this development aims is everywhere still in

the process of becoming, the way itself is for the time being the

attainable goal. We may neither be said to be on the way _to_ humanity,

if we mean by this a condition in which none but humanitarian interests

prevail, nor does a humanitarian age, in the sense of the exclusion

of more restricted human relations, appear at all within the field of

vision disclosed to us as a result of past history. As a legacy from

the primitive era, man has permanently retained not only the general

needs of individual life but also the most restricted forms of family

and tribal organization. In like manner, it will be impossible for an

age of humanity ever to dispense with the more limited articulations

of State and society that have arisen in the course of cultural

development. Scarcely any general result stands out as more certain, in

a retrospective survey of our investigations, than the fact that, while

every period discards as worthless a vast number of products, some of

which were valuable to an earlier age, there are other products which

prove to be imperishable. From this point of view, that which precedes

is not merely preparatory to the further course of development but

is itself the beginning of the development. The immediate beginning,

however, is veiled in obscurity. The earlier age is ever unconsciously

preparing the way for one that is to come. The clan of primitive tribal

organization had no idea of a coming State, nor had the ancient demon

worshipper any notion of a cult of rewarding and punishing celestial

deities, yet State and deity cult could not have arisen except for

clan and demon-belief. Similarly, the earlier modes of collective life

possessed the idea of humanity only in the form of a hidden germ. Hence

we may not properly describe these preparatory stages, which exhibit

phenomena of a different and, in part, an entirely dissimilar sort, as

a development to humanity. The term applies rather to an age in which

the idea of humanity, having come to clear consciousness, exercises

an influence upon the various phases of culture, and is entertained

by a sufficiently large portion of mankind to insure its permanent

effectiveness. But even with this limitation the development may not be

regarded as one of uninterrupted progress. However widely disseminated

the humanitarian idea may come to be, there will remain localities and

levels of culture to which it has not penetrated. But, inasmuch as

peoples of very different cultural stages enter into relations with

one another, the possibility is open for such a turn of events as will

obscure the idea of the development to humanity for long periods. That

such deviations from the path of progress have frequently occurred in

the past is certain; that they are never to occur in the future is

scarcely probable. For this reason one can scarcely hope to do more

than to show that, in spite of such retrogressions, the development

to humanity forms a generally connected whole, and that here also

psychological law is regnant.

That such law prevails is at once evident from the fact that of the two

conceptions which we have found to be involved in the idea of humanity,

the _external_ and objective concept expressed by the collective

term 'mankind' is historically the earlier; the concept referring to

_inner_ characteristics, and associated in the consciousness of the

individual with clearly defined value-feelings, follows only gradually.

We might express this relationship by the phrase, Mankind must

prepare the way for human nature. This does not imply that isolated

manifestations of the latter might not long precede the rise of the

idea of mankind--indeed, must necessarily have preceded it, in so far

as a predisposition is concerned. It means merely that human nature

did not, as a matter of fact, attain to its complete development, nor

was it able to do so, until after the idea of the unity of mankind had

progressed beyond the stage of vague impulses or of recognition on the

part of but a few individuals in advance of their age. In other words:

The collective concept 'mankind,' as representing, not merely a generic

term created by the intellect, but a real totality ultimately uniting

all its members in a social whole, preceded the concept 'human nature,'

as connoting a recognition of universal human rights to which each of

the members of the human race may lay claim, and of duties which he, in

turn, owes to human society. The case could not be otherwise. Unless

the idea of mankind were already present in some form, even though

this be at the outset inadequate, the requirement that an individual

give expression to humanitarian sentiments would be impossible, since

there would be no object of the activity. If we consider the sequence

of the various phenomena involved in the development to humanity, we

find a striking agreement between history and the results to which

our analysis of the concept 'humanity' has led us. The earliest of

the phenomena here in question dates far back to the beginnings of

the events known to us through historical monuments, and consists

in the rise of _world empires_. Though the term 'world empire' is

sometimes used to refer merely to a great kingdom that results from

the absorption of a number of separate States, such a use of the word

does not do justice to its meaning. The idea of world empire really

comes into existence only at the moment when such a kingdom lays claim

to embracing the terrestrial part of the universe, and therefore the

whole of mankind, however much this claim may represent a mere demand

which has never, of course, actually been realized. The very fact of

the demand, however, itself involves the conscious idea of a unity

embracing the whole of mankind. Moreover, the endeavour to realize this

ambition follows with inner necessity in the case of all political

organizations that call themselves world empires, particularly at the

period of their zenith and of an increasing consciousness of power.

This leads to further important results, which, though at first

doubtless not consciously sought, nevertheless later increasingly

become the object of voluntary endeavour. Though externally retaining

the traditional political organization, the world empire required

an extension of the institutions of law and of administration that

had thus far prevailed in the more limited State. A similar change

gradually took place in connection with intercourse and its fostering

agencies, and subsequently in connection with language, customs, and

religious beliefs. Thus, it was the world empire that first prepared

the way for _world culture_, only meagre beginnings of which existed

in the period of a more restricted political life. The extension of

wants and of the means of their satisfaction was first evident in

the field of commerce, though a similar tendency came more and more

to prevail in the various departments of mental life. Pre-eminent

among these interests was the one which is the most universal and

is based on the most common needs, such as are experienced by all

members of human society, namely, _religion_. Thus, as one of the

last of the creations possessing universal human significance, _world

religion_ makes its appearance. The preceding age did not progress

beyond national religions. However much the mythological elements of

cult, in particular, may have travelled from one people to another,

these elements were assimilated by the national religions. Inasmuch

as these religions continued, on the whole, to preserve their own

identities, the fact that any elements were of foreign origin very soon

disappeared from the folk-consciousness. Not until the period which

we are now discussing do we find religions that lay claim to being

universal. Even though this claim may remain a mere demand, just as

in the case of the world empire, it is precisely as such that every

historical world religion has asserted its influence. This striving

for universality is far keener in connection with world religion than

it is in the case of world empire and world culture. In comparison

with this endeavour to become universal, the fact that no period ever

witnessed merely a single world religion is relatively unimportant,

though not to be overlooked in considering the spiritual needs of

mankind. Disregarding subordinate religions and such as are of less

significance for culture as a whole, there are at least _two_ great

world religions, Christianity and Buddhism. These have asserted

themselves side by side, and will presumably continue further to

maintain themselves, inasmuch as they correspond to sharply defined

characteristics of universal world culture. Finally, world culture and

the world religions form the basis of _world history_, a third element

in the collective consciousness of mankind. If we understand by 'world

history,' not the political or cultural events that simultaneously run

their independent courses, but the historic consciousness of mankind

itself, combining the idea of mankind as a unity with that of the

development of this unity in accordance with law, then world history,

in this, the only accurate meaning of the term, is the last of all the

factors involved in the idea of humanity. Since the individual who is

developing in the direction of the ideal of humanity mirrors all other

aspects of human nature, world history ultimately becomes for him the

gradual realization of the idea of humanity. Thus, world empires, world

culture, world religions, and world history represent the four main

steps in the development to humanity.

2. WORLD EMPIRES.

Even in the midst of the spiritual forces dominating the heroic age

there are phenomena that foreshadow a development transcending the

limits of this period. Of these phenomena, none is more prominent

than the striving for world dominion. The first battles of early

political organizations, and the victories over conquered peoples, led

to an enhanced consciousness of power on the part of the individual

State. This consciousness found expression, first in strife between

neighbouring dominions, and later, as soon as one of these had

gained the supremacy, in the establishment of an empire including

many separate States. Such an impulse to transcend the limits of the

single State is so natural and so directly prefigured in the motives

to individual action that we come upon it wherever any historically

active political organizations have arisen. In the realms of western

Asia, such attempts are to be found from the time of the Sumerian and

Accadian States down to the struggle of Babylon and Assyria for the

rulership of the world. Egypt had a succession of dynasties which at

first glance might seem to simulate a unified history, but which in

reality represents the transference of supreme power from one State or

city to another, and along with this the growing ambition for a single

all-embracing dominion. The same phenomenon appears in the struggle of

the Greek and Latin tribes for hegemony, and also in the foundation of

the great Persian kingdom of the Achæmenidæ; the latter gave way to the

world empire of Alexander, which, though of short duration, was never

again equalled in magnitude; succeeding it, came the world empire of

the Romans, the last that could properly lay claim to the name.

It is in Egypt, on the one hand, and in the succession of West-Asiatic

kingdoms, on the other, that the first stages of this development of a

world kingdom out of the dominance of one powerful State over a number

of vassal States are clearly exhibited. The struggle for supremacy, in

which vassal might elevate himself to the position of ruler and lord be

reduced to vassal, and in which newly immigrant peoples often took a

decisive part, immeasurably enhanced the striving to extend the sphere

of dominion. This development reached its culmination when the supreme

ruler of a power that dominated a very considerable number of vassal

States expressly asserted the claim of being _ruler of the world_. The

fact that such a claim was made wherever a supremacy of this sort came

into existence under conditions of relatively limited intercourse,

testifies to the immanent necessity of the development. Wherever the

domain of such an empire approximated the limits of the known world,

the universal State was conceived as including also the rest of the

inhabited earth. This conception came to expression in the title which

the ruler regularly assumed. He laid claim to being the king of kings,

the overlord of the world, the ruler of the 'four quarters of the

earth.' Through a reversal of that process of transference by which

the characteristics of the terrestrial State were carried over, in

deity cult, to the divine State, the ruler of the terrestrial State now

himself became a god. This accounts for the surprising uniformity with

which the idea of a god-monarch arose wherever that of a world monarch

was developed. In the pre-Babylonian realms of the Euphrates and Tigris

valleys, the ruler erected his own image, as an object of worship, in

the temple; in the land of the Pharaohs, the heads of the sphinxes

placed in front of the temples bore the features of the monarch. Even

Alexander the Great commanded that the Egyptian priests greet him as

a son of the god Amon Re; after acquiring the authority of the great

Persian kings, he demanded from those about him the external signs of

divine adoration. Similarly, the Roman emperors of the period from

Diocletian down to Constantine. In spite of their inclination toward

republican offices and customs, which by their very nature militated

against such ceremonial, these emperors accepted the idea that the

world ruler should be worshipped in cult. As the god-idea gained

increasing power, however, deity cult itself presented a counteracting

influence to the fusion of the ideas of world ruler and deity. A

rivalry arose between god and ruler. The king whose omnipotence led

to his deification repelled the ruler of heaven, and the ruler of

heaven and earth, on his part, refused to tolerate any rival of earthly

origin. This led to a temporary compromise in which the ruler, though

not himself regarded as a deity, was nevertheless held to be the son

of a god, as well as the agent who executed the divine will. Or, after

the pattern of hero myths, and in remote resemblance to ancestor

cult, the ruler was believed to enter into the heaven of gods upon

his death, so that it came to be only the deceased ruler who received

divine adoration. The later rulers of Babylon, for example, called

themselves the sons of Marduk, who was the chief god of Babylonia,

and the features of this deity were given to the image of Hammurabi.

The Roman emperors, on the other hand, from the time of Augustus on,

were accorded divine reverence after death. When the king, realizing

the exalted character of divine majesty, finally came to feel himself

entirely human, these practices vanished. The emperor now became either

the mere representative of the deity or one who was divinely favoured

above other men. Hence the development terminates in a formula of

royalty which has even yet not disappeared--the formula, "by the grace

of God."

The development which we have described progressed continuously

from beginnings that were almost contemporary with those of States

until it eventuated in the world State. What, we must now ask, were

its motivating forces? We cannot ascribe it to a craving for power

which overmasters the ruler of the single State as soon as he has

successfully conquered a foreign territory and a foreign people.

Doubtless this factor was operative, yet it was obviously an effect

rather than a cause, although an effect which, in the reciprocal

relations of impulses, itself forthwith became a cause. But the

immediate and decisive factors that led to the idea of establishing

a world State, are to be found only partly in the motives underlying

the extension of the single State into a world State, and in the

results connected with the attainment of this ambition. These motives

and results were, in the first instance, of an external nature. They

consisted in the fact that the world State enjoyed increased means

of subsistence and power by reason of the tribute which it received

from subjugated provinces or from vassal States. Tributes of grain

and cattle, of precious stones and metals, and especially of valuable

human material, were placed at the command of the Pharaoh, or of the

Babylonian or Persian monarch, for the building of his canals, his

temples, and his palaces, for military services, and for an officialdom

more directly subject to his will than were free-born natives.

Everything which the single State required for its maintenance was

demanded in a heightened degree by the world empire. Thus, it was

the concentration of the means of subsistence and power that led to

the displacement of the single State by the world empire, just as it

was the same influence, on a smaller scale, that gave to the State

its ascendancy over the earlier tribal organization. In extending

its authority over wider and wider territory, the world empire

itself finally perished as a result of the increasing difficulty in

unifying its forces. It either broke up into separate States or a

similar process of expansion started anew within the same boundaries,

beginning now with one of the erstwhile vassal States and now with a

new tribe that migrated into the territory. The first of these changes

is illustrated by the Babylonian-Assyrian empires; the other, by the

catastrophes suffered almost contemporaneously by the realm of the

Pharaohs, through the influx of the Hyksos, and by Babylon, at the

hands of the conquering hordes of the Hittites. The same phenomena

recur in the partition of the empire of Alexander the Great and in the

downfall of the Roman world empire. Unless world empires degenerate

into a mere semblance of universal dominion, as did the Holy Roman

Empire, they obviously become the more short-lived in proportion as

history comes to move the more rapidly. Hence the Napoleonic attempt

to revive the old idea in a new form became a mere episode. The single

State finally triumphed over the world empire, and everything goes to

show that the idea of an all-embracing world empire is little likely to

recur unless the continuity of history is to be seriously interrupted.

It thus appears that the idea of establishing a world empire is

not to be accounted for solely in terms of a constant striving to

augment the means of power. Such endeavour prevails now, no less than

formerly, in every State that has in any way attained to an independent

development of its power. At the present time, however, none but at

most an occasional Utopian dreamer adheres to the idea of creating

an all-inclusive world State. Even where this occurs the idea is

completely antithetical to that of earlier times. The ideal which is

at present proposed for the distant future involves, not the extension

of any single State into a world State, but rather the dissolution

of existing States and the establishment of a society of universal

peace among nations, such as would render entirely superfluous any

instruments of power on the part of the State itself. But we have

further evidence that the impulse to increase the means of power

could not have been the only, nor even the decisive, factor in the

development of the idea of a world empire. This evidence is to be found

in the fact that, while a world empire never existed except as an

idea, the age in which this idea dominated history regarded the world

empire as a reality. Hence there must have been other motives, of an

ideal nature, to bridge over the chasm between idea and reality in such

wise as to identify the former with the latter. Though it is possible

to urge, in explanation, that the knowledge of the real world was at

that time limited, this does not solve the problem. Even though the

Babylonian king might have felt satisfied to call himself the ruler

over the four quarters of the earth because practically all countries

of which he had knowledge in the four directions of the wind paid

tribute to him, this of itself is not adequate to account for the fact

that he regarded the universality as absolute and not relative. Over

and above the fact of a limitation of knowledge, there was requisite

particularly the idea of the _unity of the world_, and the application

of this idea to the reality given in perception. This idea of unity is

similar to that of the absolute unity of the world-order whose centre

is the earth, an idea that dominated the astronomical conceptions of

antiquity. Both ideas, that of a world empire embracing the whole of

mankind and that of a universe whose centre is the earth and whose

boundary is the crystal sphere of the heaven of fixed stars, sprang

from the same mythological world-view that also found expression in

the conception of a divine State projected from earth into heaven. To

these gods, with a supreme deity at their head, belonged the rulership

of the world. Whenever a change in the city that formed the centre

of the terrestrial world empire resulted in a new supreme deity,

the conditions of the earthly kingdom were all the more faithfully

mirrored in the divine kingdom, for the other gods became, as it

were, the vassals of this supreme deity. This mythological picture,

projected from the earth to heaven, was necessarily reflected back

again to earth. Herein lies the deeper significance of the idea that

the ruler of the world empire is himself a god, or, at the least, a

person of divine lineage and the representative of the supreme guardian

deity of the kingdom. It is precisely because of this connection with

mythological conceptions that world empires were but transitory. The

period of their zenith and, more particularly, the period in which

they possessed a fair degree of stability, coincided absolutely with

the time at which deity myth was at its height. In the age of a waning

deity belief, it was only the influence of numerous elements of secular

culture, combined with a high degree of adaptability to the conditions

of individual States, such as the Roman mind acquired under the

conjunction of unusual circumstances, that enabled the idea of a world

empire to be again carried into realization, within the limits which we

have set to the term. Proof of the inner connection between the idea

of a world empire and a mythological conception of the world, is to be

found even in the case of Diocletian, the last powerful representative

of the idea of a world kingdom. Diocletian not only invested the Roman

emperor with the attributes of the Oriental world ruler of ancient

times, but also claimed for himself the worship due to an earthly

Jupiter.

3. WORLD CULTURE.

Inasmuch as the world empire belongs essentially to the age of deity

cults, it is not so much a realization of the idea of humanity as a

preparation for it, presaging a development beyond that of the single

State. That this is the case manifests itself even in the temporal

sequence of the phenomena. For it is at most anticipatory elements of

the idea of humanity that are embodied in the world empire. With the

disintegration of world empires, however, partly as their after-effect

and partly as the result of their dissolution, we find phenomena of

a new sort--those comprehended under the term _world culture_. In

so far as the rise of world empire involves factors that lead to

world culture, these affect primarily the material aspect of the

life of peoples--world intercourse, the resulting multiplication of

needs on the part of peoples, and the exchange of the means for the

satisfaction of these needs. The spiritual phases of culture, which

outlast these external and material phases, make their appearance

more particularly at the time when the world empire is approaching

its end. Since, however, it is these spiritual phases that are of

predominant significance, world culture as a whole is to be regarded as

an after-effect of world empire rather than as a direct result toward

which the latter has contributed. The reason for this is not far to

seek. It lies in the one-sided striving for the acquisition of external

means of power, and in the consequent despotic pressure which the

world empire, particularly in ancient times, brought to bear upon its

separate members. It is also connected, however, with the fact that the

dissolution of world empires usually brings in its wake migrations and

a shifting of peoples. Even within the culture of the ancient Orient,

the spread of the elements of myth and saga, as well as of the products

of art and science, came especially with the destruction of earlier

world empires and the reconstruction of others. The empire of Alexander

the Great led to what was perhaps the greatest epoch of world culture

in the history of civilization, yet the latter was conditioned, not so

much directly by this empire, as by its disintegration at the time of

the Diadochi. Similarly, the downfall of the last world empire that

may properly lay claim to the name--the Græco-Roman kingdom--likewise

resulted in a great cultural movement, due in part to the shifting of

peoples which took place at this time, though more especially to the

spread of Christianity. Here, again, the fact that the world empire

was preparatory to world culture is substantiated. For the dying world

empire employed even the last powers over which, in its final agony,

it still had control, to pave the way for the world religion that was

taking its rise.

Nevertheless, as a result of the tremendous resources which, in the

beginnings of a higher civilization, were possessed by the world empire

alone, there was _one_ field in which the period of such empires was

directly creative and in which it set an example to future ages. I

refer to the technique of mass and to the monumental art connected

with it. The streets, viaducts, and magnificent edifices of the period

of the Roman emperors have long aroused the wonder and admiration of

later generations, as monuments of a power that had unlimited means at

its command. The constructions of the Egyptian, Babylonian-Assyrian,

and Persian world empires lacked the artistic execution which the

influence of Greek art made possible to the constructions of the

Romans. We have now come to know, however, that the former were not

surpassed by the latter in the immensity which resulted from the

consciousness, on the part of the builders, that they had countless

human forces at their disposal. The canals and roadways of the Egyptian

and Babylonian monarchs, moreover, also give clear evidence that the

needs of agriculture and commerce were provided for in a way that would

have been impossible, in these early stages of world culture, except

through the resources at the command of a world State. The extension

of intercourse resulting from world empire is to be regarded as at

least a partial factor in the transition to the institution of money.

It exercised an influence also toward the development of a system of

writing, whose purpose it was to communicate the decrees of government

to officials and vassals, and to preserve a record of the deeds of

rulers and of the laws enacted by them. In this wise, the material

aspects of world culture exerted an influence upon the mental aspects,

whose direct expressions are speech and writing.

As regards the relation of speech and writing, the two fundamental

elements of all culture, the culture of individuals and world culture

show an important difference. In the culture of individuals, of course,

speech long precedes writing, verbal expression being crystallized

into writing only after a relatively high level of culture has been

attained. In world culture, on the other hand, writing paved the way

for verbal intercourse. The reason for this difference lies in the

fact that speech is a natural product of the direct intercourse of

individuals who are sharing a common life. Writing, however, is an

invention by which individuals seek to disseminate and to preserve the

ideas embodied in speech far beyond the spacial and temporal bounds

that limit oral communication. Hence, communication in writing is

the first step from folk culture to world culture. The simplicity of

the characters which it employs enables it to pass from one people

to another and from one generation to the next even more readily

than does the speech of commerce. For though the latter is of a more

universal character than the many separate mother tongues, it asserts

itself only with difficulty in competition with them. The history of

cuneiform writing is especially instructive as regards the point under

present discussion. The Semitic people, whose migration to Babylonia

succeeded that of the Sumerians, lost all knowledge of the Sumerian

language, but they preserved the written texts as sacred. In the course

of folk migrations, cuneiform writing likewise penetrated to the coast

regions of Asia Minor, although in this instance it was continually

used to express new idioms not to be found in the land of its origin.

Letters have been found representing a correspondence between certain

Babylonian kings and Egyptian Pharaohs, and dating from the fifteenth

century before Christ. These letters, called Tel-el-Amarna letters

after the place of their discovery, are a remarkable testimony to the

fact that the demands of commerce gradually cause speech to follow in

the wake of writing, even though the means which the Babylonian employs

to make his cuneiform writing intelligible indicates that his Egyptian

correspondent possessed only a slight acquaintance with the Babylonian

language.

It was not until a much later time that any language of intercourse

and literature became sufficiently widespread to be called a world

language, even in that relative sense which attaches to all universal

terms of this sort. This occurred, in the case of the _Greek_

language, under the rule of the Diadochi. In this instance, again,

the first advance in the direction of world culture followed, in the

main, upon world empire. For, though we must admit that the empire of

Alexander was of altogether too brief a duration for such a purpose, it

is nevertheless true that it witnessed only the beginnings of a world

dominance of Greek language and culture. Taking into account the narrow

limits of the cultural world of that period of history, there has been

no age since that of the Diadochi concerning which we would be prepared

to say that it attained to so widespread a dissemination of a uniform

culture. The striving beyond a national to a world culture which

took place at that time was, of course, the fruition of far earlier

tendencies. The fact that the Greek colonies retained the language and

customs of the mother country was itself a preparatory step. Following

the train of colonists were individual travellers, whose desire for

knowledge led them beyond the regions where the Greek language was

known. Even in that early day, Pythagoras and Xenophanes, Herodotus and

Xenophon, Democritus and Plato made extensive travels throughout the

lands bordering on the Mediterranean. Alexander's expedition to India,

a country which had up to that time been regarded as a marvellous

fairyland, marked the culmination of the journeys to remote regions

which had, at the outset, been undertaken by individuals. Nevertheless,

the spread of the impulse to wander remains of primary significance for

the Hellenistic period. The warrior, the tradesman, and the physician

share this impulse with the scholar and the artist. In the age of

tribal organization, it was the tribe or clan that travelled to distant

places, its object being to escape the pressure of want and the need

threatened by the exhaustion of the hunting-grounds or the soil; in the

heroic age, it was the people as a whole who left their homes, either

because they were crowded out by enemies or because they were eager to

assert their power by establishing cities and States; in the age under

present consideration, it is the individual who is seized with the

longing for travel, his purpose being to find elsewhere more favourable

opportunities for the exercise of his vocation, or, perhaps, to see the

world, and thus to enlarge his field of experience and his knowledge.

The large and rapidly growing cities that spring up into centres of

the new world culture attract the people of all lands, as do also the

ancient and far-famed seats of intellectual culture. In Alexandria,

Pergamus, Athens, and, finally, in Rome, there mingle representatives

of all races--of the Greek, Egyptian, Syrian, Persian, and Italic

peoples. Greek is the language of common intercourse. Alexandria,

however, gradually displaces Athens as the chief seat of science. The

latter comes to be fostered, not by Greeks, but, in large part, by

individuals of other nationalities, particularly those of the Orient.

This new world culture possesses two distinctive characteristics.

The first of these consists in a growing indifference to the State

as such. The second, antithetical to the former and yet most closely

related to it, is a high appreciation of the individual personality,

connected with which is a tendency on the part of the individual to

develop his own personality and to assert his rights. That which the

public values undergoes a change. The emphasis shifts, on the one

hand, from the State to a culture which is universally human, and

thus independent of State boundaries; it passes, on the other hand,

from political interests, in part, to the individual personality and,

in part, to universal spiritual development. Thus, world culture is

at once cosmopolitan and individualistic. As respects both these

characteristics, however, the interest in humanity finds expression

in a transcendence of the limits of a single people. Here, again,

preparatory stages will be found far back in Greek culture. As early

as the time of the Sophists, individuals, wandering from city to

city as travelling teachers, proclaim the spirit of personal freedom

and the dependence of all social institutions and ties upon the will

of the individual. When we come to the Epicurean and Stoic schools,

which reach over into the period of early world culture, the idea of

humanity in both its aspects receives its classic expression, though

with differing emphases, conditioned by the ethical and religious

needs as a whole. Similar conditions prevail in the positive sciences.

In natural science, which reached its first classical development in

the Alexandrian period, an interest in universal natural laws, as

discovered in astronomy and mechanics, occurs side by side with an

absorption in descriptive observations of the most detailed sort.

History fluctuates between attempts at an abstract schematization

of the epochs of political development, after the pattern of the

Aristotelian classification of the forms of the State, and biographical

accounts of dominating personalities and their deeds. Similarly,

philology combines the grammatical disputes of the Peripatetic

and Stoic schools--disputes as yet unfruitful in their abstract

generalities--with that minute pursuit of literary studies which has

since given the period the discreditable name of 'Alexandrianism.'

Art also manifests this _coincidentia oppositorum_. The monumental

edifices of this epoch exhibit a tendency toward the colossal, whereas

sculpture is characterized by a painstaking and individualizing art

of portraiture; the drama portraying the pompous action of ruler and

State, appears alongside of the play of civic intrigue and the mime.

As the result both of inner dissolution and of the aggression of new

peoples who were just entering upon their political development,

Hellenistic world culture underwent disintegration. It first split up

into Greek and Roman divisions, in correspondence with the partition

of the Roman world empire and that of the Christian Church connected

with it. Except the fact of the separation itself, nothing shows more

significantly how far both divisions were from possessing a world

culture than does the decline of that indispensable means of common

culture, language. The West preserved meagre remnants of the Latin

civilization, the East, fragments of the Greek civilization. In the

course of the centuries, the clergy of the West developed a class

of scholars who were out of sympathy with the prevailing tendencies

toward national culture. In the East, the barbarian nations, which

the Church barely succeeded in holding together, exercised a benumbing

influence upon culture; cultural activity, therefore, sank into

a dull lethargy. The ancient world empires, whose last brilliant

example, the monarchy of Alexander, had formed the transition to the

first great world culture, gave place, at this later time, to _world

religion_. As the result of struggles which, though long, were assured

of ultimate success, world religion subjected the political powers to

its authority. Destined, in the belief of peoples, to be imperishable,

this religion outlived the changing forms of the secular State, and

was the only remaining vehicle of world culture, fragmentary as this

may have been. But the inner dissolution to which the last of the

great world empires, that of Rome, succumbed, overpowered also the

Church as soon as the latter endeavoured to become a new world State

and insisted on the duty of believers to render obedience to it. When

this occurred, the world culture fostered by it necessarily proved too

weak to assimilate the new tendencies which were beginning to manifest

themselves. Conditions were ripe for the striving to achieve a new

culture. In contrast with the ideal of the Church, this culture was

concerned with the actual world, and therefore felt itself related

to the cultural idea of antiquity. Thus arose the culture of the

Renaissance. In it, we again have a world culture in the true sense

of the word, even though it was shared, at the outset, only by the

ambitious and the educated, as had, indeed, also essentially been the

case with its prototype.

The culture of the Renaissance formulated its ideal by reference both

to the past and to the future. It sought to revive the world culture of

the Græco-Roman period, but yet to give to the latter a content suited

to the spirit of the new age and to the tasks awaiting it. Hence the

Renaissance was not merely a rebirth, as its name might suggest, but

a new world culture. Though possessing many traits in common with the

older culture of Hellenism, it bore, in an even greater measure, its

own peculiar stamp. The most noteworthy feature common to the two was

their combination of universalism and individualism--a feature that

is, perhaps, characteristic of world culture as such. Apparently both

universalism and individualism become more prominent with the course of

time. During the period of the Renaissance, the cultivation--one might

almost say the cult--of the individual personality probably reached

the highest point that it had as yet attained. The human monster, who

violated without compunction all laws of propriety and custom, and

the ascetic zealot, who sacrificed himself for a visionary ideal,

could both alike arouse admiration because of the uniqueness of their

characters. Along with this emphasis of individual personality, there

flourished social ideals of a religious and a political nature. It was

under this influence that the reformation of the church began its work

and that new political theories and Utopian accounts of a happy future

for the human race made their appearance. In still another respect

does the age of the Renaissance appear to be a genuine revival, in an

enlarged world, of the Hellenistic period. Again the individual is

overpowered by the impulse to travel, and, as a consequence, the age of

great geographical discoveries is inaugurated. The voyages of the great

discoverers--of Columbus, Vasco da Gama, and Magellan--were the result,

for the most part, of personal initiative. And, though other motives

may have lurked in the background, the discoverers themselves were

chiefly inspired by that desire to wander which, more than a century

earlier, had led the Venetian Marco Polo to travel alone in the distant

lands of eastern Asia.

But, in certain essential particulars, the later period of world

culture possessed a character all its own. The basis of culture was

no longer a world State, but a world Church. No longer, moreover, was

there an indifference to the State, as had been so generally the case

in Hellenistic times. A heightened political interest was everywhere

beginning to be manifest. That which long continued to give this period

its unique stamp was the struggle between State and Church. The social

impulses tended in the direction of a new political order, and to a

certain extent, even at this time, toward a social reconstruction.

The world culture of this period, moreover, sustained a completely

altered relation to language, that universal vehicle both of mental

life and of the material culture which grows up out of the intercourse

of peoples. It was not a world language, such as results naturally

from the authority of a world empire, that constituted the basis of

the new cultural unity. On the contrary, the latter was dependent

upon a multiplicity of languages, which gave expression to the mental

individuality of peoples just as did the national States to the

diversity of particular political and social interests. The influence

of more extensive educational activities made itself felt. The forms of

commerce and of the interchange of the mental products of nations were

manifold, yet education rendered the means of material and intellectual

intercourse common property so far as this was possible and necessary.

Thus, world culture itself acquired a new foundation. A world language

must of necessity be an active and a living language, and, in view of

the fact that all social institutions are historically conditioned,

it can attain its supremacy only through the influence of a world

empire. Hence every world culture whose basis is a unity of language,

in the sense of a world language, is doomed to be transitory. Fragments

of such a culture may survive, but it itself must perish along with

the language by which it is sustained and, more remotely, with the

political power by which the language is upheld. All this is changed

as soon as world culture is established on the basis of a multiplicity

of national tongues as well as of national States. Then, for the first

time, may world culture become more than merely an occasional epoch

of history; thenceforth it may enjoy a permanent development. With

this in mind, one may say that the period of the Renaissance laid

the foundation for a new form of world culture, whose characteristic

feature is that combination of humanistic and national endeavour which

is still prevalent throughout the civilized world.

4. WORLD RELIGIONS.

One of the most significant marks of the heroic age is the existence of

national religions. Just as each race possesses its own heroes, so also

does it have its own gods, who are reverenced as its protectors in wars

with foreign peoples. True, gods and their cults may occasionally pass

over from one people to another. Wherever there is an assimilation of

foreign cults, however, all traces of origin disappear; the gods who

are taken over from other peoples are added to the company of native

gods, and enrich the national pantheon. So far as these conditions are

concerned, world empires bring few changes. At most, they expressly

subordinate the gods of conquered lands to the god of the ruling city,

and thus prepare for the idea of an all-comprehensive divine State

corresponding to the universal terrestrial State. The decisive step in

the completion of this development is taken only under the influence of

the world culture that grows up out of the world empire. The special

national deities that represent the particular interests of individual

peoples then inevitably recede in favour of gods and cults sustained

by universal human needs, in which case the cults are, on the whole,

identical, even though the deities bear different names.

It is of importance to note the motives that led to the first steps

toward the realization of a universal human religion. They were

identical with the very earliest incentives to religion, such as

prevailed among all peoples on the very threshold of the belief in

demons and gods. For, after the disappearance of political interests,

to which the national gods owed their supremacy, it was again _two_

experiences that occupied the foreground--_sickness_ and _death_.

During the period of Hellenistic world culture, the occupation of the

physician was held in especial esteem. Connected with this was the

fact that the cult of Æsculapius, the god of healing, grew from small

beginnings into a cult whose influence extended over distant lands.

Even more marked was the increase in the influence of those cults that

centred about a world after death and the individual's preparation

for it. The origin of these cults was connected both with the needs of

this life and with the desire for endless joy in the beyond. In view

of their identical development, how could it have escaped notice that,

whatever formal differences there might be, the Grecian Demeter, the

Phrygian Cybele, and the Phœnician Astarte were alike in nature? Even

more than was the case with the Greek mysteries, these Oriental cults

carried over into the cults of the beyond, into which they developed,

certain ecstatic and orgiastic elements of ancient vegetation cults.

All the more readily, therefore, were the latter cults incorporated

into the deity cults, inasmuch as these had as their concern the

satisfaction of human needs generally. But conditions were ripe for a

still further advance. As has been suggested, the national and State

interests which fettered man to the actual world of his environment

gave way to interests transcending this world. In proportion as this

occurred, however, did the life of the present, deprived of its former

values, relinquish all cherished desires in favour of that heavenly

world possible to all men regardless of class, calling, or nationality.

This change was antithetical to the innate fear of death, and yet

was its own final product. All these cults thus became _redemption

cults_. To be redeemed from the evil of the world--the desire of

deeper religious minds--or, after the enjoyment of the good things

of this life, to receive still greater happiness after death--a hope

doubtless entertained by the majority then as now--such was the primary

object of the cults of these supranational gods. National cults had

fashioned the gods in the image of man, even though exalting them with

all the power of the mythological imagination into the superhuman and

the unapproachable. At this later period, all efforts were directed

toward bringing these anthropomorphic gods nearer to man as regards

the activities in which they engaged, and particularly as regards the

experiences which they underwent. No figure in the later Greek pantheon

better lent itself to such a purpose than did Dionysos. Like the female

deities representing Mother Earth, this male deity originated in the

ancient field and fertility cults. Later, however, he became more and

more transformed by legend into the ideal of a striving and suffering

deity, who, after a horrible death, arose to new glory. Related

to Dionysos were other deities who likewise became supreme in the

Hellenistic age--Mithra, Attis, Osiris, and Serapis. All of these were

gods who had been redeemed from pain and anguish, and were therefore

capable, in their sympathy, of redeeming man.

In its beginnings, Christianity also was one of these religions of

redemption. Over five hundred years before its rise, moreover, there

had already appeared in the Far East a religion in which the same

thought occupied the foreground. I refer to Buddhism. With reference

to the steps by which Buddhism attained its supremacy, our only data

are the controversies of the philosophical schools that participated in

the development. These controversies make it probable that the basal

motives involved were similar to those that were later operative in the

cultural world of the Occident. There were also essential differences,

however, traceable to the fact that the various Brahmanic systems had

a common religious substratum, and that Hindoo thought had attained

to a fairly advanced stage of philosophical development. One fact is

doubtless universal--the appearance of a redemptive religion marks the

decadence of an old and the rise of a new period of culture. Beginning

with the Hellenistic period, therefore, and continuing with increased

strength during the Roman world empire, there was a transition from a

national to a humanistic culture. World religion was a more decisive

indication of this crisis than were any of the other elements of

world culture, or than was even world empire, which prepared the way

for world culture. The old gods could no longer satisfy the new age,

unless, at any rate, they underwent marked transformations. The age

required new gods, in whom national traits were secondary, as they were

in life itself, and universal human characteristics were supreme. It

was particularly the unique worth of the individual human personality,

without regard to birth, class, and occupation, which this period

of transition from the national to the humanistic ideal emphasized.

Hence the obstacles which the surrounding world placed in the way of

personal endeavour were inevitably felt the more deeply in proportion

as the values of the narrower community life disappeared. A change in

mood took place within the consciousness of the age, as it so often

does within that of the individual, and this change was enhanced by

the contrast of emotions. The world lost the values which it had thus

far held, and became a place of evil and suffering. In contrast with

it, there loomed up a yonder world in which the desired ideals were

believed to meet fulfilment. This mood, of course, did not continue

permanently. World religion was of inner necessity forced to adapt

itself to the earthly life in proportion as State and society again

acquired a more fixed organization. But, just as the strata of the

earth's crust retain the effects of a geological catastrophe long after

it has passed, so spiritual life continues to exhibit the influence of

upheavals that have occurred in the transitions from age to age, even

though the spiritual values themselves have undergone many changes. In

this respect, world religion manifests a conserving power greater than

that of any other product of mental life.

There are only _two_ world religions, in the strictest sense of the

term, _Buddhism_ and _Christianity_. Confucianism, which might perhaps

be included so far as the number of its adherents is concerned, is a

system of ethical teachings rather than a religion. Hence, when we take

into account the vast number of Chinese peoples, Confucianism will be

found to embody a great number of different religious developments,

the most important of which are the ancient ancestor cult and

Buddhism, the latter of which penetrated into China from elsewhere.

The faith of Islam is a combination of Jewish and Christian ideas with

ancient Arabian and Turanian traditions. As such, it has brilliantly

fulfilled the mission of bringing a cultural religion to barbarian

or semi-barbarian peoples, but it cannot be credited with being an

original religious creation. Judaism finally formed a supremely

important element of Christianity, one whose influence would appear

to have been absolutely indispensable. In itself, however, it is not a

world religion, but is one of those vanquished cults which struggled

for supremacy in the pre-Constantinian period of the Roman world empire.

But what, let us ask, were the powerful forces that gave these two

great world religions their supremacy? Surely it was not merely their

inner superiority, though this be in no way disputed. Nor was it simply

propitious external circumstances, such, for example, as the fact that

Constantine made Christianity the State religion. Doubtless there were

a great number of co-operating factors, foremost among them being the

desire for a purely humanistic religion, independent of nationality

or external position in life. And yet this also could not have been

of decisive significance--precisely such a longing was more or less

characteristic of all the religious tendencies of this transitional

period. Moreover, this leaves unexplained the peculiarities of each

of the two great world religions. These are in complete accord as

regards their universal, humanistic tendency, but are just as different

in content as is a Buddhistic pagoda from a Gothic cathedral. As a

matter of fact, these world religions are also cultural religions.

Back of each of them is a rich culture, with characteristics peculiar

to itself, even though its basal elements are universally human. Hence

it is that these two world religions are not merely expressions of a

striving for a universally valid religious and moral ideal, in the

sense in which such a striving is common to mankind as a whole; it

should rather be emphasized that they reflect the essentially different

forms which this striving has assumed within humanity. Buddhism, in

its fundamental views, represents the highest expression to which the

religious feeling of the Orient has attained, while Christianity, as

a result of the conditions which determined its spread, has become

the embodiment of the religious thought of the Occidental world. To

appreciate this fact we must not allow our minds to be diverted to

the tangled profusion of beliefs in magic and demons which Buddhism

exhibits, nor to the traditional and, in part, ambiguous sayings of

the great ascetic himself. If we would discover the parallels between

Buddhism and Christianity, we must hold ourselves primarily to the

ideas that have remained potent within the religion of Buddha. True,

the worlds which these religions disclose to our view differ, yet in

neither case had religious feeling up to that time received so exalted

an expression. In Buddhism, as in original Christianity, human life

is regarded as a suffering, and this underlies both the irresistible

impulse to asceticism and repentance, and the hope for unclouded bliss

in the future. The Christian of the primitive church looks forward to

the speedy return of Christ, and to His inauguration of an eternal,

heavenly kingdom. In contrast with this, it is as a prolonged migration

through animal bodies, alternating with rebirth in human form, that the

Hindoo thinker conceives that great process of purification by means of

which sense is finally to be entirely overcome and man is to partake

of an undimmed knowledge of the truth, and, with this, of supreme and

never-ending bliss. This is the true Nirvana of Buddha. Nirvana does

not represent the nothingness of eternal oblivion, but an eternal

rest of the soul in pure knowledge, a peace which puts an end to all

striving, just as does the heaven for which the Christian hopes. The

difference between Nirvana and the Christian heaven is merely that, in

the one case, the emphasis falls on knowledge, whereas, in the other,

it is placed on feeling. This distinction, however, is not absolute.

Buddha, also, preaches love of one's neighbour--indeed, sympathy

with every suffering creature; and the Christian, as well as the

Buddhist, seeks the knowledge of God. Moreover, ideas of purification

are necessarily involved in redemptive religions, and hence are to be

found in Christianity no less than in the world religion of the Orient,

though in a different form. The Occidental Christian, swayed by his

prompter emotions, images in the most vivid colours the agonies of

the damned and the purification of the sinners in need of redemption.

The patient and peace-seeking Oriental entertains the conception of

a prolonged suffering that leads gradually, through the light of

knowledge, from the debasement of animal existence to a state of

redemption.

A further feature which differentiates these kindred religious

developments is their relation to the contemporary philosophy which

affected them. Buddhism grew out of philosophy, and then became a folk

religion. In its spread, it became transformed from an esoteric into

an exoteric teaching, continually absorbing older elements of folk

belief. Its ethical basis never entirely disappeared, yet it became

more and more obscured by a multitude of miracle-legends and magical

ideas. Christianity, on the other hand, began as a folk religion and,

in so far, as an exoteric teaching. But, in entering into the strife

of religions and into the controversies of the thought-systems of the

Hellenistic-Roman period, Christianity passed under the control of

philosophy. Precisely because it lay outside the realm of philosophy,

it was subjected to the influence of the various schools, though it

was most decisively affected by Platonism and Stoicism. Inasmuch as

philosophy itself had its setting in a superstitious age, it was the

less able to purify Christianity from the belief in demons, miracles,

and magic which the latter, as a folk religion, embodied from the very

outset. Nevertheless, philosophical thought supplemented the real

meaning of religious statements with an idealized interpretation.

This gave birth to dogma, which consisted of a peculiar combination

of esoteric and exoteric elements, and for this very reason assumed

a mystical character. Hence it is that Buddhism, which sprang from

philosophy, never possessed any real dogmas in the sense of binding

norms of faith, whereas Christianity, which originated as a folk

religion, fell a prey in its dogmatization to a theology which

prescribed the content of belief.

These two world religions, which dominate the main centres of spiritual

culture, do not, surely, owe their supremacy over other religious cults

to the external conditions of their origin. Indeed, these conditions

differ in the two cases. To account for the pre-eminence of the two

religions we must look to the religious and moral nucleus which they

possess in the sayings and teachings as well, also, as in the ideal

lives of their founders. In spite of all differences, there is a

similarity of character between the prince who wandered about as a

beggar, preaching to the peoples the salvation which pure knowledge

brings to him who renounces all external goods of life, and the man

of the common people who pronounced blessings on the poor and the

suffering because they are prepared above others to find the way to

heaven. Another remarkable coincidence is the fact that the religious

communities which they inspired sought to deprive them of the very

characteristic which opens human hearts to them; they were real persons

who lived and to whose deeds and sufferings their contemporaries bore

testimony. What, as compared with them, are the redeeming gods in the

pantheon of the various nations--Dionysos, Mithra, Osiris, or even

Serapis, whose worship was established by the Ptolemies under the

driving power of ideas of extensive political authority? The need of a

living god whose existence was historically attested led irresistibly

to the elevation of the man into a god. Thus, though in an entirely

different world-setting and with a completely changed hero-personality,

the process through which deities were created at the beginning of

the heroic age was repeated. At this later period, however, it was

not the universal type of idealized manhood that was regarded as the

incarnate deity, but a single ideal personality. This purely human

deity was no longer bound by national ties; he was not a guardian of

the State and a helper in strife with other peoples, but a god of

mankind. For every individual he was both an ideal and a helper, a

saviour from the imperfections and limitations of earthly life. With

this process of deification, the religions whose central object of cult

was the suffering individual who secures for himself and for mankind

redemption from suffering, opened their doors also to the gods and

demons of earlier ages. Thus, there penetrated into Buddhism the Hindoo

pantheon, together with the beliefs in magic and spirits which were

entertained by the peoples converted to Buddhism. The Christian Church

did not finally supersede the earlier heathen folk belief until it had

assimilated the latter in the conceptions of demons and the devil, in

the cult of saints, and in the worship of relics, the last-mentioned of

which also constituted an important element of Buddhism.

In the case of Christianity, there was still another factor which

prepared the soil for the new religion. This factor was due either to

a direct transference or, as is probable so far as the main outlines

of the history of the passion are concerned, to the real similarity

of this event with the legends, prevalent in all parts of the earth,

of the death and resurrection of a deity. Such legends everywhere

grew up out of vegetation cults, which date back to the beginnings

of agriculture. The hopes centred about a world beyond caused the

cults based on these ideas to incorporate the soul cults. The latter

then displaced the original motives of vegetation cults. In this

way, higher forms of soul cult were developed, as exemplified by the

ancient mysteries and by the related secret cults of other peoples.

The exclusive aim now came to be the attainment of salvation from the

earthly into a heavenly world. It was thought that this goal would be

the more certain of attainment if, yielding to the old association of

the mystical and secret with the magical and miraculous, the circle of

initiated cult companions were narrowly limited. But how different is

the form which this very ancient legend of a god who suffers, dies, and

rises again assumes in the suffering and death of Christ! Jesus was

a real person, whose death on the cross many had witnessed and whose

resurrection his disciples had reported. Moreover, the cult of this

crucified Saviour was not enveloped in a veil of secrecy. The redeeming

god did not wish to win heaven merely for a few who had gained the

privilege through magical ceremonies. The Christian heaven was open

to all, to rich and poor, though especially to the poor, who were to

receive in the beyond a rich compensation for the good things denied

them upon earth. It is but natural that this new cult, with its vastly

deeper and more vital significance, and with the strength which it

nevertheless continued to draw from the old traditional legends, won

for itself the allegiance of the new world with its strivings for a

greater security in life as in death. Even some of the Roman soldiers,

coming from their Saturnalian or Sacæan festivals, may, perhaps, have

felt strangely moved upon seeing re-enacted, as a terrible reality,

that which in their country was a playful custom, representing a

survival of a once serious cult and ending in the mimic death of the

carnival king. It was obviously in recollection of these very prevalent

festivals that the coarser members of the crowd gave to him who was

crucified the name "King of the Jews." The appellation was exactly

suited to heighten the contrast between the joyous tumult of such mimic

cults and this murderous reality.

The above scene was prophetic of the entire subsequent development of

the new religion. That Christianity became a world religion was not

due merely to the depth and sublimity of its spirit--these were hidden

under a cover of mythological elements, from which Christianity was

not free any more than were other religions. Christianity gained its

supremacy, just as did Buddhism, in its own way, through a capacity to

assimilate auxiliary mythological conceptions to an extent scarcely

equalled by any of the previous religions. The very fact that the

latter were national religions precluded them, to a certain extent,

from incorporating alien ideas. It was not only mediæval Christianity

that took over a large part of the earlier belief of heathen peoples.

Even present-day Christianity might doubtless be called a world

religion in this sense, among others, that, in the various forms of

its beliefs and professions, it includes within itself, side by side,

the most diverse stages of religious development, from a monotheism

free from all mythological elements down to a motley collection of

polytheistic beliefs, including survivals of primitive ideas of magic

and demons.

But there is another phenomenon in which the spirit of Christianity

comes to expression even more significantly than in its capacity to

adapt itself to the most diverse stages of religious development. Here,

again, there is a similarity between Christianity and the other great

world religion, Buddhism. The belief of Hindoo antiquity in a populous

heaven of gods was very early displaced, in the priestly wisdom of

India, by the idea of "the eternal, unchangeable" Brahma. We here

have an abstract deity-idea from which every trace of personality has

disappeared. It was under the influence of this priestly philosophy

that Buddha grew up, and his esoteric teaching, therefore, did not

include a belief in a personal deity. Meanwhile, the ancient gods had

continued to maintain their place in popular belief, though their

original character was obscured by rankly flourishing ideas of magic

and demons. This state of affairs was due to the fact that there was

no longer a supreme deity who could give to mythology a religious

basis. In the religious movement which began with Buddha, however, the

latter himself came to be a supreme deity of this sort, the old nature

gods and magic demons becoming subservient to him. The god-idea had

been etherealized into the abstract idea of a superpersonal being,

but its place was taken by the human individual exalted into a deity.

Christianity underwent the same crucial changes, though in a different

manner. In the philosophy of the Greeks, the personal deity of popular

belief had been displaced by a superpersonal being. Plato's "idea

of the good," the Aristotelian _Nous_, which, as pure form, holds

sway beyond the boundaries of the world, even the Stoic Zeus as the

representative of the teleological character of the world order, and,

finally, the gods of Epicurus, conceived as indefinite forms dwelling

in nebulous regions and unconcerned with the world--all manifest the

same tendency either to elevate the personal deities of the heroic age

into superpersonal beings, or, as was essentially done by Epicurus, to

retransform them into subpersonal, demon-like beings. In contrast with

this tendency, Jesus, as the representative of a religious folk belief,

holds fast to the god of ancient tradition, as developed in the Jahve

religion of the Israelites. Indeed, it is in the conception of Jesus

that this god receives his deepest and most personal expression,

inasmuch as he is conceived as a god of love, to whom man stands in the

relation of son to father. This conception of the relation of God to

man Christianity sought to retain. But history is not in accord with

this traditional view. Cult and dogma alike testify that in this case

also the deity came to be superpersonal from an early period on. To

cult, which is always concerned with personal gods, Christ became the

supreme deity; in the Catholic Church, there came to be also a large

number of secondary and subsidiary gods, who sometimes even crowded the

Christ into the background, as is exemplified particularly by the cult

of the Virgin Mary. Dogma, on its part, cannot conceal the fact that

it originated in philosophy, which is destructive of personal gods.

For dogma ascribes attributes to the deity that are irreconcilable

with the concept of personality. The deity is represented as eternal,

omnipotent, all-good, omnipresent--in short, as infinite in all

attributes that are held to express his nature. The conception of the

infinite, however, contradicts that of personality, for the latter

demands a character that possesses sharply defined attributes. However

comprehensive our conception of personality may be, limitation is

necessarily implied; the concept loses its meaning when associated

with the limitless and the infinite. Even though dogma may continue

to maintain that belief in a personal God is fundamental to Christian

faith, such a belief is nevertheless self-contradictory; the union of

the ideas 'personal' and 'god' must be understood as a survival within

the era of world religions, where many such survivals occur, of the

god-idea developed by national religions.

The truth is that the transformation of the personal god into a

superpersonal deity is probably the most important mark of world

religion. National religion displaced the subpersonal demon in favour

of the personal god; in world religion, the personal god is exalted

into a superpersonal deity. At this point there is a very close

connection between world religion and world culture. As the idea that

the universe is bounded by a sphere of fixed stars must give way to

the conception of the infinitude of the universe, so also does world

culture transcend the limits imposed upon it by the preparatory world

empire, whose own origin was the State. World Culture, as we have

seen, comes to signify a cultural unity of mankind, such as includes

the national States. Similarly, world religion strives toward the idea

of a deity who is superpersonal, and who, though only in so far as he

is superpersonal, transcends the world of experience. The foundations

of this concluding stage in the development of religion had long been

laid by philosophy. In religion itself, the culmination was actually

attained with the recedence of the deity in cult; in theology, it

came with the ascription to the deity of attributes of absoluteness

and infinitude, even though the deity-conception did not clearly

emerge from a mystic incomprehensibility rendered inevitable by the

combination of contradictory ideas.

Though the transition from a personal god to a superpersonal deity

is the decisive characteristic that marks a world religion, there

is closely connected with it a second distinctive feature. In

Christianity, indeed, it was the latter that prepared the way for the

idea of the non-personal character of God. The fact to which I refer

is that, in addition to the non-personal deity, there is believed to

be a personal god in the form of an exalted human individual. Cult

continues to require a personal being to whom man may come with his

needs and desires. And by whom could his trouble be better understood

than by a deity who himself lived and suffered as a man? In Buddhism,

therefore, as well as in Christianity, the god-man became the personal

representative of the non-personal deity, not as the result of any

external transference, but in consequence of the same inner need. The

god-man is a representative in more than one respect. Cult honours him

as the deity who dwelt upon earth in human form, and who represents the

godhead; it turns to him also as the human individual who represents

mankind before God. Back of these two ideas of representativeness

that dominate belief and cult, there is still a further, though an

unrecognized, need for a representative. The religious nature requires

that there shall be a personal god as the representative of him who has

been exalted into a non-personal deity and has become inaccessible. The

infinite god posited by the religious intellect is unable to satisfy

the religious nature that is pressed by the cares and sufferings of

finitude. Herewith the way is opened for a development whose course

is determined by the changing relations into which the two aspects of

the concept 'god-man' enter with one another. On the first stage, the

divine aspect of the god-man overshadows the human character. At this

period, it might appear as though world religion merely substituted a

new god for the older gods. Though the superpersonal deity receives

recognition in dogma, and the development, therefore, marks an

important religious advance over the age of gods, the cult is directed

to the person of the god-man. Then comes a second stage, in which

the human aspect of the concept 'god-man' occupies the foreground.

The god-man becomes an ideal human being who succours man in the

afflictions of his soul, but who does so not so much by his divine

power as by the example of human perfection which he represents. At

the third stage, the god-man finally comes to be regarded as in every

respect a man. It is recognized that, through the religious movement

which bears his name, he indeed prepared the way for the idea that

the deity is a non-personal source of being, exalted above all that

is transitory. Nevertheless, the god-man is conceived as an ideal man

only in the sense in which one may speak of any ideal as actual. Hence,

the world religion derives its name from him not so much because of

what he himself was as because of that which he created. From this

point of view, it is eventually immaterial even whether or not Jesus

or Buddha ever lived. The question becomes one of historical fact, not

one of religious necessity. Jesus and Buddha live on in their religious

creations. That these creations, to say nothing of any other proofs,

point back to powerful religious personalities, the unbiased will

regard as certain, though from this third point of view the question is

of subordinate importance.