Christianity and the Social Crisis; A Theology for the Social Gospel

converged upon them. They had this proud consciousness of an exalted future, not because of their own worth, but because they believed in the worth of Jesus Christ and hoped tobe lifted to power with him as his faithful adherents. At the cote this hope was sound, but we cannot help feeling that the form of the hope was largely visionary. It certainly did not corne true. As we pointed out in an earlier chapter, 1 the apocalyptic hope was a debased form of the prophetic hope, developed at a time when the Jewish people were without political power or experience. The whole scheme of the future in the apocalyptic literature is artificial, unreal, unhistorical, and mechanical. Jesus turned away from it and emphasized the law of organic development, x but his followers did not generally fise to that higher view. Yet we do find in eafly Christianity a different type of thought which had the saine high sense of an historical mission, but which combined it with a saner and more philosophical outlook on the world. 3 It was evolutionary, while apocalypticism was catastrophic. For those who believed in Christ his coming marked the fundamental epoch in human history. All that had gone belote was but preparation. In Paul's philosophy it was a basal thought that Christ was the second Adam, the source and starting-point of a new and spiritual humanity, the originator of a new type of man. 4 The Christian Gnostics, who were the Christian evolutionary philosophers of that age, went even farther and made the revelation of Christ the central cosrnic event. 1 And it was not sirnply a new kind of individual that was being produced within the sphere of Christ's influence, but a new people, a novel social unity. "You are a chosen race, a kingly priesthood, a consecrated nation, God's own people" —four terrns in which organic solidarity is expressed with reiterated ernphasis. 2 In their churches Christians had a visible dernonstration of the fact that the old social unities were being broken up to build a new unity. The old dividing lines of Jew and Gentile, of civilized Greek and raw barbarian, of slave and frcernan, of man and wornan, were fading out; the only line that was left to their vision was the line that separated Christians from the rest of the world, and all who were in Christ were one new being. 3 This new race had a great past and a greater future. Reaching backward it clairned all the venerable history of Israel for its own. The patriarchs and prophets, the types, the promises, the whole Scriptures, were not Jewish, but Christian. The Christians were the real Israel. By one daring act of expropriation the Jewish people were thrust out of their historic heritage and the Christian Church sat within the tents of Shern. Christianity was the original religion restored and cornpleted. It was as old as rnankind. By this appropriation of Hebrew history the Christians, looking backward, gained a profound sense of historic dignity and irnportance. They also gained a sense of being a corporate social body, a political entity. Looking forward, this new people realized that it was the people of destiny. As surely as Christ was destined to reign, so surely were the Christians the coming ieople. They were not only to be superior to the others, but to absorb all others. When Christianity came on the stage of history, there were two distinct types in possession, the Gentiles and the Jews, with a deep and permanent cleavage between the two. Christianity added a third genus, and Christians were profoundly convinced that they were to assimilate and transform all others into a higher unity. The Epistle to the Ephesians is a tract reflecting on this aspect of the mission of Christ. Romans 9- is a philosophy of history, forecasting the method by which this process of absorption and solidification was to corne about. There is a prophetic grandeur of vision in this large international outlook of the early Christians. The evolution of religion has always been intimately connected with the evolution of social organization. When tribes were amalgamated into a nation, tribal religions passed into a national religion. 1 In the Roman Empire nations were now being fused into a still larger social unity. The old national religions were incapable of serving as the spiritual support for this vaster social body. There was a crying need for an international and purely human religion. Christianity, as we now know, was destineà to fulfil this function, and tbese early Christian thinkers had a prophetic premonition of this destiny. They often dwelt on the fact that Christianity had been born simultaneously with the Empire under Augustus. * The universal State and the universal religion were i See Menzies, "History of Religion," Chap. VI.  Luke 2. x; Melito, quoted in Eusebius, "Church History, » IV, 26, twins by birth. They ought, therefore, to be in helpful relations to each other in accordance with the manifest purpose of God. The Empire should cease to persecute the Church. The Church could be the best ally of the State in creating civil peace, because Christians had the highest morality, and because they alone had power over the demons who menaced the security of the Empire. 1 As the soul holds the body together, so Christians hold the world together. 2 They exert a conservative and unifying influence. This conception of Christianity as a penetrating, renewing, and unifying power, destined to control the future of the world, was just as full of triumphant hopefulness as the apocalyptic hope, but allowed of a quiet process of historic growth. It did hOt regard the existing State as Satanic and evil, yet had full room for moral criticism of existing conditions and the determination to contribute to a thorough moral change. The apocalyptic hope was probably the dominant Christian conception of history in the very first generations. This other view gained power as rime passed, as the number and influence of Christians increased, and as men of larger mental reach and higher education grew up in the Church. The fact that religious convictions are the living force in these theories must hOt blind us to the fact that they contain a consciousness of social solidarity, of social power, and of a social mission. This satisfaction for the dawning sense of a vaster human unity probably lent greater force than we now imagine to the missionary appeal of Christians among the lower and middle classes. To-day we have a similar process of international amalgamation very similar to that of the early Christian centuries.  Justin, "Apology," I, Chap. 12. 2,, Epistle to Diognetus," Chap. VI.

At that time a new and common civilization was growing up around the Mediterranean Sea; to-day it is growing up around all the oceans. Itis significant that the prophets of the modern social movement are also the prophets of a new internationalism, which aims to supplant the narrow patriotisms and interests of a by-gone stage of human development by the wider enthusiasms and outlooks of a vaster human brotherhood. There is a profound similarity between the consciousness and the aires of early Christianitv and of modern social thought, wherever it has ethical and religious impetus in it.

le societytking "ce of imitive tristianity.

All that has been said so far bears intimately on the social contents of early Christianity, but it deals with its ideas and theories rather than its actual social achievements. But primitive Christianity was not in the least academic. Its distinctive quality was the passionate moral energy with which it pressed for action. Jesus had put a new spirit into his followers. That spirit spread with a noble contagion and sought expression and realization in a new society. The old social life was stubbornly hostile toit at some points and unresponsive at others. Therefore a new social life had tobe created tobe the fit environment for the new spirit. Hence, wherever Christianity came, we see a new society nucleating. To create a new type of social organization is always a feat of strength. The higher the ideas and aspirations are which the organization embodies, the greater is the force needed to create and maintain the organization. Water oeeks its level; so does man. It is not hard for a swimmer to keep his face above water; it is very hard to lift his shoulders above the water. The Christians at Corinth were Corin- thians before they were Christians. Their memories and habits, their imaginations and appetites, were in league with the common lire about them. They lived in the same houses and workshops and baths with their fellows. Yet Christianity called on them to cut loose from their social environment and to rise to an ethical standard which they had neither recognized in theory nor practised in lire. It bade them cease from that sexual indulgence which the Greeks regarded as a simple, pleasurable satisfaction of a natural appetite. It called for unselfishness and honesty in money affairs, and Greeks were not famous for either. It demanded peaceableness and gentleness of intercourse, whereas the Greek took to factious debating as a duck to the water. The results achieved were by no means ideM. But the religious power of the new faith did succeed in gathering these people into organizations where such moral teachings were urged with immense determination, and where the irresistible force of public opinion exerted its disciplinary power on all who manifestly contradicted in their living the ideals accepted in their faith. The first generation of Christian teachers had to make a strenuous fight against the grosser forms of sexual evil within the churches. In the following generations we hear less about them in exhortations addressed to Christians and more in writings addressed to the general public. Probably the moral standard had been effectively raised within the Christian community, and these outstanding vices had been practically left behind, much as intoxication and profanity in the American churches. A body of seasoned Christians had grown up under Iife-long Christian influences, and their combined influence was more steady and powerful than the occasional warnings of the early apostles, t To curb the strongest and therefore the most destructive physical desire; to put an edge on conscience in regard to honesty and generosity in the use of property; to soften the hateful and factious spirit by a lovable gentleness —even a slight success in these directions would be an valuable contribution to social life. But to draw men out of their social environment into an organization expressly dedicated to the achievement of this high moral standard, is wonderful testimony to the society-making power of the new religion. Most social organizations follow natural lines of cleavage. Blood kinship, tribal sympathies, neighborhood, financial profit, social protection or advancement- these are some of the forces that bind men together. Christianity cut across these natural and conventional lines. It tore down the existing barriers with irresistible force and brought men together by a new principle of stratification. Jews were wrenched loose from the firm hold of their race and religion; Greeks from their culture and pleasures; and both oined on footing of equality. Spiritual affinity triumphed over the strongest bonds that hold men together. The call of Jesus to give up home and property, reputation and lire, for his sake, was treasured in the collection of his sayings because it corresponded to the actual experience of so many of his followers. The society-making force can be measured by the obstacles it had to overcome. It was the Christian policy to minimize the contact with the unhallowed life outside. It was this withdrawal which evoked so much hatred and resentment and brought on the Christians, as on the Jews, the charge of an odium generis t Dobschiitz, "Christian Life in the Primitive Church," pp. i86—x87.

humani, a general hatred for human kind. But within the charmed circle of the Christian naine the love was ail the more intense. Its strength was novel, inexplicable, and awakened sinister suspicions in outsiders. But it was not common crime, as the heathen suspected, but the common experience of the highest spiritual and ideal good which unfettered such new powers of human fellowship. Faith in a common Father ruade men brothers. When men had vowed allegiance to the same Master, had felt the inward compulsion of the same divine Spirit, and looked forward intently to the same great consummation in the return of Christ, all the old distinctions were puerile and outworn, and they locked hands as Christian brothers. The natural desire for social intelligence and intercourse, the inborn craving of man for man, was spiritualized, ennobled, and intensified by being put on such a basis. The fact that such a society was possible at all is splendid testimony to the good in man. The strength of its cohesion is prophetic of what human society may corne to be when its higher dormant faculties are called into action. The churches of the first generation were not churches in our sense of the word. They were not communities for the performance of a common worship, so much as communities with a common life. They were social communities with a religious basis. A common religious experience and hope brought them together, but the community of life extended to far more than that. They prayed together, but they also ate together. They had no church buildings, but met in the bornes of their members. That in itself was an influence against ecclesiastîcism and for social intimacy. They had a rudimentary organization, as every human society is sure to have, but they had no official clergy distinct from the laity. They were democratic organizations of plain people. Because they were separated from all other society, they had to find nearly all their social relatioas, pleasures, and interests within the Christian community. How far did this sharing of all life extend?

The church at Jerusalem will occur to every one as the classical illustration of a larger sharing of lire. "All who became Christians were together and held all they had for the common use. They sold their property and goods, and shared the proceeds according to their individual needs." They met for vorship in the temple, and met for their meals in their homes. The outflow of this close fellowship was a simple-hearted gladness, so that tbey could praise God and win the good-will of men. 1 It is amusing to note how our popular expositors treat this Christian communism to-day. They approach it with a sort of deprecatory admiration. It is so useful for proving how noble and loving Christianity was, but it is so a'kward if anybody should draw the conclusion that we to-day ought to share our property. They make much of the fact that we have no other instance of communism among the other churches of the New Testament, and that even at Jerusalem the mother of Mark still had a house of her own to live in. They seem more anxious to emphasize that it. did not occur twice than to show that it did occur once. But many an ecclesiastical body would be happy if it had as much Scripture to quote for its favorite church practices, and would treat with scorn any suggestion that after all it had "occurred * Acts 2.43-47, 4. 32-5. IL only once." As a result of this anxiety, it is commonly asserted that the later poverty of the church at Jerusalem was due to its communism. The assertion has been ruade so often that it is accepted almost as self-evident. Yet there is hot the slightest statement in the Bible connecting the two things; it is pure inference. Luke, who is out sole source of information, has hOt a breath of disapproval. To him it is evidently a beautiful fact, a wonderful demonstration of the power of the Holy Spirit in the Church. It is hard to escape the feeling that the bias of Luke and of modern Christians is somewhat divergent. At the outset the disciples at Jerusalem simply continued the life they had lived with the Master. They went on doing as they had done with him. They had had a common purse. He had cared for the wants of his family like a father, and they acknowledged that they had never been in want while under him. 1 They were now away from their old homes and occupations in Galilee. So they continued a family life among themselves and shared what they had. As their number increased, the problem of providing for the common meals and for the poor and sick became diflî- cult. Those who were better off, in the glow of brotherly love and religious self-sacrifice, and probably in the expectation of the speedy return of Christ, replenished the common purse by larger offerings. In a few memorable cases they even parted with real estate for this purpose. It is worthy of note that Luke was able to mention only a single instance of such generosity by naine, and that was by a man of remarkable largeness of heart, Barnabas. 2 All evidence indicates that Luke was hOt an eye-witness of this early life at  Luke 22. 35-  Acts 4. 36-37.

Jerusalem. The purpose of his book was not to furnish an impartial and critical accotmt of the beginnings of Christianity, but to give an edifying sketch of the wonderful progress of the gospel from Jerusalem to Rome. His tone is that of a modern pastor giving a centenary history of his church, or of a missionary describing the progress of Christianity in a Karen tribe. Writing at such a distance and for such a purpose it is very natural and right that he should dip his brush in the liquid gold of enthusiasm and say, "Not one of them claimed anything of his possessions as his own, but all things were common to them." Yet the fraternal fervor must have been strong, for even Ananias and Sapphira felt that they had to make at least a show of complete renunciation to measure up to the standard set by the Christian community. But whatever the extent of this generosity may have been, it was always generosity, and not communism in any proper sense of the word. No one was required to turn his property into the common fund on admission, as in all communistic colonies. And above all there was no common economic production. In fact, there seems to be no trace of communistic production in ancient Christian literature. The rudimentary communism of primitive tribal lire was gone and forgotten. The possibility of a higher communistic ownership of the instruments of production had not yet risen above the horizon of common thought. Individual and family production was the only kind commonly known. Thus these first Christians produced separately and consumed in common. It was religious and instinctive fraternity, but not communism in any strict sense. Wherever people meet closely on a footing of equality, sharing is inevitable. In the family we always hold most of our possessions for common use. Students in dormitory, soldiers on the march, sportsmen in camp, share Ireely. It is impossible to have a man sit by you as your brother and let him go hungry while you Ieed. ThereIore as a usual thing we do not let him sit by us or we deny that he is our brother. But whenever calamity or joy sweeps away the artificial barriers, men at once begin to share. Religion had the same effect in Jerusalem, and oflen since. The later poverty at Jerusalem may have been due in part to this generosity. If a man turned in his Iarm to be eaten up, he raised the standard of living of all for a while, but his private capital was gone without creating any capital common production. On the other hand, the continued poverty may well have been due to other causes: to the general poverty of the lower classes in Palestine; to persecution and economic unsettlement; to the emigration of wellto-do and conspicuous members; to the separation of the Galilean Christians Irom their accustomed sources of earning; or to the amount of time devoted to religion and withdrawn from labor. It is at least hasty to charge a permanent situation to a single cause. Thus the church at Jerusalem was not quite as communistic as is usually supposed. On the other hand, the other churches were not as completely devoid of cÇmmunistic features as is commonly assumed.

The disciples at Jerusalem had met in their homes and had The tive eaten in common. The one act which might be called an church act of distinctively Christian ritual at the beginning, the re- fratern COITlml. minder of the Lord's last meal with the disciples, was per- ries. formed in connection with these common meals, and this fnsured the homeliness and simplicity of the rite. These common meals were so essential a part of the earliest church life that this custom was established whcrever Christianity came. This in itself is a strong proof that the churches were more than organizations for worship. We know from Paul's letter to the Corinthians I that the Christians met in the evening, the rime for the chief meal of the day, and dined together. Such common meals were frequent in the Greek fraternal associations, and Greeks could easily fall in with the custom. These love-feasts did hOt consist of eating a wafer as a religious symbol, as is done in some modern churches; it was a downright meal to which people came hungry, so that Paul advised them to get a bite at home to take the edge off their appetites, if they were too hungry to wait for one another. Now the assurance of one square meal means a great deal to a poor man physically. It means still more to his consciousness of human worth and his enjoyment of human intercourse to sit at a social function as the equal of all. To break bread in common brings men close to one another. At Corinth the social differences had obtruded themselves at the common meals. The well-to-do had drifted together in a coterie, had clubbed their well-filled baskets, and were in danger of getting hilarious together, while the poor brother sat on one side hungry and outside the pale of social enjoyment. Paul took this very seriously. It seemed to him a denial of the fundamental spirit of the churches. These common meals persisted for centuries, though changed in character. The ritual act of the "Lord's Supper" became more ceremonial, mysterious, and awe-inspiring, and a Corinthians II. i7-34.

a rneal where people were heartily satisfying their physical hunger did not seem the fit environrnent for the rnystery of the eucharist. Hence that part was transferred to the rnorning service. But the evening meal continued. As wealthy rnen entered the churches, they often defrayed the expenses of a rneal and ruade it an act of charity to the poor. The rich paid and the poor ate. That was a cornplete departure from the dernocracy of the comrnon meal at the beginning. But the persistence of the custorn, even when all the conditions had so cornpletely changed, proves how deeply it was ernbedded in the traditions coming down from the origin of Christianity. The provisions for the cornmon meal were brought by each farnily, as in our basket picnics. Vrhen the Lord's Supper was transferred to the Sunday morning service, it still remained customary for the people to bring provisions along, and the rnaterial for the eucharist was taken frorn these offerings. What was left was distributed to all who were in need. As tirne went on, regular rnonthly offerings of rnoney were introduced and under the ascetic enthusiasrn of alrnsgiving, large properties were often turned over to the churches. It is significant that for a long tirne the churches did not accurnulate property. If real estate u-as given, it was sold and the proceeds used up. If there was any special need, a collection had to be taken to rneet it. In the Greek fraternal associations the accumulation of incorne-bearing property was essential. The later Church, too, derived its chief income from landed wealth. The primitive Church on principle was without property.* Moreover, the income of the Church was wholly for those 1 Sobre, " Kirchenrecht," I, 7i.

in need. In modem church life the bulk of the income goes for the support of the clergy and the expenses of worship, and even of the expenses for benevolence only a small fraction is for charitable help of the needy. In the primitive Church the officers were not paid, unless they temporarily went without eamings to serve the Church. In that case they were supported because they were needy, and not because they were officers. As the Church was ecclesiasticized and clericalized, an increasing clergy was needed to do what the people at first had done for themselves. The clergy became a separate and priestly class, for whom secular employment was not fitting, and who had to be maintained. An ever increasing proportion of the income of the Church was devoted to the clergy and the expenses of the ritual. In the "fifth century it was regarded as a fitting division that onefourth go to the bishop, one-fourth to the clergy, one-fourth for the maintenance of worship, and only one-fourth to the poor. Yet in theory the property of the Church long remained "the patrimony of the poor." This, too, was a survival of earlier traditions. It is possible to get a very fair estimate of a man's character from the allotment of his expenditures. The saine is true of a Church. If its income is largely devoted to appliances of oesthetic beauty, we may be sure that its heart is in its ritual. If the primitive churches could do with little incorne spontaneously offered, we may be sure that they were democratic bodies in which the people themselves did the work. If the income was wholly devoted to the help of the needy, we may be sure that fraternal helpfulness was essential to their church lire. This line of argument is confirmed by the history of file organization of the primitive churches. I We are apt to transfer out own conditions back to the first century and to assume that the elders and bishops, like the modern pastor, existed primarily for teaching and preaching. But religious utterance was the common right of ail Christians. Whoever had the spiritual gift for it, could exercise it. It was not a duty attached to a church office. The officers of the primitive churches were executive and administrative officers, and not preachers. If they could also teach, it was simply an added advantage in their personal influence. The terms "bishop," "elder," "deacon," have to us a solemn and ecclesiastical significance. In the first century they were secular terms, taken from common life. "Episcopos" was equivalent to our superintendent or manager. The churches adopted the forms of organization to which their members were accustomed in their voluntary clubs and societies and in their village or city government, just as Americans in organizing any new society would instinctively organize with a president, secretary, treasurer, and executive committee, because that is the form of organization which we have always known. To get the atmosphere of the first century, we must strip these terres of their ecclesiastical and clerical significance and make them business terms. These officers presided at the common meetings, and to that extent they were religious officers. They watched over the moral condition of the members and guided the discipline of the church, which was a very important part of its life, and to that extent they were moral officers. And they administered the finances and organized the fraternal care of  See Hatch, "Orgalfization of the Early Christian Churches," pp. 36-39 • the churches. The latter was probably the original function of the bishops in so far as they differed from the other elders. The bishop rose to power in the church not by virtue of his teaching, but because he managed the funds and controlled the extensive executive apparatus of the church. The man who held the purse-strings finally ruled the churcK It was only toward the close of the second century that the bishops added the control of the teaching functions to their other growing powers. It is the outcome of the close investigation which has been given to this subject in recent years that the framework of organization in the primitive churches was devised, not for the conduct of worship, nor for teaching and preaching, but for the administration of the common life. The first step in organization was the appointment of the Seven at Jerusalem, and they were appointed to administer the fraternal help of the church with greater fairness. 1 It has usually been assumed that these Seven were the first "deacons." It now seems more probable that the deacons were a later contrivance for the purpose of rendering subsidiary assistance to the bishops, and that the Seven were the first elders. 2 In that case the original purpose of the presbyterate was not teaching, but organized helpfulness. The bishops of the early centuries were first of all great executive officers. They became teachers and theologians when doctrine and theology became so essential a part of church life. If these results of modern historical investigation are to

 Acts 6. x-6. * Acts xx. 7-3 o, we find "elders" at Jerusalem doing the very thing the Seven were elected to do.

any extent correct, they furnish a powerful proof of the fact that in the early Christian communities the administration of mutual helpfulness was a very important part of their existence, and that their common lire must bave extended far beyond their common religious worship. If we inquire in what directions this fraternal helpfulness manifested itself, out information is far ficher about the third century than about the first and second? By that rime the organization of the churches had been centralized and fected, and the charitable help was administered through this machinery. In the first century the methods were crude and more spontaneous, but the spirit of it was probably purer than later, more democratic and less debased by the desire to win merit by ascetic almsgiving. From the outset widows and orphans were extensively cared for. The social conditions of the ancient world and the impulses inherited from Judaism laid this duty upon the churches. About A.P. 25o, the church at Rome had fifteen hundred dependents of that kind under its care. When Christians were in prison for their faith or exiled to the mines, the churches cared for their needs and comfort, often in lavish degree. It was not uncommon to ransom Christians imprisoned for debt. The proper burial of the dead was even more important to the sentiments of the ancient world than to ours. Just as to-day, the poorer classes organized in societies which guaranteed their members an honorable burial. The churches performed this service for their members. In public calamities, like pestilence or the invasion of nomadic brigands, they stood by their members l Sec Uhlhorn, "History of Chrisfian Charity in the Ancient Church"; Haxnack, "Expansion of Christianity," Bk. II, Chap. III K