not directly contradictory, so differ as to show that they are not the product of the same mind. For example, he holds that in the true Paul we have the thought of the death of Christ as the ground of reconciliation and justification, but no such idea as the sinfulness of the flesh, the preëxistence of Christ, or any theory of the Spirit, or any antinomianism. All these last ideas he holds were interpolated into the writings of Paul by later Paulinists of the extreme type. Because these two lines of thought are found in the New Testament Pauline letters Völter thinks those letters need expurgation. He thinks he has found the criteria by which to detect the genuine and the spurious. In the former we have as the central thought the reconciling death of Christ, a purely human Messiah, and the recognition of sin in history, but not as inherent in the · flesh. In the spurious we have the resurrection of Christ, who was a heavenly being, and the recognition of sin as inherent in the flesh. Probably there is no one who would fail to note these differences; but it is not necessary either to accurate thinking to regard them as impossible of being joined in one system of thought, nor is it impossible that they should all have sprung from the same mind, especially when it is considered that the whole work of Paul was that of an advocate who used such material as best suited his purpose in accomplishing his end in any given case. Besides, the Paul that Völter leaves us is a very weak sort of man to make so much stir in the world.

RECENT THEOLOGICAL LITERATURE

Beitraege zur Einfuehrung in die Geschichte der Philosophie (Contributions to the Understanding of the History of Philosophy). By Rudolf Eucken. Leipzig, Dürrsche Buchhandlung, 1906. Anything that Eucken writes is worthy of attention. This book is no exception. It consists of a series of essays, some formerly published, some entirely new. One of them is The Doctrine of Development as Taught by Paracelsus, in which Eucken shows that in one phase of his teaching Paracelsus prepared the way for our present-day theory of evolution, while in another of its phases Paracelsus differs from our thought of evolution, probably in the interest of truth. Among French philosophers he takes up Bayle whom he regards as a thinker striving to escape from the skeptical and to reach the critical stage of thought, but was unable to loose himself from the clutches of doubt. Had he been able, like Kant, to see in the nature of moral obligation the ground for belief in a Supreme Being he might have reached a firmer standing place. Eucken does not underestimate the brilliant labors and industrious efforts of recent decades in the field of the history of philosophy. Still, he finds in these results too much of learned and disinterested chronicling of facts, or at best only a hesitating and changing judgment of facts in accordance with purely subjective moods. Instead of this he would have in the history of philosophy an attempt to take an attitude toward philosophical systems in accordance with the same universal, objective, standard of judgment in

the light of which all systems should be estimated. But such a demand cannot be fulfilled if our life and deeds belong exclusively to time and if there is no kind of influence operating against the changeableness of time. Hence the presupposition must be that thinking is elevated above the variable and contradictory conditions of individuals, which is impossible without some kind of participation in an absolute and timeless spirit. Judged by these premises the labors of the different philosophers appear in a new light, and new points of view appear for judging and representing their works. The worth and significance of distinguished thinkers does not rest upon the fullness of their knowledge, their calm consideration of reality, their keenness in reflection, but in the fact that in their effort to understand given facts new meanings, new potencies, and new tasks are opened up, and in the fact that thus they have proved themselves colaborers and cobuilders in a world of mind superior to time. If, however, the history of philosophy is bound to exhibit the creative activity and energy of the individual thinker, on the other hand, it is its duty to give a more careful statement of what has already been accomplished in the light of the present and existing conditions. Hence the by-products of investigation should be taken into account in richer measure than hitherto, especially the finer forms of the dependence of philosophers upon their surroundings. Among the most valuable features of the book is his opposition to what he calls the dangerous influence of a rationalistic doctrine of evolution upon the formation of one's general view of things, on the classification of phenomena, the division of the periods of history, because it thoughtlessly and constantly regards the present time as the highest point of the whole movement. To rebut this it is not sufficient to reason weakly against Hegel, but it is necessary to apply with all possible energy the consequences of the fundamental idea that all movement toward truth proceeds not from one period of time to another but from every period to a timeless order of things.

Sabbat und Wache im Alten Testament (Sabbath and Week in the Old Testament). By Johannas Meinhold. Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1905. W. Bousset and H. Gunkel are editing a series of studies in the religion and literature of the Old and New Testaments, of which this is the fifth number. It is not in any sense a practical work, but belongs strictly to the category of critical studies. Meinhold was incited to this investigation by a remark of Zimmern to the effect that in ancient Israel the Sabbath was the day of the full moon. This remark was based in turn on a day-list discovered by Pinches in which the fifteenth of the month, that is the day of the full moon, is called sa-pa-ti (the resemblance to Sabbath is plain). Meinhold shows that the periods both of the new and the full moon were celebrated both in northern and southern Palestine as family festivals. As a result of this these days became days of rest from the ordinary daily occupations. The first by whom the Sabbath appears as the seventh day of the week is Ezekiel. But if the Sabbath was originally a festival of the moon it was probably

brought with the Israelites from the Sinai peninsula. Meinhold points out that the Babylonians had a week of five days, but that there is no evidence that they had the seven-day week. Hence the Israelites could not have gotten their seven-day week from the Babylonians. By some means the Israelites came to hold the number seven as sacred. There is no suggestion of the custom of dividing the month into four parts of seven days each, or of dividing the year into seven-day weeks. In fact, Meinhold is of the opinion that the seven-year period is older than the seven-day period. The week is found first in the South and had reference only to the period of harvest. These beginnings of a rest period of seven days in the period of plowing and reaping were confused in the recollection with the festivals of the Sabbath kept in honor of Jahve, and thus the way was prepared for the later Sabbath. It is probably needless to say that this deduction of the seventh day rest from the seven-year and sevenday rest is a complete reversal of all our previous conceptions, according to which all periods, whether of seven days, seven weeks, or seven years, were not the product of any gradual, natural evolution, but of direct divine command. Relative to the Sabbath as an institution of the Jewish Church Meinhold finds nothing in the sources previous to Nehemiah to indicate an observance of the Sabbath. There were various localities in which the seventh day was observed as a day of rest, and these, according to Meinhold, were made the basis for holding it a religious duty to keep this seventh day as a Sabbath. He thinks Ezekiel was the first to do this. Plainly the Sabbath had taken deep root even during the exile, so that it could be adopted as a sort of Shibboleth of Judaism. In Exod. 20, which Meinhold thinks was contributed by P, the Sabbath is known not only by name but as to its meaning and obligation. Hence some knowledge of it must have existed previously; so, for example, in Exod. 16. The priests interested themselves especially for the Sabbath, and from them came Exod. 31. 12ff.; and the Sabbath became the sign of the covenant (see Ezek. 20. 12ff.; 22. 8, 26; 23. 38) which could have occurred only in heathen surroundings where the Sabbath as a day of rest was unknown. All manner of questions arose and to these we find instances in such passages as Exod. 25. 1ff. and Num. 15. 32ff. Respect for the Sabbath grew greater and greater. The execution of the Sabbath commandment in the year 400 met with difficulties inconceivable if it was of Mosaic origin; nevertheless, in Neh. 9. 6ff. it is called the holy day, and its observance is a greater and more important duty than all other ritual obligations. We must leave the estimate of the argument to the reader.

GLIMPSES OF REVIEWS AND MAGAZINES

A richly varied number was the Fortnightly Review (London and New York) for November, 1906, with eighteen contributors on topics literary, economic, industrial, artistic, political, historical, and military. Henry James continues his studies of American cities; this time Richmond, Virginia, reports the impression made upon this Anglicized American revisiting his native land and scrutinizing it with the critical eyes of a foreigner. This temporarily repatriated observer found the Confederate capital a great disappointment, so characterless, shapeless, and shabby in appearance, so meager in memorials of its tremendous history. The city which was for four years the center of a tragedy, immense, august, terrific, gave Henry James only a weak impression of that epic and epochal tragedy. The poverty of the place in this particular added to the general pathos of its historic background. He deplores that there are for the eye of the visitor so few visible records and references to help him reproduce to his imagination the awful majesty of the history there enacted. Recalling what the Confederacy stood for and attempted, he sees that the old Southern idea was the hugest fallacy for which hundreds of thousands of men ever laid down their lives. The immense, grotesque, extravagant project of establishing a vast Slave Empire, artfully isolated in the midst of the world that was to contain it and trade with it, was from the first fantastic, and now appears as pathetic in its folly as it proved disastrous in its downfall. James Ford Rhoades's admirable History of the United States since the Missouri Compromise shows us lucidly and humanly the Southern mind in the fifties and sixties possessed by its perverse misconception-the conception of a modern world rearranged on an outworn plan, an Empire or State solidly and comfortably tucked-in by itself in the interest of slave-produced Cotton. This solidity and comfort, says Henry James, were to involve the complete intellectual, moral and economic reconsecration of slavery-an enlarged, glorified and beatified application of its principle. Against this fatuous anachronism, this mediæval scheme, all the light of experience and every finger-post of history, all the lessons of empires long ago gone, drifting with their dead things down to dark oblivion, gave warning; and all the political and spiritual science of civilization looked with amazement and huge derision. Nothing in the Slave-Scheme conformed to the reality of things. If it were to succeed, the plan of Christendom and the gathered wisdom of ages would have to be renounced. The South said with sacramental solemnity, "I renounce them all; I will not follow nor be led by them." It marshalled armies to establish an anachronism, isolated from and hostile to the whole great modern world. This meant, says Mr. James, a general and a permanent quarantine against the rest of mankind; "meant the eternal bowdlerization of books and journals; meant in fine all literature and all arts on an expurgatory index. It meant, still farther, an active and ardent propaganda; the reorganization of the school, the college, the

university, in the interest of the new criticism. The testimony to that thesis offered by the documents of the time, by State legislation, local eloquence, political speeches, the 'tone of the press,' strikes us today as beyond measure queer and quaint and benighted-innocent above all; stamped with the inalienable Southern sign, the inimitable rococo note. We talk of the provincial, but the provinciality projected by the Confederate dream, and in which it proposed to steep the whole helpless social mass, looks to our present eyes as artlessly perverse, as untouched by any intellectual tradition of beauty or wit, as some exhibited array of the odd utensils or divinities of lone primitive islanders." The painful sense of this narrow provincialism which isolated the South gave our visitor from England a feeling of tenderness toward a people historically and sentimentally bound to an eternal "false position," their affliction being that they seemed condemned to a state of temper, exasperation, and depression, a horrid heritage that has bound up the life of the South with a hundred mistakes and make-believes, suppressions, and prevarications, none of which could have lived in the air of the greater world. Mr. James sees in that section a society still shut up in a world smaller than it deserves and ought to desire. He says the tone and attitude of the South as he saw it, raised in his mind the image of a figure somehow blighted or stricken, uncomfortably and impossibly seated in an invalid-chair, and yet fixing one with strange eyes that were half a defiance and half a deprecation of one's noticing any abnormal sign. He thinks that there is today in the Southern eyes more of this deprecation than of the old lurid challenge; but the similitude that still haunts him is an image of the keeping up of appearances in an excruciating posture, and above all the maintenance of a tone, the historic "high" tone, now as always a "false note." Among Richmond's relics and memorials of the war, Mr. James noticed the fairly ample white house, a pleasant, honest structure in the style of eighty years ago, which was Jefferson Davis's official residence during part of the war. He says of the church in which the President of the Confederacy was seated in his proper pew on that fine Sunday morning of the springtime in 1865, when he was called out of church by the news of Lee's surrender: "The news was big but the place of worship was small, and the visitor cannot help resenting its trivialization of history. Though perhaps its very commonness suited with the chief promoter of so barren a polity as the futile and impossible scheme for a great Southern State isolated by its peculiar institution, in perpetual quarantine against modern civilization." Looking at the meager poorness of the local mementos in the melancholy capital of the Confederacy, located in the center of a blood-drenched radius of tremendous battle-fields, Henry James says, "No leaders of a great movement, a movement acclaimed by a whole people and paid for with every possible sacrifice, ever took such pains to make themselves uninteresting. It was as if, on the spot there, I saw Romance and Legend turn their backs on the whole scene and walk out of the place." Visiting the Museum of Confederate Relics in what was the "executive mansion" of the later half of the war, he is struck with "the nudity and crudity,