The second was the readiness of the Western mind to accept the philosophy of Israel,--a philosophy with the master principles of which it had long been subconsciously familiar, and for the clear and convincing presentation of which it had long been waiting.

Of the personal magnetism of Christ and the part that it has played in the life of Christendom, I need not now speak.

My present concern is to show how the philosophy of Israel--accepted nominally for Christ's sake, but really for its own--has influenced the educational policy of the West.
In the Old Testament the Western mind found itself face to face with the philosophical theories--theories about the world and its origin, about Man and his destiny, about conduct and its consequences--to which its own mythologies had given inadequate expression, but which the poetical genius of a practical people was able to formulate to the satisfaction of a practical world.

In the philosophy of Israel "Nature" was conceived of, not as animated by an indwelling life or soul, but as the handiwork of an omnipotent God.

In six days--so runs the story--"God created the heavens and the earth." Whether by the word which we translate as "days" were meant terrestrial days or cosmic ages matters nothing, for in either case the broad fact remains that according to the Biblical narrative the work of creation occupied a definite period of time, and that on a certain day in the remote past the Creator rested from his labours, surveyed his handiwork, and pronounced it to be very good.
His next step was to stand aside from the world that he had made, leave it to its own devices and see how it would behave itself in the person of its lord and his viceroy,--Man.