Reality is? And therein lies the awful danger. For if you once give doubt a foothold it must drag you along until the observation of the senses itself becomes uncertain. Yea, so far can one be carried down into this Maelstrom that at last, as if bereft of reason, one becomes a phantom in his own eyes, and feverishly pressing the fingers to the temples in great agony of soul exclaims, Am I, or am I not? And that is the point toward which you are drifting, and toward which you carry all who have boarded your ship, driven by the winds of your intangible idealism. You may truly say, "Delightfully does this fresh breath cool my burning temples, its play upon the waters is so enticingly beautiful." But, for all that, we are human, we are men of flesh and blood, and therefore, since Eden is lost, the ideal must show its reality also in what is visible and also in what is tangible, or in its dancing vapors it spirits away, volatilizes, the very consciousness of our heart. The longing after that "manifestation in the flesh" was at times too powerful even for Goethe the poet, who has never drunk the unadulterated wine of Christianity. You know how, in his Torquato Tasso, he brings the laurel-crowned singer from Italy's age of art upon the scene as one who is consumed by his love for Leonore von Este, the gracious daughter of his prince, whom he meets at Belriguardo. Gently and with dignity the princess turns him away, as though his poet heart could pursue nothing but empty ideals. And what does Tasso say to her? "No; whatever may be sounded in my songs, They are no hollow ideals which he follows after: "Es schwebt kein geistig unbestimtes Bild Vor meiner Stirne, das der Seele Bald sich uberglänzend nahte, bald entzöge." 1 And what proof has he? Listen as he states it in his own words: "Mit meinem Augen hab ich es gesehen Das Urbild yeder Tugend, yeder Schöne." " 1" There hovers no ghastly indefinite image before my eyes, Which outshining itself now draws near and now withdraws from my soul." 2 With my own eyes have I seen it, The source of every virtue, every beauty. Thus Tasso also asks for "a manifestation of his ideal in the flesh" in order that he might believe in its reality. He finds it in Leonore. That is insanity. That is idolatry. And yet Goethe's creation shows that the shadows only vanish when from a full heart it can be said, "With mine eyes have I seen it, I know it, the things which are there are eternal." With Goethe, however, it was only the play of his rich imagination. But see here another poet, endowed with an infinitely richer spirit than Goethe, and hear him, hear St. John, the son of Zebedee, as, not in play, but in holiest seriousness, and with clearest soberness, he declares: What we have seen with our eyes, What we looked upon And our hands have handled of the Word of life therein, and therein alone lies our strength. Of the Word of life John sang, of a Word of God which "in the beginning" was and eternally is. That, and that only, is the ideal, for therein alone do we see the glowing lights of what is eternally true and good and eternal in its beauty. Thus it jubilates upon our lips, and not upon ours only, but upon your lips, O apostles of modernism! You chant that song with us. Hence to this point we travel hand in hand, but here also we part company, never again to meet; since you have the ideal, but merely the ideal, while the church of Christ confesses an ideal which was real from all eternity and which has been manifested in the flesh. Or, if you please, herein yawns the unfathomable abyss which makes you to be another church of Christ: that you have indeed the Word but that you make it shine and glow in interesting Morganas only, while the church of Christ enters into a real sanctuary, on whose doorsteps the Triune of God has written with a diamond pen this calm word of his Eternal Love: "The Word became flesh and dwelt among us." 1 ART. II.-CHRISTIAN CITIZENSHIP 1 WHEN your committee undertook the difficult task of luring a very busy citizen of New York from his daily routine of labor in order to produce him on this occasion they delicately hinted at their desire to bring before you a total stranger. That stranger reasoned earnestly against their choice in relation to himself, and named several real orators whom it would be desirable to secure in his place. My argument did not prevail-which proves how little of an orator I am; so I am here, I take it, quite as an unknown quantity and surely as a stranger in Philadelphia. And for how many years has it been my own boast, to myself and to my intimates, that I was a Philadelphian of Philadelphians; that my name was inscribed as a student of law, under that distinguished leader of the Philadelphia bar, John C. Bullitt, in that treasury of historic memories, Independence Hall; that when Philadelphia was threatened by the advance of Lee's forces before Gettysburg I, a private in the First Philadelphia Artillery, Landis's Battery, assisted, with "Hans Breitmann," Stuart Patterson and others, in driving the enemy from your borders; that in my own blood from both father and mother runs the blood of half a dozen Philadelphia families not altogether unknown to you; that here my father was born and learned those principles of "Christian Citizenship" which led him, a happy martyr, to heroic death; that here my father's father lived a life of true "Christian Citizenship," as a member of your Common Council and Legislature, as leader in benevolences and charities manifold, as a member of Carpenter's Hall, and as Chairman of the Building Committee of Girard College, dividing with Nicholas Biddle the honors of the ceremonies of the Corner Stone laying, nearly three centuries ago. That he, as member of an official committee, did his share in introducing illuminating gas into the community is a fact not to be evaded, for, though through gas came offenses, so also through gas 1 An address before the Presbyterian Social Union of Philadelphia, Monday evening, February 26, 1906. came redemption. Indeed, I find it difficult to make myself a stranger in a city where to-day live so many of my chief and closest friends, in a city that my forebears loved and faithfully served. I wonder if in this genial company you will not forgive me for touching a moment, by way of text and object lesson, upon the faithful if not widely distinguished career of him, my father's father, this John Gilder, of Philadelphia, Methodist layman and class-leader. A forceful, forthright, imposing, shaggy-browed old man, as I recall him, done with world's work, by this time, and busy only in "the work of the Lord;" with a tradition for uprightness and energy in business, and with the success implied by that modest competence which, in those nearly forgotten days, made old age restful and dignified instead of feverish and cruel with illtimed lust for gold. Little knew he, good man! of art, as critics refine upon it, but 'twas he who insisted upon those splendid monolithic marble columns which support-for utility's sake, he said -the substantial roof that was demanded, and which make Girard College one of the chief architectural ornaments of Philadelphia. Like his character that building seems to me-simple, nobly severe, with a suggestion of spiritual beauty. In him was little of the knowledge of esthetics, but much of the beauty of holiHis life was Christian service; his familiar thought took on the cadences of the Bible, and of prayer. As the boy who watched by his dying bed so well remembers, even in the mortal hour his unconscious spirit lifted itself in sacred words and solemn repetition to the God of his life-long worship. When we contrast the career of such a public servant with that of the men you good people, men and women of Philadelphia, have been waging holy war against, we may well say: Behold "Christian Citizenship"-and behold its opposite, and all that its opposite brings of individual demoralization and public shame. ness. But I remember something that was said to me years ago by one of Philadelphia's leading Christian citizens. He declared, "Our bad men are very apt to be seen on Sunday devoutly walking to the house of God, surrounded by their families, and with their Bibles and hymn books tucked under their arms. This," he said, "is what discourages us most." I am sure he did not mean to imply that all the bad men here were piously regular in their attendance upon the means of grace. But in recalling his remark I recollect that in the late glorious revival of civic virtue in this city the pious bad man of your politics probably spent no part of his week in greater discomfort than that part of it which he devoted to the ministrations of the sanctuary. In other words, religion did at last vindicate itself in the life of this community, and the pulpit, along with the press, and with organized and individual agencies, brought the great reform. Yet when we look into the matter of "Christian Citizenship" we find that men whom we cannot help regarding as thoroughly bad in all their relations with politics and government sometimes give evidence of a certain sincerity in their relations with matters of religion. It is a puzzling study this, in the psychology of the citizen, and suggests a startling duality of nature. But there can be no question of our practical duty toward such duality. The same phenomenon exists with regard to other and even more flagrant wrong-doing. You will find the double life in many notorious criminals; a sense of honor, for instance, on the side of family obligations, and perfect unscrupulousness on the side of some criminal vocation. One of the most notorious scamps I ever met in the course of my early journalistic duties was said to be a model in his family relations. He was a good husband and a persistent counterfeiter. A young man came to me once with glowing face and told me that a certain man who had just died was his absolute ideal of a "Christian gentleman." How could I tell him that this man had once brightly boasted to me of a State prison offense, and that, with the most affectionate and benevolent intentions, he had done everything in his power to get me to commit an unfaithful act; a man of all the domestic virtues, unscrupulous in one direction, scrupulous and trustworthy in other directions, and always generous, chivalrous and attractive. He seemed to me sincere in his virtues, was apparently sincere but not profound on the religious side, but his principles did not inhabit all the chambers of his house of life. Yet when the law catches these dual natures at work on the non-ethical |