the human mind the Bible is one of the richest contributors. What, then, are we to think of the talk about the Bible's setting"limits" to human knowledge, in which some theologians indulge? Of such a function the Bible itself knows nothing. On the contrary, it is a revealer, not a hider. It leads us up to unscaled heights, opens to us vistas out toward the infinite, and bids us to never weary in exploring them.

It follows from the views that we have presented, that the Bible is something quite different from that which the traditionally trained believer thinks it to be. But the heart-relation of him and us to it is essentially the same. To both of us it is the supernatural means of receiving Christ into our hearts, and of rising from sin into perfect God-likeness. The difference is that we have placed the Bible in the light in which Christian science shows that it must be placed, if it is longer to retain the faith and confidence of those who are abreast with the results of modern philosophy and science.

The views I have insisted on are not peculiar to myself. They are essentially identical with those held by the most of our evangelical German theologians. The chief difference is, that whereas these theologians generally, and honestly, aim to represent their views as in harmony with the older theology, I, for my part, regard them as radically different, and have hence not hesitated to discard the old phraseology, and to express myself directly and squarely, just as I understand the matter.

The motive which has, consciously or unconsciously, occasioned what seems to me a disingenuous and damaging retention of old phraseologies (when the sense had entirely changed), is readily seen, and of praiseworthy intent. For he who breaks with time-consecrated traditions is sure to suffer in repute, as also in present influence over those whose prejudices are shocked. To me, however, the gain seems to be bought at too great a sacrifice. Moreover, the hour of disenchantment is sure to come at last. The believing multitude will ultimately awaken to the fact that the old bottles contain no longer the old wine. Then they will feel that

they have been disingenuously dealt with. Would not a more frank course be far better? When dogmatic definitions become obsolete, were it not wise to disuse them, and gradually to put in their stead the views that have actually taken their stead?

It is in this conviction that I have placed these views before the church. Cold as they may seem to some, they yet come out of a very warm heart, and are the sentiments of one who yields to none in childlike reverence for the Bible, and who finds in it a sanctuary in regard to which he joyfully exclaims, with the patriarch: "Surely the Lord is in this place; this is no other than the house of God, and here is the gate of heaven."

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In spite of man's vain-glory, he is yet ever haunted by a secret feeling of the shortness of his destiny. There is something in mere permanence that carries with it a dignity that man enviously confesses himself as phenomenon to lack. Even wholly insignificant men can so little content themselves with the oblivion that necessarily awaits them, that they seek out the hardest granite, compelling it to preserve the remembrance of the names and deeds that they dare not entrust to their fellow-creatures. When temporal aids fail, it is to the "eternal hills" that we lift our eyes for help. The Colosseum of Rome was at its building no more imposing than that of Boston, except from the lasting nature of the material. It is only because the Roman amphitheatre has so long endured that it oppresses the mind with its greatness; while the ephemeral creation of modern times

bore so plainly the marks of immediate decay that, for all its size, it was never truly sublime.

Endurance, then, although not itself greatness, is yet the best proof of the greatness of a human work. It makes plain those elements that appeal to the universal and essential principles of our nature, it shows that the popularity of a work that lasts is not due to any local or temporary causes, and it is, in short, the most obvious guide in a critical estimate of human possessions. Time has little to do with truth. What is only relatively true can never have any wide-spread influence; but when one comes upon a great truth, in an old book, the mind leaps with a certain delight over whatever insignificant centuries may have intervened since the author walked and talked, and rejoices as in new found kin. This feeling, which is, to a certain extent, a peculiarity of commentators, is in the case of Aristotle shared by many of those who have won distinction in any of the numerous lines of thought which bear the impress of that great genius.

Apart from his physical investigations, which in spite of modern advances could still call forth the enthusiastic utter ance of Cuvier; and apart from his treatises on metaphysics and logic, which can never be wholly superseded, he was the author of four anthropological works which no modern philosopher can afford to neglect, and any one of which would, if it were now first to appear, make the reputation of its author. Concerning the "Rhetoric" Mr. Grote several times in his history expresses himself with great emphasis: "a treatise,” he incidentally observes, "which has rarely been surpassed in power of philosophic analysis." Again, quite incidentally he remarks that if there were no other work of Aristotle's remaining, we should from this treatise alone decide that the author was a great man. The treatise on poetry still remains, it is probable, the most scientific, if not the only systematic work upon that subject. Dr. Arnold, who was so familiar with our author that he used to speak of him as "dear old Tottle," actually decided in favor of Oxford rather than Cambridge as his son's university, because, as he

said "I would not consent to send my son to a university where he would lose the study of him." He looked upon the "Politics" as not only of great assistance in the study of early Roman history, but in the midst of the agitation of the questions of church authority and church government, in which he was so much interested, he asserted: "The Politics of Aristotle are to me of a very great and direct use every day of my life."

The Ethics of Aristotle have long occupied a prominent position at Oxford, and many editions have issued thence; but elsewhere, and especially since the time of Kant, this treatise has received less attention than it deserves. There

are parts of it that would fasten the attention of even the most cursory reader, but in general the expression, which in enigmatic terseness rivals that of Tacitus, is little calculated to interest. We should constantly bear in mind the probability that we are dealing not with a finished composition of Aristotle's, but with the analysis or notes which either he or one of his hearers has preserved; a probability increased in the case of the Ethics by the existence of remarks addressed directly to "hearers." We know from Diogenes Laertius the names of twenty-seven dialogues, now lost, and from Cicero that Aristotle had a style distinguished by "copia et suavitas"; from which it is easy to infer that the published works were those of which Cicero is speaking, and which we know only by title through Diogenes. Indeed it would not be inappropriate to translate the title "akroamatic," which is applied to the extant writings, by "notes," or "lectures." The Ethics would not occupy a hundred of the pages of this magazine; but the quantity of thought that it contains could never have been imparted successfully in this condensed form. If Aristotle could secure so competent an interpreter as Plato has in Professor Jowett, one who would not hesitate to increase the bulk of this treatise even four-fold, it is not at all unlikely that such expansion would render inviting to a large circle of readers what is the laborious task of a few. It is not, perhaps, too rash an VOL. XXXV. No. 138.

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opinion for a teacher to advance, that if this work were translated in such a manner, and furnished with a commentary by a scholar in ethics, not philology, it would be the most satisfactory text-book in this much-abused science that could be adopted in our colleges.

There are several reasons for maintaining this opinion. In the first place, the tone of Aristotle's writings is thoroughly scientific, that is, judicial. Many of our modern ethical treatises are written in a vein of maudlin sentimentality that inevitably excites the contempt of an intelligent youth. A text-book it seems to be forgotten is to be in great part committed to memory and recited. Now, any one would shrink from repeating a passage charged with really fine sentiment, unless to a sympathetic audience, after due preparation, and with consciousness of fitness for the task.What becomes of the most touching speech in Shakespeare in the mouth of a dunce of a school-boy on a public stage! But when the sentiment is of the dishwater kind, although it may be tolerated in rapid reading, if the attempt is made to commit it to memory and recite it, there can only result disgust to the learner and derision from his fellows. No sturdy young man can preserve his self-respect while repeating the turgid eloquence and highly-wrought bathos of our modern moralists. "Beauty unadorned is adorned the most," and the severe beauty of righteousness presents an especially sorry figure in the tawdry and meretricious gar ments of an artificial rhetoric. Facts and principles are what is wanted in a text-book, if there is to be any "gush," that can be furnished cheaply by the teacher in quantities to suit the occasion. The fiery outbursts of a generous heart aroused by the stimulus of a glimpse of truth or report of wrong are to be welcomed and honored; but separated from the excitement of the occasion and the person they are no more the same than the tufa is the same as the volcanic eruption. The best sermons make the worst text-books.

Now in the case of Aristotle's Ethics, facts and principles, with reasons, are all that he offers us. There is not an