human needs. Bishop Hendrix is doubtless right in saying that "the honor of the temple has never survived the honor of the priest." The first responsibility of spiritual and social leadership in the church rests with the clergymen. But where are the ministers to come from? There is as yet no patent process for the manufacture of ministers to order and warranted to suit. Ministers grow, like other men, in the homes of the people. The church, after all, is the father of its clergy. It is doubtless true that the ministry is the chief channel through which the fundamental need of the country churches is to be supplied. "But we cannot have churches without people," someone is sure to say. This statement is not so trite as it may at first seem. There are several causes which are right, and even beneficial in their larger influence, even though their first effect is to rob the churches of their people. For instance, the centralization of industry has drawn the people from the smaller to the larger towns, and abandoned towns certainly cannot have full churches. The freedom in Protestantism of the private interpretation of revelation has led to the rise of the denominations, and where churches multiply faster than the people the process of division is inevitable. But in the main the trouble is not that there are not enough people for the churches in rural communities, for, as a rule, half of the rural people are even now outside of the churches. There is another side to this matter. Since it is the work of the church to give the religious character to all the members of rural society, and to spiritualize all social forces, it is possible for the social problem of the church to be very great even though all the people were regular church attendants. Quantity is not always the measure of quality. Although there can be no church without people, there is something which the church, as a nucleus of people, may have in order that to draw and hold and help will be the rule and not the exception. There are various specialized forms of social, educational, and religious enterprise that are sometimes advocated as sufficient, each in itself, for the solution of all church problems. For instance, one specialist may stand for evangelism, as though this alone would bring all churches to Christian completeness without the use of other forms of enterprise. Another

may think that church federation is the one thing needful. The third believes in the so-called institutional activities as sufficient to unite earth and heaven. Each of these alone may have been seen to realize in some church the highest ends this side of heaven, but such could happen only when the other needs of the church were already provided. The specialist has his place so long as he does not become a monopolist; then life is too large for his cistern, and he becomes a relic.

After all, the one simple primary need of the church today is hardly a need on the part of the church at all. The church, though it has a mission, is no mendicant. The need is on the part of the people, especially those who are outside of the churches, that they wake up to a proper sense of values. If a half, or more, of the rural population are not themselves a part of the church, it is because they are like the woman who grumbles because the schools do not educate her children when she keeps them at work all of every day in her own back yard. It is the old fallacy of the blind man's complaining because the sun does not shine. The man who calls the church "a graft on society for the support of the ministry" is an impudent vagabond, too mean to eat the feast of his life when it is already set before him. He forgets that the church is the only voluntary institution which deals in the richest values of two worlds. He is too busy with the muck rake to enjoy the beautiful flowers that he expects will grow where he has planted no seed. But they are already fragrant in his neighbor's garden. He has not waked up to a proper sense of values. When one truly becomes alive to the correct sense of values he just then begins to appreciate what the church really is. "Values" is just the word we want. The church is a fellowship of men in the use and enjoyment of religious and ethical values. In this economic age we ought to be able to understand the church when it is thus defined. Economics treats of the adjustment of life to the wherewithal of life. The economics of the church treats of the wherewithal of the spiritual life in the terms of moral and religious values, the only eternal commodities that have a price. When we pay for the church with time and cash, if we appreciate what we are doing, we are only investing in one set of values in

the same way as, at the real estate market, the playhouse or the university, we invest in other sets of values. How hard and yet how easy is the task of appreciation! Now we can relate the things which seem to the things which are; things partial to the one whole. The church does not primarily need money, but the people need appreciation, or the proper sense of values. There need be no trouble because the minister lives at the expense of the people when it is seen that he is their servant. He creates their highest joys by interpreting the values that abide. The people will not be divorced from the church when they can realize that it is the mediator of the highest powers of character. The people need the church infinitely more than the church needs the people. Our willful sinning keeps us from the throne room of the King. This is as true negatively as positively. It as naturally faces the problem as the ideal. The great problem is that the church too often is not the church-a problem in reality. If there was an appreciation and appropriation of the values for which the true church stands the study of the genius loci of so-called churches would not so often reveal that they were mere social clubs, standing for anything and everything but spiritual excellence in the lives of men. The problem of leadership would be solved. Men would seek their guides from among their own number in the choice spirits that are tuned by nature, by training, and by grace to catch the music of the world of which the present is only an echo. Sectarian ambition, though not necessarily denominational organization, would soon give place to the true spirit of brotherhood in service. And that service would be so free, so helpful and whole-hearted that the machinery of the church would soon fade into the established habits of mankind in the arts of mutual love. The world is nearly as responsible for such an awakening as can be the militant church. The dissatisfied classes ought to learn by experience that they have followed the wrong god long enough.

George Frederick Wella,

ART. IV. THE UNFINISHED DRAMA

RECENTLY there appeared in one of our great dailies an able critique of a certain play that had been given in the city on the previous night. This writer is not a frequenter of theaters, first, because his dramatic interests and instincts are abundantly satisfied by the varied scenes of human life as they unroll themselves all around us, and, second, because to his mind the atmosphere of the playhouses is antagonistic to the highest aspirations of the human heart. There are people who claim that they are benefited intellectually and morally by seeing what they call good plays. As this is a matter of subjective sentiment and experience, it is best not to dispute their word; but one cannot well suppress the question how highminded men and women can find enough good plays in our day to make it worth while.

Let us take, for an example of what is considered the better class of performances, the one referred to in this article. It is Sudermann's Magda. Sudermann is looked upon as one of the greatest of the living romancists and dramatists of Germany. The leading figure of the tragedy is Magda, the daughter of a high-tempered Prussian ex-soldier with rigid moral principles and a very keen sense of honor. Magda, when still a young girl, runs away from her parents and is not seen again by them until twelve years later, when she comes to her native town to take part in the musical festival as a celebrated singer. Her identity becoming known, the pastor, who was at one time her lover, after first having prepared the way at home, goes to her for the purpose of bringing her back to her parents. But it soon appears that she is a much changed person. By her various experiences she has become hardened. "She despises the pastor. She is at once domineering, cynical, and worldly." However, the suppressed subconsciousness of her childhood memories finally awakens, and she comes home. "The old parents, more worldly-wise than the trustful pastor knew, soon become possessed of a haunting fear that all was not, or had not been, well with her. The name of a certain Dr. von Kellar is betrayed by the daughter, and he soon

comes to see her. He had known her in Berlin in the days following her flight from home, and in the course of the call, Magda, leading up to her climax in wonderful style, makes known that he is the father of her son." Magda's father now wrings the whole truth from her, and thus aroused to the highest indignation, tremblingly starts out to challenge the betrayer of his child to a duel. But, to his chagrin, he fails to find him. The pastor again steps in, and, with the view of protecting the honor of all concerned, proposes that von Kellar shall take the wronged young woman in marriage. The parents and daughter finally agree, but von Kellar, having his political career in mind, consents only under the condition that the existence of the son be kept secret. Upon this the overwhelming rage of Magda breaks out anew, and with consuming scorn she refuses to consider the marriage another moment. This scene quickly leads to the end. The father, having promised von Kellar that his wish as to the son would be respected, feels bound to uphold his word of honor. Finding Magda obdurate and unflinchingly standing for her son, who has been her life and sole ambition, the old soldier gives way to uncontrollable feeling, and seizing his dueling pistol prepares to shoot his daughter down. But just at that moment he is attacked by another stroke of apoplexy, and falls dead in the presence of his family. It would seem-let this be said incidentally-that only persons of vitiated tastes and morbid curiosity can find pleasure in such performances as this play presumes. And yet, judging from the literature dealing with our present-day stage, and according to such authorities on dramatic affairs as Israel Zangwill, such stuff is the stock in trade of the great majority of stage productions. In fact, Sudermann's are considered among the standard dramatical works of our time. The only lessons that can possibly be learned from such plays as that of Magda are that the way of the transgressor is hard, and that children who leave the paths of religion are a curse to their parents. But people are really to be pitied who must go to such harrowing performances in order to learn such simple lessons. But the dramatic editor of the newspaper above mentioned, after highly praising the play and the actors, has a serious fault to find with