ever sought, and whose will he had ever done, had ever hid his face or turned away from him. His firmament is always clear, though the darkness of hell might wrap him round about. Tried as no man was ever tried, worn with such wrestlings as we shall never know and which would appall us if we could, burdened with a sorsow whose full significance we shall never adequately grasp and whose depth never fully fathom, his soul is yet clear in its consciousness of heavenly sympathy and support. The nearer he draws to the fatal hour the stronger, if possible, his conviction and the bolder his assertion of the complete nearness of his Father. Deep within a peace so unique that he could call it by preeminence his peace, he was not left alone though all men forsook him. But a little before the last anguish there is no cloud upon his sky; the brightness returns, and he commits himself trustingly and serenely to his Father. Even in the last cry of anguish he pleads with a God whom he can call his own, as if there were a sort of double consciousness, a consciousness as of dreadful isolation and loneliness, and a consciousness of trust in a gracious presence objectively real but for the moment unfelt, a presence in effect not present in its comfort and support. It is the sudden and transient eclipse of a holy soul, not inexplicable in the crisis of the tragedy although impossible as a permanent experience, with all his burdens as the Man of Sorrows. The veil of the suffering, sin-bearing humanity flings itself for a little as a shroud across the brightness of God's face, across the glory of the holy of holies of his most interior presence. It is the last struggle of earth. It crowns, indeed, the struggle of years, but there has been nothing comparable with this; earth has known nothing like it and will never again. It is the last test of holy sonship. It is the last grapple with the power of darkness. It is the last trembling of a soul that is perfecting itself, through the whole round of sorrows, for its eternal priesthood. It is the last anguish of a love that is giving itself for the redemption of men. It is a holy and suffering Redeemer in the presence of the world's sin. There are some things which suggest that in that dark hour a half-bewildering sense of it shot through the soul of the Redeemer. A certain solemn suggestion of the retributive issue to the fated nation is borne by the bodeful words

to the weeping women of Jerusalem. And what means his cry for forgiveness for his crucifiers if the greatness of the need does not master all other considerations? The great High Priest burdened with the sense of man's sin is bearing into the holy place his last transcendent sacrifice. The burden is too great for the frail humanity, and who shall say that they are far wrong who find in the crisis of the tragedy a broken heart?

It is indeed easy to read too much, and especially to read erroneous imaginings, into the great tragic life, but we surely do not misinterpret its essential moral significance if we find in it the burden of human sin.

By the cross, therefore, and by the whole tragic life of Jesus for which it stands, is the knowledge of sin, and in this knowledge of sin as God beholds it and as Christ interprets it there is redemption. There is much in that wondrous living and dying, much in their relation to human sin, much in their relation to the character and government of God which may not be adequately conceived or represented. What has been said in this poor fragment claims to be no worthy presentation of the depths of their august reality. But in fact there is much that we do not need to know, only the simplest and most obtrusive aspects of the moral significance of this great subject are necessary for life and even for thought. But, if we would secure any availing, working conception of the moral meaning of the holy living and dying of Jesus, we surely need to know this: we need to know that they touch the dark fact of human sin, that they reveal at once the love and righteousness of God, and that in the disclosure God comes nigh in pardon and reconciliation.

Raves O. Marlow

ART. VII.-CONFORMITY AND HERESY: A STUDY IN SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY

MUCH apparent change in thinking about human life turns out to be only the restatement of old problems in new terms, the substitution of this set of phrases for that. Yet along with the translation of the ideas of one generation into the speech of the next there goes a subtle change of attitude and generally a marked modification of conduct. In these days social philosophy is being translated from the terms of the old individualism into the phrases of what is coming to be known as social psychology. It is a slow process, for this old doctrine dies hard. The tradition which comes down from Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau, the French Revolution, Adam Smith, and the Benthamites has been bred into the life of the nation. The idea of the individual as an independent source of reflective initiative and energy, as free in his choices and wholly responsible for them, the belief that the highest type of society must inevitably result from the competition of such persons untrammeled by aught save the "law of equal freedom," faith in a form of government which strictly limits its duties to those of policeman and umpire-this philosophy still runs as the strong undercurrent of American thought and feeling. And this too in spite of the collectivist reaction which, gaining ground steadily during the past half century, offers an antithetical view of the person and society. This collectivism in its extreme form sees in the individual the product of his group, molded by it and hence personally irresponsible; it exalts compulsory coöperation as essential to a just and permanent society, and demands a government which shall assume all the powers which may be needed to bring this about. Between the old individualism, on the one hand, and radical collectivism, on the other, and attempting to reconcile the truths involved in both, stands social psychology. To discover the actual meaning of the terms "individual" and "society," and to make clear the relationships which they imply, is one of the chief tasks of this new department. Studies in this field are already proving fruitful; with their aid politics, economics, and ethics are

being reinterpreted in a luminous way. Of these many ideas none is more suggestive than the new form of the struggle or conflict theory, which offers a fascinating interpretation of many familiar phenomena of personal experience and of social activity. It is proposed in this paper to examine the facts of conformity and heresy in the light of this struggle hypothesis.

Spencer and his followers have seen society ever tending toward a more complete integration, a higher unity. They have been prophets of voluntary coöperation and of interdependence. Gumplowicz, Novicow, and Ratzenhofer, on the other hand, discover in social life only unending rivalry and conflict, not between individuals, but between groups, races, nations, classes, parties, sects, interests. To them a modern nation may be hardly more than a name. Except in its conflicts with other nations it may have almost no genuine unity. It is a geographical area within which the ceaseless struggle of groups, great and small, is going on. To these thinkers the unit of social investigation is not society as a whole, but rather the "struggle group." What are the general laws which govern the formation and control of this type of organization? under what conditions does it prosper? by what forces is it weakened or destroyed?-such are the questions which the new school attempts to answer. Enough has already been suggested to show the extreme lengths to which the theory has been pushed, but if the idea be recognized as one important factor in social theory, rather than a completely adequate hypothesis, it may be made to yield interesting and even valuable results. The aim of a social group is always survival or aggrandizement, usually both of these. The conditions of survival and growth are effective struggle or adjustment. For success in conflict and exploitation the group must maintain its unity at all hazards and must provide for leadership. Conformity, subordination, resourcefulness are fundamental needs of the struggle group, whether this be a hunting horde in the wilds of Africa or a political club on the East Side in New York. These needs of the group are met by permanent social forces which are always at command. In the first place, the group unconsciously molds its members to a type. The young by imitation build up their personalities out

of the elements, speech, gestures, carriage, knowledge, taste, ideals, which are common to the association. Or mature persons of congenial characters fraternize, and in respect to the object for which the organization exists they are gradually assimilated by the inevitable influence of this community life. So clearly is this recognized by the common sense of mankind that the average person always seeks to "place" a stranger by discovering his social relationships, geographical, occupational, political, and ecclesiastical. To this obvious influence of the group should be added, secondly, the conscious coercion by which it enforces uniformity of belief and conduct within its limits. This coercion varies from the intolerant tyranny of a group fighting for its very life--when even lukewarmness is treason—to the illusion of complete freedom to be found in a peaceful industrial society. The pressure which a group exerts upon its members, therefore, may be physical, as in the case of the criminal and insane, or it may be psychical, passing through the stages of intimidation and ostracism to the subtle but effective appeal of epithet, scorn, and ridicule. To vary in any perceptible and vital way from the accepted standards of a group instantly brings this pressure into play. Only the few are aware, however, of this conventionalizing force; the majority, having made the group ideals and modes of conduct their own, naively do the group's bidding without suspicion of cozening. Thus the struggle group enforces comformity, that is, subordination to authority, whether this be vested in a personal leader or indirectly expressed in abstract types and ideals. No group is without some form of leadership, however disguised it may be. Much control is effected by appeal to types, for example, the hero and the traitor. What resistless force is latent in such typical epithets as "gentleman," "dude," "scab," "quitter," "anarchist," "copperhead," and the like! Consider the opprobrious terms devised to discourage innovation; "interesting," "original," "queer," "eccentric," "cranky," "crazy" runs the progressive series from recognition of agreeable variation of monotony to perception of attack upon the cherished prejudices of the group. In the third place, the conflict organization must modify its ideals and types or shift the emphasis upon them in adjustment to the changing conditions which it confronts. In time of war a