were in jail for political offences, and he reflects on their situation thus: "All through the glories of summer they will be in their narrow cells." This is about as strong an expression of feeling as will be found in his entire works, and it is not very strong; for he is only impressed by the discomforts and inconveniences involved, not at all by the injustice, which is the thing that would stir a less clammy temperament. He says of Burke, as if it were a defect, "The thought of wrong or misery moved him less to pity for the victim than to anger against the cause." To the unimaginative positivist the cause is not so important as the concrete results, but to the less materialistic Burke the power of the cause to produce the same sort of misery in other victims was evident, and it was his deeper and more comprehensive sympathy that made him direct his wrath against the cause, to indicate that his pity extended to the sufferers he didn't see as well as to those before his eyes.

This inability to be moved by more than the superficial facts explains why Lord Morley's works are static rather than dynamic, and therefore lacking in energy, which Matthew Arnold says is the chief element in genius. It also explains why he should emit such a remarkable judgment as the one that, because the war is taking place now, those participating in it must be responsible for it. It would seem that a student of history and a man of long political experience would realize that great upheavals in society have a multitude of causes that stretch back into the remote past. As well might we blame a man for the epilepsy or madness derived from the weakness or dissipation of his ancestors as blame ourselves entirely for this war. It is largely our heritage resulting from the bad government and reckless philosophizing of the past. Perhaps we might have avoided its full horrors by a more discreet and temperate course than has been ours, but to do that we should have had to depart from the practices and to overcome the tendencies of our fathers and grandfathers; and that is a task few generations accomplish, even though they be schooled by such terrible lessons as those taught by the slaughter and destruction now raging in Europe.

The assumption that the present age is solely responsible for the war is certainly the result of superficial thinking, but in Lord

Morley's case it shows something more than that. It does so because the philosophy he did so much to popularize, the cocksure materialism of those who called themselves disciples of Darwin,-Huxley, Spencer, Tyndall, and others,—is the basis of the thought that is guiding Germany to-day. Lord Morley says himself that Spencer's light has grown strangely dim since he died; and so it has, and so has Huxley's and even Darwin's, but their ideas and methods have been adopted in Germany and pursued with infinite thoroughness and relentless mechanical logic to generate that minotaur-like monster, Kultur, whose other parent is the child of German sentimentality and romantic egoism. And this brings out the most important point that Lord Morley's attitude towards the war illustrates, and that his Recollections confirm. It is, that intellectual affinities, if not suppressed by the forces of environment and immediate personal interests, are stronger bonds of union than political or racial ties. For what is this war ultimately? It is plainly the recurrence of the perennial struggle that takes place in the breast of every individual, and has flamed out countless times in human society. The Greeks symbolized it by the Battle of the Gods and the Titans, and Milton's Paradise Lost is a more spiritualized picture of the same thing. In the individual it is the rising up of the passions to overpower reason and the moral sense; in society it is materialism struggling to cast out idealism. Admit, as we must, the taint of materialism in oursleves, and that materialistic impulses stimulate the Allies as well as the Germans, it still remains true that Germany's aims and convictions are far more grossly and unqualifiedly material than those of the peoples opposed to her. Consequently we have materialists everywhere, consciously or unconsciously, covertly or openly, giving Germany support. We have the Bolsheviki in Russia; we have anarchists in Italy; we have radicals in England and France; we have socialists in the United States; we have fatuous, selfish, and indifferent pacifists everywhere, but all are united by the common bond of materialism, by a desire only for ease and luxury, and by an insensibility to all things of the spirit. Of these also is Lord Morley. The monstrous wrong done to Belgium did not stir his cold spirit even to pity for the victims, to say nothing of anger

such as would have risen in the chivalrous breast of Burke at an action whose numberless potential victims his sympathetic imagination would have enabled him to perceive. It is true that Lord Morley resigned before any Belgian atrocities had been committed; but he says that he has never regretted his course, which suggests a complacent attitude on his part, and a disposition to condone Germany's action that is difficult to explain except as the evidence of unconscious sympathy. The avowed liberal would seem to be hopelessly at odds with the exponents of autocracy; but extremes meet, and for all their irreconcilable differences in social and political theory, Lord Morley and the exponents of Kultur are united by something much more fundamental, namely, their common faith in rationalistic materialism. SIDNEY GUNN.

U. S. Naval Academy.

THE ANGELICAL DOCTOR OF SEWANEE

"The unrhetorical character of his theological audacity (without any fireworks he can take the reader's breath away) and the exceptional thoroughness with which he pursues his leading thoughts to the end"-such is J. K. Mozley's characterization of Dr. William Porcher DuBose's Paulinism shot through with Aristotle and bathed in the atmosphere of temperamental Platonism. When Dr. DuBose yielded up his spirit on August 18, 1918, the Christian world lost the bodily presence of a saint, and Christian theology was bereft of a seer, though his works live after him. Few "took the trouble to understand" him, as he himself used to say. And no wonder: those closely-knit sentences of his seemed like cloud-banks. But there was always lightning playing amidst the clouds. The reader saw the lambent play of electric fire. Hearing no reverberating thunder he might easily think that the misty masses held no force. The lightning was far off from most of us: we saw only its reflection on the horizon. Nevertheless, no serious reader of, say, the Soteriology of the New Testament could read it slowly twice-and a great book deserves such treatment as a mere minimum-and fail to face life differently. The far-off beneficent shower has purified the atmosphere. Just so it was with Dr. DuBose's personality. Few knew him well: no one who had met him even casually ever forgot the spiritual presence he had.

In a brief notice like this we cannot hope to characterize successfully Dr. DuBose's message to his age; but we may at least do something to incite a few to persevere in an effort to insinuate themselves into the current of the great soteriologist's thought. For, after all, the worthwhile writers on the doctrine of Salvation are few indeed, and Dr. DuBose's "theological audacity" should become the theological courage of the Church.

First of all, he tried to be a psychologist of the spirit. He saw that Salvation is a process with its own wonderful organic logic, the logic of faith and love and hope, of "righteousness, holiness and life." To him each succeeding stage of spiritual development summed up, applied and carried further and ful

filled each preceding stage. Like Bergson's Vital Surge, spiritual Life at each moment carries with it all the victories and treasures of the past. And so there is a wonderful Continuity: the End is implicit in the Beginning; the End fulfills all the spiritual purposes and aspirations of all the stages leading to it. Dr. DuBose had nothing to learn from the philosophy of evolution.

His greatest theological bête noire was Docetism in all its multifarious forms, including the most "pious." At bottom Docetism makes Christ unreal by stripping His actual humanity from Him. Our theologian had the scientific spirit: he knew that one's theory of God necessarily depended on one's philosophy of man. Hence his insistence on Spiritual Psychology. Make man's real Self great enough; penetrate to the bottom of the saying attributed to Christ, "The scripture saith, Ye are gods," and then one begins to look in the right direction for God: neither at mere Power nor at mere Feeling. Out of Power one may manufacture the Unknowable or some form of the Prussian Junker's "Gott." Out of feeling and sentiment, Mr. H. G. Wells's "good-fellow" God may be arrived at. But the human stuff of Dr. DuBose's God-conception is the upper limit of "Holiness, Righteousness and Life" as seen in the Perfect Man, who is God just because nature does not make perfect men, and because the Work He did once, and does now, is Perfect Work, Redemptive, Reconciling, Vitalizing. Therefore, since the perfection of human nature is all we know of God, and since it is Divine function that constitutes Divinity; and since Jesus performed the Divine redemptive function for and in humanity, therefore He was God in the concrete, and shall be so subjectively to each of us in proportion as His Spirit, Holy Spirit, dwells in us.

Whatever the noble audacity of Dr. DuBose's theology, those of us who have soaked ourselves in his thought believe that it is but the reflex of the revelation of Him that came to cast fire upon the earth, and furthermore, that the "audacity" is balanced by the conservatism of the faith once delivered to the saints, and destined to be passed on as a living torch, not a fossil staff. For after all, Dr. DuBose's dominant conceptions are those of