that of a purely business arrangement. It is possible that their religious views may be in direct antagonism to those supported by the congregation where they sing, and therefore have no interest whatever in its prosperity, or, what is not uncommon, they may not believe in Christianity at all, or even in a Divine Being. Cases are not rare where star singers who split the ears of groundling sinners on the week-day, are called by some fashionable church to lead the devotions of the saints on the Sabbath. And with them the motive in both cases is the same, pecuniary consideration. As we write we are reminded of a humiliating confession made to us not long since by one of our own preachers. "All my singers," says he, and even the organist, are members of an opposite religious household." Rather han encourage such an anomalous state of things it would be more ereditable for a church to raise up its own singers. And if they should not happen to possess the same artistic merit, the congregation would, at least, have the satisfaction of knowing that they belonged to the same religious family, in full sympathy with its ideas and purpose, and identified with its interests and prosperity.

According to the usual standard of values, everything is worth what it brings in the market. It is a serious question, however, whether the interests of religion and the prosperity of a church are substantially promoted by the financial extravagance into which some of our parishes run on this subject. It is possible, indeed, that these large expenditures for music may be the wisest policy to adopt inasmuch as they furnish a powerful magnet to attract hearers to the sanctuary. The end is supposed to justify the means, since people had better attend church to hear the singing than not go at all, and that any instrumentality is therefore useful that will call them to the Sabbath service. This is hardly sound logic, because we can perceive of performances that would draw even larger audiences than the best of singing, for instance, the waltzing gyrations of a ballet troupe. It is clear, however, that there is this danger that must come from giving undue attention to the music of a church, namely, that the true object of church

going may be entirely lost sight of and defeated. It certainly cannot be flattering to the preacher to find that his work on the Sabbath occupies a subordinate position that the people do not come particularly to hear him, or because their hearts are feeling after God, or are thirsting for righteousness, but chiefly to listen to the melodious intonations of some musical artist. If societies find it absolutely necessary to give this extraordinary attention to this department of church service, we would urge them by all means to so manage matters that a balance may be adjusted between the pulpit and the orchestra, or if prominence is to be given to either, it should be to the sermon rather than to the song.

A great deal might be said, had we space, in favor of strictly congregational singing. It has certain advantages which neither the choir nor quartette can supply. It best comports with the true idea of social worship. Few sights are more pleasing than to see young and old mingling their voices in praise and thanksgiving to the One Common Father in the temple of worship. All hearts in one tide of melody are giving united expressions of holy gratitude and joy. And one "in the spirit of the Lord's day" is often lifted to loftier heights of emotion by the singing of a large congregation than by the most studied performances of the drilled choir. Those common but grand tunes made venerable and sacred by age and association, breathing in their harmonious rhythm the very spirit of devotion, when taken up and sung with unction and force by any assembly, can never fail to furnish most appropriate music. Besides, not one of the least merits of congregational singing is that it often affords a remedy for the many evils and troubles connected with salaried or volunteer choirs. It is found useful and satisfactory in some of the largest congregations of our land. And to churches of humble means it has this commendable feature that its cost is comparatively slight, which is an item of no small consideration.

Varnum Lincoln.

ARTICLE VI.

The Growth of Religion.1

"From whence came religion?" is a question asked by all who hold a religion, the question of precepts and concepts and their comparison, which has occupied the mind ever since there was a religion, a question philosophized upon by philosophers both ancient and modern. But the question of why we believe, why we are, and why we imagine we are conscious of things, has not yet received the attention it deserves. Strauss has attempted to give his ideas in a book "The Old and New Faith," and defines religion as "a feeling of absolute dependence," but is so completely in the dark as to the true essence of religion that when, at the end of the second chapter of the book he asks himself whether he has any religion, he can only ans wr "Yes or No according as you understand it.”

Religion is not a new invention. As soon as we know anything of the thoughts of man we find him in possession of religion or possessed by religion? But what is religion? Various answers have been made to this question. The etymological meaning is here of little avail. According to Kant, religion is morality. When we look upon all our moral duties as Divine commands, that, he thinks, constitutes religion. Fichte, Kant's immediate successor, takes the opposite view. "Religion," he says, "is never practical and was never intended to influence our life. Religion is knowledge. It gives man a clearer insight to himself, answers the highest questions, and thus imparts to us a complete harmony with ourselves and a sanctification to our mind." Schliermacher says that religion consists of our complete dependence on something, which, though it determines us, we cannot determine in return. Religion according to Hegel is, or ought to be perfect freedom.

Each of these definitions seems at once as it is stated to 1 A Review of Max Müller on the "Growth of Religion as Illustrated by Religions of India."

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provoke another which meets it by a flat denial. The only way to define religion is to follow it up through its historic development until now, for it has been and is still in a process of historic evolution. The author (Max Müller) gives his definition of religion as follows: "Religion is a mental faculty which, independent of, nay in spite of sense and reason, enables man to appreciate the Infinite under different names and under varying disguises. Without that faculty, no religion, not even the lowest worship of idols and fetishes would be possible, and if we will listen attentively, we can hear in all religions a groaning of the spirit, a struggle to conceive the inconceivable, a longing after the Infinite, a love of God." The author objects to the word "faculty" in his definition, and is willing to use instead the term "potential energy."

There is no finite without the infinite. For every finite perception there is a concomitant perception or presentment of the Infinite. From the first act of touch, hearing or sight, we are brought into contact not only with the visible, but at the same time with an invisible universe, and we find men in all ages striving to look beyond the finite into the Infinite. The powers of nature all suggest an invisible power who is at the head of the universe and guides and controls it. Different nations have reached an apprehension of the Infinite in various ways. The author here considers whether fetishism is a primitive form of religion or not. History agrees in the fact that fetishism is the primitive form of religion. The word fetishism was first used in 1760 by DeBrosses, who collected materials of the religions of the ancient savage tribes. This author maintains that all nations began with fetishism except the religion of Israel, and that it began with fetishism, and this was followed by polytheism and monotheism; but if he had dared to search for fetishes in the Old Testament with the same zeal as he did in Egypt, Greece, Rome and elsewhere, he would have found them in the Urim and Thummim, the Teraphim, golden calves and brazen serpents. Portuguese navigators recognized at once the religion of the negroes of Gold Coast as feticos, because they were familiar with the amulet or talisman. They

were themselves fetish worshippers, and if they saw outward signs, would think that others were also. But the negroes, seeing them with their beads and incense, could say the same of the whites. "A Fetish," says DeBrosses, "is anything selected for worship, and to this object their prayers are addressed." There is a great difficulty in the study of savages, for they are not all a mass with one belief, as is commonly supposed, but are divided into tribes, and each tribe has its own particular religion, and they are not so destitute of history, religion and knowledge as has been supposed.

There are retrogressions as well as progressions in religion, and those nations which have once reached the highest point of doctrine or philosophy, may have sunk back into the grovelling worship of idols. Religion is universal among savages. The idea that they have not religion is the result of inaccurate statement and lack of investigation and the generally accepted belief that savages have none of the virtues of humanity. But each tribe or clan has its own religion and each its higher or lower views. The Fijians look upon the shooting stars as gods and the smaller ones as souls of men. The whole meaning of their theology depends upon the word soul, which in its original sense meant shadow. It does not infer from this that a shadow is a soul, but that the soul is used figuratively as meaning something individual and inseparable, yet unsubstantial. From the idea of a shadow, a conception of a second self arose, and that second self was united with another, breath, which stays with us in life but departs at death, and a concept of something separate from the body, but endowed with life, was elaborated from these concepts. Here is the transition from the material to the immaterial, the departure of the breath into the second self.

The religion of the savages is personal and therefore changeable. They have no Bible nor any sacred teaching. Religion floats in the air, and man may take as much or as little as he likes. Priests among the savage tribes differ greatly. Everything which is revered is not a fetish. If it were so we would have many worshippers to-day of that description in our