PHILANTHROPY AND THEOLOGY.

GEORGE HODGES, D. D.

DEAN, EPISCOPAL THEOLOGICAL SCHOOL, CAMBRIDGE, MASS.

By philanthropy I mean the love of man; and by theology, the knowledge of God. The thesis which I would maintain is this: That both the learning and the teaching of the knowledge of God depend upon the love of man.

I. This is in accord with the old saying, "The heart makes the theologian." The student of theology deals with a theme for which the mind alone is as inadequate as in the case of music or of art. The artist and the musician have need of intellectual ability of a high order, but they have need also of imagination, of feeling, of vision, of sympathy, of the qualities of the heart. The valedictorian may be able to paint a good picture, but not because he is a valedictorian. The idea that anybody who has an informed mind is thereby competent to arrive at valid conclusions in theology is fairly represented in the classic instance of the man who was asked if he could play the violin, and who answered that he thought he could though he had never tried. A man of science may compose a symphony, but his success in that undertaking will depend on his possession of qualities other than those which lead to successful investigation. A man of science may write a book of theology, and the book may be filled with learning and with logic, but it will be as hard and cold as the technique of the player who has no soul, unless the writer is also a man of religion; and with all its learning and its logic it may be wholly mistaken because it begins without the first premise of a right point of view. Thus our Lord said that he who would know the truth of God must prepare himself for the knowledge by doing the will of God. And that implies the love of God and man. It implies the essential need of philanthropy in order to a right study of theology.

This is equally true as regards the teaching of theology. For teaching is the process whereby one takes the ideas of his own mind and puts them into the mind of his neighbor. For the success of this process the neighbor is absolutely necessary. The truth must be spoken so that he may hear it, so that he may understand it, and so that he may be persuaded to receive it. If the teacher fails to gain attention, or if he speaks in a language which his hearer does not understand, he may be trying to teach but he is not teaching. So it is, also, if he states his own conviction in such a way as to repel rather than to convince his neighbor.

For example, England was made Protestant by the arguments of Queen Mary. The people had no great mind to break with Rome; they had no special enthusiasm for the Reformation; they had not been convinced either by Henry or by Cranmer. But Mary convinced them. She maintained the Catholic cause in such a way that the nation came to hate it. Also, New England was made Puritan by the arguments of Archbishop Laud. There was, indeed a Puritan party in the Church of England, as there is a "Low Church" party to this day; but they had no wish to leave the church. Laud taught church doctrine in such a manner as to force these churchmen into extremes, and finally to force them out. The effect of his instruction was to accomplish the opposite of that which he intended. Thus it was Laud who founded the Presbyterian and Congregational churches of England and of New England. This is what happens when theology is taught without philanthropy. When the young preacher asked why it was that his young sermon failed to impress the congregation, he was told that his failure was in the fact that he had been interested in the truth rather than in the people. He had not taken human nature into account.

Starting, then, with this general principle that both the learning and the teaching of the knowledge of God depend upon the love of man, let us see how it is verified in contemporary experience; first, in the case of the learner, then in the case of the teacher.

II. Take the initial theme of theology, the doctrine of the existence of God. This doctrine was commonly approached by students from the side of the world without. They perceived that back of every fact is a cause, and behind all causes is a First Cause. They perceived also that the marvels of nature, especially in its adaptation of means to ends, declared that the First Cause is both intelligent and beneficent. But these arguments left them at a remote distance from the God of religion, and even then were open to the attacks of counter arguments. Other students, beginning with the same facts, arrived at very different conclusions. Mr. Romanes, for instance, found that this road led to atheism. The fallacy, as Mr. Romanes afterwards discovered and proclaimed, was the omission of man. The entrance of this factor brought with it a whole new series of arguments, whereby the doctrine of God was approached from the side of the world within. The student now deduced the being of God from the being of man. He found God personal and righteous and loving, because these are human qualities, and if God lacks them, man is greater than God. Thus philanthropy that is, the consideration of man corrected and assisted theology, that is, the knowledge of God. This is what is implied in the title of

Dr. Gordon's book of sermons, "Through Man to God." It is the most characteristic note of our contemporary theological thinking; and it is contributed, if one may so say, not by the study but by the street, not by the experience of the man of God among his books but by the illuminative and interpretive experiences of the man of God among his people.

A like change of theological reasoning is that which was worked out long ago in regard to the doctrine of the atonement. It is a significant illustration of the profitable alliance between philanthropy and theology. After some centuries of conventional acceptance of the theory that the death of Christ was paid to the Devil for the ransom of our souls, and some further centuries of acceptance of the theory that the death of Christ was paid to God on account of the penalty due from us by reason of our sins, it was perceived that neither of these theories paid any attention to man. In either case, the atonement was a transaction carried on in heaven, without the co-operation of our will. Sin was treated as a burden such as Christian, in the Pilgrim's Progress, carried on his back. But as the theologians began to consider human nature, they saw that sin is a malady of the soul, and that in order to be rid of it we must somehow set ourselves against it.. Then it was suggested that whatever of truth the previous doctrines of the atonement had contained needed some addition, and the theory appeared that the death of Christ was not so much for the sake of the Devil, or for the sake of God, as for the sake of us. And the text was remembered which says that God was in Christ reconciling the world unto himself. The atonement, then, was to reconcile man to God, by the manifestation made upon the cross of the dreadfulness of our sin and of the greatness of the love of God.

The Atonement was the central doctrine of our fathers; with us the central doctrine is the Incarnation, the doctrine of the philanthropy of God. It is at the heart of the idea of the divine immanence, of the indwelling of God, of God evident in the world, without and within, which at this moment is affecting theology as profoundly as the kindred doctrine of evolution is affecting science. It is at the heart of the higher criticism, of the idea of God speaking in the book, but by the lips of men and under the limitations of human knowledge and experience. It is at the heart of the social settlement and of the institutional church and of all our recognition of the dignity of men as sons of God, and of our resulting fraternal responsibilities. The doctrine of the Incarnation has been beset by many heresies, on this side and on that, but by no heresy more destructive than that which denies or impairs the true humanity of Christ. This error is the more dangerous because it is the misbelief

of the orthodox, the mistake of the devout, the heresy of the saints. Regarding the human life of Christ as symbolical rather than actual, and considering him, not in terms of philanthropy but in terms of theology, it is in peril of making him a doctrine rather than a person.

It is the human element in all Christian faith which keeps it sane and sober. The moment it is dismissed by the theologian, theology soars like a balloon released, into the clouds, driven by the winds. The vagaries, the absurdities, the wild impossibilities of belief have arisen in the minds of theologians who have secluded themselves from their neighbors. They have been the theories of the cloister and the study. They have lacked the wholesome correctives of common experience and common sense. The theologian sits by himself among his books, having shut his door upon the world, and there in solitude by processes of logic he elaborates his system of divinity. But such a system proceeds in ignorance of one of its essential factors. The solitary theologian is unacquainted with his neighbors. Thus he is unprejudiced by an intimate acquaintance with the human facts, and ventures with unconscious audacity into the regions of dogmatic generalization. It is said, for example, of Jonathan Edwards, that "the reader of the scanty records of his life here receives the impression of something mysterious, indistinct, elusive. It was a lofty and rapt existence, apart, unearthly. His nature was so rare and fine, with its interest in things remote, unseen, and holy, the detachment from earth was so complete, that his feet were as the feet of an angel when he touches the ground." These conditions made the doctrine of total depravity easy enough. For this is an academic doctrine, constructed without reference to the facts of common life. The same writer says, Edwards "was not a model pastor, and, except when the need was urgent, he made no calls." One would infer that from his theology. The errors of Edwards were mainly due to the fact that he was not interested in the divine book of human life. His was the theology which is unaffected by pastoral calls, or, as we may say, by philanthropy. He is the classic example of what theology comes to under such conditions.

These are good reasons for desiring that students of theology shall pursue their studies in populated places, not in monastic seclusion, not in country villages. They suggest that the best place for a school of divinity is in or beside a considerable city. The school should be close to the actual world. It needs the newspaper and the market and the crowded street, and all the good and ill of life, as the school of medicine needs the hospital. It requires, for its soul's health, the wholesome influences of active philanthropy.

III. The principle that the knowledge of God depends upon the love of man holds good not only in the learning but in the teaching of theology. For while one of the elements of teaching is acquaintance with the truth, another and equally indispensable element is acquaintance with human nature. Many a good scholar has failed as a teacher for lack of understanding of his pupils. This is illustrated, in the large, by the experience of the teaching Church.

The purpose of the Church as a teacher of the truth is to impart certain convictions in the mind and heart and life of the community. When the Church fails to do this the result is sometimes called schism, and sometimes called heresy, according to the lesson which the Church was endeavoring to teach. If it was a lesson in method - that is, in ritual or in polity - the unconvinced pupil is a schismatic. If it was a lesson in doctrine, the unconvinced pupil is a heretic. Heretics and schismatics are evidences of ecclesiastical incompetence. Occasionally, but rarely, they mean that something is the matter with the lesson. Commonly, they mean that something is the matter with the teacher. Commonly, the teaching Church is right, and its method and its doctrine ought to be accepted. The trouble is that the teaching Church does not know how to teach. It does not know how to get its good method or its true doctrine accepted. It does not know how to deal with human

nature.

Take, for instance, the fact of schism. It begins with a difference of opinion as to a non-essential matter. The individual says, “I do not wish to do that." But the Church believes that it ought to be done. There is the problem. If the Church rises up in mighty indignation, with vigor and rigor, with the book in one hand and the stick in the other, and says "You must," the individual, if he has any decent selfrespect, replies, "I won't." And the result is schism. For human nature works that way. If on the other hand, the Church says: "This is a non-essential matter, and though uniformity is good, peace and unity are better; try your own way, and let the fittest survive," the chances are that the individual will do as the Church wishes. His central objection was not to the thing itself, but to the compulsion of his free will. The preacher in the college to whom they brought the customary black gown, said, "Must I wear this thing. Because if I must, I won't." And when they replied, "You may wear it or leave it, as you please," he put it on. You remember the bitter contention in England at the time of the Reformation and after, as to the use of the sign of the cross in the service of baptism. But when a rubric was inserted in the book permitting the omission of the sign of the cross, if the parents or