(3) Closely connected with the idea of Sonship is that of life as a

_Divine Vocation_. Life is a trust, and as the children of God we are

called to serve Him with all we have and are. The sense of the vocation

and stewardship of life acts as a motive: (_a_) in giving _dignity and

stability_ to character, saving us, on the one hand, from fatalism, and

on the other from fanaticism, and affording definiteness of purpose to

all our endeavours; and (_b_) in promoting _sincerity and fidelity_ in

our life-work. Thoroughness will permeate every department of our

conduct, since whatsoever we do in word or deed we do as unto God. All

duty is felt to be one, and as love to God becomes its motive the

smallest as well as the greatest act is invested with infinite worth.

'All service ranks the same with God.'

(4) Another motive, prominent in the Pauline Epistles, but present also

in the eschatological passages of the Synoptics, ought to be mentioned,

though it does not now act upon Christians in the same form--_the

Shortness and Uncertainty of life_. Our Lord enjoins men to work while

it is day for the night cometh; and in view of the suddenness and

unexpectedness of the coming of the Son of Man He exhorts to watchfulness

and preparedness. A similar thought forms the background of the

apostle's conception of life. His entire view of duty as well as his

estimate of earthly things are tinged with the idea that 'the time is

short,' and that 'the Lord is at hand.' Christians are exhorted,

therefore, to sit lightly to all worldly considerations. Our true

citizenship is in heaven. But neither the apostle nor his Master ever

urges this fact as a reason for apathy or indifference. Life may be

brief, but it is not worthless. The thought of life's brevity must not

act as an opiate, but rather as a stimulant. If our existence here is

short, then there is all the greater necessity that its days should be

nobly filled, and its transient opportunities seized and turned into

occasions of strenuous service.

{155}

(5) To the considerations just mentioned must be added a cognate truth

which has coloured the whole Christian view of life, and has been a most

powerful factor in shaping Christian conduct--_the idea of Immortality_.

It is not quite correct to say that we owe this doctrine to Christianity

alone. Long before the Christian era it was recognised in Egypt, Greece,

and the Orient generally. But it was entertained more as a surmise than

a conviction. And among the Greeks it was little more than the shadowy

speculation of philosophers. Plato, in his _Phaedo_, puts into the mouth

of Socrates utterances of great beauty and far-reaching import; yet,

notwithstanding their sublimity, they scarcely attain to more than a

'perhaps.' Even in Hebrew literature, as we have seen, while isolated

instances of a larger hope are not wanting, there is no confident or

general belief in an after-life. But what was only guessed at by the

ancients was declared as a fact by Christ, and preached as a sublime and

comforting truth by the apostles; and it is not too much to say that

survival after death is at once the most distinctive doctrine of

Christianity and the most precious hope of Christendom. The whole moral

temperature of the world, says Jean Paul Richter, has been raised

immeasurably by the fact that Christ by His Gospel has brought life and

immortality to light. This idea, which has found expression, not only in

all the creeds of Christendom, but also in the higher literature and

poetry of modern times, has given a new motive to action, has founded a

new type of heroism, and nerved common men and women to the discharge of

tasks from which nature recoils. The assurance that death does not end

existence, but that 'man has forever,' has not only exalted and

transfigured the common virtues of humanity; but, held in conjunction

with the belief in the divine Fatherhood and human brotherhood, given to

life itself a new solemnity and pathos.[14]

2. But if these are the things which actuate men in their service of God

and man, can it be legitimately said that the Christian motive is pure

and disinterested? It is {166} somewhat remarkable that two opposite

charges have been brought against Christian Ethics.[15] In one quarter

the reproach has been made that Christianity suppresses every natural

desire for happiness, and inculcates a life of severe renunciation. And

with equally strong insistence there are others who find fault with it

because of its hedonism, because it rests morality upon an appeal to

selfish interests alone.

(1) The first charge is sufficiently met, we think, by our view of the

Christian ideal. We have seen that it is a full rich life which Christ

reveals and commends. The kingdom of God finds its realisation, not in a

withdrawal from human interests, but in a larger and fuller participation

in all that makes for the highest good of humanity. It is a caricature

of Christ's whole outlook upon existence to represent Him as teaching

that this life is an outlying waste, forsaken of God and unblessed, and

that the world is so hopelessly bad that it must be wholly renounced. On

the contrary, it is for Him one of the provinces of the divine kingdom,

and the most trivial of our occupations and the most transient of our

joys and sorrows find their place in the divine order. It is not

necessary to endorse Renan's idyllic picture of the Galilean ministry to

believe that for Jesus all life, its ordinary engagements and activities,

had a worth for the discipline and perfecting of character, and were

capable of being consecrated to the highest ends. There are, indeed, not

a few passages in which the call to self-denial is emphasised. But

neither Christ nor His apostles represent pain and want as in themselves

efficacious or meritorious. Renunciation is inculcated not for its own

sake, but always as a means to fuller realisation. Jesus, indeed,

transcends the common antithesis of life. For Him it is not a question

as to whether asceticism or non-asceticism is best. Life is for use. It

is at once a trust and a privilege. It may seem to some that He chose

'the primrose path,' but if he did so it was not due to an easy-going

good-nature. We dare not forget the terrible issues {157} He faced

without flinching. As Professor Sanday has finely said, 'If we are to

draw a lesson in this respect from our Lord's life, it certainly would

not be that

"He who lets his feelings run

In soft luxurious flow,

Shrinks when hard service must be done,

And faints at every woe."

It would be rather that the brightest and tenderest human life must have

a stern background, must carry with it the possibility of infinite

sacrifice, of bearing the cross and the crown of thorns.'[16]

(2) The second charge, the charge of hedonism, though seemingly opposed

to the first, comes into line with it in so far as it is alleged that

Christianity, while inculcating renunciation in this world, does so for

the sake of happiness in the next. It is contended that in regard to

purity of motive the Ethics of Christianity falls below the Ethics of

philosophy.[17] This statement, so often repeated, requires some

examination.

3. While it may be acknowledged that unselfishness and disinterestedness

are the criterion of moral sublimity, it must be noted at the outset that

considerable confusion of thought exists as to the meaning of motive.

Even in those moral systems in which virtue is represented as wholly

disinterested, the motive may be said to reside in the object itself.

The maxim, 'Virtue for virtue's sake,' really implies what may be called

the 'interest of achievement.' If virtue has any meaning it must be

regarded as a 'good' which is desirable. Perseverance in the pursuit of

any good implies the hope of success; in other words, of the reward which

lies in the attainment of the object desired. The reward sought may not

be foreign to the nature of virtue itself, but none the less, the idea of

reward is present, and, in a sense, is the incentive to all virtuous

endeavour. This is, indeed, implied by a no less rigorous {168} moralist

than Kant. For as he himself teaches, the question, 'What should I do?'

leads inevitably to the further question, 'What may I hope?'[18] The end

striven after cannot be a matter of indifference, if virtue is to have

moral value at all. It must be a real and desirable end--an end which

fulfils the purpose of a man as a moral being.

(1) But though Kant insists with rigorous logic that reverence for the

majesty of the moral law must be the only motive of duty, and that all

motives springing from personal desire or hope of happiness must be

severely excluded, it is curious to find that in the second part of his

_Critique of Practical Reason_ he proceeds, with a strange inconsistency,

to make room for the other idea, viz., that virtue is not without its

reward, and is indeed united in the end with happiness. Felicity and

holiness shall be ultimately one, he says; and, at the last, virtue shall

be seen 'to be worthy of happiness,' and happiness shall be the crown of

goodness.[19] Thus those philosophers, of whom Kant is typical, who

contend for the purity of the moral motive and the disinterested loyalty

to the good, bring in, at the end, the notion of happiness, which, as a

concomitant or consequence of virtue, cannot fail to be also an active

incentive.

(2) When we turn to Christian Ethics we find that here, not less than in

philosophical Ethics, the motive lies in the object itself. The end and

the motive are really one, and the highest good is to be sought for

itself and not for the sake of some ulterior gain. It is true, indeed,

that Christianity has not always been presented in its purest form; too

often have prudence, fear, other-worldliness been set forth as

inducements to goodness, as if the Gospel cared nothing for the

disposition of a man, and was concerned only with his ultimate happiness.

Even a moralist so acute as Paley bases morality upon no higher ground

than enlightened self-interest. But the most superficial reader of the

Gospels must see at a glance the wide variance between such a view and

that of Christ. Nothing could be further from the spirit of Jesus than

to estimate the {169} excellence of an action by the magnitude or the

utility of its effects rather than the intrinsic good of its motive.

Otherwise He would not have ranked the widow's mite above the gifts of

vanity, nor esteemed the tribute of the penitent, not so much for the

costliness of her offering, as for the sincerity of affection it

revealed. Christ looked upon the heart alone, and the worth of an action

lay essentially for Him in its inner quality. Sin resided not merely in

the overt act, but even more in the secret desire. A man may be

outwardly blameless, and yet not really good. He who remains sober or

honest simply because of the worldly advantages attaching to such conduct

may obtain a certificate of respectability from society; but, judged by

the standard of Christ, he is not truly a moral man. In an age which is

too prone to make outward propriety the gauge of goodness, it cannot be

sufficiently insisted upon that the Ethic of Christianity is an Ethic of

the inner motive and intention, and that, in this respect, it does not

fall a whit behind the demand of the most rigid system of disinterested

morality.

(_a_) It must, however, be freely admitted that our Lord frequently

employs the sanctions both of rewards and penalties. In the time of

Christ the idea of reward, so prominent in the Old Testament, still held

an important place in Jewish religion, being specially connected with the

Messianic Hope and the coming of the kingdom. It was not unnatural,

therefore, that Jesus, trained in Hebrew religious modes of thought and

expression, should frequently employ the existing conceptions as vehicles

of His own teaching; but, at the same time, purifying them of their more

materialistic associations and giving to them a richer spiritual content.

While the kingdom of God is spoken of as a gift, and promised, indeed, as

a reward, the word 'reward' in this connection is not used in the

ordinary sense, but 'is rather conceived as belonging to the same order

of spiritual experience as the state of heart and mind which ensures its

bestowal.'[20] Though Jesus does not {160} hesitate to point His

disciples to the blessings of heaven which they will receive in the

future, these are represented for the most part not as material benefits,

but as the intensification and enrichment of life itself.[21]

It was usually the difficulties rather than the advantages of

discipleship upon which Jesus first laid stress. He would not that any

one should come to Him on false pretences, or without fully counting the

cost.[22] Even when He Himself called His original disciples, it was of

service and not of recompense He spoke. 'Follow Me, and I will make you

fishers of men.'[23] The privilege consisted not in outward éclat, but

in the participation of the Master's own purpose and work. Still, all

service carries with it its own reward, and no one can share the mission

of Christ without also partaking of that satisfaction and joy which are

inseparable from the highest forms of spiritual ministry.[24]

There is, however, one passage recorded by all the Synoptists which seems

at first sight to point more definitely to a reward of a distinctly

material character, and to one that was to be enjoyed not merely in the

future, but even in this present life. When Peter somewhat boastfully

spoke of the sacrifice which he and his brethren had made for the

Gospel's sake, and asked, 'What shall we have therefor?' Jesus replied,

'Verily, I say unto you, that no man that hath left home, or brethren, or

sisters, or mother, or father, or children, or lands, for My sake and the

Gospel's sake, but shall receive an hundredfold now in this time, houses

and brethren, sisters and mothers, and children and lands, with

persecutions; and in the world to come eternal life.'[25] Now, while

this is a promise of wide sweep and large generosity, it is neither so

arbitrary nor material as it seems. First, the words, 'with

persecutions,' indicate that suffering is not only the very condition of

the promise, but indeed an essential part of the reward--an element which

would of itself be a true test of the sincerity of the sacrifice. {161}

But, second, even the promise, 'An hundredfold now in this time,' is

obviously not intended to be taken in a literal sense, but rather as

suggesting that the gain, while apparently of the same nature as the

sacrifice, will have a larger spiritual import. For, just as Jesus

Himself looked upon all who shared His own devotion as His mother and

brethren; so, in the deepest sense, when a man leaves father and mother,

renouncing home and family ties for the sake of bringing his fellow-men

to God, he seems to be emptying his life of all affectionate

relationships, but in reality he is entering into a wider brotherhood;

and, in virtue of his ministry of love, is being knit in bonds stronger

than those of earthly kinship, with a great and increasing community of

souls which owe to him their lives.[26] The promise is no arbitrary gift

or bribe capriciously bestowed; it is the natural fruition of moral

endeavour. For there is nothing so productive as sacrifice. What the

man who yields himself to the service of Christ actually gives is life;

and what he gets back, increased an hundredfold, is just life again, his

own life, repeated and reflected in the men and women whom he has won to

Christ.

In some of His parables Christ employs the analogy of the

work-engagement, in which labour and payment seem to correspond. But the

legal element has a very subordinate place in the simile. Jesus lifts

the whole relationship into a higher region of thought, and transforms

the idea of wages into that of a gift of love far transcending the legal

claim which can be made by the worker. He who has the bondsman's mind,

and works only for the hireling's pay, will only get what he works for.

But he who serves from love finds in the service itself that which must

always be its truest recompense--the increased power of service, the

capacity of larger devotion[27]--'The wages of going on.'[28] In his

latest volume Deissmann has pointed out that we can only do justice to

the utterances of the New Testament regarding work and wages by examining

them _in situ_, {162} amidst their natural surroundings. Jesus and St.

Paul spoke with distinct reference to the life and habits of the common

people of their day. 'If you elevate such utterances to the level of the

Kantian moral philosophy, and reproach primitive Christianity with

teaching for the sake of reward, you not only misunderstand the words,

but tear them up by the roots.' . . . 'The sordid ignoble suggestions so

liable to arise in the lower classes are altogether absent from the

sayings of Jesus and His apostles, as shown by the parable of the

Labourers in the Vineyard, and the analogous reliance of St. Paul solely

upon grace.'[29]

The same inner relation subsists between Sin and Penalty. But here,

again, the award of punishment is not arbitrary, but the natural

consequence of disobedience to the law of the spiritual life. He who

seeks to save his life shall lose it. He who makes this world his all

shall receive as his reward only what this world can give. He who buries

his talent shall, by the natural law of disuse, forfeit it. Not to

believe in Christ is to miss eternal life. To refuse Him who is the

Light of the world is to remain in darkness.

(6) An examination of the Pauline epistles yields a similar conclusion.

St. Paul does not disdain to employ the sanctions of hope and fear.

'Knowing the terrors of the Lord' he persuades men, and 'because of the

promises' he urges the Corinthians 'to cleanse themselves and perfect

holiness.' But in Paul's case, as in that of our Lord, the charge of

hedonism is meaningless. For not only does the conception hold a most

subordinate place in his teaching, but the idea loses the sense of merit,

and is transmuted into that of a free gift. And in general, in all the

passages where the hope of the future is introduced, the idea of reward

is merged in the yearning for a fuller life, which the Christian, who has

once tasted of its joy here, may well expect in richer measure

hereafter.[30]

Enough has been said to clear Christianity of the charge of hedonism. So

far from Christian Ethics falling {163} below Philosophical Ethics in

regard to purity of motive, it really surpasses it in the sublimity of

its sanctions. The Kantian idea of virtue tends to empty the obligation

of all moral content. Goodness, as the philosopher himself came to see,

cannot be represented as a mere impersonal abstraction. Virtue has no

meaning except in relation to its ultimate end. And life in union with a

personal God, in whose image we have been made, is the end and purpose of

man's being. Noble as it may be to live morally without the thought of

God, the man who so strives to live does not attain to such a high

conception of life as he who lives with God for his object. Motives

advance with aims, and the higher the ideal the nobler the incentive.

Fear of future punishment and the desire for future happiness may prove

effective aids to the will at certain stages of moral development, but

ultimately the love of God and the beauty of holiness make every other

motive superfluous. Indeed, the reward of the Christian life is such as

can only appeal to one who has come to identify himself with the divine

will. The Christian man is always entering upon his reward. His joy is

his Master's joy. He has no other interest. His reward, both here and

hereafter, is not some external payment, something separable from

himself; it is wholly conditioned by what he is, and is simply his own

growth of character, his increasing power of being good and doing good.

And if it be still asked, What is the great inducement? What is it that

makes the life of the Christian worth living? The answer can only

be--The hope of becoming what Christ has set before man as desirable, of

growing up to the stature of perfect manhood, of attaining to the

likeness of Jesus Christ Himself. But so far from this being a selfish

aim, not to seek one's life in God--to be indifferent to all the inherent

blessings and joys involved--would be not the mark of pure

disinterestedness, but the evidence, rather, of a lack of appreciation of

what life really means. The soul that has caught the vision of God and

been thrilled with the grace of the Son of Man cannot but yield itself to

the best it knows.

[1] Cf. Fairbairn, _The Phil. of the Ch. Religion_, pp. 358 ff.

[2] Peabody, _Christ and the Christian Character_, p. 44.

[3] Peabody, _op. cit._, pp. 53 f.

[4] Peabody, _op. cit._, p. 68.

[5] See Paulsen, _System der Ethik_, pp. 56 ff.; also Troeltsch, _op.

cit._, vol. ii. p. 847.

[6] Cf. Ehrhardt, _Der Grundcharacter d. Ethik. Jesu_, p. 110. 'The

ascetic element in the ethics of Jesus is its transient, the service of

God its permanent element.' Cf. also Strauss, _Leben Jesu_, who speaks

of 'the Hellenic quality' in Jesus; also Keim, _Jesus of Nazareth, and

Troeltsch_, _op. cit._, vol. i. pp. 34 ff.

[7] John xiii. 15.

[8] _Conduct of Life_.

[9] _Metaphysics of Ethics_, sect. ii.

[10] Schultz, _Grundriss d. evang. Ethik_, p. 5.

[11] Cf. _Ecce Homo_, chap. x.

[12] This thought has been beautifully worked out by Prof. Denney in

_British Weekly_, Jan. 13, 1912.

[13] Luke xv.

[14] Cf. Knight, _The Christian Ethic_, p. 36.

[15] See Haering, _Ethics of the Christian Life_, p. 190.

[16] 'Apocalyptic Element in the Gospels,' _Hibbert Journal_, Oct. 1911.

[17] The question of rewards has been fully discussed by Jacoby,

_Neutestamentliche Ethik_, pp. 41 ff.; also Barbour, _op. cit._, pp. 226

ff.

[18] Cf. _Kritik d. prakt. Vernunft_, p. 143.

[19] Kant, _Idem_.

[20] Barbour, _op. cit._, p. 231.

[21] Matt. v. 12, xix. 21, xxv. 34; Luke vi. 23, xviii. 22; Mark x. 21.

[22] Mark viii. 19; Luke ix. 57.

[23] Mark i. 17, ii. 14.

[24] Luke xxii. 29 f.

[25] Mark x. 28-31; cf. Matt. xix. 27-30.

[26] This thought is finely elaborated by Barbour.

[27] Matt. xxv. 21; Luke xix. 17.

[28] Tennyson, _Wages_.

[29] Deissmann, _Light from the Ancient East_, pp. 316 ff.

[30] See also Eph. vi. 5-8; 1 Cor. iii. 14; Rom. v. 2-5, vi. 23, viii.

16.

{164}

CHAPTER X

THE DYNAMIC OF THE NEW LIFE

In the dynamic power of the new life we reach the central and

distinguishing feature of Christian Ethics. The uniqueness of

Christianity consists in its mode of dealing with a problem which all

non-Christian systems have tended to ignore--the problem of translating

the ideal into life. The Gospel not only sets before men the highest

good, but it imparts the secret of realising it. The ideals of the

ancients were but visions of perfection. They had no objective

reality. Beautiful as these old-time visions of 'Good' were, they

lacked impelling force, the power to change dreams into realities.

They were helpless in the face of the great fact of sin. They could

suggest no remedy for moral disease.

Christianity is not a philosophical dream nor the imagination of a few

visionaries. It claims to be a new creative force, a power

communicated and received, to be worked out and realised in the actual

life and character of common men and women.

In this chapter we have to consider the means whereby man is brought

into a new spiritual relation with God, and enabled to live the new

life as it has been revealed in Christ. This reconciliation implies a

twofold movement--a redemptive action on God's part, and an

appropriating and determinative response on the part of man.

I

THE DIVINE POWER

The urgent problem of the New Testament writers was, How can man

achieve that good which has been embodied {165} in the life and example

of Jesus Christ? A full answer to this question would lead us into the

realm of dogmatic theology. And therefore, without entering upon

details, it may be said at once that the originality of the Gospel lies

in this, that it not only reveals the good in a concrete and living

form, but discloses the power which makes the good possible in the

hitherto unattempted derivation of the new life from a new birth under

the influence of the spirit of God. The power to achieve the moral

life does not lie in the natural man. No readjustment of

circumstances, nor spread of knowledge, is of itself equal to the task

of creating that entirely new phenomenon--the Christian character.

There must be a cause proportionate to the effect. 'Nothing availeth,'

says Paul, 'but a new creature.' This new condition owes its origin to

God. It is a life communicated by an act of divine creative activity.

But while this regenerative energy is represented generally as the work

of God's spirit, it is more particularly set forth as operating through

Christ who is the power of God unto salvation.

There are three great facts in Christ's life with which the New

Testament connects the redemptive work of God.

1. _The Incarnation_.--In Christ God shares man's nature, and thus

makes possible a union of the divine and human. On its divine side the

incarnation is the complete revelation of God in human life, and on the

human side it is the supreme expression of the spiritual meaning of

human nature itself. Christ saves not by a special act of atonement

alone, but emphatically by manifesting in Himself the union of God and

man. In view of the fact of the world's sin, the Incarnation, as the

revelation of the divine life, includes a gracious purpose. It

involves the sacrifice of God, which theologians designate by the

theory of _Kenosis_. The Advent was not only the consummation of the

religious history of the race; it was also the inauguration of a new

era. The Son of Man initiated a new type of humanity, to be realised

in increasing fullness as men entered into the meaning of the great

revelation. 'He {166} recapitulated in Himself the long unfolding of

mankind.'[1] Hence in the very fact of the word becoming flesh

atonement is involved. In Christ God is revealed in the reality of His

love and the persistence of His search for man, while man is disclosed

in the greatness of his vision and vocation.

2. _The Death of Christ_.--Although already implied in the life, the

atonement culminates in the death of Christ. Even by being made in the

likeness of men Jesus did not escape from, but willingly took up, the

burdens of humanity and bore them as the Son of Man. But His passion

upon the cross, as the supreme instance of suffering borne for others,

at once illuminated and completed all that He suffered and achieved as

man's representative. It is this aspect of Christ's redemptive work

upon which St. Paul delights to dwell. And though naturally not so

prominent in our Lord's own teaching, yet even there the significance

of the Redeemer's death is foreshadowed, and in more than one passage

explicitly stated.[2] Here we are in the region of dogmatics, and we

are not called upon to formulate a doctrine of the atonement. All that

we have to do with is the ethical fact that between man and the new

life there lies the actuality of sin, the real source of man's failure

to achieve righteousness, and the stumbling-block which must be removed

before reconciliation with God the Father can be effected. The act, at

once divine and human, which alone meets the case is represented in

Scripture as the Sacrifice of Christ. In reference to the efficacy of

the sacrifice upon the cross Bishop Butler says: 'How and in what

particular way it had this efficacy, there are not wanting persons who

have endeavoured to explain; but I do not find that the Scripture has

explained it.'[3] Though, indeed, the fact is independent of any

theory, the truth for which the cross stands must be brought by us into

some kind of intelligible relation with our view of the world,

otherwise it is a piece of magic lying outside of our experience, and

{167} having no ethical value for life. At the same time no doctrine

has suffered more from shallow theorisings, and particularly by the

employment of mechanical, legal, and commercial analogies, than the

doctrine of the atonement. The very essence of the religious life is

incompatible with the idea of an external transference of goodness from

one being to another. Man can be reconciled to God only by an absolute

surrender of himself to God. To assimilate this spiritual act to a

commercial or legal transaction is to destroy the very idea of the

moral life. No explanation, however, can be considered satisfactory

which does not safeguard two ideas of a deeply ethical nature--the

voluntariness and the vicariousness of Christ's sacrifice. We must be

careful to do justice, on the one hand, to the eternal relations in

which Christ stands to God; and on the other, to the intimate

association with man into which Jesus has entered. It is the task of

theology to bring together the various passages of Scripture, and

exhibit their systematic connection and relative value for a doctrine

of soteriology. For Ethics the one significant fact to be recognised

is that in a human life was fulfilled perfect obedience, even as far as

death, a perfect obedience that completely met and fully satisfied the

demand of the very highest, the divine ideal.

3. _The Resurrection of Christ_.--If the Incarnation naturally issues

in the sacrifice unto death, that again is crowned and sealed by

Christ's risen life. The Resurrection is the vindication and

completion of the Redeemer's work. He who was born of the seed of

David according to the flesh was declared to be the Son of God by the

Resurrection. It was the certainty that He had risen that gave to His

death, in the apostles' eyes, its sacrificial value. This was the

ground of St. Paul's conviction that the old order had passed away, and

that a new order had been established. 'If Christ be not risen ye are

yet in your sins.' In virtue of His ascended life Christ becomes the

indwelling presence and living power within the regenerate man. It is

in no external way that the Redeemer exerts His influence. He is the

principle of life working within the soul. The key {168} to the new

state is to be found in the mystical union of the Christian with the

risen Lord. The twofold act of death and resurrection has its analogy

in the experience of every redeemed man. Within the secret sanctuary

of the human soul that has passed from death to life, the history of

the Redeemer is re-enacted. In the several passages which refer to

this subject the idea is that the changed life is based upon an ethical

dying and rising again with Christ.[4] The Christ within the heart is

the vital principle and dynamic energy by which the believer lives and

triumphs over every obstacle--the world, sin, sorrow, and death itself.

'I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me.'[5] All that makes life,

'life indeed'--an exalted, harmonious, and joyous existence--is derived

from union with the living Lord, who has come to be what He is for man

by the earthly experiences through which He has passed. Thus by His

Incarnation, Death, and Resurrection He is at once the source and goal,

the spring and ideal of the new life.

'Yea, thro' life, death, sorrow, and through sinning,

He shall suffice me for He hath sufficed;

Christ is the end, for Christ was the beginning;

Christ the beginning, for the end is Christ.'[6]

Theology may seek to analyse the personality of Christ into its

elements--the incarnation, death, and resurrection of Jesus. But after

all it is one and indivisible. It is the whole fact of Christ, and not

any particular experience taken in its isolation, which is the power of

God unto salvation. The question still remains after all our analysis,

What was it that gave to these events in the history of Jesus their

creative and transforming power? And the answer can only be--Because

Christ was what He was. It was the unique character of the Being of

whom these were but the manifestations which wrought the spell. What

bound the New Testament Christians to the cross was that their Master

hung there. They saw in that life lived among {169} men, and in that

sacrifice upon Calvary, the perfect consummation of the ideal manhood

that lived within their own hearts, and of the love, new upon the

earth, which made it possible. The cross stood for the symbol of a

truth that pierced to the inner core of their souls. 'He bore our

sins.' And thus down the centuries, in their hour of shame, and grief,

and death, men have lifted their eyes to the Man of Sorrows, and have

found in His life and sacrifice, apart from all theories of atonement,

their peace and triumph. It is this note of absolute surrender towards

God and of perfect love for man which, because it answers to a deep

yearning of the human heart, has given to the mystery of the

Incarnation and the Cross its lifting and renewing power,

II

THE HUMAN RESPONSE

Possession of power involves the obligation to use it. The force is

given; it has to be appropriated. The spirit of Christ is not offered

in order to free a man from the duties of the moral life. Man is not

simply the recipient of divine energy. He has to make it his own and

to work it out by his self-determinative activity. Nevertheless the

relation of the divine spirit to the human personality is a subject of

great perplexity, involving the psychological problem of the connection

of the divine and the human in life generally. If in the last resort

God is the ultimate source of all life, the absolute Being, who

'Can rejoice in naught

Save only in Himself and what Himself hath wrought';

that truth must be held in harmony with the facts of divine immanence

and human experience. The divine spirit holds within His grasp all

reality, and by His self-communicating activity makes the world of

nature and of life possible. But that being granted, how are we to

conceive the relation of that Spirit to man with his distinct

individuality, with {170} his sense of working out a future and a fate

in which the Absolute may indeed be fulfilling its purpose, but which

are none the less man's own achievement? That is the crux of the

problem. The outstanding fact which bears upon this problem is the

general character of our experience, the growth of which is not the

mere laying of additional material upon a passive subject by an

external power, but is a true development, a process in which the

subject is himself operative in the unfolding of his own

potentialities. Without dwelling further upon this question it may be

well to bear in mind two points: (1) The growth of experience is a

gradual entrance into conscious possession of what we implicitly are

and potentially have from the beginning. Duty, for example, is not

something alien from a man, something superimposed by a power not

himself. It lies implicit in his nature as his ideal and vocation.

The moral life is the life in which a man comes to 'know himself,' to

apprehend himself as he truly is. (2) In this development of

experience we ourselves are active and self-organising. We are really

making ourselves, and are conscious, that even while we are the

instruments of a higher power, we are working out our own

individuality, exercising our own freedom and determination.[7] The

teaching of the New Testament is in full accord with this position.

If, on the one hand, St. Paul states that every moral impulse is due to

the inspiration of God, no less emphatic is he in ascribing to man

himself full freedom of action. 'The ethical sense of responsibility,'

says Johannes Weiss,[8] 'the energy for struggle, and the discipline of

the will were not paralysed nor absorbed in Paul's case by his

consciousness of redemption and his profound spiritual experiences.'

Scripture lends no support to the idea which some forms of Augustinian

theology assume, that the divine spirit is an irresistible force acting

from without upon man and superseding his exertions. It acts as an

immanent moral power, not compelling or crushing the will, but

quickening and inspiring its efforts.

{171}

If we inquire what constitutes the subjective or human element in the

making of the new life, we find that the New Testament emphasises three

main factors--Repentance, Faith, and Obedience. These are

complementary, and together constitute what is commonly called

'conversion.'

1. _Repentance_ is a turning away in sorrow and contrition from a life

of sin, a breaking off from evil because a better standard has been

accepted. Our Lord began His ministry with a call to repentance. The

first four beatitudes set forth its elements; while the parable of the

prodigal illustrates its nature.

Ethical writers distinguish between a negative and a positive aspect of

repentance. On its negative side it is regarded as the emotion of

sorrow excited by reflection upon sin. But sorrow, though accompanying

repentance, must not be identified with it. Mere regret, either in the

form of bitterness over one's folly, or chagrin on account of

discovery, may be but a weak sentiment which exerts little or no

influence upon a man's subsequent conduct. Even remorse following the

commission of wickedness may only deepen into a paralysing despair

which works death rather than repentance unto life.

(1) On its positive side repentance implies action as well as feeling,

and involves a determination of will to quit the past and start on a

new life. A man repents not merely when he grieves over his misdeed,

but when he confesses it and seeks to make what amendment he can. This

positive outlook upon the future, rather than the passive brooding over

the past, is happily expressed in the New Testament term _metanoia_,

change of mind, and is enforced in the Baptist's counsel, 'Bring forth

fruits meet for repentance.'[9] The change of mind here indicated is

practically equivalent to what is variously called in the New Testament

'Conversion,'[10] 'Renewal,'[11] 'Regeneration,'[12]--words suggestive

of the completeness of the change.

(2) The variety of terms employed to describe conversion {172} would

seem to imply that the Scriptures recognise a diversity of mode. All

do not enter the kingdom of God by the same way; and the New Testament

offers examples varying from the sudden conversion of a Saul to the

almost imperceptible transformation of a Nathaniel and a Timothy. In

modern life something of the same variety of Christian experience is

manifest. While what is called 'sudden conversion' cannot reasonably

be denied,[13] as little can those cases be ignored in which the truth

seems to pervade the mind gradually and almost unconsciously--cases of

steady spiritual growth from childhood upwards, in which the believer

is unaware of any break in the continuity of his inner history, his

days appearing to be 'bound each to each by natural piety.'

(3) The question arises, Which is the normal experience? The matter

has been put somewhat bluntly by the late Professor James,[14] as to

whether the 'twice-born' or the 'once-born' present the natural type of

Christian experience. Is it true, he asks, that the experience of St.

Paul, which has so long dominated Christian teaching, is really the

higher or even the healthier mode of approaching religion? Does not

the example of Jesus offer a simpler and more natural ideal? The moral

experience of the Son of Man was not a revolution but an evolution.

His own religion was not that of the twice-born, and all that He asked

of His disciples was the childlike mind.[15] Paul, the man of cities,

feels a kindred turbulence within himself. Jesus, the interpreter of

nature, feels the steady persuasiveness of the sunshine of God, and

grows from childhood in stature, wisdom, and favour with God and man.

It is contended by some that the whole Pauline conception of sin is a

nightmare, and rests upon ideas of God and man which are unworthy and

untrue. 'As a matter of fact,' says Sir Oliver Lodge, 'the higher man

of to-day is not worrying about his sins at all, still less about their

punishment; his mission, if he is good for anything, is to be up and

doing.'[16] {173} This amounts to a claim for the superiority of the

first of the two types of religious consciousness, the type which James

describes as 'sky-blue souls whose affinities are with flowers and

birds and all enchanting innocencies than with dark human passions;

. . . in whom religious gladness, being in possession from the outset,

needs no deliverance from any antecedent burden.'[17] The second type

is marked by a consciousness, similar to St. Paul's, of the divided

self. It starts from radical pessimism. It only attains to religious

peace through great tribulation. It is the religion of the 'sick soul'

as contrasted with that of 'healthy-mindedness.' But, morbid as it may

appear, to be disturbed by past sin, it is really the 'twice-born' who

have sounded the depths of the human heart, and have been the greatest

religious leaders. And so far from the sense of the need of repentance

being the sign of a diseased mind, the decreasing consciousness of sin

in our day may only prove the shallowness of the modern mind. What men

need of religion is power. And there is a danger of people to-day

losing a sense of the dynamic force of the older Gospel.[18]

But whether Paul's case is abnormal or the reverse, it is surely a

false inference that, because Christ grew up without the need of

conversion, His life affords in this respect a pattern to sinful men.

It is just His perfect union with God which differentiates Him entirely

from ordinary men; and that which may be necessary for sinful creatures

is unthinkable in His case. What He was we are to become. But before

we can follow Him, there is for us, because of sin, a preliminary

step--a breaking with our evil past. And, in all His teaching our Lord

clearly recognises this. His first call is a call to repentance. It

is indeed the childlike mind He requires; but He significantly says

that 'except _ye turn_ and become as little children, ye shall in no

wise enter the kingdom of heaven.'[19]

The decision of will demanded of Jesus, while it may not {174}

necessarily involve a catastrophe of life or convulsion of nature, must

be none the less a deliberate and decisive turning from evil to good.

By what road a man must travel before he enters the kingdom, through

what convulsion of spirit be must pass, so frequently dwelt upon by St.

Paul and illustrated by his own life, Christ does not say. In the

Fourth Gospel there is one reported saying describing a process of

spiritual agony, like that of physical child-birth, indicative that the

change must be radical, and that at some point of experience the great

decision must be made, a decision which is likely to involve deep

travail of soul.

There are many ways in which a man may become a Christian. Some men

have to undergo, like Paul, fierce inward conflict. Others glide

quietly, almost imperceptibly, into richer and ampler regions of life.

But when or how the transition is made, whether the renewal be sudden

or gradual, it is the same victory in all cases that must be won, the

victory of the spirit over the flesh, the 'putting off of the old man'

and the 'putting on of the new.' Life cannot be always a compromise.

Sooner or later it must become an alternative. He who has seen the

higher self can be no longer content with the lower. The acts of

contrition, confession, and decision--essential and successive steps in

repentance--are the immediate effects of the vision of Christ. Though

repentance is indeed a human activity, here, as always, the earlier

impulse comes from the divine side. He who truly repents is already in

the grip of Christ. 'We love Him because He first loved us.'

2. _Faith_.--If repentance looks back and forsakes the old, faith

looks forward and accepts the new. Even in repentance there is already

an element of faith, for a man cannot turn away from his evil past

without having some sense of contrast between the actual and the

possible, some vision of the better life which he feels to be desirable.

(1) While there is no more characteristic word in the New Testament

than faith, there is none which is used in a greater variety of senses,

or whose import it is more difficult to determine. It must not be

forgotten at the outset {175} that though it is usually regarded as a

theological term, it is a purely human act, and represents an element

in ordinary life without which the world could not hold together for a

single day. We constantly live by faith, and in our common intercourse

with our fellows we daily exercise this function. We have an

irresistible conviction that we live in a rational world in which

effect answers to cause. Faith, it has been said, is the capital of

all reasoning. Break down this principle, and logic itself would be

bankrupt. Those who have denied the intelligibility of the universe

have not been able to dispense with the very organ by which their

argument is conducted. Hence faith in its religious sense is of the

same kind as faith in common life. It is distinguishable only by its

_special object_ and its _moral intensity_.

(2) The habitual relationship between Christ and His disciples was one

of mutual confidence. While Jesus evidently trusts them, they regard

Him as their Master on whose word they wholly rely. Ever invested with

a deep mystery and awe, He is always for His disciples the embodiment

of all that is highest and holiest, the supreme object of reverence,

the ultimate source of authority. Peter but expresses the mind of the

company when he says, 'To whom can we go but unto Thee, Thou hast the

words of eternal life.' Nor was it only the disciples who manifested

this personal trust. Many others, the Syrophenician woman, the Roman

Centurion, Zacchaeus, Bartimaeus, also evinced it. It was, indeed, to

this element in the human heart that Jesus invariably appealed; and

while He was quick to detect its presence, He was equally sensitive to

its absence. Even among the twelve, when, in the face of some new

emergency, there was evidence of mistrust, He exclaimed, 'O ye of

little faith.' And when, beyond His own immediate circle, He met with

suspicion and unbelief, it caused Him surprise and pain.[20]

From these and other incidents it is obvious that faith for Jesus had a

variety of meanings and degrees.

{176}

(_a_) Sometimes it meant simply _trust in divine providence_; as when

He bids His disciples take no thought for their lives, because He who

feeds the ravens and clothes the lilies cares for them. (_b_) It meant

again _belief in His own divine power_; as when He assures the

recipients of His healing virtue that their faith hath made them whole.

(_c_) It is regarded by Jesus as _a condition of forgiveness and

salvation_. Thus to the woman who had sinned He said, 'Thy faith hath

saved thee,' and to the man who was sick of the palsy, 'Son, thy sins

be forgiven thee.'[21]

The essential and vital mark in all Christ's references is the personal

appropriation of the good which He Himself had brought to man. In His

various modes of activity--in His discourses, His works of healing and

forgiveness--it is not too much to say that Jesus regarded Himself as

the embodiment of God's message to the world; and to welcome His word

with confidence and joy, and unhesitatingly act upon it, was faith.

Hence it did not mean merely the mental acceptance of some abstract

truth, but, before all else, personal and intimate devotion to Himself.

It seems the more necessary to emphasise this point since Harnack has

affirmed 'that, while Christ was the special object of faith for Paul

and the other apostles, He did not enter as an element into His own

preaching, and did not solicit faith towards Himself.'[22] It is

indeed true that Jesus frequently associated Himself with His Father,

whose immediate representative He claims to be. But no one can doubt

that He also asserts authority and power on His own account, and

solicits faith on His own behalf. Nor does He take pains, even when

challenged, to explain that He was but the agent of another. On the

contrary, as we have seen, He acts in His own right, and pronounces the

blessings of healing and forgiveness in His own name. Even when the

word 'Faith' is not mentioned the whole attitude and spirit of Jesus

impels us to the same conclusion. There was an air of independence and

authority {177} about Him which filled His disciples and others, not

merely with confidence, but with wonder and awe. His repeated word is,

'I say unto you.' And there is a class of sayings which clearly

indicate the supreme significance which He attached to His own

personality as an object of faith. Foremost among these is the great

invitation, 'Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy-laden, and

I will give you rest.'

(3) If we turn to the epistles, and especially to the Pauline, we are

struck by the apparently changed meaning of faith. It has become more

complex and technical. It is no longer simply the receptive relation

of the soul towards Christ; it is also a justifying principle. Faith

not only unites the believer to Christ, it also translates him into a

new sphere and creates for him a new environment. The past is

cancelled. All things have become new. The man of faith has passed

out of the dominion of law into the kingdom of Grace.

The Pauline doctrine of Justification by Faith has received in the

history of the Church a twofold interpretation. On the one hand, it

has been maintained that the sole significance of faith is that it

gives to the believer power, by God's supernatural aid, to realise a

goodness of which he is naturally incapable. On the other hand, it is

held that the peculiarity of faith is that, though he himself is a

sinner deserving condemnation, it affords to the believer an assurance

of the favour with which a loving Father regards him, not on account of

his own attainments, but in virtue of the perfect obedience of the Son

of God with whom each is united by faith. The former is the more

distinctively Roman view; the latter that of the Reformed Church.

While the Catholic form of the doctrine gives to 'works' a place not

less important than faith in justification, the Protestant exalts

'faith' to the position of priority as more in harmony with the mystery

of the atoning sacrifice of Christ as expounded by St. Paul. Faith

justifies, because it is for the Christian the vision of an ideal.

What we admire in another is already implicitly within us. We {178}

already possess the righteousness we believe in. The moral beauty of

Christ is ours inasmuch as we are linked to Him by faith, and have

accepted as our true self all that He is and has achieved. Hence faith

is not merely the sight of the ideal in Christ. It is the energy of

the soul as well, by which the believer strives to realise that which

he admires. According to the teaching of Scripture faith has thus a

threefold value. It is a receptive attitude, a justifying principle,

and an energising power. It is that by which the believer accepts and

appropriates the gift of Life offered by God in Christ.

3. _Obedience_.--Faith contains the power of a new obedience. But

faith worketh by love. The soul's surrender to Christ is the crowning

phase of man's response. The obedience of love is the natural sequel

of repentance and faith, the completing act of consecration. As God

gives Himself in Christ to man, so man yields in Christ to God all he

is and all he has.

Without enlarging upon the nature of this final act of self-surrender,

three points of ethical value ought not to be overlooked.

(1) Obedience is an _activity_ of the soul by which the believer

appropriates the life of God. Life is not merely a gift, it is a task,

an achievement. We are not simply passive recipients of the Good, but

free and determinative agents who react upon what is given, taking it

up into our life and working it into the texture of our character. The

obedience of love is the practical side of faith. While God imparts

the energy of the Spirit, we apply it and by strenuous endeavour and

unceasing effort mould our souls and make our world.

(2) It is a consecration of the _whole personality_. All the powers of

man are engaged in soul-making. Religion is not a detached region of

experience, a province separate from the incidents and occupations of

ordinary existence. Obedience must cover the whole of life, and

demands the exercise and devotion of every gift. Not only is every

thought to be brought into subjection to the mind of {179} Christ, but

every passion and desire, every activity and power of body and mind are

to be consecrated to God and transformed into instruments of service.

'Our wills are ours to make them thine.' But the will is not a

separate faculty; it is the whole man. And the obedience of the will

is nothing less than the response of our entire manhood to the will of

God.

(3) Finally, obedience is a _growing power of assimilation_ to Christ.

We grow in the Christian life according to the measure of our faith and

the exercise of our love. The spiritual world is potentially ours at

the beginning of the Christian life, but it has to be worked out in

daily experience. Like every other form of existence spiritual life is

a growth which only attains to strength and fruition through continual

conflict and achievement. The soul is not a finished product. In

patience it is to be acquired.[23] By trial and temptation, by toil

and expenditure, through all the hardships and hazards of daily life

its value is determined and its destiny shaped. And according to the

measure in which we use these experiences, and transmute them by

obedience to the will of God into means of good, do we grow in

Christian character and approximate to the full stature of the perfect

Man.

To this self-determining activity Eucken has given the name of

'Activism.' 'The basis of a true life,' says this writer, 'must be

continually won anew.'[24] Activism acquires ethical character

inasmuch as it involves the taking up of the spiritual world into our

own volition and being. Only by this ceaseless endeavour do we advance

to fresh attainments of the moral life, and are enabled to assimilate

the divine as revealed to us in Christ. Nor is it merely the

individual self that is thus enriched and developed by obedience to the

will of God. By personal fidelity to the highest we are aiding the

moral development of mankind, and are furthering the advancement of all

that is good and true in the world. Not only are we making {180} our

own character, but we are helping to build up the kingdom of God upon

the earth.

Repentance, Faith, and Obedience are thus the human factors of the new

life. They are the moral counterparts of Grace. God gives and man

appropriates. By repentance we turn from sin and self to the true home

of our soul in the Fatherhood of God. By faith we behold in Christ the

vision of the ideal self. By obedience and the daily surrender of

ourselves to the divine will we transform the vision into the reality.

They are all manifestations of love, the responsive notes of the human

heart to the appeal of divine love.

[1] Irenaeus, _Contra Haereses_, III. xviii. 1.

[2] Matt. xx. 28; John xi. 51; Matt. xxvi. 28; Mark xiv. 8, 9.

[3] _The Analogy_, part II. chap. v.

[4] 2 Cor. v. 14 f.; Rom. vi.; Ephes. iii. 16, 17, v. 8.

[5] Gal. ii. 20.

[6] Meyers, _Saint Paul_.

[7] See Blewett, _The Christian View of the World_, pp. 88 ff., where

this subject is suggestively treated.

[8] _Christ and Paul_.

[9] Matt. iii. 8; Luke iii. 8.

[10] Acts xxvi. 20.

[11] Rom. xii. 12; Titus iii. 5.

[12] 2 Cor. v. 17; Gal. vi. 15.

[13] See Begbie, _Broken Earthenware_.

[14] _Varieties of Relig. Experience_.

[15] Mark x. 15.

[16] _Man and the Universe_, p. 220.

[17] _Varieties of Religious Experience_, p. 80.

[18] Cf. _Foundations: a Statement of Religious Belief by seven Oxford

men_, Essay VI., pp. 274 f.

[19] Matt. xviii. 3.

[20] Matt. xiii. 58; Mark vi. 5.

[21] Cf. Stalker, _The Ethic of Jesus_, p. 179.

[22] _Das Wesen des Christenthums_, p. 91, quoted by Stalker, _idem_,

p. 176.

[23] Luke xxi. 19.

[24] _Life's Basis and life's Ideal_, p. 255.

{181}

SECTION D

CONDUCT

{183}

CHAPTER XI

VIRTUES AND VIRTUE

So far we have gained some conception of the Christian ideal as the

highest moral good, and have learned also how the Christian character is

brought into being. We now enter upon a new section--the last stage of

our inquiry--and have to consider the 'new man'--his virtues, duties, and

relationships.

The business lying immediately before us in this chapter is to consider

the accepted standards in which the Christian good is exhibited--the

virtues recognised by the Christian consciousness.

What, then, are the particular forms or manifestations of character which

result from the Christian interpretation of life? When we think of man

as living in relation to his fellows, and engaging in the common

activities of the world, what are the special traits of character which

distinguish the Christian? These questions suggest one of the most

important, and at the same time one of the most difficult, tasks of

Christian Ethics--the classification of the virtues. The difficulty

arises in the first instance from the ambiguity attaching to the term

'virtue.' It is often loosely used to signify a meritorious act--as in

the phrase, 'making a virtue of a necessity.' It is frequently employed

generally for a moral quality or excellency of character, and in this

respect is contrasted with vice. Finally, virtues are sometimes

identified with duties. Thus we speak of the virtue of veracity. But

obviously we may also refer to the duty of veracity. The word _aretê_;

signifies 'force,' and was originally used as a property of bodies,

plants, or animals. {184} At first it had no ethical import. In Attic

usage it came to signify aptness or fitness of manhood for public life.

And this signification has shaped the future meaning of its Latin

equivalent--_virtus_ (from _vis_, strength, and not from _vir_, a man).

Plato gave to the term a certain ethical value in connection with his

moral view of the social life, so that Ethics came to be designated the

doctrine of virtues. In general, however, both by the Greek and Roman

moralists, and particularly the Stoics, the word _virtus_ retained

something of the sense of force or capacity--a quality prized in the

citizen. The English word is a direct transcript of the Latin. The

German noun, _Tugend_ (from _taugen_, to fit) means capability, and is

related to worth, honour, manliness. The word _aretê_ does not

frequently occur in the New Testament.[1] In the few passages in which

it appears it is associated with praiseworthiness. In one passage[2] it

has a more distinctly ethical signification--'add to your faith

virtue'--where the idea is that of practical worth or manhood.

Virtue may be defined as the acquired power or capacity for moral action.

From the Christian point of view virtue is the complement, or rather the

outcome, of grace. Hence virtues are graces. In the Christian sense a

man is not virtuous when he has first appropriated by faith the new

principle of life. He has within him, indeed, the promise and potency of

all forms of goodness, but not until he has consciously brought his

personal impulses and faculties into the service of Christ can he be

called truly virtuous. Hence the Christian character is only

progressively realised. On the divine side virtue is a gift. On the

human side it is an activity. Our Lord's figure of the vine and the

branches represents the relation in which Christian character stands to

Christ. In like manner St. Paul regards the manifestations of the

Christian life as the fruit of the Spirit--the inevitable and natural

outgrowth of the divine seed of life implanted in the heart. Hence

arises the importance of {185} cultivating the inner life of the spirit

which is the root of all moral excellency. On the other hand it must be

remembered that Christian morality is not of a different sort from

natural morality, and the Christian virtues are not merely supernatural

qualities added on, but simply human virtues coloured and transfigured by

grace and raised to a higher value. The power to act morally, the

capacity to bring all our faculties into the service of the spiritual

life, is the ground of Christian virtue just as it is of every natural

excellence. From this it follows that the distinction sometimes made

between natural goodness and Christian goodness is unsound. A virtue is

not a superlative act of merit, implying an excess of excellence beyond

the requirements of duty. From the Christian standpoint there are no

works of supererogation, and there is no room in the Christian life for

excess or margin. As every duty is a bounden duty, so every possible

excellence is demanded of the Christian. Virtues prescribe duties;

ideals become laws; and the measure is, 'Be ye perfect as your Father in

heaven is perfect.' The Stoic maxim, 'Nothing in excess,' is inadequate

in reference to moral excellence, and Aristotle's doctrine of the 'Mean'

can hardly be applied without considerable distortion of facts. The only

virtue which with truth can be described as a form of moderation is

Temperance. It has been objected that by his doctrine of the 'Mean'

Aristotle 'obliterates the awful and absolute difference between right

and wrong.' If we substitute, as Kant suggested, 'law' for 'mean,' some

of the ambiguity is obviated. Still, after all extenuation is made it

may be questioned whether any term implying quantity is a fit expression

for a moral attribute.[3]

At the same time the virtues must not be regarded as mere abstractions.

Moral qualities cannot be isolated from the circumstances in which they

are exercised. Virtue is character in touch with life, and it is only in

contact with actual events that its quality can be determined. Actions

are not simply good or bad in themselves. They must {186} always be

valued both by their inner motives and intended ends. Courage or

veracity, for example, may be exercised from different causes and for the

most various ends, and occasionally even for those of an immoral

nature.[4]

For these and similar reasons some modern ethical writers have regarded

the classification of the virtues as unsatisfactory, involving arbitrary

and illogical distinctions in value; and some have even discarded the use

of the word 'virtue' altogether, and substituted the word 'character' as

the subject of ethical study. But inasmuch as character must manifest

itself in certain forms, and approximate at least to certain norms or

ideals of conduct, it may not be altogether superfluous to consider in

their relation and unity those moral qualities (whether we call them

virtues, graces, or norms of excellence) which the Christian aims at

reproducing in his life.

We shall consider therefore, first, the natural elements of virtue as

they have been disclosed to us by classical teachers. Next, we shall

compare these with the Christian conception of life, showing how

Christianity has given to them a new meaning and value. And finally, we

shall endeavour to reveal the unifying principle of the virtues by

showing that when transformed by the Christian spirit they are the

expressions or implicates of a single spiritual disposition or totality

of character.

I

_The Natural Basis of the Virtues_.--At a certain stage of reflection

there arises an effort not merely to designate, but to co-ordinate the

virtues. For it is soon discovered that all the various aspects of the

good have a unity, and that the idea of virtue as one and conscious is

equivalent to the idea of the good-will or of purity of heart. Thus it

was seen by the followers of Socrates that the virtues are but different

expressions of one principle, and that the ultimate good of character can

only be realised by the actual pursuit {187} of it in the recognised

virtues. We do not sufficiently reflect, says Green, how great was the

service which Greek philosophy rendered to mankind. From Plato and

Aristotle comes the connected scheme of virtues and duties within which

the educated conscience of Christendom still moves when it is impartially

reflecting on what ought to be done.[5] Religious teachers may have

extended the scope of our obligations, and strengthened the motives which

actuate men in the performance of duty, but 'the articulated scheme of

what the virtues and duties are, in their difference and their unity,

remains for us now in its main outlines what the Greek philosophers left

it.'[6]

Among ancient moralists four virtues, Wisdom, Courage, Temperance,

Justice were constantly grouped. They were already traditional in

Plato's time, but he adopts them as fundamental. Aristotle retained

Plato's list, but developed from it some minor excellences.

Virtue, according to Plato, was the health or harmony of the soul; hence

the principle of classification was determined by the fitness of the soul

for its proper task, which was conceived as the attainment of the good or

the morally beautiful. As man has three functions or aspects, a

cognitive, active, and appetitive, so there are three corresponding

virtues. His function of knowing determines the primal virtue of Wisdom;

his active power constitutes the virtue of Courage; while his appetitive

nature calls for the virtue of Temperance or Self-control. These three

virtues have reference to the individual's personal life. But inasmuch

as a man is a part of a social organism, and has relations to others

beyond himself, justice was conceived by Plato as the social virtue, the

virtue which regulated and harmonised all the others. For the Stoics

these four virtues embraced the whole life according to nature. It may

be noticed that Plato and Aristotle did not profess to have created the

virtues. Wisdom, fortitude, temperance, and justice were, as they

believed, radical principles of the moral nature; and all they professed

to do was to {188} awaken men to the consciousness of their natural

capacities. If a man was to attain to fitness of life, then these were

the fundamental and essential lines on which his rational life must

develop. In every conceivable world these are the basal elements of

goodness. Related as they are to fundamental functions of personality,

they cannot be less or more. They stand for the irreducible principles

of conduct, to omit any one of which is to present a maimed or only

partial character. In every rational conception of life they must remain

the essential and desirable objects of pursuit. It was not wonderful,

therefore, when we remember the influence of Greek thought upon early

Christianity, that the four classical virtues should pass over into

Christian Ethics. But the Church, recognising that these virtues had

reference to man's life in relation to himself and his fellow-men in this

world alone, added to these the three Pauline Graces, Faith, Hope, and

Charity, as expressive of the divine element in man, his relation to God

and the spiritual world. The first four were called natural, the last

three supernatural: or the 'Cardinal' (_cardo_, a hinge) and the

'Theological' virtues. They make in all seven, the mystic perfect

number, and over against these, to complete the symmetry of life, were

placed the seven deadly sins.

II

_Their Christian Transformation_.--But now if we compare the cardinal

virtues with the conception of goodness revealed in Scripture, we are at

once conscious of a contrast. We seem to move in a new atmosphere, and

to be confronted with a view of life in which entirely different values

hold.

1. While in the New Testament many virtues are commended, no complete

description occurs in any single passage. The beatitudes may be regarded

as our Lord's catalogue of the typical qualities of life, and a

development of virtuous life might be worked out from the Sermon on the

Mount. Beginning with poverty of spirit, {189} humility, and meekness,

and rising up out of the individual struggle of the inner man, we attain

to mercifulness and peaceableness--the spirit which bears the poverty of

others, and seeks to make others meek and gentle. Next the desire for

righteousness finds expression in a readiness to endure persecution, to

support the burden of duty in the midst of worldly conflict; and finally

in the highest stage the light of virtue shines through the clouds of

struggle and breaks forth spontaneously, irradiating all who come into

contact with it, and constituting man the servant of humanity, the light

of the world.[7] Or we might turn to the apostle Paul, who regards the

virtues as the fruit of the Spirit, describing them in general as 'love,

joy, peace, long-suffering, goodness, faith, gentleness, humility.'[8] A

rich cluster is also mentioned as 'the fruit of light'--goodness,

righteousness, truth. A further enumeration is given in Colossians where

the apostle commends compassion, kindness, humility, meekness,

long-suffering, forbearance, and forgiveness.[9] And once more there is

the often-quoted series in the Epistle to the Philippians, 'Whatsoever

things are true, reverent, just, chaste, lovely, and kindly spoken

of.'[10] Nor must we forget the characteristics of love presented in the

apostle's 'Hymn of Charity.'[11] To these descriptions of St. Paul there

ought to be added the remarkable passage in which St. Peter unfolds the

process of the moral life from its seed to the perfect flower.[12]

Though the authorship of this passage has been disputed, that fact does

not make the representation less trustworthy and typical as an exhibition

of early Christian morality. According to this picture, just as in St.

Paul's view, the whole moral life has its root in faith, and character is

nothing else than the working out of the initial energy of the soul into

virtue, knowledge, temperance, patience, godliness, brotherly kindness,

and charity--all that makes life worthy and excellent. Character is not

built like a house, by the addition of stone to stone. It is evolved as

{190} a plant from a seed. Given faith, there will ultimately emerge all

the successive qualities of true goodness--knowledge, temperance,

patience--the personal virtues, rising upwards to godliness or the love

of God, and widening out to brotherhood, and thence to charity or a love

of mankind--a charity which embraces the whole world, even those who are

not Christian: the enemy, the outcast, and the alien.

These descriptions are not formal or systematic, but are characterised by

a remarkable similarity in spirit and tone. They all reflect the mind of

Christ, and put the emphasis where Jesus Himself invariably laid it--on

love. But the point to which we desire to draw attention is the contrast

between the classical and the Christian type of virtue. The difference

is commonly expressed by saying that the pagan virtues were of a bold

masculine order, whereas the Christian excellences are of an amiable and

passive nature.

Yet if we carefully examine the lists as given in Scripture, we shall see

that this is hardly a just distinction. Certainly Christianity brings to

the front some virtues of a gentle type which are apparently wanting in

the Platonic catalogue. But, on the other hand, the pagan virtues are

not excluded from the New Testament. They have an acknowledged place in

Christian morality. Fortitude and temperance, not to speak of wisdom and

justice, are recognised as essential qualities of the Christian

character. Christianity did not come into the world as the negative of

all that was previously noble in human nature; on the contrary, it took

over everything that was good and true, and gave to it a legitimate

place. Whatsoever things, says the apostle, are true and just and fair,

if there be any virtue or praise in them, think of these things.

Courage is not disparaged by Christianity. In writing to Timothy Paul

gives to this virtue its original significance. He only raises it to a

higher level, and gives to it a nobler end--the determination not to be

ashamed of bearing testimony, and the readiness to suffer hardship for

the Gospel's sake. And though the apostle does not expressly {191}

commend courage in its active form in any other passage, we may gather

from the whole tenor of his life that bravery, fortitude, endurance,

occupied a high place in his esteem. While he made no parade of his

sufferings his life was a continual warfare for the Gospel. The courage

of a man is none the less real because it is evinced not on the

battlefield, but in the conflict of righteousness. He who devotes

himself unnoticed and unrewarded, at the risk of his life and at the

sacrifice of every pleasure, to the service of the sick and the debased,

possesses courage the same in principle as that of the 'brave man'

described by Aristotle. Life is a battle, and there are other objects

for which a man must contend than those peculiar to a military calling.

In all circumstances of his existence the Christian must quit himself as

a man, and without courage no one can fulfil in any tolerable degree the

duties of his station.

In like manner temperance or self-control is a truly Christian virtue,

and it finds repeated mention in Scripture. When, however, we compare

the conception of temperance as formulated by Aristotle with the demand

of self-denial which the enlightened Christian conscience makes upon

itself we are struck with a difference both in the motive and the scope

of the principle. Temperance as Aristotle conceived it was a virtue

exhibited only in dealing with the animal passions. And the reason why

this indulgence ought to be checked was that the lusts of the flesh

unfitted a man for his discharge of the civic duties. But, in view of

the Greek idea that evil resides in the physical constitution of man, the

logical deduction would be the total suppression of the animal passions

altogether. But from the Christian standpoint the physical instincts are

not an evil to be crushed, but rather a legitimate element in man which

is to be disciplined and brought into the service of the spiritual life.

Temperance covers the whole range of moral activity. It means the

practical mastery of self, and includes the proper control and employment

of hand and eye, tongue and temper, tastes and affections, so that they

may become effective instruments of righteousness. The practice of {192}

asceticism for its own sake, or abstinence dictated merely by fear of

some painful result of indulgence, we do not now regard as a virtue. The

true form of self-denial we deem to be only rendered when we forbid

ourselves the enjoyment of certain legitimate inclinations for the sake

of some higher interest. Thus the scope of the virtue of temperance has

been greatly enlarged, and we present to ourselves objects of moral

loyalty, for the sake of which we are ready to abandon our desires in a

far greater variety of forms than ever occurred to the Greek. An

indulgence, for example, which a man might legitimately allow himself, he

forgoes in consideration of the claims of his family, or fellow-workmen,

or for the good of mankind at large, in a way that the ancient world

could not understand. Christian temperance, while the same in principle

with the ancient virtue, penetrates life more deeply, and is fraught with

a richer and more positive content than was contemplated by the Greek

demand.

And the same may be said of the virtues of Wisdom and Justice. Wisdom is

a New Testament grace, but mere calculating prudence or worldly

self-regard finds no place in the Christian scheme of life. We are

enjoined, indeed, to be wise as serpents and harmless as doves in our

relations with men; but what we are urged to cultivate is a mind for the

right interpretation of the things of God, that spiritual insight which

discerns the things of the Spirit; and, while recognising life as a

divinely given trust, seeks to obtain a wise understanding of our duties

toward God and man.

While the other virtues are to a certain extent self-regarding, Justice

is eminently social. At the very lowest it means 'equal consideration'

for all, treating, as Kant would say, every man as an 'end,' and not as a

means. Morally no man may disregard the claims of others. It is said,

indeed, that we must be 'just before we are generous.' But a full and

perfect conception of Justice involves generosity. There is no such

thing as bare justice. Righteousness, which is the New Testament

equivalent, demands more than negative goodness, and in Christian Ethics

{193} passes over into Charity, which finds and fulfils itself in others.

Love here and always is the fulfilling of the law, and mercy,

benevolence, kindness are the implicates of true justice.

2. It is thus evident that the cardinal virtues are essential elements

of Christian character. Christianity, in taking over the moral

conceptions of the ancient world, gave to them a new value and range by

directing them to new objects and enthusing them with new motives. It

has been truly said that the religion of Jesus so profoundly modified the

character of the moral ideals of the past that they became largely new

creations. The old moral currency was still kept in circulation, but it

was gradually minted anew.[13] Fortitude is still the cool and steady

behaviour of a man in the presence of danger; but its range is widened by

the inclusion of perils of the soul as well as the body. Temperance is

still the control of the physical passions; but it is also the right

placing of new affections, and the consecration of our impulses to nobler

ends. Justice is still the suppression of conflict with the rights of

others; but the source of it lies in giving to God the love which is His

due, and finding in the objects of His thought the subjects also of our

care. Wisdom is still the practical sense which chooses the proper

course of action; but it is no longer a selfish calculation of advantage,

but the wisdom of men who are seeking for themselves and others not

merely temporal good, but a kingdom which is not of this world.

The real reason, then, why Christianity seems by contrast to accentuate

the gentler graces is not simply as a protest against the spirit of

militarism and the worship of physical power, so prevalent in the ancient

world--not merely that they were neglected--but because they and they

alone, rightly considered, are of the very essence of that perfection of

character which God has revealed to man in Christ. What Christianity has

done is not to give pre-eminence to one class over another, but _to make

human character complete_. Ancient civilisation was one-sided in its

moral {194} development. The pagan conceptions of virtue were merely

materialistic, temporal, and self-regarding. Christ showed that without

the spirit of love even such excellences as courage, temperance, and

justice did not attain to their true meaning or yield their full

implication. Paul, as we have seen, did not disparage heroism, but he

thought that it was exhibited as much, if not more, in patience and

forgiveness as in self-assertion and retaliation. What Christianity

really revealed was a new type of manliness, a fresh application of

temperance, a fuller development of justice. It showed the might of

meekness, the power of gentleness, the heroism of sacrifice.

3. It is thus misleading to say that Christian Ethics differs from

ancient morality in the prominence it gives to what have been called 'the

passive virtues.' Poverty of spirit, humility, meekness, mercifulness,

and peaceableness are indeed the marks of Christ's teaching. But as

Christ conceived them they were not passive qualities, but intensely

active energies of the soul. It has been well remarked that[14] there

was a poverty of spirit in the creed of the cynic centuries before

Christianity. There was a meekness in the doctrine of the Stoic long

before the advent of Jesus. But these tenets were very far from being

anticipations of Christ's morality. Cynic poverty of spirit was but the

poor-spiritedness of apathy. Stoic meekness was merely the indifference

of oblivion. But the humility and lowliness of heart, the mercifulness

and peace-seeking which Christ inculcated were essentially powers of

self-restraint, not negative but positive attitudes to life. The motive

was not apathy but love. These qualities were based not on the idea that

life was so poor and undesirable that it was not worthy of consideration,

but upon the conviction that it was so grand and noble, something so far

beyond either pleasure or pain, as to demand the devotion of the entire

self--the mastery and consecration of all a man's powers in the

fulfilment and service of its divine end.

Hence what Christianity did was not so much to institute {195} one type

of character for another as to exhibit for the first time the complete

conception of what human life should be--a new creature, in whom, as in

its great Exemplar, strength and tenderness, courage and meekness,

justice and mercy were alike combined. For, as St. Paul said, in Christ

Jesus there is neither male nor female, but all are as one. And in this

character, as the same apostle finely shows, faith, hope, and charity

have the primary place, not as special virtues which have been added on,

but as the spiritual disposition which penetrates the entire personality

and qualifies its every thought and act.

III

_The Unification of the Virtues_.--While it is desirable, then, to

exhibit the virtues in detail, it is even more important to trace back

the virtues to virtue itself. A man's duties are diverse, as diverse as

the various occasions and circumstances of life, and they can only come

into being with the various institutions of his time, Church and State,

home and country, commerce and culture. But the performance of these may

be slowly building up in him a consistent personality. It is in

character that the unity of the moral life is most clearly expressed.

There must be therefore a unity of character underlying the multiplicity

of characteristics, one single and commanding principle at work in the

formation of life of which every possible virtue is the expression.

1. A unity of this kind is supplied by man's relation to God. Religion

cannot be separated from conduct. If it were true, as Epicurus said,

that the gods take no concern in human affairs, then not religion only,

but morality itself would be in danger. As men's conceptions of God are

purified and deepened, they tend to exhibit the varied contents of

morality in their connection with a diviner order. It is, then, the

thought of man's relation to God which gives coherence to the moral life,

and brings all its diverse manifestations into unity.

{196}

If we examine the Christian consciousness as presented in the New

Testament, we find three words of frequent occurrence repeatedly grouped

together, which may be regarded as the essential marks of Christian

character in relation to God--Faith, Hope, and Love.

So characteristic are these of the new life that they have been called

the theological virtues, because, as Thomas Aquinas says, 'They have God

for their object: they bring us into true relation to God, and they are

imparted to us by God alone.'[15]

2. These graces, however, cannot be separated. A man does not exercise

at one time faith, and at another time hope or love. They are all of a

piece. They are but different manifestations of one virtue. Of these

love is the greatest, because it is that without which faith and hope

could not exist. Love is of the very essence of the Christian life. It

is its secret and sign. No other term is so expressive of the spirit of

Christ. It is the first and last word of apostolic Christianity. Love

may be called the discovery of the Gospel. It was practically unknown in

the ancient world. _Eros_, the sensuous instinct and _philia_, the bond

of friendship, did exist, but _agapê_ in its spiritual sense is the

creation of Christ. In Christian Ethics love is primal and central.

Here we have got down to the bedrock of virtue. It is not simply one

virtue among many. It is the quality in which all the virtues have their

setting and unity. From a Christian point of view every excellence of

character springs directly from love and is the manifestation of it. It

is, as St. Paul says, 'the bond of perfectness.' The several virtues of

the Christian life are but facets of this one gem.[16]

Love, according to the apostle, is indispensable to character. Without

it Faith is an empty profession; {197} Knowledge, a mere parade of

learning; Courage, a boastful confidence; Self-denial, a useless

asceticism. Love is the fruitful source of all else that is beautiful

and noble in life. It not only embraces but produces all the other

graces. It creates fortitude; it begets wisdom; it prompts

self-restraint and temperance; it tempers justice. It manifests itself

in humility, meekness, and forgiveness:

'As every hue is light,

So every grace is love.'

Love is, however, closely associated with faith and hope. Faith, as we

have seen, is theologically the formative and appropriating power by

which man makes his own the spirit of Christ. But ethically it is a form

of love. The Christian character is formed by faith, but it lives and

works by love. A believing act is essentially a loving act. It is a

giving of personal confidence. It implies an outgoing of the self

towards another--which is the very nature of love. Hope, again, is but a

particular form of faith which looks forward to the consummation of the

good. The man of hope knows in whom he believes, and he anticipates the

fulfilment of his longings. Hope is essentially an element of love.

Like faith it is a form of idealism. It believes in, and looks forward

to, a better world because it knows that love is at the heart of the

universe. As faith is the special counteragent against materialism in

the present, so hope is the special corrective of pessimism in regard to

the future. Love supplies both with vision. Christian hope, because

based on faith and prompted by love, is no easy-going complacence which

simply accepts the actual as the best of all possible worlds. The

Christian is a man of hope because in spite of life's sufferings he never

loses faith in the ideal which love has revealed to him. 'Tribulation,'

says St. Paul, 'worketh patience, and patience probation, and probation

hope.' Hope has its social aspect as well as its personal; like faith it

is one of the mighty levers of society. Men of hope are the saviours of

the world. In days of persecution and doubt it is their courage which

rallies the wavering hosts and gives others {198} heart for the struggle.

Every Christian is an optimist not with the reckless assurance that calls

evil good, but with the rational faith, begotten of experience, that good

is yet to be the final goal of ill. 'Thy kingdom come' is the prayer of

faith and hope, and the missionary enterprise is rooted in the confidence

begotten of love, that He who has given to man His world-wide commission

will give also the continual presence and power of His Spirit for its

fulfilment.

3. Faith, hope, and charity are at once the root and fruit of all the

virtues. They are the attributes of the man whom Christ has redeemed.

The Christian has a threefold outlook. He looks upwards, outwards, and

inwards. His horizon is bounded by neither space nor time. He embraces

all men in his regard, because he believes that every man has infinite

worth in God's eyes. The old barriers of country and caste, which

separated men in the ancient world, are broken down by faith in God and

hope for man which the love of Christ inspires. Faith, hope, and love

have been called the theological virtues. But if they are to be called

virtues at all, it must be in a sense very different from what the

ancients understood by virtue. These apostolic graces are not elements

of the natural man, but states which come into being through a changed

moral character. They connect man with God, and with a new spiritual

order in which his life has come to find its place and purpose. They

were impossible for a Greek, and had no place in ancient Ethics. They

are related to the new ideal which the Gospel has revealed, and obtain

their value as elements of character from the fact that they have their

object in the distinctive truth of Christianity--fellowship with God

through Christ.

These graces are not outward adornments or optional accomplishments.

They are the essential conditions of the Christian man. They constitute

his inmost and necessary character. They do not, however, supersede or

render superfluous the other virtues. On the contrary they transmute and

transfigure them, giving to them at once their coherence and value.

[1] Phil. iv. 8; 1 Peter ii. 9.

[2] 2 Peter i. 5.

[3] Cf. Sir Alex. Grant, _Aristotle's Ethics_.

[4] Cf. Wundt, _Ethik_, p. 147.

[5] Green, _Proleg. to Ethics_, section 249.

[6] _Idem_.

[7] Matt. v. 1-16.

[8] Gal. v. 22-3.

[9] Col. iii. 12, 13.

[10] Phil. iv. 8.

[11] 1 Cor. xiii.

[12] 2 Peter i. 5.

[13] Strong, _Christian Ethics_.

[14] Mathieson, _Landmarks of Christian Morality_.

[15] _Summa_, I. ii.

[16] An interesting parallel might be drawn between the Pauline

conception of Love as the supreme passion of the soul and lord of the

emotions, and the Platonic view of Justice as the intimate spirit of

order alike in the individual and the state, expressing itself in, and

harmoniously binding together, the virtues of Temperance, Courage, and

Wisdom.

{199}

CHAPTER XII

THE REALM OF DUTY

We have now to see how the virtues issue in their corresponding duties

and cover the whole field of life.

Virtues and duties cannot be strictly distinguished. As Paulsen

remarks, 'They are but different modes of presenting the same

subject-matter.'[1] Virtues are permanent traits of character; duties

are particular acts which seek to realise virtues.

The word 'duty,' borrowed from Stoic philosophy, inadequately

describes, both on the side of its obligation and its joy, the service

which the Christian is pledged to offer to Christ. For the Christian

the two moments of pleasure and duty are united in the higher synthesis

of love.

In this chapter we shall consider, first, some aspects of Christian

obligation; and, second, the particular duties which arise therefrom in

relation to the self, others, and God.

I

ASPECTS OF DUTY

1. _Duty and Vocation_.--'While duty stands for a universal element

there is a personal element in moral requirement which may be called

vocation.'[2] As soon as the youth enters upon the larger world he has

to make choice of a profession or life-work. Different principles may

guide him in his selection. First of all, the circumstances {200} of

life will help to decide the individual's career. Our calling and

duties arise immediately out of our station. Already by parental

influence and the action of home-environment character is being shaped,

and tastes and purposes are created which will largely determine the

future. Next to condition and station, individual capacity and

disposition ought to be taken into account. No good work can be

accomplished in uncongenial employment. A man must have not only

fitness for his task, but also a love for it. Proper ambition may also

be a determining factor. We have a right to make the most of

ourselves, and to strive for that position in which our gifts shall

have fullest scope. But the ultimate decision must be made in the

light of conscience. Self-interest should not be our sole motive in

the choice of a vocation. It is not enough to ask what is most

attractive, what line of life will ensure the greatest material gain or

worldly honour? Rather should we ask, Where shall I be safest from

moral danger, and, above all, in what position of life, open to me, can

I do the most good? It is not enough to know that a certain mode of

livelihood is permitted by law; I must decide whether it is permitted

to me as a Christian. For, after all, underlying, and giving purpose

and direction to, our earthly vocation is the deeper calling of God

into His kingdom. These cannot, indeed, be separated. We cannot

divide our life into two sections, a sacred and a secular. Nor must we

restrict the idea of vocation to definite spheres of work. Even those

who are precluded by affliction from the activities of the world are

still God's servants, and may find in suffering itself their divinely

appointed mission. There is a divinity which shapes our ends, and in

every life-calling there is something sacred. 'Saints,' says George

Eliot, 'choose not their tasks, they choose but to do them well.'

But the decisions of life do not cease with the choice of a calling.

At every moment of our career fresh difficulties arise, and new

opportunities open up which demand careful thought. Our first

obligation is to meet faithfully the claims of our station. But in the

complexity of life we are {201} being constantly brought into wider

relations with our fellow-men, which either modify the old, or create

entirely new situations. While the rule is to do the duty that lies

nearest us, to obey the call of God at each moment, it needs no little

wisdom to discern one's immediate duty, and to know what the will of

God actually is.

2. _Conflict of Duties_.--In the sphere of duty itself a three-fold

distinction, having the imprimatur of the Romish Church, has been made

by some moralists: (1) the problem of colliding interests; (2)

'counsels of perfection'; and (3) indifferent acts or 'Adiaphora,'

actions which, being neither commanded nor forbidden, fall outwith the

domain of Christian obligation. It will not be necessary to discuss at

length these questions. The Gospel lends no support to such

distinctions, and as Schleiermacher points out they ought to have no

place in Protestant Ethics.[3]

(1) With regard to the 'conflict of duties,' when the collision is

really, as it often is, a struggle between inclination and duty, the

question answers itself. There are, of course, cases in which

perplexity must occur to an honest man. But the difficulty cannot be

decided by drawing up a list of axiomatic precepts to fit all

conceivable cases. In the dilemma, for example, between

self-preservation and self-sacrifice which may present itself in some

tragic experience of life, a host of considerations relative to the

individual's history and relationships enter in to modify the

situation, and the course to be taken can be _finally_ determined by a

man's _own_ conscience alone. Ultimately there can be no collision of

duties as such. Once a man recognises a certain mode of conduct to be

right for him there is really no choice. In judgment he may err;

passion or desire may obscure the issue; but once he has determined

what he ought to do there is no alternative, 'er kann nicht anders.'

(2) Again, it is a complete misapprehension of the nature of duty to

distinguish between the irreducible minimum and acts of supererogatory

goodness which outrun duty. {202} Goodness is one, and admits of no

degrees. All duty is absolute. An overplus is unthinkable, since no

man can do more than his duty. A Christian can only do what he

recognises as his obligation, and this he ought to fulfil at every

moment and with all his might. Love, which is the Christian's only

law, knows no limit. Even when we have done our utmost we are still

unprofitable servants.

(3) Finally, the question as to whether there are any acts which are

indifferent, permissible, but neither enjoined nor forbidden, must also

be answered in the negative. If the Christian can do no more than his

duty, because in every single action he seeks to fulfil the whole will

of God, it is clear that there can be no moment of life that can be

thought of not determined by the divine will. There is no part of life

that is colourless. There must be no dropped stitches in the texture

of the Christian character.

It is most frequently in the domain of amusement that the notion of the

'Permissible' is applied. It has been contended that as recreation

really lies outwith the Christian sphere, it may be allowed to

Christian people as a concession to human weakness.[4] But can this

position be vindicated? Relaxation is as much a need of man as work,

and must, equally with it, be brought within the scope of Christian

conduct. We have no business to engage in any activity, whether

involving pleasure or pain, that we cannot justify to our conscience.

Are not the joys of life, and even its amusements, among God's gifts

designed for the enriching of character? And may not they, too, be

consecrated to the glory of God? We are to use the world while not

abusing it, for all things are ours if we are Christ's. Over every

department of life the law of Christ is sovereign, and the ultimate

principle applicable to all problems of duty is, 'Whatsoever ye do in

word or deed do all to the glory of God.'

3. _Rights and Duties_.--The foregoing question as to the scope of

duty leads naturally to the consideration of the relation of duties and

rights. It is usual to distinguish {203} between legal and moral

rights; but at bottom they are one. The rights which I legally claim

for myself I am morally bound to grant to others. A right is expressed

in the form of a permission; a duty, of an imperative. I may or may

not demand my legal rights; morally, I must perform my duties. But, on

the other hand, a right may be secured by legal compulsion; a duty, as

a moral obligation, can never be enforced by external power: it needs

our own assent.[5]

Strictly speaking rights and duties are correlative. Every right

carries with it an obligation; not merely in the objective sense that

when one man has a right other men are under the obligation to respect

it, but also in the subjective sense that when a man has a right he is

bound to use it for the general good. It is sometimes said, 'A man may

do what he likes with his own.' Legally that may be true, but morally

he is under obligation to employ it for the general good just as

strictly as if it were another's. A man's rights are not merely

decorations or ends in themselves. They are opportunities,

instruments, trusts. And when any man has them, it means that he is

placed on a vantage-ground from which, secure of oppression or

interference, he may begin to do his duty.[6] But this moral aspect of

right is often lost sight of. People are so enamoured of what they

call their rights that they forget that the real value of every right

depends upon the use to which they put it. A man's freedom does not

consist in having rights, but in fulfilling them. 'After all,' says

Mazzini, 'the greatest right a man can possess or recognise--the

greatest gift of all--is simply the privilege and obligation to do his

duty.'[7] This is the only Christian doctrine of rights. It underlies

our Lord's teaching in the parable of the Talents. We only have what

we use.

(1) Much has been written of the 'Natural rights of Man.'[8] This was

the claim of a school of political philosophy of {204} which Paine was

the most rigorous exponent. The contentions of Paine were met as

vigorously by the negations of Bentham and Burke. And if it be

supposed that the individual is born into the world with certain

ready-made possessions, fixed and unalterable, the claim is untenable.

Such an artificial account of man ignores entirely the evolution of

moral nature, and denies the possibility of development in man's

conception of law and duty. 'It is,' as Wundt says, 'to derive all the

moral postulates that have been produced in our minds by previous moral

development from moral life as it actually exists.'[9]

(2) But while the 'natural rights of man' cannot be theoretically

vindicated, they may still be regarded as ends or ideals to be striven

after. 'Justifiable or unjustifiable in theory, they may still remain

a convenient form in which to couch the ultimatum of determined

men.'[10] They give expression, at least, to a conviction which has

grown more clear and articulate with the advance of thought--the

conviction of the _dignity and worth of the individual_. This thought

was the keynote of the Reformation. The Enlightenment, with its appeal

to reason, as alike in all men, gave support to the idea of equality.

Descartes claimed it as the philosophical basis of man's nature.

Rousseau and Montesquieu were among its most valiant champions. Kant

made it the point of departure for the enforcement of human right and

duty. Fichte but elaborated Kant's view when he contended for 'the

equality of everything which bears the human visage.'[11] And Hegel

has summed up the conception in what he calls 'the mandate of

right'--'Be a person, and respect others as persons.'[12] Poets

sometimes see what others miss. And in our country, at least, it is to

Wordsworth, Tennyson, and Browning, and still more, perhaps, to Burns,

that we are indebted for the insistence upon the native worth of man.

But if this claim has only gradually attained to articulate {205}

expression, and is only now being made the basis of social

reconstruction, it must not be forgotten that it is essentially a

Christian truth. In Harnack's language, 'Jesus Christ was the first to

bring the value of every human soul to light, and what He did no one

can any more undo.'[13]

When, however, the attempt is made to analyse this ultimate principle

of manhood, opinions differ as to its constituents, and a long list of

'rights' claimed by different political thinkers might be made. The

famous 'Declaration of Rights'[14] included Life, Liberty, Property,

Security, and 'Resistance of Oppression.' To these some have added

'Manhood Suffrage,' 'Free Access to the Soil,' and a common

distribution of the benefits of life and means of production. This is

a large programme, and certainly no community as yet has recognised all

its items without qualification. Obviously they are not all of the

same quality, nor are they of independent validity; and at best they

but roughly describe certain factors, considered by various agitators

as desirable, of an ideal social order.

(3) We are on safer ground, and for Christian Ethics, at least, more in

consonance with ultimate Christian values, when we describe the primary

realities of human nature in terms of the revelation of life as given

by the Person and teaching of Jesus Christ. The three great verities

upon which He constantly insisted were, man's value for himself, his

value for his fellow-men, and his value for God. These correspond

generally to the three great ethical ideas of life--Personality,

Freedom, and Divine Kinship. But although the sense of independence,

liberty and divine fellowship is the first aspect of a being who has

come to the consciousness of himself, it is incomplete in itself. Man

plants himself upon his individuality in order that he may set out from

thence to take possession, by means of knowledge, action, and service,

of his larger world. Man's rights are but {206} possibilities which

must be transmuted by him into achievements.

'This is the honour,--that no thing I know,

Feel, or conceive, but I can make my own

Somehow, by use of hand or head or heart.'[15]

Rights involve obligations. The right of personality carries with it

the duty of treating life, one's own and that of others, as sacred.

The right of freedom implies the use of one's liberty for the good of

the society of which each is a member. And finally, the sense of

divine kinship involves the obligation of making the most of one's

life, of realising through and for God all that God intends in the gift

of life.

In these three values lies the Christian doctrine of man.[16] Because

of their fullness of implication they open out to our vision the goal

of humanity--the principle and purpose of the whole process of human

evolution--the perfection of man. Given these three Christian

truths--the Sacredness of Personality, the Brotherhood of Man, and the

Fatherhood of God--and all that is essential in the claim of the

'Natural Rights of Man' is implicitly contained. The one thing needful

is that men become alive to their privileges and go forward to 'possess

their possessions.'

II

SPHERES OF DUTY

We are thus led to a division, natural if not wholly logical, of duties

which spring from these rights--duties towards self, others, and God.

Though, indeed, self-love implies love of others, and all duty is duty

to God, still it may be permissible to frame a scheme of duties

according as one or other element is prominent in each case.

1. _Duties in Relation to Self_.--It is obvious that without (1)

_respect_ for self there can be no respect for others. I am {207} a

part of the moral whole, and an element in the kingdom of God. I

cannot make myself of no account. Our Lord's commandment, 'Thou shalt

love thy neighbour as thyself,' makes a rightly conceived self-love the

measure of love to one's neighbour. Self-respect involves (2)

_self-preservation_, the care of health, the culture of body and mind.

Not only is it our duty to see that the efficiency and fitness of the

bodily organism is fully maintained, but we must also guard it against

everything that would defile and disfigure it, or render it an

instrument of sin. Christianity requires the strictest personal

purity, purity of thought and feeling as well as of deed. It demands,

therefore, constant vigilance, self-control, temperance, and even

self-denial, so that the body may be, not, as the ancients thought, the

prison-house of the soul, but the temple of the Holy Spirit.

Christianity is, however, opposed to asceticism. Though Jesus denied

Himself to the uttermost in obedience to the voice of God, there is in

His presentation of life a complete absence of those austerities which

in the history of the Church have been so often regarded as marks of

superior sanctity.[17] It is unnecessary here to dwell upon athletics

and sport which now so largely occupy the attention of the youth of our

land. Physical exercise is necessary to the maintenance of bodily

fitness, yet it may easily become an all-absorbing pursuit, and instead

of being merely a means to an end, may usurp the place in life which

belongs to higher things.

(3) Self-maintenance involves also the duty of _self-development_, and

that not merely of our physical, but also of our mental life. If the

body has its place and function in the growth of Christian character,

still more has the mind its ethical importance. Our Maker can have no

delight in ignorance. He desires that we should present not a

fragmentary but complete manhood. Specialisation, though a necessity

of the age, is fraught with peril to the individual. The exigencies of

labour require men to concentrate their energies on their own immediate

tasks; but each must seek to be not merely a craftsman, but a man.

Other sides {208} of our nature require to be cultivated besides those

which bring us into contact with the ways and means of existence.

Indeed, it is only by the possession of a well-trained mind that the

fullest capacity, even for special pursuits, can be obtained. It has

become a commonplace to say that every man should have equality of

opportunity to earn a livelihood. But equality of opportunity for

education, as something which ought to be within the reach of every

youth in the land, is not so frequently insisted upon. Beyond the

claims of daily occupation every one should have a chance, and, indeed,

an inducement, to cultivate his mental and spiritual nature. Hence

what is called 'culture,' the all-round development of the human

faculties, is an essential condition of moral excellence. For, as

Goethe has said, the object of education ought to be rather the

formation of tastes than simply the communication of knowledge. But

most important of all the self-regarding aims of life is the obligation

of _Self-discipline_, and the use of every means of moral culture which

the world supplies. It is through the complex conditions of earthly

existence that the character of the individual is developed. It will

only be possible to indicate briefly some of the aids to the culture of

the moral life. Among these may be mentioned: (_a_) _The Providential

Experiences of life_. The world itself, as a sphere of Work,

Temptation, and Suffering, is a school of character. The affections

and cares of the home, the duties and tasks incident to one's calling,

the claims of one's fellow-men, the trials and temptations of one's

lot--these are the universal and common elements in man's moral

education. Not to escape from the world's activities and conflicts,

but to turn them into conditions of self-mastery, is the duty of each.

Men do work, but work makes men. The shopkeeper is not merely selling

wares; the artisan or mechanic is not simply engaged in his handicraft;

the mason and builder are not only erecting a house; each is, in and

through his toil, making his own soul. And so, too, suffering and

temptation are the tools which God commits to His creatures for the

shaping of their own lives. Saints {209} and sinners are made out of

the same material. By what Bosanquet has finely called 'the miracle of

will' the raw stuff of life is taken up and woven into the texture of

the soul. (_b_) The so-called _secular opportunities of culture_.

Innumerable sources of self-enrichment are available. Everything may

be made a vehicle of moral education. Knowledge generally, and

especially the ministry of nature, the influence of art, and the study

of literature, are potent factors in the discipline and development of

Christian character. To these must be added (_c_) _The special

religious aids and means of grace_. From an ethical point of view the

Church is a school of character. It 'guards and keeps alive the

characteristic Christian ideas, and thereby exhibits and promotes the

Christian ideal of life.'[18] Its fellowship, worship, and ordinances;

its opportunities of brotherly service and missionary activity, as well

as the more private spiritual exercises of prayer and meditation--all

are means of discipline and gifts committed to the stewardship of

individuals in order that they may realise the greatness of life's

possibilities, and attain through union with God to the fullness of

their stature in Christ.

But while the truth that the soul has an inalienable worth is

repeatedly affirmed, the New Testament touches but lightly upon the

duties of self-regard. To be occupied constantly with the thought of

one's self is a symptom of morbid egoism rather than of healthy

personality. The avidity of self-improvement and even zeal for

religion may become a refined form of selfishness. We must be willing

at times to renounce our personal comfort, to restrain our zest for

intellectual and aesthetic enjoyment, to be content to be less cultured

and scholarly, less complete as men, and ready to part with something

of our own immediate good that others may be ministered to. Hence the

chief reason probably why the Scriptures do not enlarge upon the duties

of self-culture is, that according to the spirit of the Gospel the true

realisation of self is achieved through self-sacrifice. Only as a man

loses his life does he find it. To horde [Transcriber's note: hoard?]

one's {210} possessions is to waste them. Growth is the condition of

life. But in all growth there is reciprocity of expenditure and

assimilation, of giving and receiving. Self-realisation is only gained

through self-surrender. Not, therefore, by anxiously standing guard

over one's soul, but by dedicating it freely to the good of others does

one achieve one's true self.

2. _Duties in Relation to Others_.--We belong to others, and others

belong to us. They and we are alike parts of a larger whole.