washes his hands before the multitude, sitting down once more to sign the terrible document. It was interesting to see the wily old priests watching the irate, irresolute judge. Occasionally they smiled knowingly at each other and every now and again Pilate would address them angrily, and they in a most courteous and respectful way would give a response. At last, after several minutes of splendid theatricals, he signed his name and then threw the detested parchment to the ground. The high priest stooped to pick it up, and putting it into the capacious pocket of his loose flowing robe, with a wicked leer at the crowd which told of victory, he passed out. Then came a change, which contradicted the traditions of Pilate's career as to his having reached Switzerland and having committed suicide off Mount Pilatus. Right there and then the remorse of Pilate over his fearful act was seen by the crowd, ending with the Roman drawing his own dagger and with it taking his own life. The scene of the sorrow of Peter followed -a cruel exhibition of a broken heart, which showed very poor taste. This in turn was followed by the remorse of Judas, who, flinging the thirty pieces of silver at the feet of the priests, rushed from their presence and, prostrating himself to the ground, cried with an exceedingly bitter cry. Then came the suicide, followed by another scene which was almost serio-comic and evoked a great deal of laughter. A figure dressed in red, representing, of course, the ruler of the abode of the lost, rushed upon the scene and bore off in triumph the body of the arch betrayer.

This ended the scene on the improvised stage, and at this point-it being about one o'clock-a rest was taken for refreshIt was interesting right here to see the attitude of the people. They seemed to be perfectly indifferent to their surroundings and had evidently come to have a good time. It was more of a holiday than a holy day. I have no means of knowing what spirit prompted them to reproduce the historic play. There was no doubt a great absence of any devotional spirit, though I like to think that there were a few at least to whom the play had a definite religious meaning in the higher interpretation of the word; but the impression made upon my mind was that the play was enacted because of a traditional interest from time immemorial in

the tragedy, in the same sense that Uncle Tom's Cabin is still listened to by thousands though the issue which it emphasized has been a dead one for over thirty-five years. So it seemed, in faroff Sicily, that the "Martyrdom of Christ" had historic value only. The dinner over, then came the procession from the judgment hall to Calvary. This was a scene which will live with me as long as I live. The central figure fainted three times under the burden of the cross, and Simon the Cyrenian, coming down from the hill with a bunch of hyssop on his head, was pressed, much against his will, into the service of helping to bear the load. The sorrow of the women on the way to Calvary seemed more real than any other part of the play. It appeared to impress them as real and their cries and groans could be heard above the din of the multitude. The procession stopped two or three times to give my friend an opportunity to photograph the scene, but by this time it had become so real to me that it seemed like sacrilege, and he got so excited that the pictures did not prove a great success.

The road to Calvary was nearly half a mile long, and we succeeded in getting a good position right in front of the cross. The people had crowded around the hill and a bridge just behind us was literally one mass of living beings. All day long the clouds had been gathering and it became a question whether we should escape the threatening rain. Now occurred the most thrilling event of the day. When the figure had been fastened to the cross, and the cross had been placed in position, a bomb was exploded to imitate the earthquake and tumult of the real tragedy. It startled everybody, and all were in the act of running away, when lo! the gathering clouds broke, urged on by the explosion of the bomb, and the rain poured in torrents upon the already much frightened crowd. It was a sight never to be forgotten and fearfully realistic of the event of which this was only a poor copy. The people scattered like chaff before the wind, and in five minutes the holidayattired sight-seers were all gone into shelter and the play was ended. There were very few who seemed religiously impressed. I think that my two friends and I felt the religious effect of the play more than the others for the simple reason that it was a new thing to us and because we had made that scene on Calvary a real

spiritual fact in our lives. That tragedy on Golgotha had for us more reality than ever; the Christ on the cross for the first century was the Christ on the cross for the twentieth century. Not alone on Calvary did Christ suffer and die, but today in every one of his true followers his life is being lived, his cross is being borne, his agony being endured, his suffering being repeated, and I instinctively thought of the words of Paul: "Till Christ be formed in you" (Gal. 4. 19). After the rain had ceased I made inquiries in reference to this passion play and found that it had been the custom for years to reproduce it in one or another of the adjoining villages. The priests opposed the performance, for reasons best known to themselves, but I saw two or three priests present. There is no doubt that the play has been given there for hundreds of years, and the thoughtless remarks that I heard made by those present indicated very clearly that it was looked upon as a play and nothing more. I had a conversation with some of the performers and found them to be very intelligent young men. In the evening I preached at Roccalumera, in the home of a Sicilian who had been in New Orleans at the time of the Civil War and who showed me his enlistment papers of the Confederate army. A large company gathered to hear the gospel from one who spoke with a foreign accent, like Paul of yore. "Joseph of Arimathæa" and "Nicodemus" were in the audience and listened most attentively to the message of the gospel. Indeed, more than once I saw tears in their eyes as I lifted up Christ. There is a settled socialistic sentiment in the community, and this sentiment is always decidedly anticlerical. The citizens have little use for Churchianity, but they have great respect for Christianity; they sneer at the priests, but they honor Christ.

After all, the mystery play may fail to reach the hearts of the people but the gospel of Jesus Christ can win its way to all hearts. This was the impression produced on my mind as I viewed the presentation of the Passion Play in Sicily.

Inderick Kwright

ART. VI.-PHILOSOPHY THE UNDERGIRDING OF

RELIGION

A DELEGATE to our recent Missionary Convention startled me one morning after prayers by asking how I, a teacher of philosophy, could believe in the Bible. The question reveals an attitude toward philosophy that is not, I fear, uncommon among religious people. It is a suggestive fact that my questioner was the daughter of a successful preacher and was educated in an institution that especially emphasizes the religious life. Yet perhaps his attitude is not so strange. Apparently there is much in the spirit and method of philosophy to disturb one whose interests center in religion and religious dynamics. Philosophy insists on testing all our beliefs and taking nothing on faith except the ultimate presuppositions of knowledge. Everything must submit to the cold scrutiny of reason, and only that is sacred which can give a satisfactory account of itself. Such a procedure is naturally distasteful to the glowing religious consciousness. Religion is primarily an emotion. It manifests itself in a sense of God's nearness and loving guidance, and in the spirit of worship and service. Religion cannot hope for anything from philosophy in the way of emotional uplift; on the contrary, as soon as the searching criticism of philosophy is turned upon religion all the rich emotion seems to shrivel away. God seems to move off to the far end of a chain of syllogisms, out of reach of the human heart hungry for communion.

In view of this apparent opposition, it will be my main purpose, in what I have to say, to point out how philosophy rightly understood is a powerful and much-needed support of religion. It cannot, of course, take the place of religion-though some have thought that it could and have thereby made shipwreck of faithbut it is a helpful undergirding when the tempestuous winds of skepticism and error arise. We can see this in a general way by considering how vital is the connection between dogma and religion. Much is said in certain quarters nowadays about the pernicious effect of dogma. The demand is for a creedless religion.

Instead of formulas, give us life!-so runs the protest; instead of definitions of God we want an experience of his presence. Why haggle about distinctions and speculations when our call is not to question but to enter into service? Creeds but divide the church and weaken it. There is some truth in this contention. When regarded as anything more than a practical basis of coöperation a church creed may become a serious embarrassment. It is then, however, not the creed that is at fault but the effort to reach strict uniformity in its interpretation and enforcement. Strict uniformity is psychologically impossible, whether in creeds or in anything else. As our experience worlds differ, at least in detail, our interpretations necessarily differ; and, however careful the formulators of the symbols may have been to avoid ambiguity, no two believers will understand the words in quite the same way. But those who inveigh against creeds appear to have more than this in mind. They argue against a reflective criticism of our beliefs and such a statement of them as would constitute a creed. It is not hard to see, however, that this position is false. If we take our religion at all seriously, we cannot help thinking about it, just as we think about our other experiences. Life presents to us the problem of finding out what our various experiences mean. Our first crude notions must be revised to meet the requirements of growing insight, and the work of revision does not cease till life is done. Religious experience can be no exception. Indeed, as nothing is more vital to us than religion, or more far-reaching in its effects, there is the greater need of thoroughness in making the intellectual adjustments. Moreover, an experience is religious only as it includes a recognition of its source as divine. Since no experience, considered merely as an emotion, gives any account of its origin, the faith in God which makes an experience distinctively religious is, strictly speaking, an inference, and as such amenable to proof or disproof. What is to assure us that the inference is correct? For multitudes of people this is a disturbing question, especially in view of repeated attempts-some apparently successful to formulate a naturalistic explanation of religious phenomena. To try to meet the issue by emphasizing the evidential value of unmediated religious experience-experience pure and