“The mill will never grind
    With the water that is past.”

The old appeal, which fixed attention upon the interest of the individual, has lost its power.  It is not possible to stir the average human being of this generation, as the average human being of fifty years ago was stirred, by pictures of the terrors of hell and the felicities of heaven.  These conceptions have far less influence over human lives than once they had,—­less, doubtless, than they ought to have; for there are realities under these symbols which we cannot afford to ignore.  But the fundamental defect of that old appeal was the emphasis which it placed upon self-interest.  “Look out for yourself!” was its constant admonition.  “Think of the perils that threaten, of the blisses that invite!  Do not risk the pain; do not miss the blessedness!” To-day this does not seem a wholly worthy motive.  At any rate, it is below the highest.  Men feel that the religion of Christ has a larger meaning than this.  A presentation of the gospel which makes the welfare of the individual central does not grip the conscience and arouse the emotions as once it did.  For the conception of human welfare as social rather than individual has become common; that “great fund of altruistic feeling,” which, as Mr. Benjamin Kidd tells us, is the motive power of all our social reforms, is constantly stirring in human hearts; and although there are few whose lives are wholly ruled by this motive, there are fewer still who do not recognize it as the commanding motive; and a religious appeal which is based upon considerations essentially egoistic does not, therefore, awaken any large response in human hearts.

If the church wishes to regain her hold upon the people, she must learn to speak to the highest that is in them.  A man’s religion must consecrate his ideals.  A religion which invites him to live on a lower plane than the highest on which his thought travels cannot win his respect.  And therefore the new evangelism must learn to find its motive not in self-love, no matter how refined, but in the love that identifies the self with the neighbor.  It must bring home to the individual the truth which he already dimly knows, that his personal redemption is bound up with the redemption of the society to which he belongs; that he cannot be saved except as he becomes a savior of others; nay, that the one central sin from which he needs to be saved is indifference to the welfare of others, and a willingness to prosper at their expense.

The time has come for the church to take an entirely new attitude in offering men the gospel.  It has been too well content with pressing the personal advantages of religion, with trying to lure them into discipleship with baits addressed to their selfishness.  It has been inventing attractions of all sorts,—­fine buildings, sumptuous upholstery and decorations, artistic music, brilliant oratory; it has thought it possible to enlist men by pleasing their tastes and gratifying their sensibilities.  So far has this gone that the average churchgoer consciously justifies his presence in church or his absence from it on the ground of pleasure.  If it pleases him enough, he goes; if not, he reads the Sunday paper or goes out with his automobile.  It is a simple question of enjoyment.