decays in death.  The resurrection of the flesh is explicitly denied (1 Cor. xv. 50); but a new and incorruptible ‘clothing’ will be given to the soul in the future state.  Already the fundamental Pharisaic doctrine of the two ages—­the present age and that which is to come—­is in danger.  St. Paul can now, like a true Greek, contrast the things that are seen, which are temporal, with the things that are not seen, which are eternal.  The doctrine of the Spirit as a present possession of Christians brings down heaven to earth and exalts earth to heaven; the ‘Parousia’ is now only the end of the existing world-order, and has but little significance for the individual.  These ideas have not displaced the earlier apocalyptic language; but it is easy to see that the one or the other must recede into the background, and that the Pharisaic tradition will be the one to fade.

The third group of Epistles—­Philippians, Colossians, and Ephesians—­are steeped in ideas which belong to Greek philosophy and the Greek mystery-religions.  It would be impossible to translate them into any Eastern language.  The Rabbinical disputes with the Jews about justification and election have disappeared; the danger ahead is now from theosophy and the barbarised Platonism which was afterwards matured in Gnosticism.  The teaching is even more Christocentric than before; and the Catholic doctrine of the Church as the body of Christ is more prominent than individualistic mysticism.  The cosmology is thoroughly Johannine, and only awaits the name of the Logos.

This receptiveness to new ideas is one of the most remarkable features in St. Paul’s mind.  Few indeed are the religious prophets and preachers whose convictions are still malleable after they have begun to govern the minds of others.  St. Paul had already proved that he was a man who would ‘follow the gleam,’ even when it called him to a complete breach with his past.  And the further development of his thought was made much easier by the fact that he was no systematic philosopher, but a great missionary who was willing to be all things to all men, while his own faith was unified by his strength of purpose, and by the steady glow of the light within.

It is difficult for us to realise the life of his little communities without importing into the picture features which belong to a later time.  The organisation, such as it was, was democratic.  The congregation as a whole exercised a censorship over the morals of its members, and penalties were inflicted ‘by vote of the majority’ (2 Cor. ii. 6).  The family formed a group for religious purposes, and remained the recognised unit till the second century.  In Ignatius and Hermas we find the campaign against family churches in full swing.  The meetings were like those of modern revivalists, and sometimes became disorderly.  But of the moral beauty which pervaded the whole life of the brotherhoods there can be no doubt.  Many of the converts had formerly led