RELIGION AND THEOLOGY.*

"I LOVE flowers, but I hate botany; I love religion, but I hate theology." These are not my words: I am quoting them. I quote, indeed, from memory; but, whether they are verbally accurate or not, I am quite sure of the accuracy of the thought. They are words which are reported to have been uttered here by a popular evangelist within a year, and they undoubtedly express a very wide-spread popular feeling. And yet there is the most delicious absurdity underlying them. As though there could be the fair outline, the dainty tinting, the sweet fragrance, of the violet or the rose, except for the underlying plan, the fibrous framework, that supports it and enables it to be!

The other night, in Tremont Temple, the Rev. Joseph Parker, D.D., of London, spoke very earnestly against scientific theologians, going so far as to say,-what I think he himself would admit to be a little exaggeration,—that they had been guilty of more injury to religion than all the infidels. As though there could be rational religion - religion that could appeal to men's brains, that they could hold with personal self-respect—without careful, systematic, underlying thought! Every little while, you will hear persons, particularly among the attendants at the old churches, expressing their rejoicing over the fact that their minister does not any longer preach theology. They will tell you that he gives them only practical, every-day sermons, sermons intended to help in daily life. As though a sermon could be practical and could be of any value as a help to any one, unless underlying it there was a theory of life, unless it told which way to go and what to do, and unless it contained a reason as

to why! And they will add sometimes, as an explanation, showing really what they are thinking, that their minister does, indeed, once in a while,- once a year, perhaps,— bring out his old theology and give a theological sermon; and then he will put it away again for another year. If, indeed, this be true, it is an insult both to the minister's brain and to his honesty. I speak of this, however, as indicating a popular type of thought, or what passes for thought, at the present time. It is a popular type of feeling, rather

let me say.

Now, let us face this matter for a few moments, and really see just what we mean. It requires only a little thought to convince us that theory underlies everything. Theory underlies practice in every department of human life. When people are talking about religion and theology, what do they mean precisely? If you press them a little closely, I suppose that they would concede it is something like this: religion covers, to their minds, the practical, every-day goodness of human life. It is the way people feel; it is the way they treat their neighbors; it is the way they conduct their business; it is a question of honesty, of purity, of truth, of integrity; it is, in a general way, a question of goodness. Theology, these people think, is only theorizing,- something that is in the air, that may very well be separated from this practical goodness. But, underlying all practical goodness. that passes under the name of religion, everywhere and always, is theology; for theology is nothing more nor less than the theory of religion, the theory of goodness, the theory of feeling and conduct that we cherish and practise. Theory, then, as I have said, underlies everything, as any man who has ever given two thoughts to it in his life will see. From the time he rises in the morning until he goes to sleep at night,-in his business; in his store, if he is a merchant; in his lawyer's office, if he is a lawyer; in his work as a mechanic, if he is a mechanic; in his day labor, if he is to be a day laborer,— wherever he may be and whatever engaged in, he is working on a theory, a theory

as to how this particular thing can best be performed, though he may never have waked up to think of it as a theory. He may never have asked himself a question about it in his life. He may have inherited it, or borrowed it, or have come into possession of it in some unconscious way; but every step he takes, every word he speaks, every action he does, implies an underlying theory of life. Not only that, but the amount of success which he attains depends always, other things being equal, upon the general accuracy of his theory. If he succeeds without thinking anything about it, it is because he has stumbled, or blundered, into the possession of a theory sufficiently accurate to lead him to success. All the failure in the world comes from the single fact that men misconceive the actual realities of the universe about them, have false theories about them, and this leads them into false methods and ways of conduct. Take the farmer as an illustration. He may never have thought much about the matter of soil, of enriching it, or as to what crops he ought to plant in particular fields, or of the general methods of his work; but even the stupidest farmer in all New England is working every year upon somebody's theory as to how the work on a farm ought to be carried on. Perhaps he has picked it up from his father where he left it, and has never attempted to improve it; but he is working out somebody's theory, and the measure of his success depends on the measure of the accuracy of the theory on which he is working, consciously or unconsciously. But, if he is ever to make any improvement in his farm, it will be done, in the first instance, by thought and study that will enable him to form a better theory as to how his work ought to be carried on.

Let me give you one more illustration. We have been considerably exercised in Boston lately over the success of the famous yacht that has been designed and planned by a Boston man. We are proud of the fact that to-day we stand as champions of the world in this particular. But, if you will give it a little careful thought, you will arrive at the