nge or its incidental expression in
literature and custom. Yet these indirect symptoms are so striking that
even an outsider, if at all observant, need not fear to misinterpret
them. Taken externally, Protestantism is, of course, a form of
Christianity; it retains the Bible and a more or less copious selection
of patristic doctrines. But in its spirit and inward inspiration it is
something quite as independent of Judea as of Rome. It is simply the
natural religion of the Teutons raising its head above the flood of
Roman and Judean influences. Its character may be indicated by saying
that it is a religion of pure spontaneity, of emotional freedom, deeply
respecting itself but scarcely deciphering its purposes. It is the
self-consciousness of a spirit in process of incubation, jealous of its
potentialities, averse to definitions and finalities of any kind because
it can itself discern nothing fixed or final. It is adventurous and
puzzled by the world, full of rudimentary virtues and clear fire,
energetic, faithful, rebellious to experience, inexpert in all matters
of art and mind. It boasts, not without cause, of its depth and purity;
but this depth and purity are those of any formless and primordial
substance. It keeps unsullied that antecedent integrity which is at the
bottom of every living thing and at its core; it is not acquainted with
that ulterior integrity, that sanctity, which might be attained at the
summit of experience through reason and speculative dominion. It
accordingly mistakes vitality, both in itself and in the universe, for
spiritual life.

[Sidenote: The Protestant spirit remote from that of the gospel.]

This underlying Teutonic religion, which we must call Protestantism for
lack of a better name, is anterior to Christianity and can survive it.
To identify it with the Gospel may have seemed possible so long as, in
opposition to pagan Christianity, the Teutonic spirit could appeal to
the Gospel for support. The Gospel has indeed nothing pagan about it,
but it has also nothing Teutonic; and the momentary alliance of two such
disparate forces must naturally cease with the removal of the common
enemy which alone united them. The Gospel is unworldly, disenchanted,
ascetic; it treats ecclesiastical establishments with tolerant contempt,
conforming to them with indifference; it regards prosperity as a danger,
earthly ties as a burden, Sabbaths as a superstition; it revels in
miracles; it is democratic and