Also there are experiences which may be called extraordinary sufferings. These are sufferings of ills so intertwined, that not even imagination, let alone the resources of this world, can point to a remedy, They may have to do directly with oneself, or with some one else for whom one cares. In the case of such, the spirit is so crushed that it cannot even describe its own need. It cries to God, beseeching Him to show the cure as well as to bestow it.

It will be apparent that according to the form in which the necessity asserts itself will be the kind of gospel-message which is capable of satisfying it. And it will also be apparent that, when one finds a restricted message to be no longer consoling, through a greater need having arisen, there has taken place a growth of the spirit within one. Especially, the emergence, in the soul, of a far-reaching sympathy unfits it for being contented with a limited message. It may be that the spiritual growth has not been attained without serious humiliation and even contrition. In many cases, without doubt, this is so. In self-dissatisfaction and self-condemnation there may be born sympathy as well as personal religion, charity as well as faith. And accordingly, it is a grievous mistake to suppose that those who turn to listen to the larger messages profess one whit less of personal

lowliness than those who will hear only the more restricted. But still, the experience of the broader necessity is an advance in spiritual condition. Dissatisfaction with certain formations which the gospel has assumed, is caused by the fuller consciousness of the extent to which a gospel is needed.

CHAPTER III.

THE TRUE GOSPEL.

THE true gospel for mankind is the gospel that can meet the needs of mankind. If there were no such gospel, the whole idea of a gospel would have to be regarded as a delusion; and after ridding oneself of the delusion with pain, there would be nothing left but to settle down to emptiness and despair. A message that only met a few of the human needs might, indeed, be accepted in such a case as more than men deserve. But it would not be the gospel at which the heart grasps. And its deficiencies would be overwhelming were it found to limit itself to a few human beings as well as to a few general needs. There is, however, a true gospel. There is a gospel for the needs of mankind.

From the state of finding unsatisfied the needs which were described in last chapter man earnestly seeks deliverance. He falls on his knees, and, with faltering lips, beseeches his Creator for help in the

presence of death, disease, sin, parting, and every horror. And his cry is more than answered. A message comes, promising not merely what he has asked, but more than he has asked.

The message does not come from Nature-taking the word 'Nature' to mean the generally known system of finite things. The natural system meets many a want, for which, time after time, we have recourse to it; but it breaks down before the experiences of conscious evil impulses, of approaching death, and of the long parting from friends.

Nor does the message come from Morality-taking the word 'Morality' to mean the region which the mind comes to apprehend as outside of Nature and in contrast to it, or the relation, involving distance, which exists between the soul and God. Of course the words 'moral' and 'morality' may be used in a sense according to which they might be made to indicate the true source of the gospel-message. In a correct enough sense of the words, the source of good tidings is in a 'moral' government, and the realisation of the promise is living a 'moral' life. But this is using the words in such a way as to anticipate the reconciliation between Nature and that which is here called Morality. There is a distinguishable region constituted by the relation

implying immeasurable distance, which exists between ourselves and God. It is the apprehension of this region which first rouses us to turn a critical eye on Nature, and perceive our many needs. But this opposite region, while occasioning our knowledge of the needs, does not fully supply them. It puts us on the way of having them supplied. It turns the gaze towards God. And some have thought that there is no other satisfaction to be found than in becoming devoted to Morality. Such seek salvation in merely flying from Nature, abjuring, on their own part, all further care for their personal wants. But apart from the objection that there is thus promised no complete satisfaction, Morality becomes itself the centre of new needs. And what occasions the knowledge of these new needs is the abandoned Nature itself. Nature and Morality are regions of heterogeneous character, continually breaking out into war with one another. And as acquaintance with Morality leads us to find wants in Nature, so acquaintance with Nature, in its turn, leads us to the discovery of new wants in Morality. Morality, indeed, always resounds with a voice sacred and infallible, which assures each person that only in its own path can peace be found. Nevertheless, it presents at places such labyrinths of difficulty, that