{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_65688/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_65688","id":"gutenberg_65688","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65688","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - Other","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Catholic Church -- Apologetic works","Christianity and other religions","Religion"],"text":"THE EVERLASTING MAN\n\n\n\n\n                                  THE\n                            EVERLASTING MAN\n\n                                  BY\n                           G. K. CHESTERTON\n\n\n                         HODDER AND STOUGHTON\n                          LIMITED      LONDON\n\n\n                   Made and Printed in Great Britain\n             T. and A. CONSTABLE LTD., Printers, Edinburgh\n\n\n\n\nPREFATORY NOTE\n\n\nThis book needs a preliminary note that its scope be not misunderstood.\nThe view suggested is historical rather than theological, and does not\ndeal directly with a religious change which has been the chief event of\nmy own life; and about which I am already writing a more purely\ncontroversial volume. It is impossible, I hope, for any Catholic to\nwrite any book on any subject, above all this subject, without showing\nthat he is a Catholic; but this study is not specially concerned with\nthe differences between a Catholic and a Protestant. Much of it is\ndevoted to many sorts of Pagans rather than any sort of Christians; and\nits thesis is that those who say that Christ stands side by side with\nsimilar myths, and his religion side by side with similar religions, are\nonly repeating a very stale formula contradicted by a very striking\nfact. To suggest this I have not needed to go much beyond matters known\nto us all; I make no claim to learning; and have to depend for some\nthings, as has rather become the fashion, on those who are more learned.\nAs I have more than once differed from Mr. H. G. Wells in his view of\nhistory, it is the more right that I should here congratulate him on the\ncourage and constructive imagination which carried through his vast and\nvaried and intensely interesting work; but still more on having asserted\nthe reasonable right of the amateur to do what he can with the facts\nwhich the specialists provide.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                                    PAGE\n\nINTRODUCTION: THE PLAN OF THIS BOOK                                    3\n\n\n                               _PART I_\n\n                      ON THE CREATURE CALLED MAN\n\nCHAP.\n\n   I. THE MAN IN THE CAVE                                             19\n\n  II. PROFESSORS AND PREHISTORIC MEN                                  39\n\n III. THE ANTIQUITY OF CIVILISATION                                   58\n\n  IV. GOD AND COMPARATIVE RELIGION                                    89\n\n   V. MAN AND MYTHOLOGIES                                            111\n\n  VI. THE DEMONS AND THE PHILOSOPHERS                                129\n\n VII. THE WAR OF THE GODS AND DEMONS                                 154\n\nVIII. THE END OF THE WORLD                                           171\n\n\n                               _PART II_\n\n                       ON THE MAN CALLED CHRIST\n\nCHAP.\n\n  I. THE GOD IN THE CAVE                                             191\n\n II. THE RIDDLES OF THE GOSPEL                                       211\n\nIII. THE STRANGEST STORY IN THE WORLD                                227\n\n IV. THE WITNESS OF THE HERETICS                                     245\n\n  V. THE ESCAPE FROM PAGANISM                                        267\n\n VI. THE FIVE DEATHS OF THE FAITH                                    288\n\n\nCONCLUSION: THE SUMMARY OF THIS BOOK                                 302\n\nAPPENDIX I.: ON PREHISTORIC MAN                                      313\n\nAPPENDIX II.: ON AUTHORITY AND ACCURACY                              315\n\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nTHE PLAN OF THIS BOOK\n\n\nThere are two ways of getting home; and one of them is to stay there.\nThe other is to walk round the whole world till we come back to the same\nplace; and I tried to trace such a journey in a story I once wrote. It\nis, however, a relief to turn from that topic to another story that I\nnever wrote. Like every book I never wrote, it is by far the best book I\nhave ever written. It is only too probable that I shall never write it,\nso I will use it symbolically here; for it was a symbol of the same\ntruth. I conceived it as a romance of those vast valleys with sloping\nsides, like those along which the ancient White Horses of Wessex are\nscrawled along the flanks of the hills. It concerned some boy whose farm\nor cottage stood on such a slope, and who went on his travels to find\nsomething, such as the effigy and grave of some giant; and when he was\nfar enough from home he looked back and saw that his own farm and\nkitchen-garden, shining flat on the hill-side like the colours and\nquarterings of a shield, were but parts of some such gigantic figure, on\nwhich he had always lived, but which was too large and too close to be\nseen. That, I think, is a true picture of the progress of any real\nindependent intelligence to-day; and that is the point of this book.\n\nThe point of this book, in other words, is that the next best thing to\nbeing really inside Christendom is to be really outside it. And a\nparticular point of it is that the popular critics of Christianity are\nnot really outside it. They are on a debatable ground, in every sense\nof the term. They are doubtful in their very doubts. Their criticism has\ntaken on a curious tone; as of a random and illiterate heckling. Thus\nthey make current an anti-clerical cant as a sort of small-talk. They\nwill complain of parsons dressing like parsons; as if we should be any\nmore free if all the police who shadowed or collared us were\nplain-clothes detectives. Or they will complain that a sermon cannot be\ninterrupted, and call a pulpit a coward\u2019s castle; though they do not\ncall an editor\u2019s office a coward\u2019s castle. It would be unjust both to\njournalists and priests; but it would be much truer of journalists. The\nclergyman appears in person and could easily be kicked as he came out of\nchurch; the journalist conceals even his name so that nobody can kick\nhim. They write wild and pointless articles and letters in the press\nabout why the churches are empty, without even going there to find out\nif they are empty, or which of them are empty. Their suggestions are\nmore vapid and vacant than the most insipid curate in a three-act farce,\nand move us to comfort him after the manner of the curate in the Bab\nBallads; \u2018Your mind is not so blank as that of Hopley Porter.\u2019 So we may\ntruly say to the very feeblest cleric: \u2018Your mind is not so blank as\nthat of Indignant Layman or Plain Man or Man in the Street, or any of\nyour critics in the newspapers; for they have not the most shadowy\nnotion of what they want themselves, let alone of what you ought to give\nthem.\u2019 They will suddenly turn round and revile the Church for not\nhaving prevented the War, which they themselves did not want to prevent;\nand which nobody had ever professed to be able to prevent, except some\nof that very school of progressive and cosmopolitan sceptics who are the\nchief enemies of the Church. It was the anti-clerical and agnostic world\nthat was always prophesying the advent of universal peace; it is that\nworld that was, or should have been, abashed and confounded by the\nadvent of universal war. As for the general view that the Church was\ndiscredited by the War--they might as well say that the Ark was\ndiscredited by the Flood. When the world goes wrong, it proves rather\nthat the Church is right. The Church is justified, not because her\nchildren do not sin, but because they do. But that marks their mood\nabout the whole religious tradition: they are in a state of reaction\nagainst it. It is well with the boy when he lives on his father\u2019s land;\nand well with him again when he is far enough from it to look back on it\nand see it as a whole. But these people have got into an intermediate\nstate, have fallen into an intervening valley from which they can see\nneither the heights beyond them nor the heights behind. They cannot get\nout of the penumbra of Christian controversy. They cannot be Christians\nand they cannot leave off being Anti-Christians. Their whole atmosphere\nis the atmosphere of a reaction: sulks, perversity, petty criticism.\nThey still live in the shadow of the faith and have lost the light of\nthe faith.\n\nNow the best relation to our spiritual home is to be near enough to love\nit. But the next best is to be far enough away not to hate it. It is the\ncontention of these pages that while the best judge of Christianity is a\nChristian, the next best judge would be something more like a Confucian.\nThe worst judge of all is the man now most ready with his judgments; the\nill-educated Christian turning gradually into the ill-tempered agnostic,\nentangled in the end of a feud of which he never understood the\nbeginning, blighted with a sort of hereditary boredom with he knows not\nwhat, and already weary of hearing what he has never heard. He does not\njudge Christianity calmly as a Confucian would; he does not judge it as\nhe would judge Confucianism. He cannot by an effort of fancy set the\nCatholic Church thousands of miles away in strange skies of morning and\njudge it as impartially as a Chinese pagoda. It is said that the great\nSt. Francis Xavier, who very nearly succeeded in setting up the Church\nthere as a tower overtopping all pagodas, failed partly because his\nfollowers were accused by their fellow missionaries of representing the\nTwelve Apostles with the garb or attributes of Chinamen. But it would be\nfar better to see them as Chinamen, and judge them fairly as Chinamen,\nthan to see them as featureless idols merely made to be battered by\niconoclasts; or rather as cockshies to be pelted by empty-headed\ncockneys. It would be better to see the whole thing as a remote Asiatic\ncult; the mitres of its bishops as the towering head-dresses of\nmysterious bonzes; its pastoral staffs as the sticks twisted like\nserpents carried in some Asiatic procession; to see the prayer-book as\nfantastic as the prayer-wheel and the Cross as crooked as the Swastika.\nThen at least we should not lose our temper as some of the sceptical\ncritics seem to lose their temper, not to mention their wits. Their\nanti-clericalism has become an atmosphere, an atmosphere of negation and\nhostility from which they cannot escape. Compared with that, it would be\nbetter to see the whole thing as something belonging to another\ncontinent, or to another planet. It would be more philosophical to stare\nindifferently at bonzes than to be perpetually and pointlessly grumbling\nat bishops. It would be better to walk past a church as if it were a\npagoda than to stand permanently in the porch, impotent either to go\ninside and help or to go outside and forget. For those in whom a mere\nreaction has thus become an obsession, I do seriously recommend the\nimaginative effort of conceiving the Twelve Apostles as Chinamen. In\nother words, I recommend these critics to try to do as much justice to\nChristian saints as if they were Pagan sages.\n\nBut with this we come to the final and vital point. I shall try to show\nin these pages that when we _do_ make this imaginative effort to see the\nwhole thing from the outside, we find that it really looks like what is\ntraditionally said about it inside. It is exactly when the boy gets far\nenough off to see the giant that he sees that he really is a giant. It\nis exactly when we do at last see the Christian Church afar under those\nclear and level eastern skies that we see that it is really the Church\nof Christ. To put it shortly, the moment we are really impartial about\nit we know why people are partial to it. But this second proposition\nrequires more serious discussion; and I shall here set myself to discuss\nit.\n\nAs soon as I had clearly in my mind this conception of something solid\nin the solitary and unique character of the divine story, it struck me\nthat there was exactly the same strange and yet solid character in the\nhuman story that had led up to it; because that human story also had a\nroot that was divine. I mean that just as the Church seems to grow more\nremarkable when it is fairly compared with the common religious life of\nmankind, so mankind itself seems to grow more remarkable when we compare\nit with the common life of nature. And I have noticed that most modern\nhistory is driven to something like sophistry, first to soften the sharp\ntransition from animals to men, and then to soften the sharp transition\nfrom heathens to Christians. Now the more we really read in a realistic\nspirit of those two transitions the sharper we shall find them to be. It\nis because the critics are _not_ detached that they do not see this\ndetachment; it is because they are not looking at things in a dry light\nthat they cannot see the difference between black and white. It is\nbecause they are in a particular mood of reaction and revolt that they\nhave a motive for making out that all the white is dirty grey and the\nblack not so black as it is painted. I do not say there are not human\nexcuses for their revolt; I do not say it is not in some ways\nsympathetic; what I say is that it is not in any way scientific. An\niconoclast may be indignant; an iconoclast may be justly indignant; but\nan iconoclast is not impartial. And it is stark hypocrisy to pretend\nthat nine-tenths of the higher critics and scientific evolutionists and\nprofessors of comparative religion are in the least impartial. Why\nshould they be impartial, what is being impartial, when the whole world\nis at war about whether one thing is a devouring superstition or a\ndivine hope? I do not pretend to be impartial in the sense that the\nfinal act of faith fixes a man\u2019s mind because it satisfies his mind. But\nI do profess to be a great deal more impartial than they are; in the\nsense that I can tell the story fairly, with some sort of imaginative\njustice to all sides; and they cannot. I do profess to be impartial in\nthe sense that I should be ashamed to talk such nonsense about the Lama\nof Thibet as they do about the Pope of Rome, or to have as little\nsympathy with Julian the Apostate as they have with the Society of\nJesus. They are not impartial; they never by any chance hold the\nhistorical scales even; and above all they are never impartial upon this\npoint of evolution and transition. They suggest everywhere the grey\ngradations of twilight, because they believe it is the twilight of the\ngods. I propose to maintain that whether or no it is the twilight of\ngods, it is not the daylight of men.\n\nI maintain that when brought out into the daylight, these two things\nlook altogether strange and unique; and that it is only in the false\ntwilight of an imaginary period of transition that they can be made to\nlook in the least like anything else. The first of these is the creature\ncalled man, and the second is the man called Christ. I have therefore\ndivided this book into two parts: the former being a sketch of the main\nadventure of the human race in so far as it remained heathen; and the\nsecond a summary of the real difference that was made by it becoming\nChristian. Both motives necessitate a certain method, a method which is\nnot very easy to manage, and perhaps even less easy to define or defend.\n\nIn order to strike, in the only sane or possible sense, the note of\nimpartiality, it is necessary to touch the nerve of novelty. I mean that\nin one sense we see things fairly when we see them first. That, I may\nremark in passing, is why children generally have very little difficulty\nabout the dogmas of the Church. But the Church, being a highly practical\nthing for working and fighting, is necessarily a thing for men and not\nmerely for children. There must be in it for working purposes a great\ndeal of tradition, of familiarity, and even of routine. So long as its\nfundamentals are sincerely felt, this may even be the saner condition.\nBut when its fundamentals are doubted, as at present, we must try to\nrecover the candour and wonder of the child; the unspoilt realism and\nobjectivity of innocence. Or if we cannot do that, we must try at least\nto shake off the cloud of mere custom and see the thing as new, if only\nby seeing it as unnatural. Things that may well be familiar so long as\nfamiliarity breeds affection had much better become unfamiliar when\nfamiliarity breeds contempt. For in connection with things so great as\nare here considered, whatever our view of them, contempt must be a\nmistake. Indeed contempt must be an illusion. We must invoke the most\nwild and soaring sort of imagination; the imagination that can see what\nis there.\n\nThe only way to suggest the point is by an example of something, indeed\nof almost anything, that has been considered beautiful or wonderful.\nGeorge Wyndham once told me that he had seen one of the first aeroplanes\nrise for the first time, and it was very wonderful; but not so wonderful\nas a horse allowing a man to ride on him. Somebody else has said that a\nfine man on a fine horse is the noblest bodily object in the world. Now,\nso long as people feel this in the right way, all is well. The first and\nbest way of appreciating it is to come of people with a tradition of\ntreating animals properly; of men in the right relation to horses. A boy\nwho remembers his father who rode a horse, who rode it well and treated\nit well, will know that the relation can be satisfactory and will be\nsatisfied. He will be all the more indignant at the ill-treatment of\nhorses because he knows how they ought to be treated; but he will see\nnothing but what is normal in a man riding on a horse. He will not\nlisten to the great modern philosopher who explains to him that the\nhorse ought to be riding on the man. He will not pursue the pessimist\nfancy of Swift and say that men must be despised as monkeys, and horses\nworshipped as gods. And horse and man together making an image that is\nto him human and civilised, it will be easy, as it were, to lift horse\nand man together into something heroic or symbolical; like a vision of\nSt. George in the clouds. The fable of the winged horse will not be\nwholly unnatural to him: and he will know why Ariosto set many a\nChristian hero in such an airy saddle, and made him the rider of the\nsky. For the horse has really been lifted up along with the man in the\nwildest fashion in the very word we use when we speak of \u2018chivalry.\u2019 The\nvery name of the horse has been given to the highest mood and moment of\nthe man; so that we might almost say that the handsomest compliment to a\nman is to call him a horse.\n\nBut if a man has got into a mood in which he is _not_ able to feel this\nsort of wonder, then his cure must begin right at the other end. We must\nnow suppose that he has drifted into a dull mood, in which somebody\nsitting on a horse means no more than somebody sitting on a chair. The\nwonder of which Wyndham spoke, the beauty that made the thing seem an\nequestrian statue, the meaning of the more chivalric horseman, may have\nbecome to him merely a convention and a bore. Perhaps they have been\nmerely a fashion; perhaps they have gone out of fashion; perhaps they\nhave been talked about too much or talked about in the wrong way;\nperhaps it was then difficult to care for horses without the horrible\nrisk of being horsy. Anyhow, he has got into a condition when he cares\nno more for a horse than for a towel-horse. His grandfather\u2019s charge at\nBalaclava seems to him as dull and dusty as the album containing such\nfamily portraits. Such a person has not really become enlightened about\nthe album; on the contrary, he has only become blind with the dust. But\nwhen he has reached _that_ degree of blindness, he will not be able to\nlook at a horse or a horseman at all until he has seen the whole thing\nas a thing entirely unfamiliar and almost unearthly.\n\nOut of some dark forest under some ancient dawn there must come towards\nus, with lumbering yet dancing motions, one of the very queerest of the\nprehistoric creatures. We must see for the first time the strangely\nsmall head set on a neck not only longer but thicker than itself, as the\nface of a gargoyle is thrust out upon a gutter-spout, the one\ndisproportionate crest of hair running along the ridge of that heavy\nneck like a beard in the wrong place; the feet, each like a solid club\nof horn, alone amid the feet of so many cattle; so that the true fear is\nto be found in showing not the cloven but the uncloven hoof. Nor is it\nmere verbal fancy to see him thus as a unique monster; for in a sense a\nmonster means what is unique, and he is really unique. But the point is\nthat when we thus see him as the first man saw him, we begin once more\nto have some imaginative sense of what it meant when the first man rode\nhim. In such a dream he may seem ugly, but he does not seem\nunimpressive; and certainly that two-legged dwarf who could get on top\nof him will not seem unimpressive. By a longer and more erratic road we\nshall come back to the same marvel of the man and the horse; and the\nmarvel will be, if possible, even more marvellous. We shall have again a\nglimpse of St. George; the more glorious because St. George is not\nriding on the horse, but rather riding on the dragon.\n\nIn this example, which I have taken merely because it is an example, it\nwill be noted that I do not say that the nightmare seen by the first man\nof the forest is either more true or more wonderful than the normal mare\nof the stable seen by the civilised person who can appreciate what is\nnormal. Of the two extremes, I think on the whole that the traditional\ngrasp of truth is the better. But I say that the truth is found at one\nor other of these two extremes, and is lost in the intermediate\ncondition of mere fatigue and forgetfulness of tradition. In other\nwords, I say it is better to see a horse as a monster than to see it\nonly as a slow substitute for a motor-car. If we have got into _that_\nstate of mind about a horse as something stale, it is far better to be\nfrightened of a horse because it is a good deal too fresh.\n\nNow, as it is with the monster that is called a horse, so it is with the\nmonster that is called a man. Of course the best condition of all, in my\nopinion, is always to have regarded man as he is regarded in my\nphilosophy. He who holds the Christian and Catholic view of human nature\nwill feel certain that it is a universal and therefore a sane view, and\nwill be satisfied. But if he has lost the sane vision, he can only get\nit back by something very like a mad vision; that is, by seeing man as a\nstrange animal and realising how strange an animal he is. But just as\nseeing the horse as a prehistoric prodigy ultimately led back to, and\nnot away from, an admiration for the mastery of man, so the _really_\ndetached consideration of the curious career of man will lead back to,\nand not away from, the ancient faith in the dark designs of God. In\nother words, it is exactly when we do see how queer the quadruped is\nthat we praise the man who mounts him; and exactly when we do see how\nqueer the biped is that we praise the Providence that made him.\n\nIn short, it is the purpose of this introduction to maintain this\nthesis: that it is exactly when we do regard man as an animal that we\nknow he is not an animal. It is precisely when we do try to picture him\nas a sort of horse on its hind legs that we suddenly realise that he\nmust be something as miraculous as the winged horse that towered up into\nthe clouds of heaven. All roads lead to Rome, all ways lead round again\nto the central and civilised philosophy, including this road through\nelfland and topsyturvydom. But it may be that it is better never to have\nleft the land of a reasonable tradition, where men ride lightly upon\nhorses and are mighty hunters before the Lord.\n\nSo also in the specially Christian case we have to react against the\nheavy bias of fatigue. It is almost impossible to make the facts vivid,\nbecause the facts are familiar; and for fallen men it is often true that\nfamiliarity is fatigue. I am convinced that if we could tell the\nsupernatural story of Christ word for word as of a Chinese hero, call\nhim the Son of Heaven instead of the Son of God, and trace his rayed\nnimbus in the gold thread of Chinese embroideries or the gold lacquer of\nChinese pottery instead of in the gold leaf of our own old Catholic\npaintings, there would be a unanimous testimony to the spiritual purity\nof the story. We should hear nothing then of the injustice of\nsubstitution or the illogicality of atonement, of the superstitious\nexaggeration of the burden of sin or the impossible insolence of an\ninvasion of the laws of nature. We should admire the chivalry of the\nChinese conception of a god who fell from the sky to fight the dragons\nand save the wicked from being devoured by their own fault and folly.\nWe should admire the subtlety of the Chinese view of life, which\nperceives that all human imperfection is in very truth a crying\nimperfection. We should admire the Chinese esoteric and superior wisdom,\nwhich said there are higher cosmic laws than the laws we know; we\nbelieve every common Indian conjurer who chooses to come to us and talk\nin the same style. If Christianity were only a new oriental fashion, it\nwould never be reproached with being an old and oriental faith. I do not\npropose in this book to follow the alleged example of St. Francis Xavier\nwith the opposite imaginative intention, and turn the Twelve Apostles\ninto Mandarins; not so much to make them look like natives as to make\nthem look like foreigners. I do not propose to work what I believe would\nbe a completely successful practical joke; that of telling the whole\nstory of the Gospel and the whole history of the Church in a setting of\npagodas and pigtails; and noting with malignant humour how much it was\nadmired as a heathen story in the very quarters where it is condemned as\na Christian story. But I do propose to strike wherever possible this\nnote of what is new and strange, and for that reason the style even on\nso serious a subject may sometimes be deliberately grotesque and\nfanciful. I do desire to help the reader to see Christendom from the\noutside in the sense of seeing it as a whole, against the background of\nother historic things; just as I desire him to see humanity as a whole\nagainst the background of natural things. And I say that in both cases,\nwhen seen thus, they stand out from their background like supernatural\nthings. They do not fade into the rest with the colours of\nimpressionism; they stand out from the rest with the colours of\nheraldry; as vivid as a red cross on a white shield or a black lion on a\nground of gold. So stands the Red Clay against the green field of\nnature, or the White Christ against the red clay of his race.\n\nBut in order to see them clearly we have to see them as a whole. We have\nto see how they developed as well as how they began; for the most\nincredible part of the story is that things which began thus should have\ndeveloped thus. Any one who chooses to indulge in mere imagination can\nimagine that other things might have happened or other entities evolved.\nAny one thinking of what might have happened may conceive a sort of\nevolutionary equality; but any one facing what did happen must face an\nexception and a prodigy. If there was ever a moment when man was only an\nanimal, we can if we choose make a fancy picture of his career\ntransferred to some other animal. An entertaining fantasia might be made\nin which elephants built in elephantine architecture, with towers and\nturrets like tusks and trunks, cities beyond the scale of any colossus.\nA pleasant fable might be conceived in which a cow had developed a\ncostume, and put on four boots and two pairs of trousers. We could\nimagine a Supermonkey more marvellous than any Superman, a quadrumanous\ncreature carving and painting with his hands and cooking and\ncarpentering with his feet. But if we are considering what did happen,\nwe shall certainly decide that man has distanced everything else with a\ndistance like that of the astronomical spaces and a speed like that of\nthe still thunderbolt of the light. And in the same fashion, while we\ncan if we choose see the Church amid a mob of Mithraic or Manichean\nsuperstitions squabbling and killing each other at the end of the\nEmpire, while we can if we choose imagine the Church killed in the\nstruggle and some other chance cult taking its place, we shall be the\nmore surprised (and possibly puzzled) if we meet it two thousand years\nafterwards rushing through the ages as the winged thunderbolt of thought\nand everlasting enthusiasm; a thing without rival or resemblance; and\nstill as new as it is old.\n\n\n\n\nPART I\n\nON THE CREATURE CALLED MAN\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE MAN IN THE CAVE\n\n\nFar away in some strange constellation in skies infinitely remote, there\nis a small star, which astronomers may some day discover. At least I\ncould never observe in the faces or demeanour of most astronomers or men\nof science any evidence that they had discovered it; though as a matter\nof fact they were walking about on it all the time. It is a star that\nbrings forth out of itself very strange plants and very strange animals;\nand none stranger than the men of science. That at least is the way in\nwhich I should begin a history of the world if I had to follow the\nscientific custom of beginning with an account of the astronomical\nuniverse. I should try to see even this earth from the outside, not by\nthe hackneyed insistence of its relative position to the sun, but by\nsome imaginative effort to conceive its remote position for the\ndehumanised spectator. Only I do not believe in being dehumanised in\norder to study humanity. I do not believe in dwelling upon the distances\nthat are supposed to dwarf the world; I think there is even something a\ntrifle vulgar about this idea of trying to rebuke spirit by size. And as\nthe first idea is not feasible, that of making the earth a strange\nplanet so as to make it significant, I will not stoop to the other trick\nof making it a small planet in order to make it insignificant. I would\nrather insist that we do not even know that it is a planet at all, in\nthe sense in which we know that it is a place; and a very extraordinary\nplace too. That is the note which I wish to strike from the first, if\nnot in the astronomical, then in some more familiar fashion.\n\nOne of my first journalistic adventures, or misadventures, concerned a\ncomment on Grant Allen, who had written a book about the Evolution of\nthe Idea of God. I happened to remark that it would be much more\ninteresting if God wrote a book about the evolution of the idea of Grant\nAllen. And I remember that the editor objected to my remark on the\nground that it was blasphemous; which naturally amused me not a little.\nFor the joke of it was, of course, that it never occurred to him to\nnotice the title of the book itself, which really was blasphemous; for\nit was, when translated into English, \u2018I will show you how this\nnonsensical notion that there is a God grew up among men.\u2019 My remark was\nstrictly pious and proper; confessing the divine purpose even in its\nmost seemingly dark or meaningless manifestations. In that hour I\nlearned many things, including the fact that there is something purely\nacoustic in much of that agnostic sort of reverence. The editor had not\nseen the point, because in the title of the book the long word came at\nthe beginning and the short word at the end; whereas in my comment the\nshort word came at the beginning and gave him a sort of shock. I have\nnoticed that if you put a word like God into the same sentence with a\nword like dog, these abrupt and angular words affect people like\npistol-shots. Whether you say that God made the dog or the dog made God\ndoes not seem to matter; that is only one of the sterile disputations of\nthe too subtle theologians. But so long as you begin with a long word\nlike evolution the rest will roll harmlessly past; very probably the\neditor had not read the whole of the title, for it is rather a long\ntitle and he was rather a busy man.\n\nBut this little incident has always lingered in my mind as a sort of\nparable. Most modern histories of mankind begin with the word evolution,\nand with a rather wordy exposition of evolution, for much the same\nreason that operated in this case. There is something slow and soothing\nand gradual about the word and even about the idea. As a matter of fact,\nit is not, touching these primary things, a very practical word or a\nvery profitable idea. Nobody can imagine how nothing could turn into\nsomething. Nobody can get an inch nearer to it by explaining how\nsomething could turn into something else. It is really far more logical\nto start by saying \u2018In the beginning God created heaven and earth\u2019 even\nif you only mean \u2018In the beginning some unthinkable power began some\nunthinkable process.\u2019 For God is by its nature a name of mystery, and\nnobody ever supposed that man could imagine how a world was created any\nmore than he could create one. But evolution really is mistaken for\nexplanation. It has the fatal quality of leaving on many minds the\nimpression that they do understand it and everything else; just as many\nof them live under a sort of illusion that they have read the _Origin of\nSpecies_.\n\nBut this notion of something smooth and slow, like the ascent of a\nslope, is a great part of the illusion. It is an illogicality as well as\nan illusion; for slowness has really nothing to do with the question. An\nevent is not any more intrinsically intelligible or unintelligible\nbecause of the pace at which it moves. For a man who does not believe in\na miracle, a slow miracle would be just as incredible as a swift one.\nThe Greek witch may have turned sailors to swine with a stroke of the\nwand. But to see a naval gentleman of our acquaintance looking a little\nmore like a pig every day, till he ended with four trotters and a curly\ntail, would not be any more soothing. It might be rather more creepy and\nuncanny. The medieval wizard may have flown through the air from the top\nof a tower; but to see an old gentleman walking through the air, in a\nleisurely and lounging manner, would still seem to call for some\nexplanation. Yet there runs through all the rationalistic treatment of\nhistory this curious and confused idea that difficulty is avoided, or\neven mystery eliminated, by dwelling on mere delay or on something\ndilatory in the processes of things. There will be something to be said\nupon particular examples elsewhere; the question here is the false\natmosphere of facility and ease given by the mere suggestion of going\nslow; the sort of comfort that might be given to a nervous old woman\ntravelling for the first time in a motor-car.\n\nMr. H. G. Wells has confessed to being a prophet; and in this matter he\nwas a prophet at his own expense. It is curious that his first\nfairy-tale was a complete answer to his last book of history. The Time\nMachine destroyed in advance all comfortable conclusions founded on the\nmere relativity of time. In that sublime nightmare the hero saw trees\nshoot up like green rockets, and vegetation spread visibly like a green\nconflagration, or the sun shoot across the sky from east to west with\nthe swiftness of a meteor. Yet in his sense these things were quite as\nnatural when they went swiftly; and in our sense they are quite as\nsupernatural when they go slowly. The ultimate question is why they go\nat all; and anybody who really understands that question will know that\nit always has been and always will be a religious question; or at any\nrate a philosophical or metaphysical question. And most certainly he\nwill not think the question answered by some substitution of gradual for\nabrupt change; or, in other words, by a merely relative question of the\nsame story being spun out or rattled rapidly through, as can be done\nwith any story at a cinema by turning a handle.\n\nNow what is needed for these problems of primitive existence is\nsomething more like a primitive spirit. In calling up this vision of the\nfirst things, I would ask the reader to make with me a sort of\nexperiment in simplicity. And by simplicity I do not mean stupidity, but\nrather the sort of clarity that sees things like life rather than words\nlike evolution. For this purpose it would really be better to turn the\nhandle of the Time Machine a little more quickly and see the grass\ngrowing and the trees springing up into the sky, if that experiment\ncould contract and concentrate and make vivid the upshot of the whole\naffair. What we know, in a sense in which we know nothing else, is that\nthe trees and the grass did grow and that a number of other\nextraordinary things do in fact happen; that queer creatures support\nthemselves in the empty air by beating it with fans of various fantastic\nshapes; that other queer creatures steer themselves about alive under a\nload of mighty waters; that other queer creatures walk about on four\nlegs, and that the queerest creature of all walks about on two. These\nare things and not theories; and compared with them evolution and the\natom and even the solar system are merely theories. The matter here is\none of history and not of philosophy; so that it need only be noted that\nno philosopher denies that a mystery still attaches to the two great\ntransitions: the origin of the universe itself and the origin of the\nprinciple of life itself. Most philosophers have the enlightenment to\nadd that a third mystery attaches to the origin of man himself. In other\nwords, a third bridge was built across a third abyss of the unthinkable\nwhen there came into the world what we call reason and what we call\nwill. Man is not merely an evolution but rather a revolution. That he\nhas a backbone or other parts upon a similar pattern to birds and fishes\nis an obvious fact, whatever be the meaning of the fact. But if we\nattempt to regard him, as it were, as a quadruped standing on his hind\nlegs, we shall find what follows far more fantastic and subversive than\nif he were standing on his head.\n\nI will take one example to serve for an introduction to the story of\nman. It illustrates what I mean by saying that a certain childish\ndirectness is needed to see the truth about the childhood of the world.\nIt illustrates what I mean by saying that a mixture of popular science\nand journalistic jargon has confused the facts about the first things,\nso that we cannot see which of them really comes first. It illustrates,\nthough only in one convenient illustration, all that I mean by the\nnecessity of seeing the sharp differences that give its shape to\nhistory, instead of being submerged in all these generalisations about\nslowness and sameness. For we do indeed require, in Mr. Wells\u2019s phrase,\nan outline of history. But we may venture to say, in Mr. Mantalini\u2019s\nphrase, that this evolutionary history has no outline or is a demd\noutline. But, above all, it illustrates what I mean by saying that the\nmore we really look at man as an animal, the less he will look like one.\n\nTo-day all our novels and newspapers will be found swarming with\nnumberless allusions to a popular character called a Cave-Man. He seems\nto be quite familiar to us, not only as a public character but as a\nprivate character. His psychology is seriously taken into account in\npsychological fiction and psychological medicine. So far as I can\nunderstand, his chief occupation in life was knocking his wife about, or\ntreating women in general with what is, I believe, known in the world of\nthe film as \u2018rough stuff.\u2019 I have never happened to come upon the\nevidence for this idea; and I do not know on what primitive diaries or\nprehistoric divorce-reports it is founded. Nor, as I have explained\nelsewhere, have I ever been able to see the probability of it, even\nconsidered a priori. We are always told without any explanation or\nauthority that primitive man waved a club and knocked the woman down\nbefore he carried her off. But on every animal analogy, it would seem an\nalmost morbid modesty and reluctance, on the part of the lady, always to\ninsist on being knocked down before consenting to be carried off. And I\nrepeat that I can never comprehend why, when the male was so very rude,\nthe female should have been so very refined. The cave-man may have been\na brute, but there is no reason why he should have been more brutal than\nthe brutes. And the loves of the giraffes and the river romances of the\nhippopotami are effected without any of this preliminary fracas or\nshindy. The cave-man may have been no better than the cave-bear; but the\nchild she-bear, so famous in hymnology, is not trained with any such\nbias for spinsterhood. In short, these details of the domestic life of\nthe cave puzzle me upon either the evolutionary or the static\nhypothesis; and in any case I should like to look into the evidence for\nthem; but unfortunately I have never been able to find it. But the\ncurious thing is this: that while ten thousand tongues of more or less\nscientific or literary gossip seemed to be talking at once about this\nunfortunate fellow, under the title of the cave-man, the one connection\nin which it is really relevant and sensible to talk about him as the\ncave-man has been comparatively neglected. People have used this loose\nterm in twenty loose ways; but they have never even looked at their own\nterm for what could really be learned from it.\n\nIn fact, people have been interested in everything about the cave-man\nexcept what he did in the cave. Now there does happen to be some real\nevidence of what he did in the cave. It is little enough, like all the\nprehistoric evidence, but it is concerned with the real cave-man and his\ncave and not the literary cave-man and his club. And it will be valuable\nto our sense of reality to consider quite simply what that real evidence\nis, and not to go beyond it. What was found in the cave was not the\nclub, the horrible gory club notched with the number of women it had\nknocked on the head. The cave was not a Bluebeard\u2019s Chamber filled with\nthe skeletons of slaughtered wives; it was not filled with female skulls\nall arranged in rows and all cracked like eggs. It was something quite\nunconnected, one way or the other, with all the modern phrases and\nphilosophical implications and literary rumours which confuse the whole\nquestion for us. And if we wish to see as it really is this authentic\nglimpse of the morning of the world, it will be far better to conceive\neven the story of its discovery as some such legend of the land of\nmorning. It would be far better to tell the tale of what was really\nfound as simply as the tale of heroes finding the Golden Fleece or the\nGardens of the Hesperides, if we could so escape from a fog of\ncontroversial theories into the clear colours and clean-cut outlines of\nsuch a dawn. The old epic poets at least knew how to tell a story,\npossibly a tall story but never a twisted story, never a story tortured\nout of its own shape to fit theories and philosophies invented centuries\nafterwards. It would be well if modern investigators could describe\ntheir discoveries in the bald narrative style of the earliest\ntravellers, and without any of these long allusive words that are full\nof irrelevant implication and suggestion. Then we might realise exactly\nwhat we do know about the cave-man, or at any rate about the cave.\n\nA priest and a boy entered some time ago a hollow in the hills and\npassed into a sort of subterranean tunnel that led into a labyrinth of\nsuch sealed and secret corridors of rock. They crawled through cracks\nthat seemed almost impassable, they crept through tunnels that might\nhave been made for moles, they dropped into holes as hopeless as wells,\nthey seemed to be burying themselves alive seven times over beyond the\nhope of resurrection. This is but the commonplace of all such courageous\nexploration; but what is needed here is some one who shall put such\nstories in the primary light, in which they are not commonplace. There\nis, for instance, something strangely symbolic in the accident that the\nfirst intruders into that sunken world were a priest and a boy, the\ntypes of the antiquity and of the youth of the world. But here I am\neven more concerned with the symbolism of the boy than with that of the\npriest. Nobody who remembers boyhood needs to be told what it might be\nto a boy to enter like Peter Pan under a roof of the roots of all the\ntrees and go deeper and deeper, till he reach what William Morris called\nthe very roots of the mountains. Suppose somebody, with that simple and\nunspoilt realism that is a part of innocence, to pursue that journey to\nits end, not for the sake of what he could deduce or demonstrate in some\ndusty magazine controversy, but simply for the sake of what he could\nsee. What he did see at last was a cavern so far from the light of day\nthat it might have been the legendary Domdaniel cavern that was under\nthe floor of the sea. This secret chamber of rock, when illuminated\nafter its long night of unnumbered ages, revealed on its walls large and\nsprawling outlines diversified with coloured earths; and when they\nfollowed the lines of them they recognised, across that vast and void of\nages, the movement and the gesture of a man\u2019s hand. They were drawings\nor paintings of animals; and they were drawn or painted not only by a\nman but by an artist. Under whatever archaic limitations, they showed\nthat love of the long sweeping or the long wavering line which any man\nwho has ever drawn or tried to draw will recognise; and about which no\nartist will allow himself to be contradicted by any scientist. They\nshowed the experimental and adventurous spirit of the artist, the spirit\nthat does not avoid but attempt difficult things; as where the\ndraughtsman had represented the action of the stag when he swings his\nhead clean round and noses towards his tail, an action familiar enough\nin the horse. But there are many modern animal-painters who would set\nthemselves something of a task in rendering it truly. In this and twenty\nother details it is clear that the artist had watched animals with a\ncertain interest and presumably a certain pleasure. In that sense it\nwould seem that he was not only an artist but a naturalist; the sort of\nnaturalist who is really natural.\n\nNow it is needless to note, except in passing, that there is nothing\nwhatever in the atmosphere of that cave to suggest the bleak and\npessimistic atmosphere of that journalistic cave of the winds, that\nblows and bellows about us with countless echoes concerning the\ncave-man. So far as any human character can be hinted at by such traces\nof the past, that human character is quite human and even humane. It is\ncertainly not the ideal of an inhuman character, like the abstraction\ninvoked in popular science. When novelists and educationists and\npsychologists of all sorts talk about the cave-man, they never conceive\nhim in connection with anything that is really in the cave. When the\nrealist of the sex novel writes, \u2018Red sparks danced in Dagmar\nDoubledick\u2019s brain; he felt the spirit of the cave-man rising within\nhim,\u2019 the novelist\u2019s readers would be very much disappointed if Dagmar\nonly went off and drew large pictures of cows on the drawing-room wall.\nWhen the psychoanalyst writes to a patient, \u2018The submerged instincts of\nthe cave-man are doubtless prompting you to gratify a violent impulse,\u2019\nhe does not refer to the impulse to paint in water-colours; or to make\nconscientious studies of how cattle swing their heads when they graze.\nYet we do know for a fact that the cave-man did these mild and innocent\nthings; and we have not the most minute speck of evidence that he did\nany of the violent and ferocious things. In other words, the cave-man as\ncommonly presented to us is simply a myth or rather a muddle; for a myth\nhas at least an imaginative outline of truth. The whole of the current\nway of talking is simply a confusion and a misunderstanding, founded on\nno sort of scientific evidence and valued only as an excuse for a very\nmodern mood of anarchy. If any gentleman wants to knock a woman about,\nhe can surely be a cad without taking away the character of the\ncave-man, about whom we know next to nothing except what we can gather\nfrom a few harmless and pleasing pictures on a wall.\n\nBut this is not the point about the pictures or the particular moral\nhere to be drawn from them. That moral is something much larger and\nsimpler, so large and simple that when it is first stated it will sound\nchildish. And indeed it is in the highest sense childish; and that is\nwhy I have in this apologue in some sense seen it through the eyes of a\nchild. It is the biggest of all the facts really facing the boy in the\ncavern; and is perhaps too big to be seen. If the boy was one of the\nflock of the priest, it may be presumed that he had been trained in a\ncertain quality of common sense; that common sense that often comes to\nus in the form of tradition. In that case he would simply recognise the\nprimitive man\u2019s work as the work of a man, interesting but in no way\nincredible in being primitive. He would see what was there to see; and\nhe would not be tempted into seeing what was not there, by any\nevolutionary excitement or fashionable speculation. If he had heard of\nsuch things he would admit, of course, that the speculations might be\ntrue and were not incompatible with the facts that were true. The artist\nmay have had another side to his character besides that which he has\nalone left on record in his works of art. The primitive man may have\ntaken a pleasure in beating women as well as in drawing animals; all we\ncan say is that the drawings record the one but not the other. It may be\ntrue that when the cave-man\u2019s finished jumping on his mother, or his\nwife as the case may be, he loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling,\nand also to watch the deer as they come down to drink at the brook.\nThese things are not impossible, but they are irrelevant. The common\nsense of the child could confine itself to learning from the facts what\nthe facts have to teach; and the pictures in the cave are very nearly\nall the facts there are. So far as that evidence goes, the child would\nbe justified in assuming that a man had represented animals with rock\nand red ochre for the same reason as he himself was in the habit of\ntrying to represent animals with charcoal and red chalk. The man had\ndrawn a stag just as the child had drawn a horse; because it was fun.\nThe man had drawn a stag with his head turned as the child had drawn a\npig with his eyes shut; because it was difficult. The child and the man,\nbeing both human, would be united by the brotherhood of men; and the\nbrotherhood of men is even nobler when it bridges the abyss of ages than\nwhen it bridges only the chasm of class. But anyhow he would see no\nevidence of the cave-man of crude evolutionism; because there is none to\nbe seen. If somebody told him that the pictures had all been drawn by\nSt. Francis of Assisi out of pure and saintly love of animals, there\nwould be nothing in the cave to contradict it.\n\nIndeed I once knew a lady who half-humorously suggested that the cave\nwas a cr\u00e8che, in which the babies were put to be specially safe, and\nthat coloured animals were drawn on the walls to amuse them; very much\nas diagrams of elephants and giraffes adorn a modern infant school. And\nthough this was but a jest, it does draw attention to some of the other\nassumptions that we make only too readily. The pictures do not prove\neven that the cave-men lived in caves, any more than the discovery of a\nwine-cellar in Balham (long after that suburb had been destroyed by\nhuman or divine wrath) would prove that the Victorian middle classes\nlived entirely underground. The cave might have had a special purpose\nlike the cellar; it might have been a religious shrine or a refuge in\nwar or the meeting-place of a secret society or all sorts of things. But\nit is quite true that its artistic decoration has much more of the\natmosphere of a nursery than of any of these nightmares of anarchical\nfury and fear. I have conceived a child as standing in the cave; and it\nis easy to conceive any child, modern or immeasurably remote, as making\na living gesture as if to pat the painted beasts upon the wall. In that\ngesture there is a foreshadowing, as we shall see later, of another\ncavern and another child.\n\nBut suppose the boy had not been taught by a priest but by a professor,\nby one of the professors who simplify the relation of men and beasts to\na mere evolutionary variation. Suppose the boy saw himself, with the\nsame simplicity and sincerity, as a mere Mowgli running with the pack of\nnature and roughly indistinguishable from the rest save by a relative\nand recent variation. What would be for him the simplest lesson of that\nstrange stone picture-book? After all, it would come back to this; that\nhe had dug very deep and found the place where a man had drawn a picture\nof a reindeer. But he would dig a good deal deeper before he found a\nplace where a reindeer had drawn a picture of a man. That sounds like a\ntruism, but in this connection it is really a very tremendous truth. He\nmight descend to depths unthinkable, he might sink into sunken\ncontinents as strange as remote stars, he might find himself in the\ninside of the world as far from men as the other side of the moon; he\nmight see in those cold chasms or colossal terraces of stone, traced in\nthe faint hieroglyphic of the fossil, the ruins of lost dynasties of\nbiological life, rather like the ruins of successive creations and\nseparate universes than the stages in the story of one. He would find\nthe trail of monsters blindly developing in directions outside all our\ncommon imagery of fish and bird; groping and grasping and touching life\nwith every extravagant elongation of horn and tongue and tentacle;\ngrowing a forest of fantastic caricatures of the claw and the fin and\nthe finger. But nowhere would he find one finger that had traced one\nsignificant line upon the sand; nowhere one claw that had even begun to\nscratch the faint suggestion of a form. To all appearance, the thing\nwould be as unthinkable in all those countless cosmic variations of\nforgotten aeons as it would be in the beasts and birds before our eyes.\nThe child would no more expect to see it than to see the cat scratch on\nthe wall a vindictive caricature of the dog. The childish common sense\nwould keep the most evolutionary child from expecting to see anything\nlike that; yet in the traces of the rude and recently evolved ancestors\nof humanity he would have seen exactly that. It must surely strike him\nas strange that men so remote from him should be so near, and that\nbeasts so near to him should be so remote. To his simplicity it must\nseem at least odd that he could not find any trace of the beginning of\nany arts among any animals. That is the simplest lesson to learn in the\ncavern of the coloured pictures; only it is too simple to be learnt. It\nis the simple truth that man does differ from the brutes in kind and not\nin degree; and the proof of it is here; that it sounds like a truism to\nsay that the most primitive man drew a picture of a monkey, and that it\nsounds like a joke to say that the most intelligent monkey drew a\npicture of a man. Something of division and disproportion has appeared;\nand it is unique. Art is the signature of man.\n\nThat is the sort of simple truth with which a story of the beginnings\nought really to begin. The evolutionist stands staring in the painted\ncavern at the things that are too large to be seen and too simple to be\nunderstood. He tries to deduce all sorts of other indirect and doubtful\nthings from the details of the pictures, because he cannot see the\nprimary significance of the whole; thin and theoretical deductions about\nthe absence of religion or the presence of superstition; about tribal\ngovernment and hunting and human sacrifice and heaven knows what. In the\nnext chapter I shall try to trace in a little more detail the much\ndisputed question about these prehistoric origins of human ideas and\nespecially of the religious idea. Here I am only taking this one case of\nthe cave as a sort of symbol of the simpler sort of truth with which the\nstory ought to start. When all is said, the main fact that the record of\nthe reindeer men attests, along with all other records, is that the\nreindeer man could draw and the reindeer could not. If the reindeer man\nwas as much an animal as the reindeer, it was all the more extraordinary\nthat he could do what all other animals could not. If he was an ordinary\nproduct of biological growth, like any other beast or bird, then it is\nall the more extraordinary that he was not in the least like any other\nbeast or bird. He seems rather more supernatural as a natural product\nthan as a supernatural one.\n\nBut I have begun this story in the cave, like the cave of the\nspeculations of Plato, because it is a sort of model of the mistake of\nmerely evolutionary introductions and prefaces. It is useless to begin\nby saying that everything was slow and smooth and a mere matter of\ndevelopment and degree. For in a plain matter like the pictures there is\nin fact not a trace of any such development or degree. Monkeys did not\nbegin pictures and men finish them; Pithecanthropus did not draw a\nreindeer badly and Homo Sapiens draw it well. The higher animals did not\ndraw better and better portraits; the dog did not paint better in his\nbest period than in his early bad manner as a jackal; the wild horse was\nnot an Impressionist and the race-horse a Post-Impressionist. All we can\nsay of this notion of reproducing things in shadow or representative\nshape is that it exists nowhere in nature except in man; and that we\ncannot even talk about it without treating man as something separate\nfrom nature. In other words, every sane sort of history must begin with\nman as man, a thing standing absolute and alone. How he came there, or\nindeed how anything else came there, is a thing for theologians and\nphilosophers and scientists and not for historians. But an excellent\ntest case of this isolation and mystery is the matter of the impulse of\nart. This creature was truly different from all other creatures; because\nhe was a creator as well as a creature. Nothing in that sense could be\nmade in any other image but the image of man. But the truth is so true\nthat, even in the absence of any religious belief, it must be assumed in\nthe form of some moral or metaphysical principle. In the next chapter we\nshall see how this principle applies to all the historical hypotheses\nand evolutionary ethics now in fashion; to the origins of tribal\ngovernment or mythological belief. But the clearest and most convenient\nexample to start with is this popular one of what the cave-man really\ndid in his cave. It means that somehow or other a new thing had appeared\nin the cavernous night of nature; a mind that is like a mirror. It is\nlike a mirror because it is truly a thing of reflection. It is like a\nmirror because in it alone all the other shapes can be seen like shining\nshadows in a vision. Above all, it is like a mirror because it is the\nonly thing of its kind. Other things may resemble it or resemble each\nother in various ways; other things may excel it or excel each other in\nvarious ways; just as in the furniture of a room a table may be round\nlike a mirror or a cupboard may be larger than a mirror. But the mirror\nis the only thing that can contain them all. Man is the microcosm; man\nis the measure of all things; man is the image of God. These are the\nonly real lessons to be learnt in the cave, and it is time to leave it\nfor the open road.\n\nIt will be well in this place, however, to sum up once and for all what\nis meant by saying that man is at once the exception to everything and\nthe mirror and the measure of all things. But to see man as he is, it is\nnecessary once more to keep close to that simplicity that can clear\nitself of accumulated clouds of sophistry. The simplest truth about man\nis that he is a very strange being; almost in the sense of being a\nstranger on the earth. In all sobriety, he has much more of the external\nappearance of one bringing alien habits from another land than of a mere\ngrowth of this one. He has an unfair advantage and an unfair\ndisadvantage. He cannot sleep in his own skin; he cannot trust his own\ninstincts. He is at once a creator moving miraculous hands and fingers\nand a kind of cripple. He is wrapped in artificial bandages called\nclothes; he is propped on artificial crutches called furniture. His mind\nhas the same doubtful liberties and the same wild limitations. Alone\namong the animals, he is shaken with the beautiful madness called\nlaughter; as if he had caught sight of some secret in the very shape of\nthe universe hidden from the universe itself. Alone among the animals he\nfeels the need of averting his thoughts from the root realities of his\nown bodily being; of hiding them as in the presence of some higher\npossibility which creates the mystery of shame. Whether we praise these\nthings as natural to man or abuse them as artificial in nature, they\nremain in the same sense unique. This is realised by the whole popular\ninstinct called religion, until disturbed by pedants, especially the\nlaborious pedants of the Simple Life. The most sophistical of all\nsophists are Gymnosophists.\n\nIt is not natural to see man as a natural product. It is not common\nsense to call man a common object of the country or the seashore. It is\nnot seeing straight to see him as an animal. It is not sane. It sins\nagainst the light; against that broad daylight of proportion which is\nthe principle of all reality. It is reached by stretching a point, by\nmaking out a case, by artificially selecting a certain light and shade,\nby bringing into prominence the lesser or lower things which may happen\nto be similar. The solid thing standing in the sunlight, the thing we\ncan walk round and see from all sides, is quite different. It is also\nquite extraordinary; and the more sides we see of it the more\nextraordinary it seems. It is emphatically not a thing that follows or\nflows naturally from anything else. If we imagine that an inhuman or\nimpersonal intelligence could have felt from the first the general\nnature of the non-human world sufficiently to see that things would\nevolve in whatever way they did evolve, there would have been nothing\nwhatever in all that natural world to prepare such a mind for such an\nunnatural novelty. To such a mind, man would most certainly not have\nseemed something like one herd out of a hundred herds finding richer\npasture; or one swallow out of a hundred swallows making a summer under\na strange sky. It would not be in the same scale and scarcely in the\nsame dimension. We might as truly say that it would not be in the same\nuniverse. It would be more like seeing one cow out of a hundred cows\nsuddenly jump over the moon or one pig out of a hundred pigs grow wings\nin a flash and fly. It would not be a question of the cattle finding\ntheir own grazing-ground but of their building their own cattle-sheds,\nnot a question of one swallow making a summer but of his making a\nsummer-house. For the very fact that birds do build nests is one of\nthose similarities that sharpen the startling difference. The very fact\nthat a bird can get as far as building a nest, and cannot get any\nfarther, proves that he has not a mind as man has a mind; it proves it\nmore completely than if he built nothing at all. If he built nothing at\nall, he might possibly be a philosopher of the Quietist or Buddhistic\nschool, indifferent to all but the mind within. But when he builds as he\ndoes build and is satisfied and sings aloud with satisfaction, then we\nknow there is really an invisible veil like a pane of glass between him\nand us, like the window on which a bird will beat in vain. But suppose\nour abstract onlooker saw one of the birds begin to build as men build.\nSuppose in an incredibly short space of time there were seven styles of\narchitecture for one style of nest. Suppose the bird carefully selected\nforked twigs and pointed leaves to express the piercing piety of Gothic,\nbut turned to broad foliage and black mud when he sought in a darker\nmood to call up the heavy columns of Bel and Ashtaroth; making his nest\nindeed one of the hanging gardens of Babylon. Suppose the bird made\nlittle clay statues of birds celebrated in letters or politics and stuck\nthem up in front of the nest. Suppose that one bird out of a thousand\nbirds began to do one of the thousand things that man had already done\neven in the morning of the world; and we can be quite certain that the\nonlooker would not regard such a bird as a mere evolutionary variety of\nthe other birds; he would regard it as a very fearful wild-fowl indeed;\npossibly as a bird of ill-omen, certainly as an omen. That bird would\ntell the augurs, not of something that would happen, but of something\nthat had happened. That something would be the appearance of a mind with\na new dimension of depth; a mind like that of man. If there be no God,\nno other mind could conceivably have foreseen it.\n\nNow, as a matter of fact, there is not a shadow of evidence that _this_\nthing was evolved at all. There is not a particle of proof that _this_\ntransition came slowly, or even that it came naturally. In a strictly\nscientific sense, we simply know nothing whatever about how it grew, or\nwhether it grew, or what it is. There may be a broken trail of stones\nand bones faintly suggesting the development of the human body. There is\nnothing even faintly suggesting such a development of this human mind.\nIt was not and it was; we know not in what instant or in what infinity\nof years. Something happened; and it has all the appearance of a\ntransaction outside time. It has therefore nothing to do with history in\nthe ordinary sense. The historian must take it or something like it for\ngranted; it is not his business as a historian to explain it. But if he\ncannot explain it as a historian, he will not explain it as a biologist.\nIn neither case is there any disgrace to him in accepting it without\nexplaining it; for it is a reality, and history and biology deal with\nrealities. He is quite justified in calmly confronting the pig with\nwings and the cow that jumped over the moon, merely because they have\nhappened. He can reasonably accept man as a freak, because he accepts\nman as a fact. He can be perfectly comfortable in a crazy and\ndisconnected world, or in a world that can produce such a crazy and\ndisconnected thing. For reality is a thing in which we can all repose,\neven if it hardly seems related to anything else. The thing is there;\nand that is enough for most of us. But if we do indeed want to know how\nit can conceivably have come there, if we do indeed wish to see it\nrelated realistically to other things, if we do insist on seeing it\nevolved before our very eyes from an environment nearer to its own\nnature, then assuredly it is to very different things that we must go.\nWe must stir very strange memories and return to very simple dreams if\nwe desire some origin that can make man other than a monster. We shall\nhave discovered very different causes before he becomes a creature of\ncausation; and invoked other authority to turn him into something\nreasonable, or even into anything probable. That way lies all that is at\nonce awful and familiar and forgotten, with dreadful faces thronged and\nfiery arms. We can accept man as a fact, if we are content with an\nunexplained fact. We can accept him as an animal, if we can live with a\nfabulous animal. But if we must needs have sequence and necessity, then\nindeed we must provide a prelude and crescendo of mounting miracles,\nthat ushered in with unthinkable thunders in all the seven heavens of\nanother order, a man may be an ordinary thing.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nPROFESSORS AND PREHISTORIC MEN\n\n\nScience is weak about these prehistoric things in a way that has hardly\nbeen noticed. The science whose modern marvels we all admire succeeds by\nincessantly adding to its data. In all practical inventions, in most\nnatural discoveries, it can always increase evidence by experiment. But\nit cannot experiment in making men; or even in watching to see what the\nfirst men make. An inventor can advance step by step in the construction\nof an aeroplane, even if he is only experimenting with sticks and scraps\nof metal in his own back-yard. But he cannot watch the Missing Link\nevolving in his own back-yard. If he has made a mistake in his\ncalculations, the aeroplane will correct it by crashing to the ground.\nBut if he has made a mistake about the arboreal habitat of his ancestor,\nhe cannot see his arboreal ancestor falling off the tree. He cannot keep\na cave-man like a cat in the back-yard and watch him to see whether he\ndoes really practise cannibalism or carry off his mate on the principles\nof marriage by capture. He cannot keep a tribe of primitive men like a\npack of hounds and notice how far they are influenced by the herd\ninstinct. If he sees a particular bird behave in a particular way, he\ncan get other birds and see if they behave in that way; but if he finds\na skull, or the scrap of a skull, in the hollow of a hill, he cannot\nmultiply it into a vision of the valley of dry bones. In dealing with a\npast that has almost entirely perished, he can only go by evidence and\nnot by experiment. And there is hardly enough evidence to be even\nevidential. Thus while most science moves in a sort of curve, being\nconstantly corrected by new evidence, this science flies off into space\nin a straight line uncorrected by anything. But the habit of forming\nconclusions, as they can really be formed in more fruitful fields, is so\nfixed in the scientific mind that it cannot resist talking like this. It\ntalks about the idea suggested by one scrap of bone as if it were\nsomething like the aeroplane which is constructed at last out of whole\nscrap-heaps of scraps of metal. The trouble with the professor of the\nprehistoric is that he cannot scrap his scrap. The marvellous and\ntriumphant aeroplane is made out of a hundred mistakes. The student of\norigins can only make one mistake and stick to it.\n\nWe talk very truly of the patience of science; but in this department it\nwould be truer to talk of the impatience of science. Owing to the\ndifficulty above described, the theorist is in far too much of a hurry.\nWe have a series of hypotheses so hasty that they may well be called\nfancies, and cannot in any case be further corrected by facts. The most\nempirical anthropologist is here as limited as an antiquary. He can only\ncling to a fragment of the past and has no way of increasing it for the\nfuture. He can only clutch his fragment of fact, almost as the primitive\nman clutched his fragment of flint. And indeed he does deal with it in\nmuch the same way and for much the same reason. It is his tool and his\nonly tool. It is his weapon and his only weapon. He often wields it with\na fanaticism far in excess of anything shown by men of science when they\ncan collect more facts from experience and even add new facts by\nexperiment. Sometimes the professor with his bone becomes almost as\ndangerous as a dog with his bone. And the dog at least does not deduce a\ntheory from it, proving that mankind is going to the dogs--or that it\ncame from them.\n\nFor instance, I have pointed out the difficulty of keeping a monkey and\nwatching it evolve into a man. Experimental evidence of such an\nevolution being impossible, the professor is not content to say (as most\nof us would be ready to say) that such an evolution is likely enough\nanyhow. He produces his little bone, or little collection of bones, and\ndeduces the most marvellous things from it. He found in Java a part of a\nskull, seeming by its contour to be smaller than the human. Somewhere\nnear it he found an upright thigh-bone, and in the same scattered\nfashion some teeth that were not human. If they all form part of one\ncreature, which is doubtful, our conception of the creature would be\nalmost equally doubtful. But the effect on popular science was to\nproduce a complete and even complex figure, finished down to the last\ndetails of hair and habits. He was given a name as if he were an\nordinary historical character. People talked of Pithecanthropus as of\nPitt or Fox or Napoleon. Popular histories published portraits of him\nlike the portraits of Charles the First and George the Fourth. A\ndetailed drawing was reproduced, carefully shaded, to show that the very\nhairs of his head were all numbered. No uninformed person looking at its\ncarefully lined face and wistful eyes would imagine for a moment that\nthis was the portrait of a thigh-bone; or of a few teeth and a fragment\nof a cranium. In the same way people talked about him as if he were an\nindividual whose influence and character were familiar to us all. I have\njust read a story in a magazine about Java, and how modern white\ninhabitants of that island are prevailed on to misbehave themselves by\nthe personal influence of poor old Pithecanthropus. That the modern\ninhabitants of Java misbehave themselves I can very readily believe; but\nI do not imagine that they need any encouragement from the discovery of\na few highly doubtful bones. Anyhow, those bones are far too few and\nfragmentary and dubious to fill up the whole of the vast void that does\nin reason and in reality lie between man and his bestial ancestors, if\nthey were his ancestors. On the assumption of that evolutionary\nconnection (a connection which I am not in the least concerned to deny),\nthe really arresting and remarkable fact is the comparative absence of\nany such remains recording that connection at that point. The sincerity\nof Darwin really admitted this; and that is how we came to use such a\nterm as the Missing Link. But the dogmatism of Darwinians has been too\nstrong for the agnosticism of Darwin; and men have insensibly fallen\ninto turning this entirely negative term into a positive image. They\ntalk of searching for the habits and habitat of the Missing Link; as if\none were to talk of being on friendly terms with the gap in a narrative\nor the hole in an argument, of taking a walk with a _non-sequitur_ or\ndining with an undistributed middle.\n\nIn this sketch, therefore, of man in his relation to certain religious\nand historical problems, I shall waste no further space on these\nspeculations on the nature of man before he became man. His body may\nhave been evolved from the brutes; but we know nothing of any such\ntransition that throws the smallest light upon his soul as it has shown\nitself in history. Unfortunately the same school of writers pursue the\nsame style of reasoning when they come to the first real evidence about\nthe first real men. Strictly speaking of course we know nothing about\nprehistoric man, for the simple reason that he was prehistoric. The\nhistory of prehistoric man is a very obvious contradiction in terms. It\nis the sort of unreason in which only rationalists are allowed to\nindulge. If a parson had casually observed that the Flood was\nantediluvian, it is possible that he might be a little chaffed about his\nlogic. If a bishop were to say that Adam was Preadamite, we might think\nit a little odd. But we are not supposed to notice such verbal trifles\nwhen sceptical historians talk of the part of history that is\nprehistoric. The truth is that they are using the terms historic and\nprehistoric without any clear test or definition in their minds. What\nthey mean is that there are traces of human lives before the beginning\nof human stories; and in that sense we do at least know that humanity\nwas before history.\n\nHuman civilisation is older than human records. That is the sane way of\nstating our relations to these remote things. Humanity has left examples\nof its other arts earlier than the art of writing; or at least of any\nwriting that we can read. But it is certain that the primitive arts were\narts; and it is in every way probable that the primitive civilisations\nwere civilisations. The man left a picture of the reindeer, but he did\nnot leave a narrative of how he hunted the reindeer; and therefore what\nwe say of him is hypothesis and not history. But the art he did practise\nwas quite artistic; his drawing was quite intelligent, and there is no\nreason to doubt that his story of the hunt would be quite intelligent,\nonly if it exists it is not intelligible. In short, the prehistoric\nperiod need not mean the primitive period, in the sense of the barbaric\nor bestial period. It does not mean the time before civilisation or the\ntime before arts and crafts. It simply means the time before any\nconnected narratives that we can read. This does indeed make all the\npractical difference between remembrance and forgetfulness; but it is\nperfectly possible that there were all sorts of forgotten forms of\ncivilisation, as well as all sorts of forgotten forms of barbarism. And\nin any case everything indicated that many of these forgotten or\nhalf-forgotten social stages were much more civilised and much less\nbarbaric than is vulgarly imagined to-day. But even about these\nunwritten histories of humanity, when humanity was quite certainly\nhuman, we can only conjecture with the greatest doubt and caution. And\nunfortunately doubt and caution are the last things commonly encouraged\nby the loose evolutionism of current culture. For that culture is full\nof curiosity; and the one thing that it cannot endure is the agony of\nagnosticism. It was in the Darwinian age that the word first became\nknown and the thing first became impossible.\n\nIt is necessary to say plainly that all this ignorance is simply covered\nby impudence. Statements are made so plainly and positively that men\nhave hardly the moral courage to pause upon them and find that they are\nwithout support. The other day a scientific summary of the state of a\nprehistoric tribe began confidently with the words \u2018They wore no\nclothes.\u2019 Not one reader in a hundred probably stopped to ask himself\nhow we should come to know whether clothes had once been worn by people\nof whom everything has perished except a few chips of bone and stone. It\nwas doubtless hoped that we should find a stone hat as well as a stone\nhatchet. It was evidently anticipated that we might discover an\neverlasting pair of trousers of the same substance as the everlasting\nrock. But to persons of a less sanguine temperament it will be\nimmediately apparent that people might wear simple garments, or even\nhighly ornamental garments, without leaving any more traces of them than\nthese people have left. The plaiting of rushes and grasses, for\ninstance, might have become more and more elaborate without in the least\nbecoming more eternal. One civilisation might specialise in things that\nhappened to be perishable, like weaving and embroidering, and not in\nthings that happen to be more permanent, like architecture and\nsculpture. There have been plenty of examples of such specialist\nsocieties. A man of the future finding the ruins of our factory\nmachinery might as fairly say that we were acquainted with iron and with\nno other substance; and announce the discovery that the proprietor and\nmanager of the factory undoubtedly walked about naked--or possibly wore\niron hats and trousers.\n\nIt is not contended here that these primitive men did wear clothes any\nmore than they did weave rushes; but merely that we have not enough\nevidence to know whether they did or not. But it may be worth while to\nlook back for a moment at some of the very few things that we do know\nand that they did do. If we consider them, we shall certainly not find\nthem inconsistent with such ideas as dress and decoration. We do not\nknow whether they decorated themselves; but we do know that they\ndecorated other things. We do not know whether they had embroideries,\nand if they had, the embroideries could not be expected to have\nremained. But we do know that they did have pictures; and the pictures\nhave remained. And there remains with them, as already suggested, the\ntestimony to something that is absolute and unique; that belongs to man\nand to nothing else except man; that is a difference of kind and not a\ndifference of degree. A monkey does not draw clumsily and a man\ncleverly; a monkey does not begin the art of representation and a man\ncarry it to perfection. A monkey does not do it at all; he does not\nbegin to do it at all; he does not begin to begin to do it at all. A\nline of some kind is crossed before the first faint line can begin.\n\nAnother distinguished writer, again, in commenting on the cave-drawings\nattributed to the neolithic men of the reindeer period, said that none\nof their pictures appeared to have any religious purpose; and he seemed\nalmost to infer that they had no religion. I can hardly imagine a\nthinner thread of argument than this which reconstructs the very inmost\nmoods of the prehistoric mind from the fact that somebody who has\nscrawled a few sketches on a rock, from what motive we do not know, for\nwhat purpose we do not know, acting under what customs or conventions we\ndo not know, may possibly have found it easier to draw reindeers than to\ndraw religion. He may have drawn it because it was his religious symbol.\nHe may have drawn it because it was not his religious symbol. He may\nhave drawn anything except his religious symbol. He may have drawn his\nreal religious symbol somewhere else; or it may have been deliberately\ndestroyed when it was drawn. He may have done or not done half a million\nthings; but in any case it is an amazing leap of logic to infer that he\nhad no religious symbol, or even to infer from his having no religious\nsymbol that he had no religion. Now this particular case happens to\nillustrate the insecurity of these guesses very clearly. For a little\nwhile afterwards, people discovered not only paintings but sculptures of\nanimals in the caves. Some of these were said to be damaged with dints\nor holes supposed to be the marks of arrows; and the damaged images were\nconjectured to be the remains of some magic rite of killing the beasts\nin effigy; while the undamaged images were explained in connection with\nanother magic rite invoking fertility upon the herds. Here again there\nis something faintly humorous about the scientific habit of having it\nboth ways. If the image is damaged it proves one superstition and if it\nis undamaged it proves another. Here again there is a rather reckless\njumping to conclusions; it has hardly occurred to the speculators that a\ncrowd of hunters imprisoned in winter in a cave might conceivably have\naimed at a mark for fun, as a sort of primitive parlour game. But in any\ncase, if it was done out of superstition, what has become of the thesis\nthat it had nothing to do with religion? The truth is that all this\nguesswork has nothing to do with anything. It is not half such a good\nparlour game as shooting arrows at a carved reindeer, for it is shooting\nthem into the air.\n\nSuch speculators rather tend to forget, for instance, that men in the\nmodern world also sometimes make marks in caves. When a crowd of\ntrippers is conducted through the labyrinth of the Marvellous Grotto or\nthe Magic Stalactite Cavern, it has been observed that hieroglyphics\nspring into sight where they have passed; initials and inscriptions\nwhich the learned refuse to refer to any remote date. But the time will\ncome when these inscriptions will really be of remote date. And if the\nprofessors of the future are anything like the professors of the\npresent, they will be able to deduce a vast number of very vivid and\ninteresting things from these cave-writings of the twentieth century. If\nI know anything about the breed, and if they have not fallen away from\nthe full-blooded confidence of their fathers, they will be able to\ndiscover the most fascinating facts about us from the initials left in\nthe Magic Grotto by \u2019Arry and \u2019Arriet, possibly in the form of two\nintertwined A\u2019s. From this alone they will know (1) That as the letters\nare rudely chipped with a blunt pocket-knife, the twentieth century\npossessed no delicate graving-tools and was unacquainted with the art of\nsculpture. (2) That as the letters are capital letters, our civilisation\nnever evolved any small letters or anything like a running hand. (3)\nThat because initial consonants stand together in an unpronounceable\nfashion, our language was possibly akin to Welsh or more probably of the\nearly Semitic type that ignored vowels. (4) That as the initials of\n\u2019Arry and \u2019Arriet do not in any special fashion profess to be religious\nsymbols, our civilisation possessed no religion. Perhaps the last is\nabout the nearest to the truth; for a civilisation that had religion\nwould have a little more reason.\n\nIt is commonly affirmed, again, that religion grew in a very slow and\nevolutionary manner; and even that it grew not from one cause, but from\na combination that might be called a coincidence. Generally speaking,\nthe three chief elements in the combination are, first, the fear of the\nchief of the tribe (whom Mr. Wells insists on calling, with regrettable\nfamiliarity, the Old Man), second, the phenomena of dreams, and third,\nthe sacrificial associations of the harvest and the resurrection\nsymbolised in the growing corn. I may remark in passing that it seems to\nme very doubtful psychology to refer one living and single spirit to\nthree dead and disconnected causes, if they were merely dead and\ndisconnected causes. Suppose Mr. Wells, in one of his fascinating novels\nof the future, were to tell us that there would arise among men a new\nand as yet nameless passion, of which men will dream as they dream of\nfirst love, for which they will die as they die for a flag and a\nfatherland. I think we should be a little puzzled if he told us that\nthis singular sentiment would be a combination of the habit of smoking\nWoodbines, the increase of the income tax and the pleasure of a motorist\nin exceeding the speed limit. We could not easily imagine this, because\nwe could not imagine any connection between the three or any common\nfeeling that could include them all. Nor could any one imagine any\nconnection between corn and dreams and an old chief with a spear, unless\nthere was already a common feeling to include them all. But if there was\nsuch a common feeling it could only be the religious feeling; and these\nthings could not be the beginnings of a religious feeling that existed\nalready. I think anybody\u2019s common sense will tell him that it is far\nmore likely that this sort of mystical sentiment did exist already; and\nthat in the light of it dreams and kings and cornfields could appear\nmystical then, as they can appear mystical now.\n\nFor the plain truth is that all this is a trick of making things seem\ndistant and dehumanised, merely by pretending not to understand things\nthat we do understand. It is like saying that prehistoric men had an\nugly and uncouth habit of opening their mouths wide at intervals and\nstuffing strange substances into them, as if we had never heard of\neating. It is like saying that the terrible Troglodytes of the Stone Age\nlifted alternate legs in rotation, as if we had never heard of walking.\nIf it were meant to touch the mystical nerve and awaken us to the\nwonder of walking and eating, it might be a legitimate fancy. As it is\nhere intended to kill the mystical nerve and deaden us to the wonder of\nreligion, it is irrational rubbish. It pretends to find something\nincomprehensible in the feelings that we all comprehend. Who does _not_\nfind dreams mysterious, and feel that they lie on the dark borderland of\nbeing? Who does _not_ feel the death and resurrection of the growing\nthings of the earth as something near to the secret of the universe? Who\ndoes _not_ understand that there must always be the savour of something\nsacred about authority and the solidarity that is the soul of the tribe?\nIf there be any anthropologist who really finds these things remote and\nimpossible to realise, we can say nothing of that scientific gentleman\nexcept that he has not got so large and enlightened a mind as a\nprimitive man. To me it seems obvious that nothing but a spiritual\nsentiment already active could have clothed these separate and diverse\nthings with sanctity. To say that religion came _from_ reverencing a\nchief or sacrificing at a harvest is to put a highly elaborate cart\nbefore a really primitive horse. It is like saying that the impulse to\ndraw pictures came from the contemplation of the pictures of reindeers\nin the cave. In other words, it is explaining painting by saying that it\narose out of the work of painters; or accounting for art by saying that\nit arose out of art. It is even more like saying that the thing we call\npoetry arose as the result of certain customs; such as that of an ode\nbeing officially composed to celebrate the advent of spring; or that of\na young man rising at a regular hour to listen to the skylark and then\nwriting his report on a piece of paper. It is quite true that young men\noften become poets in the spring; and it is quite true that when once\nthere are poets, no mortal power can restrain them from writing about\nthe skylark. But the poems did not exist before the poets. The poetry\ndid not arise out of the poetic forms. In other words, it is hardly an\nadequate explanation of how a thing appeared for the first time to say\nit existed already. Similarly, we cannot say that religion arose out of\nthe religious forms, because that is only another way of saying that it\nonly arose when it existed already. It needed a certain sort of mind to\nsee that there was anything mystical about the dreams or the dead, as it\nneeded a particular sort of mind to see that there was anything poetical\nabout the skylark or the spring. That mind was presumably what we call\nthe human mind, very much as it exists to this day; for mystics still\nmeditate upon death and dreams as poets still write about spring and\nskylarks. But there is not the faintest hint to suggest that anything\nshort of the human mind we know feels any of these mystical associations\nat all. A cow in a field seems to derive no lyrical impulse or\ninstruction from her unrivalled opportunities for listening to the\nskylark. And similarly there is no reason to suppose that live sheep\nwill ever begin to use dead sheep as the basis of a system of elaborate\nancestor-worship. It is true that in the spring a young quadruped\u2019s\nfancy may lightly turn to thoughts of love, but no succession of springs\nhas ever led it to turn however lightly to thoughts of literature. And\nin the same way, while it is true that a dog has dreams, while most\nother quadrupeds do not seem even to have that, we have waited a long\ntime for the dog to develop his dreams into an elaborate system of\nreligious ceremonial. We have waited so long that we have really ceased\nto expect it; and we no more look to see a dog apply his dreams to\necclesiastical construction than to see him examine his dreams by the\nrules of psycho-analysis. It is obvious, in short, that for some reason\nor other these natural experiences, and even natural excitements, never\ndo pass the line that separates them from creative expression like art\nand religion, in any creature except man. They never do, they never\nhave, and it is now to all appearance very improbable that they ever\nwill. It is not impossible, in the sense of self-contradictory, that we\nshould see cows fasting from grass every Friday or going on their knees\nas in the old legend about Christmas Eve. It is not in that sense\nimpossible that cows should contemplate death until they can lift up a\nsublime psalm of lamentation to the tune the old cow died of. It is not\nin that sense impossible that they should express their hopes of a\nheavenly career in a symbolical dance, in honour of the cow that jumped\nover the moon. It may be that the dog will at last have laid in a\nsufficient store of dreams to enable him to build a temple to Cerberus\nas a sort of canine trinity. It may be that his dreams have already\nbegun to turn into visions capable of verbal expression, in some\nrevelation about the Dog Star as the spiritual home for lost dogs. These\nthings are logically possible, in the sense that it is logically\ndifficult to prove the universal negative which we call an\nimpossibility. But all that instinct for the probable, which we call\ncommon sense, must long ago have told us that the animals are not to all\nappearance evolving in that sense; and that, to say the least, we are\nnot likely to have any personal evidence of their passing from the\nanimal experience to the human experiments. But spring and death and\neven dreams, considered merely as experiences, are their experiences as\nmuch as ours. The only possible conclusion is that these experiences,\nconsidered as experiences, do not generate anything like a religious\nsense in any mind except a mind like ours. We come back to the fact of a\ncertain kind of mind as already alive and alone. It was unique and it\ncould make creeds as it could make cave-drawings. The materials for\nreligion had lain there for countless ages like the materials for\neverything else; but the power of religion was in the mind. Man could\nalready see in these things the riddles and hints and hopes that he\nstill sees in them. He could not only dream but dream about dreams. He\ncould not only see the dead but see the shadow of death; and was\npossessed with that mysterious mystification that for ever finds death\nincredible.\n\nIt is quite true that we have even these hints chiefly about man when he\nunmistakably appears as man. We cannot affirm this or anything else\nabout the alleged animal originally connecting man and the brutes. But\nthat is only because he is not an animal but an allegation. We cannot be\ncertain that Pithecanthropus ever worshipped, because we cannot be\ncertain that he ever lived. He is only a vision called up to fill the\nvoid that does in fact yawn between the first creatures who were\ncertainly men and any other creatures that are certainly apes or other\nanimals. A few very doubtful fragments are scraped together to suggest\nsuch an intermediate creature because it is required by a certain\nphilosophy; but nobody supposes that these are sufficient to establish\nanything philosophical even in support of that philosophy. A scrap of\nskull found in Java cannot establish anything about religion or about\nthe absence of religion. If there ever was any such ape-man, he may have\nexhibited as much ritual in religion as a man or as much simplicity in\nreligion as an ape. He may have been a mythologist or he may have been a\nmyth. It might be interesting to inquire whether this mystical quality\nappeared in a transition from the ape to the man, if there were really\nany types of the transition to inquire about. In other words, the\nmissing link might or might not be mystical if he were not missing. But\ncompared with the evidence we have of real human beings, we have no\nevidence that he was a human being or a half-human being or a being at\nall. Even the most extreme evolutionists do not attempt to deduce any\nevolutionary views about the origin of religion from _him_. Even in\ntrying to prove that religion grew slowly from rude or irrational\nsources, they begin their proof with the first men who were men. But\ntheir own proof only proves that the men who were already men were\nalready mystics. They used the rude and irrational elements as only men\nand mystics can use them. We come back once more to the simple truth;\nthat at some time too early for these critics to trace, a transition had\noccurred to which bones and stones cannot in their nature bear witness;\nand man became a living soul.\n\nTouching this matter of the origin of religion, the truth is that those\nwho are thus trying to explain it are trying to explain it away.\nSubconsciously they feel that it looks less formidable when thus\nlengthened out into a gradual and almost invisible process. But in fact\nthis perspective entirely falsifies the reality of experience. They\nbring together two things that are totally different, the stray hints of\nevolutionary origins and the solid and self-evident block of humanity,\nand try to shift their standpoint till they see them in a single\nforeshortened line. But it is an optical illusion. Men do not in fact\nstand related to monkeys or missing links in any such chain as that in\nwhich men stand related to men. There may have been intermediate\ncreatures whose faint traces can be found here and there in the huge\ngap. Of these beings, if they ever existed, it may be true that they\nwere things very unlike men or men very unlike ourselves. But of\nprehistoric men, such as those called the cave-men or the reindeer men,\nit is not true in any sense whatever. Prehistoric men of that sort were\nthings exactly like men and men exceedingly like ourselves. They only\nhappened to be men about whom we do not know much, for the simple reason\nthat they have left no records or chronicles; but all that we do know\nabout them makes them just as human and ordinary as men in a medieval\nmanor or a Greek city.\n\nLooking from our human standpoint up the long perspective of humanity,\nwe simply recognise this thing as human. If we had to recognise it as\nanimal, we should have had to recognise it as abnormal. If we chose to\nlook through the other end of the telescope, as I have done more than\nonce in these speculations, if we chose to project the human figure\nforward out of an unhuman world, we could only say that one of the\nanimals had obviously gone mad. But seeing the thing from the right end,\nor rather from the inside, we know it is sanity; and we know that these\nprimitive men were sane. We hail a certain human freemasonry wherever we\nsee it, in savages, in foreigners or in historical characters. For\ninstance, all we can infer from primitive legend, and all we know of\nbarbaric life, supports a certain moral and even mystical idea of which\nthe commonest symbol is clothes. For clothes are very literally\nvestments, and man wears them because he is a priest. It is true that\neven as an animal he is here different from the animals. Nakedness is\nnot nature to him; it is not his life but rather his death; even in the\nvulgar sense of his death of cold. But clothes are worn for dignity or\ndecency or decoration where they are not in any way wanted for warmth.\nIt would sometimes appear that they are valued for ornament before they\nare valued for use. It would almost always appear that they are felt to\nhave some connection with decorum. Conventions of this sort vary a great\ndeal with various times and places; and there are some who cannot get\nover this reflection, and for whom it seems a sufficient argument for\nletting all conventions slide. They never tire of repeating, with simple\nwonder, that dress is different in the Cannibal Islands and in Camden\nTown; they cannot get any further and throw up the whole idea of decency\nin despair. They might as well say that because there have been hats of\na good many different shapes, and some rather eccentric shapes,\ntherefore hats do not matter or do not exist. They would probably add\nthat there is no such thing as sunstroke or going bald. Men have felt\neverywhere that certain forms were necessary to fence off and protect\ncertain private things from contempt or coarse misunderstanding; and the\nkeeping of those forms, whatever they were, made for dignity and mutual\nrespect. The fact that they mostly refer, more or less remotely, to the\nrelations of the sexes illustrates the two facts that must be put at the\nvery beginning of the record of the race. The first is the fact that\noriginal sin is really original. Not merely in theology but in history\nit is a thing rooted in the origins. Whatever else men have believed,\nthey have all believed that there is something the matter with mankind.\nThis sense of sin has made it impossible to be natural and have no\nclothes, just as it has made it impossible to be natural and have no\nlaws. But above all it is to be found in that other fact, which is the\nfather and mother of all laws as it is itself founded on a father and\nmother: the thing that is before all thrones and even all commonwealths.\n\nThat fact is the family. Here again we must keep the enormous\nproportions of a normal thing clear of various modifications and degrees\nand doubts more or less reasonable, like clouds clinging about a\nmountain. It may be that what we call the family had to fight its way\nfrom or through various anarchies and aberrations; but it certainly\nsurvived them and is quite as likely as not to have also preceded them.\nAs we shall see in the case of communism and nomadism, more formless\nthings could and did lie on the flank of societies that had taken a\nfixed form; but there is nothing to show that the form did not exist\nbefore the formlessness. What is vital is that form is more important\nthan formlessness; and that the material called mankind has taken this\nform. For instance, of the rules revolving round sex, which were\nrecently mentioned, none is more curious than the savage custom commonly\ncalled the _couvade_. That seems like a law out of topsyturvydom; by\nwhich the father is treated as if he were the mother. In any case it\nclearly involves the mystical sense of sex; but many have maintained\nthat it is really a symbolic act by which the father accepts the\nresponsibility of fatherhood. In that case that grotesque antic is\nreally a very solemn act; for it is the foundation of all we call the\nfamily and all we know as human society. Some groping in these dark\nbeginnings have said that mankind was once under a matriarchy; I suppose\nthat under a matriarchy it would not be called mankind but womankind.\nBut others have conjectured that what is called matriarchy was simply\nmoral anarchy, in which the mother alone remained fixed because all the\nfathers were fugitive and irresponsible. Then came the moment when the\nman decided to guard and guide what he had created. So he became the\nhead of the family, not as a bully with a big club to beat women with,\nbut rather as a respectable person trying to be a responsible person.\nNow all that might be perfectly true, and might even have been the first\nfamily act, and it would still be true that man then for the first time\nacted like a man, and therefore for the first time became fully a man.\nBut it might quite as well be true that the matriarchy or moral anarchy,\nor whatever we call it, was only one of the hundred social dissolutions\nor barbaric backslidings which may have occurred at intervals in\nprehistoric as they certainly did in historic times. A symbol like the\n_couvade_, if it was really such a symbol, may have commemorated the\nsuppression of a heresy rather than the first rise of a religion. We\ncannot conclude with any certainty about these things, except in their\nbig results in the building of mankind, but we can say in what style the\nbulk of it and the best of it is built. We can say that the family is\nthe unit of the state; that it is the cell that makes up the formation.\nRound the family do indeed gather the sanctities that separate men from\nants and bees. Decency is the curtain of that tent; liberty is the wall\nof that city; property is but the family farm; honour is but the family\nflag. In the practical proportions of human history, we come back to\nthat fundamental of the father and the mother and the child. It has been\nsaid already that if this story cannot start with religious assumptions,\nit must none the less start with some moral or metaphysical assumptions,\nor no sense can be made of the story of man. And this is a very good\ninstance of that alternative necessity. If we are not of those who begin\nby invoking a divine Trinity, we must none the less invoke a human\nTrinity; and see that triangle repeated everywhere in the pattern of the\nworld. For the highest event in history to which all history looks\nforward and leads up, is only something that is at once the reversal and\nthe renewal of that triangle. Or rather it is the one triangle\nsuperimposed so as to intersect the other, making a sacred pentacle of\nwhich, in a mightier sense than that of the magicians, the fiends are\nafraid. The old Trinity was of father and mother and child, and is\ncalled the human family. The new is of child and mother and father, and\nhas the name of the Holy Family. It is in no way altered except in being\nentirely reversed; just as the world which it transformed was not in the\nleast different, except in being turned upside-down.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE ANTIQUITY OF CIVILISATION\n\n\nThe modern man looking at the most ancient origins has been like a man\nwatching for daybreak in a strange land; and expecting to see that dawn\nbreaking behind bare uplands or solitary peaks. But that dawn is\nbreaking behind the black bulk of great cities long builded and lost for\nus in the original night; colossal cities like the houses of giants, in\nwhich even the carved ornamental animals are taller than the palm-trees;\nin which the painted portrait can be twelve times the size of the man;\nwith tombs like mountains of man set four-square and pointing to the\nstars; with winged and bearded bulls standing and staring enormous at\nthe gates of temples; standing still eternally as if a stamp would shake\nthe world. The dawn of history reveals a humanity already civilised.\nPerhaps it reveals a civilisation already old. And among other more\nimportant things, it reveals the folly of most of the generalisations\nabout the previous and unknown period when it was really young. The two\nfirst human societies of which we have any reliable and detailed record\nare Babylon and Egypt. It so happens that these two vast and splendid\nachievements of the genius of the ancients bear witness against two of\nthe commonest and crudest assumptions of the culture of the moderns. If\nwe want to get rid of half the nonsense about nomads and cave-men and\nthe old man of the forest, we need only look steadily at the two solid\nand stupendous facts called Egypt and Babylon.\n\nOf course most of these speculators who are talking about primitive men\nare thinking about modern savages. They prove their progressive\nevolution by assuming that a great part of the human race has not\nprogressed or evolved; or even changed in any way at all. I do not agree\nwith their theory of change; nor do I agree with their dogma of things\nunchangeable. I may not believe that civilised man has had so rapid and\nrecent a progress; but I cannot quite understand why uncivilised man\nshould be so mystically immortal and immutable. A somewhat simpler mode\nof thought and speech seems to me to be needed throughout this inquiry.\nModern savages cannot be exactly like primitive man, because they are\nnot primitive. Modern savages are not ancient because they are modern.\nSomething has happened to their race as much as to ours, during the\nthousands of years of our existence and endurance on the earth. They\nhave had some experiences, and have presumably acted on them if not\nprofited by them, like the rest of us. They have had some environment,\nand even some change of environment, and have presumably adapted\nthemselves to it in a proper and decorous evolutionary manner. This\nwould be true even if the experiences were mild or the environment\ndreary; for there is an effect in mere time when it takes the moral form\nof monotony. But it has appeared to a good many intelligent and\nwell-informed people quite as probable that the experience of the\nsavages has been that of a decline from civilisation. Most of those who\ncriticise this view do not seem to have any very clear notion of what a\ndecline from civilisation would be like. Heaven help them, it is likely\nenough that they will soon find out. They seem to be content if cave-men\nand cannibal islanders have some things in common, such as certain\nparticular implements. But it is obvious on the face of it that any\npeoples reduced for any reason to a ruder life would have some things in\ncommon. If we lost all our firearms we should make bows and arrows; but\nwe should not necessarily resemble in every way the first men who made\nbows and arrows. It is said that the Russians in their great retreat\nwere so short of armament that they fought with clubs cut in the wood.\nBut a professor of the future would err in supposing that the Russian\nArmy of 1916 was a naked Scythian tribe that had never been out of the\nwood. It is like saying that a man in his second childhood must exactly\ncopy his first. A baby is bald like an old man; but it would be an error\nfor one ignorant of infancy to infer that the baby had a long white\nbeard. Both a baby and an old man walk with difficulty; but he who shall\nexpect the old gentleman to lie on his back, and kick joyfully instead,\nwill be disappointed.\n\nIt is therefore absurd to argue that the first pioneers of humanity must\nhave been identical with some of the last and most stagnant leavings of\nit. There were almost certainly some things, there were probably many\nthings, in which the two were widely different or flatly contrary. An\nexample of the way in which this distinction works, and an example\nessential to our argument here, is that of the nature and origin of\ngovernment. I have already alluded to Mr. H. G. Wells and the Old Man,\nwith whom he appears to be on such intimate terms. If we considered the\ncold facts of prehistoric evidence for this portrait of the prehistoric\nchief of the tribe, we could only excuse it by saying that its brilliant\nand versatile author simply forgot for a moment that he was supposed to\nbe writing a history, and dreamed he was writing one of his own very\nwonderful and imaginative romances. At least I cannot imagine how he can\npossibly know that the prehistoric ruler was called the Old Man or that\ncourt etiquette requires it to be spelt with capital letters. He says of\nthe same potentate, \u2018No one was allowed to touch his spear or to sit in\nhis seat.\u2019 I have difficulty in believing that anybody has dug up a\nprehistoric spear with a prehistoric label, \u2018Visitors are Requested not\nto Touch,\u2019 or a complete throne with the inscription, \u2018Reserved for the\nOld Man.\u2019 But it may be presumed that the writer, who can hardly be\nsupposed to be merely making up things out of his own head, was merely\ntaking for granted this very dubious parallel between the prehistoric\nand the decivilised man. It may be that in certain savage tribes the\nchief is called the Old Man and nobody is allowed to touch his spear or\nsit on his seat. It may be that in those cases he is surrounded with\nsuperstitious and traditional terrors; and it may be that in those\ncases, for all I know, he is despotic and tyrannical. But there is not a\ngrain of evidence that primitive government was despotic and tyrannical.\nIt may have been, of course, for it may have been anything or even\nnothing; it may not have existed at all. But the despotism in certain\ndingy and decayed tribes in the twentieth century does not prove that\nthe first men were ruled despotically. It does not even suggest it; it\ndoes not even begin to hint at it. If there is one fact we really can\nprove, from the history that we really do know, it is that despotism can\nbe a development, often a late development and very often indeed the end\nof societies that have been highly democratic. A despotism may almost be\ndefined as a tired democracy. As fatigue falls on a community, the\ncitizens are less inclined for that eternal vigilance which has truly\nbeen called the price of liberty; and they prefer to arm only one single\nsentinel to watch the city while they sleep. It is also true that they\nsometimes needed him for some sudden and militant act of reform; it is\nequally true that he often took advantage of being the strong man armed\nto be a tyrant like some of the Sultans of the East. But I cannot see\nwhy the Sultan should have appeared any earlier in history than many\nother human figures. On the contrary, the strong man armed obviously\ndepends upon the superiority of his armour; and armament of that sort\ncomes with more complex civilisation. One man may kill twenty with a\nmachine-gun; it is obviously less likely that he could do it with a\npiece of flint. As for the current cant about the strongest man ruling\nby force and fear, it is simply a nursery fairy-tale about a giant with\na hundred hands. Twenty men could hold down the strongest strong man in\nany society, ancient or modern. Undoubtedly they might _admire_, in a\nromantic and poetical sense, the man who was really the strongest; but\nthat is quite a different thing, and is as purely moral and even\nmystical as the admiration for the purest or the wisest. But the spirit\nthat endures the mere cruelties and caprices of an established despot is\nthe spirit of an ancient and settled and probably stiffened society, not\nthe spirit of a new one. As his name implies, the Old Man is the ruler\nof an old humanity.\n\nIt is far more probable that a primitive society was something like a\npure democracy. To this day the comparatively simple agricultural\ncommunities are by far the purest democracies. Democracy is a thing\nwhich is always breaking down through the complexity of civilisation.\nAny one who likes may state it by saying that democracy is the foe of\ncivilisation. But he must remember that some of us really prefer\ndemocracy to civilisation, in the sense of preferring democracy to\ncomplexity. Anyhow, peasants tilling patches of their own land in a\nrough equality, and meeting to vote directly under a village tree, are\nthe most truly self-governing of men. It is surely as likely as not that\nsuch a simple idea was found in the first condition of even simpler men.\nIndeed the despotic vision is exaggerated, even if we do not regard the\nmen as men. Even on an evolutionary assumption of the most materialistic\nsort, there is really no reason why men should not have had at least as\nmuch camaraderie as rats or rooks. Leadership of some sort they\ndoubtless had, as have the gregarious animals; but leadership implies no\nsuch irrational servility as that attributed to the superstitious\nsubjects of the Old Man. There was doubtless somebody corresponding, to\nuse Tennyson\u2019s expression, to the many-wintered crow that leads the\nclanging rookery home. But I fancy that if that venerable fowl began to\nact after the fashion of some Sultans in ancient and decayed Asia, it\nwould become a very clanging rookery and the many-wintered crow would\nnot see many more winters. It may be remarked, in this connection, but\neven among animals it would seem that something else is respected more\nthan bestial violence, if it be only the familiarity which in men is\ncalled tradition or the experience which in men is called wisdom. I do\nnot know if crows really follow the oldest crow, but if they do they are\ncertainly not following the strongest crow. And I do know, in the human\ncase, that if some ritual of seniority keeps savages reverencing\nsomebody called the Old Man, then at least they have not our own servile\nsentimental weakness for worshipping the Strong Man.\n\nIt may be said then that primitive government, like primitive art and\nreligion and everything else, is very imperfectly known or rather\nguessed at; but that it is at least as good a guess to suggest that it\nwas as popular as a Balkan or Pyrenean village as that it was as\ncapricious and secret as a Turkish divan. Both the mountain democracy\nand the oriental palace are modern in the sense that they are still\nthere, or are some sort of growth of history; but of the two the palace\nhas much more the look of being an accumulation and a corruption, the\nvillage much more the look of being a really unchanged and primitive\nthing. But my suggestions at this point do not go beyond expressing a\nwholesome doubt about the current assumption. I think it interesting,\nfor instance, that liberal institutions have been traced even by\nmoderns back to barbarian or undeveloped states, when it happened to be\nconvenient for the support of some race or nation or philosophy. So the\nSocialists profess that their ideal of communal property existed in very\nearly times. So the Jews are proud of the Jubilees or juster\nredistributions under their ancient law. So the Teutonists boasted of\ntracing parliaments and juries and various popular things among the\nGermanic tribes of the North. So the Celtophiles and those testifying to\nthe wrongs of Ireland have pleaded the more equal justice of the clan\nsystem, to which the Irish chiefs bore witness before Strongbow. The\nstrength of the case varies in the different cases; but as there is some\ncase for all of them, I suspect there is some case for the general\nproposition that popular institutions of some sort were by no means\nuncommon in early and simple societies. Each of these separate schools\nwere making the admission to prove a particular modern thesis; but taken\ntogether they suggest a more ancient and general truth, that there was\nsomething more in prehistoric councils than ferocity and fear. Each of\nthese separate theorists had his own axe to grind, but he was willing to\nuse a stone axe; and he manages to suggest that the stone axe might have\nbeen as republican as the guillotine.\n\nBut the truth is that the curtain rises upon the play already in\nprogress. In one sense it is a true paradox that there was history\nbefore history. But it is not the irrational paradox implied in\nprehistoric history; for it is a history we do not know. Very probably\nit was exceedingly like the history we do know, except in the one detail\nthat we do not know it. It is thus the very opposite of the pretentious\nprehistoric history, which professes to trace everything in a consistent\ncourse from the amoeba to the anthropoid and from the anthropoid to the\nagnostic. So far from being a question of our knowing all about queer\ncreatures very different from ourselves, they were very probably people\nvery like ourselves, except that we know nothing about them. In other\nwords, our most ancient records only reach back to a time when humanity\nhad long been human, and even long been civilised. The most ancient\nrecords we have not only mention but take for granted things like kings\nand priests and princes and assemblies of the people; they describe\ncommunities that are roughly recognisable as communities in our own\nsense. Some of them are despotic; but we cannot tell that they have\nalways been despotic. Some of them may be already decadent, and nearly\nall are mentioned as if they were old. We do not know what really\nhappened in the world before those records; but the little we do know\nwould leave us anything but astonished if we learnt that it was very\nmuch like what happens in this world now. There would be nothing\ninconsistent or confounding about the discovery that those unknown ages\nwere full of republics collapsing under monarchies and rising again as\nrepublics, empires expanding and finding colonies and then losing\ncolonies, kingdoms combining again into world-states and breaking up\nagain into small nationalities, classes selling themselves into slavery\nand marching out once more into liberty; all that procession of humanity\nwhich may or may not be a progress but is most assuredly a romance. But\nthe first chapters of the romance have been torn out of the book; and we\nshall never read them.\n\nIt is so also with the more special fancy about evolution and social\nstability. According to the real records available, barbarism and\ncivilisation were not successive stages in the progress of the world.\nThey were conditions that existed side by side, as they still exist side\nby side. There were civilisations then as there are civilisations now;\nthere are savages now as there were savages then. It is suggested that\nall men passed through a nomadic stage; but it is certain that there are\nsome who have never passed out of it, and it seems not unlikely that\nthere were some who never passed into it. It is probable that from very\nprimitive times the static tiller of the soil and the wandering shepherd\nwere two distinct types of men; and the chronological rearrangement of\nthem is but a mark of that mania for progressive stages that has largely\nfalsified history. It is suggested that there was a communist stage, in\nwhich private property was everywhere unknown, a whole humanity living\non the negation of property; but the evidences of this negation are\nthemselves rather negative. Redistributions of property, jubilees, and\nagrarian laws occur at various intervals and in various forms; but that\nhumanity inevitably passed through a communist stage seems as doubtful\nas the parallel proposition that humanity will inevitably return to it.\nIt is chiefly interesting as evidence that the boldest plans for the\nfuture invoke the authority of the past; and that even a revolutionary\nseeks to satisfy himself that he is also a reactionary. There is an\namusing parallel example in the case of what is called feminism. In\nspite of all the pseudo-scientific gossip about marriage by capture and\nthe cave-man beating the cave-woman with a club, it may be noted that as\nsoon as feminism became a fashionable cry, it was insisted that human\ncivilisation in its first stage had been a matriarchy. Apparently it was\nthe cave-woman who carried the club. Anyhow all these ideas are little\nbetter than guesses; and they have a curious way of following the\nfortune of modern theories and fads. In any case they are not history in\nthe sense of record; and we may repeat that when it comes to record, the\nbroad truth is that barbarism and civilisation have always dwelt side by\nside in the world, the civilisation sometimes spreading to absorb the\nbarbarians, sometimes decaying into relative barbarism, and in almost\nall cases possessing in a more finished form certain ideas and\ninstitutions which the barbarians possess in a ruder form; such as\ngovernment or social authority, the arts and especially the decorative\narts, mysteries and taboos of various kinds especially surrounding the\nmatter of sex, and some form of that fundamental thing which is the\nchief concern of this inquiry: the thing that we call religion.\n\nNow Egypt and Babylon, those two primeval monsters, might in this matter\nhave been specially provided as models. They might almost be called\nworking models to show how these modern theories do not work. The two\ngreat truths we know about these two great cultures happen to contradict\nflatly the two current fallacies which have just been considered. The\nstory of Egypt might have been invented to point the moral that man does\nnot necessarily begin with despotism because he is barbarous, but very\noften finds his way to despotism because he is civilised. He finds it\nbecause he is experienced; or, what is often much the same thing,\nbecause he is exhausted. And the story of Babylon might have been\ninvented to point the moral that man need not be a nomad or a communist\nbefore he becomes a peasant or a citizen; and that such cultures are not\nalways in successive stages but often in contemporary states. Even\ntouching these great civilisations with which our written history\nbegins, there is a temptation of course to be too ingenious or too\ncocksure. We can read the bricks of Babylon in a very different sense\nfrom that in which we guess about the Cup and Ring stones; and we do\ndefinitely know what is meant by the animals in the Egyptian\nhieroglyphic as we know nothing of the animals in the neolithic cave.\nBut even here the admirable archeologists who have deciphered line after\nline of miles of hieroglyphics may be tempted to read too much between\nthe lines; even the real authority on Babylon may forget how fragmentary\nis his hard-won knowledge; may forget that Babylon has only heaved half\na brick at him, though half a brick is better than no cuneiform. But\nsome truths, historic and not prehistoric, dogmatic and not\nevolutionary, facts and not fancies, do indeed emerge from Egypt and\nBabylon; and these two truths are among them.\n\nEgypt is a green ribbon along the river edging the dark red desolation\nof the desert. It is a proverb, and one of vast antiquity, that it is\ncreated by the mysterious bounty and almost sinister benevolence of the\nNile. When we first hear of Egyptians they are living as in a string of\nriver-side villages, in small and separate but co-operative communities\nalong the bank of the Nile. Where the river branched into the broad\nDelta there was traditionally the beginning of a somewhat different\ndistrict or people; but this need not complicate the main truth. These\nmore or less independent though interdependent peoples were considerably\ncivilised already. They had a sort of heraldry; that is, decorative art\nused for symbolic and social purposes; each sailing the Nile under its\nown ensign representing some bird or animal. Heraldry involves two\nthings of enormous importance to normal humanity; the combination of the\ntwo making that noble thing called co-operation; on which rest all\npeasantries and peoples that are free. The art of heraldry means\nindependence; an image chosen by the imagination to express the\nindividuality. The science of heraldry means interdependence; an\nagreement between different bodies to recognise different images; a\nscience of imagery. We have here therefore exactly that compromise of\nco-operation between free families or groups which is the most normal\nmode of life for humanity and is particularly apparent wherever men own\ntheir own land and live on it. With the very mention of the images of\nbird and beast the student of mythology will murmur the word \u2018totem\u2019\nalmost in his sleep. But to my mind much of the trouble arises from his\nhabit of saying such words as if in his sleep. Throughout this rough\noutline I have made a necessarily inadequate attempt to keep on the\ninside rather than the outside of such things; to consider them where\npossible in terms of thought and not merely in terms of terminology.\nThere is very little value in talking about totems unless we have some\nfeeling of what it really felt like to have a totem. Granted that they\nhad totems and we have no totems; was it because they had more fear of\nanimals or more familiarity with animals? Did a man whose totem was a\nwolf feel like a were-wolf or like a man running away from a were-wolf?\nDid he feel like Uncle Remus about Brer Wolf or like St. Francis about\nhis brother the wolf, or like Mowgli about his brothers the wolves? Was\na totem a thing like the British lion or a thing like the British\nbulldog? Was the worship of a totem like the feeling of niggers about\nMumbo Jumbo, or of children about Jumbo? I have never read any book of\nfolk-lore, however learned, that gave me any light upon this question,\nwhich I think by far the most important one. I will confine myself to\nrepeating that the earliest Egyptian communities had a common\nunderstanding about the images that stood for their individual states;\nand that this amount of communication is prehistoric in the sense that\nit is already there at the beginning of history. But as history unfolds\nitself, this question of communication is clearly the main question of\nthese riverside communities. With the need of communication comes the\nneed of a common government and the growing greatness and spreading\nshadow of the king. The other binding force besides the king, and\nperhaps older than the king, is the priesthood; and the priesthood has\npresumably even more to do with these ritual symbols and signals by\nwhich men can communicate. And here in Egypt arose probably the primary\nand certainly the typical invention to which we owe all history, and the\nwhole difference between the historic and the prehistoric: the\narchetypal script, the art of writing.\n\nThe popular pictures of these primeval empires are not half so popular\nas they might be. There is shed over them the shadow of an exaggerated\ngloom, more than the normal and even healthy sadness of heathen men. It\nis part of the same sort of secret pessimism that loves to make\nprimitive man a crawling creature, whose body is filth and whose soul is\nfear. It comes of course from the fact that men are moved most by their\nreligion; especially when it is irreligion. For them anything primary\nand elemental must be evil. But it is the curious consequence that while\nwe have been deluged with the wildest experiments in primitive romance,\nthey have all missed the real romance of being primitive. They have\ndescribed scenes that are wholly imaginary, in which the men of the\nStone Age are men of stone like walking statues; in which the Assyrians\nor Egyptians are as stiff or as painted as their own most archaic art.\nBut none of these makers of imaginary scenes have tried to imagine what\nit must really have been like to see those things as fresh which we see\nas familiar. They have not seen a man discovering fire like a child\ndiscovering fireworks. They have not seen a man playing with the\nwonderful invention called the wheel, like a boy playing at putting up a\nwireless station. They have never put the spirit of youth into their\ndescriptions of the youth of the world. It follows that amid all their\nprimitive or prehistoric fancies there are no jokes. There are not even\npractical jokes, in connection with the practical inventions. And this\nis very sharply defined in the particular case of hieroglyphics; for\nthere seems to be serious indication that the whole high human art of\nscripture or writing began with a joke.\n\nThere are some who will learn with regret that it seems to have begun\nwith a pun. The king or the priests or some responsible persons, wishing\nto send a message up the river in that inconveniently long and narrow\nterritory, hit on the idea of sending it in picture-writing, like that\nof the Red Indian. Like most people who have written picture-writing for\nfun, he found the words did not always fit. But when the word for taxes\nsounded rather like the word for pig, he boldly put down a pig as a bad\npun and chanced it. So a modern hieroglyphist might represent \u2018at once\u2019\nby unscrupulously drawing a hat followed by a series of upright\nnumerals. It was good enough for the Pharaohs and ought to be good\nenough for him. But it must have been great fun to write or even to read\nthese messages, when writing and reading were really a new thing. And if\npeople must write romances about ancient Egypt (and it seems that\nneither prayers nor tears nor curses can withhold them from the habit),\nI suggest that scenes like this would really remind us that the ancient\nEgyptians were human beings. I suggest that somebody should describe the\nscene of the great monarch sitting among his priests, and all of them\nroaring with laughter and bubbling over with suggestions as the royal\npuns grew more and more wild and indefensible. There might be another\nscene of almost equal excitement about the decoding of this cipher; the\nguesses and clues and discoveries having all the popular thrill of a\ndetective story. That is how primitive romance and primitive history\nreally ought to be written. For whatever was the quality of the\nreligious or moral life of remote times, and it was probably much more\nhuman than is conventionally supposed, the scientific interest of such a\ntime must have been intense. Words must have been more wonderful than\nwireless telegraphy; and experiments with common things a series of\nelectric shocks. We are still waiting for somebody to write a lively\nstory of primitive life. The point is in some sense a parenthesis here;\nbut it is connected with the general matter of political development, by\nthe institution which is most active in these first and most fascinating\nof all the fairy-tales of science.\n\nIt is admitted that we owe most of this science to the priests. Modern\nwriters like Mr. Wells cannot be accused of any weakness of sympathy\nwith a pontifical hierarchy; but they agree at least in recognising what\npagan priesthoods did for the arts and sciences. Among the more ignorant\nof the enlightened there was indeed a convention of saying that priests\nhad obstructed progress in all ages; and a politician once told me in a\ndebate that I was resisting modern reforms exactly as some ancient\npriest probably resisted the discovery of wheels. I pointed out, in\nreply, that it was far more likely that the ancient priest made the\ndiscovery of the wheels. It is overwhelmingly probable that the ancient\npriest had a great deal to do with the discovery of the art of writing.\nIt is obvious enough in the fact that the very word hieroglyphic is akin\nto the word hierarchy. The religion of these priests was apparently a\nmore or less tangled polytheism of a type that is more particularly\ndescribed elsewhere. It passed through a period when it co-operated with\nthe king, another period when it was temporarily destroyed by the king,\nwho happened to be a prince with a private theism of his own, and a\nthird period when it practically destroyed the king and ruled in his\nstead. But the world has to thank it for many things which it considers\ncommon and necessary; and the creators of those common things ought\nreally to have a place among the heroes of humanity. If we were at rest\nin a real paganism, instead of being restless in a rather irrational\nreaction from Christianity, we might pay some sort of pagan honour to\nthese nameless makers of mankind. We might have veiled statues of the\nman who first found fire or the man who first made a boat or the man who\nfirst tamed a horse. And if we brought them garlands or sacrifices,\nthere would be more sense in it than in disfiguring our cities with\ncockney statues of stale politicians and philanthropists. But one of\nthe strange marks of the strength of Christianity is that, since it\ncame, no pagan in our civilisation has been able to be really human.\n\nThe point is here, however, that the Egyptian government, whether\npontifical or royal, found it more and more necessary to establish\ncommunication; and there always went with communication a certain\nelement of coercion. It is not necessarily an indefensible thing that\nthe State grew more despotic as it grew more civilised; it is arguable\nthat it had to grow more despotic in order to grow more civilised. That\nis the argument for autocracy in every age; and the interest lies in\nseeing it illustrated in the earliest age. But it is emphatically not\ntrue that it was most despotic in the earliest age and grew more liberal\nin a later age; the practical process of history is exactly the reverse.\nIt is not true that the tribe began in the extreme of terror of the Old\nMan and his seat and spear; it is probable, at least in Egypt, that the\nOld Man was rather a New Man armed to attack new conditions. His spear\ngrew longer and longer and his throne rose higher and higher, as Egypt\nrose into a complex and complete civilisation. That is what I mean by\nsaying that the history of the Egyptian territory is in this the history\nof the earth; and directly denies the vulgar assumption that terrorism\ncan only come at the beginning and cannot come at the end. We do not\nknow what was the very first condition of the more or less feudal\namalgam of landowners, peasants, and slaves in the little commonwealths\nbeside the Nile; but it may have been a peasantry of an even more\npopular sort. What we do know is that it was by experience and education\nthat little commonwealths lose their liberty; that absolute sovereignty\nis something not merely ancient but rather relatively modern; and it is\nat the end of the path called progress that men return to the king.\n\nEgypt exhibits, in that brief record of its remotest beginnings, the\nprimary problem of liberty and civilisation. It is the fact that men\nactually lose variety by complexity. We have not solved the problem\nproperly any more than they did; but it vulgarises the human dignity of\nthe problem itself to suggest that even tyranny has no motive save in\ntribal terror. And just as the Egyptian example refutes the fallacy\nabout despotism and civilisation, so does the Babylonian example refute\nthe fallacy about civilisation and barbarism. Babylon also we first hear\nof when it is already civilised; for the simple reason that we cannot\nhear of anything until it is educated enough to talk. It talks to us in\nwhat is called cuneiform; that strange and stiff triangular symbolism\nthat contrasts with the picturesque alphabet of Egypt. However\nrelatively rigid Egyptian art may be, there is always something\ndifferent from the Babylonian spirit which was too rigid to have any\nart. There is always a living grace in the lines of the lotus and\nsomething of rapidity as well as rigidity in the movement of the arrows\nand the birds. Perhaps there is something of the restrained but living\ncurve of the river, which makes us in talking of the serpent of old Nile\nalmost think of the Nile as a serpent. Babylon was a civilisation of\ndiagrams rather than of drawings. Mr. W. B. Yeats, who has a historical\nimagination to match his mythological imagination (and indeed the former\nis impossible without the latter), wrote truly of the men who watched\nthe stars \u2018from their pedantic Babylon.\u2019 The cuneiform was cut upon\nbricks, of which all their architecture was built up; the bricks were of\nbaked mud, and perhaps the material had something in it forbidding the\nsense of form to develop in sculpture or relief. Theirs was a static but\na scientific civilisation, far advanced in the machinery of life and in\nsome ways highly modern. It is said that they had much of the modern\ncult of the higher spinsterhood and recognised an official class of\nindependent working women. There is perhaps something in that mighty\nstronghold of hardened mud that suggests the utilitarian activity of a\nhuge hive. But though it was huge it was human; we see many of the same\nsocial problems as in ancient Egypt or modern England; and whatever its\nevils this also was one of the earliest masterpieces of man. It stood,\nof course, in the triangle formed by the almost legendary rivers of\nTigris and Euphrates, and the vast agriculture of its empire, on which\nits towns depended, was perfected by a highly scientific system of\ncanals. It had by tradition a high intellectual life, though rather\nphilosophic than artistic; and there preside over its primal foundation\nthose figures who have come to stand for the star-gazing wisdom of\nantiquity; the teachers of Abraham; the Chaldees.\n\nAgainst this solid society, as against some vast bare wall of brick,\nthere surged age after age the nameless armies of the Nomads. They came\nout of the deserts where the nomadic life had been lived from the\nbeginning and where it is still lived to-day. It is needless to dwell on\nthe nature of that life; it was obvious enough and even easy enough to\nfollow a herd or a flock which generally found its own grazing-ground\nand to live on the milk or meat it provided. Nor is there any reason to\ndoubt that this habit of life could give almost every human thing except\na home. Many such shepherds or herdsmen may have talked in the earliest\ntimes of all the truths and enigmas of the Book of Job; and of these\nwere Abraham and his children, who have given to the modern world for an\nendless enigma the almost monomaniac monotheism of the Jews. But they\nwere a wild people without comprehension of complex social organisation;\nand a spirit like the wind within them made them wage war on it again\nand again. The history of Babylonia is largely the history of its\ndefence against the desert hordes; who came on at intervals of a century\nor two and generally retreated as they came. Some say that an admixture\nof nomad invasion built at Nineveh the arrogant kingdom of the\nAssyrians, who carved great monsters upon their temples, bearded bulls\nwith wings like cherubim, and who sent forth many military conquerors\nwho stamped the world as if with such colossal hooves. Assyria was an\nimperial interlude; but it was an interlude. The main story of all that\nland is the war between the wandering peoples and the state that was\ntruly static. Presumably in prehistoric times, and certainly in historic\ntimes, those wanderers went westward to waste whatever they could find.\nThe last time they came they found Babylon vanished; but that was in\nhistoric times and the name of their leader was Mahomet.\n\nNow it is worth while to pause upon that story because, as has been\nsuggested, it directly contradicts the impression still current that\nnomadism is merely a prehistoric thing and social settlement a\ncomparatively recent thing. There is nothing to show that the\nBabylonians had ever wandered; there is very little to show that the\ntribes of the desert ever settled down. Indeed it is probable that this\nnotion of a nomadic stage followed by a static stage has already been\nabandoned by the sincere and genuine scholars to whose researches we all\nowe so much. But I am not at issue in this book with sincere and genuine\nscholars, but with a vast and vague public opinion which has been\nprematurely spread from certain imperfect investigations, and which has\nmade fashionable a false notion of the whole history of humanity. It is\nthe whole vague notion that a monkey evolved into a man and in the same\nway a barbarian evolved into a civilised man, and therefore at every\nstage we have to look back to barbarism and forward to civilisation.\nUnfortunately this notion is in a double sense entirely in the air. It\nis an atmosphere in which men live rather than a thesis which they\ndefend. Men in that mood are more easily answered by objects than by\ntheories; and it will be well if any one tempted to make that\nassumption, in some trivial turn of talk or writing, can be checked for\na moment by shutting his eyes and seeing for an instant, vast and\nvaguely crowded, like a populous precipice, the wonder of the Babylonian\nwall.\n\nOne fact does certainly fall across us like its shadow. Our glimpses of\nboth these early empires show that the first domestic relation had been\ncomplicated by something which was less human, but was often regarded as\nequally domestic. The dark giant called Slavery had been called up like\na genii and was labouring on gigantic works of brick and stone. Here\nagain we must not too easily assume that what was backward was barbaric;\nin the matter of manumission the earlier servitude seems in some ways\nmore liberal than the later; perhaps more liberal than the servitude of\nthe future. To insure food for humanity by forcing part of it to work\nwas after all a very human expedient; which is why it will probably be\ntried again. But in one sense there is a significance in the old\nslavery. It stands for one fundamental fact about all antiquity before\nChrist; something to be assumed from first to last. It is the\ninsignificance of the individual before the State. It was as true of the\nmost democratic City State in Hellas as of any despotism in Babylon. It\nis one of the signs of this spirit that a whole class of individuals\ncould be insignificant or even invisible. It must be normal because it\nwas needed for what would now be called \u2018social service.\u2019 Somebody said,\n\u2018The Man is nothing and the Work is all,\u2019 meaning it for a breezy\nCarlylean commonplace. It was the sinister motto of the heathen Servile\nState. In that sense there is truth in the traditional vision of vast\npillars and pyramids going up under those everlasting skies for ever, by\nthe labour of numberless and nameless men, toiling like ants and dying\nlike flies, wiped out by the work of their own hands.\n\nBut there are two other reasons for beginning with the two fixed points\nof Egypt and Babylon. For one thing they are fixed in tradition as the\ntypes of antiquity; and history without tradition is dead. Babylon is\nstill the burden of a nursery rhyme, and Egypt (with its enormous\npopulation of princesses awaiting reincarnation) is still the topic of\nan unnecessary number of novels. But a tradition is generally a truth;\nso long as the tradition is sufficiently popular; even if it is almost\nvulgar. And there is a significance in this Babylonian and Egyptian\nelement in nursery rhymes and novels; even the newspapers, normally so\nmuch behind the times, have already got as far as the reign of\nTutankhamen. The first reason is full of the common sense of popular\nlegend; it is the simple fact that we do know more of these traditional\nthings than of other contemporary things; and that we always did. All\ntravellers from Herodotus to Lord Carnarvon follow this route.\nScientific speculations of to-day do indeed spread out a map of the\nwhole primitive world, with streams of racial emigration or admixture\nmarked in dotted lines everywhere; over spaces which the unscientific\nmedieval map-maker would have been content to call \u2018terra incognita,\u2019 if\nhe did not fill the inviting blank with a picture of a dragon, to\nindicate the probable reception given to pilgrims. But these\nspeculations are only speculations at the best; and at the worst the\ndotted lines can be far more fabulous than the dragon.\n\nThere is unfortunately one fallacy here into which it is very easy for\nmen to fall, even those who are most intelligent and perhaps especially\nthose who are most imaginative. It is the fallacy of supposing that\nbecause an idea is greater in the sense of larger, therefore it is\ngreater in the sense of more fundamental and fixed and certain. If a man\nlives alone in a straw hut in the middle of Thibet, he may be told that\nhe is living in the Chinese Empire; and the Chinese Empire is certainly\na splendid and spacious and impressive thing. Or alternatively he may be\ntold that he is living in the British Empire, and be duly impressed. But\nthe curious thing is that in certain mental states he can feel much more\ncertain about the Chinese Empire that he cannot see than about the straw\nhut that he can see. He has some strange magical juggle in his mind, by\nwhich his argument begins with the empire though his experience begins\nwith the hut. Sometimes he goes mad and appears to be proving that a\nstraw hut cannot exist in the domains of the Dragon Throne; that it is\nimpossible for such a civilisation as he enjoys to contain such a hovel\nas he inhabits. But his insanity arises from the intellectual slip of\nsupposing that because China is a large and all-embracing hypothesis,\ntherefore it is something more than a hypothesis. Now modern people are\nperpetually arguing in this way; and they extend it to things much less\nreal and certain than the Chinese Empire. They seem to forget, for\ninstance, that a man is not even certain of the Solar System as he is\ncertain of the South Downs. The Solar System is a deduction, and\ndoubtless a true deduction; but the point is that it is a very vast and\nfar-reaching deduction, and therefore he forgets that it is a deduction\nat all and treats it as a first principle. He _might_ discover that the\nwhole calculation is a miscalculation; and the sun and stars and street\nlamps would look exactly the same. But he has forgotten that it is a\ncalculation, and is almost ready to contradict the sun if it does not\nfit into the Solar System. If this is a fallacy even in the case of\nfacts pretty well ascertained, such as the Solar System and the Chinese\nEmpire, it is an even more devastating fallacy in connection with\ntheories and other things that are not really ascertained at all. Thus\nhistory, especially prehistoric history, has a horrible habit of\nbeginning with certain generalisations about races. I will not describe\nthe disorder and misery this inversion has produced in modern politics.\nBecause the race is vaguely supposed to have produced the nation, men\ntalk as if the nation were something vaguer than the race. Because they\nhave themselves invented a reason to explain a result, they almost deny\nthe result in order to justify the reason. They first treat a Celt as an\naxiom and then treat an Irishman as an inference. And then they are\nsurprised that a great fighting, roaring Irishman is angry at being\ntreated as an inference. They cannot see that the Irish are Irish\nwhether or no they are Celtic, whether or no there ever were any Celts.\nAnd what misleads them once more is the _size_ of the theory; the sense\nthat the fancy is bigger than the fact. A great scattered Celtic race is\nsupposed to contain the Irish, so of course the Irish must depend for\ntheir very existence upon it. The same confusion, of course, has\neliminated the English and the Germans by swamping them in the Teutonic\nrace; and some tried to prove from the races being at one that the\nnations could not be at war. But I only give these vulgar and hackneyed\nexamples in passing, as more familiar examples of the fallacy; the\nmatter at issue here is not its application to these modern things but\nrather to the most ancient things. But the more remote and unrecorded\nwas the racial problem, the more fixed was this curious inverted\ncertainty in the Victorian man of science. To this day it gives a man of\nthose scientific traditions the same sort of shock to question these\nthings, which were only the last inferences when he turned them into\nfirst principles. He is still more certain that he is an Aryan even than\nthat he is an Anglo-Saxon, just as he is more certain that he is an\nAnglo-Saxon than that he is an Englishman. He has never really\ndiscovered that he is a European. But he has never doubted that he is an\nIndo-European. These Victorian theories have shifted a great deal in\ntheir shape and scope; but this habit of a rapid hardening of a\nhypothesis into a theory, and of a theory into an assumption, has hardly\nyet gone out of fashion. People cannot easily get rid of the mental\nconfusion of feeling that the foundations of history must surely be\nsecure; that the first steps must be safe; that the biggest\ngeneralisation must be obvious. But though the contradiction may seem to\nthem a paradox, this is the very contrary of the truth. It is the large\nthing that is secret and invisible; it is the small thing that is\nevident and enormous.\n\nEvery race on the face of the earth has been the subject of these\nspeculations, and it is impossible even to suggest an outline of the\nsubject. But if we take the European race alone, its history, or rather\nits prehistory, has undergone many retrospective revolutions in the\nshort period of my own lifetime. It used to be called the Caucasian\nrace; and I read in childhood an account of its collision with the\nMongolian race; it was written by Bret Harte and opened with the query,\n\u2018Or is the Caucasian played out?\u2019 Apparently the Caucasian was played\nout, for in a very short time he had been turned into the Indo-European\nman; sometimes, I regret to say, proudly presented as the Indo-Germanic\nman. It seems that the Hindu and the German have similar words for\nmother or father; there were other similarities between Sanskrit and\nvarious Western tongues; and with that all superficial differences\nbetween a Hindu and a German seemed suddenly to disappear. Generally\nthis composite person was more conveniently described as the Aryan, and\nthe really important point was that he had marched westward out of those\nhigh lands of India where fragments of his language could still be\nfound. When I read this as a child, I had the fancy that after all the\nAryan need not have marched westward and left his language behind him;\nhe might also have marched eastward and taken his language with him. If\nI were to read it now, I should content myself with confessing my\nignorance of the whole matter. But as a matter of fact I have great\ndifficulty in reading it now, because it is not being written now. It\nlooks as if the Aryan is also played out. Anyhow he has not merely\nchanged his name but changed his address; his starting-place and his\nroute of travel. One new theory maintains that our race did not come to\nits present home from the East but from the South. Some say the\nEuropeans did not come from Asia but from Africa. Some have even had the\nwild idea that the Europeans came from Europe; or rather that they never\nleft it.\n\nThen there is a certain amount of evidence of a more or less prehistoric\npressure from the North, such as that which seems to have brought the\nGreeks to inherit the Cretan culture and so often brought the Gauls over\nthe hills into the fields of Italy. But I merely mention this example of\nEuropean ethnology to point out that the learned have pretty well boxed\nthe compass by this time; and that I, who am not one of the learned,\ncannot pretend for a moment to decide where such doctors disagree. But I\ncan use my own common sense, and I sometimes fancy that theirs is a\nlittle rusty from want of use. The first act of common sense is to\nrecognise the difference between a cloud and a mountain. And I will\naffirm that nobody knows any of these things, in the sense that we all\nknow of the existence of the Pyramids of Egypt.\n\nThe truth, it may be repeated, is that what we really see, as distinct\nfrom what we may reasonably guess, in this earliest phase of history is\ndarkness covering the earth and great darkness the peoples, with a light\nor two gleaming here and there on chance patches of humanity; and that\ntwo of these flames do burn upon two of these tall primeval towns; upon\nthe high terraces of Babylon and the huge pyramids of the Nile. There\nare indeed other ancient lights, or lights that may be conjectured to be\nvery ancient, in very remote parts of that vast wilderness of night.\nFar away to the East there is a high civilisation of vast antiquity in\nChina; there are the remains of civilisations in Mexico and South\nAmerica and other places, some of them apparently so high in\ncivilisation as to have reached the most refined forms of devil-worship.\nBut the difference lies in the element of tradition; the tradition of\nthese lost cultures has been broken off, and though the tradition of\nChina still lives, it is doubtful whether we know anything about it.\nMoreover, a man trying to measure the Chinese antiquity has to use\nChinese traditions of measurement; and he has a strange sensation of\nhaving passed into another world under other laws of time and space.\nTime is telescoped outwards, and centuries assume the slow and stiff\nmovement of aeons; the white man trying to see it as the yellow man\nsees, feels as if his head were turning round and wonders wildly whether\nit is growing a pigtail. Anyhow he cannot take in a scientific sense\nthat queer perspective that leads up to the primeval pagoda of the first\nof the Sons of Heaven. He is in the real antipodes; the only true\nalternative world to Christendom; and he is after a fashion walking\nupside down. I have spoken of the medieval map-maker and his dragon; but\nwhat medieval traveller, however much interested in monsters, would\nexpect to find a country where a dragon is a benevolent and amiable\nbeing? Of the more serious side of Chinese tradition something will be\nsaid in another connection; but here I am only talking of tradition and\nthe test of antiquity. And I only mention China as an antiquity that is\nnot for us reached by a bridge of tradition; and Babylon and Egypt as\nantiquities that are. Herodotus is a human being, in a sense in which a\nChinaman in a billycock hat, sitting opposite to us in a London\ntea-shop, is hardly human. We feel as if we knew what David and Isaiah\nfelt like, in a way in which we never were quite certain what Li Hung\nChang felt like. The very sins that snatched away Helen or Bathsheba\nhave passed into a proverb of private human weakness, of pathos and even\nof pardon. The very virtues of the Chinaman have about them something\nterrifying. This is the difference made by the destruction or\npreservation of a continuous historical inheritance; as from ancient\nEgypt to modern Europe. But when we ask what was that world that we\ninherit, and why those particular people and places seem to belong to\nit, we are led to the central fact of civilised history.\n\nThat centre was the Mediterranean; which was not so much a piece of\nwater as a world. But it was a world with something of the character of\nsuch a water; for it became more and more a place of unification in\nwhich the streams of strange and very diverse cultures met. The Nile and\nthe Tiber alike flow into the Mediterranean; so did the Egyptian and the\nEtrurian alike contribute to a Mediterranean civilisation. The glamour\nof the great sea spread indeed very far inland, and the unity was felt\namong the Arabs alone in the deserts and the Gauls beyond the northern\nhills. But the gradual building up of a common culture running round all\nthe coasts of this inner sea is the main business of antiquity. As will\nbe seen, it was sometimes a bad business as well as a good business. In\nthat _orbis terrarum_ or circle of lands there were the extremes of evil\nand of piety, there were contrasted races and still more contrasted\nreligions. It was the scene of an endless struggle between Asia and\nEurope from the flight of the Persian ships at Salamis to the flight of\nthe Turkish ships at Lepanto. It was the scene, as will be more\nespecially suggested later, of a supreme spiritual struggle between the\ntwo types of paganism, confronting each other in the Latin and the\nPhoenician cities; in the Roman forum and the Punic mart. It was the\nworld of war and peace, the world of good and evil, the world of all\nthat matters most; with all respect to the Aztecs and the Mongols of\nthe Far East, they did not matter as the Mediterranean tradition\nmattered and still matters. Between it and the Far East there were, of\ncourse, interesting cults and conquests of various kinds, more or less\nin touch with it, and in proportion as they were so intelligible also to\nus. The Persians came riding in to make an end of Babylon; and we are\ntold in a Greek story how these barbarians learned to draw the bow and\ntell the truth. Alexander the great Greek marched with his Macedonians\ninto the sunrise, and brought back strange birds coloured like the\nsunrise clouds and strange flowers and jewels from the gardens and\ntreasuries of nameless kings. Islam went eastward into that world and\nmade it partly imaginable to us; precisely because Islam itself was born\nin that circle of lands that fringed our own ancient and ancestral sea.\nIn the Middle Ages the empire of the Moguls increased its majesty\nwithout losing its mystery; the Tartars conquered China and the Chinese\napparently took very little notice of them. All these things are\ninteresting in themselves; but it is impossible to shift the centre of\ngravity to the inland spaces of Asia from the inland sea of Europe. When\nall is said, if there were nothing in the world but what was said and\ndone and written and built in the lands lying round the Mediterranean,\nit would still be in all the most vital and valuable things the world in\nwhich we live. When that southern culture spread to the north-west it\nproduced many very wonderful things; of which doubtless we ourselves are\nthe most wonderful. When it spread thence to colonies and new countries,\nit was still the same culture so long as it was culture at all. But\nround that little sea like a lake were the things themselves, apart from\nall extensions and echoes and commentaries on the things; the Republic\nand the Church; the Bible and the heroic epics; Islam and Israel and the\nmemories of the lost empires; Aristotle and the measure of all things.\nIt is because the first light upon _this_ world is really light, the\ndaylight in which we are still walking to-day, and not merely the\ndoubtful visitation of strange stars, that I have begun here with noting\nwhere that light first falls on the towered cities of the eastern\nMediterranean.\n\nBut though Babylon and Egypt have thus a sort of first claim, in the\nvery fact of being familiar and traditional, fascinating riddles to us\nbut also fascinating riddles to our fathers, we must not imagine that\nthey were the only old civilisations on the southern sea; or that all\nthe civilisation was merely Sumerian or Semitic or Coptic, still less\nmerely Asiatic or African. Real research is more and more exalting the\nancient civilisation of Europe and especially of what we may still\nvaguely call the Greeks. It must be understood in the sense that there\nwere Greeks before the Greeks, as in so many of their mythologies there\nwere gods before the gods. The island of Crete was the centre of the\ncivilisation now called Minoan, after the Minos who lingered in ancient\nlegend and whose labyrinth was actually discovered by modern archeology.\nThis elaborate European society, with its harbours and its drainage and\nits domestic machinery, seems to have gone down before some invasion of\nits northern neighbours, who made or inherited the Hellas we know in\nhistory. But that earlier period did not pass till it had given to the\nworld gifts so great that the world has ever since been striving in vain\nto repay them, if only by plagiarism.\n\nSomewhere along the Ionian coast opposite Crete and the islands was a\ntown of some sort, probably of the sort that we should call a village or\nhamlet with a wall. It was called Ilion but it came to be called Troy,\nand the name will never perish from the earth. A poet who may have been\na beggar and a balladmonger, who may have been unable to read and write,\nand was described by tradition as blind, composed a poem about the\nGreeks going to war with this town to recover the most beautiful woman\nin the world. That the most beautiful woman in the world lived in that\none little town sounds like a legend; that the most beautiful poem in\nthe world was written by somebody who knew of nothing larger than such\nlittle towns is a historical fact. It is said that the poem came at the\nend of the period; that the primitive culture brought it forth in its\ndecay; in which case one would like to have seen that culture in its\nprime. But anyhow it is true that this, which is our first poem, might\nvery well be our last poem too. It might well be the last word as well\nas the first word spoken by man about his mortal lot, as seen by merely\nmortal vision. If the world becomes pagan and perishes, the last man\nleft alive would do well to quote the Iliad and die.\n\nBut in this one great human revelation of antiquity there is another\nelement of great historical importance; which has hardly I think been\ngiven its proper place in history. The poet has so conceived the poem\nthat his sympathies apparently, and those of his reader certainly, are\non the side of the vanquished rather than of the victor. And this is a\nsentiment which increases in the poetical tradition even as the poetical\norigin itself recedes. Achilles had some status as a sort of demigod in\npagan times; but he disappears altogether in later times. But Hector\ngrows greater as the ages pass; and it is his name that is the name of a\nKnight of the Round Table and his sword that legend puts into the hand\nof Roland, laying about him with the weapon of the defeated Hector in\nthe last ruin and splendour of his own defeat. The name anticipates all\nthe defeats through which our race and religion were to pass; that\nsurvival of a hundred defeats that is its triumph.\n\nThe tale of the end of Troy shall have no ending; for it is lifted up\nfor ever into living echoes, immortal as our hopelessness and our hope.\nTroy standing was a small thing that may have stood nameless for ages.\nBut Troy falling has been caught up in a flame and suspended in an\nimmortal instant of annihilation; and because it was destroyed with fire\nthe fire shall never be destroyed. And as with the city so with the\nhero; traced in archaic lines in that primeval twilight is found the\nfirst figure of the Knight. There is a prophetic coincidence in his\ntitle; we have spoken of the word chivalry and how it seems to mingle\nthe horseman with the horse. It is almost anticipated ages before in the\nthunder of the Homeric hexameter, and that long leaping word with which\nthe Iliad ends. It is that very unity for which we can find no name but\nthe holy centaur of chivalry. But there are other reasons for giving in\nthis glimpse of antiquity the flame upon the sacred town. The sanctity\nof such towns ran like a fire round the coasts and islands of the\nnorthern Mediterranean; the high-fenced hamlet for which heroes died.\nFrom the smallness of the city came the greatness of the citizen. Hellas\nwith her hundred statues produced nothing statelier than that walking\nstatue; the ideal of the self-commanding man. Hellas of the hundred\nstatues was one legend and literature; and all that labyrinth of little\nwalled nations resounded with the lament of Troy.\n\nA later legend, an afterthought but not an accident, said that\nstragglers from Troy founded a republic on the Italian shore. It was\ntrue in spirit that republican virtue had such a root. A mystery of\nhonour, that was not born of Babylon or the Egyptian pride, there shone\nlike the shield of Hector, defying Asia and Africa; till the light of a\nnew day was loosened, with the rushing of the eagles and the coming of\nthe name; the name that came like a thunderclap, when the world woke to\nRome.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nGOD AND COMPARATIVE RELIGION\n\n\nI was once escorted over the Roman foundations of an ancient British\ncity by a professor, who said something that seems to me a satire on a\ngood many other professors. Possibly the professor saw the joke, though\nhe maintained an iron gravity, and may or may not have realised that it\nwas a joke against a great deal of what is called comparative religion.\nI pointed out a sculpture of the head of the sun with the usual halo of\nrays, but with the difference that the face in the disc, instead of\nbeing boyish like Apollo, was bearded like Neptune or Jupiter. \u2018Yes,\u2019 he\nsaid with a certain delicate exactitude, \u2018that is supposed to represent\nthe local god Sul. The best authorities identify Sul with Minerva; but\nthis has been held to show that the identification is not complete.\u2019\n\nThat is what we call a powerful understatement. The modern world is\nmadder than any satires on it; long ago Mr. Belloc made his burlesque\ndon say that a bust of Ariadne had been proved by modern research to be\na Silenus. But that is not better than the real appearance of Minerva as\nthe Bearded Woman of Mr. Barnum. Only both of them are very like many\nidentifications by \u2018the best authorities\u2019 on comparative religion; and\nwhen Catholic creeds are identified with various wild myths, I do not\nlaugh or curse or misbehave myself; I confine myself decorously to\nsaying that the identification is not complete.\n\nIn the days of my youth the Religion of Humanity was a term commonly\napplied to Comtism, the theory of certain rationalists who worshipped\ncorporate mankind as a Supreme Being. Even in the days of my youth I\nremarked that there was something slightly odd about despising and\ndismissing the doctrine of the Trinity as a mystical and even maniacal\ncontradiction; and then asking us to adore a deity who is a hundred\nmillion persons in one God, neither confounding the persons nor dividing\nthe substance.\n\nBut there is another entity, more or less definable and much more\nimaginable than the many-headed and monstrous idol of mankind. And it\nhas a much better right to be called, in a reasonable sense, the\nreligion of humanity. Man is not indeed the idol; but man is almost\neverywhere the idolator. And these multitudinous idolatries of mankind\nhave something about them in many ways more human and sympathetic than\nmodern metaphysical abstractions. If an Asiatic god has three heads and\nseven arms, there is at least in it an idea of material incarnation\nbringing an unknown power nearer to us and not farther away. But if our\nfriends Brown, Jones, and Robinson, when out for a Sunday walk, were\ntransformed and amalgamated into an Asiatic idol before our eyes, they\nwould surely seem farther away. If the arms of Brown and the legs of\nRobinson waved from the same composite body, they would seem to be\nwaving something of a sad farewell. If the heads of all three gentlemen\nappeared smiling on the same neck, we should hesitate even by what name\nto address our new and somewhat abnormal friend. In the many-headed and\nmany-handed Oriental idol there is a certain sense of mysteries becoming\nat least partly intelligible; of formless forces of nature taking some\ndark but material form, but though this may be true of the multiform god\nit is not so of the multiform man. The human beings become less human by\nbecoming less separate; we might say less human in being less lonely.\nThe human beings become less intelligible as they become less isolated;\nwe might say with strict truth that the closer they are to us the\nfarther they are away. An Ethical Hymn-book of this humanitarian sort of\nreligion was carefully selected and expurgated on the principle of\npreserving anything human and eliminating anything divine. One\nconsequence was that a hymn appeared in the amended form of \u2018Nearer\nMankind to Thee, Nearer to Thee.\u2019 It always suggested to me the\nsensations of a strap-hanger during a crush on the Tube. But it is\nstrange and wonderful how far away the souls of men can seem, when their\nbodies are so near as all that.\n\nThe human unity with which I deal here is not to be confounded with this\nmodern industrial monotony and herding, which is rather a congestion\nthan a communion. It is a thing to which human groups left to\nthemselves, and even human individuals left to themselves, have\neverywhere tended by an instinct that may truly be called human. Like\nall healthy human things, it has varied very much within the limits of a\ngeneral character; for that is characteristic of everything belonging to\nthat ancient land of liberty that lies before and around the servile\nindustrial town. Industrialism actually boasts that its products are all\nof one pattern; that men in Jamaica or Japan can break the same seal and\ndrink the same bad whisky, that a man at the North Pole and another at\nthe South might recognise the same optimistic label on the same dubious\ntinned salmon. But wine, the gift of gods to men, can vary with every\nvalley and every vineyard, can turn into a hundred wines without any\nwine once reminding us of whisky; and cheeses can change from county to\ncounty without forgetting the difference between chalk and cheese. When\nI am speaking of this thing, therefore, I am speaking of something that\ndoubtless includes very wide differences; nevertheless I will here\nmaintain that it is one thing. I will maintain that most of the modern\nbotheration comes from not realising that it is really one thing. I will\nadvance the thesis that before all talk about comparative religion and\nthe separate religious founders of the world, the first essential is to\nrecognise this thing as a whole, as a thing almost native and normal to\nthe great fellowship that we call mankind. This thing is Paganism; and I\npropose to show in these pages that it is the one real rival to the\nChurch of Christ.\n\nComparative religion is very comparative indeed. That is, it is so much\na matter of degree and distance and difference that it is only\ncomparatively successful when it tries to compare. When we come to look\nat it closely we find it comparing things that are really quite\nincomparable. We are accustomed to see a table or catalogue of the\nworld\u2019s great religions in parallel columns, until we fancy they are\nreally parallel. We are accustomed to see the names of the great\nreligious founders all in a row: Christ; Mahomet; Buddha; Confucius. But\nin truth this is only a trick; another of these optical illusions by\nwhich any objects may be put into a particular relation by shifting to a\nparticular point of sight. Those religions and religious founders, or\nrather those whom we choose to lump together as religions and religious\nfounders, do not really show any common character. The illusion is\npartly produced by Islam coming immediately after Christianity in the\nlist; as Islam did come after Christianity and was largely an imitation\nof Christianity. But the other eastern religions, or what we call\nreligions, not only do not resemble the Church but do not resemble each\nother. When we come to Confucianism at the end of the list, we come to\nsomething in a totally different world of thought. To compare the\nChristian and Confucian religions is like comparing a theist with an\nEnglish squire or asking whether a man is a believer in immortality or a\nhundred-per-cent American. Confucianism may be a civilisation but it is\nnot a religion.\n\nIn truth the Church is too unique to prove herself unique. For most\npopular and easy proof is by parallel; and here there is no parallel. It\nis not easy, therefore, to expose the fallacy by which a false\nclassification is created to swamp a unique thing, when it really is a\nunique thing. As there is nowhere else exactly the same fact, so there\nis nowhere else exactly the same fallacy. But I will take the nearest\nthing I can find to such a solitary social phenomenon, in order to show\nhow it is thus swamped and assimilated. I imagine most of us would agree\nthat there is something unusual and unique about the position of the\nJews. There is nothing that is quite in the same sense an international\nnation; an ancient culture scattered in different countries but still\ndistinct and indestructible. Now this business is like an attempt to\nmake a list of nomadic nations in order to soften the strange solitude\nof the Jew. It would be easy enough to do it, by the same process of\nputting a plausible approximation first, and then tailing off into\ntotally different things thrown in somehow to make up the list. Thus in\nthe new list of nomadic nations the Jews would be followed by the\nGypsies; who at least are really nomadic if they are not really\nnational. Then the professor of the new science of Comparative Nomadics\ncould pass easily on to something different; even if it was very\ndifferent. He could remark on the wandering adventure of the English who\nhad scattered their colonies over so many seas; and call _them_ nomads.\nIt is quite true that a great many Englishmen seem to be strangely\nrestless in England. It is quite true that not all of them have left\ntheir country for their country\u2019s good. The moment we mention the\nwandering empire of the English, we must add the strange exiled empire\nof the Irish. For it is a curious fact, to be noted in our imperial\nliterature, that the same ubiquity and unrest which is a proof of\nEnglish enterprise and triumph is a proof of Irish futility and failure.\nThen the professor of Nomadism would look round thoughtfully and\nremember that there was great talk recently of German waiters, German\nbarbers, German clerks, Germans naturalising themselves in England and\nthe United States and the South American republics. The Germans would go\ndown as the fifth nomadic race; the words Wanderlust and Folk-Wandering\nwould come in very useful here. For there really have been historians\nwho explained the Crusades by suggesting that the Germans were found\nwandering (as the police say) in what happened to be the neighbourhood\nof Palestine. Then the professor, feeling he was now near the end, would\nmake a last leap in desperation. He would recall the fact that the\nFrench Army has captured nearly every capital in Europe, that it marched\nacross countless conquered lands under Charlemagne or Napoleon; and\n_that_ would be wanderlust, and _that_ would be the note of a nomadic\nrace. Thus he would have his six nomadic nations all compact and\ncomplete, and would feel that the Jew was no longer a sort of mysterious\nand even mystical exception. But people with more common sense would\nprobably realise that he had only extended nomadism by extending the\nmeaning of nomadism; and that he had extended that until it really had\nno meaning at all. It is quite true that the French soldier has made\nsome of the finest marches in all military history. But it is equally\ntrue, and far more self-evident, that if the French peasant is not a\nrooted reality there is no such thing as a rooted reality in the world;\nor in other words, if he is a nomad there is nobody who is not a nomad.\n\nNow that is the sort of trick that has been tried in the case of\ncomparative religion and the world\u2019s religious founders all standing\nrespectably in a row. It seeks to classify Jesus as the other would\nclassify Jews, by inventing a new class for the purpose and filling up\nthe rest of it with stop-gaps and second-rate copies. I do not mean that\nthese other things are not often great things in their own real\ncharacter and class. Confucianism and Buddhism are great things, but it\nis not true to call them Churches; just as the French and English are\ngreat peoples, but it is nonsense to call them nomads. There are some\npoints of resemblance between Christendom and its imitation in Islam;\nfor that matter there are some points of resemblance between Jews and\nGypsies. But after that the lists are made up of anything that comes to\nhand; of anything that can be put in the same catalogue without being in\nthe same category.\n\nIn this sketch of religious history, with all decent deference to men\nmuch more learned than myself, I propose to cut across and disregard\nthis modern method of classification, which I feel sure has falsified\nthe facts of history. I shall here submit an alternative classification\nof religion or religions, which I believe would be found to cover all\nthe facts and, what is quite as important here, all the fancies. Instead\nof dividing religion geographically, and as it were vertically, into\nChristian, Moslem, Brahmin, Buddhist, and so on, I would divide it\npsychologically and in some sense horizontally; into the strata of\nspiritual elements and influences that could sometimes exist in the same\ncountry, or even in the same man. Putting the Church apart for the\nmoment, I should be disposed to divide the natural religion of the mass\nof mankind under such headings as these: God; the Gods; the Demons; the\nPhilosophers. I believe some such classification will help us to sort\nout the spiritual experiences of men much more successfully than the\nconventional business of comparing religions; and that many famous\nfigures will naturally fall into their place in this way who are only\nforced into their place in the other. As I shall make use of these\ntitles or terms more than once in narrative and allusion, it will be\nwell to define at this stage for what I mean them to stand. And I will\nbegin with the first, the simplest and the most sublime, in this\nchapter.\n\nIn considering the elements of pagan humanity, we must begin by an\nattempt to describe the indescribable. Many get over the difficulty of\ndescribing it by the expedient of denying it, or at least ignoring it;\nbut the whole point of it is that it was something that was never quite\neliminated even when it was ignored. They are obsessed by their\nevolutionary monomania that every great thing grows from a seed, or\nsomething smaller than itself. They seem to forget that every seed comes\nfrom a tree, or from something larger than itself. Now there is very\ngood ground for guessing that religion did not originally come from some\ndetail that was forgotten because it was too small to be traced. Much\nmore probably it was an idea that was abandoned because it was too large\nto be managed. There is very good reason to suppose that many people did\nbegin with the simple but overwhelming idea of one God who governs all;\nand afterwards fell away into such things as demon-worship almost as a\nsort of secret dissipation. Even the test of savage beliefs, of which\nthe folk-lore students are so fond, is admittedly often found to support\nsuch a view. Some of the very rudest savages, primitive in every sense\nin which anthropologists use the word, the Australian aborigines for\ninstance, are found to have a pure monotheism with a high moral tone. A\nmissionary was preaching to a very wild tribe of polytheists, who had\ntold him all their polytheistic tales, and telling them in return of the\nexistence of the one good God who is a spirit and judges men by\nspiritual standards. And there was a sudden buzz of excitement among\nthese stolid barbarians, as at somebody who was letting out a secret,\nand they cried to each other, \u2018Atahocan! He is speaking of Atahocan!\u2019\n\nProbably it was a point of politeness and even decency among those\npolytheists not to speak of Atahocan. The name is not perhaps so much\nadapted as some of our own to direct and solemn religious exhortation;\nbut many other social forces are always covering up and confusing such\nsimple ideas. Possibly the old god stood for an old morality found\nirksome in more expansive moments; possibly intercourse with demons was\nmore fashionable among the best people, as in the modern fashion of\nSpiritualism. Anyhow, there are any number of similar examples. They all\ntestify to the unmistakable psychology of a thing taken for granted, as\ndistinct from a thing talked about. There is a striking example in a\ntale taken down word for word from a Red Indian in California, which\nstarts out with hearty legendary and literary relish: \u2018The sun is the\nfather and ruler of the heavens. He is the big chief. The moon is his\nwife and the stars are their children\u2019; and so on through a most\ningenious and complicated story, in the middle of which is a sudden\nparenthesis saying that sun and moon have to do something because \u2018It is\nordered that way by the Great Spirit Who lives above the place of all.\u2019\nThat is exactly the attitude of most paganism towards God. He is\nsomething assumed and forgotten and remembered by accident; a habit\npossibly not peculiar to pagans. Sometimes the higher deity is\nremembered in the higher moral grades and is a sort of mystery. But\nalways, it has been truly said, the savage is talkative about his\nmythology and taciturn about his religion. The Australian savages,\nindeed, exhibit a topsyturvydom such as the ancients might have thought\ntruly worthy of the antipodes. The savage who thinks nothing of tossing\noff such a trifle as a tale of the sun and moon being the halves of a\nbaby chopped in two, or dropping into small-talk about a colossal cosmic\ncow milked to make the rain, merely in order to be sociable, will then\nretire to secret caverns sealed against women and white men, temples of\nterrible initiation where to the thunder of the bull-roarer and the\ndripping of sacrificial blood, the priest whispers the final secrets\nknown only to the initiate: that honesty is the best policy, that a\nlittle kindness does nobody any harm, that all men are brothers and that\nthere is but one God, the Father Almighty, maker of all things visible\nand invisible.\n\nIn other words, we have here the curiosity of religious history that the\nsavage seems to be parading all the most repulsive and impossible parts\nof his belief and concealing all the most sensible and creditable parts.\nBut the explanation is that they are not in that sense parts of his\nbelief; or at least not parts of the same sort of belief. The myths are\nmerely tall stories, though as tall as the sky, the waterspout, or the\ntropic rain. The mysteries are true stories, and are taken secretly that\nthey may be taken seriously. Indeed it is only too easy to forget that\nthere is a thrill in theism. A novel in which a number of separate\ncharacters all turned out to be the same character would certainly be a\nsensational novel. It is so with the idea that sun and tree and river\nare the disguises of one god and not of many. Alas, we also find it only\ntoo easy to take Atahocan for granted. But whether he is allowed to fade\ninto a truism or preserved as a sensation by being preserved as a\nsecret, it is clear that he is always either an old truism or an old\ntradition. There is nothing to show that he is an improved product of\nthe mere mythology and everything to show that he preceded it. He is\nworshipped by the simplest tribes with no trace of ghosts or\ngrave-offerings, or any of the complications in which Herbert Spencer\nand Grant Allen sought the origin of the simplest of all ideas. Whatever\nelse there was, there was never any such thing as the Evolution of the\nIdea of God. The idea was concealed, was avoided, was almost forgotten,\nwas even explained away; but it was never evolved. There are not a few\nindications of this change in other places. It is implied, for\ninstance, in the fact that even polytheism seems often the combination\nof several monotheisms. A god will gain only a minor seat on Mount\nOlympus, when he had owned earth and heaven and all the stars while he\nlived in his own little valley. Like many a small nation melting in a\ngreat empire, he gives up local universality only to come under\nuniversal limitation. The very name of Pan suggests that he became a god\nof the wood when he had been a god of the world. The very name of\nJupiter is almost a pagan translation of the words \u2018Our Father which art\nin heaven.\u2019 As with the Great Father symbolised by the sky, so with the\nGreat Mother whom we still call Mother Earth. Demeter and Ceres and\nCybele often seem to be almost incapable of taking over the whole\nbusiness of godhood, so that men should need no other gods. It seems\nreasonably probable that a good many men did have no other gods but one\nof these, worshipped as the author of all.\n\nOver some of the most immense and populous tracts of the world, such as\nChina, it would seem that the simpler idea of the Great Father has never\nbeen very much complicated with rival cults, though it may have in some\nsense ceased to be a cult itself. The best authorities seem to think\nthat though Confucianism is in one sense agnosticism, it does not\ndirectly contradict the old theism, precisely because it has become a\nrather vague theism. It is one in which God is called Heaven, as in the\ncase of polite persons tempted to swear in drawing-rooms. But Heaven is\nstill overhead, even if it is very far overhead. We have all the\nimpression of a simple truth that has receded, until it was remote\nwithout ceasing to be true. And this phrase alone would bring us back to\nthe same idea even in the pagan mythology of the West. There is surely\nsomething of this very notion of the withdrawal of some higher power in\nall those mysterious and very imaginative myths about the separation of\nearth and sky. In a hundred forms we are told that heaven and earth were\nonce lovers, or were once at one, when some upstart thing, often some\nundutiful child, thrust them apart; and the world was built on an abyss;\nupon a division and a parting. One of its grossest versions was given by\nGreek civilisation in the myth of Uranus and Saturn. One of its most\ncharming versions was that of some savage people, who say that a little\npepper-plant grew taller and taller and lifted the whole sky like a lid;\na beautiful barbaric vision of daybreak for some of our painters who\nlove that tropical twilight. Of myths, and the highly mythical\nexplanations which the moderns offer of myths, something will be said in\nanother section; for I cannot but think that most mythology is on\nanother and more superficial plane. But in this primeval vision of the\nrending of one world into two there is surely something more of ultimate\nideas. As to what it means, a man will learn far more about it by lying\non his back in a field, and merely looking at the sky, than by reading\nall the libraries even of the most learned and valuable folk-lore. He\nwill know what is meant by saying that the sky ought to be nearer to us\nthan it is, that perhaps it was once nearer than it is, that it is not a\nthing merely alien and abysmal but in some fashion sundered from us and\nsaying farewell. There will creep across his mind the curious suggestion\nthat after all, perhaps, the myth-maker was not merely a moon-calf or\nvillage idiot thinking he could cut up the clouds like a cake, but had\nin him something more than it is fashionable to attribute to the\nTroglodyte; that it is just possible that Thomas Hood was not talking\nlike a Troglodyte when he said that, as time went on, the tree-tops only\ntold him he was further off from heaven than when he was a boy. But\nanyhow the legend of Uranus the Lord of Heaven dethroned by Saturn the\nTime Spirit would mean something to the author of that poem. And it\nwould mean, among other things, this banishment of the first\nfatherhood. There is the idea of God in the very notion that there were\ngods before the gods. There is an idea of greater simplicity in all the\nallusions to that more ancient order. The suggestion is supported by the\nprocess of propagation we see in historic times. Gods and demigods and\nheroes breed like herrings before our very eyes, and suggest of\nthemselves that the family may have had one founder; mythology grows\nmore and more complicated, and the very complication suggests that at\nthe beginning it was more simple. Even on the external evidence, of the\nsort called scientific, there is therefore a very good case for the\nsuggestion that man began with monotheism before it developed or\ndegenerated into polytheism. But I am concerned rather with an internal\nthan an external truth; and, as I have already said, the internal truth\nis almost indescribable. We have to speak of something of which it is\nthe whole point that people did not speak of it; we have not merely to\ntranslate from a strange tongue or speech, but from a strange silence.\n\nI suspect an immense implication behind all polytheism and paganism. I\nsuspect we have only a hint of it here and there in these savage creeds\nor Greek origins. It is not exactly what we mean by the presence of God;\nin a sense it might more truly be called the absence of God. But absence\ndoes not mean non-existence; and a man drinking the toast of absent\nfriends does not mean that from his life all friendship is absent. It is\na void but it is not a negation; it is something as positive as an empty\nchair. It would be an exaggeration to say that the pagan saw higher than\nOlympus an empty throne. It would be nearer the truth to take the\ngigantic imagery of the Old Testament, in which the prophet saw God from\nbehind; it was as if some immeasurable presence had turned its back on\nthe world. Yet the meaning will again be missed if it is supposed to be\nanything so conscious and vivid as the monotheism of Moses and his\npeople. I do not mean that the pagan peoples were in the least\noverpowered by this idea merely because it is overpowering. On the\ncontrary, it was so large that they all carried it lightly, as we all\ncarry the load of the sky. Gazing at some detail like a bird or a cloud,\nwe can all ignore its awful blue background; we can neglect the sky; and\nprecisely because it bears down upon us with an annihilating force, it\nis felt as nothing. A thing of this kind can only be an impression and a\nrather subtle impression; but to me it is a very strong impression made\nby pagan literature and religion. I repeat that in our special\nsacramental sense there is, of course, the absence of the presence of\nGod. But there is in a very real sense the presence of the absence of\nGod. We feel it in the unfathomable sadness of pagan poetry; for I doubt\nif there was ever in all the marvellous manhood of antiquity a man who\nwas happy as St. Francis was happy. We feel it in the legend of a Golden\nAge and again in the vague implication that the gods themselves are\nultimately related to something else, even when that Unknown God has\nfaded into a Fate. Above all we feel it in those immortal moments when\nthe pagan literature seems to return to a more innocent antiquity and\nspeak with a more direct voice, so that no word is worthy of it except\nour own monotheistic monosyllable. We cannot say anything but \u2018God\u2019 in a\nsentence like that of Socrates bidding farewell to his judges: \u2018I go to\ndie and you remain to live; and God alone knows which of us goes the\nbetter way.\u2019 We can use no other word even for the best moments of\nMarcus Aurelius: \u2018Can they say dear city of Cecrops, and canst thou not\nsay dear city of God?\u2019 We can use no other word in that mighty line in\nwhich Virgil spoke to all who suffer with the veritable cry of a\nChristian before Christ, in the untranslatable: \u2018O passi graviora dabit\ndeus his quoque finem.\u2019\n\nIn short, there is a feeling that there is something higher than the\ngods; but because it is higher it is also further away. Not yet could\neven Virgil have read the riddle and the paradox of that other divinity,\nwho is both higher and nearer. For them what was truly divine was very\ndistant, so distant that they dismissed it more and more from their\nminds. It had less and less to do with the mere mythology of which I\nshall write later. Yet even in this there was a sort of tacit admission\nof its intangible purity, when we consider what most of the mythology is\nlike. As the Jews would not degrade it by images, so the Greeks did not\ndegrade it even by imaginations. When the gods were more and more\nremembered only by pranks and profligacies, it was relatively a movement\nof reverence. It was an act of piety to forget God. In other words,\nthere is something in the whole tone of the time suggesting that men had\naccepted a lower level, and still were half conscious that it was a\nlower level. It is hard to find words for these things; yet the one\nreally just word stands ready. These men were conscious of the Fall, if\nthey were conscious of nothing else; and the same is true of all heathen\nhumanity. Those who have fallen may remember the fall, even when they\nforget the height. Some such tantalising blank or break in memory is at\nthe back of all pagan sentiment. There is such a thing as the momentary\npower to remember that we forget. And the most ignorant of humanity know\nby the very look of earth that they have forgotten heaven. But it\nremains true that even for these men there were moments, like the\nmemories of childhood, when they heard themselves talking with a simpler\nlanguage; there were moments when the Roman, like Virgil in the line\nalready quoted, cut his way with a sword-stroke of song out of the\ntangle of the mythologies; the motley mob of gods and goddesses sank\nsuddenly out of sight and the Sky-Father was alone in the sky.\n\nThis latter example is very relevant to the next step in the process. A\nwhite light as of a lost morning still lingers on the figure of Jupiter,\nof Pan, or of the elder Apollo; and it may well be, as already noted,\nthat each was once a divinity as solitary as Jehovah or Allah. They lost\nthis lonely universality by a process it is here very necessary to note;\na process of amalgamation very like what was afterwards called\nsyncretism. The whole pagan world set itself to build a Pantheon. They\nadmitted more and more gods, gods not only of the Greeks but of the\nbarbarians; gods not only of Europe but of Asia and Africa. The more the\nmerrier, though some of the Asian and African ones were not very merry.\nThey admitted them to equal thrones with their own; sometimes they\nidentified them with their own. They may have regarded it as an\nenrichment of their religious life; but it meant the final loss of all\nthat we now call religion. It meant that ancient light of simplicity,\nthat had a single source like the sun, finally fades away in a dazzle of\nconflicting lights and colours. God is really sacrificed to the gods; in\na very literal sense of the flippant phrase, they have been too many for\nhim.\n\nPolytheism, therefore, was really a sort of pool; in the sense of the\npagans having consented to the pooling of their pagan religions. And\nthis point is very important in many controversies ancient and modern.\nIt is regarded as a liberal and enlightened thing to say that the god of\nthe stranger may be as good as our own; and doubtless the pagans thought\nthemselves very liberal and enlightened when they agreed to add to the\ngods of the city or the hearth some wild and fantastic Dionysus coming\ndown from the mountains or some shaggy and rustic Pan creeping out of\nthe woods. But exactly what it lost by these larger ideas is the largest\nidea of all. It is the idea of the fatherhood that makes the whole\nworld one. And the converse is also true. Doubtless those more\nantiquated men of antiquity who clung to their solitary statues and\ntheir single sacred names were regarded as superstitious savages\nbenighted and left behind. But these superstitious savages were\npreserving something that is much more like the cosmic power as\nconceived by philosophy, or even as conceived by science. This paradox\nby which the rude reactionary was a sort of prophetic progressive has\none consequence very much to the point. In a purely historical sense,\nand apart from any other controversies in the same connection, it throws\na light, a single and a steady light, that shines from the beginning on\na little and lonely people. In this paradox, as in some riddle of\nreligion of which the answer was sealed up for centuries, lies the\nmission and the meaning of the Jews.\n\nIt is true in this sense, humanly speaking, that the world owes God to\nthe Jews. It owes that truth to much that is blamed in the Jews,\npossibly to much that is blameable in the Jews. We have already noted\nthe nomadic position of the Jews amid the other pastoral peoples upon\nthe fringe of the Babylonian Empire, and something of that strange\nerratic course of theirs blazed across the dark territory of extreme\nantiquity, as they passed from the seat of Abraham and the shepherd\nprinces into Egypt and doubled back into the Palestinian hills and held\nthem against the Philistines from Crete and fell into captivity in\nBabylon; and yet again returned to their mountain city by the Zionist\npolicy of the Persian conquerors; and so continued that amazing romance\nof restlessness of which we have not yet seen the end. But through all\ntheir wanderings, and especially through all their early wanderings,\nthey did indeed carry the fate of the world in that wooden tabernacle,\nthat held perhaps a featureless symbol and certainly an invisible god.\nWe may say that one most essential feature was that it was featureless.\nMuch as we may prefer that creative liberty which the Christian culture\nhas declared and by which it has eclipsed even the arts of antiquity, we\nmust not underrate the determining importance at the time of the Hebrew\ninhibition of images. It is a typical example of one of those\nlimitations that did in fact preserve and perpetuate enlargement, like a\nwall built round a wide open space. The God who could not have a statue\nremained a spirit. Nor would his statue in any case have had the\ndisarming dignity and grace of the Greek statues then or the Christian\nstatues afterwards. He was living in a land of monsters. We shall have\noccasion to consider more fully what those monsters were, Moloch and\nDagon and Tanit the terrible goddess. If the deity of Israel had ever\nhad an image, he would have had a phallic image. By merely giving him a\nbody they would have brought in all the worst elements of mythology; all\nthe polygamy of polytheism; the vision of the harem in heaven. This\npoint about the refusal of art is the first example of the limitations\nwhich are often adversely criticised, only because the critics\nthemselves are limited. But an even stronger case can be found in the\nother criticism offered by the same critics. It is often said with a\nsneer that the God of Israel was only a God of Battles, \u2018a mere barbaric\nLord of Hosts\u2019 pitted in rivalry against other gods only as their\nenvious foe. Well it is for the world that he was a God of Battles. Well\nit is for us that he was to all the rest only a rival and a foe. In the\nordinary way, it would have been only too easy for them to have achieved\nthe desolate disaster of conceiving him as a friend. It would have been\nonly too easy for them to have seen him stretching out his hands in love\nand reconciliation, embracing Baal and kissing the painted face of\nAstarte, feasting in fellowship with the gods; the last god to sell his\ncrown of stars for the Soma of the Indian pantheon or the nectar of\nOlympus or the mead of Valhalla. It would have been easy enough for his\nworshippers to follow the enlightened course of Syncretism and the\npooling of all the pagan traditions. It is obvious indeed that his\nfollowers were always sliding down this easy slope; and it required the\nalmost demoniac energy of certain inspired demagogues, who testified to\nthe divine unity in words that are still like winds of inspiration and\nruin. The more we really understand of the ancient conditions that\ncontributed to the final culture of the Faith, the more we shall have a\nreal and even a realistic reverence for the greatness of the Prophets of\nIsrael. As it was, while the whole world melted into this mass of\nconfused mythology, this Deity who is called tribal and narrow,\nprecisely because he was what is called tribal and narrow, preserved the\nprimary religion of all mankind. He was tribal enough to be universal.\nHe was as narrow as the universe.\n\nIn a word, there was a popular pagan god called Jupiter-Ammon. There was\nnever a god called Jehovah-Ammon. There was never a god called\nJehovah-Jupiter. If there had been, there would certainly have been\nanother called Jehovah-Moloch. Long before the liberal and enlightened\namalgamators had got so far afield as Jupiter, the image of the Lord of\nHosts would have been deformed out of all suggestion of a monotheistic\nmaker and ruler and would have become an idol far worse than any savage\nfetish; for he might have been as civilised as the gods of Tyre and\nCarthage. What that civilisation meant we shall consider more fully in\nthe chapter that follows; when we note how the power of demons nearly\ndestroyed Europe and even the heathen health of the world. But the\nworld\u2019s destiny would have been distorted still more fatally if\nmonotheism had failed in the Mosaic tradition. I hope in a subsequent\nsection to show that I am not without sympathy with all that health in\nthe heathen world that made its fairy-tales and its fanciful romances\nof religion. But I hope also to show that these were bound to fail in\nthe long run; and the world would have been lost if it had been unable\nto return to that great original simplicity of a single authority in all\nthings. That we do preserve something of that primary simplicity, that\npoets and philosophers can still indeed in some sense say an Universal\nPrayer, that we live in a large and serene world under a sky that\nstretches paternally over all the peoples of the earth, that philosophy\nand philanthropy are truisms in a religion of reasonable men, all that\nwe do most truly owe, under heaven, to a secretive and restless nomadic\npeople; who bestowed on men the supreme and serene blessing of a jealous\nGod.\n\nThe unique possession was not available or accessible to the pagan\nworld, because it was also the possession of a jealous people. The Jews\nwere unpopular, partly because of this narrowness already noted in the\nRoman world, partly perhaps because they had already fallen into that\nhabit of merely handling things for exchange instead of working to make\nthem with their hands. It was partly also because polytheism had become\na sort of jungle in which solitary monotheism could be lost; but it is\nstrange to realise how completely it really was lost. Apart from more\ndisputed matters, there were things in the tradition of Israel which\nbelong to all humanity now, and might have belonged to all humanity\nthen. They had one of the colossal corner-stones of the world: the Book\nof Job. It obviously stands over against the Iliad and the Greek\ntragedies; and even more than they it was an early meeting and parting\nof poetry and philosophy in the morning of the world. It is a solemn and\nuplifting sight to see those two eternal fools, the optimist and the\npessimist, destroyed in the dawn of time. And the philosophy really\nperfects the pagan tragic irony, precisely because it is more\nmonotheistic and therefore more mystical. Indeed the Book of Job\navowedly only answers mystery with mystery. Job is comforted with\nriddles; but he is comforted. Herein is indeed a type, in the sense of\na prophecy, of things speaking with authority. For when he who doubts\ncan only say, \u2018I do not understand,\u2019 it is true that he who knows can\nonly reply or repeat, \u2018You do not understand.\u2019 And under that rebuke\nthere is always a sudden hope in the heart; and the sense of something\nthat would be worth understanding. But this mighty monotheistic poem\nremained unremarked by the whole world of antiquity, which was thronged\nwith polytheistic poetry. It is a sign of the way in which the Jews\nstood apart and kept their tradition unshaken and unshared, that they\nshould have kept a thing like the Book of Job out of the whole\nintellectual world of antiquity. It is as if the Egyptians had modestly\nconcealed the Great Pyramid. But there were other reasons for a\ncross-purpose and an impasse, characteristic of the whole of the end of\npaganism. After all, the tradition of Israel had only got hold of one\nhalf of the truth, even if we use the popular paradox and call it the\nbigger half. I shall try to sketch in the next chapter that love of\nlocality and of personality that ran through mythology; here it need\nonly be said that there was a truth in it that could not be left out,\nthough it were a lighter and less essential truth. The sorrow of Job had\nto be joined with the sorrow of Hector; and while the former was the\nsorrow of the universe the latter was the sorrow of the city; for Hector\ncould only stand pointing to heaven as the pillar of holy Troy. When God\nspeaks out of the whirlwind He may well speak in the wilderness. But the\nmonotheism of the nomad was not enough for all that varied civilisation\nof fields and fences and walled cities and temples and towns; and the\nturn of these things also was to come, when the two could be combined in\na more definite and domestic religion. Here and there in all that pagan\ncrowd could be found a philosopher whose thoughts ran on pure theism;\nbut he never had, or supposed that he had, the power to change the\ncustoms of the whole populace. Nor is it easy even in such philosophies\nto find a true definition of this deep business of the relation of\npolytheism and theism. Perhaps the nearest we can come to striking the\nnote, or giving the thing a name, is in something far away from all that\ncivilisation and more remote from Rome than the isolation of Israel. It\nis in a saying I once heard from some Hindu tradition; that gods as well\nas men are only the dreams of Brahma; and will perish when Brahma wakes.\nThere is indeed in such an image something of the soul of Asia which is\nless sane than the soul of Christendom. We should call it despair, even\nif they would call it peace. This note of nihilism can be considered\nlater in a fuller comparison between Asia and Europe. It is enough to\nsay here that there is more of disillusion in that idea of a divine\nawakening than is implied for us in the passage from mythology to\nreligion. But the symbol is very subtle and exact in one respect; that\nit does suggest the disproportion and even disruption between the very\nideas of mythology and religion; the chasm between the two categories.\nIt is really the collapse of comparative religion that there is no\ncomparison between God and the gods. There is no more comparison than\nthere is between a man and the men who walk about in his dreams. Under\nthe next heading some attempt will be made to indicate the twilight of\nthat dream in which the gods walk about like men. But if any one fancies\nthe contrast of monotheism and polytheism is only a matter of some\npeople having one god and others a few more, for him it will be far\nnearer the truth to plunge into the elephantine extravagance of Brahmin\ncosmology; that he may feel a shudder going through the veil of things,\nthe many-handed creators, and the throned and haloed animals and all the\nnetwork of entangled stars and rulers of the night, as the awful eyes of\nBrahma open like dawn upon the death of all.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nMAN AND MYTHOLOGIES\n\n\nWhat are here called the Gods might almost alternatively be called the\nDay-Dreams. To compare them to dreams is not to deny that dreams can\ncome true. To compare them to travellers\u2019 tales is not to deny that they\nmay be true tales, or at least truthful tales. In truth they are the\nsort of tales the traveller tells to himself. All this mythological\nbusiness belongs to the poetical part of men. It seems strangely\nforgotten nowadays that a myth is a work of imagination and therefore a\nwork of art. It needs a poet to make it. It needs a poet to criticise\nit. There are more poets than non-poets in the world, as is proved by\nthe popular origin of such legends. But for some reason I have never\nheard explained, it is only the minority of unpoetical people who are\nallowed to write critical studies of these popular poems. We do not\nsubmit a sonnet to a mathematician or a song to a calculating boy; but\nwe do indulge the equally fantastic idea that folk-lore can be treated\nas a science. Unless these things are appreciated artistically they are\nnot appreciated at all. When the professor is told by the barbarian that\nonce there was nothing except a great feathered serpent, unless the\nlearned man feels a thrill and a half temptation to wish it were true,\nhe is no judge of such things at all. When he is assured, on the best\nRed Indian authority, that a primitive hero carried the sun and moon and\nstars in a box, unless he claps his hands and almost kicks his legs as a\nchild would at such a charming fancy, he knows nothing about the matter.\nThis test is not nonsensical; primitive children and barbaric children\ndo laugh and kick like other children; and we must have a certain\nsimplicity to repicture the childhood of the world. When Hiawatha was\ntold by his nurse that a warrior threw his grandmother up to the moon,\nhe laughed like any English child told by his nurse that a cow jumped\nover the moon. The child sees the joke as well as most men, and better\nthan some scientific men. But the ultimate test even of the fantastic is\nthe appropriateness of the inappropriate. And the test must appear\nmerely arbitrary because it is merely artistic. If any student tells me\nthat the infant Hiawatha only laughed out of respect for the tribal\ncustom of sacrificing the aged to economical housekeeping, I say he did\nnot. If any scholar tells me that the cow jumped over the moon only\nbecause a heifer was sacrificed to Diana, I answer that it did not. It\nhappened because it is obviously the right thing for a cow to jump over\nthe moon. Mythology is a lost art, one of the few arts that really are\nlost; but it is an art. The horned moon and the horned mooncalf make a\nharmonious and almost a quiet pattern. And throwing your grandmother\ninto the sky is not good behaviour; but it is perfectly good taste.\n\nThus scientists seldom understand, as artists understand, that one\nbranch of the beautiful is the ugly. They seldom allow for the\nlegitimate liberty of the grotesque. And they will dismiss a savage myth\nas merely coarse and clumsy and an evidence of degradation, because it\nhas not all the beauty of the herald Mercury new lighted on a\nheaven-kissing hill; when it really has the beauty of the Mock Turtle of\nthe Mad Hatter. It is the supreme proof of a man being prosaic that he\nalways insists on poetry being poetical. Sometimes the humour is in the\nvery subject as well as the style of the fable. The Australian\naborigines, regarded as the rudest of savages, have a story about a\ngiant frog who had swallowed the sea and all the waters of the world;\nand who was only forced to spill them by being made to laugh. All the\nanimals with all their antics passed before him and, like Queen\nVictoria, he was not amused. He collapsed at last before an eel who\nstood delicately balanced on the tip of its tail, doubtless with a\nrather desperate dignity. Any amount of fine fantastic literature might\nbe made out of that fable. There is philosophy in that vision of the dry\nworld before the beatific Deluge of laughter. There is imagination in\nthe mountainous monster erupting like an aqueous volcano; there is\nplenty of fun in the thought of his goggling visage as the pelican or\nthe penguin passed by. Anyhow the frog laughed; but the folk-lore\nstudent remains grave.\n\nMoreover, even where the fables are inferior as art, they cannot be\nproperly judged by science; still less properly judged as science. Some\nmyths are very crude and queer like the early drawings of children; but\nthe child is trying to draw. It is none the less an error to treat his\ndrawing as if it were a diagram, or intended to be a diagram. The\nstudent cannot make a scientific statement about the savage, because the\nsavage is not making a scientific statement about the world. He is\nsaying something quite different; what might be called the gossip of the\ngods. We may say, if we like, that it is believed before there is time\nto examine it. It would be truer to say it is accepted before there is\ntime to believe it.\n\nI confess I doubt the whole theory of the dissemination of myths or (as\nit commonly is) of one myth. It is true that something in our nature and\nconditions makes many stories similar; but each of them may be original.\nOne man does not borrow the story from the other man, though he may tell\nit from the same motive as the other man. It would be easy to apply the\nwhole argument about legend to literature; and turn it into a vulgar\nmonomania of plagiarism. I would undertake to trace a notion like that\nof the Golden Bough through individual modern novels as easily as\nthrough communal and antiquated myths. I would undertake to find\nsomething like a bunch of flowers figuring again and again from the\nfatal bouquet of Becky Sharpe to the spray of roses sent by the Princess\nof Ruritania. But though these flowers may spring from the same soil, it\nis not the same faded flower that is flung from hand to hand. Those\nflowers are always fresh.\n\nThe true origin of all the myths has been discovered much too often.\nThere are too many keys to mythology, as there are too many cryptograms\nin Shakespeare. Everything is phallic; everything is totemistic;\neverything is seed-time and harvest; everything is ghosts and\ngrave-offerings; everything is the golden bough of sacrifice; everything\nis the sun and moon; everything is everything. Every folk-lore student\nwho knew a little more than his own monomania, every man of wider\nreading and critical culture like Andrew Lang, has practically confessed\nthat the bewilderment of these things left his brain spinning. Yet the\nwhole trouble comes from a man trying to look at these stories from the\noutside, as if they were scientific objects. He has only to look at them\nfrom the inside, and ask himself how he would begin a story. A story may\nstart with anything and go anywhere. It may start with a bird without\nthe bird being a totem; it may start with the sun without being a solar\nmyth. It is said there are only ten plots in the world; and there will\ncertainly be common and recurrent elements. Set ten thousand children\ntalking at once, and telling tarradiddles about what they did in the\nwood; and it will not be hard to find parallels suggesting sun-worship\nor animal-worship. Some of the stories may be pretty and some silly and\nsome perhaps dirty; but they can only be judged as stories. In the\nmodern dialect, they can only be judged aesthetically. It is strange\nthat aesthetics, or mere feeling, which is now allowed to usurp where\nit has no rights at all, to wreck reason with pragmatism and morals with\nanarchy, is apparently not allowed to give a purely aesthetic judgment\non what is obviously a purely aesthetic question. We may be fanciful\nabout everything except fairy-tales.\n\nNow the first fact is that the most simple people have the most subtle\nideas. Everybody ought to know that, for everybody has been a child.\nIgnorant as a child is, he knows more than he can say and feels not only\natmospheres but fine shades. And in this matter there are several fine\nshades. Nobody understands it who has not had what can only be called\nthe ache of the artist to find some sense and some story in the\nbeautiful things he sees; his hunger for secrets and his anger at any\ntower or tree escaping with its tale untold. He feels that nothing is\nperfect unless it is personal. Without that the blind unconscious beauty\nof the world stands in its garden like a headless statue. One need only\nbe a very minor poet to have wrestled with the tower or the tree until\nit spoke like a titan or a dryad. It is often said that pagan mythology\nwas a personification of the powers of nature. The phrase is true in a\nsense, but it is very unsatisfactory; because it implies that the forces\nare abstractions and the personification is artificial. Myths are not\nallegories. Natural powers are not in this case abstractions. It is not\nas if there were a God of Gravitation. There may be a genius of the\nwaterfall; but not of mere falling, even less than of mere water. The\nimpersonation is not of something impersonal. The point is that the\npersonality perfects the water with significance. Father Christmas is\nnot an allegory of snow and holly; he is not merely the stuff called\nsnow afterwards artificially given a human form, like a snow man. He is\nsomething that gives a new meaning to the white world and the\nevergreens; so that snow itself seems to be warm rather than cold. The\ntest therefore is purely imaginative. But imaginative does not mean\nimaginary. It does not follow that it is all what the moderns call\nsubjective, when they mean false. Every true artist does feel,\nconsciously or unconsciously, that he is touching transcendental truths;\nthat his images are shadows of things seen through the veil. In other\nwords, the natural mystic does know that there is something _there_;\nsomething behind the clouds or within the trees; but he believes that\nthe pursuit of beauty is the way to find it; that imagination is a sort\nof incantation that can call it up.\n\nNow we do not comprehend this process in ourselves, far less in our most\nremote fellow-creatures. And the danger of these things being classified\nis that they may seem to be comprehended. A really fine work of\nfolk-lore, like _The Golden Bough_, will leave too many readers with the\nidea, for instance, that this or that story of a giant\u2019s or wizard\u2019s\nheart in a casket or a cave only \u2018means\u2019 some stupid and static\nsuperstition called \u2018the external soul.\u2019 But we do not know what these\nthings mean, simply because we do not know what we ourselves mean when\nwe are moved by them. Suppose somebody in a story says \u2018Pluck this\nflower and a princess will die in a castle beyond the sea,\u2019 we do not\nknow why something stirs in the subconsciousness, or why what is\nimpossible seems also inevitable. Suppose we read \u2018And in the hour when\nthe king extinguished the candle his ships were wrecked far away on the\ncoast of the Hebrides.\u2019 We do not know why the imagination has accepted\nthat image before the reason can reject it; or why such correspondences\nseem really to correspond to something in the soul. Very deep things in\nour nature, some dim sense of the dependence of great things upon small,\nsome dark suggestion that the things nearest to us stretch far beyond\nour power, some sacramental feeling of the magic in material substances,\nand many more emotions past finding out, are in an idea like that of the\nexternal soul. The power even in the myths of savages is like the power\nin the metaphors of poets. The soul of such a metaphor is often very\nemphatically an external soul. The best critics have remarked that in\nthe best poets the simile is often a picture that seems quite separate\nfrom the text. It is as irrelevant as the remote castle to the flower or\nthe Hebridean coast to the candle. Shelley compares the skylark to a\nyoung woman in a turret, to a rose embedded in thick foliage, to a\nseries of things that seem to be about as unlike a skylark in the sky as\nanything we can imagine. I suppose the most potent piece of pure magic\nin English literature is the much-quoted passage in Keats\u2019s\n_Nightingale_ about the casements opening on the perilous foam. And\nnobody notices that the image seems to come from nowhere; that it\nappears abruptly after some almost equally irrelevant remarks about\nRuth; and that it has nothing in the world to do with the subject of the\npoem. If there is one place in the world where nobody could reasonably\nexpect to find a nightingale, it is on a window-sill at the seaside. But\nit is only in the same sense that nobody would expect to find a giant\u2019s\nheart in a casket under the sea. Now, it would be very dangerous to\nclassify the metaphors of the poets. When Shelley says that the cloud\nwill rise \u2018like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,\u2019 it\nwould be quite possible to call the first a case of the coarse primitive\nbirth-myth and the second a survival of the ghost-worship which became\nancestor-worship. But it is the wrong way of dealing with a cloud; and\nis liable to leave the learned in the condition of Polonius, only too\nready to think it like a weasel, or very like a whale.\n\nTwo facts follow from this psychology of day-dreams, which must be kept\nin mind throughout their development in mythologies and even religions.\nFirst, these imaginative impressions are often strictly local. So far\nfrom being abstractions turned into allegories, they are often images\nalmost concentrated into idols. The poet feels the mystery of a\nparticular forest; not of the science of afforestation or the department\nof woods and forests. He worships the peak of a particular mountain, not\nthe abstract idea of altitude. So we find the god is not merely water\nbut often one special river; he may be the sea because the sea is single\nlike a stream; the river that runs round the world. Ultimately doubtless\nmany deities are enlarged into elements; but they are something more\nthan omnipresent. Apollo does not merely dwell wherever the sun shines;\nhis home is on the rock of Delphi. Diana is great enough to be in three\nplaces at once, earth and heaven and hell, but greater is Diana of the\nEphesians. This localised feeling has its lowest form in the mere fetish\nor talisman, such as millionaires put on their motor-cars. But it can\nalso harden into something like a high and serious religion, where it is\nconnected with high and serious duties; into the gods of the city or\neven the gods of the hearth.\n\nThe second consequence is this: that in these pagan cults there is every\nshade of sincerity--and insincerity. In what sense exactly did an\nAthenian really think he had to sacrifice to Pallas Athene? What scholar\nis really certain of the answer? In what sense did Dr. Johnson really\nthink that he had to touch all the posts in the street or that he had to\ncollect orange-peel? In what sense does a child really think that he\nought to step on every alternate paving-stone? Two things are at least\nfairly clear. First, in simpler and less self-conscious times these\nforms could become more solid without really becoming more serious.\nDay-dreams could be acted in broad daylight, with more liberty of\nartistic expression; but still perhaps with something of the light step\nof the somnambulist. Wrap Dr. Johnson in an antique mantle, crown him\n(by his kind permission) with a garland, and he will move in state under\nthose ancient skies of morning; touching a series of sacred posts\ncarved with the heads of the strange terminal gods, that stand at the\nlimits of the land and of the life of man. Make the child free of the\nmarbles and mosaics of some classic temple, to play on a whole floor\ninlaid with squares of black and white; and he will willingly make this\nfulfilment of his idle and drifting day-dream the clear field for a\ngrave and graceful dance. But the posts and the paving-stones are little\nmore and little less real than they are under modern limits. They are\nnot really much more serious for being taken seriously. They have the\nsort of sincerity that they always had; the sincerity of art as a symbol\nthat expresses very real spiritualities under the surface of life. But\nthey are only sincere in the same sense as art; not sincere in the same\nsense as morality. The eccentric\u2019s collection of orange-peel may turn to\noranges in a Mediterranean festival or to golden apples in a\nMediterranean myth. But they are never on the same plane with the\ndifference between giving the orange to a blind beggar and carefully\nplacing the orange-peel so that the beggar may fall and break his leg.\nBetween these two things there is a difference of kind and not of\ndegree. The child does not think it wrong to step on the paving-stone as\nhe thinks it wrong to step on the dog\u2019s tail. And it is very certain\nthat whatever jest or sentiment or fancy first set Johnson touching the\nwooden posts, he never touched wood with any of the feeling with which\nhe stretched out his hands to the timber of that terrible tree, which\nwas the death of God and the life of man.\n\nAs already noted, this does not mean that there was no reality or even\nno religious sentiment in such a mood. As a matter of fact the Catholic\nChurch has taken over with uproarious success the whole of this popular\nbusiness of giving people local legends and lighter ceremonial\nmovements. In so far as all this sort of paganism was innocent and in\ntouch with nature, there is no reason why it should not be patronised by\npatron saints as much as by pagan gods. And in any case there are\ndegrees of seriousness in the most natural make-believe. There is all\nthe difference between fancying there are fairies in the wood, which\noften only means fancying a certain wood as fit for fairies, and really\nfrightening ourselves until we will walk a mile rather than pass a house\nwe have told ourselves is haunted. Behind all these things is the fact\nthat beauty and terror are very real things and related to a real\nspiritual world; and to touch them at all, even in doubt or fancy, is to\nstir the deep things of the soul. We all understand that and the pagans\nunderstood it. The point is that paganism did not really stir the soul\nexcept with these doubts and fancies; with the consequence that we\nto-day can have little beyond doubts and fancies about paganism. All the\nbest critics agree that all the greatest poets, in pagan Hellas for\nexample, had an attitude towards their gods which is quite queer and\npuzzling to men in the Christian era. There seems to be an admitted\nconflict between the god and the man; but everybody seems to be doubtful\nabout which is the hero and which is the villain. This doubt does not\nmerely apply to a doubter like Euripides in the Bacchae; it applies to a\nmoderate conservative like Sophocles in the Antigone; or even to a\nregular Tory and reactionary like Aristophanes in the Frogs. Sometimes\nit would seem that the Greeks believed above all things in reverence,\nonly they had nobody to revere. But the point of the puzzle is this:\nthat all this vagueness and variation arise from the fact that the whole\nthing began in fancy and in dreaming; and that there are no rules of\narchitecture for a castle in the clouds.\n\nThis is the mighty and branching tree called mythology which ramifies\nround the whole world, whose remote branches under separate skies bear\nlike coloured birds the costly idols of Asia and the half-baked fetishes\nof Africa and the fairy kings and princesses of the folk-tales of the\nforests, and buried amid vines and olives the Lares of the Latins, and\ncarried on the clouds of Olympus the buoyant supremacy of the gods of\nGreece. These are the myths: and he who has no sympathy with myths has\nno sympathy with men. But he who has most sympathy with myths will most\nfully realise that they are not and never were a religion, in the sense\nthat Christianity or even Islam is a religion. They satisfy some of the\nneeds satisfied by a religion; and notably the need for doing certain\nthings at certain dates; the need of the twin ideas of festivity and\nformality. But though they provide a man with a calendar, they do not\nprovide him with a creed. A man did not stand up and say \u2018I believe in\nJupiter and Juno and Neptune,\u2019 etc., as he stands up and says \u2018I believe\nin God the Father Almighty\u2019 and the rest of the Apostles\u2019 Creed. Many\nbelieved in some and not in others, or more in some and less in others,\nor only in a very vague poetical sense in any. There was no moment when\nthey were all collected into an orthodox order which men would fight and\nbe tortured to keep intact. Still less did anybody ever say in that\nfashion: \u2018I believe in Odin and Thor and Freya,\u2019 for outside Olympus\neven the Olympian order grows cloudy and chaotic. It seems clear to me\nthat Thor was not a god at all but a hero. Nothing resembling a religion\nwould picture anybody resembling a god as groping like a pigmy in a\ngreat cavern, that turned out to be the glove of a giant. That is the\nglorious ignorance called adventure. Thor may have been a great\nadventurer; but to call him a god is like trying to compare Jehovah with\nJack and the Beanstalk. Odin seems to have been a real barbarian chief,\npossibly of the Dark Ages after Christianity. Polytheism fades away at\nits fringes into fairy-tales or barbaric memories; it is not a thing\nlike monotheism as held by serious monotheists. Again it does satisfy\nthe need to cry out on some uplifted name or some noble memory in\nmoments that are themselves noble and uplifted; such as the birth of a\nchild or the saving of a city. But the name was so used by many to whom\nit was only a name. Finally it did satisfy, or rather it partially\nsatisfied, a thing very deep in humanity indeed; the idea of\nsurrendering something as the portion of the unknown powers; of pouring\nout wine upon the ground, of throwing a ring into the sea; in a word, of\nsacrifice. It is the wise and worthy idea of not taking our advantage to\nthe full; of putting something in the other balance to ballast our\ndubious pride, of paying tithes to nature for our land. This deep truth\nof the danger of insolence, or being too big for our boots, runs through\nall the great Greek tragedies and makes them great. But it runs side by\nside with an almost cryptic agnosticism about the real nature of the\ngods to be propitiated. Where that gesture of surrender is most\nmagnificent, as among the great Greeks, there is really much more idea\nthat the man will be the better for losing the ox than that the god will\nbe the better for getting it. It is said that in its grosser forms there\nare often actions grotesquely suggestive of the god really eating the\nsacrifice. But this fact is falsified by the error that I put first in\nthis note on mythology. It is misunderstanding the psychology of\nday-dreams. A child pretending there is a goblin in a hollow tree will\ndo a crude and material thing, like leaving a piece of cake for him. A\npoet might do a more dignified and elegant thing, like bringing to the\ngod fruits as well as flowers. But the degree of _seriousness_ in both\nacts may be the same or it may vary in almost any degree. The crude\nfancy is no more a creed than the ideal fancy is a creed. Certainly the\npagan does not disbelieve like an atheist, any more than he believes\nlike a Christian. He feels the presence of powers about which he guesses\nand invents. St. Paul said that the Greeks had one altar to an unknown\ngod. But in truth all their gods were unknown gods. And the real break\nin history did come when St. Paul declared to them whom they had\nignorantly worshipped.\n\nThe substance of all such paganism may be summarised thus. It is an\nattempt to reach the divine reality through the imagination alone; in\nits own field reason does not restrain it at all. It is vital to the\nview of all history that reason is something separate from religion even\nin the most rational of these civilisations. It is only as an\nafterthought, when such cults are decadent or on the defensive, that a\nfew Neo-Platonists or a few Brahmins are found trying to rationalise\nthem, and even then only by trying to allegorise them. But in reality\nthe rivers of mythology and philosophy run parallel and do not mingle\ntill they meet in the sea of Christendom. Simple secularists still talk\nas if the Church had introduced a sort of schism between reason and\nreligion. The truth is that the Church was actually the first thing that\never tried to combine reason and religion. There had never before been\nany such union of the priests and the philosophers. Mythology, then,\nsought God through the imagination; or sought truth by means of beauty,\nin the sense in which beauty includes much of the most grotesque\nugliness. But the imagination has its own laws and therefore its own\ntriumphs, which neither logicians nor men of science can understand. It\nremained true to that imaginative instinct through a thousand\nextravagances, through every crude cosmic pantomime of a pig eating the\nmoon or the world being cut out of a cow, through all the dizzy\nconvolutions and mystic malformations of Asiatic art, through all the\nstark and staring rigidity of Egyptian and Assyrian portraiture, through\nevery kind of cracked mirror of mad art that seemed to deform the world\nand displace the sky, it remained true to something about which there\ncan be no argument; something that makes it possible for some artist of\nsome school to stand suddenly still before that particular deformity and\nsay, \u2018My dream has come true.\u2019 Therefore do we all in fact feel that\npagan or primitive myths are infinitely suggestive, so long as we are\nwise enough not to inquire what they suggest. Therefore we all feel what\nis meant by Prometheus stealing fire from heaven, until some prig of a\npessimist or progressive person explains what it means. Therefore we all\nknow the meaning of Jack and the Beanstalk, until we are told. In this\nsense it is true that it is the ignorant who accept myths, but only\nbecause it is the ignorant who appreciate poems. Imagination has its own\nlaws and triumphs; and a tremendous power began to clothe its images,\nwhether images in the mind or in the mud, whether in the bamboo of the\nSouth Sea Islands or the marble of the mountains of Hellas. But there\nwas always a trouble in the triumph, which in these pages I have tried\nto analyse in vain; but perhaps I might in conclusion state it thus.\n\nThe crux and crisis is that man found it natural to worship; even\nnatural to worship unnatural things. The posture of the idol might be\nstiff and strange; but the gesture of the worshipper was generous and\nbeautiful. He not only felt freer when he bent; he actually felt taller\nwhen he bowed. Henceforth anything that took away the gesture of worship\nwould stunt and even maim him for ever. Henceforth being merely secular\nwould be a servitude and an inhibition. If man cannot pray he is gagged;\nif he cannot kneel he is in irons. We therefore feel throughout the\nwhole of paganism a curious double feeling of trust and distrust. When\nthe man makes the gesture of salutation and of sacrifice, when he pours\nout the libation or lifts up the sword, he knows he is doing a worthy\nand a virile thing. He knows he is doing one of the things for which a\nman was made. His imaginative experiment is therefore justified. But\nprecisely because it began with imagination, there is to the end\nsomething of mockery in it, and especially in the object of it. This\nmockery, in the more intense moments of the intellect, becomes the\nalmost intolerable irony of Greek tragedy. There seems a disproportion\nbetween the priest and the altar or between the altar and the god. The\npriest seems more solemn and almost more sacred than the god. All the\norder of the temple is solid and sane and satisfactory to certain parts\nof our nature; except the very centre of it, which seems strangely\nmutable and dubious, like a dancing flame. It is the first thought round\nwhich the whole has been built; and the first thought is still a fancy\nand almost a frivolity. In that strange place of meeting, the man seems\nmore statuesque than the statue. He himself can stand for ever in the\nnoble and natural attitude of the statue of the Praying Boy. But\nwhatever name be written on the pedestal, whether Zeus or Ammon or\nApollo, the god whom he worships is Proteus.\n\nThe Praying Boy may be said to express a need rather than to satisfy a\nneed. It is by a normal and necessary action that his hands are lifted;\nbut it is no less a parable that his hands are empty. About the nature\nof that need there will be more to say; but at this point it may be said\nthat perhaps after all this true instinct, that prayer and sacrifice are\na liberty and an enlargement, refers back to that vast and\nhalf-forgotten conception of universal fatherhood, which we have already\nseen everywhere fading from the morning sky. This is true; and yet it is\nnot all the truth. There remains an indestructible instinct, in the poet\nas represented by the pagan, that he is not entirely wrong in localising\nhis god. It is something in the soul of poetry if not of piety. And the\ngreatest of poets, when he defined the poet, did not say that he gave us\nthe universe or the absolute or the infinite; but, in his own larger\nlanguage, a local habitation and a name. No poet is merely a pantheist;\nthose who are counted most pantheistic, like Shelley, start with some\nlocal and particular image as the pagans did. After all, Shelley wrote\nof the skylark because it was a skylark. You could not issue an imperial\nor international translation of it for use in South Africa, in which it\nwas changed to an ostrich. So the mythological imagination moves as it\nwere in circles, hovering either to find a place or to return to it. In\na word, mythology is a _search_; it is something that combines a\nrecurrent desire with a recurrent doubt, mixing a most hungry sincerity\nin the idea of seeking for a place with a most dark and deep and\nmysterious levity about all the places found. So far could the lonely\nimagination lead, and we must turn later to the lonely reason. Nowhere\nalong this road did the two ever travel together.\n\nThat is where all these things differed from religion in the reality in\nwhich these different dimensions met or a sort of solid. They differed\nfrom the reality not in what they looked like but in what they were. A\npicture may look like a landscape; it may look in every detail exactly\nlike a landscape. The only detail in which it differs is that it is not\na landscape. The difference is only that which divides a portrait of\nQueen Elizabeth from Queen Elizabeth. Only in this mythical and mystical\nworld the portrait could exist before the person; and the portrait was\ntherefore more vague and doubtful. But anybody who has felt and fed on\nthe atmosphere of these myths will know what I mean when I say that in\none sense they did not really profess to be realities. The pagans had\ndreams about realities; and they would have been the first to admit, in\ntheir own words, that some came through the gate of ivory and others\nthrough the gate of horn. The dreams do indeed tend to be very vivid\ndreams when they touch on those tender or tragic things, which can\nreally make a sleeper awaken with the sense that his heart has been\nbroken in his sleep. They tend continually to hover over certain\npassionate themes of meeting and parting, of a life that ends in death\nor a death that is the beginning of life. Demeter wanders over a\nstricken world looking for a stolen child; Isis stretches out her arms\nover the earth in vain to gather the limbs of Osiris; and there is\nlamentation upon the hills for Atys and through the woods for Adonis.\nThere mingles with all such mourning the mystical and profound sense\nthat death can be a deliverer and an appeasement; that such death gives\nus a divine blood for a renovating river and that all good is found in\ngathering the broken body of the god. We may truly call these\nforeshadowings; so long as we remember that foreshadowings are shadows.\nAnd the metaphor of a shadow happens to hit very exactly the truth that\nis very vital here. For a shadow is a shape; a thing which reproduces\nshape but not texture. These things were something _like_ the real\nthing; and to say that they were like is to say that they were\ndifferent. Saying something is like a dog is another way of saying it is\nnot a dog; and it is in this sense of identity that a myth is not a man.\nNobody really thought of Isis as a human being; nobody really thought of\nDemeter as a historical character; nobody thought of Adonis as the\nfounder of a Church. There was no idea that any one of them had changed\nthe world; but rather that their recurrent death and life bore the sad\nand beautiful burden of the changelessness of the world. Not one of them\nwas a revolution, save in the sense of the revolution of the sun and\nmoon. Their whole meaning is missed if we do not see that they mean the\nshadows that we are and the shadows that we pursue. In certain\nsacrificial and communal aspects they naturally suggest what sort of a\ngod might satisfy men; but they do not profess to be satisfied. Any one\nwho says they do is a bad judge of poetry.\n\nThose who talk about Pagan Christs have less sympathy with Paganism than\nwith Christianity. Those who call these cults \u2018religions,\u2019 and \u2018compare\u2019\nthem with the certitude and challenge of the Church have much less\nappreciation than we have of what made heathenism human, or of why\nclassic literature is still something that hangs in the air like a song.\nIt is no very human tenderness for the hungry to prove that hunger is\nthe same as food. It is no very genial understanding of youth to argue\nthat hope destroys the need for happiness. And it is utterly unreal to\nargue that these images in the mind, admired entirely in the abstract,\nwere even in the same world with a living man and a living polity that\nwere worshipped because they were concrete. We might as well say that a\nboy playing at robbers is the same as a man in his first day in the\ntrenches; or that a boy\u2019s first fancies about \u2018the not impossible she\u2019\nare the same as the sacrament of marriage. They are fundamentally\ndifferent exactly where they are superficially similar; we might almost\nsay they are not the same even when they are the same. They are only\ndifferent because one is real and the other is not. I do not mean merely\nthat I myself believe that one is true and the other is not. I mean that\none was never meant to be true in the same sense as the other. The sense\nin which it was meant to be true I have tried to suggest vaguely here,\nbut it is undoubtedly very subtle and almost indescribable. It is so\nsubtle that the students who profess to put it up as a rival to our\nreligion miss the whole meaning and purport of their own study. We know\nbetter than the scholars, even those of us who are no scholars, what was\nin that hollow cry that went forth over the dead Adonis and why the\nGreat Mother had a daughter wedded to death. We have entered more deeply\nthan they into the Eleusinian Mysteries and have passed a higher grade,\nwhere gate within gate guarded the wisdom of Orpheus. We know the\nmeaning of all the myths. We know the last secret revealed to the\nperfect initiate. And it is not the voice of a priest or a prophet\nsaying, \u2018These things are.\u2019 It is the voice of a dreamer and an idealist\ncrying, \u2018Why cannot these things be?\u2019\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE DEMONS AND THE PHILOSOPHERS\n\n\nI have dwelt at some little length on this imaginative sort of paganism,\nwhich has crowded the world with temples and is everywhere the parent of\npopular festivity. For the central history of civilisation, as I see it,\nconsists of two further stages before the final stage of Christendom.\nThe first was the struggle between this paganism and something less\nworthy than itself, and the second the process by which it grew in\nitself less worthy. In this very varied and often very vague polytheism\nthere was a weakness of original sin. Pagan gods were depicted as\ntossing men like dice; and indeed they are loaded dice. About sex\nespecially men are born unbalanced; we might almost say men are born\nmad. They scarcely reach sanity till they reach sanctity. This\ndisproportion dragged down the winged fancies; and filled the end of\npaganism with a mere filth and litter of spawning gods. But the first\npoint to realise is that this sort of paganism had an early collision\nwith another sort of paganism; and that the issue of that essentially\nspiritual struggle really determined the history of the world. In order\nto understand it we must pass to a review of the other kind of paganism.\nIt can be considered much more briefly; indeed, there is a very real\nsense in which the less that is said about it the better. If we have\ncalled the first sort of mythology the day-dream, we might very well\ncall the second sort of mythology the nightmare.\n\nSuperstition recurs in all ages, and especially in rationalistic ages. I\nremember defending the religious tradition against a whole\nluncheon-table of distinguished agnostics; and before the end of our\nconversation every one of them had procured from his pocket, or\nexhibited on his watch-chain, some charm or talisman from which he\nadmitted that he was never separated. I was the only person present who\nhad neglected to provide himself with a fetish. Superstition recurs in a\nrationalist age because it rests on something which, if not identical\nwith rationalism, is not unconnected with scepticism. It is at least\nvery closely connected with agnosticism. It rests on something that is\nreally a very human and intelligible sentiment, like the local\ninvocations of the _numen_ in popular paganism. But it is an agnostic\nsentiment, for it rests on two feelings: first that we do not really\nknow the laws of the universe; and second that they may be very\ndifferent from all that we call reason. Such men realise the real truth\nthat enormous things do often turn upon tiny things. When a whisper\ncomes, from tradition or what not, that one particular tiny thing is the\nkey or clue, something deep and not altogether senseless in human nature\ntells them that it is not unlikely. This feeling exists in both the\nforms of paganism here under consideration. But when we come to the\nsecond form of it, we find it transformed and filled with another and\nmore terrible spirit.\n\nIn dealing with the lighter thing called mythology, I have said little\nabout the most disputable aspect of it; the extent to which such\ninvocation of the spirits of the sea or the elements can indeed call\nspirits from the vasty deep; or rather (as the Shakespearean scoffer put\nit) whether the spirits come when they are called. I believe that I am\nright in thinking that this problem, practical as it sounds, did not\nplay a dominant part in the poetical business of mythology. But I think\nit even more obvious, on the evidence, that things of that sort have\nsometimes appeared, even if they were only appearances. But when we\ncome to the world of superstition, in a more subtle sense, there is a\nshade of difference; a deepening and a darkening shade. Doubtless most\npopular superstition is as frivolous as any popular mythology. Men do\nnot believe as a dogma that God would throw a thunderbolt at them for\nwalking under a ladder; more often they amuse themselves with the not\nvery laborious exercise of walking round it. There is no more in it than\nwhat I have already adumbrated; a sort of airy agnosticism about the\npossibilities of so strange a world. But there is another sort of\nsuperstition that does definitely look for results; what might be called\na realistic superstition. And with that the question of whether spirits\ndo answer or do appear becomes much more serious. As I have said, it\nseems to me pretty certain that they sometimes do; but about that there\nis a distinction that has been the beginning of much evil in the world.\n\nWhether it be because the Fall has really brought men nearer to less\ndesirable neighbours in the spiritual world, or whether it is merely\nthat the mood of men eager or greedy finds it easier to imagine evil, I\nbelieve that the black magic of witchcraft has been much more practical\nand much less poetical than the white magic of mythology. I fancy the\ngarden of the witch has been kept much more carefully than the woodland\nof the nymph. I fancy the evil field has even been more fruitful than\nthe good. To start with, some impulse, perhaps a sort of desperate\nimpulse, drove men to the darker powers when dealing with practical\nproblems. There was a sort of secret and perverse feeling that the\ndarker powers would really do things; that they had no nonsense about\nthem. And indeed that popular phrase exactly expresses the point. The\ngods of mere mythology had a great deal of nonsense about them. They had\na great deal of good nonsense about them; in the happy and hilarious\nsense in which we talk of the nonsense of Jabberwocky or the Land where\nthe Jumblies live. But the man consulting a demon felt as many a man\nhas felt in consulting a detective, especially a private detective: that\nit was dirty work but the work would really be done. A man did not\nexactly go into the wood to meet a nymph; he rather went with the hope\nof meeting a nymph. It was an adventure rather than an assignation. But\nthe devil really kept his appointments and even in one sense kept his\npromises; even if a man sometimes wished afterwards, like Macbeth, that\nhe had broken them.\n\nIn the accounts given us of many rude or savage races we gather that the\ncult of demons often came after the cult of deities, and even after the\ncult of one single and supreme deity. It may be suspected that in almost\nall such places the higher deity is felt to be too far off for appeal in\ncertain petty matters, and men invoke the spirits because they are in a\nmore literal sense familiar spirits. But with the idea of employing the\ndemons who get things done, a new idea appears more worthy of the\ndemons. It may indeed be truly described as the idea of being worthy of\nthe demons; of making oneself fit for their fastidious and exacting\nsociety. Superstition of the lighter sort toys with the idea that some\ntrifle, some small gesture such as throwing the salt, may touch the\nhidden spring that works the mysterious machinery of the world. And\nthere is after all something in the idea of such an Open Sesame. But\nwith the appeal to lower spirits comes the horrible notion that the\ngesture must not only be very small but very low; that it must be a\nmonkey trick of an utterly ugly and unworthy sort. Sooner or later a man\ndeliberately sets himself to do the most disgusting thing he can think\nof. It is felt that the extreme of evil will extort a sort of attention\nor answer from the evil powers under the surface of the world. This is\nthe meaning of most of the cannibalism in the world. For most\ncannibalism is not a primitive or even a bestial habit. It is\nartificial and even artistic; a sort of art for art\u2019s sake. Men do not\ndo it because they do not think it horrible; but, on the contrary,\nbecause they do think it horrible. They wish, in the most literal sense,\nto sup on horrors. That is why it is often found that rude races like\nthe Australian natives are not cannibals; while much more refined and\nintelligent races, like the New Zealand Maories, occasionally are. They\nare refined and intelligent enough to indulge sometimes in a\nself-conscious diabolism. But if we could understand their minds, or\neven really understand their language, we should probably find that they\nwere not acting as ignorant, that is as innocent cannibals. They are not\ndoing it because they do not think it wrong, but precisely because they\ndo think it wrong. They are acting like a Parisian decadent at a Black\nMass. But the Black Mass has to hide underground from the presence of\nthe real Mass. In other words, the demons have really been in hiding\nsince the coming of Christ on earth. The cannibalism of the higher\nbarbarians is in hiding from the civilisation of the white man. But\nbefore Christendom, and especially outside Europe, this was not always\nso. In the ancient world the demons often wandered abroad like dragons.\nThey could be positively and publicly enthroned as gods. Their enormous\nimages could be set up in public temples in the centre of populous\ncities. And all over the world the traces can be found of this striking\nand solid fact, so curiously overlooked by the moderns who speak of all\nsuch evil as primitive and early in evolution, that as a matter of fact\nsome of the very highest civilisations of the world were the very places\nwhere the horns of Satan were exalted, not only to the stars but in the\nface of the sun.\n\nTake for example the Aztecs and American Indians of the ancient empires\nof Mexico and Peru. They were at least as elaborate as Egypt or China\nand only less lively than that central civilisation which is our own.\nBut those who criticise that central civilisation (which is always their\nown civilisation) have a curious habit of not merely doing their\nlegitimate duty in condemning its crimes, but of going out of their way\nto idealise its victims. They always assume that before the advent of\nEurope there was nothing anywhere but Eden. And Swinburne, in that\nspirited chorus of the nations in \u2018Songs before Sunrise,\u2019 used an\nexpression about Spain in her South American conquests which always\nstruck me as very strange. He said something about \u2018her sins and sons\nthrough sinless lands dispersed,\u2019 and how they \u2018made accursed the name\nof man and thrice accursed the name of God.\u2019 It may be reasonable enough\nthat he should say the Spaniards were sinful, but why in the world\nshould he say that the South Americans were sinless? Why should he have\nsupposed that continent to be exclusively populated by archangels or\nsaints perfect in heaven? It would be a strong thing to say of the most\nrespectable neighbourhood; but when we come to think of what we really\ndo know of that society the remark is rather funny. We know that the\nsinless priests of this sinless people worshipped sinless gods, who\naccepted as the nectar and ambrosia of their sunny paradise nothing but\nincessant human sacrifice accompanied by horrible torments. We may note\nalso in the mythology of this American civilisation that element of\nreversal or violence against instinct of which Dante wrote; which runs\nbackwards everywhere through the unnatural religion of the demons. It is\nnotable not only in ethics but in aesthetics. A South American idol was\nmade as ugly as possible, as a Greek image was made as beautiful as\npossible. They were seeking the secret of power, by working backwards\nagainst their own nature and the nature of things. There was always a\nsort of yearning to carve at last, in gold or granite or the dark red\ntimber of the forests, a face at which the sky itself would break like a\ncracked mirror.\n\nIn any case it is clear enough that the painted and gilded civilisation\nof tropical America systematically indulged in human sacrifice. It is by\nno means clear, so far as I know, that the Eskimos ever indulged in\nhuman sacrifice. They were not civilised enough. They were too closely\nimprisoned by the white winter and the endless dark. Chill penury\nrepressed their noble rage and froze the genial current of the soul. It\nwas in brighter days and broader daylight that the noble rage is found\nunmistakably raging. It was in richer and more instructed lands that the\ngenial current flowed on the altars, to be drunk by great gods wearing\ngoggling and grinning masks and called on in terror or torment by long\ncacophonous names that sound like laughter in hell. A warmer climate and\na more scientific cultivation were needed to bring forth these blooms;\nto draw up towards the sun the large leaves and flamboyant blossoms that\ngave their gold and crimson and purple to that garden, which Swinburne\ncompares to the Hesperides. There was at least no doubt about the\ndragon.\n\nI do not raise in this connection the special controversy about Spain\nand Mexico; but I may remark in passing that it resembles exactly the\nquestion that must in some sense be raised afterwards about Rome and\nCarthage. In both cases there has been a queer habit among the English\nof always siding against the Europeans, and representing the rival\ncivilisation, in Swinburne\u2019s phrase, as sinless; when its sins were\nobviously crying or rather screaming to heaven. For Carthage also was a\nhigh civilisation, indeed a much more highly civilised civilisation. And\nCarthage also founded that civilisation on a religion of fear, sending\nup everywhere the smoke of human sacrifice. Now it is very right to\nrebuke our own race or religion for falling short of our own standards\nand ideals. But it is absurd to pretend that they fell lower than the\nother races and religions that professed the very opposite standards and\nideals. There is a very real sense in which the Christian is worse than\nthe heathen, the Spaniard worse than the Red Indian, or even the Roman\npotentially worse than the Carthaginian. But there is only one sense in\nwhich he is worse; and that is not in being positively worse. The\nChristian is only worse because it is his business to be better.\n\nThis inverted imagination produces things of which it is better not to\nspeak. Some of them indeed might almost be named without being known;\nfor they are of that extreme evil which seems innocent to the innocent.\nThey are too inhuman even to be indecent. But without dwelling much\nlonger in these dark corners, it may be noted as not irrelevant here\nthat certain anti-human antagonisms seem to recur in this tradition of\nblack magic. There may be suspected as running through it everywhere,\nfor instance, a mystical hatred of the idea of childhood. People would\nunderstand better the popular fury against the witches, if they\nremembered that the malice most commonly attributed to them was\npreventing the birth of children. The Hebrew prophets were perpetually\nprotesting against the Hebrew race relapsing into an idolatry that\ninvolved such a war upon children; and it is probable enough that this\nabominable apostasy from the God of Israel has occasionally appeared in\nIsrael since, in the form of what is called ritual murder; not of course\nby any representative of the religion of Judaism, but by individual and\nirresponsible diabolists who did happen to be Jews. This sense that the\nforces of evil especially threaten childhood is found again in the\nenormous popularity of the Child Martyr of the Middle Ages. Chaucer did\nbut give another version of a very national English legend, when he\nconceived the wickedest of all possible witches as the dark alien woman\nwatching behind her high lattice and hearing, like the babble of a brook\ndown the stony street, the singing of little St. Hugh.\n\nAnyhow the part of such speculations that concerns this story centred\nespecially round that eastern end of the Mediterranean where the nomads\nhad turned gradually into traders and had begun to trade with the whole\nworld. Indeed in the sense of trade and travel and colonial extension,\nit already had something like an empire of the whole world. Its purple\ndye, the emblem of its rich pomp and luxury, had steeped the wares which\nwere sold far away amid the last crags of Cornwall and the sails that\nentered the silence of tropic seas amid all the mystery of Africa. It\nmight be said truly to have painted the map purple. It was already a\nworld-wide success, when the princes of Tyre would hardly have troubled\nto notice that one of their princesses had condescended to marry the\nchief of some tribe called Judah; when the merchants of its African\noutpost would only have curled their bearded and Semitic lips with a\nslight smile at the mention of a village called Rome. And indeed no two\nthings could have seemed more distant from each other, not only in space\nbut in spirit, than the monotheism of the Palestinian tribe and the very\nvirtues of the small Italian republic. There was but one thing between\nthem; and the thing which divided them has united them. Very various and\nincompatible were the things that could be loved by the consuls of Rome\nand the prophets of Israel; but they were at one in what they hated. It\nis very easy in both cases to represent that hatred as something merely\nhateful. It is easy enough to make a merely harsh and inhuman figure\neither of Elijah raving above the slaughter of Carmel or Cato thundering\nagainst the amnesty of Africa. These men had their limitations and their\nlocal passions; but this criticism of them is unimaginative and\ntherefore unreal. It leaves out something, something immense and\nintermediate, facing east and west and calling up this passion in its\neastern and western enemies; and that something is the first subject of\nthis chapter.\n\nThe civilisation that centred in Tyre and Sidon was above all things\npractical. It has left little in the way of art and nothing in the way\nof poetry. But it prided itself upon being very efficient; and it\nfollowed in its philosophy and religion that strange and sometimes\nsecret train of thought which we have already noted in those who look\nfor immediate effects. There is always in such a mentality an idea that\nthere is a short cut to the secret of all success; something that would\nshock the world by this sort of shameless thoroughness. They believed,\nin the appropriate modern phrase, in people who delivered the goods. In\ntheir dealings with their god Moloch, they themselves were always\ncareful to deliver the goods. It was an interesting transaction, upon\nwhich we shall have to touch more than once in the rest of the\nnarrative; it is enough to say here that it involved the theory I have\nsuggested about a certain attitude towards children. This was what\ncalled up against it in simultaneous fury the servant of one God in\nPalestine and the guardians of all the household gods in Rome. This is\nwhat challenged two things naturally so much divided by every sort of\ndistance and disunion, whose union was to save the world.\n\nI have called the fourth and final division of the spiritual elements\ninto which I should divide heathen humanity by the name of The\nPhilosophers. I confess that it covers in my mind much that would\ngenerally be classified otherwise; and that what are here called\nphilosophies are very often called religions. I believe however that my\nown description will be found to be much the more realistic and not the\nless respectful. But we must first take philosophy in its purest and\nclearest form that we may trace its normal outline; and that is to be\nfound in the world of the purest and clearest outlines, that culture of\nthe Mediterranean of which we have been considering the mythologies and\nidolatries in the last two chapters.\n\nPolytheism, or that aspect of paganism, was never to the pagan what\nCatholicism is to the Catholic. It was never a view of the universe\nsatisfying all sides of life; a complete and complex truth with\nsomething to say about everything. It was only a satisfaction of one\nside of the soul of man, even if we call it the religious side; and I\nthink it is truer to call it the imaginative side. But this it did\nsatisfy; in the end it satisfied it to satiety. All that world was a\ntissue of interwoven tales and cults, and there ran in and out of it, as\nwe have already seen, that black thread among its more blameless\ncolours: the darker paganism that was really diabolism. But we all know\nthat this did not mean that all pagan men thought of nothing but pagan\ngods. Precisely because mythology only satisfied one mood, they turned\nin other moods to something totally different. But it is very important\nto realise that it was totally different. It was too different to be\ninconsistent. It was so alien that it did not clash. While a mob of\npeople were pouring on a public holiday to the feast of Adonis or the\ngames in honour of Apollo, this or that man would prefer to stop at home\nand think out a little theory about the nature of things. Sometimes his\nhobby would even take the form of thinking about the nature of God; or\neven in that sense about the nature of the gods. But he very seldom\nthought of pitting his nature of the gods against the gods of nature.\n\nIt is necessary to insist on this abstraction in the first student of\nabstractions. He was not so much antagonistic as absent-minded. His\nhobby might be the universe; but at first the hobby was as private as if\nit had been numismatics or playing draughts. And even when his wisdom\ncame to be a public possession, and almost a political institution, it\nwas very seldom on the same plane as the popular and religious\ninstitutions. Aristotle, with his colossal common sense, was perhaps the\ngreatest of all philosophers; certainly the most practical of all\nphilosophers. But Aristotle would no more have set up the Absolute side\nby side with the Apollo of Delphi, as a similar or rival religion, than\nArchimedes would have thought of setting up the Lever as a sort of idol\nor fetish to be substituted for the Palladium of the city. Or we might\nas well imagine Euclid building an altar to an isosceles triangle, or\noffering sacrifices to the square on the hypotenuse. The one man\nmeditated on metaphysics as the other man did on mathematics; for the\nlove of truth or for curiosity or for the fun of the thing. But that\nsort of fun never seems to have interfered very much with the other sort\nof fun; the fun of dancing or singing to celebrate some rascally romance\nabout Zeus becoming a bull or a swan. It is perhaps the proof of a\ncertain superficiality and even insincerity about the popular\npolytheism, that men could be philosophers and even sceptics without\ndisturbing it. These thinkers could move the foundations of the world\nwithout altering even the outline of that coloured cloud that hung above\nit in the air.\n\nFor the thinkers did move the foundations of the world; even when a\ncurious compromise seemed to prevent them from moving the foundations of\nthe city. The two great philosophers of antiquity do indeed appear to us\nas defenders of sane and even of sacred ideas; their maxims often read\nlike the answers to sceptical questions too completely answered to be\nalways recorded. Aristotle annihilated a hundred anarchists and\nnature-worshipping cranks by the fundamental statement that man is a\npolitical animal. Plato in some sense anticipated the Catholic realism,\nas attacked by the heretical nominalism, by insisting on the equally\nfundamental fact that ideas are realities; that ideas exist just as men\nexist. Plato however seemed sometimes almost to fancy that ideas exist\nas men do not exist; or that the men need hardly be considered where\nthey conflict with the ideas. He had something of the social sentiment\nthat we call Fabian in his ideal of fitting the citizen to the city,\nlike an imaginary head to an ideal hat; and great and glorious as he\nremains, he has been the father of all faddists. Aristotle anticipated\nmore fully the sacramental sanity that was to combine the body and the\nsoul of things; for he considered the nature of men as well as the\nnature of morals, and looked to the eyes as well as to the light. But\nthough these great men were in that sense constructive and conservative,\nthey belonged to a world where thought was free to the point of being\nfanciful. Many other great intellects did indeed follow them, some\nexalting an abstract vision of virtue, others following more\nrationalistically the necessity of the human pursuit of happiness. The\nformer had the name of Stoics; and their name has passed into a proverb\nfor what is indeed one of the main moral ideals of mankind: that of\nstrengthening the mind itself until it is of a texture to resist\ncalamity or even pain. But it is admitted that a great number of the\nphilosophers degenerated into what we still call sophists. They became a\nsort of professional sceptics who went about asking uncomfortable\nquestions, and were handsomely paid for making themselves a nuisance to\nnormal people. It was perhaps an accidental resemblance to such\nquestioning quacks that was responsible for the unpopularity of the\ngreat Socrates; whose death might seem to contradict the suggestion of\nthe permanent truce between the philosophers and the gods. But Socrates\ndid not die as a monotheist who denounced polytheism; certainly not as a\nprophet who denounced idols. It is clear to any one reading between the\nlines that there was some notion, right or wrong, of a purely personal\ninfluence affecting morals and perhaps politics. The general compromise\nremained; whether it was that the Greeks thought their myths a joke or\nthat they thought their theories a joke. There was never any collision\nin which one really destroyed the other, and there was never any\ncombination in which one was really reconciled with the other. They\ncertainly did not work together; if anything the philosopher was a\nrival of the priest. But both seemed to have accepted a sort of\nseparation of functions and remained parts of the same social system.\nAnother important tradition descends from Pythagoras; who is significant\nbecause he stands nearest to the Oriental mystics who must be considered\nin their turn. He taught a sort of mysticism of mathematics, that number\nis the ultimate reality; but he also seems to have taught the\ntransmigration of souls like the Brahmins; and to have left to his\nfollowers certain traditional tricks of vegetarianism and water-drinking\nvery common among the eastern sages, especially those who figure in\nfashionable drawing-rooms, like those of the later Roman Empire. But in\npassing to eastern sages, and the somewhat different atmosphere of the\nEast, we may approach a rather important truth by another path.\n\nOne of the great philosophers said that it would be well if philosophers\nwere kings, or kings were philosophers. He spoke as of something too\ngood to be true; but, as a matter of fact, it not unfrequently was true.\nA certain type, perhaps too little noticed in history, may really be\ncalled the royal philosopher. To begin with, apart from actual royalty,\nit did occasionally become possible for the sage, though he was not what\nwe call a religious founder, to be something like a political founder.\nAnd the great example of this, one of the very greatest in the world,\nwill with the very thought of it carry us thousands of miles across the\nvast spaces of Asia to that very wonderful and in some ways that very\nwise world of ideas and institutions, which we dismiss somewhat cheaply\nwhen we talk of China. Men have served many very strange gods; and\ntrusted themselves loyally to many ideals and even idols. China is a\nsociety that has really chosen to believe in intellect. It has taken\nintellect seriously; and it may be that it stands alone in the world.\nFrom a very early age it faced the dilemma of the king and the\nphilosopher by actually appointing a philosopher to advise the king. It\nmade a public institution out of a private individual, who had nothing\nin the world to do but to be intellectual. It had and has, of course,\nmany other things on the same pattern. It creates all ranks and\nprivileges by public examination; it has nothing that we call an\naristocracy; it is a democracy dominated by an intelligentsia. But the\npoint here is that it had philosophers to advise kings; and one of those\nphilosophers must have been a great philosopher and a great statesman.\n\nConfucius was not a religious founder or even a religious teacher;\npossibly not even a religious man. He was not an atheist; he was\napparently what we call an agnostic. But the really vital point is that\nit is utterly irrelevant to talk about his religion at all. It is like\ntalking of theology as the first thing in the story of how Rowland Hill\nestablished the postal system or Baden Powell organised the Boy Scouts.\nConfucius was not there to bring a message from heaven to humanity, but\nto organise China; and he must have organised it exceedingly well. It\nfollows that he dealt much with morals; but he bound them up strictly\nwith manners. The peculiarity of his scheme, and of his country, in\nwhich it contrasts with its great pendant the system of Christendom, is\nthat he insisted on perpetuating an external life with all its forms,\nthat outward continuity might preserve internal peace. Any one who knows\nhow much habit has to do with health, of mind as well as body, will see\nthe truth in his idea. But he will also see that the ancestor-worship\nand the reverence for the Sacred Emperor were habits and not creeds. It\nis unfair to the great Confucius to say he was a religious founder. It\nis even unfair to him to say he was not a religious founder. It is as\nunfair as going out of one\u2019s way to say that Jeremy Bentham was not a\nChristian martyr.\n\nBut there is a class of most interesting cases in which philosophers\nwere kings, and not merely the friends of kings. The combination is not\naccidental. It has a great deal to do with this rather elusive question\nof the function of the philosopher. It contains in it some hint of why\nphilosophy and mythology seldom came to an open rupture. It was not only\nbecause there was something a little frivolous about the mythology. It\nwas also because there was something a little supercilious about the\nphilosopher. He despised the myths, but he also despised the mob; and\nthought they suited each other. The pagan philosopher was seldom a man\nof the people, at any rate in spirit; he was seldom a democrat and often\na bitter critic of democracy. He had about him an air of aristocratic\nand humane leisure; and his part was most easily played by men who\nhappened to be in such a position. It was very easy and natural for a\nprince or a prominent person to play at being as philosophical as\nHamlet, or Theseus in the _Midsummer Night\u2019s Dream_. And from very early\nages we find ourselves in the presence of these princely intellectuals.\nIn fact, we find one of them in the very first recorded ages of the\nworld; sitting on that primeval throne that looked over ancient Egypt.\n\nThe most intense interest of the incident of Akhenaten, commonly called\nthe Heretic Pharaoh, lies in the fact that he was the one example, at\nany rate before Christian times, of one of these royal philosophers who\nset himself to fight popular mythology in the name of private\nphilosophy. Most of them assumed the attitude of Marcus Aurelius, who is\nin many ways the model of this sort of monarch and sage. Marcus Aurelius\nhas been blamed for tolerating the pagan amphitheatre or the Christian\nmartyrdoms. But it was characteristic; for this sort of man really\nthought of popular religion just as he thought of popular circuses. Of\nhim Professor Phillimore has profoundly said \u2018a great and good man--and\nhe knew it.\u2019 The Heretic Pharaoh had a philosophy more earnest and\nperhaps more humble. For there is a corollary to the conception of being\ntoo proud to fight. It is that the humble have to do most of the\nfighting. Anyhow, the Egyptian prince was simple enough to take his own\nphilosophy seriously, and alone among such intellectual princes he\naffected a sort of _coup d\u2019\u00e9tat_; hurling down the high gods of Egypt\nwith one imperial gesture and lifting up for all men, like a blazing\nmirror of monotheistic truth, the disc of the universal sun. He had\nother interesting ideas often to be found in such idealists. In the\nsense in which we speak of a Little Englander he was a Little Egypter.\nIn art he was a realist because he was an idealist; for realism is more\nimpossible than any other ideal. But after all there falls on him\nsomething of the shadow of Marcus Aurelius; stalked by the shadow of\nProfessor Phillimore. What is the matter with this noble sort of prince\nis that he has nowhere quite escaped being something of a prig.\nPriggishness is so pungent a smell that it clings amid the faded spices\neven to an Egyptian mummy. What was the matter with the Heretic Pharaoh,\nas with a good many other heretics, was that he probably never paused to\nask himself whether there was _anything_ in the popular beliefs and\ntales of people less educated than himself. And, as already suggested,\nthere was something in them. There was a real human hunger in all that\nelement of feature and locality, that procession of deities like\nenormous pet animals, in that unwearied watching at certain haunted\nspots, in all the mazy wandering of mythology. Nature may not have the\nname of Isis; Isis may not be really looking for Osiris. But it is true\nthat Nature is really looking for something. Nature is always looking\nfor the supernatural. Something much more definite was to satisfy that\nneed; but a dignified monarch with a disc of the sun did not satisfy it.\nThe royal experiment failed amid a roaring reaction of popular\nsuperstitions, in which the priests rose on the shoulders of the people\nand ascended the throne of the kings.\n\nThe next great example I shall take of the princely sage is Gautama, the\ngreat Lord Buddha. I know he is not generally classed merely with the\nphilosophers; but I am more and more convinced, from all information\nthat reaches me, that this is the real interpretation of his immense\nimportance. He was by far the greatest and the best of these\nintellectuals born in the purple. His reaction was perhaps the noblest\nand most sincere of all the resultant actions of that combination of\nthinkers and of thrones. For his reaction was renunciation. Marcus\nAurelius was content to say, with a refined irony, that even in a palace\nlife could be lived well. The fierier Egyptian king concluded that it\ncould be lived even better after a palace revolution. But the great\nGautama was the only one of them who proved he could really do without\nhis palace. One fell back on toleration and the other on revolution. But\nafter all there is something more absolute about abdication. Abdication\nis perhaps the one really absolute action of an absolute monarch. The\nIndian prince, reared in Oriental luxury and pomp, deliberately went out\nand lived the life of a beggar. That is magnificent, but it is not war;\nthat is, it is not necessarily a Crusade in the Christian sense. It does\nnot decide the question of whether the life of a beggar was the life of\na saint or the life of a philosopher. It does not decide whether this\ngreat man is really to go into the tub of Diogenes or the cave of St.\nJerome. Now those who seem to be nearest to the study of Buddha, and\ncertainly those who write most clearly and intelligently about him,\nconvince me for one that he was simply a philosopher who founded a\nsuccessful school of philosophy, and was turned into a sort of _divus_\nor sacred being merely by the more mysterious and unscientific\natmosphere of all such traditions in Asia. So that it is necessary to\nsay at this point a word about that invisible yet vivid border-line\nthat we cross in passing from the Mediterranean into the mystery of the\nEast.\n\nPerhaps there are no things out of which we get so little of the truth\nas the truisms; especially when they are really true. We are all in the\nhabit of saying certain things about Asia, which are true enough but\nwhich hardly help us because we do not understand their truth; as that\nAsia is old or looks to the past or is not progressive. Now it is true\nthat Christendom is more progressive, in a sense that has very little to\ndo with the rather provincial notion of an endless fuss of political\nimprovement. Christendom does believe, for Christianity does believe,\nthat man can eventually get somewhere, here or hereafter, or in various\nways according to various doctrines. The world\u2019s desire can somehow be\nsatisfied as desires are satisfied, whether by a new life or an old love\nor some form of positive possession and fulfilment. For the rest, we all\nknow there is a rhythm and not a mere progress in things, that things\nrise and fall; only with us the rhythm is a fairly free and incalculable\nrhythm. For most of Asia the rhythm has hardened into a recurrence. It\nis no longer merely a rather topsy-turvy sort of world; it is a wheel.\nWhat has happened to all those highly intelligent and highly civilised\npeoples is that they have been caught up in a sort of cosmic rotation,\nof which the hollow hub is really nothing. In that sense the worst part\nof existence is that it may just as well go on like that for ever. That\nis what we really mean when we say that Asia is old or unprogressive or\nlooking backwards. That is why we see even her curved swords as arcs\nbroken from that blinding wheel; why we see her serpentine ornament as\nreturning everywhere, like a snake that is never slain. It has very\nlittle to do with the political varnish of progress; all Asiatics might\nhave tophats on their heads, but if they had this spirit still in their\nhearts they would only think the hats would vanish and come round again\nlike the planets; not that running after a hat could lead them to heaven\nor even to home.\n\nNow when the genius of Buddha arose to deal with the matter, this sort\nof cosmic sentiment was already common to almost everything in the East.\nThere was indeed the jungle of an extraordinarily extravagant and almost\nasphyxiating mythology. Nevertheless it is possible to have more\nsympathy with this popular fruitfulness in folk-lore than with some of\nthe higher pessimism that might have withered it. It must always be\nremembered, however, when all fair allowances are made, that a great\ndeal of spontaneous eastern imagery really is idolatry; the local and\nliteral worship of an idol. This is probably not true of the ancient\nBrahminical system, at least as seen by Brahmins. But that phrase alone\nwill remind us of a reality of much greater moment. This great reality\nis the Caste System of ancient India. It may have had some of the\npractical advantages of the Guild System of Medieval Europe. But it\ncontrasts not only with that Christian democracy, but with every extreme\ntype of Christian aristocracy, in the fact that it does really conceive\nthe social superiority as a spiritual superiority. This not only divides\nit fundamentally from the fraternity of Christendom, but leaves it\nstanding like a mighty and terraced mountain of pride between the\nrelatively egalitarian levels both of Islam and of China. But the fixity\nof this formation through thousands of years is another illustration of\nthat spirit of repetition that has marked time from time immemorial. Now\nwe may also presume the prevalence of another idea which we associate\nwith the Buddhists as interpreted by the Theosophists. As a fact, some\nof the strictest Buddhists repudiate the idea and still more scornfully\nrepudiate the Theosophists. But whether the idea is in Buddhism, or only\nin the birthplace of Buddhism, or only in a tradition or a travesty of\nBuddhism, it is an idea entirely proper to this principle of\nrecurrence. I mean of course the idea of Reincarnation.\n\nBut Reincarnation is not really a mystical idea. It is not really a\ntranscendental idea, or in that sense a religious idea. Mysticism\nconceives something transcending experience; religion seeks glimpses of\na better good or a worse evil than experience can give. Reincarnation\nneed only extend experiences in the sense of repeating them. It is no\nmore transcendental for a man to remember what he did in Babylon before\nhe was born than to remember what he did in Brixton before he had a\nknock on the head. His successive lives _need_ not be any more than\nhuman lives, under whatever limitations burden human life. It has\nnothing to do with seeing God or even conjuring up the devil. In other\nwords, reincarnation as such does not necessarily escape from the wheel\nof destiny; in some sense it is the wheel of destiny. And whether it was\nsomething that Buddha founded, or something that Buddha found, or\nsomething that Buddha entirely renounced when he found, it is certainly\nsomething having the general character of that Asiatic atmosphere in\nwhich he had to play his part. And the part he played was that of an\nintellectual philosopher, with a particular theory about the right\nintellectual attitude towards it.\n\nI can understand that Buddhists might resent the view that Buddhism is\nmerely a philosophy, if we understand by a philosophy merely an\nintellectual game such as Greek sophists played, tossing up worlds and\ncatching them like balls. Perhaps a more exact statement would be that\nBuddha was a man who made a metaphysical discipline; which might even be\ncalled a psychological discipline. He proposed a way of escaping from\nall this recurrent sorrow; and that was simply by getting rid of the\ndelusion that is called desire. It was emphatically _not_ that we should\nget what we want better by restraining our impatience for part of it, or\nthat we should get it in a better way or in a better world. It was\nemphatically that we should leave off wanting it. If once a man realised\nthat there is really no reality, that everything, including his soul, is\nin dissolution at every instant, he would anticipate disappointment and\nbe intangible to change, existing (in so far as he could be said to\nexist) in a sort of ecstasy of indifference. The Buddhists call this\nbeatitude, and we will not stop our story to argue the point; certainly\nto us it is indistinguishable from despair. I do not see, for instance,\nwhy the disappointment of desire should not apply as much to the most\nbenevolent desires as to the most selfish ones. Indeed the Lord of\nCompassion seems to pity people for living rather than for dying. For\nthe rest, an intelligent Buddhist wrote, \u2018The explanation of popular\nChinese and Japanese Buddhism is that it is not Buddhism.\u2019 _That_ has\ndoubtless ceased to be a mere philosophy, but only by becoming a mere\nmythology. One thing is certain: it has never become anything remotely\nresembling what we call a Church.\n\nIt will appear only a jest to say that all religious history has really\nbeen a pattern of noughts and crosses. But I do not by noughts mean\nnothings, but only things that are negative compared with the positive\nshape or pattern of the other. And though the symbol is of course only a\ncoincidence, it is a coincidence that really does coincide. The mind of\nAsia can really be represented by a round O, if not in the sense of a\ncypher at least of a circle. The great Asiatic symbol of a serpent with\nits tail in its mouth is really a very perfect image of a certain idea\nof unity and recurrence that does indeed belong to the Eastern\nphilosophies and religions. It really is a curve that in one sense\nincludes everything, and in another sense comes to nothing. In that\nsense it does confess, or rather boast, that all argument is an argument\nin a circle. And though the figure is but a symbol, we can see how sound\nis the symbolic sense that produces it, the parallel symbol of the\nWheel of Buddha generally called the Swastika. The cross is a thing at\nright angles pointing boldly in opposite directions; but the Swastika is\nthe same thing in the very act of returning to the recurrent curve. That\ncrooked cross is in fact a cross turning into a wheel. Before we dismiss\neven these symbols as if they were arbitrary symbols, we must remember\nhow intense was the imaginative instinct that produced them or selected\nthem both in the East and the West. The cross has become something more\nthan a historical memory; it does convey, almost as by a mathematical\ndiagram, the truth about the real point at issue; the idea of a conflict\nstretching outwards into eternity. It is true, and even tautological, to\nsay that the cross is the crux of the whole matter.\n\nIn other words, the cross, in fact as well as figure, does really stand\nfor the idea of breaking out of the circle that is everything and\nnothing. It does escape from the circular argument by which everything\nbegins and ends in the mind. Since we are still dealing in symbols, it\nmight be put in a parable in the form of that story about St. Francis,\nwhich says that the birds departing with his benediction could wing\ntheir way into the infinities of the four winds of heaven, their tracks\nmaking a vast cross upon the sky; for compared with the freedom of that\nflight of birds, the very shape of the Swastika is like a kitten chasing\nits tail. In a more popular allegory, we might say that when St. George\nthrust his spear into the monster\u2019s jaws, he broke in upon the solitude\nof the self-devouring serpent and gave it something to bite besides its\nown tail. But while many fancies might be used as figures of the truth,\nthe truth itself is abstract and absolute; though it is not very easy to\nsum up except by such figures. Christianity does appeal to a solid truth\noutside itself; to something which is in that sense external as well as\neternal. It does declare that things are really there; or in other\nwords that things are really things. In this Christianity is at one with\ncommon sense; but all religious history shows that this common sense\nperishes except where there is Christianity to preserve it.\n\nIt cannot otherwise exist, or at least endure, because mere thought does\nnot remain sane. In a sense it becomes too simple to be sane. The\ntemptation of the philosophers is simplicity rather than subtlety. They\nare always attracted by insane simplifications, as men poised above\nabysses are fascinated by death and nothingness and the empty air. It\nneeded another kind of philosopher to stand poised upon the pinnacle of\nthe Temple and keep his balance without casting himself down. One of\nthese obvious, these too obvious explanations is that everything is a\ndream and a delusion and there is nothing outside the ego. Another is\nthat all things recur; another, which is said to be Buddhist and is\ncertainly Oriental, is the idea that what is the matter with us is our\ncreation, in the sense of our coloured differentiation and personality,\nand that nothing will be well till we are again melted into one unity.\nBy this theory, in short, the Creation was the Fall. It is important\nhistorically because it was stored up in the dark heart of Asia and went\nforth at various times in various forms over the dim borders of Europe.\nHere we can place the mysterious figure of Manes or Manichaeus, the\nmystic of inversion, whom we should call a pessimist, parent of many\nsects and heresies; here, in a higher place, the figure of Zoroaster. He\nhas been popularly identified with another of these too simple\nexplanations: the equality of evil and good, balanced and battling in\nevery atom. He also is of the school of sages that may be called\nmystics; and from the same mysterious Persian garden came upon ponderous\nwings Mithras, the unknown god, to trouble the last twilight of Rome.\n\nThat circle or disc of the sun set up in the morning of the world by\nthe remote Egyptian has been a mirror and a model for all the\nphilosophers. They have made many things out of it, and sometimes gone\nmad about it, especially when as in these eastern sages the circle\nbecame a wheel going round and round in their heads. But the point about\nthem is that they all think that existence can be represented by a\ndiagram instead of a drawing; and the rude drawings of the childish\nmyth-makers are a sort of crude and spirited protest against that view.\nThey cannot believe that religion is really not a pattern but a picture.\nStill less can they believe that it is a picture of something that\nreally exists outside our minds. Sometimes the philosopher paints the\ndisc all black and calls himself a pessimist; sometimes he paints it all\nwhite and calls himself an optimist; sometimes he divides it exactly\ninto halves of black and white and calls himself a dualist, like those\nPersian mystics to whom I wish there were space to do justice. None of\nthem could understand a thing that began to draw the proportions just as\nif they were real proportions, disposed in the living fashion which the\nmathematical draughtsman would call disproportionate. Like the first\nartist in the cave, it revealed to incredulous eyes the suggestion of a\nnew purpose in what looked like a wildly crooked pattern; he seemed only\nto be distorting his diagram, when he began for the first time in all\nthe ages to trace the lines of a form--and of a Face.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE WAR OF THE GODS AND DEMONS\n\n\nThe materialist theory of history, that all politics and ethics are the\nexpression of economics, is a very simple fallacy indeed. It consists\nsimply of confusing the necessary conditions of life with the normal\npreoccupations of life, that are quite a different thing. It is like\nsaying that because a man can only walk about on two legs, therefore he\nnever walks about except to buy shoes and stockings. Man cannot live\nwithout the two props of food and drink, which support him like two\nlegs; but to suggest that they have been the motives of all his\nmovements in history is like saying that the goal of all his military\nmarches or religious pilgrimages must have been the Golden Leg of Miss\nKilmansegg or the ideal and perfect leg of Sir Willoughby Patterne. But\nit is such movements that make up the story of mankind, and without them\nthere would practically be no story at all. Cows may be purely economic,\nin the sense that we cannot see that they do much beyond grazing and\nseeking better grazing-grounds; and that is why a history of cows in\ntwelve volumes would not be very lively reading. Sheep and goats may be\npure economists in their external action at least; but that is why the\nsheep has hardly been a hero of epic wars and empires thought worthy of\ndetailed narration; and even the more active quadruped has not inspired\na book for boys called Golden Deeds of Gallant Goats or any similar\ntitle. But so far from the movements that make up the story of man being\neconomic, we may say that the story only begins where the motive of the\ncows and sheep leaves off. It will be hard to maintain that the\nCrusaders went from their homes into a howling wilderness because cows\ngo from a wilderness to a more comfortable grazing-ground. It will be\nhard to maintain that the Arctic explorers went north with the same\nmaterial motive that made the swallows go south. And if you leave things\nlike all the religious wars and all the merely adventurous explorations\nout of the human story, it will not only cease to be human at all but\ncease to be a story at all. The outline of history is made of these\ndecisive curves and angles determined by the will of man. Economic\nhistory would not even be history.\n\nBut there is a deeper fallacy besides this obvious fact; that men need\nnot live for food merely because they cannot live without food. The\ntruth is that the thing most present to the mind of man is not the\neconomic machinery necessary to his existence, but rather that existence\nitself; the world which he sees when he wakes every morning and the\nnature of his general position in it. There is something that is nearer\nto him than livelihood, and that is life. For once that he remembers\nexactly what work produces his wages and exactly what wages produce his\nmeals, he reflects ten times that it is a fine day or it is a queer\nworld, or wonders whether life is worth living, or wonders whether\nmarriage is a failure, or is pleased and puzzled with his own children,\nor remembers his own youth, or in any such fashion vaguely reviews the\nmysterious lot of man. This is true of the majority even of the\nwage-slaves of our morbid modern industrialism, which by its hideousness\nand inhumanity has really forced the economic issue to the front. It is\nimmeasurably more true of the multitude of peasants or hunters or\nfishers who make up the real mass of mankind. Even those dry pedants who\nthink that ethics depend on economics must admit that economics depend\non existence. And any number of normal doubts and day-dreams are about\nexistence; not about how we can live, but about why we do. And the proof\nof it is simple; as simple as suicide. Turn the universe upside down in\nthe mind and you turn all the political economists upside down with it.\nSuppose that a man wishes to die, and the professor of political economy\nbecomes rather a bore with his elaborate explanations of how he is to\nlive. And all the departures and decisions that make our human past into\na story have this character of diverting the direct course of pure\neconomics. As the economist may be excused from calculating the future\nsalary of a suicide, so he may be excused from providing an old-age\npension for a martyr. As he need not provide for the future of a martyr,\nso he need not provide for the family of a monk. His plan is modified in\nlesser and varying degrees by a man being a soldier and dying for his\nown country, by a man being a peasant and specially loving his own land,\nby a man being more or less affected by any religion that forbids or\nallows him to do this or that. But all these come back not to an\neconomic calculation about livelihood but to an elemental outlook upon\nlife. They all come back to what a man fundamentally feels, when he\nlooks forth from those strange windows which we call the eyes, upon that\nstrange vision that we call the world.\n\nNo wise man will wish to bring more long words into the world. But it\nmay be allowable to say that we need a new thing; which may be called\npsychological history. I mean the consideration of what things meant in\nthe mind of a man, especially an ordinary man; as distinct from what is\ndefined or deduced merely from official forms or political\npronouncements. I have already touched on it in such a case as the totem\nor indeed any other popular myth. It is not enough to be told that a\ntom-cat was called a totem; especially when it was not called a totem.\nWe want to know what it felt like. Was it like Whittington\u2019s cat or like\na witch\u2019s cat? Was its real name Pasht or Puss-In-Boots? That is the\nsort of thing we need touching the nature of political and social\nrelations. We want to know the real sentiment that was the social bond\nof many common men, as sane and as selfish as we are. What did soldiers\nfeel when they saw splendid in the sky that strange totem that we call\nthe Golden Eagle of the Legions? What did vassals feel about those other\ntotems, the lions or the leopards upon the shield of their lord? So long\nas we neglect this subjective side of history, which may more simply be\ncalled the inside of history, there will always be a certain limitation\non that science which can be better transcended by art. So long as the\nhistorian cannot do that, fiction will be truer than fact. There will be\nmore reality in a novel; yes, even in a historical novel.\n\nIn nothing is this new history needed so much as in the psychology of\nwar. Our history is stiff with official documents, public or private,\nwhich tell us nothing of the thing itself. At the worst we only have the\nofficial posters, which could not have been spontaneous precisely\nbecause they were official. At the best we have only the secret\ndiplomacy, which could not have been popular precisely because it was\nsecret. Upon one or other of these is based the historical judgment\nabout the real reasons that sustained the struggle. Governments fight\nfor colonies or commercial rights; governments fight about harbours or\nhigh tariffs; governments fight for a gold mine or a pearl fishery. It\nseems sufficient to answer that governments do not fight at all. Why do\nthe fighters fight? What is the psychology that sustains the terrible\nand wonderful thing called a war? Nobody who knows anything of soldiers\nbelieves the silly notion of the dons, that millions of men can be ruled\nby force. If they were all to slack, it would be impossible to punish\nall the slackers. And the least little touch of slacking would lose a\nwhole campaign in half a day. What did men really feel about the\npolicy? If it be said that they accepted the policy from the politician,\nwhat did they feel about the politician? If the vassals warred blindly\nfor their prince, what did those blind men see in their prince?\n\nThere is something we all know which can only be rendered, in an\nappropriate language, as _realpolitik_. As a matter of fact, it is an\nalmost insanely unreal politik. It is always stubbornly and stupidly\nrepeating that men fight for material ends, without reflecting for a\nmoment that the material ends are hardly ever material to the men who\nfight. In any case, no man will die for practical politics, just as no\nman will die for pay. Nero could not hire a hundred Christians to be\neaten by lions at a shilling an hour; for men will not be martyred for\nmoney. But the vision called up by real politik, or realistic politics,\nis beyond example crazy and incredible. Does anybody in the world\nbelieve that a soldier says, \u2018My leg is nearly dropping off, but I shall\ngo on till it drops; for after all I shall enjoy all the advantages of\nmy government obtaining a warm-water port in the Gulf of Finland.\u2019 Can\nanybody suppose that a clerk turned conscript says, \u2018If I am gassed I\nshall probably die in torments; but it is a comfort to reflect that\nshould I ever decide to become a pearl-diver in the South Seas, that\ncareer is now open to me and my countrymen.\u2019 Materialist history is the\nmost madly incredible of all histories, or even of all romances.\nWhatever starts wars, the thing that sustains wars is something in the\nsoul; that is something akin to religion. It is what men feel about life\nand about death. A man near to death is dealing directly with an\nabsolute; it is nonsense to say he is concerned only with relative and\nremote complications that death in any case will end. If he is sustained\nby certain loyalties, they must be loyalties as simple as death. They\nare generally two ideas, which are only two sides of one idea. The first\nis the love of something said to be threatened, if it be only vaguely\nknown as home; the second is dislike and defiance of some strange thing\nthat threatens it. The first is far more philosophical than it sounds,\nthough we need not discuss it here. A man does not want his national\nhome destroyed or even changed, because he cannot even remember all the\ngood things that go with it; just as he does not want his house burnt\ndown, because he can hardly count all the things he would miss.\nTherefore he fights for what sounds like a hazy abstraction, but is\nreally a house. But the negative side of it is quite as noble as well as\nquite as strong. Men fight hardest when they feel that the foe is at\nonce an old enemy and an eternal stranger, that his atmosphere is alien\nand antagonistic; as the French feel about the Prussian or the Eastern\nChristians about the Turk. If we say it is a difference of religion,\npeople will drift into dreary bickerings about sects and dogmas. We will\npity them and say it is a difference about death and daylight; a\ndifference that does really come like a dark shadow between our eyes and\nthe day. Men can think of this difference even at the point of death;\nfor it is a difference about the meaning of life.\n\nMen are moved in these things by something far higher and holier than\npolicy: by hatred. When men hung on in the darkest days of the Great\nWar, suffering either in their bodies or in their souls for those they\nloved, they were long past caring about details of diplomatic objects as\nmotives for their refusal to surrender. Of myself and those I knew best\nI can answer for the vision that made surrender impossible. It was the\nvision of the German Emperor\u2019s face as he rode into Paris. This is not\nthe sentiment which some of my idealistic friends describe as Love. I am\nquite content to call it hatred; the hatred of hell and all its works,\nand to agree that as they do not believe in hell they need not believe\nin hatred. But in the face of this prevalent prejudice, this long\nintroduction has been unfortunately necessary, to ensure an\nunderstanding of what is meant by a religious war. There is a religious\nwar when two worlds meet; that is, when two visions of the world meet;\nor in more modern language, when two moral atmospheres meet. What is the\none man\u2019s breath is the other man\u2019s poison; and it is vain to talk of\ngiving a pestilence a place in the sun. And this is what we must\nunderstand, even at the expense of digression, if we would see what\nreally happened in the Mediterranean; when right athwart the rising of\nthe Republic on the Tiber, a thing overtopping and disdaining it, dark\nwith all the riddles of Asia and trailing all the tribes and\ndependencies of imperialism, came Carthage riding on the sea.\n\nThe ancient religion of Italy was on the whole that mixture which we\nhave considered under the head of mythology; save that where the Greeks\nhad a natural turn for the mythology, the Latins seem to have had a real\nturn for religion. Both multiplied gods, yet they sometimes seem to have\nmultiplied them for almost opposite reasons. It would seem sometimes as\nif the Greek polytheism branched and blossomed upwards like the boughs\nof a tree, while the Italian polytheism ramified downward like the\nroots. Perhaps it would be truer to say that the former branches lifted\nthemselves lightly, bearing flowers; while the latter hung down, being\nheavy with fruit. I mean that the Latins seem to multiply gods to bring\nthem nearer to men, while the Greek gods rose and radiated outwards into\nthe morning sky. What strikes us in the Italian cults is their local and\nespecially their domestic character. We gain the impression of\ndivinities swarming about the house like flies; of deities clustering\nand clinging like bats about the pillars or building like birds under\nthe eaves. We have a vision of a god of roofs and a god of gateposts, of\na god of doors and even a god of drains. It has been suggested that all\nmythology was a sort of fairy-tale; but this was a particular sort of\nfairy-tale which may truly be called a fireside tale, or a nursery-tale;\nbecause it was a tale of the interior of the home; like those which make\nchairs and tables talk like elves. The old household gods of the Italian\npeasants seem to have been great, clumsy, wooden images, more\nfeatureless than the figure-head which Quilp battered with the poker.\nThis religion of the home was very homely. Of course there were other\nless human elements in the tangle of Italian mythology. There were Greek\ndeities superimposed on the Roman; there were here and there uglier\nthings underneath, experiments in the cruel kind of paganism, like the\nArician rite of the priest slaying the slayer. But these things were\nalways potential in paganism; they are certainly not the peculiar\ncharacter of Latin paganism. The peculiarity of that may be roughly\ncovered by saying that if mythology personified the forces of nature,\nthis mythology personified nature as transformed by the forces of man.\nIt was the god of the corn and not of the grass, of the cattle and not\nthe wild things of the forest; in short, the cult was literally a\nculture; as when we speak of it as agriculture.\n\nWith this there was a paradox which is still for many the puzzle or\nriddle of the Latins. With religion running through every domestic\ndetail like a climbing plant, there went what seems to many the very\nopposite spirit: the spirit of revolt. Imperialists and reactionaries\noften invoke Rome as the very model of order and obedience; but Rome was\nthe very reverse. The real history of ancient Rome is much more like the\nhistory of modern Paris. It might be called in modern language a city\nbuilt out of barricades. It is said that the gate of Janus was never\nclosed because there was an eternal war without; it is almost as true\nthat there was an eternal revolution within. From the first Plebeian\nriots to the last Servile Wars, the state that imposed peace on the\nworld was never really at peace. The rulers were themselves rebels.\n\nThere is a real relation between this religion in private and this\nrevolution in public life. Stories none the less heroic for being\nhackneyed remind us that the Republic was founded on a tyrannicide that\navenged an insult to a wife; that the Tribunes of the people were\nre-established after another which avenged an insult to a daughter. The\ntruth is that only men to whom the family is sacred will ever have a\nstandard or a status by which to criticise the state. They alone can\nappeal to something more holy than the gods of the city; the gods of the\nhearth. That is why men are mystified in seeing that the same nations\nthat are thought rigid in domesticity are also thought restless in\npolitics; for instance, the Irish and the French. It is worth while to\ndwell on this domestic point because it is an exact example of what is\nmeant here by the inside of history, like the inside of houses. Merely\npolitical histories of Rome may be right enough in saying that this or\nthat was a cynical or cruel act of the Roman politicians; but the spirit\nthat lifted Rome from beneath was the spirit of all the Romans; and it\nis not a cant to call it the ideal of Cincinnatus passing from the\nsenate to the plough. Men of that sort had strengthened their village on\nevery side, had extended its victories already over Italians and even\nover Greeks, when they found themselves confronted with a war that\nchanged the world. I have called it here the war of the gods and demons.\n\nThere was established on the opposite coast of the inland sea a city\nthat bore the name of the New Town. It was already much older, more\npowerful, and more prosperous than the Italian town; but there still\nremained about it an atmosphere that made the name not inappropriate. It\nhad been called new because it was a colony like New York or New\nZealand. It was an outpost or settlement of the energy and expansion of\nthe great commercial cities of Tyre and Sidon. There was a note of the\nnew countries and colonies about it; a confident and commercial outlook.\nIt was fond of saying things that rang with a certain metallic\nassurance; as that nobody could wash his hands in the sea without the\nleave of the New Town. For it depended almost entirely on the greatness\nof its ships, as did the two great ports and markets from which its\npeople came. It brought from Tyre and Sidon a prodigious talent for\ntrade and considerable experience of travel. It brought other things as\nwell.\n\nIn a previous chapter I have hinted at something of the psychology that\nlies behind a certain type of religion. There was a tendency in those\nhungry for practical results, apart from poetical results, to call upon\nspirits of terror and compulsion; to move Acheron in despair of bending\nthe gods. There is always a sort of dim idea that these darker powers\nwill really do things, with no nonsense about it. In the interior\npsychology of the Punic peoples this strange sort of pessimistic\npracticality had grown to great proportions. In the New Town, which the\nRomans called Carthage, as in the parent cities of Phoenicia, the god\nwho got things done bore the name of Moloch, who was perhaps identical\nwith the other deity whom we know as Baal, the Lord. The Romans did not\nat first quite know what to call him or what to make of him; they had to\ngo back to the grossest myth of Greek or Roman origins and compare him\nto Saturn devouring his children. But the worshippers of Moloch were not\ngross or primitive. They were members of a mature and polished\ncivilisation, abounding in refinements and luxuries; they were probably\nfar more civilised than the Romans. And Moloch was not a myth; or at any\nrate his meal was not a myth. These highly civilised people really met\ntogether to invoke the blessing of heaven on their empire by throwing\nhundreds of their infants into a large furnace. We can only realise the\ncombination by imagining a number of Manchester merchants with\nchimney-pot hats and mutton-chop whiskers, going to church every Sunday\nat eleven o\u2019clock to see a baby roasted.\n\nThe first stages of the political or commercial quarrel can be followed\nin far too much detail, precisely because it is merely political or\ncommercial. The Punic Wars looked at one time as if they would never\nend; and it is not easy to say when they ever began. The Greeks and the\nSicilians had already been fighting vaguely on the European side against\nthe African city. Carthage had defeated Greece and conquered Sicily.\nCarthage had also planted herself firmly in Spain; and between Spain and\nSicily the Latin city was contained and would have been crushed; if the\nRomans had been of the sort to be easily crushed. Yet the interest of\nthe story really consists in the fact that Rome was crushed. If there\nhad not been certain moral elements as well as the material elements,\nthe story would have ended where Carthage certainly thought it had\nended. It is common enough to blame Rome for not making peace. But it\nwas a true popular instinct that there could be no peace with that sort\nof people. It is common enough to blame the Roman for his _Delenda est\nCarthago_; Carthage must be destroyed. It is commoner to forget that, to\nall appearance, Rome itself was destroyed. The sacred savour that hung\nround Rome for ever, it is too often forgotten, clung to her partly\nbecause she had risen suddenly from the dead.\n\nCarthage was an aristocracy, as are most of such mercantile states. The\npressure of the rich on the poor was impersonal as well as irresistible.\nFor such aristocracies never permit personal government, which is\nperhaps why this one was jealous of personal talent. But genius can turn\nup anywhere, even in a governing class. As if to make the world\u2019s\nsupreme test as terrible as possible, it was ordained that one of the\ngreat houses of Carthage should produce a man who came out of those\ngilded palaces with all the energy and originality of Napoleon coming\nfrom nowhere. At the worst crisis of the war, Rome learned that Italy\nitself, by a military miracle, was invaded from the north. Hannibal, the\nGrace of Baal as his name ran in his own tongue, had dragged a ponderous\nchain of armaments over the starry solitudes of the Alps; and pointed\nsouthward to the city which he had been pledged by all his dreadful gods\nto destroy.\n\nHannibal marched down the road to Rome, and the Romans who rushed to war\nwith him felt as if they were fighting with a magician. Two great armies\nsank to right and left of him into the swamps of the Trebia; more and\nmore were sucked into the horrible whirlpool of Cannae; more and more\nwent forth only to fall in ruin at his touch. The supreme sign of all\ndisasters, which is treason, turned tribe after tribe against the\nfalling cause of Rome, and still the unconquerable enemy rolled nearer\nand nearer to the city; and following their great leader the swelling\ncosmopolitan army of Carthage passed like a pageant of the whole world;\nthe elephants shaking the earth like marching mountains and the gigantic\nGauls with their barbaric panoply and the dark Spaniards girt in gold\nand the brown Numidians on their unbridled desert horses wheeling and\ndarting like hawks, and whole mobs of deserters and mercenaries and\nmiscellaneous peoples; and the Grace of Baal went before them.\n\nThe Roman augurs and scribes who said in that hour that it brought forth\nunearthly prodigies, that a child was born with the head of an elephant\nor that stars fell down like hailstones, had a far more philosophical\ngrasp of what had really happened than the modern historian who can see\nnothing in it but a success of strategy concluding a rivalry in\ncommerce. Something far different was felt at the time and on the spot,\nas it is always felt by those who experience a foreign atmosphere\nentering their own like a fog or a foul savour. It was no mere military\ndefeat, it was certainly no mere mercantile rivalry, that filled the\nRoman imagination with such hideous omens of nature herself becoming\nunnatural. It was Moloch upon the mountain of the Latins, looking with\nhis appalling face across the plain; it was Baal who trampled the\nvineyards with his feet of stone; it was the voice of Tanit the\ninvisible, behind her trailing veils, whispering of the love that is\nmore horrible than hate. The burning of the Italian cornfields, the ruin\nof the Italian vines, were something more than actual; they were\nallegorical. They were the destruction of domestic and fruitful things,\nthe withering of what was human before that inhumanity that is far\nbeyond the human thing called cruelty. The household gods bowed low in\ndarkness under their lowly roofs; and above them went the demons upon a\nwind from beyond all walls, blowing the trumpet of the Tramontane. The\ndoor of the Alps was broken down; and in no vulgar but a very solemn\nsense, it was Hell let loose. The war of the gods and demons seemed\nalready to have ended; and the gods were dead. The eagles were lost, the\nlegions were broken; and in Rome nothing remained but honour and the\ncold courage of despair.\n\nIn the whole world one thing still threatened Carthage, and that was\nCarthage. There still remained the inner working of an element strong in\nall successful commercial states, and the presence of a spirit that we\nknow. There was still the solid sense and shrewdness of the men who\nmanage big enterprises; there was still the advice of the best financial\nexperts; there was still business government; there was still the broad\nand sane outlook of practical men of affairs; and in these things could\nthe Romans hope. As the war trailed on to what seemed its tragic end,\nthere grew gradually a faint and strange possibility that even now they\nmight not hope in vain. The plain business men of Carthage, thinking as\nsuch men do in terms of living and dying races, saw clearly that Rome\nwas not only dying but dead. The war was over; it was obviously hopeless\nfor the Italian city to resist any longer, and inconceivable that\nanybody should resist when it was hopeless. Under these circumstances,\nanother set of broad, sound business principles remained to be\nconsidered. Wars were waged with money, and consequently cost money;\nperhaps they felt in their hearts, as do so many of their kind, that\nafter all war must be a little wicked because it costs money. The time\nhad now come for peace; and still more for economy. The messages sent by\nHannibal from time to time asking for reinforcements were a ridiculous\nanachronism; there were much more important things to attend to now. It\nmight be true that some consul or other had made a last dash to the\nMetaurus, had killed Hannibal\u2019s brother and flung his head, with Latin\nfury, into Hannibal\u2019s camp; and mad actions of that sort showed how\nutterly hopeless the Latins felt about their cause. But even excitable\nLatins could not be so mad as to cling to a lost cause for ever. So\nargued the best financial experts; and tossed aside more and more\nletters, full of rather queer alarmist reports. So argued and acted the\ngreat Carthaginian Empire. That meaningless prejudice, the curse of\ncommercial states, that stupidity is in some way practical and that\ngenius is in some way futile, led them to starve and abandon that great\nartist in the school of arms, whom the gods had given them in vain.\n\nWhy do men entertain this queer idea that what is sordid must always\noverthrow what is magnanimous; that there is some dim connection between\nbrains and brutality, or that it does not matter if a man is dull so\nlong as he is also mean? Why do they vaguely think of all chivalry as\nsentiment and all sentiment as weakness? They do it because they are,\nlike all men, primarily inspired by religion. For them, as for all men,\nthe first fact is their notion of the nature of things; their idea\nabout what world they are living in. And it is their faith that the only\nultimate thing is fear and therefore that the very heart of the world is\nevil. They believe that death is stronger than life, and therefore dead\nthings must be stronger than living things; whether those dead things\nare gold and iron and machinery or rocks and rivers and forces of\nnature. It may sound fanciful to say that men we meet at tea-tables or\ntalk to at garden-parties are secretly worshippers of Baal or Moloch.\nBut this sort of commercial mind has its own cosmic vision and it is the\nvision of Carthage. It has in it the brutal blunder that was the ruin of\nCarthage. The Punic power fell, because there is in this materialism a\nmad indifference to real thought. By disbelieving in the soul, it comes\nto disbelieving in the mind. Being too practical to be moral, it denies\nwhat every practical soldier calls the moral of an army. It fancies that\nmoney will fight when men will no longer fight. So it was with the Punic\nmerchant princes. Their religion was a religion of despair, even when\ntheir practical fortunes were hopeful. How could they understand that\nthe Romans could hope even when their fortunes were hopeless? Their\nreligion was a religion of force and fear; how could they understand\nthat men can still despise fear even when they submit to force? Their\nphilosophy of the world had weariness in its very heart; above all they\nwere weary of warfare; how should they understand those who still wage\nwar even when they are weary of it? In a word, how should they\nunderstand the mind of Man, who had so long bowed down before mindless\nthings, money and brute force and gods who had the hearts of beasts?\nThey awoke suddenly to the news that the embers they had disdained too\nmuch even to tread out were again breaking everywhere into flame; that\nHasdrubal was defeated, that Hannibal was outnumbered, that Scipio had\ncarried the war into Spain; that he had carried it into Africa. Before\nthe very gates of the golden city Hannibal fought his last fight for it\nand lost; and Carthage fell as nothing has fallen since Satan. The name\nof the New City remains only as a name. There is no stone of it left\nupon the sand. Another war was indeed waged before the final\ndestruction: but the destruction was final. Only men digging in its deep\nfoundations centuries after found a heap of hundreds of little\nskeletons, the holy relics of that religion. For Carthage fell because\nshe was faithful to her own philosophy and had followed out to its\nlogical conclusion her own vision of the universe. Moloch had eaten his\nchildren.\n\nThe gods had risen again, and the demons had been defeated after all.\nBut they had been defeated by the defeated, and almost defeated by the\ndead. Nobody understands the romance of Rome, and why she rose\nafterwards to a representative leadership that seemed almost fated and\nfundamentally natural, who does not keep in mind the agony of horror and\nhumiliation through which she had continued to testify to the sanity\nthat is the soul of Europe. She came to stand alone in the midst of an\nempire because she had once stood alone in the midst of a ruin and a\nwaste. After that all men knew in their hearts that she had been\nrepresentative of mankind, even when she was rejected of men. And there\nfell on her the shadow from a shining and as yet invisible light and the\nburden of things to be. It is not for us to guess in what manner or\nmoment the mercy of God might in any case have rescued the world; but it\nis certain that the struggle which established Christendom would have\nbeen very different if there had been an empire of Carthage instead of\nan empire of Rome. We have to thank the patience of the Punic wars if,\nin after ages, divine things descended at least upon human things and\nnot inhuman. Europe evolved into its own vices and its own impotence, as\nwill be suggested on another page; but the worst into which it evolved\nwas not like what it had escaped. Can any man in his senses compare the\ngreat wooden doll, whom the children expected to eat a little bit of the\ndinner, with the great idol who would have been expected to eat the\nchildren? That is the measure of how far the world went astray, compared\nwith how far it might have gone astray. If the Romans were ruthless, it\nwas in a true sense to an enemy, and certainly not merely a rival. They\nremembered not trade routes and regulations, but the faces of sneering\nmen; and hated the hateful soul of Carthage. And we owe them something\nif we never needed to cut down the groves of Venus exactly as men cut\ndown the groves of Baal. We owe it partly to their harshness that our\nthoughts of our human past are not wholly harsh. If the passage from\nheathenry to Christianity was a bridge as well as a breach, we owe it to\nthose who kept that heathenry human. If, after all these ages, we are in\nsome sense at peace with paganism, and can think more kindly of our\nfathers, it is well to remember the things that were and the things that\nmight have been. For this reason alone we can take lightly the load of\nantiquity and need not shudder at a nymph on a fountain or a cupid on a\nvalentine. Laughter and sadness link us with things long past away and\nremembered without dishonour; and we can see not altogether without\ntenderness the twilight sinking around the Sabine farm and hear the\nhousehold gods rejoice when Catullus comes home to Sirmio. _Deleta est\nCarthago._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE END OF THE WORLD\n\n\nI was once sitting on a summer day in a meadow in Kent under the shadow\nof a little village church, with a rather curious companion with whom I\nhad just been walking through the woods. He was one of a group of\neccentrics I had come across in my wanderings who had a new religion\ncalled Higher Thought; in which I had been so far initiated as to\nrealise a general atmosphere of loftiness or height, and was hoping at\nsome later and more esoteric stage to discover the beginnings of\nthought. My companion was the most amusing of them, for however he may\nhave stood towards thought, he was at least very much their superior in\nexperience, having travelled beyond the tropics while they were\nmeditating in the suburbs; though he had been charged with excess in\ntelling travellers\u2019 tales. In spite of anything said against him, I\npreferred him to his companions and willingly went with him through the\nwood; where I could not but feel that his sunburnt face and fierce\ntufted eyebrows and pointed beard gave him something of the look of Pan.\nThen we sat down in the meadow and gazed idly at the tree-tops and the\nspire of the village church; while the warm afternoon began to mellow\ninto early evening and the song of a speck of a bird was faint far up in\nthe sky and no more than a whisper of breeze soothed rather than stirred\nthe ancient orchards of the garden of England. Then my companion said to\nme: \u2018Do you know why the spire of that church goes up like that?\u2019 I\nexpressed a respectable agnosticism, and he answered in an off-hand\nway, \u2018Oh, the same as the obelisks; the phallic worship of antiquity.\u2019\nThen I looked across at him suddenly as he lay there leering above his\ngoatlike beard; and for the moment I thought he was not Pan but the\nDevil. No mortal words can express the immense, the insane incongruity\nand unnatural perversion of thought involved in saying such a thing at\nsuch a moment and in such a place. For one moment I was in the mood in\nwhich men burned witches; and then a sense of absurdity equally enormous\nseemed to open about me like a dawn. \u2018Why, of course,\u2019 I said after a\nmoment\u2019s reflection, \u2018if it hadn\u2019t been for phallic worship, they would\nhave built the spire pointing downwards and standing on its own apex.\u2019 I\ncould have sat in that field and laughed for an hour. My friend did not\nseem offended, for indeed he was never thin-skinned about his scientific\ndiscoveries. I had only met him by chance and I never met him again, and\nI believe he is now dead; but though it has nothing to do with the\nargument, it may be worth while to mention the name of this adherent of\nHigher Thought and interpreter of primitive religious origins; or at any\nrate the name by which he was known. It was Louis de Rougemont.\n\nThat insane image of the Kentish church standing on the point of its\nspire, as in some old rustic topsy-turvy tale, always comes back into my\nimagination when I hear these things said about pagan origins; and calls\nto my aid the laughter of the giants. Then I feel as genially and\ncharitably to all other scientific investigators, higher critics, and\nauthorities on ancient and modern religion, as I do to poor Louis de\nRougemont. But the memory of that immense absurdity remains as a sort of\nmeasure and check by which to keep sane, not only on the subject of\nChristian churches, but also on the subject of heathen temples. Now a\ngreat many people have talked about heathen origins as the distinguished\ntraveller talked about Christian origins. Indeed a great many modern\nheathens have been very hard on heathenism. A great many modern\nhumanitarians have been very hard on the real religion of humanity. They\nhave represented it as being everywhere and from the first rooted only\nin these repulsive arcana; and carrying the character of something\nutterly shameless and anarchical. Now I do not believe this for a\nmoment. I should never dream of thinking about the whole worship of\nApollo what De Rougemont could think about the worship of Christ. I\nwould never admit that there was such an atmosphere in a Greek city as\nthat madman was able to smell in a Kentish village. On the contrary, it\nis the whole point, even of this final chapter upon the final decay of\npaganism, to insist once more that the worst sort of paganism had\nalready been defeated by the best sort. It was the best sort of paganism\nthat conquered the gold of Carthage. It was the best sort of paganism\nthat wore the laurels of Rome. It was the best thing the world had yet\nseen, all things considered and on any large scale, that ruled from the\nwall of the Grampians to the garden of the Euphrates. It was the best\nthat conquered; it was the best that ruled; and it was the best that\nbegan to decay.\n\nUnless this broad truth be grasped, the whole story is seen askew.\nPessimism is not in being tired of evil but in being tired of good.\nDespair does not lie in being weary of suffering, but in being weary of\njoy. It is when for some reason or other the good things in a society no\nlonger work that the society begins to decline; when its food does not\nfeed, when its cures do not cure, when its blessings refuse to bless. We\nmight almost say that in a society without such good things we should\nhardly have any test by which to register a decline; that is why some of\nthe static commercial oligarchies like Carthage have rather an air in\nhistory of standing and staring like mummies, so dried up and swathed\nand embalmed that no man knows when they are new or old. But Carthage\nat any rate was dead, and the worst assault ever made by the demons on\nmortal society had been defeated. But how much would it matter that the\nworst was dead if the best was dying?\n\nTo begin with, it must be noted that the relation of Rome to Carthage\nwas partially repeated and extended in her relation to nations more\nnormal and more nearly akin to her than Carthage. I am not here\nconcerned to controvert the merely political view that Roman statesmen\nacted unscrupulously towards Corinth or the Greek cities. But I am\nconcerned to contradict the notion that there was nothing but a\nhypocritical excuse in the ordinary Roman dislike of Greek vices. I am\nnot presenting these pagans as paladins of chivalry, with a sentiment\nabout nationalism never known until Christian times. But I am presenting\nthem as men with the feelings of men; and those feelings were not a\npretence. The truth is that one of the weaknesses in nature-worship and\nmere mythology had already produced a perversion among the Greeks, due\nto the worst sophistry; the sophistry of simplicity. Just as they became\nunnatural by worshipping nature, so they actually became unmanly by\nworshipping man. If Greece led her conqueror, she might have misled her\nconqueror; but these were things he did originally wish to conquer--even\nin himself. It is true that in one sense there was less inhumanity even\nin Sodom and Gomorrah than in Tyre and Sidon. When we consider the war\nof the demons on the children, we cannot compare even Greek decadence to\nPunic devil-worship. But it is not true that the sincere revulsion from\neither need be merely pharisaical. It is not true to human nature or to\ncommon sense. Let any lad who has had the luck to grow up sane and\nsimple in his day-dreams of love hear for the first time of the cult of\nGanymede; he will not be merely shocked but sickened. And that first\nimpression, as has been said here so often about first impressions, will\nbe right. Our cynical indifference is an illusion; it is the greatest\nof all illusions: the illusion of familiarity. It is right to conceive\nthe more or less rustic virtues of the ruck of the original Romans as\nreacting against the very rumour of it, with complete spontaneity and\nsincerity. It is right to regard them as reacting, if in a lesser\ndegree, exactly as they did against the cruelty of Carthage. Because it\nwas in a less degree they did not destroy Corinth as they destroyed\nCarthage. But if their attitude and action was rather destructive, in\nneither case need their indignation have been mere self-righteousness\ncovering mere selfishness. And if anybody insists that nothing could\nhave operated in either case but reasons of state and commercial\nconspiracies, we can only tell him that there is something which he does\nnot understand; something which possibly he will never understand;\nsomething which, until he does understand, he will never understand the\nLatins. That something is called democracy. He has probably heard the\nword a good many times and even used it himself; but he has no notion of\nwhat it means. All through the revolutionary history of Rome there was\nan incessant drive towards democracy; the state and the statesman could\ndo nothing without a considerable backing of democracy; the sort of\ndemocracy that never has anything to do with diplomacy. It is precisely\nbecause of the presence of Roman democracy that we hear so much about\nRoman oligarchy. For instance, recent historians have tried to explain\nthe valour and victory of Rome in terms of that detestable and detested\nusury which was practised by some of the Patricians; as if Curius had\nconquered the men of the Macedonian phalanx by lending them money; or\nthe Consul Nero had negotiated the victory of Metaurus at five per cent.\nBut we realise the usury of the Patricians because of the perpetual\nrevolt of the Plebeians. The rule of the Punic merchant princes had the\nvery soul of usury. But there was never a Punic mob that dared to call\nthem usurers.\n\nBurdened like all mortal things with all mortal sin and weakness, the\nrise of Rome had really been the rise of normal and especially of\npopular things; and in nothing more than in the thoroughly normal and\nprofoundly popular hatred of perversion. Now among the Greeks a\nperversion had become a convention. It is true that it had become so\nmuch of a convention, especially a literary convention, that it was\nsometimes conventionally copied by Roman literary men. But this is one\nof those complications that always arise out of conventions. It must not\nobscure our sense of the difference of tone in the two societies as a\nwhole. It is true that Virgil would once in a way take over a theme of\nTheocritus; but nobody can get the impression that Virgil was\nparticularly fond of that theme. The themes of Virgil were specially and\nnotably the normal themes, and nowhere more than in morals; piety and\npatriotism and the honour of the countryside. And we may well pause upon\nthe name of the poet as we pass into the autumn of antiquity: upon his\nname who was in so supreme a sense the very voice of autumn, of its\nmaturity and its melancholy; of its fruits of fulfilment and its\nprospect of decay. Nobody who reads even a few lines of Virgil can doubt\nthat he understood what moral sanity means to mankind. Nobody can doubt\nhis feelings when the demons were driven in flight before the household\ngods. But there are two particular points about him and his work which\nare particularly important to the main thesis here. The first is that\nthe whole of his great patriotic epic is in a very peculiar sense\nfounded upon the fall of Troy; that is, upon an avowed pride in Troy\nalthough she had fallen. In tracing to Trojans the foundation of his\nbeloved race and republic, he began what may be called the great Trojan\ntradition which runs through medieval and modern history. We have\nalready seen the first hint of it in the pathos of Homer about Hector.\nBut Virgil turned it not merely into a literature but into a legend. And\nit was a legend of the almost divine dignity that belongs to the\ndefeated. This was one of the traditions that did truly prepare the\nworld for the coming of Christianity and especially of Christian\nchivalry. This is what did help to sustain civilisation through the\nincessant defeats of the Dark Ages and the barbarian wars; out of which\nwhat we call chivalry was born. It is the moral attitude of the man with\nhis back to the wall; and it was the wall of Troy. All through medieval\nand modern times this version of the virtues in the Homeric conflict can\nbe traced in a hundred ways co-operating with all that was akin to it in\nChristian sentiment. Our own countrymen, and the men of other countries,\nloved to claim like Virgil that their own nation was descended from the\nheroic Trojans. All sorts of people thought it the most superb sort of\nheraldry to claim to be descended from Hector. Nobody seems to have\nwanted to be descended from Achilles. The very fact that the Trojan name\nhas become a Christian name, and been scattered to the last limits of\nChristendom, to Ireland or the Gaelic Highlands, while the Greek name\nhas remained relatively rare and pedantic, is a tribute to the same\ntruth. Indeed it involves a curiosity of language almost in the nature\nof a joke. The name has been turned into a verb; and the very phrase\nabout hectoring, in the sense of swaggering, suggests the myriads of\nsoldiers who have taken the fallen Trojan for a model. As a matter of\nfact, nobody in antiquity was less given to hectoring than Hector. But\neven the bully pretending to be a conqueror took his title from the\nconquered. That is why the popularisation of the Trojan origin by Virgil\nhas a vital relation to all those elements that have made men say that\nVirgil was almost a Christian. It is almost as if two great tools or\ntoys of the same timber, the divine and the human, had been in the\nhands of Providence; and the only thing comparable to the Wooden Cross\nof Calvary was the Wooden Horse of Troy. So, in some wild allegory,\npious in purpose if almost profane in form, the Holy Child might have\nfought the Dragon with a wooden sword and a wooden horse.\n\nThe other element in Virgil which is essential to the argument is the\nparticular nature of his relation to mythology; or what may here in a\nspecial sense be called folklore, the faiths and fancies of the\npopulace. Everybody knows that his poetry at its most perfect is less\nconcerned with the pomposity of Olympus than with the _numina_ of\nnatural and agricultural life. Every one knows where Virgil looked for\nthe causes of things. He speaks of finding them not so much in cosmic\nallegories of Uranus and Chronos; but rather in Pan and the sisterhood\nof the nymphs and the shaggy old man of the forest. He is perhaps most\nhimself in some passages of the Eclogues, in which he has perpetuated\nfor ever the great legend of Arcadia and the shepherds. Here again it is\neasy enough to miss the point with petty criticism about all the things\nthat happen to separate his literary convention from ours. There is\nnothing more artificial than the cry of artificiality, as directed\nagainst the old pastoral poetry. We have entirely missed all that our\nfathers meant by looking at the externals of what they wrote. People\nhave been so much amused with the mere fact that the china shepherdess\nwas made of china that they have not even asked why she was made at all.\nThey have been so content to consider the Merry Peasant as a figure in\nan opera that they have not asked even how he came to go to the opera,\nor how he strayed on to the stage.\n\nIn short, we have only to ask why there is a china shepherdess and not a\nchina shopkeeper. Why were not mantelpieces adorned with figures of city\nmerchants in elegant attitudes; of ironmasters wrought in iron, or gold\nspeculators in gold? Why did the opera exhibit a Merry Peasant and not a\nMerry Politician? Why was there not a ballet of bankers, pirouetting\nupon pointed toes? Because the ancient instinct and humour of humanity\nhave always told them, under whatever conventions, that the conventions\nof complex cities were less really healthy and happy than the customs of\nthe countryside. So it is with the eternity of the Eclogues. A modern\npoet did indeed write things called Fleet Street Eclogues, in which\npoets took the place of the shepherds. But nobody has yet written\nanything called Wall Street Eclogues, in which millionaires should take\nthe place of the poets. And the reason is that there is a real if only a\nrecurrent yearning for that sort of simplicity; and there is never that\nsort of yearning for that sort of complexity. The key to the mystery of\nthe Merry Peasant is that the peasant often is merry. Those who do not\nbelieve it are simply those who do not know anything about him, and\ntherefore do not know which are his times for merriment. Those who do\nnot believe in the shepherd\u2019s feast or song are merely ignorant of the\nshepherd\u2019s calendar. The real shepherd is indeed very different from the\nideal shepherd, but that is no reason for forgetting the reality at the\nroot of the ideal. It needs a truth to make a tradition. It needs a\ntradition to make a convention. Pastoral poetry is certainly often a\nconvention, especially in a social decline. It was in a social decline\nthat Watteau shepherds and shepherdesses lounged about the gardens of\nVersailles. It was also in a social decline that shepherds and\nshepherdesses continued to pipe and dance through the most faded\nimitations of Virgil. But that is no reason for dismissing the dying\npaganism without ever understanding its life. It is no reason for\nforgetting that the very word Pagan is the same as the word Peasant. We\nmay say that this art is only artificiality; but it is not a love of the\nartificial. On the contrary, it is in its very nature only the failure\nof nature-worship, or the love of the natural.\n\nFor the shepherds were dying because their gods were dying. Paganism\nlived upon poetry; that poetry already considered under the name of\nmythology. But everywhere, and especially in Italy, it had been a\nmythology and a poetry rooted in the countryside; and that rustic\nreligion had been largely responsible for the rustic happiness. Only as\nthe whole society grew in age and experience, there began to appear that\nweakness in all mythology already noted in the chapter under that name.\nThis religion was not quite a religion. In other words, this religion\nwas not quite a reality. It was the young world\u2019s riot with images and\nideas like a young man\u2019s riot with wine or love-making; it was not so\nmuch immoral as irresponsible; it had no foresight of the final test of\ntime. Because it was creative to any extent it was credulous to any\nextent. It belonged to the artistic side of man, yet even considered\nartistically it had long become overloaded and entangled. The family\ntrees sprung from the seed of Jupiter were a jungle rather than a\nforest; the claims of the gods and demigods seemed like things to be\nsettled rather by a lawyer or a professional herald than by a poet. But\nit is needless to say that it was not only in the artistic sense that\nthese things had grown more anarchic. There had appeared in more and\nmore flagrant fashion that flower of evil that is really implicit in the\nvery seed of nature-worship, however natural it may seem. I have said\nthat I do not believe that natural worship necessarily begins with this\nparticular passion; I am not of the De Rougemont school of scientific\nfolklore. I do not believe that mythology must begin in eroticism. But I\ndo believe that mythology must end in it. I am quite certain that\nmythology did end in it. Moreover, not only did the poetry grow more\nimmoral, but the immorality grew more indefensible. Greek vices,\noriental vices, hints of the old horrors of the Semitic demons, began to\nfill the fancies of decaying Rome, swarming like flies on a dung-heap.\nThe psychology of it is really human enough, to any one who will try\nthat experiment of seeing history from the inside. There comes an hour\nin the afternoon when the child is tired of \u2018pretending\u2019; when he is\nweary of being a robber or a Red Indian. It is then that he torments the\ncat. There comes a time in the routine of an ordered civilisation when\nthe man is tired of playing at mythology and pretending that a tree is a\nmaiden or that the moon made love to a man. The effect of this staleness\nis the same everywhere; it is seen in all drug-taking and dram-drinking\nand every form of the tendency to increase the dose. Men seek stranger\nsins or more startling obscenities as stimulants to their jaded sense.\nThey seek after mad oriental religions for the same reason. They try to\nstab their nerves to life, if it were with the knives of the priests of\nBaal. They are walking in their sleep and try to wake themselves up with\nnightmares.\n\nAt that stage even of paganism therefore the peasant songs and dances\nsound fainter and fainter in the forest. For one thing, the peasant\ncivilisation was fading, or had already faded, from the whole\ncountryside. The Empire at the end was organised more and more on that\nservile system which generally goes with the boast of organisation;\nindeed it was almost as servile as the modern schemes for the\norganisation of industry. It is proverbial that what would once have\nbeen a peasantry became a mere populace of the town dependent for bread\nand circuses; which may again suggest to some a mob dependent upon doles\nand cinemas. In this as in many other respects, the modern return to\nheathenism has been a return not even to the heathen youth but rather to\nthe heathen old age. But the causes of it were spiritual in both cases;\nand especially the spirit of paganism had departed with its familiar\nspirits. The heart had gone out of it with its household gods, who went\nalong with the gods of the garden and the field and the forest. The Old\nMan of the Forest was too old; he was already dying. It is said truly in\na sense that Pan died because Christ was born. It is almost as true in\nanother sense that men knew that Christ was born because Pan was already\ndead. A void was made by the vanishing of the whole mythology of\nmankind, which would have asphyxiated like a vacuum if it had not been\nfilled with theology. But the point for the moment is that the mythology\ncould not have lasted like a theology in any case. Theology is thought,\nwhether we agree with it or not. Mythology was never thought, and nobody\ncould really agree with it or disagree with it. It was a mere mood of\nglamour, and when the mood went it could not be recovered. Men not only\nceased to believe in the gods, but they realised that they had never\nbelieved in them. They had sung their praises; they had danced round\ntheir altars. They had played the flute; they had played the fool.\n\nSo came the twilight upon Arcady, and the last notes of the pipe sound\nsadly from the beechen grove. In the great Virgilian poems there is\nalready something of the sadness; but the loves and the household gods\nlinger in lovely lines like that which Mr. Belloc took for a test of\nunderstanding; _incipe, parve puer, risu cognoscere matrem_. But with\nthem as with us, the human family itself began to break down under\nservile organisation and the herding of the towns. The urban mob became\nenlightened; that is, it lost the mental energy that could create myths.\nAll round the circle of the Mediterranean cities the people mourned for\nthe loss of gods and were consoled with gladiators. And meanwhile\nsomething similar was happening to that intellectual aristocracy of\nantiquity that had been walking about and talking at large ever since\nSocrates and Pythagoras. They began to betray to the world the fact\nthat they were walking in a circle and saying the same thing over and\nover again. Philosophy began to be a joke; it also began to be a bore.\nThat unnatural simplification of everything into one system or another,\nwhich we have noted as the fault of the philosopher, revealed at once\nits finality and its futility. Everything was virtue or everything was\nhappiness or everything was fate or everything was good or everything\nwas bad; anyhow, everything was everything and there was no more to be\nsaid; so they said it. Everywhere the sages had degenerated into\nsophists; that is, into hired rhetoricians or askers of riddles. It is\none of the symptoms of this that the sage begins to turn not only into a\nsophist but into a magician. A touch of oriental occultism is very much\nappreciated in the best houses. As the philosopher is already a society\nentertainer, he may as well also be a conjurer.\n\nMany moderns have insisted on the smallness of that Mediterranean world;\nand the wider horizons that might have awaited it with the discovery of\nthe other continents. But this is an illusion; one of the many illusions\nof materialism. The limits that paganism had reached in Europe were the\nlimits of human existence; at its best it had only reached the same\nlimits anywhere else. The Roman stoics did not need any Chinamen to\nteach them stoicism. The Pythagoreans did not need any Hindus to teach\nthem about recurrence or the simple life or the beauty of being a\nvegetarian. In so far as they could get these things from the East, they\nhad already got rather too much of them from the East. The Syncretists\nwere as convinced as Theosophists that all religions are really the\nsame. And how else could they have extended philosophy merely by\nextending geography? It can hardly be proposed that they should learn a\npurer religion from the Aztecs or sit at the feet of the Incas of Peru.\nAll the rest of the world was a welter of barbarism. It is essential to\nrecognise that the Roman Empire was recognised as the highest\nachievement of the human race; and also as the broadest. A dreadful\nsecret seemed to be written as in obscure hieroglyphics across those\nmighty works of marble and stone, those colossal amphitheatres and\naqueducts. Man could do no more.\n\nFor it was not the message blazed on the Babylonian wall, that one king\nwas found wanting or his one kingdom given to a stranger. It was no such\ngood news as the news of invasion and conquest. There was nothing left\nthat could conquer Rome; but there was also nothing left that could\nimprove it. It was the strongest thing that was growing weak. It was the\nbest thing that was going to the bad. It is necessary to insist again\nand again that many civilisations had met in one civilisation of the\nMediterranean sea; that it was already universal with a stale and\nsterile universality. The peoples had pooled their resources and still\nthere was not enough. The empires had gone into partnership and they\nwere still bankrupt. No philosopher who was really philosophical could\nthink anything except that, in that central sea, the wave of the world\nhad risen to its highest, seeming to touch the stars. But the wave was\nalready stooping; for it was only the wave of the world.\n\nThat mythology and that philosophy into which paganism has already been\nanalysed had thus both of them been drained most literally to the dregs.\nIf with the multiplication of magic the third department, which we have\ncalled the demons, was even increasingly active, it was never anything\nbut destructive. There remains only the fourth element, or rather the\nfirst; that which had been in a sense forgotten because it was the\nfirst. I mean the primary and overpowering yet impalpable impression\nthat the universe after all has one origin and one aim; and because it\nhas an aim must have an author. What became of this great truth in the\nbackground of men\u2019s minds, at this time, it is perhaps more difficult to\ndetermine. Some of the Stoics undoubtedly saw it more and more clearly\nas the clouds of mythology cleared and thinned away; and great men among\nthem did much even to the last to lay the foundations of a concept of\nthe moral unity of the world. The Jews still held their secret certainty\nof it jealously behind high fences of exclusiveness; yet it is intensely\ncharacteristic of the society and the situation that some fashionable\nfigures, especially fashionable ladies, actually embraced Judaism. But\nin the case of many others I fancy there entered at this point a new\nnegation. Atheism became really possible in that abnormal time; for\natheism is abnormality. It is not merely the denial of a dogma. It is\nthe reversal of a subconscious assumption in the soul; the sense that\nthere is a meaning and a direction in the world it sees. Lucretius, the\nfirst evolutionist who endeavoured to substitute Evolution for God, had\nalready dangled before men\u2019s eyes his dance of glittering atoms, by\nwhich he conceived cosmos as created by chaos. But it was not his strong\npoetry or his sad philosophy, as I fancy, that made it possible for men\nto entertain such a vision. It was something in the sense of impotence\nand despair with which men shook their fists vainly at the stars, as\nthey saw all the best work of humanity sinking slowly and helplessly\ninto a swamp. They could easily believe that even creation itself was\nnot a creation but a perpetual fall, when they saw that the weightiest\nand worthiest of all human creations was falling by its own weight. They\ncould fancy that all the stars were falling stars; and that the very\npillars of their own solemn porticos were bowed under a sort of gradual\nDeluge. To men in that mood there was a reason for atheism that is in\nsome sense reasonable. Mythology might fade and philosophy might\nstiffen; but if behind these things there was a reality, surely that\nreality might have sustained things as they sank. There was no God; if\nthere had been a God, surely this was the very moment when He would have\nmoved and saved the world.\n\nThe life of the great civilisation went on with dreary industry and even\nwith dreary festivity. It was the end of the world, and the worst of it\nwas that it need never end. A convenient compromise had been made\nbetween all the multitudinous myths and religions of the Empire; that\neach group should worship freely and merely give a sort of official\nflourish of thanks to the tolerant Emperor, by tossing a little incense\nto him under his official title of Divus. Naturally there was no\ndifficulty about that; or rather it was a long time before the world\nrealised that there ever had been even a trivial difficulty anywhere.\nThe members of some eastern sect or secret society or other seemed to\nhave made a scene somewhere; nobody could imagine why. The incident\noccurred once or twice again and began to arouse irritation out of\nproportion to its insignificance. It was not exactly what these\nprovincials said; though of course it sounded queer enough. They seemed\nto be saying that God was dead and that they themselves had seen him\ndie. This might be one of the many manias produced by the despair of the\nage; only they did not seem particularly despairing. They seem quite\nunnaturally joyful about it, and gave the reason that the death of God\nhad allowed them to eat him and drink his blood. According to other\naccounts God was not exactly dead after all; there trailed through the\nbewildered imagination some sort of fantastic procession of the funeral\nof God, at which the sun turned black, but which ended with the dead\nomnipotence breaking out of the tomb and rising again like the sun. But\nit was not the strange story to which anybody paid any particular\nattention; people in that world had seen queer religions enough to fill\na madhouse. It was something in the tone of the madmen and their type\nof formation. They were a scratch company of barbarians and slaves and\npoor and unimportant people; but their formation was military; they\nmoved together and were very absolute about who and what was really a\npart of their little system; and about what they said, however mildly,\nthere was a ring like iron. Men used to many mythologies and moralities\ncould make no analysis of the mystery, except the curious conjecture\nthat they meant what they said. All attempts to make them see reason in\nthe perfectly simple matter of the Emperor\u2019s statue seemed to be spoken\nto deaf men. It was as if a new meteoric metal had fallen on the earth;\nit was a difference of substance to the touch. Those who touched their\nfoundation fancied they had struck a rock.\n\nWith a strange rapidity, like the changes of a dream, the proportions of\nthings seemed to change in their presence. Before most men knew what had\nhappened, these few men were palpably present. They were important\nenough to be ignored. People became suddenly silent about them and\nwalked stiffly past them. We see a new scene, in which the world has\ndrawn its skirts away from these men and women and they stand in the\ncentre of a great space like lepers. The scene changes again and the\ngreat space where they stand is overhung on every side with a cloud of\nwitnesses, interminable terraces full of faces looking down towards them\nintently; for strange things are happening to them. New tortures have\nbeen invented for the madmen who have brought good news. That sad and\nweary society seems almost to find a new energy in establishing its\nfirst religious persecution. Nobody yet knows very clearly why that\nlevel world has thus lost its balance about the people in its midst; but\nthey stand unnaturally still while the arena and the world seem to\nrevolve round them. And there shone on them in that dark hour a light\nthat has never been darkened; a white fire clinging to that group like\nan unearthly phosphorescence, blazing its track through the twilights of\nhistory and confounding every effort to confound it with the mists of\nmythology and theory; that shaft of light or lightning by which the\nworld itself has struck and isolated and crowned it; by which its own\nenemies have made it more illustrious and its own critics have made it\nmore inexplicable; the halo of hatred around the Church of God.\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\nON THE MAN CALLED CHRIST\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE GOD IN THE CAVE\n\n\nThis sketch of the human story began in a cave; the cave which popular\nscience associates with the cave-man and in which practical discovery\nhas really found archaic drawings of animals. The second half of human\nhistory, which was like a new creation of the world, also begins in a\ncave. There is even a shadow of such a fancy in the fact that animals\nwere again present; for it was a cave used as a stable by the\nmountaineers of the uplands about Bethlehem; who still drive their\ncattle into such holes and caverns at night. It was here that a homeless\ncouple had crept underground with the cattle when the doors of the\ncrowded caravanserai had been shut in their faces; and it was here\nbeneath the very feet of the passersby, in a cellar under the very floor\nof the world, that Jesus Christ was born. But in that second creation\nthere was indeed something symbolical in the roots of the primeval rock\nor the horns of the prehistoric herd. God also was a Cave-Man, and had\nalso traced strange shapes of creatures, curiously coloured, upon the\nwall of the world; but the pictures that he made had come to life.\n\nA mass of legend and literature, which increases and will never end, has\nrepeated and rung the changes on that single paradox; that the hands\nthat had made the sun and stars were too small to reach the huge heads\nof the cattle. Upon this paradox, we might almost say upon this jest,\nall the literature of our faith is founded. It is at least like a jest\nin this, that it is something which the scientific critic cannot see.\nHe laboriously explains the difficulty which we have always defiantly\nand almost derisively exaggerated; and mildly condemns as improbable\nsomething that we have almost madly exalted as incredible; as something\nthat would be much too good to be true, except that it is true. When\nthat contrast between the cosmic creation and the little local infancy\nhas been repeated, reiterated, underlined, emphasised, exulted in, sung,\nshouted, roared, not to say howled, in a hundred thousand hymns, carols,\nrhymes, rituals, pictures, poems, and popular sermons, it may be\nsuggested that we hardly need a higher critic to draw our attention to\nsomething a little odd about it; especially one of the sort that seems\nto take a long time to see a joke, even his own joke. But about this\ncontrast and combination of ideas one thing may be said here, because it\nis relevant to the whole thesis of this book. The sort of modern critic\nof whom I speak is generally much impressed with the importance of\neducation in life and the importance of psychology in education. That\nsort of man is never tired of telling us that first impressions fix\ncharacter by the law of causation; and he will become quite nervous if a\nchild\u2019s visual sense is poisoned by the wrong colours on a golliwog or\nhis nervous system prematurely shaken by a cacophonous rattle. Yet he\nwill think us very narrow-minded if we say that this is exactly why\nthere really is a difference between being brought up as a Christian and\nbeing brought up as a Jew or a Moslem or an atheist. The difference is\nthat every Catholic child has learned from pictures, and even every\nProtestant child from stories, this incredible combination of contrasted\nideas as one of the very first impressions on his mind. It is not merely\na theological difference. It is a psychological difference which can\noutlast any theologies. It really is, as that sort of scientist loves to\nsay about anything, incurable. Any agnostic or atheist whose childhood\nhas known a real Christmas has ever afterwards, whether he likes it or\nnot, an association in his mind between two ideas that most of mankind\nmust regard as remote from each other; the idea of a baby and the idea\nof unknown strength that sustains the stars. His instincts and\nimagination can still connect them, when his reason can no longer see\nthe need of the connection; for him there will always be some savour of\nreligion about the mere picture of a mother and a baby; some hint of\nmercy and softening about the mere mention of the dreadful name of God.\nBut the two ideas are not naturally or necessarily combined. They would\nnot be necessarily combined for an ancient Greek or a Chinaman, even for\nAristotle or Confucius. It is no more inevitable to connect God with an\ninfant than to connect gravitation with a kitten. It has been created in\nour minds by Christmas because we are Christians; because we are\npsychological Christians even when we are not theological ones. In other\nwords, this combination of ideas has emphatically, in the much disputed\nphrase, altered human nature. There is really a difference between the\nman who knows it and the man who does not. It may not be a difference of\nmoral worth, for the Moslem or the Jew might be worthier according to\nhis lights; but it is a plain fact about the crossing of two particular\nlights, the conjunction of two stars in our particular horoscope.\nOmnipotence and impotence, or divinity and infancy, do definitely make a\nsort of epigram which a million repetitions cannot turn into a\nplatitude. It is not unreasonable to call it unique. Bethlehem is\nemphatically a place where extremes meet.\n\nHere begins, it is needless to say, another mighty influence for the\nhumanisation of Christendom. If the world wanted what is called a\nnon-controversial aspect of Christianity, it would probably select\nChristmas. Yet it is obviously bound up with what is supposed to be a\ncontroversial aspect (I could never at any stage of my opinions imagine\nwhy); the respect paid to the Blessed Virgin. When I was a boy a more\nPuritan generation objected to a statue upon a parish church\nrepresenting the Virgin and Child. After much controversy, they\ncompromised by taking away the Child. One would think that this was even\nmore corrupted with Mariolatry, unless the mother was counted less\ndangerous when deprived of a sort of weapon. But the practical\ndifficulty is also a parable. You cannot chip away the statue of a\nmother from all round that of a new-born child. You cannot suspend the\nnew-born child in mid-air; indeed you cannot really have a statue of a\nnew-born child at all. Similarly, you cannot suspend the idea of a\nnew-born child in the void or think of him without thinking of his\nmother. You cannot visit the child without visiting the mother; you\ncannot in common human life approach the child except through the\nmother. If we are to think of Christ in this aspect at all, the other\nidea follows as it is followed in history. We must either leave Christ\nout of Christmas, or Christmas out of Christ, or we must admit, if only\nas we admit it in an old picture, that those holy heads are too near\ntogether for the haloes not to mingle and cross.\n\nIt might be suggested, in a somewhat violent image, that nothing had\nhappened in that fold or crack in the great grey hills except that the\nwhole universe had been turned inside out. I mean that all the eyes of\nwonder and worship which had been turned outwards to the largest thing\nwere now turned inward to the smallest. The very image will suggest all\nthat multitudinous marvel of converging eyes that makes so much of the\ncoloured Catholic imagery like a peacock\u2019s tail. But it is true in a\nsense that God who had been only a circumference was seen as a centre;\nand a centre is infinitely small. It is true that the spiritual spiral\nhenceforward works inwards instead of outwards, and in that sense is\ncentripetal and not centrifugal. The faith becomes, in more ways than\none, a religion of little things. But its traditions in art and\nliterature and popular fable have quite sufficiently attested, as has\nbeen said, this particular paradox of the divine being in the cradle.\nPerhaps they have not so clearly emphasised the significance of the\ndivine being in the cave. Curiously enough, indeed, tradition has not\nvery clearly emphasised the cave. It is a familiar fact that the\nBethlehem scene has been represented in every possible setting of time\nand country, of landscape and architecture; and it is a wholly happy and\nadmirable fact that men have conceived it as quite different according\nto their different individual traditions and tastes. But while all have\nrealised that it was a stable, not so many have realised that it was a\ncave. Some critics have even been so silly as to suppose that there was\nsome contradiction between the stable and the cave; in which case they\ncannot know much about caves or stables in Palestine. As they see\ndifferences that are not there, it is needless to add that they do not\nsee differences that are there. When a well-known critic says, for\ninstance, that Christ being born in a rocky cavern is like Mithras\nhaving sprung alive out of a rock, it sounds like a parody upon\ncomparative religion. There is such a thing as the point of a story,\neven if it is a story in the sense of a lie. And the notion of a hero\nappearing, like Pallas from the brain of Zeus, mature and without a\nmother, is obviously the very opposite of the idea of a god being born\nlike an ordinary baby and entirely dependent on a mother. Whichever\nideal we might prefer, we should surely see that they are contrary\nideals. It is as stupid to connect them because they both contain a\nsubstance called stone as to identify the punishment of the Deluge with\nthe baptism in the Jordan because they both contain a substance called\nwater. Whether as a myth or a mystery, Christ was obviously conceived as\nborn in a hole in the rocks primarily because it marked the position of\none outcast and homeless. Nevertheless it is true, as I have said, that\nthe cave has not been so commonly or so clearly used as a symbol as the\nother realities that surrounded the first Christmas.\n\nAnd the reason for this also refers to the very nature of that new\nworld. It was in a sense the difficulty of a new dimension. Christ was\nnot only born on the level of the world, but even lower than the world.\nThe first act of the divine drama was enacted, not only on no stage set\nup above the sightseer, but on a dark and curtained stage sunken out of\nsight; and that is an idea very difficult to express in most modes of\nartistic expression. It is the idea of simultaneous happenings on\ndifferent levels of life. Something like it might have been attempted in\nthe more archaic and decorative medieval art. But the more the artists\nlearned of realism and perspective, the less they could depict at once\nthe angels in the heavens and the shepherds on the hills, and the glory\nin the darkness that was under the hills. Perhaps it could have been\nbest conveyed by the characteristic expedient of some of the medieval\nguilds, when they wheeled about the streets a theatre with three stages\none above the other, with heaven above the earth and hell under the\nearth. But in the riddle of Bethlehem it was heaven that was under the\nearth.\n\nThere is in that alone the touch of a revolution, as of the world turned\nupside down. It would be vain to attempt to say anything adequate, or\nanything new, about the change which this conception of a deity born\nlike an outcast or even an outlaw had upon the whole conception of law\nand its duties to the poor and outcast. It is profoundly true to say\nthat after that moment there could be no slaves. There could be and were\npeople bearing that legal title until the Church was strong enough to\nweed them out, but there could be no more of the pagan repose in the\nmere advantage to the state of keeping it a servile state. Individuals\nbecame important, in a sense in which no instruments can be important.\nA man could not be a means to an end, at any rate to any other man\u2019s\nend. All this popular and fraternal element in the story has been\nrightly attached by tradition to the episode of the Shepherds; the hinds\nwho found themselves talking face to face with the princes of heaven.\nBut there is another aspect of the popular element as represented by the\nshepherds which has not perhaps been so fully developed; and which is\nmore directly relevant here.\n\nMen of the people, like the shepherds, men of the popular tradition, had\neverywhere been the makers of the mythologies. It was they who had felt\nmost directly, with least check or chill from philosophy or the corrupt\ncults of civilisation, the need we have already considered; the images\nthat were adventures of the imagination; the mythology that was a sort\nof search; the tempting and tantalising hints of something half-human in\nnature; the dumb significance of seasons and special places. They had\nbest understood that the soul of a landscape is a story and the soul of\na story is a personality. But rationalism had already begun to rot away\nthese really irrational though imaginative treasures of the peasant;\neven as systematic slavery had eaten the peasant out of house and home.\nUpon all such peasantries everywhere there was descending a dusk and\ntwilight of disappointment, in the hour when these few men discovered\nwhat they sought. Everywhere else Arcadia was fading from the forest.\nPan was dead and the shepherds were scattered like sheep. And though no\nman knew it, the hour was near which was to end and to fulfil all\nthings; and though no man heard it, there was one far-off cry in an\nunknown tongue upon the heaving wilderness of the mountains. The\nshepherds had found their Shepherd.\n\nAnd the thing they found was of a kind with the things they sought. The\npopulace had been wrong in many things; but they had not been wrong in\nbelieving that holy things could have a habitation and that divinity\nneed not disdain the limits of time and space. And the barbarian who\nconceived the crudest fancy about the sun being stolen and hidden in a\nbox, or the wildest myth about the god being rescued and his enemy\ndeceived with a stone, was nearer to the secret of the cave and knew\nmore about the crisis of the world than all those in the circle of\ncities round the Mediterranean who had become content with cold\nabstractions or cosmopolitan generalisations; than all those who were\nspinning thinner and thinner threads of thought out of the\ntranscendentalism of Plato or the orientalism of Pythagoras. The place\nthat the shepherds found was not an academy or an abstract republic; it\nwas not a place of myths allegorised or dissected or explained or\nexplained away. It was a place of dreams come true. Since that hour no\nmythologies have been made in the world. Mythology is a search.\n\nWe all know that the popular presentation of this popular story, in so\nmany miracle plays and carols, has given to the shepherds the costume,\nthe language, and the landscape of the separate English and European\ncountrysides. We all know that one shepherd will talk in a Somerset\ndialect or another talk of driving his sheep from Conway towards the\nClyde. Most of us know by this time how true is that error, how wise,\nhow artistic, how intensely Christian and Catholic is that anachronism.\nBut some who have seen it in these scenes of medieval rusticity have\nperhaps not seen it in another sort of poetry, which it is sometimes the\nfashion to call artificial rather than artistic. I fear that many modern\ncritics will see only a faded classicism in the fact that men like\nCrashaw and Herrick conceived the shepherds of Bethlehem under the form\nof the shepherds of Virgil. Yet they were profoundly right; and in\nturning their Bethlehem play into a Latin Eclogue they took up one of\nthe most important links in human history. Virgil, as we have already\nseen, does stand for all that saner heathenism that had overthrown the\ninsane heathenism of human sacrifice; but the very fact that even the\nVirgilian virtues and the sane heathenism were in incurable decay is the\nwhole problem to which the revelation to the shepherds is the solution.\nIf the world had ever had the chance to grow weary of being demoniac, it\nmight have been healed merely by becoming sane. But if it had grown\nweary even of being sane, what was to happen except what did happen? Nor\nis it false to conceive the Arcadian shepherd of the Eclogues as\nrejoicing in what did happen. One of the Eclogues has even been claimed\nas a prophecy of what did happen. But it is quite as much in the tone\nand incidental diction of the great poet that we feel the potential\nsympathy with the great event; and even in their own human phrases the\nvoices of the Virgilian shepherds might more than once have broken upon\nmore than the tenderness of Italy.... _Incipe, parve puer, risu\ncognoscere matrem._... They might have found in that strange place all\nthat was best in the last traditions of the Latins; and something better\nthan a wooden idol standing up for ever for the pillar of the human\nfamily; a Household God. But they and all the other mythologists would\nbe justified in rejoicing that the event had fulfilled not merely the\nmysticism but the materialism of mythology. Mythology had many sins; but\nit had not been wrong in being as carnal as the Incarnation. With\nsomething of the ancient voice that was supposed to have rung through\nthe groves, it could cry again, \u2018We have seen, he hath seen us, a\nvisible god.\u2019 So the ancient shepherds might have danced, and their feet\nhave been beautiful upon the mountains, rejoicing over the philosophers.\nBut the philosophers had also heard.\n\nIt is still a strange story, though an old one, how they came out of\norient lands, crowned with the majesty of kings and clothed with\nsomething of the mystery of magicians. That truth that is tradition has\nwisely remembered them almost as unknown quantities, as mysterious as\ntheir mysterious and melodious names: Melchior, Caspar, Balthazar. But\nthere came with them all that world of wisdom that had watched the stars\nin Chaldea and the sun in Persia; and we shall not be wrong if we see in\nthem the same curiosity that moves all the sages. They would stand for\nthe same human ideal if their names had really been Confucius or\nPythagoras or Plato. They were those who sought not tales but the truth\nof things; and since their thirst for truth was itself a thirst for God,\nthey also have had their reward. But even in order to understand that\nreward, we must understand that for philosophy as much as mythology,\nthat reward was the completion of the incomplete.\n\nSuch learned men would doubtless have come, as these learned men did\ncome, to find themselves confirmed in much that was true in their own\ntraditions and right in their own reasoning. Confucius would have found\na new foundation for the family in the very reversal of the Holy Family;\nBuddha would have looked upon a new renunciation, of stars rather than\njewels and divinity than royalty. These learned men would still have the\nright to say, or rather a new right to say, that there was truth in\ntheir old teaching. But, after all, these learned men would have come to\nlearn. They would have come to complete their conceptions with something\nthey had not yet conceived; even to balance their imperfect universe\nwith something they might once have contradicted. Buddha would have come\nfrom his impersonal paradise to worship a person. Confucius would have\ncome from his temples of ancestor-worship to worship a child.\n\nWe must grasp from the first this character in the new cosmos: that it\nwas larger than the old cosmos. In that sense Christendom is larger than\ncreation; as creation had been before Christ. It included things that\nhad not been there; it also included the things that had been there.\nThe point happens to be well illustrated in this example of Chinese\npiety, but it would be true of other pagan virtues or pagan beliefs.\nNobody can doubt that a reasonable respect for parents is part of a\ngospel in which God himself was subject in childhood to earthly parents.\nBut the other sense in which the parents were subject to him does\nintroduce an idea that is not Confucian. The infant Christ is not like\nthe infant Confucius; our mysticism conceives him in an immortal\ninfancy. I do not know what Confucius would have done with the Bambino,\nhad it come to life in his arms as it did in the arms of St. Francis.\nBut this is true in relation to all the other religions and\nphilosophies; it is the challenge of the Church. The Church contains\nwhat the world does not contain. Life itself does not provide as she\ndoes for all sides of life. That every other single system is narrow and\ninsufficient compared to this one; that is not a rhetorical boast; it is\na real fact and a real dilemma. Where is the Holy Child amid the Stoics\nand the ancestor-worshippers? Where is Our Lady of the Moslems, a woman\nmade for no man and set above all angels? Where is St. Michael of the\nmonks of Buddha, rider and master of the trumpets, guarding for every\nsoldier the honour of the sword? What could St. Thomas Aquinas do with\nthe mythology of Brahminism, he who set forth all the science and\nrationality and even rationalism of Christianity? Yet even if we compare\nAquinas with Aristotle, at the other extreme of reason, we shall find\nthe same sense of something added. Aquinas could understand the most\nlogical parts of Aristotle; it is doubtful if Aristotle could have\nunderstood the most mystical parts of Aquinas. Even where we can hardly\ncall the Christian greater, we are forced to call him larger. But it is\nso to whatever philosophy or heresy or modern movement we may turn. How\nwould Francis the Troubadour have fared among the Calvinists, or for\nthat matter among the Utilitarians of the Manchester School? Yet men\nlike Bossuet and Pascal could be as stern and logical as any Calvinist\nor Utilitarian. How would St. Joan of Arc, a woman waving on men to war\nwith the sword, have fared among the Quakers or the Doukhabors or the\nTolstoyan sect of pacifists? Yet any number of Catholic saints have\nspent their lives in preaching peace and preventing wars. It is the same\nwith all the modern attempts at Syncretism. They are never able to make\nsomething larger than the Creed without leaving something out. I do not\nmean leaving out something divine but something human; the flag or the\ninn or the boy\u2019s tale of battle or the hedge at the end of the field.\nThe Theosophists build a pantheon; but it is only a pantheon for\npantheists. They call a Parliament of Religions as a reunion of all the\npeoples; but it is only a reunion of all the prigs. Yet exactly such a\npantheon had been set up two thousand years before by the shores of the\nMediterranean; and Christians were invited to set up the image of Jesus\nside by side with the image of Jupiter, of Mithras, of Osiris, of Atys,\nor of Ammon. It was the refusal of the Christians that was the\nturning-point of history. If the Christians had accepted, they and the\nwhole world would have certainly, in a grotesque but exact metaphor,\ngone to pot. They would all have been boiled down to one lukewarm liquid\nin that great pot of cosmopolitan corruption in which all the other\nmyths and mysteries were already melting. It was an awful and an\nappalling escape. Nobody understands the nature of the Church, or the\nringing note of the creed descending from antiquity, who does not\nrealise that the whole world once very nearly died of broadmindedness\nand the brotherhood of all religions.\n\nHere it is the important point that the Magi, who stand for mysticism\nand philosophy, are truly conceived as seeking something new and even as\nfinding something unexpected. That tense sense of crisis which still\ntingles in the Christmas story, and even in every Christmas celebration,\naccentuates the idea of a search and a discovery. The discovery is, in\nthis case, truly a scientific discovery. For the other mystical figures\nin the miracle play, for the angel and the mother, the shepherds and the\nsoldiers of Herod, there may be aspects both simpler and more\nsupernatural, more elemental or more emotional. But the Wise Men must be\nseeking wisdom; and for them there must be a light also in the\nintellect. And this is the light: that the Catholic creed is catholic\nand that nothing else is catholic. The philosophy of the Church is\nuniversal. The philosophy of the philosophers was not universal. Had\nPlato and Pythagoras and Aristotle stood for an instant in the light\nthat came out of that little cave, they would have known that their own\nlight was not universal. It is far from certain, indeed, that they did\nnot know it already. Philosophy also, like mythology, had very much the\nair of a search. It is the realisation of this truth that gives its\ntraditional majesty and mystery to the figures of the Three Kings; the\ndiscovery that religion is broader than philosophy and that this is the\nbroadest of religions, contained within this narrow space. The Magicians\nwere gazing at the strange pentacle with the human triangle reversed;\nand they have never come to the end of their calculations about it. For\nit is the paradox of that group in the cave, that while our emotions\nabout it are of childish simplicity, our thoughts about it can branch\nwith a never-ending complexity. And we can never reach the end even of\nour own ideas about the child who was a father and the mother who was a\nchild.\n\nWe might well be content to say that mythology had come with the\nshepherds and philosophy with the philosophers; and that it only\nremained for them to combine in the recognisation of religion. But there\nwas a third element that must not be ignored and one which that religion\nfor ever refuses to ignore, in any revel or reconciliation. There was\npresent in the primary scenes of the drama that Enemy that had rotted\nthe legends with lust and frozen the theories into atheism, but which\nanswered the direct challenge with something of that more direct method\nwhich we have seen in the conscious cult of the demons. In the\ndescription of that demon-worship, of the devouring detestation of\ninnocence shown in the works of its witchcraft and the most inhuman of\nits human sacrifice, I have said less of its indirect and secret\npenetration of the saner paganism; the soaking of mythological\nimagination with sex; the rise of imperial pride into insanity. But both\nthe indirect and the direct influence make themselves felt in the drama\nof Bethlehem. A ruler under the Roman suzerainty, probably equipped and\nsurrounded with the Roman ornament and order though himself of eastern\nblood, seems in that hour to have felt stirring within him the spirit of\nstrange things. We all know the story of how Herod, alarmed at some\nrumour of a mysterious rival, remembered the wild gesture of the\ncapricious despots of Asia and ordered a massacre of suspects of the new\ngeneration of the populace. Every one knows the story; but not every one\nhas perhaps noted its place in the story of the strange religions of\nmen. Not everybody has seen the significance even of its very contrast\nwith the Corinthian columns and Roman pavement of that conquered and\nsuperficially civilised world. Only, as the purpose in his dark spirit\nbegan to show and shine in the eyes of the Idumean, a seer might perhaps\nhave seen something like a great grey ghost that looked over his\nshoulder; have seen behind him, filling the dome of night and hovering\nfor the last time over history, that vast and fearful face that was\nMoloch of the Carthaginians; awaiting his last tribute from a ruler of\nthe races of Shem. The demons also, in that first festival of Christmas,\nfeasted after their own fashion.\n\nUnless we understand the presence of that Enemy, we shall not only miss\nthe point of Christianity, but even miss the point of Christmas.\nChristmas for us in Christendom has become one thing, and in one sense\neven a simple thing. But, like all the truths of that tradition, it is\nin another sense a very complex thing. Its unique note is the\nsimultaneous striking of many notes; of humility, of gaiety, of\ngratitude, of mystical fear, but also of vigilance and of drama. It is\nnot only an occasion for the peacemakers any more than for the\nmerrymakers; it is not only a Hindu peace conference any more than it is\nonly a Scandinavian winter feast. There is something defiant in it also;\nsomething that makes the abrupt bells at midnight sound like the great\nguns of a battle that has just been won. All this indescribable thing\nthat we call the Christmas atmosphere only hangs in the air as something\nlike a lingering fragrance or fading vapour from the exultant explosion\nof that one hour in the Judean hills nearly two thousand years ago. But\nthe savour is still unmistakable, and it is something too subtle or too\nsolitary to be covered by our use of the word peace. By the very nature\nof the story the rejoicings in the cavern were rejoicings in a fortress\nor an outlaw\u2019s den; properly understood it is not unduly flippant to say\nthey were rejoicings in a dug-out. It is not only true that such a\nsubterranean chamber was a hiding-place from enemies; and that the\nenemies were already scouring the stony plain that lay above it like a\nsky. It is not only that the very horse-hoofs of Herod might in that\nsense have passed like thunder over the sunken head of Christ. It is\nalso that there is in that image a true idea of an outpost, of a\npiercing through the rock and an entrance into an enemy territory. There\nis in this buried divinity an idea of _undermining_ the world; of\nshaking the towers and palaces from below; even as Herod the great king\nfelt that earthquake under him and swayed with his swaying palace.\n\nThat is perhaps the mightiest of the mysteries of the cave. It is\nalready apparent that though men are said to have looked for hell under\nthe earth, in this case it is rather heaven that is under the earth. And\nthere follows in this strange story the idea of an upheaval of heaven.\nThat is the paradox of the whole position; that henceforth the highest\nthing can only work from below. Royalty can only return to its own by a\nsort of rebellion. Indeed the Church from its beginnings, and perhaps\nespecially in its beginnings, was not so much a principality as a\nrevolution against the prince of the world. This sense that the world\nhad been conquered by the great usurper, and was in his possession, has\nbeen much deplored or derided by those optimists who identify\nenlightenment with ease. But it was responsible for all that thrill of\ndefiance and a beautiful danger that made the good news seem to be\nreally both good and new. It was in truth against a huge unconscious\nusurpation that it raised a revolt, and originally so obscure a revolt.\nOlympus still occupied the sky like a motionless cloud moulded into many\nmighty forms; philosophy still sat in the high places and even on the\nthrones of the kings, when Christ was born in the cave and Christianity\nin the catacombs.\n\nIn both cases we may remark the same paradox of revolution; the sense of\nsomething despised and of something feared. The cave in one aspect is\nonly a hole or corner into which the outcasts are swept like rubbish;\nyet in the other aspect it is a hiding-place of something valuable which\nthe tyrants are seeking like treasure. In one sense they are there\nbecause the innkeeper would not even remember them, and in another\nbecause the king can never forget them. We have already noted that this\nparadox appeared also in the treatment of the early Church. It was\nimportant while it was still insignificant, and certainly while it was\nstill impotent. It was important solely because it was intolerable; and\nin that sense it is true to say that it was intolerable because it was\nintolerant. It was resented, because, in its own still and almost secret\nway, it had declared war. It had risen out of the ground to wreck the\nheaven and earth of heathenism. It did not try to destroy all that\ncreation of gold and marble; but it contemplated a world without it. It\ndared to look right through it as though the gold and marble had been\nglass. Those who charged the Christians with burning down Rome with\nfirebrands were slanderers; but they were at least far nearer to the\nnature of Christianity than those among the moderns who tell us that the\nChristians were a sort of ethical society, being martyred in a languid\nfashion for telling men they had a duty to their neighbours, and only\nmildly disliked because they were meek and mild.\n\nHerod had his place, therefore, in the miracle play of Bethlehem because\nhe is the menace to the Church Militant and shows it from the first as\nunder persecution and fighting for its life. For those who think this a\ndiscord, it is a discord that sounds simultaneously with the Christmas\nbells. For those who think the idea of the Crusade is one that spoils\nthe idea of the Cross, we can only say that for them the idea of the\nCross is spoiled; the idea of the Cross is spoiled quite literally in\nthe Cradle. It is not here to the purpose to argue with them on the\nabstract ethics of fighting; the purpose in this place is merely to sum\nup the combination of ideas that make up the Christian and Catholic\nidea, and to note that all of them are already crystallised in the first\nChristmas story. They are three distinct and commonly contrasted things\nwhich are nevertheless one thing; but this is the only thing which can\nmake them one. The first is the human instinct for a heaven that shall\nbe as literal and almost as local as a home. It is the idea pursued by\nall poets and pagans making myths; that a particular place must be the\nshrine of the god or the abode of the blest; that fairyland is a land;\nor that the return of the ghost must be the resurrection of the body. I\ndo not here reason about the refusal of rationalism to satisfy this\nneed. I only say that if the rationalists refuse to satisfy it, the\npagans will not be satisfied. This is present in the story of Bethlehem\nand Jerusalem as it is present in the story of Delos and Delphi; and as\nit is _not_ present in the whole universe of Lucretius or the whole\nuniverse of Herbert Spencer. The second element is a philosophy _larger_\nthan other philosophies; larger than that of Lucretius and infinitely\nlarger than that of Herbert Spencer. It looks at the world through a\nhundred windows where the ancient stoic or the modern agnostic only\nlooks through one. It sees life with thousands of eyes belonging to\nthousands of different sorts of people, where the other is only the\nindividual standpoint of a stoic or an agnostic. It has something for\nall moods of man, it finds work for all kinds of men, it understands\nsecrets of psychology, it is aware of depths of evil, it is able to\ndistinguish between real and unreal marvels and miraculous exceptions,\nit trains itself in tact about hard cases, all with a multiplicity and\nsubtlety and imagination about the varieties of life which is far beyond\nthe bald or breezy platitudes of most ancient or modern moral\nphilosophy. In a word, there is more in it; it finds more in existence\nto think about; it gets more out of life. Masses of this material about\nour many-sided life have been added since the time of St. Thomas\nAquinas. But St. Thomas Aquinas alone would have found himself limited\nin the world of Confucius or of Comte. And the third point is this: that\nwhile it is local enough for poetry and larger than any other\nphilosophy, it is also a challenge and a fight. While it is deliberately\nbroadened to embrace every aspect of truth, it is still stiffly\nembattled against every mode of error. It gets every kind of man to\nfight for it, it gets every kind of weapon to fight with, it widens its\nknowledge of the things that are fought for and against with every art\nof curiosity or sympathy; but it never forgets that it is fighting. It\nproclaims peace on earth and never forgets why there was war in heaven.\n\nThis is the trinity of truths symbolised here by the three types in the\nold Christmas story: the shepherds and the kings and that other king who\nwarred upon the children. It is simply not true to say that other\nreligions and philosophies are in this respect its rivals. It is not\ntrue to say that any one of them combines these characters; it is not\ntrue to say that any one of them pretends to combine them. Buddhism may\nprofess to be equally mystical; it does not even profess to be equally\nmilitary. Islam may profess to be equally military; it does not even\nprofess to be equally metaphysical and subtle. Confucianism may profess\nto satisfy the need of the philosophers for order and reason; it does\nnot even profess to satisfy the need of the mystics for miracle and\nsacrament and the consecration of concrete things. There are many\nevidences of this presence of a spirit at once universal and unique. One\nwill serve here which is the symbol of the subject of this chapter; that\nno other story, no pagan legend or philosophical anecdote or historical\nevent, does in fact affect any of us with that peculiar and even\npoignant impression produced on us by the word Bethlehem. No other birth\nof a god or childhood of a sage seems to us to be Christmas or anything\nlike Christmas. It is either too cold or too frivolous, or too formal\nand classical, or too simple and savage, or too occult and complicated.\nNot one of us, whatever his opinions, would ever go to such a scene with\nthe sense that he was going home. He might admire it because it was\npoetical, or because it was philosophical, or any number of other things\nin separation; but not because it was itself. The truth is that there is\na quite peculiar and individual character about the hold of this story\non human nature; it is not in its psychological substance at all like a\nmere legend or the life of a great man. It does not exactly in the\nordinary sense turn our minds to greatness; to those extensions and\nexaggerations of humanity which are turned into gods and heroes, even by\nthe healthiest sort of hero-worship. It does not exactly work outwards,\nadventurously, to the wonders to be found at the ends of the earth. It\nis rather something that surprises us from behind, from the hidden and\npersonal part of our being; like that which can sometimes take us off\nour guard in the pathos of small objects or the blind pieties of the\npoor. It is rather as if a man had found an inner room in the very heart\nof his own house which he had never suspected; and seen a light from\nwithin. It is as if he found something at the back of his own heart that\nbetrayed him into good. It is not made of what the world would call\nstrong materials; or rather it is made of materials whose strength is in\nthat winged levity with which they brush us and pass. It is all that is\nin us but a brief tenderness that is there made eternal; all that means\nno more than a momentary softening that is in some strange fashion\nbecome a strengthening and a repose; it is the broken speech and the\nlost word that are made positive and suspended unbroken; as the strange\nkings fade into a far country and the mountains resound no more with the\nfeet of the shepherds; and only the night and the cavern lie in fold\nupon fold over something more human than humanity.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE RIDDLES OF THE GOSPEL\n\n\nTo understand the nature of this chapter, it is necessary to recur to\nthe nature of this book. The argument which is meant to be the backbone\nof the book is of the kind called the _reductio ad absurdum_. It\nsuggests that the results of assuming the rationalist thesis are more\nirrational than ours; but to prove it we must assume that thesis. Thus\nin the first section I often treated man as merely an animal, to show\nthat the effect was more impossible than if he were treated as an angel.\nIn the sense in which it was necessary to treat man merely as an animal,\nit is necessary to treat Christ merely as a man. I have to suspend my\nown beliefs, which are much more positive; and assume this limitation\neven in order to remove it. I must try to imagine what would happen to a\nman who did really read the story of Christ as the story of a man; and\neven of a man of whom he had never heard before. And I wish to point out\nthat a really impartial reading of that kind would lead, if not\nimmediately to belief, at least to a bewilderment of which there is\nreally no solution except in belief. In this chapter, for this reason, I\nshall bring in nothing of the spirit of my own creed; I shall exclude\nthe very style of diction, and even of lettering, which I should think\nfitting in speaking in my own person. I am speaking as an imaginary\nheathen human being, honestly staring at the Gospel story for the first\ntime.\n\nNow it is not at all easy to regard the New Testament as a New\nTestament. It is not at all easy to realise the good news as new. Both\nfor good and evil familiarity fills us with assumptions and\nassociations; and no man of our civilisation, whatever he thinks of our\nreligion, can really read the thing as if he had never heard of it\nbefore. Of course it is in any case utterly unhistorical to talk as if\nthe New Testament were a neatly bound book that had fallen from heaven.\nIt is simply the selection made by the authority of the Church from a\nmass of early Christian literature. But apart from any such question,\nthere is a psychological difficulty in feeling the New Testament as new.\nThere is a psychological difficulty in seeing those well-known words\nsimply as they stand and without going beyond what they intrinsically\nstand for. And this difficulty must indeed be very great; for the result\nof it is very curious. The result of it is that most modern critics and\nmost current criticism, even popular criticism, makes a comment that is\nthe exact reverse of the truth. It is so completely the reverse of the\ntruth that one could almost suspect that they had never read the New\nTestament at all.\n\nWe have all heard people say a hundred times over, for they seem never\nto tire of saying it, that the Jesus of the New Testament is indeed a\nmost merciful and humane lover of humanity, but that the Church has\nhidden this human character in repellent dogmas and stiffened it with\necclesiastical terrors till it has taken on an inhuman character. This\nis, I venture to repeat, very nearly the reverse of the truth. The truth\nis that it is the image of Christ in the churches that is almost\nentirely mild and merciful. It is the image of Christ in the Gospels\nthat is a good many other things as well. The figure in the Gospels does\nindeed utter in words of almost heart-breaking beauty his pity for our\nbroken hearts. But they are very far from being the only sort of words\nthat he utters. Nevertheless they are almost the only kind of words that\nthe Church in its popular imagery ever represents him as uttering. That\npopular imagery is inspired by a perfectly sound popular instinct. The\nmass of the poor are broken, and the mass of the people are poor, and\nfor the mass of mankind the main thing is to carry the conviction of the\nincredible compassion of God. But nobody with his eyes open can doubt\nthat it is chiefly this idea of compassion that the popular machinery of\nthe Church does seek to carry. The popular imagery carries a great deal\nto excess the sentiment of \u2018Gentle Jesus, meek and mild.\u2019 It is the\nfirst thing that the outsider feels and criticises in a Piet\u00e0 or a\nshrine of the Sacred Heart. As I say, while the art may be insufficient,\nI am not sure that the instinct is unsound. In any case there is\nsomething appalling, something that makes the blood run cold, in the\nidea of having a statue of Christ in wrath. There is something\ninsupportable even to the imagination in the idea of turning the corner\nof a street or coming out into the spaces of a market-place to meet the\npetrifying petrifaction of _that_ figure as it turned upon a generation\nof vipers, or that face as it looked at the face of a hypocrite. The\nChurch can reasonably be justified therefore if she turns the most\nmerciful face or aspect towards men; but it is certainly the most\nmerciful aspect that she does turn. And the point is here that it is\nvery much more specially and exclusively merciful than any impression\nthat could be formed by a man merely reading the New Testament for the\nfirst time. A man simply taking the words of the story as they stand\nwould form quite another impression; an impression full of mystery and\npossibly of inconsistency; but certainly not merely an impression of\nmildness. It would be intensely interesting; but part of the interest\nwould consist in its leaving a good deal to be guessed at or explained.\nIt is full of sudden gestures evidently significant except that we\nhardly know what they signify; of enigmatic silences; of ironical\nreplies. The outbreaks of wrath, like storms above our atmosphere, do\nnot seem to break out exactly where we should expect them, but to follow\nsome higher weather-chart of their own. The Peter whom popular Church\nteaching presents is very rightly the Peter to whom Christ said in\nforgiveness, \u2018Feed my lambs.\u2019 He is not the Peter upon whom Christ\nturned as if he were the devil, crying in that obscure wrath, \u2018Get thee\nbehind me, Satan.\u2019 Christ lamented with nothing but love and pity over\nJerusalem which was to murder him. We do not know what strange spiritual\natmosphere or spiritual insight led him to sink Bethsaida lower in the\npit than Sodom. I am putting aside for the moment all questions of\ndoctrinal inferences or expositions, orthodox or otherwise; I am simply\nimagining the effect on a man\u2019s mind if he did really do what these\ncritics are always talking about doing; if he did really read the New\nTestament without reference to orthodoxy and even without reference to\ndoctrine. He would find a number of things which fit in far less with\nthe current unorthodoxy than they do with the current orthodoxy. He\nwould find, for instance, that if there are any descriptions that\ndeserved to be called realistic, they are precisely the descriptions of\nthe supernatural. If there is one aspect of the New Testament Jesus in\nwhich he may be said to present himself eminently as a practical person,\nit is in the aspect of an exorcist. There is nothing meek and mild,\nthere is nothing even in the ordinary sense mystical, about the tone of\nthe voice that says \u2018Hold thy peace and come out of him.\u2019 It is much\nmore like the tone of a very business-like lion-tamer or a strong-minded\ndoctor dealing with a homicidal maniac. But this is only a side issue\nfor the sake of illustration; I am not now raising these controversies;\nbut considering the case of the imaginary man from the moon to whom the\nNew Testament is new.\n\nNow the first thing to note is that if we take it merely as a human\nstory, it is in some ways a very strange story. I do not refer here to\nits tremendous and tragic culmination or to any implications involving\ntriumph in that tragedy. I do not refer to what is commonly called the\nmiraculous element; for on that point philosophies vary and modern\nphilosophies very decidedly waver. Indeed the educated Englishman of\nto-day may be said to have passed from an old fashion, in which he would\nnot believe in any miracles unless they were ancient, and adopted a new\nfashion in which he will not believe in any miracles unless they are\nmodern. He used to hold that miraculous cures stopped with the first\nChristians and is now inclined to suspect that they began with the first\nChristian Scientists. But I refer here rather specially to unmiraculous\nand even to unnoticed and inconspicuous parts of the story. There are a\ngreat many things about it which nobody would have invented, for they\nare things that nobody has ever made any particular use of; things which\nif they were remarked at all have remained rather as puzzles. For\ninstance, there is that long stretch of silence in the life of Christ up\nto the age of thirty. It is of all silences the most immense and\nimaginatively impressive. But it is not the sort of thing that anybody\nis particularly likely to invent in order to prove something; and nobody\nso far as I know has ever tried to prove anything in particular from it.\nIt is impressive, but it is only impressive as a fact; there is nothing\nparticularly popular or obvious about it as a fable. The ordinary trend\nof hero-worship and myth-making is much more likely to say the precise\nopposite. It is much more likely to say (as I believe some of the\ngospels rejected by the Church do say) that Jesus displayed a divine\nprecocity and began his mission at a miraculously early age. And there\nis indeed something strange in the thought that he who of all humanity\nneeded least preparation seems to have had most. Whether it was some\nmode of the divine humility, or some truth of which we see the shadow\nin the longer domestic tutelage of the higher creatures of the earth, I\ndo not propose to speculate; I mention it simply as an example of the\nsort of thing that does in any case give rise to speculations, quite\napart from recognised religious speculations. Now the whole story is\nfull of these things. It is not by any means, as baldly presented in\nprint, a story that it is easy to get to the bottom of. It is anything\nbut what these people talk of as a simple Gospel. Relatively speaking,\nit is the Gospel that has the mysticism and the Church that has the\nrationalism. As I should put it, of course, it is the Gospel that is the\nriddle and the Church that is the answer. But whatever be the answer,\nthe Gospel as it stands is almost a book of riddles.\n\nFirst, a man reading the Gospel sayings would not find platitudes. If he\nhad read even in the most respectful spirit the majority of ancient\nphilosophers and of modern moralists, he would appreciate the unique\nimportance of saying that he did not find platitudes. It is more than\ncan be said even of Plato. It is much more than can be said of Epictetus\nor Seneca or Marcus Aurelius or Apollonius of Tyana. And it is\nimmeasurably more than can be said of most of the agnostic moralists and\nthe preachers of the ethical societies; with their songs of service and\ntheir religion of brotherhood. The morality of most moralists, ancient\nand modern, has been one solid and polished cataract of platitudes\nflowing for ever and ever. That would certainly not be the impression of\nthe imaginary independent outsider studying the New Testament. He would\nbe conscious of nothing so commonplace and in a sense of nothing so\ncontinuous as that stream. He would find a number of strange claims that\nmight sound like the claim to be the brother of the sun and moon; a\nnumber of very startling pieces of advice; a number of stunning rebukes;\na number of strangely beautiful stories. He would see some very\ngigantesque figures of speech about the impossibility of threading a\nneedle with a camel or the possibility of throwing a mountain into the\nsea. He would see a number of very daring simplifications of the\ndifficulties of life; like the advice to shine upon everybody\nindifferently as does the sunshine or not to worry about the future any\nmore than the birds. He would find on the other hand some passages of\nalmost impenetrable darkness, so far as he is concerned, such as the\nmoral of the parable of the Unjust Steward. Some of these things might\nstrike him as fables and some as truths; but none as truisms. For\ninstance, he would not find the ordinary platitudes in favour of peace.\nHe would find several paradoxes in favour of peace. He would find\nseveral ideals of non-resistance, which taken as they stand would be\nrather too pacific for any pacifist. He would be told in one passage to\ntreat a robber _not_ with passive resistance, but rather with positive\nand enthusiastic encouragement, if the terms be taken literally; heaping\nup gifts upon the man who had stolen goods. But he would not find a word\nof all that obvious rhetoric against war which has filled countless\nbooks and odes and orations; not a word about the wickedness of war, the\nwastefulness of war, the appalling scale of the slaughter in war and all\nthe rest of the familiar frenzy; indeed not a word about war at all.\nThere is nothing that throws any particular light on Christ\u2019s attitude\ntowards organised warfare, except that he seems to have been rather fond\nof Roman soldiers. Indeed it is another perplexity, speaking from the\nsame external and human standpoint, that he seems to have got on much\nbetter with Romans than he did with Jews. But the question here is a\ncertain tone to be appreciated by merely reading a certain text; and we\nmight give any number of instances of it.\n\nThe statement that the meek shall inherit the earth is very far from\nbeing a meek statement. I mean it is not meek in the ordinary sense of\nmild and moderate and inoffensive. To justify it, it would be necessary\nto go very deep into history and anticipate things undreamed of then and\nby many unrealised even now; such as the way in which the mystical monks\nreclaimed the lands which the practical kings had lost. If it was a\ntruth at all, it was because it was a prophecy. But certainly it was not\na truth in the sense of a truism. The blessing upon the meek would seem\nto be a very violent statement; in the sense of doing violence to reason\nand probability. And with this we come to another important stage in the\nspeculation. As a prophecy it really was fulfilled; but it was only\nfulfilled long afterwards. The monasteries were the most practical and\nprosperous estates and experiments in reconstruction after the barbaric\ndeluge; the meek did really inherit the earth. But nobody could have\nknown anything of the sort at the time--unless indeed there was one who\nknew. Something of the same thing may be said about the incident of\nMartha and Mary; which has been interpreted in retrospect and from the\ninside by the mystics of the Christian contemplative life. But it was\nnot at all an obvious view of it; and most moralists, ancient and\nmodern, could be trusted to make a rush for the obvious. What torrents\nof effortless eloquence would have flowed from them to swell any slight\nsuperiority on the part of Martha; what splendid sermons about the Joy\nof Service and the Gospel of Work and the World Left Better Than We\nFound It, and generally all the ten thousand platitudes that can be\nuttered in favour of taking trouble--by people who need take no trouble\nto utter them. If in Mary the mystic and child of love Christ was\nguarding the seed of something more subtle, who was likely to understand\nit at the time? Nobody else could have seen Clare and Catherine and\nTeresa shining above the little roof at Bethany. It is so in another way\nwith that magnificent menace about bringing into the world a sword to\nsunder and divide. Nobody could have guessed then either how it could\nbe fulfilled or how it could be justified. Indeed some freethinkers are\nstill so simple as to fall into the trap and be shocked at a phrase so\ndeliberately defiant. They actually complain of the paradox for not\nbeing a platitude.\n\nBut the point here is that if we _could_ read the Gospel reports as\nthings as new as newspaper reports, they would puzzle us and perhaps\nterrify us much _more_ than the same things as developed by historical\nChristianity. For instance; Christ after a clear allusion to the eunuchs\nof eastern courts, said there would be eunuchs of the kingdom of heaven.\nIf this does not mean the voluntary enthusiasm of virginity, it could\nonly be made to mean something much more unnatural or uncouth. It is the\nhistorical religion that humanises it for us by experience of\nFranciscans or of Sisters of Mercy. The mere statement standing by\nitself might very well suggest a rather dehumanised atmosphere; the\nsinister and inhuman silence of the Asiatic harem and divan. This is but\none instance out of scores; but the moral is that the Christ of the\nGospel might actually seem more strange and terrible than the Christ of\nthe Church.\n\nI am dwelling on the dark or dazzling or defiant or mysterious side of\nthe Gospel words, not because they had not obviously a more obvious and\npopular side, but because this is the answer to a common criticism on a\nvital point. The freethinker frequently says that Jesus of Nazareth was\na man of his time, even if he was in advance of his time; and that we\ncannot accept his ethics as final for humanity. The freethinker then\ngoes on to criticise his ethics, saying plausibly enough that men cannot\nturn the other cheek, or that they must take thought for the morrow, or\nthat the self-denial is too ascetic or the monogamy too severe. But the\nZealots and the Legionaries did not turn the other cheek any more than\nwe do, if so much. The Jewish traders and Roman tax-gatherers took\nthought for the morrow as much as we, if not more. We cannot pretend to\nbe abandoning the morality of the past for one more suited to the\npresent. It is certainly not the morality of another age, but it might\nbe of another world.\n\nIn short, we can say that these ideals are impossible in themselves.\nExactly what we cannot say is that they are impossible for us. They are\nrather notably marked by a mysticism which, if it be a sort of madness,\nwould always have struck the same sort of people as mad. Take, for\ninstance, the case of marriage and the relations of the sexes. It might\nvery well have been true that a Galilean teacher taught things natural\nto a Galilean environment; but it is not. It might rationally be\nexpected that a man in the time of Tiberius would have advanced a view\nconditioned by the time of Tiberius; but he did not. What he advanced\nwas something quite different; something very difficult; but something\nno more difficult now than it was then. When, for instance, Mahomet made\nhis polygamous compromise we may reasonably say that it was conditioned\nby a polygamous society. When he allowed a man four wives he was really\ndoing something suited to the circumstances, which might have been less\nsuited to other circumstances. Nobody will pretend that the four wives\nwere like the four winds, something seemingly a part of the order of\nnature; nobody will say that the figure four was written for ever in\nstars upon the sky. But neither will any one say that the figure four is\nan inconceivable ideal; that it is beyond the power of the mind of man\nto count up to four; or to count the number of his wives and see whether\nit amounts to four. It is a practical compromise carrying with it the\ncharacter of a particular society. If Mahomet had been born in Acton in\nthe nineteenth century, we may well doubt whether he would instantly\nhave filled that suburb with harems of four wives apiece. As he was born\nin Arabia in the sixth century, he did in his conjugal arrangements\nsuggest the conditions of Arabia in the sixth century. But Christ in his\nview of marriage does not in the least suggest the conditions of\nPalestine in the first century. He does not suggest anything at all,\nexcept the sacramental view of marriage as developed long afterwards by\nthe Catholic Church. It was quite as difficult for people then as for\npeople now. It was much more puzzling to people then than to people now.\nJews and Romans and Greeks did not believe, and did not even understand\nenough to disbelieve, the mystical idea that the man and the woman had\nbecome one sacramental substance. We may think it an incredible or\nimpossible ideal; but we cannot think it any more incredible or\nimpossible than they would have thought it. In other words, whatever\nelse is true, it is not true that the controversy has been altered by\ntime. Whatever else is true, it is emphatically not true that the ideas\nof Jesus of Nazareth were suitable to his time, but are no longer\nsuitable to our time. Exactly how suitable they were to his time is\nperhaps suggested in the end of his story.\n\nThe same truth might be stated in another way by saying that if the\nstory be regarded as merely human and historical, it is extraordinary\nhow very little there is in the recorded words of Christ that ties him\nat all to his own time. I do not mean the details of a period, which\neven a man of the period knows to be passing. I mean the fundamentals\nwhich even the wisest man often vaguely assumes to be eternal. For\ninstance, Aristotle was perhaps the wisest and most wide-minded man who\never lived. He founded himself entirely upon fundamentals, which have\nbeen generally found to remain rational and solid through all social and\nhistorical changes. Still, he lived in a world in which it was thought\nas natural to have slaves as to have children. And therefore he did\npermit himself a serious recognition of a difference between slaves and\nfree men. Christ as much as Aristotle lived in a world that took slavery\nfor granted. He did not particularly denounce slavery. He started a\nmovement that could exist in a world with slavery. But he started a\nmovement that could exist in a world without slavery. He never used a\nphrase that made his philosophy depend even upon the very existence of\nthe social order in which he lived. He spoke as one conscious that\neverything was ephemeral, including the things that Aristotle thought\neternal. By that time the Roman Empire had come to be merely the _orbis\nterrarum_, another name for the world. But he never made his morality\ndependent on the existence of the Roman Empire or even on the existence\nof the world. \u2018Heaven and earth shall pass away; but my words shall not\npass away.\u2019\n\nThe truth is that when critics have spoken of the local limitations of\nthe Galilean, it has always been a case of the local limitations of the\ncritics. He did undoubtedly believe in certain things that one\nparticular modern sect of materialists do not believe. But they were not\nthings particularly peculiar to his time. It would be nearer the truth\nto say that the denial of them is quite peculiar to our time. Doubtless\nit would be nearer still to the truth to say merely that a certain\nsolemn social importance, in the minority disbelieving them, is peculiar\nto our time. He believed, for instance, in evil spirits or in the\npsychic healing of bodily ills; but not because he was a Galilean born\nunder Augustus. It is absurd to say that a man believed things because\nhe was a Galilean under Augustus when he might have believed the same\nthings if he had been an Egyptian under Tuten-kamen or an Indian under\nGengis Khan. But with this general question of the philosophy of\ndiabolism or of divine miracles I deal elsewhere. It is enough to say\nthat the materialists have to prove the impossibility of miracles\nagainst the testimony of all mankind, not against the prejudices of\nprovincials in North Palestine under the first Roman Emperors. What they\nhave to prove, for the present argument, is the presence in the Gospels\nof those particular prejudices of those particular provincials. And,\nhumanly speaking, it is astonishing how little they can produce even to\nmake a beginning of proving it.\n\nSo it is in this case of the sacrament of marriage. We may not believe\nin sacraments, as we may not believe in spirits, but it is quite clear\nthat Christ believed in this sacrament in his own way and not in any\ncurrent or contemporary way. He certainly did not get his argument\nagainst divorce from the Mosaic law or the Roman law or the habits of\nthe Palestinian people. It would appear to his critics then exactly what\nit appears to his critics now; an arbitrary and transcendental dogma\ncoming from nowhere save in the sense that it came from him. I am not at\nall concerned here to defend that dogma; the point here is that it is\njust as easy to defend it now as it was to defend it then. It is an\nideal altogether outside time; difficult at any period; impossible at no\nperiod. In other words, if any one says it is what might be expected of\na man walking about in that place at that period, we can quite fairly\nanswer that it is much _more_ like what might be the mysterious\nutterance of a being beyond man, if he walked alive among men.\n\nI maintain therefore that a man reading the New Testament frankly and\nfreshly would _not_ get the impression of what is now often meant by a\nhuman Christ. The merely human Christ is a made-up figure, a piece of\nartificial selection, like the merely evolutionary man. Moreover there\nhave been too many of these human Christs found in the same story, just\nas there have been too many keys to mythology found in the same stories.\nThree or four separate schools of rationalism have worked over the\nground and produced three or four equally rational explanations of his\nlife. The first rational explanation of his life was that he never\nlived. And this in turn gave an opportunity for three or four different\nexplanations; as that he was a sun-myth or a corn-myth, or any other\nkind of myth that is also a monomania. Then the idea that he was a\ndivine being who did not exist gave place to the idea that he was a\nhuman being who did exist. In my youth it was the fashion to say that he\nwas merely an ethical teacher in the manner of the Essenes, who had\napparently nothing very much to say that Hillel or a hundred other Jews\nmight not have said; as that it is a kindly thing to be kind and an\nassistance to purification to be pure. Then somebody said he was a\nmadman with a Messianic delusion. Then others said he was indeed an\noriginal teacher because he cared about nothing but Socialism; or (as\nothers said) about nothing but Pacifism. Then a more grimly scientific\ncharacter appeared who said that Jesus would never have been heard of at\nall except for his prophecies of the end of the world. He was important\nmerely as a Millennarian like Dr. Cumming; and created a provincial\nscare by announcing the exact date of the crack of doom. Among other\nvariants on the same theme was the theory that he was a spiritual healer\nand nothing else; a view implied by Christian Science, which has really\nto expound a Christianity without the Crucifixion in order to explain\nthe curing of Peter\u2019s wife\u2019s mother or the daughter of a centurion.\nThere is another theory that concentrates entirely on the business of\ndiabolism and what it would call the contemporary superstition about\ndemoniacs; as if Christ, like a young deacon taking his first orders,\nhad got as far as exorcism and never got any further. Now each of these\nexplanations in itself seems to me singularly inadequate; but taken\ntogether they do suggest something of the very mystery which they miss.\nThere must surely have been something not only mysterious but many-sided\nabout Christ if so many smaller Christs can be carved out of him. If the\nChristian Scientist is satisfied with him as a spiritual healer and the\nChristian Socialist is satisfied with him as a social reformer, so\nsatisfied that they do not even expect him to be anything else, it looks\nas if he really covered rather more ground than they could be expected\nto expect. And it does seem to suggest that there might be more than\nthey fancy in these other mysterious attributes of casting out devils or\nprophesying doom.\n\nAbove all, would not such a new reader of the New Testament stumble over\nsomething that would startle him much more than it startles us? I have\nhere more than once attempted the rather impossible task of reversing\ntime and the historic method; and in fancy looking forward to the facts,\ninstead of backward through the memories. So I have imagined the monster\nthat man might have seemed at first to the mere nature around him. We\nshould have a worse shock if we really imagined the nature of Christ\nnamed for the first time. What should we feel at the first whisper of a\ncertain suggestion about a certain man? Certainly it is not for us to\nblame anybody who should find that first wild whisper merely impious and\ninsane. On the contrary, stumbling on that rock of scandal is the first\nstep. Stark staring incredulity is a far more loyal tribute to that\ntruth than a modernist metaphysic that would make it out merely a matter\nof degree. It were better to rend our robes with a great cry against\nblasphemy, like Caiaphas in the judgment, or to lay hold of the man as a\nmaniac possessed of devils like the kinsmen and the crowd, rather than\nto stand stupidly debating fine shades of pantheism in the presence of\nso catastrophic a claim. There is more of the wisdom that is one with\nsurprise in any simple person, full of the sensitiveness of simplicity,\nwho should expect the grass to wither and the birds to drop dead out of\nthe air, when a strolling carpenter\u2019s apprentice said calmly and almost\ncarelessly, like one looking over his shoulder: \u2018Before Abraham was, I\nam.\u2019\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE STRANGEST STORY IN THE WORLD\n\n\nIn the last chapter I have deliberately stressed what seems to be\nnowadays a neglected side of the New Testament story, but nobody will\nsuppose, I imagine, that it is meant to obscure that side that may truly\nbe called human. That Christ was and is the most merciful of judges and\nthe most sympathetic of friends is a fact of considerably more\nimportance in our own private lives than in anybody\u2019s historical\nspeculations. But the purpose of this book is to point out that\nsomething unique has been swamped in cheap generalisations; and for that\npurpose it is relevant to insist that even what was most universal was\nalso most original. For instance, we might take a topic which really is\nsympathetic to the modern mood, as the ascetic vocations recently\nreferred to are not. The exaltation of childhood is something which we\ndo really understand; but it was by no means a thing that was then in\nthat sense understood. If we wanted an example of the originality of the\nGospel, we could hardly take a stronger or more startling one. Nearly\ntwo thousand years afterwards we happen to find ourselves in a mood that\ndoes really feel the mystical charm of the child; we express it in\nromances and regrets about childhood, in _Peter Pan_ or _The Child\u2019s\nGarden of Verses_. And we can say of the words of Christ with so angry\nan anti-Christian as Swinburne:--\n\n    \u2018No sign that ever was given\n       To faithful or faithless eyes\n     Showed ever beyond clouds riven\n       So clear a paradise.\n\n     Earth\u2019s creeds may be seventy times seven\n       And blood have defiled each creed,\n     But if such be the kingdom of heaven\n       It must be heaven indeed.\u2019\n\nBut that paradise was not clear until Christianity had gradually cleared\nit. The pagan world, as such, would not have understood any such thing\nas a serious suggestion that a child is higher or holier than a man. It\nwould have seemed like the suggestion that a tadpole is higher or holier\nthan a frog. To the merely rationalistic mind, it would sound like\nsaying that a bud must be more beautiful than a flower or that an unripe\napple must be better than a ripe one. In other words, this modern\nfeeling is an entirely mystical feeling. It is quite as mystical as the\ncult of virginity; in fact it is the cult of virginity. But pagan\nantiquity had much more idea of the holiness of the virgin than of the\nholiness of the child. For various reasons we have come nowadays to\nvenerate children; perhaps partly because we envy children for still\ndoing what men used to do; such as play simple games and enjoy\nfairy-tales. Over and above this, however, there is a great deal of real\nand subtle psychology in our appreciation of childhood; but if we turn\nit into a modern discovery, we must once more admit that the historical\nJesus of Nazareth had already discovered it two thousand years too soon.\nThere was certainly nothing in the world around him to help him to the\ndiscovery. Here Christ was indeed human; but more human than a human\nbeing was then likely to be. Peter Pan does not belong to the world of\nPan but the world of Peter.\n\nEven in the matter of mere literary style, if we suppose ourselves thus\nsufficiently detached to look at it in that light, there is a curious\nquality to which no critic seems to have done justice. It had among\nother things a singular air of piling tower upon tower by the use of the\n_a fortiori_; making a pagoda of degrees like the seven heavens. I have\nalready noted that almost inverted imaginative vision which pictured\nthe impossible penance of the Cities of the Plain. There is perhaps\nnothing so perfect in all language or literature as the use of these\nthree degrees in the parable of the lilies of the field; in which he\nseems first to take one small flower in his hand and note its simplicity\nand even its impotence; then suddenly expands it in flamboyant colours\ninto all the palaces and pavilions full of a great name in national\nlegend and national glory; and then, by yet a third overturn, shrivels\nit to nothing once more with a gesture as if flinging it away \u2019... and\nif God so clothes the grass that to-day is and to-morrow is cast into\nthe oven--how much more....\u2019 It is like the building of a good Babel\ntower by white magic in a moment and in the movement of a hand; a tower\nheaved suddenly up to heaven on the top of which can be seen afar off,\nhigher than we had fancied possible, the figure of man; lifted by three\ninfinities above all other things, on a starry ladder of light logic and\nswift imagination. Merely in a literary sense it would be more of a\nmasterpiece than most of the masterpieces in the libraries; yet it seems\nto have been uttered almost at random while a man might pull a flower.\nBut merely in a literary sense also, this use of the comparative in\nseveral degrees has about it a quality which seems to me to hint of much\nhigher things than the modern suggestion of the simple teaching of\npastoral or communal ethics. There is nothing that really indicates a\nsubtle and in the true sense a superior mind so much as this power of\ncomparing a lower thing with a higher and yet that higher with a higher\nstill; of thinking on three planes at once. There is nothing that wants\nthe rarest sort of wisdom so much as to see, let us say, that the\ncitizen is higher than the slave and yet that the soul is infinitely\nhigher than the citizen or the city. It is not by any means a faculty\nthat commonly belongs to these simplifiers of the Gospel; those who\ninsist on what they call a simple morality and others call a sentimental\nmorality. It is not at all covered by those who are content to tell\neverybody to remain at peace. On the contrary, there is a very striking\nexample of it in the apparent inconsistency between Christ\u2019s sayings\nabout peace and about a sword. It is precisely this power which\nperceives that while a good peace is better than a good war, even a good\nwar is better than a bad peace. These far-flung comparisons are nowhere\nso common as in the Gospels; and to me they suggest something very vast.\nSo a thing solitary and solid, with the added dimension of depth or\nheight, might tower over the flat creatures living only on a plane.\n\nThis quality of something that can only be called subtle and superior,\nsomething that is capable of long views and even of double meanings, is\nnot noted here merely as a counterblast to the commonplace exaggerations\nof amiability and mild idealism. It is also to be noted in connection\nwith the more tremendous truth touched upon at the end of the last\nchapter. For this is the very last character that commonly goes with\nmere megalomania; especially such steep and staggering megalomania as\nmight be involved in that claim. This quality that can only be called\nintellectual distinction is not, of course, an evidence of divinity. But\nit is an evidence of a probable distaste for vulgar and vainglorious\nclaims to divinity. A man of that sort, if he were only a man, would be\nthe last man in the world to suffer from that intoxication by one notion\nfrom nowhere in particular, which is the mark of the self-deluding\nsensationalist in religion. Nor is it even avoided by denying that\nChrist did make this claim. Of no such man as that, of no other prophet\nor philosopher of the same intellectual order, would it be even possible\nto pretend that he had made it. Even if the Church had mistaken his\nmeaning, it would still be true that no other historical tradition\nexcept the Church had ever even made the same mistake. Mahomedans did\nnot misunderstand Mahomet and suppose he was Allah. Jews did not\nmisinterpret Moses and identify him with Jehovah. Why was this claim\nalone exaggerated unless this alone was made? Even if Christianity was\none vast universal blunder, it is still a blunder as solitary as the\nIncarnation.\n\nThe purpose of these pages is to fix the falsity of certain vague and\nvulgar assumptions; and we have here one of the most false. There is a\nsort of notion in the air everywhere that all the religions are equal\nbecause all the religious founders were rivals; that they are all\nfighting for the same starry crown. It is quite false. The claim to that\ncrown, or anything like that crown, is really so rare as to be unique.\nMahomet did not make it any more than Micah or Malachi. Confucius did\nnot make it any more than Plato or Marcus Aurelius. Buddha never said he\nwas Bramah. Zoroaster no more claimed to be Ormuz than to be Ahriman.\nThe truth is that, in the common run of cases, it is just as we should\nexpect it to be, in common sense and certainly in Christian philosophy.\nIt is exactly the other way. Normally speaking, the greater a man is,\nthe less likely he is to make the very greatest claim. Outside the\nunique case we are considering, the only kind of man who ever does make\nthat kind of claim is a very small man; a secretive or self-centred\nmonomaniac. Nobody can imagine Aristotle claiming to be the father of\ngods and men, come down from the sky; though we might imagine some\ninsane Roman Emperor like Caligula claiming it for him, or more probably\nfor himself. Nobody can imagine Shakespeare talking as if he were\nliterally divine; though we might imagine some crazy American crank\nfinding it as a cryptogram in Shakespeare\u2019s works, or preferably in his\nown works. It is possible to find here and there human beings who make\nthis supremely superhuman claim. It is possible to find them in lunatic\nasylums; in padded cells; possibly in strait waistcoats. But what is\nmuch more important than their mere materialistic fate in our very\nmaterialistic society, under very crude and clumsy laws about lunacy,\nthe type we know as tinged with this, or tending towards it, is a\ndiseased and disproportionate type; narrow yet swollen and morbid to\nmonstrosity. It is by rather an unlucky metaphor that we talk of a\nmadman as cracked; for in a sense he is not cracked enough. He is\ncramped rather than cracked; there are not enough holes in his head to\nventilate it. This impossibility of letting in daylight on a delusion\ndoes sometimes cover and conceal a delusion of divinity. It can be\nfound, not among prophets and sages and founders of religions, but only\namong a low set of lunatics. But this is exactly where the argument\nbecomes intensely interesting; because the argument proves too much. For\nnobody supposes that Jesus of Nazareth was _that_ sort of person. No\nmodern critic in his five wits thinks that the preacher of the Sermon on\nthe Mount was a horrible half-witted imbecile that might be scrawling\nstars on the walls of a cell. No atheist or blasphemer believes that the\nauthor of the Parable of the Prodigal Son was a monster with one mad\nidea like a cyclops with one eye. Upon any possible historical criticism\nhe must be put higher in the scale of human beings than that. Yet by all\nanalogy we have really to put him there or else in the highest place of\nall.\n\nIn fact, those who can really take it (as I here hypothetically take it)\nin a quite dry and detached spirit, have here a most curious and\ninteresting human problem. It is so intensely interesting, considered as\na human problem, that it is in a spirit quite disinterested, so to\nspeak, that I wish some of them had turned that intricate human problem\ninto something like an intelligible human portrait. If Christ was simply\na human character, he really was a highly complex and contradictory\nhuman character. For he combined exactly the two things that lie at the\ntwo extremes of human variation. He was exactly what the man with a\ndelusion never is: he was wise; he was a good judge. What he said was\nalways unexpected; but it was always unexpectedly magnanimous and often\nunexpectedly moderate. Take a thing like the point of the parable of the\ntares and the wheat. It has the quality that unites sanity and subtlety.\nIt has not the simplicity of a madman. It has not even the simplicity of\na fanatic. It might be uttered by a philosopher a hundred years old, at\nthe end of a century of Utopias. Nothing could be less like this quality\nof seeing beyond and all round obvious things, than the condition of the\negomaniac with the one sensitive spot on his brain. I really do not see\nhow these two characters could be convincingly combined, except in the\nastonishing way in which the creed combines them. For until we reach the\nfull acceptance of the fact as a fact, however marvellous, all mere\napproximations to it are actually further and further away from it.\nDivinity is great enough to be divine; it is great enough to call itself\ndivine. But as humanity grows greater, it grows less and less likely to\ndo so. God is God, as the Moslems say; but a great man knows he is not\nGod, and the greater he is the better he knows it. That is the paradox;\neverything that is merely approaching to that point is merely receding\nfrom it. Socrates, the wisest man, knows that he knows nothing. A\nlunatic may think he is omniscience, and a fool may talk as if he were\nomniscient. But Christ is in another sense omniscient if he not only\nknows, but knows that he knows.\n\nEven on the purely human and sympathetic side, therefore, the Jesus of\nthe New Testament seems to me to have in a great many ways the note of\nsomething superhuman; that is, of something human and more than human.\nBut there is another quality running through all his teachings which\nseems to me neglected in most modern talk about them as teachings; and\nthat is the persistent suggestion that he has not really come to teach.\nIf there is one incident in the record which affects me personally as\ngrandly and gloriously human, it is the incident of giving wine for the\nwedding-feast. That is really human in the sense in which a whole crowd\nof prigs, having the appearance of human beings, can hardly be described\nas human. It rises superior to all superior persons. It is as human as\nHerrick and as democratic as Dickens. But even in that story there is\nsomething else that has that note of things not fully explained; and in\na way here very relevant. I mean the first hesitation, not on any ground\ntouching the nature of the miracle, but on that of the propriety of\nworking any miracles at all, at least at that stage; \u2018My time is not yet\ncome.\u2019 What did that mean? At least it certainly meant a general plan or\npurpose in the mind, with which certain things did or did not fit in.\nAnd if we leave out that solitary strategic plan, we not only leave out\nthe point of the story, but the story.\n\nWe often hear of Jesus of Nazareth as a wandering teacher; and there is\na vital truth in that view in so far as it emphasises an attitude\ntowards luxury and convention which most respectable people would still\nregard as that of a vagabond. It is expressed in his own great saying\nabout the holes of the foxes and the nests of the birds, and, like many\nof his great sayings, it is felt as less powerful than it is, through\nlack of appreciation of that great paradox by which he spoke of his own\nhumanity as in some way collectively and representatively human; calling\nhimself simply the Son of Man; that is, in effect, calling himself\nsimply Man. It is fitting that the New Man or the Second Adam should\nrepeat in so ringing a voice and with so arresting a gesture the great\nfact which came first in the original story: that man differs from the\nbrutes by everything, even by deficiency; that he is in a sense less\nnormal and even less native; a stranger upon the earth. It is well to\nspeak of his wanderings in this sense and in the sense that he shared\nthe drifting life of the most homeless and hopeless of the poor. It is\nassuredly well to remember that he would quite certainly have been moved\non by the police, and almost certainly arrested by the police, for\nhaving no visible means of subsistence. For our law has in it a turn of\nhumour or touch of fancy which Nero and Herod never happened to think\nof; that of actually punishing homeless people for not sleeping at home.\n\nBut in another sense the word \u2018wandering\u2019 as applied to his life is a\nlittle misleading. As a matter of fact, a great many of the pagan sages\nand not a few of the pagan sophists might truly be described as\nwandering teachers. In some of them their rambling journeys were not\naltogether without a parallel in their rambling remarks. Apollonius of\nTyana, who figured in some fashionable cults as a sort of ideal\nphilosopher, is represented as rambling as far as the Ganges and\nEthiopia, more or less talking all the time. There was actually a school\nof philosophers called the Peripatetics; and most even of the great\nphilosophers give us a vague impression of having very little to do\nexcept to walk and talk. The great conversations which give us our\nglimpses of the great minds of Socrates or Buddha or even Confucius\noften seem to be parts of a never-ending picnic; and especially, which\nis the important point, to have neither beginning nor end. Socrates did\nindeed find the conversation interrupted by the incident of his\nexecution. But it is the whole point, and the whole particular merit, of\nthe position of Socrates that death was only an interruption and an\nincident. We miss the real moral importance of the great philosopher if\nwe miss that point; that he stares at the executioner with an innocent\nsurprise, and almost an innocent annoyance, at finding any one so\nunreasonable as to cut short a little conversation for the elucidation\nof truth. He is looking for truth and not looking for death. Death is\nbut a stone in the road which can trip him up. His work in life is to\nwander on the roads of the world and talk about truth for ever. Buddha,\non the other hand, did arrest attention by one gesture; it was the\ngesture of renunciation, and therefore in a sense of denial. But by one\ndramatic negation he passed into a world of negation that was not\ndramatic; which he would have been the first to insist was not dramatic.\nHere again we miss the particular moral importance of the great mystic\nif we do not see the distinction; that it was his whole point that he\nhad done with drama, which consists of desire and struggle and generally\nof defeat and disappointment. He passes into peace and lives to instruct\nothers how to pass into it. Henceforth his life is that of the ideal\nphilosopher; certainly a far more really ideal philosopher than\nApollonius of Tyana; but still a philosopher in the sense that it is not\nhis business to do anything but rather to explain everything; in his\ncase, we might almost say, mildly and softly to explode everything. For\nthe messages are basically different. Christ said \u2018Seek first the\nkingdom, and all these things shall be added unto you.\u2019 Buddha said\n\u2018Seek first the kingdom, and then you will need none of these things.\u2019\n\nNow, compared to these wanderers the life of Jesus went as swift and\nstraight as a thunderbolt. It was above all things dramatic; it did\nabove all things consist in doing something that had to be done. It\nemphatically would not have been done if Jesus had walked about the\nworld for ever doing nothing except tell the truth. And even the\nexternal movement of it must not be described as a wandering in the\nsense of forgetting that it was a journey. This is where it was a\nfulfilment of the myths rather than of the philosophies; it is a\njourney with a goal and an object, like Jason going to find the Golden\nFleece, or Hercules the golden apples of the Hesperides. The gold that\nhe was seeking was death. The primary thing that he was going to do was\nto die. He was going to do other things equally definite and objective;\nwe might almost say equally external and material. But from first to\nlast the most definite fact is that he is going to die. No two things\ncould possibly be more different than the death of Socrates and the\ndeath of Christ. We are meant to feel that the death of Socrates was,\nfrom the point of view of his friends at least, a stupid muddle and\nmiscarriage of justice interfering with the flow of a humane and lucid,\nI had almost said a light philosophy. We are meant to feel that Death\nwas the bride of Christ as Poverty was the bride of St. Francis. We are\nmeant to feel that his life was in that sense a sort of love-affair with\ndeath, a romance of the pursuit of the ultimate sacrifice. From the\nmoment when the star goes up like a birthday rocket to the moment when\nthe sun is extinguished like a funeral torch, the whole story moves on\nwings with the speed and direction of a drama, ending in an act beyond\nwords.\n\nTherefore the story of Christ is the story of a journey, almost in the\nmanner of a military march; certainly in the manner of the quest of a\nhero moving to his achievement or his doom. It is a story that begins in\nthe paradise of Galilee, a pastoral and peaceful land having really some\nhint of Eden, and gradually climbs the rising country into the mountains\nthat are nearer to the storm-clouds and the stars, as to a Mountain of\nPurgatory. He may be met as if straying in strange places, or stopped on\nthe way for discussion or dispute; but his face is set towards the\nmountain city. That is the meaning of that great culmination when he\ncrested the ridge and stood at the turning of the road and suddenly\ncried aloud, lamenting over Jerusalem. Some light touch of that lament\nis in every patriotic poem; or if it is absent, the patriotism stinks\nwith vulgarity. That is the meaning of the stirring and startling\nincident at the gates of the Temple, when the tables were hurled like\nlumber down the steps, and the rich merchants driven forth with bodily\nblows; the incident that must be at least as much of a puzzle to the\npacifists as any paradox about non-resistance can be to any of the\nmilitarists. I have compared the quest to the journey of Jason, but we\nmust never forget that in a deeper sense it is rather to be compared to\nthe journey of Ulysses. It was not only a romance of travel but a\nromance of return; and of the end of a usurpation. No healthy boy\nreading the story regards the rout of the Ithacan suitors as anything\nbut a happy ending. But there are doubtless some who regard the rout of\nthe Jewish merchants and moneychangers with that refined repugnance\nwhich never fails to move them in the presence of violence, and\nespecially of violence against the well-to-do. The point here, however,\nis that all these incidents have in them a character of mounting crisis.\nIn other words, these incidents are not incidental. When Apollonius the\nideal philosopher is brought before the judgment-seat of Domitian and\nvanishes by magic, the miracle is entirely incidental. It might have\noccurred at any time in the wandering life of the Tyanean; indeed, I\nbelieve it is doubtful in date as well as in substance. The ideal\nphilosopher merely vanished, and resumed his ideal existence somewhere\nelse for an indefinite period. It is characteristic of the contrast\nperhaps that Apollonius was supposed to have lived to an almost\nmiraculous old age. Jesus of Nazareth was less prudent in his miracles.\nWhen Jesus was brought before the judgment-seat of Pontius Pilate, he\ndid not vanish. It was the crisis and the goal; it was the hour and the\npower of darkness. It was the supremely supernatural act, of all his\nmiraculous life, that he did not vanish.\n\nEvery attempt to amplify that story has diminished it. The task has been\nattempted by many men of real genius and eloquence as well as by only\ntoo many vulgar sentimentalists and self-conscious rhetoricians. The\ntale has been retold with patronising pathos by elegant sceptics and\nwith fluent enthusiasm by boisterous best-sellers. It will not be retold\nhere. The grinding power of the plain words of the Gospel story is like\nthe power of mill-stones; and those who can read them simply enough will\nfeel as if rocks had been rolled upon them. Criticism is only words\nabout words; and of what use are words about such words as these? What\nis the use of word-painting about the dark garden filled suddenly with\ntorchlight and furious faces? \u2018Are you come out with swords and staves\nas against a robber? All day I sat in your temple teaching, and you took\nme not.\u2019 Can anything be added to the massive and gathered restraint of\nthat irony; like a great wave lifted to the sky and refusing to fall?\n\u2018Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but weep for yourselves and\nfor your children.\u2019 As the High Priest asked what further need he had of\nwitnesses, we might well ask what further need we have of words. Peter\nin a panic repudiated him: \u2018and immediately the cock crew; and Jesus\nlooked upon Peter, and Peter went out and wept bitterly.\u2019 Has any one\nany further remarks to offer? Just before the murder he prayed for all\nthe murderous race of men, saying, \u2018They know not what they do\u2019; is\nthere anything to say to that, except that we know as little what we\nsay? Is there any need to repeat and spin out the story of how the\ntragedy trailed up the Via Dolorosa and how they threw him in haphazard\nwith two thieves in one of the ordinary batches of execution; and how in\nall that horror and howling wilderness of desertion one voice spoke in\nhomage, a startling voice from the very last place where it was looked\nfor, the gibbet of the criminal; and he said to that nameless ruffian,\n\u2018This night shalt thou be with me in Paradise\u2019? Is there anything to put\nafter that but a full-stop? Or is any one prepared to answer adequately\nthat farewell gesture to all flesh which created for his Mother a new\nSon?\n\nIt is more within my powers, and here more immediately to my purpose, to\npoint out that in that scene were symbolically gathered all the human\nforces that have been vaguely sketched in this story. As kings and\nphilosophers and the popular element had been symbolically present at\nhis birth, so they were more practically concerned in his death; and\nwith that we come face to face with the essential fact to be realised.\nAll the great groups that stood about the Cross represent in one way or\nanother the great historical truth of the time; that the world could not\nsave itself. Man could do no more. Rome and Jerusalem and Athens and\neverything else were going down like a sea turned into a slow cataract.\nExternally indeed the ancient world was still at its strongest; it is\nalways at that moment that the inmost weakness begins. But in order to\nunderstand that weakness we must repeat what has been said more than\nonce: that it was not the weakness of a thing originally weak. It was\nemphatically the strength of the world that was turned to weakness, and\nthe wisdom of the world that was turned to folly.\n\nIn this story of Good Friday it is the best things in the world that are\nat their worst. That is what really shows us the world at its worst. It\nwas, for instance, the priests of a true monotheism and the soldiers of\nan international civilisation. Rome, the legend, founded upon fallen\nTroy and triumphant over fallen Carthage, had stood for a heroism which\nwas the nearest that any pagan ever came to chivalry. Rome had defended\nthe household gods and the human decencies against the ogres of Africa\nand the hermaphrodite monstrosities of Greece. But in the lightning\nflash of this incident, we see great Rome, the imperial republic, going\ndownward under her Lucretian doom. Scepticism has eaten away even the\nconfident sanity of the conquerors of the world. He who is enthroned to\nsay what is justice can only ask, \u2018What is truth?\u2019 So in that drama\nwhich decided the whole fate of antiquity, one of the central figures is\nfixed in what seems the reverse of his true r\u00f4le. Rome was almost\nanother name for responsibility. Yet he stands for ever as a sort of\nrocking statue of the irresponsible. Man could do no more. Even the\npractical had become the impracticable. Standing between the pillars of\nhis own judgment-seat, a Roman had washed his hands of the world.\n\nThere too were the priests of that pure and original truth that was\nbehind all the mythologies like the sky behind the clouds. It was the\nmost important truth in the world; and even that could not save the\nworld. Perhaps there is something overpowering in pure personal theism;\nlike seeing the sun and moon and sky come together to form one staring\nface. Perhaps the truth is too tremendous when not broken by some\nintermediaries, divine or human; perhaps it is merely too pure and far\naway. Anyhow it could not save the world; it could not even convert the\nworld. There were philosophers who held it in its highest and noblest\nform; but they not only could not convert the world, but they never\ntried. You could no more fight the jungle of popular mythology with a\nprivate opinion than you could clear away a forest with a pocket-knife.\nThe Jewish priests had guarded it jealously in the good and the bad\nsense. They had kept it as a gigantic secret. As savage heroes might\nhave kept the sun in a box, they kept the Everlasting in the tabernacle.\nThey were proud that they alone could look upon the blinding sun of a\nsingle deity; and they did not know that they had themselves gone blind.\nSince that day their representatives have been like blind men in broad\ndaylight, striking to right and left with their staffs, and cursing the\ndarkness. But there has been that in their monumental monotheism that it\nhas at least remained like a monument, the last thing of its kind, and\nin a sense motionless in the more restless world which it cannot\nsatisfy. For it is certain that for some reason it cannot satisfy. Since\nthat day it has never been quite enough to say that God is in his heaven\nand all is right with the world; since the rumour that God had left his\nheavens to set it right.\n\nAnd as it was with these powers that were good, or at least had once\nbeen good, so it was with the element which was perhaps the best, or\nwhich Christ himself seems certainly to have felt as the best. The poor\nto whom he preached the good news, the common people who heard him\ngladly, the populace that had made so many popular heroes and demigods\nin the old pagan world, showed also the weaknesses that were dissolving\nthe world. They suffered the evils often seen in the mob of the city,\nand especially the mob of the capital, during the decline of a society.\nThe same thing that makes the rural population live on tradition makes\nthe urban population live on rumour. Just as its myths at the best had\nbeen irrational, so its likes and dislikes are easily changed by\nbaseless assertion that is arbitrary without being authoritative. Some\nbrigand or other was artificially turned into a picturesque and popular\nfigure and run as a kind of candidate against Christ. In all this we\nrecognise the urban population that we know, with its newspaper scares\nand scoops. But there was present in this ancient population an evil\nmore peculiar to the ancient world. We have noted it already as the\nneglect of the individual, even of the individual voting the\ncondemnation and still more of the individual condemned. It was the soul\nof the hive; a heathen thing. The cry of this spirit also was heard in\nthat hour, \u2018It is well that one man die for the people.\u2019 Yet this spirit\nin antiquity of devotion to the city and to the state had also been in\nitself and in its time a noble spirit. It had its poets and its\nmartyrs; men still to be honoured for ever. It was failing through its\nweakness in not seeing the separate soul of a man, the shrine of all\nmysticism; but it was only failing as everything else was failing. The\nmob went along with the Sadducees and the Pharisees, the philosophers\nand the moralists. It went along with the imperial magistrates and the\nsacred priests, the scribes and the soldiers, that the one universal\nhuman spirit might suffer a universal condemnation; that there might be\none deep, unanimous chorus of approval and harmony when Man was rejected\nof men.\n\nThere were solitudes beyond where none shall follow. There were secrets\nin the inmost and invisible part of that drama that have no symbol in\nspeech; or in any severance of a man from men. Nor is it easy for any\nwords less stark and single-minded than those of the naked narrative\neven to hint at the horror of exaltation that lifted itself above the\nhill. Endless expositions have not come to the end of it, or even to the\nbeginning. And if there be any sound that can produce a silence, we may\nsurely be silent about the end and the extremity; when a cry was driven\nout of that darkness in words dreadfully distinct and dreadfully\nunintelligible, which man shall never understand in all the eternity\nthey have purchased for him; and for one annihilating instant an abyss\nthat is not for our thoughts had opened even in the unity of the\nabsolute; and God had been forsaken of God.\n\nThey took the body down from the cross and one of the few rich men among\nthe first Christians obtained permission to bury it in a rock tomb in\nhis garden; the Romans setting a military guard lest there should be\nsome riot and attempt to recover the body. There was once more a natural\nsymbolism in these natural proceedings; it was well that the tomb should\nbe sealed with all the secrecy of ancient eastern sepulture and guarded\nby the authority of the Caesars. For in that second cavern the whole of\nthat great and glorious humanity which we call antiquity was gathered up\nand covered over; and in that place it was buried. It was the end of a\nvery great thing called human history; the history that was merely\nhuman. The mythologies and the philosophies were buried there, the gods\nand the heroes and the sages. In the great Roman phrase, they had lived.\nBut as they could only live, so they could only die; and they were dead.\n\nOn the third day the friends of Christ coming at daybreak to the place\nfound the grave empty and the stone rolled away. In varying ways they\nrealised the new wonder; but even they hardly realised that the world\nhad died in the night. What they were looking at was the first day of a\nnew creation, with a new heaven and a new earth; and in a semblance of\nthe gardener God walked again in the garden, in the cool not of the\nevening but the dawn.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE WITNESS OF THE HERETICS\n\n\nChrist founded the Church with two great figures of speech; in the final\nwords to the Apostles who received authority to found it. The first was\nthe phrase about founding it on Peter as on a rock; the second was the\nsymbol of the keys. About the meaning of the former there is naturally\nno doubt in my own case; but it does not directly affect the argument\nhere save in two more secondary aspects. It is yet another example of a\nthing that could only fully expand and explain itself afterwards, and\neven long afterwards. And it is yet another example of something the\nvery reverse of simple and self-evident even in the language, in so far\nas it described a man as a rock when he had much more the appearance of\na reed.\n\nBut the other image of the keys has an exactitude that has hardly been\nexactly noticed. The keys have been conspicuous enough in the art and\nheraldry of Christendom; but not every one has noted the peculiar\naptness of the allegory. We have now reached the point in history where\nsomething must be said of the first appearance and activities of the\nChurch in the Roman Empire; and for that brief description nothing could\nbe more perfect than that ancient metaphor. The Early Christian was very\nprecisely a person carrying about a key, or what he said was a key. The\nwhole Christian movement consisted in claiming to possess that key. It\nwas not merely a vague forward movement, which might be better\nrepresented by a battering-ram. It was not something that swept along\nwith it similar and dissimilar things, as does a modern social movement.\nAs we shall see in a moment, it rather definitely refused to do so. It\ndefinitely asserted that there was a key and that it possessed that key\nand that no other key was like it; in that sense it was as narrow as you\nplease. Only it happened to be the key that could unlock the prison of\nthe whole world; and let in the white daylight of escape.\n\nThe creed was like a key in three respects; which can be most\nconveniently summed up under this symbol. First, a key is above all\nthings a thing with a shape. It is a thing that depends entirely upon\nkeeping its shape. The Christian creed is above all things the\nphilosophy of shapes and the enemy of shapelessness. That is where it\ndiffers from all that formless infinity, Manichean or Buddhist, which\nmakes a sort of pool of night in the dark heart of Asia; the ideal of\nuncreating all the creatures. That is where it differs also from the\nanalogous vagueness of mere evolutionism; the idea of creatures\nconstantly losing their shape. A man told that his solitary latchkey had\nbeen melted down with a million others into a Buddhistic unity would be\nannoyed. But a man told that his key was gradually growing and sprouting\nin his pocket, and branching into new wards or complications, would not\nbe more gratified.\n\nSecond, the shape of a key is in itself a rather fantastic shape. A\nsavage who did not know it was a key would have the greatest difficulty\nin guessing what it could possibly be. And it is fantastic because it is\nin a sense arbitrary. A key is not a matter of abstractions; in that\nsense a key is not a matter of argument. It either fits the lock or it\ndoes not. It is useless for men to stand disputing over it, considered\nby itself; or reconstructing it on pure principles of geometry or\ndecorative art. It is senseless for a man to say he would like a simpler\nkey; it would be far more sensible to do his best with a crowbar. And\nthirdly, as the key is necessarily a thing with a pattern, so this was\none having in some ways a rather elaborate pattern. When people complain\nof the religion being so early complicated with theology and things of\nthe kind, they forget that the world had not only got into a hole, but\nhad got into a whole maze of holes and corners. The problem itself was a\ncomplicated problem; it did not in the ordinary sense merely involve\nanything so simple as sin. It was also full of secrets, of unexplored\nand unfathomable fallacies, of unconscious mental diseases, of dangers\nin all directions. If the faith had faced the world only with the\nplatitudes about peace and simplicity some moralists would confine it\nto, it would not have had the faintest effect on that luxurious and\nlabyrinthine lunatic asylum. What it did do we must now roughly\ndescribe; it is enough to say here that there was undoubtedly much about\nthe key that seemed complex; indeed there was only one thing about it\nthat was simple. It opened the door.\n\nThere are certain recognised and accepted statements in this matter\nwhich may for brevity and convenience be described as lies. We have all\nheard people say that Christianity arose in an age of barbarism. They\nmight just as well say that Christian Science arose in an age of\nbarbarism. They may think Christianity was a symptom of social decay, as\nI think Christian Science a symptom of mental decay. They may think\nChristianity a superstition that ultimately destroyed a civilisation, as\nI think Christian Science a superstition capable (if taken seriously) of\ndestroying any number of civilisations. But to say that a Christian of\nthe fourth or fifth centuries was a barbarian living in a barbarous time\nis exactly like saying that Mrs. Eddy was a Red Indian. And if I allowed\nmy constitutional impatience with Mrs. Eddy to impel me to call her a\nRed Indian, I should incidentally be telling a lie. We may like or\ndislike the imperial civilisation of Rome in the fourth century; we may\nlike or dislike the industrial civilisation of America in the nineteenth\ncentury; but that they both were what we commonly mean by a civilisation\nno person of common sense could deny if he wanted to. This is a very\nobvious fact, but it is also a very fundamental one; and we must make it\nthe foundation of any further description of constructive Christianity\nin the past. For good or evil, it was pre-eminently the product of a\ncivilised age, perhaps of an over-civilised age. This is the first fact\napart from all praise or blame; indeed I am so unfortunate as not to\nfeel that I praise a thing when I compare it to Christian Science. But\nit is at least desirable to know something of the savour of a society in\nwhich we are condemning or praising anything; and the science that\nconnects Mrs. Eddy with tomahawks or the Mater Dolorosa with totems may\nfor our general convenience be eliminated. The dominant fact, not merely\nabout the Christian religion, but about the whole pagan civilisation,\nwas that which has been more than once repeated in these pages. The\nMediterranean was a lake in the real sense of a pool; in which a number\nof different cults or cultures were, as the phrase goes, pooled. Those\ncities facing each other round the circle of the lake became more and\nmore one cosmopolitan culture. On its legal and military side it was the\nRoman Empire; but it was very many-sided. It might be called\nsuperstitious in the sense that it contained a great number of varied\nsuperstitions; but by no possibility can any part of it be called\nbarbarous.\n\nIn this level of cosmopolitan culture arose the Christian religion and\nthe Catholic Church; and everything in the story suggests that it was\nfelt to be something new and strange. Those who have tried to suggest\nthat it evolved out of something much milder or more ordinary have found\nthat in this case their evolutionary method is very difficult to apply.\nThey may suggest that Essenes or Ebionites or such things were the\nseed; but the seed is invisible; the tree appears very rapidly\nfull-grown; and the tree is something totally different. It is certainly\na Christmas tree in the sense that it keeps the kindliness and moral\nbeauty of the story of Bethlehem; but it was as ritualistic as the\nseven-branched candlestick, and the candles it carried were considerably\nmore than were probably permitted by the first prayer-book of Edward the\nSixth. It might well be asked, indeed, why any one accepting the\nBethlehem tradition should object to golden or gilded ornament since the\nMagi themselves brought gold; why he should dislike incense in the\nchurch since incense was brought even to the stable. But these are\ncontroversies that do not concern me here. I am concerned only with the\nhistorical fact, more and more admitted by historians, that very early\nin its history this thing became visible to the civilisation of\nantiquity; and that already the Church appeared as a Church; with\neverything that is implied in a Church and much that is disliked in a\nChurch. We will discuss in a moment how far it was like other\nritualistic or magical or ascetical mysteries in its own time. It was\ncertainly not in the least like merely ethical and idealistic movements\nin our time. It had a doctrine; it had a discipline; it had sacraments;\nit had degrees of initiation; it admitted people and expelled people; it\naffirmed one dogma with authority and repudiated another with anathemas.\nIf all these things be the marks of Antichrist, the reign of Antichrist\nfollowed very rapidly upon Christ.\n\nThose who maintain that Christianity was not a Church but a moral\nmovement of idealists have been forced to push the period of its\nperversion or disappearance further and further back. A bishop of Rome\nwrites claiming authority in the very lifetime of St. John the\nEvangelist; and it is described as the first papal aggression. A friend\nof the Apostles writes of them as men he knew, and says they taught him\nthe doctrine of the Sacrament; and Mr. Wells can only murmur that the\nreaction towards barbaric blood-rites may have happened rather earlier\nthan might be expected. The date of the Fourth Gospel, which at one time\nwas steadily growing later and later, is now steadily growing earlier\nand earlier; until critics are staggered at the dawning and dreadful\npossibility that it might be something like what it professes to be. The\nlast limit of an early date for the extinction of true Christianity has\nprobably been found by the latest German professor whose authority is\ninvoked by Dean Inge. This learned scholar says that Pentecost was the\noccasion for the first founding of an ecclesiastical, dogmatic and\ndespotic Church utterly alien to the simple ideals of Jesus of Nazareth.\nThis may be called, in a popular as well as a learned sense, the limit.\nWhat do professors of this kind imagine that men are made of? Suppose it\nwere a matter of any merely human movement, let us say that of the\nConscientious Objectors. Some say the early Christians were Pacifists; I\ndo not believe it for a moment; but I am quite ready to accept the\nparallel for the sake of the argument. Tolstoy or some great preacher of\npeace among peasants has been shot as a mutineer for defying\nconscription; and a month or so after his few followers meet together in\nan upper room in remembrance of him. They never had any reason for\ncoming together except that common memory; they are men of many kinds\nwith nothing to bind them, except that the greatest event in all their\nlives was this tragedy of the teacher of universal peace. They are\nalways repeating his words, revolving his problems, trying to imitate\nhis character. The Pacifists meet at their Pentecost and are possessed\nof a sudden ecstasy of enthusiasm and wild rush of the whirlwind of\ninspiration, in the course of which they proceed to establish universal\nConscription, to increase the Navy Estimates, to insist on everybody\ngoing about armed to the teeth and on all the frontiers bristling with\nartillery; the proceedings concluding with the singing of \u2018Boys of the\nBulldog Breed\u2019 and \u2018Don\u2019t let them scrap the British Navy.\u2019 That is\nsomething like a fair parallel to the theory of these critics; that the\ntransition from their idea of Jesus to their idea of Catholicism could\nhave been made in the little upper room at Pentecost. Surely anybody\u2019s\ncommon sense would tell him that enthusiasts, who only met through their\ncommon enthusiasm for a leader whom they loved, would not instantly rush\naway to establish everything that he hated. No, if the \u2018ecclesiastical\nand dogmatic system\u2019 is as old as Pentecost it is as old as Christmas.\nIf we trace it back to such very early Christians we must trace it back\nto Christ.\n\nWe may begin then with these two negations. It is nonsense to say that\nthe Christian faith appeared in a simple age; in the sense of an\nunlettered and gullible age. It is equally nonsense to say that the\nChristian faith was a simple thing; in the sense of a vague or childish\nor merely instinctive thing. Perhaps the only point in which we could\npossibly say that the Church fitted into the pagan world is the fact\nthat they were both not only highly civilised but rather complicated.\nThey were both emphatically many-sided; but antiquity was then a\nmany-sided hole, like a hexagonal hole waiting for an equally hexagonal\nstopper. In that sense only the Church was many-sided enough to fit the\nworld. The six sides of the Mediterranean world faced each other across\nthe sea and waited for something that should look all ways at once. The\nChurch had to be both Roman and Greek and Jewish and African and\nAsiatic. In the very words of the Apostle of the Gentiles, it was indeed\nall things to all men. Christianity then was not merely crude and\nsimple, and was the very reverse of the growth of a barbaric time. But\nwhen we come to the contrary charge, we come to a much more plausible\ncharge. It is very much more tenable that the Faith was but the final\nphase of the decay of civilisation, in the sense of the excess of\ncivilisation; that this superstition was a sign that Rome was dying, and\ndying of being much too civilised. That is an argument much better worth\nconsidering; and we will proceed to consider it.\n\nAt the beginning of this book I ventured on a general summary of it, in\na parallel between the rise of humanity out of nature and the rise of\nChristianity out of history. I pointed out that in both cases what had\ngone before might imply something coming after; but did not in the least\nimply what did come after. If a detached mind had seen certain apes it\nmight have deduced more anthropoids; it would not have deduced man or\nanything within a thousand miles of what man has done. In short, it\nmight have seen Pithacanthropus or the Missing Link looming in the\nfuture, if possible almost as dimly and doubtfully as we see him looming\nin the past. But if it foresaw him appearing it would also foresee him\ndisappearing, and leaving a few faint traces just as he has left a few\nfaint traces; if they are traces. To foresee that Missing Link would not\nbe to foresee Man, or anything like Man. Now this earlier explanation\nmust be kept in mind; because it is an exact parallel to the true view\nof the Church; and the suggestion of it having evolved naturally out of\nthe Empire in decay.\n\nThe truth is that in one sense a man might very well have predicted that\nthe imperial decadence would produce something like Christianity. That\nis, something a little like and gigantically different. A man might very\nwell have said, for instance, \u2018Pleasure has been pursued so\nextravagantly that there will be a reaction into pessimism. Perhaps it\nwill take the form of asceticism; men will mutilate themselves instead\nof merely hanging themselves.\u2019 Or a man might very reasonably have said,\n\u2018If we weary of our Greek and Latin gods we shall be hankering after\nsome eastern mystery or other; there will be a fashion in Persians or\nHindoos.\u2019 Or a man of the world might well have been shrewd enough to\nsay, \u2018Powerful people are picking up these fads; some day the court will\nadopt one of them and it may become official.\u2019 Or yet another and\ngloomier prophet might be pardoned for saying, \u2018The world is going\ndown-hill; dark and barbarous superstitions will return, it does not\nmatter much which. They will all be formless and fugitive like dreams of\nthe night.\u2019\n\nNow it is the intense interest of the case that all these prophecies\nwere really fulfilled; but it was not the Church that fulfilled them. It\nwas the Church that escaped from them, confounded them, and rose above\nthem in triumph. In so far as it was probable that the mere nature of\nhedonism would produce a mere reaction of asceticism, it did produce a\nmere reaction of asceticism. It was the movement called Manichean, and\nthe Church was its mortal enemy. In so far as it would have naturally\nappeared at that point of history, it did appear; it did also disappear,\nwhich was equally natural. The mere pessimist reaction did come with the\nManichees and did go with the Manichees. But the Church did not come\nwith them or go with them; and she had much more to do with their going\nthan with their coming. Or again, in so far as it was probable that even\nthe growth of scepticism would bring in a fashion of eastern religion,\nit did bring it in; Mithras came from far beyond Palestine out of the\nheart of Persia, bringing strange mysteries of the blood of bulls.\nCertainly there was everything to show that some such fashion would have\ncome in any case. But certainly there is nothing in the world to show\nthat it would not have passed away in any case. Certainly an Oriental\nfad was something eminently fitted to the fourth or fifth century; but\nthat hardly explains it having remained to the twentieth century, and\nstill going strong. In short, in so far as things of the kind might have\nbeen expected then, things like Mithraism were experienced then; but it\nscarcely explains our more recent experiences. And if we were still\nMithraists merely because Mithraic head-dresses and other Persian\napparatuses might be expected to be all the rage in the days of\nDomitian, it would almost seem by this time that we must be a little\ndowdy.\n\nIt is the same, as will be suggested in a moment, with the idea of\nofficial favouritism. In so far as such favouritism shown towards a fad\nwas something that might have been looked for during the decline and\nfall of the Roman Empire, it was something that did exist in that Empire\nand did decline and fall with it. It throws no sort of light on the\nthing that resolutely refused to decline and fall; that grew steadily\nwhile the other was declining and falling; and which even at this moment\nis going forward with fearless energy, when another aeon has completed\nits cycle and another civilisation seems almost ready to fall or to\ndecline.\n\nNow the curious fact is this; that the very heresies which the Early\nChurch is blamed for crushing testify to the unfairness for which she is\nblamed. In so far as something deserved the blame, it was precisely the\nthings that she is blamed for blaming. In so far as something was merely\na superstition, she herself condemned that superstition. In so far as\nsomething was a mere reaction into barbarism, she herself resisted it\nbecause it was a reaction into barbarism. In so far as something was a\nfad of the fading empire, that died and deserved to die, it was the\nChurch alone that killed it. The Church is reproached for being exactly\nwhat the heresy was repressed for being. The explanations of the\nevolutionary historians and higher critics do really explain why\nArianism and Gnosticism and Nestorianism were born--and also why they\ndied. They do not explain why the Church was born or why she has refused\nto die. Above all, they do not explain why she should have made war on\nthe very evils she is supposed to share.\n\nLet us take a few practical examples of the principle; the principle\nthat if there was anything that was really a superstition of the dying\nempire, it did really die with the dying empire; and certainly was not\nthe same as the very thing that destroyed it. For this purpose we will\ntake in order two or three of the most ordinary explanations of\nChristian origins among the modern critics of Christianity. Nothing is\nmore common, for instance, than to find such a modern critic writing\nsomething like this: \u2018Christianity was above all a movement of ascetics,\na rush into the desert, a refuge in the cloister, a renunciation of all\nlife and happiness; and this was a part of a gloomy and inhuman reaction\nagainst nature itself, a hatred of the body, a horror of the material\nuniverse, a sort of universal suicide of the senses and even of the\nself. It came from an eastern fanaticism like that of the fakirs and was\nultimately founded on an eastern pessimism, which seems to feel\nexistence itself as an evil.\u2019\n\nNow the most extraordinary thing about this is that it is all quite\ntrue; it is true in every detail except that it happens to be attributed\nentirely to the wrong person. It is not true of the Church; but it is\ntrue of the heretics condemned by the Church. It is as if one were to\nwrite a most detailed analysis of the mistakes and misgovernment of the\nministers of George the Third, merely with the small inaccuracy that the\nwhole story was told about George Washington; or as if somebody made a\nlist of the crimes of the Bolshevists with no variation except that they\nwere all attributed to the Czar. The early Church was indeed very\nascetic, in connection with a totally different philosophy; but the\nphilosophy of a war on life and nature as such really did exist in the\nworld, if the critics only knew where to look for it.\n\nWhat really happened was this. When the Faith first emerged into the\nworld, the very first thing that happened to it was that it was caught\nin a sort of swarm of mystical and metaphysical sects, mostly out of the\nEast; like one lonely golden bee caught in a swarm of wasps. To the\nordinary onlooker, there did not seem to be much difference, or anything\nbeyond a general buzz; indeed in a sense there was not much difference,\nso far as stinging and being stung were concerned. The difference was\nthat only one golden dot in all that whirring gold-dust had the power of\ngoing forth to make hives for all humanity; to give the world honey and\nwax or (as was so finely said in a context too easily forgotten) \u2018the\ntwo noblest things, which are sweetness and light.\u2019 The wasps all died\nthat winter; and half the difficulty is that hardly any one knows\nanything about them and most people do not know that they ever existed;\nso that the whole story of that first phase of our religion is lost. Or,\nto vary the metaphor, when this movement or some other movement pierced\nthe dyke between the east and west and brought more mystical ideas into\nEurope, it brought with it a whole flood of other mystical ideas besides\nits own, most of them ascetical and nearly all of them pessimistic. They\nvery nearly flooded and overwhelmed the purely Christian element. They\ncame mostly from that region that was a sort of dim borderland between\nthe eastern philosophies and the eastern mythologies, and which shared\nwith the wilder philosophers that curious craze for making fantastic\npatterns of the cosmos in the shape of maps and genealogical trees.\nThose that are supposed to derive from the mysterious Manes are called\nManichean; kindred cults are more generally known as Gnostic; they are\nmostly of a labyrinthine complexity, but the point to insist on is the\npessimism; the fact that nearly all in one form or another regarded the\ncreation of the world as the work of an evil spirit. Some of them had\nthat Asiatic atmosphere that surrounds Buddhism; the suggestion that\nlife is a corruption of the purity of being. Some of them suggested a\npurely spiritual order which had been betrayed by the coarse and clumsy\ntrick of making such toys as the sun and moon and stars. Anyhow all this\ndark tide out of the metaphysical sea in the midst of Asia poured\nthrough the dykes simultaneously with the creed of Christ; but it is the\nwhole point of the story that the two were not the same; that they\nflowed like oil and water. That creed remained in the shape of a\nmiracle; a river still flowing through the sea. And the proof of the\nmiracle was practical once more; it was merely that while all that sea\nwas salt and bitter with the savour of death, of this one stream in the\nmidst of it a man could drink.\n\nNow that purity was preserved by dogmatic definitions and exclusions. It\ncould not possibly have been preserved by anything else. If the Church\nhad not renounced the Manicheans it might have become merely Manichean.\nIf it had not renounced the Gnostics it might have become Gnostic. But\nby the very fact that it did renounce them it proved that it was not\neither Gnostic or Manichean. At any rate it proved that something was\nnot either Gnostic or Manichean; and what could it be that condemned\nthem, if it was not the original good news of the runners from Bethlehem\nand the trumpet of the Resurrection? The early Church was ascetic, but\nshe proved that she was not pessimistic, simply by condemning the\npessimists. The creed declared that man was sinful, but it did not\ndeclare that life was evil, and it proved it by damning those who did.\nThe condemnation of the early heretics is itself condemned as something\ncrabbed and narrow; but it was in truth the very proof that the Church\nmeant to be brotherly and broad. It proved that the primitive Catholics\nwere specially eager to explain that they did _not_ think man utterly\nvile; that they did _not_ think life incurably miserable; that they did\n_not_ think marriage a sin or procreation a tragedy. They were ascetic\nbecause asceticism was the only possible purge of the sins of the world;\nbut in the very thunder of their anathemas they affirmed for ever that\ntheir asceticism was not to be anti-human or anti-natural; that they did\nwish to purge the world and not destroy it. And nothing else except\nthose anathemas could possibly have made it clear, amid a confusion\nwhich still confuses them with their mortal enemies. Nothing else but\ndogma could have resisted the riot of imaginative invention with which\nthe pessimists were waging their war against nature; with their Aeons\nand their Demiurge, their strange Logos and their sinister Sophia. If\nthe Church had not insisted on theology, it would have melted into a mad\nmythology of the mystics, yet further removed from reason or even from\nrationalism; and, above all, yet further removed from life and from the\nlove of life. Remember that it would have been an inverted mythology,\none contradicting everything natural in paganism; a mythology in which\nPluto would be above Jupiter and Hades hang higher than Olympus; in\nwhich Brahma and all that has the breath of life would be subject to\nSiva, shining with the eye of death.\n\nThat the early Church was itself full of an ecstatic enthusiasm for\nrenunciation and virginity makes this distinction much more striking and\nnot less so. It makes all the more important the place where the dogma\ndrew the line. A man might crawl about on all fours like a beast because\nhe was an ascetic. He might stand night and day on the top of a pillar\nand be adored for being an ascetic. But he could not say that the world\nwas a mistake or the marriage state a sin without being a heretic. What\nwas it that thus deliberately disengaged itself from eastern asceticism\nby sharp definition and fierce refusal, if it was not something with an\nindividuality of its own; and one that was quite different? If the\nCatholics are to be confused with the Gnostics, we can only say it was\nnot their fault if they are. And it is rather hard that the Catholics\nshould be blamed by the same critics for persecuting the heretics and\nalso for sympathising with the heresy.\n\nThe Church was not a Manichean movement, if only because it was not a\nmovement at all. It was not even merely an ascetical movement, because\nit was not a movement at all. It would be nearer the truth to call it\nthe tamer of asceticism than the mere leader or loosener of it. It was a\nthing having its own theory of asceticism, its own type of asceticism,\nbut most conspicuous at the moment as the moderator of other theories\nand types. This is the only sense that can be made, for instance, of the\nstory of St. Augustine. As long as he was a mere man of the world, a\nmere man drifting with his time, he actually was a Manichean. It really\nwas quite modern and fashionable to be a Manichean. But when he became a\nCatholic, the people he instantly turned on and rent in pieces were the\nManicheans. The Catholic way of putting it is that he left off being a\npessimist to become an ascetic. But as the pessimists interpreted\nasceticism, it might be said that he left off being an ascetic to become\na saint. The war upon life, the denial of nature, were exactly the\nthings he had already found in the heathen world outside the Church, and\nhad to renounce when he entered the Church. The very fact that St.\nAugustine remains a somewhat sterner or sadder figure than St. Francis\nor St. Teresa only accentuates the dilemma. Face to face with the\ngravest or even grimmest of Catholics, we can still ask, \u2018Why did\nCatholicism make war on Manichees, if Catholicism was Manichean?\u2019\n\nTake another rationalistic explanation of the rise of Christendom. It is\ncommon enough to find another critic saying, \u2018Christianity did not\nreally rise at all; that is, it did not merely rise from below; it was\nimposed from above. It is an example of the power of the executive,\nespecially in despotic states. The Empire was really an Empire; that is,\nit was really ruled by the Emperor. One of the Emperors happened to\nbecome a Christian. He might just as well have become a Mithraist or a\nJew or a Fire-Worshipper; it was common in the decline of the Empire for\neminent and educated people to adopt these eccentric eastern cults. But\nwhen he adopted it, it became the official religion of the Roman Empire;\nand when it became the official religion of the Roman Empire, it became\nas strong, as universal, and as invincible as the Roman Empire. It has\nonly remained in the world as a relic of that Empire; or, as many have\nput it, it is but the ghost of Caesar still hovering over Rome.\u2019 This\nalso is a very ordinary line taken in the criticism of orthodoxy, to say\nthat it was only officialism that ever made it orthodoxy. And here again\nwe can call on the heretics to refute it.\n\nThe whole great history of the Arian heresy might have been invented to\nexplode this idea. It is a very interesting history often repeated in\nthis connection; and the upshot of it is in that in so far as there ever\nwas a merely official religion, it actually died because it was a merely\nofficial religion; and what destroyed it was the real religion. Arius\nadvanced a version of Christianity which moved, more or less vaguely, in\nthe direction of what we should call Unitarianism; though it was not the\nsame, for it gave to Christ a curious intermediary position between the\ndivine and human. The point is that it seemed to many more reasonable\nand less fanatical; and among these were many of the educated class in a\nsort of reaction against the first romance of conversion. Arians were a\nsort of moderates and a sort of modernists. And it was felt that after\nthe first squabbles this was the final form of rationalised religion\ninto which civilisation might well settle down. It was accepted by Divus\nCaesar himself and became the official orthodoxy; the generals and\nmilitary princes drawn from the new barbarian powers of the north, full\nof the future, supported it strongly. But the sequel is still more\nimportant. Exactly as a modern man might pass through Unitarianism to\ncomplete agnosticism, so the greatest of the Arian emperors ultimately\nshed the last and thinnest pretence of Christianity; he abandoned even\nArius and returned to Apollo. He was a Caesar of the Caesars; a soldier,\na scholar, a man of large ambitions and ideals; another of the\nphilosopher kings. It seemed to him as if at his signal the sun rose\nagain. The oracles began to speak like birds beginning to sing at dawn;\npaganism was itself again; the gods returned. It seemed the end of that\nstrange interlude of an alien superstition. And indeed it was the end of\nit, so far as there was a mere interlude of mere superstition. It was\nthe end of it, in so far as it was the fad of an emperor or the fashion\nof a generation. If there really was something that began with\nConstantine, then it ended with Julian.\n\nBut there was something that did not end. There had arisen in that hour\nof history, defiant above the democratic tumult of the Councils of the\nChurch, Athanasius against the world. We may pause upon the point at\nissue; because it is relevant to the whole of this religious history,\nand the modern world seems to miss the whole point of it. We might put\nit this way. If there is one question which the enlightened and liberal\nhave the habit of deriding and holding up as a dreadful example of\nbarren dogma and senseless sectarian strife, it is this Athanasian\nquestion of the Co-Eternity of the Divine Son. On the other hand, if\nthere is one thing that the same liberals always offer us as a piece of\npure and simple Christianity, untroubled by doctrinal disputes, it is\nthe single sentence, \u2018God is Love.\u2019 Yet the two statements are almost\nidentical; at least one is very nearly nonsense without the other. The\nbarren dogma is only the logical way of stating the beautiful sentiment.\nFor if there be a being without beginning, existing before all things,\nwas He loving when there was nothing to be loved? If through that\nunthinkable eternity He is lonely, what is the meaning of saying He is\nlove? The only justification of such a mystery is the mystical\nconception that in His own nature there was something analogous to\nself-expression; something of what begets and beholds what it has\nbegotten. Without some such idea, it is really illogical to complicate\nthe ultimate essence of deity with an idea like love. If the moderns\nreally want a simple religion of love, they must look for it in the\nAthanasian Creed. The truth is that the trumpet of true Christianity,\nthe challenge of the charities and simplicities of Bethlehem or\nChristmas Day, never rang out more arrestingly and unmistakably than in\nthe defiance of Athanasius to the cold compromise of the Arians. It was\nemphatically he who really was fighting for a God of Love against a God\nof colourless and remote cosmic control; the God of the stoics and the\nagnostics. It was emphatically he who was fighting for the Holy Child\nagainst the grey deity of the Pharisees and the Sadducees. He was\nfighting for that very balance of beautiful interdependence and\nintimacy, in the very Trinity of the Divine Nature, that draws our\nhearts to the Trinity of the Holy Family. His dogma, if the phrase be\nnot misunderstood, turns even God into a Holy Family.\n\nThat this purely Christian dogma actually for a second time rebelled\nagainst the Empire, and actually for a second time refounded the Church\nin spite of the Empire, is itself a proof that there was something\npositive and personal working in the world, other than whatever official\nfaith the Empire chose to adopt. This power utterly destroyed the\nofficial faith that the Empire did adopt. It went on its own way as it\nis going on its own way still. There are any number of other examples in\nwhich is repeated precisely the same process we have reviewed in the\ncase of the Manichean and the Arian. A few centuries afterwards, for\ninstance, the Church had to maintain the same Trinity, which is simply\nthe logical side of love, against another appearance of the isolated and\nsimplified deity in the religion of Islam. Yet there are some who cannot\nsee what the Crusaders were fighting for; and some even who talk as if\nChristianity had never been anything but a form of what they call\nHebraism coming in with the decay of Hellenism. Those people must\ncertainly be very much puzzled by the war between the Crescent and the\nCross. If Christianity had never been anything but a simpler morality\nsweeping away polytheism, there is no reason why Christendom should not\nhave been swept into Islam. The truth is that Islam itself was a\nbarbaric reaction against that very humane complexity that is really a\nChristian character; that idea of balance in the deity, as of balance in\nthe family, that makes that creed a sort of sanity, and that sanity the\nsoul of civilisation. And that is why the Church is from the first a\nthing holding its own position and point of view, quite apart from the\naccidents and anarchies of its age. That is why it deals blows\nimpartially right and left, at the pessimism of the Manichean or the\noptimism of the Pelagian. It was not a Manichean movement because it was\nnot a movement at all. It was not an official fashion because it was not\na fashion at all. It was something that could coincide with movements\nand fashions, could control them and could survive them.\n\nSo might rise from their graves the great heresiarchs to confound their\ncomrades of to-day. There is nothing that the critics now affirm that we\ncannot call on these great witnesses to deny. The modern critic will say\nlightly enough that Christianity was but a reaction into asceticism and\nanti-natural spirituality, a dance of fakirs furious against life and\nlove. But Manes the great mystic will answer them from his secret throne\nand cry, \u2018These Christians have no right to be called spiritual; these\nChristians have no title to be called ascetics; they who compromised\nwith the curse of life and all the filth of the family. Through them the\nearth is still foul with fruit and harvest and polluted with population.\nTheirs was no movement against nature, or my children would have carried\nit to triumph; but these fools renewed the world when I would have ended\nit with a gesture.\u2019 And another critic will write that the Church was\nbut the shadow of the Empire, the fad of a chance Emperor, and that it\nremains in Europe only as the ghost of the power of Rome. And Arius the\ndeacon will answer out of the darkness of oblivion: \u2018No, indeed, or the\nworld would have followed my more reasonable religion. For mine went\ndown before demagogues and men defying Caesar; and around my champion\nwas the purple cloak and mine was the glory of the eagles. It was not\nfor lack of these things that I failed.\u2019 And yet a third modern will\nmaintain that the creed spread only as a sort of panic of hell-fire; men\neverywhere attempting impossible things in fleeing from incredible\nvengeance; a nightmare of imaginary remorse; and such an explanation\nwill satisfy many who see something dreadful in the doctrine of\northodoxy. And then there will go up against it the terrible voice of\nTertullian, saying, \u2018And why then was I cast out; and why did soft\nhearts and heads decide against me when I proclaimed the perdition of\nall sinners; and what was this power that thwarted me when I threatened\nall backsliders with hell? For none ever went up that hard road so far\nas I; and mine was the _Credo Quia Impossibile_.\u2019 Then there is the\nfourth suggestion that there was something of the Semitic secret society\nin the whole matter; that it was a new invasion of the nomad spirit\nshaking a kindlier and more comfortable paganism, its cities and its\nhousehold gods; whereby the jealous monotheistic races could after all\nestablish their jealous God. And Mahomet shall answer out of the\nwhirlwind, the red whirlwind of the desert, \u2018Who ever served the\njealousy of God as I did or left him more lonely in the sky? Who ever\npaid more honour to Moses and Abraham or won more victories over idols\nand the images of paganism? And what was this thing that thrust me back\nwith the energy of a thing alive; whose fanaticism could drive me from\nSicily and tear up my deep roots out of the rock of Spain? What faith\nwas theirs who thronged in thousands of every class and country crying\nout that my ruin was the will of God; and what hurled great Godfrey as\nfrom a catapult over the wall of Jerusalem; and what brought great\nSobieski like a thunderbolt to the gates of Vienna? I think there was\nmore than you fancy in the religion that has so matched itself with\nmine.\u2019\n\nThose who would suggest that the faith was a fanaticism are doomed to an\neternal perplexity. In their account it is bound to appear as fanatical\nfor nothing, and fanatical against everything. It is ascetical and at\nwar with ascetics, Roman and in revolt against Rome, monotheistic and\nfighting furiously against monotheism; harsh in its condemnation of\nharshness; a riddle not to be explained even as unreason. And what sort\nof unreason is it that seems reasonable to millions of educated\nEuropeans through all the revolutions of some sixteen hundred years?\nPeople are not amused with a puzzle or a paradox or a mere muddle in the\nmind for all that time. I know of no explanation except that such a\nthing is not unreason but reason; that if it is fanatical it is\nfanatical for reason and fanatical against all the unreasonable things.\nThat is the only explanation I can find of a thing from the first so\ndetached and so confident, condemning things that looked so like itself,\nrefusing help from powers that seemed so essential to its existence,\nsharing on its human side all the passions of the age, yet always at the\nsupreme moment suddenly rising superior to them, never saying exactly\nwhat it was expected to say and never needing to unsay what it had said;\nI can find no explanation except that, like Pallas from the brain of\nJove, it had indeed come forth out of the mind of God, mature and mighty\nand armed for judgment and for war.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE ESCAPE FROM PAGANISM\n\n\nThe modern missionary, with his palm-leaf hat and his umbrella, has\nbecome rather a figure of fun. He is chaffed among men of the world for\nthe ease with which he can be eaten by cannibals and the narrow bigotry\nwhich makes him regard the cannibal culture as lower than his own.\nPerhaps the best part of the joke is that the men of the world do not\nsee that the joke is against themselves. It is rather ridiculous to ask\na man just about to be boiled in a pot and eaten, at a purely religious\nfeast, why he does not regard all religions as equally friendly and\nfraternal. But there is a more subtle criticism uttered against the more\nold-fashioned missionary; to the effect that he generalises too broadly\nabout the heathen and pays too little attention to the difference\nbetween Mahomet and Mumbo-Jumbo. There was probably truth in this\ncomplaint, especially in the past; but it is my main contention here\nthat the exaggeration is all the other way at present. It is the\ntemptation of the professors to treat mythologies too much as\ntheologies; as things thoroughly thought out and seriously held. It is\nthe temptation of the intellectuals to take much too seriously the fine\nshades of various schools in the rather irresponsible metaphysics of\nAsia. Above all, it is their temptation to miss the real truth implied\nin the idea of Aquinas contra Gentiles or Athanasius contra mundum.\n\nIf the missionary says, in fact, that he is exceptional in being a\nChristian, and that the rest of the races and religions can be\ncollectively classified as heathen, he is perfectly right. He may say\nit in quite the wrong spirit, in which case he is spiritually wrong. But\nin the cold light of philosophy and history, he is intellectually right.\nHe may not be right-minded, but he is right. He may not even have a\nright to be right, but he is right. The outer world to which he brings\nhis creed really is something subject to certain generalisations\ncovering all its varieties, and is not merely a variety of similar\ncreeds. Perhaps it is in any case too much of a temptation to pride or\nhypocrisy to call it heathenry. Perhaps it would be better simply to\ncall it humanity. But there are certain broad characteristics of what we\ncall humanity while it remains in what we call heathenry. They are not\nnecessarily bad characteristics; some of them are worthy of the respect\nof Christendom; some of them have been absorbed and transfigured in the\nsubstance of Christendom. But they existed before Christendom and they\nstill exist outside Christendom, as certainly as the sea existed before\na boat and all round a boat; and they have as strong and as universal\nand as unmistakable a savour as the sea.\n\nFor instance, all real scholars who have studied the Greek and Roman\nculture say one thing about it. They agree that in the ancient world\nreligion was one thing and philosophy quite another. There was very\nlittle effort to rationalise and at the same time to realise a real\nbelief in the gods. There was very little pretence of any such real\nbelief among the philosophers. But neither had the passion or perhaps\nthe power to persecute the other, save in particular and peculiar cases;\nand neither the philosopher in his school nor the priest in his temple\nseems ever to have seriously contemplated his own concept as covering\nthe world. A priest sacrificing to Artemis in Calydon did not seem to\nthink that people would some day sacrifice to her instead of to Isis\nbeyond the sea; a sage following the vegetarian rule of the\nNeo-Pythagoreans did not seem to think it would universally prevail and\nexclude the methods of Epictetus or Epicurus. We may call this\nliberality if we like; I am not dealing with an argument but describing\nan atmosphere. All this, I say, is admitted by all scholars; but what\nneither the learned nor the unlearned have fully realised, perhaps, is\nthat this description is really an exact description of all\nnon-Christian civilisation to-day; and especially of the great\ncivilisations of the East. Eastern paganism really is much more all of a\npiece, just as ancient paganism was much more all of a piece, than the\nmodern critics admit. It is a many-coloured Persian carpet as the others\nwas a varied and tessellated Roman pavement; but the one real crack\nright across that pavement came from the earthquake of the Crucifixion.\n\nThe modern European seeking his religion in Asia is reading his religion\ninto Asia. Religion there is something different; it is both more and\nless. He is like a man mapping out the sea as land; marking waves as\nmountains; not understanding the nature of its peculiar permanence. It\nis perfectly true that Asia has its own dignity and poetry and high\ncivilisation. But it is not in the least true that Asia has its own\ndefinite dominions of moral government, where all loyalty is conceived\nin terms of morality; as when we say that Ireland is Catholic or that\nNew England was Puritan. The map is not marked out in religions, in our\nsense of churches. The state of mind is far more subtle, more relative,\nmore secretive, more varied and changing, like the colours of the snake.\nThe Moslem is the nearest approach to a militant Christian; and that is\nprecisely because he is a much nearer approach to an envoy from western\ncivilisation. The Moslem in the heart of Asia almost stands for the soul\nof Europe. And as he stands between them and Europe in the matter of\nspace, so he stands between them and Christianity in the matter of time.\nIn that sense the Moslems in Asia are merely like the Nestorians in\nAsia. Islam, historically speaking, is the greatest of the eastern\nheresies. It owed something to the quite isolated and unique\nindividuality of Israel; but it owed more to Byzantium and the\ntheological enthusiasm of Christendom. It owed something even to the\nCrusades. It owed nothing whatever to Asia. It owed nothing to the\natmosphere of the ancient and traditional world of Asia, with its\nimmemorial etiquette and its bottomless or bewildering philosophies. All\nthat ancient and actual Asia felt the entrance of Islam as something\nforeign and western and warlike, piercing it like a spear.\n\nEven where we might trace in dotted lines the domains of Asiatic\nreligions, we should probably be reading into them something dogmatic\nand ethical belonging to our own religion. It is as if a European\nignorant of the American atmosphere were to suppose that each \u2018state\u2019\nwas a separate sovereign state as patriotic as France or Poland; or that\nwhen a Yankee referred fondly to his \u2018home town\u2019 he meant he had no\nother nation, like a citizen of ancient Athens or Rome. As he would be\nreading a particular sort of loyalty into America, so we are reading a\nparticular sort of loyalty into Asia. There are loyalties of other\nkinds; but not what men on the West mean by being a believer, by trying\nto be a Christian, by being a good Protestant or a practising Catholic.\nIn the intellectual world it means something far more vague and varied\nby doubts and speculations. In the moral world it means something far\nmore loose and drifting. A professor of Persian at one of our great\nuniversities, so passionate a partisan of the East as practically to\nprofess a contempt for the West, said to a friend of mine: \u2018You will\nnever understand oriental religions, because you always conceive\nreligion as connected with ethics. This kind has really nothing to do\nwith ethics.\u2019 We have most of us known some Masters of the Higher\nWisdom, some Pilgrims upon the Path to Power, some eastern esoteric\nsaints and seers, who had really nothing to do with ethics. Something\ndifferent, something detached and irresponsible, tinges the moral\natmosphere of Asia and touches even that of Islam. It was very\nrealistically caught in the atmosphere of _Hassan_; and a very horrible\natmosphere too. It is even more vivid in such glimpses as we get of the\ngenuine and ancient cults of Asia. Deeper than the depths of\nmetaphysics, far down in the abysses of mystical meditations, under all\nthat solemn universe of spiritual things, is a secret, an intangible and\na terrible levity. It does not really very much matter what one does.\nEither because they do not believe in a devil, or because they do\nbelieve in a destiny, or because experience here is everything and\neternal life something totally different, but for some reason they are\ntotally different. I have read somewhere that there were three great\nfriends famous in medieval Persia for their unity of mind. One became\nthe responsible and respected Vizier of the Great King; the second was\nthe poet Omar, pessimist and epicurean, drinking wine in mockery of\nMahomet; the third was the Old Man of the Mountain who maddened his\npeople with hashish that they might murder other people with daggers. It\ndoes not really much matter what one does.\n\nThe Sultan in _Hassan_ would have understood all those three men; indeed\nhe was all those three men. But this sort of universalist cannot have\nwhat we call a character; it is what we call a chaos. He cannot choose;\nhe cannot fight; he cannot repent; he cannot hope. He is not in the same\nsense creating something; for creation means rejection. He is not, in\nour religious phrase, making his soul. For our doctrine of salvation\ndoes really mean a labour like that of a man trying to make a statue\nbeautiful; a victory with wings. For that there must be a final choice;\nfor a man cannot make statues without rejecting stone. And there really\nis this ultimate unmorality behind the metaphysics of Asia. And the\nreason is that there has been nothing through all those unthinkable ages\nto bring the human mind sharply to the point; to tell it that the time\nhas come to choose. The mind has lived too much in eternity. The soul\nhas been too immortal; in the special sense that it ignores the idea of\nmortal sin. It has had too much of eternity, in the sense that it has\nnot had enough of the hour of death and the day of judgment. It is not\ncrucial enough; in the literal sense that it has not had enough of the\ncross. That is what we mean when we say that Asia is very old. But\nstrictly speaking Europe is quite as old as Asia; indeed in a sense any\nplace is as old as any other place. What we mean is that Europe has not\nmerely gone on growing older. It has been born again.\n\nAsia is all humanity; as it has worked out its human doom. Asia, in its\nvast territory, in its varied populations, in its heights of past\nachievement and its depths of dark speculation, is itself a world; and\nrepresents something of what we mean when we speak of the world. It is a\ncosmos rather than a continent. It is the world as man has made it; and\ncontains many of the most wonderful things that man has made. Therefore\nAsia stands as the one representative of paganism and the one rival to\nChristendom. But everywhere else where we get glimpses of that mortal\ndestiny, they suggest stages in the same story. Where Asia trails away\ninto the southern archipelagoes of the savages, or where a darkness full\nof nameless shapes dwells in the heart of Africa, or where the last\nsurvivors of lost races linger in the cold volcano of prehistoric\nAmerica, it is all the same story; sometimes perhaps later chapters of\nthe same story. It is men entangled in the forest of their own\nmythology; it is men drowned in the sea of their own metaphysics.\nPolytheists have grown weary of the wildest of fictions. Monotheists\nhave grown weary of the most wonderful of truths. Diabolists here and\nthere have such a hatred of heaven and earth that they have tried to\ntake refuge in hell. It is the Fall of Man; and it is exactly that fall\nthat was being felt by our own fathers at the first moment of the Roman\ndecline. We also were going down that wide road; down that easy slope;\nfollowing the magnificent procession of the high civilisations of the\nworld.\n\nIf the Church had not entered the world then, it seems probable that\nEurope would be now very much what Asia is now. Something may be allowed\nfor a real difference of race and environment, visible in the ancient as\nin the modern world. But after all we talk about the changeless East\nvery largely because it has not suffered the great change. Paganism in\nits last phase showed considerable signs of becoming equally changeless.\nThis would not mean that new schools or sects of philosophy would not\narise; as new schools did arise in Antiquity and do arise in Asia. It\ndoes not mean that there would be no real mystics or visionaries; as\nthere were mystics in Antiquity and are mystics in Asia. It does not\nmean that there would be no social codes, as there were codes in\nAntiquity and are codes in Asia. It does not mean that there could not\nbe good men or happy lives, for God has given all men a conscience and\nconscience can give all men a kind of peace. But it does mean that the\ntone and proportion of all these things, and especially the proportion\nof good and evil things, would be in the unchanged West what they are in\nthe changeless East. And nobody who looks at that changeless East\nhonestly, and with a real sympathy, can believe that there is anything\nthere remotely resembling the challenge and revolution of the Faith.\n\nIn short, if classic paganism had lingered until now, a number of things\nmight well have lingered with it; and they would look very like what we\ncall the religions of the East. There would still be Pythagoreans\nteaching reincarnation, as there are still Hindus teaching\nreincarnation. There would still be Stoics making a religion out of\nreason and virtue, as there are still Confucians making a religion out\nof reason and virtue. There would still be Neo-Platonists studying\ntranscendental truths, the meaning of which was mysterious to other\npeople and disputed even amongst themselves; as the Buddhists still\nstudy a transcendentalism mysterious to others and disputed among\nthemselves. There would still be intelligent Apollonians apparently\nworshipping the sun-god but explaining that they were worshipping the\ndivine principle; just as there are still intelligent Parsees apparently\nworshipping the sun but explaining that they are worshipping the deity.\nThere would still be wild Dionysians dancing on the mountain as there\nare still wild Dervishes dancing in the desert. There would still be\ncrowds of people attending the popular feasts of the gods, in pagan\nEurope as in pagan Asia. There would still be crowds of gods, local and\nother, for them to worship. And there would still be a great many more\npeople who worshipped them than people who believed in them. Finally\nthere would still be a very large number of people who did worship gods\nand did believe in gods; and who believed in gods and worshipped gods\nsimply because they were demons. There would still be Levantines\nsecretly sacrificing to Moloch as there are still Thugs secretly\nsacrificing to Kalee. There would still be a great deal of magic; and a\ngreat deal of it would be black magic. There would still be a\nconsiderable admiration of Seneca and a considerable imitation of Nero;\njust as the exalted epigrams of Confucius could coexist with the\ntortures of China. And over all that tangled forest of traditions\ngrowing wild or withering would brood the broad silence of a singular\nand even nameless mood; but the nearest name of it is nothing. All these\nthings, good and bad, would have an indescribable air of being too old\nto die.\n\nNone of these things occupying Europe in the absence of Christendom\nwould bear the least likeness to Christendom. Since the Pythagorean\nMetempsychosis would still be there, we might call it the Pythagorean\nreligion as we talk about the Buddhist religion. As the noble maxims of\nSocrates would still be there, we might call it the Socratic religion as\nwe talk about the Confucian religion. As the popular holiday was still\nmarked by a mythological hymn to Adonis, we might call it the religion\nof Adonis as we talk about the religion of Juggernaut. As literature\nwould still be based on the Greek mythology, we might call that\nmythology a religion, as we call the Hindu mythology a religion. We\nmight say that there were so many thousands or millions of people\nbelonging to that religion, in the sense of frequenting such temples or\nmerely living in a land full of such temples. But if we called the last\ntradition of Pythagoras or the lingering legend of Adonis by the name of\na religion, then we must find some other name for the Church of Christ.\n\nIf anybody says that philosophic maxims preserved through many ages, or\nmythological temples frequented by many people, are things of the same\nclass and category as the Church, it is enough to answer quite simply\nthat they are not. Nobody thinks they are the same when he sees them in\nthe old civilisation of Greece and Rome; nobody would think they were\nthe same if that civilisation had lasted two thousand years longer and\nexisted at the present day; nobody can in reason think they are the same\nin the parallel pagan civilisation in the East, as it is at the present\nday. None of these philosophies or mythologies are anything like a\nChurch; certainly nothing like a Church Militant. And, as I have shown\nelsewhere, even if this rule were not already proved, the exception\nwould prove the rule. The rule is that pre-Christian or pagan history\ndoes not produce a Church Militant; and the exception, or what some\nwould call the exception, is that Islam is at least militant if it is\nnot Church. And that is precisely because Islam is the one religious\nrival that is _not_ pre-Christian and therefore not in that sense pagan.\nIslam was a product of Christianity; even if it was a by-product; even\nif it was a bad product. It was a heresy or parody emulating and\ntherefore imitating the Church. It is no more surprising that\nMahomedanism had something of her fighting spirit than that Quakerism\nhad something of her peaceful spirit. After Christianity there are any\nnumber of such emulations or extensions. Before it there are none.\n\nThe Church Militant is thus unique because it is an army marching to\neffect a universal deliverance. The bondage from which the world is thus\nto be delivered is something that is very well symbolised by the state\nof Asia as by the state of pagan Europe. I do not mean merely their\nmoral or immoral state. The missionary, as a matter of fact, has much\nmore to say for himself than the enlightened imagine, even when he says\nthat the heathen are idolatrous and immoral. A touch or two of realistic\nexperience about Eastern religion, even about Moslem religion, will\nreveal some startling insensibilities in ethics; such as the practical\nindifference to the line between passion and perversion. It is not\nprejudice but practical experience which says that Asia is full of\ndemons as well as gods. But the evil I mean is in the mind. And it is in\nthe mind wherever the mind has worked for a long time alone. It is what\nhappens when all dreaming and thinking have come to an end in an\nemptiness that is at once negation and necessity. It sounds like an\nanarchy, but it is also a slavery. It is what has been called already\nthe wheel of Asia; all those recurrent arguments about cause and effect\nor things beginning and ending in the mind, which make it impossible for\nthe soul really to strike out and go anywhere or do anything. And the\npoint is that it is not necessarily peculiar to Asiatics; it would have\nbeen true in the end of Europeans--if something had not happened. If the\nChurch Militant had not been a thing marching, all men would have been\nmarking time. If the Church Militant had not endured a discipline, all\nmen would have endured a slavery.\n\nWhat that universal yet fighting faith brought into the world was hope.\nPerhaps the one thing common to mythology and philosophy was that both\nwere really sad; in the sense that they had not this hope even if they\nhad touches of faith or charity. We may call Buddhism a faith; though to\nus it seems more like a doubt. We may call the Lord of Compassion a Lord\nof Charity; though it seems to us a very pessimist sort of pity. But\nthose who insist most on the antiquity and size of such cults must agree\nthat in all their ages they have not covered all their areas with that\nsort of practical and pugnacious hope. In Christendom hope has never\nbeen absent; rather it has been errant, extravagant, excessively fixed\nupon fugitive chances. Its perpetual revolution and reconstruction has\nat least been an evidence of people being in better spirits. Europe did\nvery truly renew its youth like the eagles; just as the eagles of Rome\nrose again over the legions of Napoleon, or we have seen soaring but\nyesterday the silver eagle of Poland. But in the Polish case even\nrevolution always went with religion. Napoleon himself sought a\nreconciliation with religion. Religion could never be finally separated\neven from the most hostile of the hopes; simply because it was the real\nsource of the hopefulness. And the cause of this is to be found simply\nin the religion itself. Those who quarrel about it seldom even consider\nit in itself. There is neither space nor place for such a full\nconsideration here; but a word may be said to explain a reconciliation\nthat always recurs and still seems to require explanation.\n\nThere will be no end to the weary debates about liberalising theology,\nuntil people face the fact that the only liberal part of it is really\nthe dogmatic part. If dogma is incredible, it is because it is\nincredibly liberal. If it is irrational, it can only be in giving us\nmore assurance of freedom than is justified by reason. The obvious\nexample is that essential form of freedom which we call free-will. It is\nabsurd to say that a man shows his liberality in denying his liberty.\nBut it is tenable that he has to affirm a transcendental doctrine in\norder to affirm his liberty. There is a sense in which we might\nreasonably say that if man has a primary power of choice, he has in that\nfact a supernatural power of creation, as if he could raise the dead or\ngive birth to the unbegotten. Possibly in that case a man must be a\nmiracle; and certainly in that case he must be a miracle in order to be\na man; and most certainly in order to be a free man. But it is absurd to\nforbid him to be a free man and do it in the name of a more free\nreligion.\n\nBut it is true in twenty other matters. Anybody who believes at all in\nGod must believe in the absolute supremacy of God. But in so far as that\nsupremacy does allow of any degrees that can be called liberal or\nilliberal, it is self-evident that the illiberal power is the deity of\nthe rationalists and the liberal power is the deity of the dogmatists.\nExactly in proportion as you turn monotheism into monism you turn it\ninto despotism. It is precisely the unknown God of the scientist, with\nhis impenetrable purpose and his inevitable and unalterable law, that\nreminds us of a Prussian autocrat making rigid plans in a remote tent\nand moving mankind like machinery. It is precisely the God of miracles\nand of answered prayers who reminds us of a liberal and popular prince,\nreceiving petitions, listening to parliaments and considering the cases\nof a whole people. I am not now arguing the rationality of this\nconception in other respects; as a matter of fact it is not, as some\nsuppose, irrational; for there is nothing irrational in the wisest and\nmost well-informed king acting differently according to the action of\nthose he wishes to save. But I am here only noting the general nature of\nliberality, or of free or enlarged atmosphere of action. And in this\nrespect it is certain that the king can only be what we call magnanimous\nif he is what some call capricious. It is the Catholic, who has the\nfeeling that his prayers do make a difference when offered for the\nliving and the dead, who also has the feeling of living like a free\ncitizen in something almost like a constitutional commonwealth. It is\nthe monist who lives under a single iron law who must have the feeling\nof living like a slave under a sultan. Indeed I believe that the\noriginal use of the word _suffragium_, which we now use in politics for\na vote, was that employed in theology about a prayer. The dead in\nPurgatory were said to have the suffrages of the living. And in this\nsense, of a sort of right of petition to the supreme ruler, we may truly\nsay that the whole of the Communion of Saints, as well as the whole of\nthe Church Militant, is founded on universal suffrage.\n\nBut above all, it is true of the most tremendous issue; of that tragedy\nwhich has created the divine comedy of our creed. Nothing short of the\nextreme and strong and startling doctrine of the divinity of Christ will\ngive that particular effect that can truly stir the popular sense like a\ntrumpet; the idea of the king himself serving in the ranks like a common\nsoldier. By making that figure merely human we make that story much less\nhuman. We take away the point of the story which actually pierces\nhumanity; the point of the story which was quite literally the point of\na spear. It does not especially humanise the universe to say that good\nand wise men can die for their opinions; any more than it would be any\nsort of uproariously popular news in an army that good soldiers may\neasily get killed. It is no news that King Leonidas is dead any more\nthan that Queen Anne is dead; and men did not wait for Christianity to\nbe men, in the full sense of being heroes. But if we are describing, for\nthe moment, the atmosphere of what is generous and popular and even\npicturesque, any knowledge of human nature will tell us that no\nsufferings of the sons of men, or even of the servants of God, strike\nthe same note as the notion of the master suffering instead of his\nservants. And this is given by the theological and emphatically not by\nthe scientific deity. No mysterious monarch, hidden in his starry\npavilion at the base of the cosmic campaign, is in the least like that\ncelestial chivalry of the Captain who carries his five wounds in the\nfront of battle.\n\nWhat the denouncer of dogma really means is not that dogma is bad; but\nrather that dogma is too good to be true. That is, he means that dogma\nis too liberal to be likely. Dogma gives man too much freedom when it\npermits him to fall. Dogma gives even God too much freedom when it\npermits him to die. That is what the intelligent sceptics ought to say;\nand it is not in the least my intention to deny that there is something\nto be said for it. They mean that the universe is itself a universal\nprison; that existence itself is a limitation and a control; and it is\nnot for nothing that they call causation a chain. In a word, they mean\nquite simply that they cannot believe these things; not in the least\nthat they are unworthy of belief. We say, not lightly but very\nliterally, that the truth has made us free. They say that it makes us so\nfree that it cannot be the truth. To them it is like believing in\nfairyland to believe in such freedom as we enjoy. It is like believing\nin men with wings to entertain the fancy of men with wills. It is like\naccepting a fable about a squirrel in conversation with a mountain to\nbelieve in a man who is free to ask or a God who is free to answer. This\nis a manly and a rational negation, for which I for one shall always\nshow respect. But I decline to show any respect for those who first of\nall clip the bird and cage the squirrel, rivet the chains and refuse the\nfreedom, close all the doors of the cosmic prison on us with a clang of\neternal iron, tell us that our emancipation is a dream and our dungeon a\nnecessity; and then calmly turn round and tell us they have a freer\nthought and a more liberal theology.\n\nThe moral of all this is an old one; that religion is revelation. In\nother words, it is a vision, and a vision received by faith; but it is a\nvision of reality. The faith consists in a conviction of its reality.\nThat, for example, is the difference between a vision and a day-dream.\nAnd that is the difference between religion and mythology. That is the\ndifference between faith and all that fancy-work, quite human and more\nor less healthy, which we considered under the head of mythology. There\nis something in the reasonable use of the very word vision that implies\ntwo things about it; first that it comes very rarely, possibly that it\ncomes only once; and secondly that it probably comes once and for all. A\nday-dream may come every day. A day-dream may be different every day. It\nis something more than the difference between telling ghost-stories and\nmeeting a ghost.\n\nBut if it is not a mythology neither is it a philosophy. It is not a\nphilosophy because, being a vision, it is not a pattern but a picture.\nIt is not one of those simplifications which resolve everything into an\nabstract explanation; as that everything is recurrent; or everything is\nrelative; or everything is inevitable; or everything is illusive. It is\nnot a process but a story. It has proportions, of the sort seen in a\npicture or a story; it has not the regular repetitions of a pattern or a\nprocess; but it replaces them by being convincing as a picture or a\nstory is convincing. In other words, it is exactly, as the phrase goes,\nlike life. For indeed it is life. An example of what is meant here might\nwell be found in the treatment of the problem of evil. It is easy\nenough to make a plan of life of which the background is black, as the\npessimists do; and then admit a speck or two of star-dust more or less\naccidental, or at least in the literal sense insignificant. And it is\neasy enough to make another plan on white paper, as the Christian\nScientists do, and explain or explain away somehow such dots or smudges\nas may be difficult to deny. Lastly it is easiest of all, perhaps, to\nsay as the dualists do, that life is like a chess-board in which the two\nare equal; and can as truly be said to consist of white squares on a\nblack board or of black squares on a white board. But every man feels in\nhis heart that none of these three paper plans is like life; that none\nof these worlds is one in which he can live. Something tells him that\nthe ultimate idea of a world is not bad or even neutral; staring at the\nsky or the grass or the truths of mathematics or even a new-laid egg, he\nhas a vague feeling like the shadow of that saying of the great\nChristian philosopher, St. Thomas Aquinas, \u2018Every existence, as such, is\ngood.\u2019 On the other hand, something else tells him that it is unmanly\nand debased and even diseased to minimise evil to a dot or even a blot.\nHe realises that optimism is morbid. It is if possible even more morbid\nthan pessimism. These vague but healthy feelings, if he followed them\nout, would result in the idea that evil is in some way an exception but\nan enormous exception; and ultimately that evil is an invasion or yet\nmore truly a rebellion. He does not think that everything is right or\nthat everything is wrong, or that everything is equally right and wrong.\nBut he does think that right has a right to be right and therefore a\nright to be there; and wrong has no right to be wrong and therefore no\nright to be there. It is the prince of the world; but it is also a\nusurper. So he will apprehend vaguely what the vision will give to him\nvividly; no less than all that strange story of treason in heaven and\nthe great desertion by which evil damaged and tried to destroy a cosmos\nthat it could not create. It is a very strange story and its proportions\nand its lines and colours are as arbitrary and absolute as the artistic\ncomposition of a picture. It is a vision which we do in fact symbolise\nin pictures by titanic limbs and passionate tints of plumage; all that\nabysmal vision of falling stars and the peacock panoplies of the night.\nBut that strange story has one small advantage over the diagrams. It is\nlike life.\n\nAnother example might be found, not in the problem of evil, but in what\nis called the problem of progress. One of the ablest agnostics of the\nage once asked me whether I thought mankind grew better or grew worse or\nremained the same. He was confident that the alternative covered all\npossibilities. He did not see that it only covered patterns and not\npictures; processes and not stories. I asked him whether he thought that\nMr. Smith of Golder\u2019s Green got better or worse or remained exactly the\nsame between the age of thirty and forty. It then seemed to dawn on him\nthat it would rather depend on Mr. Smith; and how he chose to go on. It\nhad never occurred to him that it might depend on how mankind chose to\ngo on; and that its course was not a straight line or an upward or\ndownward curve, but a track like that of a man across a valley, going\nwhere he liked and stopping where he chose, going into a church or\nfalling drunk in a ditch. The life of man is a story; an adventure\nstory; and in our vision the same is true even of the story of God.\n\nThe Catholic faith is the reconciliation because it is the realisation\nboth of mythology and philosophy. It is a story and in that sense one of\na hundred stories; only it is a true story. It is a philosophy and in\nthat sense one of a hundred philosophies; only it is a philosophy that\nis like life. But above all, it is a reconciliation because it is\nsomething that can only be called the philosophy of stories. That normal\nnarrative instinct which produced all the fairy-tales is something that\nis neglected by all the philosophies--except one. The Faith is the\njustification of that popular instinct; the finding of a philosophy for\nit or the analysis of the philosophy in it. Exactly as a man in an\nadventure story has to pass various tests to save his life, so the man\nin this philosophy has to pass several tests and save his soul. In both\nthere is an idea of free will operating under conditions of design; in\nother words, there is an aim and it is the business of a man to aim at\nit; we therefore watch to see whether he will hit it. Now this deep and\ndemocratic and dramatic instinct is derided and dismissed in all the\nother philosophies. For all the other philosophies avowedly end where\nthey begin; and it is the definition of a story that it ends\ndifferently; that it begins in one place and ends in another. From\nBuddha and his wheel to Akhen-Aten and his disc, from Pythagoras with\nhis abstraction of number to Confucius with his religion of routine,\nthere is not one of them that does not in some way sin against the soul\nof a story. There is none of them that really grasps this human notion\nof the tale, the test, the adventure; the ordeal of the free man. Each\nof them starves the story-telling instinct, so to speak, and does\nsomething to spoil human life considered as a romance; either by\nfatalism (pessimist or optimist) and that destiny that is the death of\nadventure; or by indifference and that detachment that is the death of\ndrama; or by a fundamental scepticism that dissolves the actors into\natoms; or by a materialistic limitation blocking the vista of moral\nconsequences; or a mechanical recurrence making even moral tests\nmonotonous; or a bottomless relativity making even practical tests\ninsecure. There is such a thing as a human story; and there is such a\nthing as the divine story which is also a human story. But there is no\nsuch thing as a Hegelian story or a Monist story or a relativist story\nor a determinist story. For every story, yes, even a penny dreadful or a\ncheap novelette, has something in it that belongs to our universe and\nnot theirs. Every short story does truly begin with creation and end\nwith a last judgment.\n\nAnd _that_ is the reason why the myths and the philosophers were at war\nuntil Christ came. That is why the Athenian democracy killed Socrates\nout of respect for the gods; and why every strolling sophist gave\nhimself the airs of a Socrates whenever he could talk in a superior\nfashion of the gods; and why the heretic Pharaoh wrecked his huge idols\nand temples for an abstraction and why the priests could return in\ntriumph and trample his dynasty under foot; and why Buddhism had to\ndivide itself from Brahminism, and why in every age and country outside\nChristendom there has been a feud for ever between the philosopher and\nthe priest. It is easy enough to say that the philosopher is generally\nthe more rational; it is easier still to forget that the priest is\nalways the more popular. For the priest told the people stories; and the\nphilosopher did not understand the philosophy of stories. It came into\nthe world with the story of Christ.\n\nAnd this is why it had to be a revelation or vision given from above.\nAny one who will think of the theory of stories or pictures will easily\nsee the point. The true story of the world must be told by somebody to\nsomebody else. By the very nature of a story it cannot be left to occur\nto anybody. A story has proportions, variations, surprises, particular\ndispositions, which cannot be worked out by rule in the abstract, like a\nsum. We could not deduce whether or no Achilles would give back the body\nof Hector from a Pythagorean theory of number or recurrence; and we\ncould not infer for ourselves in what way the world would get back the\nbody of Christ, merely from being told that all things go round and\nround upon the wheel of Buddha. A man might perhaps work out a\nproposition of Euclid without having heard of Euclid; but he would not\nwork out the precise legend of Eurydice without having heard of\nEurydice. At any rate he would not be certain how the story would end\nand whether Orpheus was ultimately defeated. Still less could he guess\nthe end of our story; or the legend of our Orpheus rising, not defeated,\nfrom the dead.\n\nTo sum up; the sanity of the world was restored and the soul of man\noffered salvation by something which did indeed satisfy the two warring\ntendencies of the past; which had never been satisfied in full and most\ncertainly never satisfied together. It met the mythological search for\nromance by being a story and the philosophical search for truth by being\na true story. That is why the ideal figure had to be a historical\ncharacter, as nobody had ever felt Adonis or Pan to be a historical\ncharacter. But that is also why the historical character had to be the\nideal figure; and even fulfil many of the functions given to these other\nideal figures; why he was at once the sacrifice and the feast, why he\ncould be shown under the emblems of the growing vine or the rising sun.\nThe more deeply we think of the matter the more we shall conclude that,\nif there be indeed a God, his creation could hardly have reached any\nother culmination than this granting of a real romance to the world.\nOtherwise the two sides of the human mind could never have touched at\nall; and the brain of man would have remained cloven and double; one\nlobe of it dreaming impossible dreams and the other repeating invariable\ncalculations. The picture-makers would have remained for ever painting\nthe portrait of nobody. The sages would have remained for ever adding up\nnumerals that came to nothing. It was that abyss that nothing but an\nincarnation could cover; a divine embodiment of our dreams; and he\nstands above that chasm whose name is more than priest and older even\nthan Christendom; Pontifex Maximus, the mightiest maker of a bridge.\n\nBut even with that we return to the more specially Christian symbol in\nthe same tradition; the perfect pattern of the keys. This is a\nhistorical and not a theological outline, and it is not my duty here to\ndefend in detail that theology, but merely to point out that it could\nnot even be justified in design without being justified in detail--like\na key. Beyond the broad suggestion of this chapter I attempt no\napologetic about why the creed should be accepted. But in answer to the\nhistorical query of why it was accepted, and is accepted, I answer for\nmillions of others in my reply; because it fits the lock; because it is\nlike life. It is one among many stories; only it happens to be a true\nstory. It is one among many philosophies; only it happens to be the\ntruth. We accept it; and the ground is solid under our feet and the road\nis open before us. It does not imprison us in a dream of destiny or a\nconsciousness of the universal delusion. It opens to us not only\nincredible heavens, but what seems to some an equally incredible earth,\nand makes it credible. This is the sort of truth that is hard to explain\nbecause it is a fact; but it is a fact to which we can call witnesses.\nWe are Christians and Catholics not because we worship a key, but\nbecause we have passed a door; and felt the wind that is the trumpet of\nliberty blow over the land of the living.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE FIVE DEATHS OF THE FAITH\n\n\nIt is not the purpose of this book to trace the subsequent history of\nChristianity, especially the later history of Christianity; which\ninvolves controversies of which I hope to write more fully elsewhere. It\nis devoted only to the suggestion that Christianity, appearing amid\nheathen humanity, had all the character of a unique thing and even of a\nsupernatural thing. It was not like any of the other things; and the\nmore we study it the less it looks like any of them. But there is a\ncertain rather peculiar character which marked it henceforward even down\nto the present moment, with a note on which this book may well conclude.\n\nI have said that Asia and the ancient world had an air of being too old\nto die. Christendom has had the very opposite fate. Christendom has had\na series of revolutions and in each one of them Christianity has died.\nChristianity has died many times and risen again; for it had a god who\nknew the way out of the grave. But the first extraordinary fact which\nmarks this history is this: that Europe has been turned upside down over\nand over again; and that at the end of each of these revolutions the\nsame religion has again been found on top. The Faith is always\nconverting the age, not as an old religion but as a new religion. This\ntruth is hidden from many by a convention that is too little noticed.\nCuriously enough, it is a convention of the sort which those who ignore\nit claim especially to detect and denounce. They are always telling us\nthat priests and ceremonies are not religion and that religious\norganisation can be a hollow sham; but they hardly realise how true it\nis. It is so true that three or four times at least in the history of\nChristendom the whole soul seemed to have gone out of Christianity; and\nalmost every man in his heart expected its end. This fact is only masked\nin medieval and other times by that very official religion which such\ncritics pride themselves on seeing through. Christianity remained the\nofficial religion of a Renaissance prince or the official religion of an\neighteenth-century bishop, just as an ancient mythology remained the\nofficial religion of Julius Caesar or the Arian creed long remained the\nofficial religion of Julian the Apostate. But there was a difference\nbetween the cases of Julius and of Julian; because the Church had begun\nits strange career. There was no reason why men like Julius should not\nworship gods like Jupiter for ever in public and laugh at them for ever\nin private. But when Julian treated Christianity as dead, he found it\nhad come to life again. He also found, incidentally, that there was not\nthe faintest sign of Jupiter ever coming to life again. This case of\nJulian and the episode of Arianism is but the first of a series of\nexamples that can only be roughly indicated here. Arianism, as has been\nsaid, had every human appearance of being the natural way in which that\nparticular superstition of Constantine might be expected to peter out.\nAll the ordinary stages had been passed through; the creed had become a\nrespectable thing, had become a ritual thing, had then been modified\ninto a rational thing; and the rationalists were ready to dissipate the\nlast remains of it, just as they do to-day. When Christianity rose again\nsuddenly and threw them, it was almost as unexpected as Christ rising\nfrom the dead. But there are many other examples of the same thing, even\nabout the same time. The rush of missionaries from Ireland, for\ninstance, has all the air of an unexpected onslaught of young men on an\nold world, and even on a Church that showed signs of growing old. Some\nof them were martyred on the coast of Cornwall; and the chief authority\non Cornish antiquities told me that he did not believe for a moment that\nthey were martyred by heathens but (as he expressed it with some humour)\n\u2018by rather slack Christians.\u2019\n\nNow if we were to dip below the surface of history, as it is not in the\nscope of this argument to do, I suspect that we should find several\noccasions when Christendom was thus to all appearance hollowed out from\nwithin by doubt and indifference, so that only the old Christian shell\nstood as the Pagan shell had stood so long. But the difference is that\nin every such case, the sons were fanatical for the faith where the\nfathers had been slack about it. This is obvious in the case of the\ntransition from the Renaissance to the Counter-Reformation. It is\nobvious in the case of a transition from the eighteenth century to the\nmany Catholic revivals of our own time. But I suspect many other\nexamples which would be worthy of separate studies.\n\nThe Faith is not a survival. It is not as if the Druids had managed\nsomehow to survive somewhere for two thousand years. That is what might\nhave happened in Asia or ancient Europe, in that indifference or\ntolerance in which mythologies and philosophies could live for ever side\nby side. It has not survived; it has returned again and again in this\nwestern world of rapid change and institutions perpetually perishing.\nEurope, in the tradition of Rome, was always trying revolution and\nreconstruction; rebuilding a universal republic. And it always began by\nrejecting this old stone and ended by making it the head of the corner;\nby bringing it back from the rubbish-heap to make it the crown of the\ncapitol. Some stones of Stonehenge are standing and some are fallen; and\nas the stone falleth so shall it lie. There has not been a Druidic\nrenaissance every century or two, with the young Druids crowned with\nfresh mistletoe, dancing in the sun on Salisbury Plain. Stonehenge has\nnot been rebuilt in every style of architecture from the rude round\nNorman to the last rococo of the Baroque. The sacred place of the Druids\nis safe from the vandalism of restoration.\n\nBut the Church in the West was not in a world where things were too old\nto die; but in one in which they were always young enough to get killed.\nThe consequence was that superficially and externally it often did get\nkilled; nay, it sometimes wore out even without getting killed. And\nthere follows a fact I find it somewhat difficult to describe, yet which\nI believe to be very real and rather important. As a ghost is the shadow\nof a man, and in that sense the shadow of life, so at intervals there\npassed across this endless life a sort of shadow of death. It came at\nthe moment when it would have perished had it been perishable. It\nwithered away everything that was perishable. If such animal parallels\nwere worthy of the occasion, we might say that the snake shuddered and\nshed a skin and went on, or even that the cat went into convulsions as\nit lost only one of its nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine lives. It is truer\nto say, in a more dignified image, that a clock struck and nothing\nhappened; or that a bell tolled for an execution that was everlastingly\npostponed.\n\nWhat was the meaning of all that dim but vast unrest of the twelfth\ncentury; when, as it has been so finely said, Julian stirred in his\nsleep? Why did there appear so strangely early, in the twilight of dawn\nafter the Dark Ages, so deep a scepticism as that involved in urging\nnominalism against realism? For realism against nominalism was really\nrealism against rationalism, or something more destructive than what we\ncall rationalism. The answer is that just as some might have thought the\nChurch simply a part of the Roman Empire, so others later might have\nthought the Church only a part of the Dark Ages. The Dark Ages ended as\nthe Empire had ended; and the Church should have departed with them, if\nshe had been also one of the shades of night. It was another of those\nspectral deaths or simulations of death. I mean that if nominalism had\nsucceeded, it would have been as if Arianism had succeeded; it would\nhave been the beginning of a confession that Christianity had failed.\nFor nominalism is a far more fundamental scepticism than mere atheism.\nSuch was the question that was openly asked as the Dark Ages broadened\ninto that daylight that we call the modern world. But what was the\nanswer? The answer was Aquinas in the chair of Aristotle, taking all\nknowledge for his province; and tens of thousands of lads, down to the\nlowest ranks of peasant and serf, living in rags and on crusts about the\ngreat colleges, to listen to the scholastic philosophy.\n\nWhat was the meaning of all that whisper of fear that ran round the West\nunder the shadow of Islam, and fills every old romance with incongruous\nimages of Saracen knights swaggering in Norway or the Hebrides? Why were\nmen in the extreme West, such as King John if I remember rightly,\naccused of being secretly Moslems, as men are accused of being secretly\natheists? Why was there that fierce alarm among some of the authorities\nabout the rationalistic Arab version or Aristotle? Authorities are\nseldom alarmed like that except when it is too late. The answer is that\nhundreds of people probably believed in their hearts that Islam would\nconquer Christendom; that Averroes was more rational than Anselm; that\nthe Saracen culture was really, as it was superficially, a superior\nculture. Here again we should probably find a whole generation, the\nolder generation, very doubtful and depressed and weary. The coming of\nIslam would only have been the coming of Unitarianism a thousand years\nbefore its time. To many it may have seemed quite reasonable and quite\nprobable and quite likely to happen. If so, they would have been\nsurprised at what did happen. What did happen was a roar like thunder\nfrom thousands and thousands of young men, throwing all their youth into\none exultant counter-charge; the Crusades. It was the sons of St.\nFrancis, the Jugglers of God, wandering singing over all the roads of\nthe world; it was the Gothic going up like a flight of arrows; it was\nthe waking of the world. In considering the war of the Albigensians, we\ncome to the breach in the heart of Europe and the landslide of a new\nphilosophy that nearly ended Christendom for ever. In that case the new\nphilosophy was also a very new philosophy; it was pessimism. It was none\nthe less like modern ideas because it was as old as Asia; most modern\nideas are. It was the Gnostics returning; but why did the Gnostics\nreturn? Because it was the end of an epoch, like the end of the Empire;\nand should have been the end of the Church. It was Schopenhauer hovering\nover the future; but it was also Manichaeus rising from the dead; that\nmen might have death and that they might have it more abundantly.\n\nIt is rather more obvious in the case of the Renaissance, simply because\nthe period is so much nearer to us and people know so much more about\nit. But there is more even in that example than most people know. Apart\nfrom the particular controversies which I wish to reserve for a separate\nstudy, the period was far more chaotic than those controversies commonly\nimply. When Protestants call Latimer a martyr to Protestantism, and\nCatholics reply that Campion was a martyr to Catholicism, it is often\nforgotten that many perished in such persecutions who could only be\ndescribed as martyrs to atheism or anarchism or even diabolism. That\nworld was almost as wild as our own; the men wandering about in it\nincluded the sort of man who says there is no God, the sort of man who\nsays he is himself God, the sort of man who says something that nobody\ncan make head or tail of. If we could have the _conversation_ of the\nage following the Renaissance, we should probably be shocked by its\nshameless negations. The remarks attributed to Marlowe are probably\npretty typical of the talk in many intellectual taverns. The transition\nfrom Pre-Reformation to Post-Reformation Europe was through a void of\nvery yawning questions; yet again in the long run the answer was the\nsame. It was one of those moments when, as Christ walked on the water,\nso was Christianity walking in the air.\n\nBut all these cases are remote in date and could only be proved in\ndetail. We can see the fact much more clearly in the case when the\npaganism of the Renaissance ended Christianity and Christianity\nunaccountably began all over again. But we can see it most clearly of\nall in the case which is close to us and full of manifest and minute\nevidence; the case of the great decline of religion that began about the\ntime of Voltaire. For indeed it is our own case; and we ourselves have\nseen the decline of that decline. The two hundred years since Voltaire\ndo not flash past us at a glance like the fourth and fifth centuries or\nthe twelfth and thirteenth centuries. In our own case we can see this\noft-repeated process close at hand; we know how completely a society can\nlose its fundamental religion without abolishing its official religion;\nwe know how men can all become agnostics long before they abolish\nbishops. And we know that also in this last ending, which really did\nlook to us like the final ending, the incredible thing has happened\nagain; the Faith has a better following among the young men than among\nthe old. When Ibsen spoke of the new generation knocking at the door, he\ncertainly never expected that it would be the church-door.\n\nAt least five times, therefore, with the Arian and the Albigensian, with\nthe Humanist sceptic, after Voltaire and after Darwin, the Faith has to\nall appearance gone to the dogs. In each of these five cases it was the\ndog that died. How complete was the collapse and how strange the\nreversal, we can only see in detail in the case nearest to our own time.\n\nA thousand things have been said about the Oxford Movement and the\nparallel French Catholic revival; but few have made us feel the simplest\nfact about it; that it was a surprise. It was a puzzle as well as a\nsurprise; because it seemed to most people like a river turning\nbackwards from the sea and trying to climb back into the mountains. To\nhave read the literature of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries is\nto know that nearly everybody had come to take it for granted that\nreligion was a thing that would continually broaden like a river, till\nit reached an infinite sea. Some of them expected it to go down in a\ncataract of catastrophe, most of them expected it to widen into an\nestuary of equality and moderation; but all of them thought its\nreturning on itself a prodigy as incredible as witchcraft. In other\nwords, most moderate people thought that faith like freedom would be\nslowly broadened down; and some advanced people thought that it would be\nvery rapidly broadened down, not to say flattened out. All that world of\nGuizot and Macaulay and the commercial and scientific liberality was\nperhaps more certain than any men before or since about the direction in\nwhich the world is going. People were so certain about the direction\nthat they only differed about the pace. Many anticipated with alarm, and\na few with sympathy, a Jacobin revolt that should guillotine the\nArchbishop of Canterbury or a Chartist riot that should hang the parsons\non the lamp-posts. But it seemed like a convulsion in nature that the\nArchbishop instead of losing his head should be looking for his mitre;\nand that instead of diminishing the respect due to parsons we should\nstrengthen it to the respect due to priests. It revolutionised their\nvery vision of revolution; and turned their very topsyturvydom\ntopsy-turvy.\n\nIn short, the whole world being divided about whether the stream was\ngoing slower or faster, became conscious of something vague but vast\nthat was going against the stream. Both in fact and figure there is\nsomething deeply disturbing about this, and that for an essential\nreason. A dead thing can go with the stream, but only a living thing can\ngo against it. A dead dog can be lifted on the leaping water with all\nthe swiftness of a leaping hound; but only a live dog can swim\nbackwards. A paper boat can ride the rising deluge with all the airy\narrogance of a fairy ship; but if the fairy ship sails upstream it is\nreally rowed by the fairies. And among the things that merely went with\nthe tide of apparent progress and enlargement, there was many a\ndemagogue or sophist whose wild gestures were in truth as lifeless as\nthe movement of a dead dog\u2019s limbs wavering in the eddying water; and\nmany a philosophy uncommonly like a paper boat, of the sort that it is\nnot difficult to knock into a cocked hat. But even the truly living and\neven life-giving things that went with that stream did not thereby prove\nthat they were living or life-giving. It was this other force that was\nunquestionably and unaccountably alive; the mysterious and unmeasured\nenergy that was thrusting back the river. That was felt to be like the\nmovement of some great monster; and it was none the less clearly a\nliving monster because most people thought it a prehistoric monster. It\nwas none the less an unnatural, an incongruous, and to some a comic\nupheaval; as if the Great Sea Serpent had suddenly risen out of the\nRound Pond--unless we consider the Sea Serpent as more likely to live in\nthe Serpentine. This flippant element in the fantasy must not be missed,\nfor it was one of the clearest testimonies to the unexpected nature of\nthe reversal. That age did really feel that a preposterous quality in\nprehistoric animals belonged also to historic rituals; that mitres and\ntiaras were like the horns or crests of antediluvian creatures; and\nthat appealing to a Primitive Church was like dressing up as a Primitive\nMan.\n\nThe world is still puzzled by that movement; but most of all because it\nstill moves. I have said something elsewhere of the rather random sort\nof reproaches that are still directed against it and its much greater\nconsequences; it is enough to say here that the more such critics\nreproach it the less they explain it. In a sense it is my concern here,\nif not to explain it, at least to suggest the direction of the\nexplanation; but above all, it is my concern to point out one particular\nthing about it. And that is that it had all happened before; and even\nmany times before.\n\nTo sum up, in so far as it is true that recent centuries have seen an\nattenuation of Christian doctrine, recent centuries have only seen what\nthe most remote centuries have seen. And even the modern example has\nonly ended as the medieval and pre-medieval examples ended. It is\nalready clear, and grows clearer every day, that it is not going to end\nin the disappearance of the diminished creed; but rather in the return\nof those parts of it that had really disappeared. It is going to end as\nthe Arian compromise ended, as the attempts at a compromise with\nNominalism and even with Albigensianism ended. But the point to seize in\nthe modern case, as in all the other cases, is that what returns is not\nin that sense a simplified theology; not according to that view a\npurified theology; it is simply theology. It is that enthusiasm for\ntheological studies that marked the most doctrinal ages; it is the\ndivine science. An old Don with D.D. after his name may have become the\ntypical figure of a bore; but that was because he was himself bored with\nhis theology, not because he was excited about it. It was precisely\nbecause he was admittedly more interested in the Latin of Plautus than\nin the Latin of Augustine, in the Greek of Xenophon than in the Greek of\nChrysostom. It was precisely because he was more interested in a dead\ntradition than in a decidedly living tradition. In short, it was\nprecisely because he was himself a type of the time in which Christian\nfaith was weak. It was not because men would not hail, if they could,\nthe wonderful and almost wild vision of a Doctor of Divinity.\n\nThere are people who say they wish Christianity to remain as a spirit.\nThey mean, very literally, that they wish it to remain as a ghost. But\nit is not going to remain as a ghost. What follows this process of\napparent death is not the lingering of the shade; it is the resurrection\nof the body. These people are quite prepared to shed pious and\nreverential tears over the Sepulchre of the Son of Man; what they are\nnot prepared for is the Son of God walking once more upon the hills of\nmorning. These people, and indeed most people, were indeed by this time\nquite accustomed to the idea that the old Christian candle-light would\nfade into the light of common day. To many of them it did quite honestly\nappear like that pale yellow flame of a candle when it is left burning\nin daylight. It was all the more unexpected, and therefore all the more\nunmistakable, that the seven-branched candle-stick suddenly towered to\nheaven like a miraculous tree and flamed until the sun turned pale. But\nother ages have seen the day conquer the candle-light and then the\ncandle-light conquer the day. Again and again, before our time, men have\ngrown content with a diluted doctrine. And again and again there has\nfollowed on that dilution, coming as out of the darkness in a crimson\ncataract, the strength of the red original wine. And we only say once\nmore to-day as has been said many times by our fathers: \u2018Long years and\ncenturies ago our fathers or the founders of our people drank, as they\ndreamed, of the blood of God. Long years and centuries have passed since\nthe strength of that giant vintage has been anything but a legend of the\nage of giants. Centuries ago already is the dark time of the second\nfermentation, when the wine of Catholicism turned into the vinegar of\nCalvinism. Long since that bitter drink has been itself diluted; rinsed\nout and washed away by the waters of oblivion and the wave of the world.\nNever did we think to taste again even that bitter tang of sincerity and\nthe spirit, still less the richer and the sweeter strength of the purple\nvineyards in our dreams of the age of gold. Day by day and year by year\nwe have lowered our hopes and lessened our convictions; we have grown\nmore and more used to seeing those vats and vineyards overwhelmed in the\nwater-floods and the last savour and suggestion of that special element\nfading like a stain of purple upon a sea of grey. We have grown used to\ndilution, to dissolution, to a watering down that went on for ever. But\nThou hast kept the good wine until now.\u2019\n\nThis is the final fact, and it is the most extraordinary of all. The\nfaith has not only often died but it has often died of old age. It has\nnot only been often killed but it has often died a natural death; in the\nsense of coming to a natural and necessary end. It is obvious that it\nhas survived the most savage and the most universal persecutions from\nthe shock of the Diocletian fury to the shock of the French Revolution.\nBut it has a more strange and even a more weird tenacity; it has\nsurvived not only war but peace. It has not only died often but\ndegenerated often and decayed often; it has survived its own weakness\nand even its own surrender. We need not repeat what is so obvious about\nthe beauty of the end of Christ in its wedding of youth and death. But\nthis is almost as if Christ had lived to the last possible span, had\nbeen a white-haired sage of a hundred and died of natural decay, and\nthen had risen again rejuvenated, with trumpets and the rending of the\nsky. It was said truly enough that human Christianity in its recurrent\nweakness was sometimes too much wedded to the powers of the world; but\nif it was wedded it has very often been widowed. It is a strangely\nimmortal sort of widow. An enemy may have said at one moment that it was\nbut an aspect of the power of the Caesars; and it sounds as strange\nto-day as to call it an aspect of the Pharaohs. An enemy might say that\nit was the official faith of feudalism; and it sounds as convincing now\nas to say that it was bound to perish with the ancient Roman villa. All\nthese things did indeed run their course to its normal end; and there\nseemed no course for the religion but to end with them. It ended and it\nbegan again.\n\n\u2018Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away.\u2019\nThe civilisation of antiquity was the whole world: and men no more\ndreamed of its ending than of the ending of daylight. They could not\nimagine another order unless it were in another world. The civilisation\nof the world has passed away and those words have not passed away. In\nthe long night of the Dark Ages feudalism was so familiar a thing that\nno man could imagine himself without a lord: and religion was so woven\ninto that network that no man would have believed they could be torn\nasunder. Feudalism itself was torn to rags and rotted away in the\npopular life of the true Middle Ages; and the first and freshest power\nin that new freedom was the old religion. Feudalism had passed away, and\nthe words did not pass away. The whole medieval order, in many ways so\ncomplete and almost cosmic a home for man, wore out gradually in its\nturn: and here at least it was thought that the words would die. They\nwent forth across the radiant abyss of the Renaissance and in fifty\nyears were using all its light and learning for new religious\nfoundations, new apologetics, new saints. It was supposed to have been\nwithered up at last in the dry light of the Age of Reason; it was\nsupposed to have disappeared ultimately in the earthquake of the Age of\nRevolution. Science explained it away; and it was still there. History\ndisinterred it in the past; and it appeared suddenly in the future.\nTo-day it stands once more in our path; and even as we watch it, it\ngrows.\n\nIf our social relations and records retain their continuity, if men\nreally learn to apply reason to the accumulating facts of so crushing a\nstory, it would seem that sooner or later even its enemies will learn\nfrom their incessant and interminable disappointments not to look for\nanything so simple as its death. They may continue to war with it, but\nit will be as they war with nature; as they war with the landscape, as\nthey war with the skies. \u2018Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words\nshall not pass away.\u2019 They will watch for it to stumble; they will watch\nfor it to err; they will no longer watch for it to end. Insensibly, even\nunconsciously, they will in their own silent anticipations fulfil the\nrelative terms of that astounding prophecy; they will forget to watch\nfor the mere extinction of what has so often been vainly extinguished;\nand will learn instinctively to look first for the coming of the comet\nor the freezing of the star.\n\n\n\n\nCONCLUSION\n\nTHE SUMMARY OF THIS BOOK\n\n\nI have taken the liberty once or twice of borrowing the excellent phrase\nabout an Outline of History; though this study of a special truth and a\nspecial error can of course claim no sort of comparison with the rich\nand many-sided encyclopedia of history, for which that name was chosen.\nAnd yet there is a certain reason in the reference; and a sense in which\nthe one thing touches and even cuts across the other. For the story of\nthe world as told by Mr. Wells could here only be criticised as an\noutline. And, strangely enough, it seems to me that it is only wrong as\nan outline. It is admirable as an accumulation of history; it is\nsplendid as a storehouse or treasury of history; it is a fascinating\ndisquisition on history; it is most attractive as an amplification of\nhistory; but it is quite false as an outline of history. The one thing\nthat seems to me quite wrong about it is the outline; the sort of\noutline that can really be a single line, like that which makes all the\ndifference between a caricature of the profile of Mr. Winston Churchill\nand of Sir Alfred Mond. In simple and homely language, I mean the things\nthat stick out; the things that make the simplicity of a silhouette. I\nthink the proportions are wrong; the proportions of what is certain as\ncompared with what is uncertain, of what played a great part as compared\nwith what played a smaller part, of what is ordinary and what is\nextraordinary, of what really lies level with an average and what stands\nout as an exception.\n\nI do not say it as a small criticism of a great writer, and I have no\nreason to do so; for in my own much smaller task I feel I have failed in\nvery much the same way. I am very doubtful whether I have conveyed to\nthe reader the main point I meant about the proportions of history, and\nwhy I have dwelt so much more on some things than others. I doubt\nwhether I have clearly fulfilled the plan that I set out in the\nintroductory chapter; and for that reason I add these lines as a sort of\nsummary in a concluding chapter. I do believe that the things on which I\nhave insisted are more essential to an outline of history than the\nthings which I have subordinated or dismissed. I do not believe that the\npast is most truly pictured as a thing in which humanity merely fades\naway into nature, or civilisation merely fades away into barbarism, or\nreligion fades away into mythology, or our own religion fades away into\nthe religions of the world. In short I do not believe that the best way\nto produce an outline of history is to rub out the lines. I believe\nthat, of the two, it would be far nearer the truth to tell the tale very\nsimply, like a primitive myth about a man who made the sun and stars or\na god who entered the body of a sacred monkey. I will therefore sum up\nall that has gone before in what seems to me a realistic and reasonably\nproportioned statement; the short story of mankind.\n\nIn the land lit by that neighbouring star, whose blaze is the broad\ndaylight, there are many and very various things, motionless and moving.\nThere moves among them a race that is in its relation to the others a\nrace of gods. The fact is not lessened but emphasised because it can\nbehave like a race of demons. Its distinction is not an individual\nillusion, like one bird pluming itself on its own plumes; it is a solid\nand a many-sided thing. It is demonstrated in the very speculations that\nhave led to its being denied. That men, the gods of this lower world,\nare linked with it in various ways is true; but it is another aspect of\nthe same truth. That they grow as the grass grows and walk as the\nbeasts walk is a secondary necessity that sharpens the primary\ndistinction. It is like saying that a magician must after all have the\nappearance of a man; or that even the fairies could not dance without\nfeet. It has lately been the fashion to focus the mind entirely on these\nmild and subordinate resemblances and to forget the main fact\naltogether. It is customary to insist that man resembles the other\ncreatures. Yes; and that very resemblance he alone can see. The fish\ndoes not trace the fish-bone pattern in the fowls of the air; or the\nelephant and the emu compare skeletons. Even in the sense in which man\nis at one with the universe it is an utterly lonely universality. The\nvery sense that he is united with all things is enough to sunder him\nfrom all.\n\nLooking around him by this unique light, as lonely as the literal flame\nthat he alone has kindled, this demigod or demon of the visible world\nmakes that world visible. He sees around him a world of a certain style\nor type. It seems to proceed by certain rules or at least repetitions.\nHe sees a green architecture that builds itself without visible hands;\nbut which builds itself into a very exact plan or pattern, like a design\nalready drawn in the air by an invisible finger. It is not, as is now\nvaguely suggested, a vague thing. It is not a growth or a groping of\nblind life. Each seeks an end; a glorious and radiant end, even for\nevery daisy or dandelion we see in looking across the level of a common\nfield. In the very shape of things there is more than green growth;\nthere is the finality of the flower. It is a world of crowns. This\nimpression, whether or no it be an illusion, has so profoundly\ninfluenced this race of thinkers and masters of the material world, that\nthe vast majority have been moved to take a certain view of that world.\nThey have concluded, rightly or wrongly, that the world had a plan as\nthe tree seemed to have a plan; and an end and crown like the flower.\nBut so long as the race of thinkers was able to think, it was obvious\nthat the admission of this idea of a plan brought with it another\nthought more thrilling and even terrible. There was some one else, some\nstrange and unseen being, who had designed these things, if indeed they\nwere designed. There was a stranger who was also a friend; a mysterious\nbenefactor who had been before them and built up the woods and hills for\ntheir coming, and had kindled the sunrise against their rising, as a\nservant kindles a fire. Now this idea of a mind that gives a meaning to\nthe universe has received more and more confirmation within the minds of\nmen, by meditations and experiences much more subtle and searching than\nany such argument about the external plan of the world. But I am\nconcerned here with keeping the story in its most simple and even\nconcrete terms; and it is enough to say here that most men, including\nthe wisest men, have come to the conclusion that the world has such a\nfinal purpose and therefore such a first cause. But most men in some\nsense separated themselves from the wisest men, when it came to the\ntreatment of that idea. There came into existence two ways of treating\nthat idea; which between them make up most of the religious history of\nthe world.\n\nThe majority, like the minority, had this strong sense of a second\nmeaning in things; of a strange master who knew the secret of the world.\nBut the majority, the mob or mass of men, naturally tended to treat it\nrather in the spirit of gossip. The gossip, like all gossip, contained a\ngreat deal of truth and falsehood. The world began to tell itself tales\nabout the unknown being or his sons or servants or messengers. Some of\nthe tales may truly be called old wives\u2019 tales; as professing only to be\nvery remote memories of the morning of the world; myths about the baby\nmoon or the half-baked mountains. Some of them might more truly be\ncalled travellers\u2019 tales; as being curious but contemporary tales\nbrought from certain borderlands of experience; such as miraculous\ncures or those that bring whispers of what has happened to the dead.\nMany of them are probably true tales; enough of them are probably true\nto keep a person of real common sense more or less conscious that there\nreally is something rather marvellous behind the cosmic curtain. But in\na sense it is only going by appearances; even if the appearances are\ncalled apparitions. It is a matter of appearances--and disappearances.\nAt the most these gods are ghosts; that is, they are glimpses. For most\nof us they are rather gossip about glimpses. And for the rest, the whole\nworld is full of rumours, most of which are almost avowedly romances.\nThe great majority of the tales about gods and ghosts and the invisible\nking are told, if not for the sake of the tale, at least for the sake of\nthe topic. They are evidence of the eternal interest of the theme; they\nare not evidence of anything else, and they are not meant to be. They\nare mythology, or the poetry that is not bound in books--or bound in any\nother way.\n\nMeanwhile the minority, the sages or thinkers, had withdrawn apart and\nhad taken up an equally congenial trade. They were drawing up plans of\nthe world; of the world which all believed to have a plan. They were\ntrying to set forth the plan seriously and to scale. They were setting\ntheir minds directly to the mind that had made the mysterious world;\nconsidering what sort of a mind it might be and what its ultimate\npurpose might be. Some of them made that mind much more impersonal than\nmankind has generally made it; some simplified it almost to a blank; a\nfew, a very few, doubted it altogether. One or two of the more morbid\nfancied that it might be evil and an enemy; just one or two of the more\ndegraded in the other class worshipped demons instead of gods. But most\nof these theorists were theists: and they not only saw a moral plan in\nnature, but they generally laid down a moral plan for humanity. Most of\nthem were good men who did good work: and they were remembered and\nreverenced in various ways. They were scribes; and their scriptures\nbecame more or less holy scriptures. They were law-givers; and their\ntradition became not only legal but ceremonial. We may say that they\nreceived divine honours, in the sense in which kings and great captains\nin certain countries often received divine honours. In a word, wherever\nthe other popular spirit, the spirit of legend and gossip, could come\ninto play, it surrounded them with the more mystical atmosphere of the\nmyths. Popular poetry turned the sages into saints. But that was all it\ndid. They remained themselves; men never really forgot that they were\nmen, only made into gods in the sense that they were made into heroes.\nDivine Plato, like Divus Caesar, was a title and not a dogma. In Asia,\nwhere the atmosphere was more mythological, the man was made to look\nmore like a myth, but he remained a man. He remained a man of a certain\nspecial class or school of men, receiving and deserving great honour\nfrom mankind. It is the order or school of the philosophers; the men who\nhave set themselves seriously to trace the order across any apparent\nchaos in the vision of life. Instead of living on imaginative rumours\nand remote traditions and the tail-end of exceptional experiences about\nthe mind and meaning behind the world, they have tried in a sense to\nproject the primary purpose of that mind _a priori_. They have tried to\nput on paper a possible plan of the world; almost as if the world were\nnot yet made.\n\nRight in the middle of all these things stands up an enormous exception.\nIt is quite unlike anything else. It is a thing final like the trump of\ndoom, though it is also a piece of good news; or news that seems too\ngood to be true. It is nothing less than the loud assertion that this\nmysterious maker of the world has visited his world in person. It\ndeclares that really and even recently, or right in the middle of\nhistoric times, there did walk into the world this original invisible\nbeing; about whom the thinkers make theories and the mythologists hand\ndown myths; the Man Who Made the World. That such a higher personality\nexists behind all things had indeed always been implied by all the best\nthinkers, as well as by all the most beautiful legends. But nothing of\nthis sort had ever been implied in any of them. It is simply false to\nsay that the other sages and heroes had claimed to be that mysterious\nmaster and maker, of whom the world had dreamed and disputed. Not one of\nthem had ever claimed to be anything of the sort. Not one of their sects\nor schools had ever claimed that they had claimed to be anything of the\nsort. The most that any religious prophet had said was that he was the\ntrue servant of such a being. The most that any visionary had ever said\nwas that men might catch glimpses of the glory of that spiritual being;\nor much more often of lesser spiritual beings. The most that any\nprimitive myth had ever suggested was that the Creator was present at\nthe Creation. But that the Creator was present at scenes a little\nsubsequent to the supper-parties of Horace, and talked with\ntax-collectors and government officials in the detailed daily life of\nthe Roman Empire, and that this fact continued to be firmly asserted by\nthe whole of that great civilisation for more than a thousand\nyears--that is something utterly unlike anything else in nature. It is\nthe one great startling statement that man has made since he spoke his\nfirst articulate word, instead of barking like a dog. Its unique\ncharacter can be used as an argument against it as well as for it. It\nwould be easy to concentrate on it as a case of isolated insanity; but\nit makes nothing but dust and nonsense of comparative religion.\n\nIt came on the world with a wind and rush of running messengers\nproclaiming that apocalyptic portent; and it is not unduly fanciful to\nsay they are running still. What puzzles the world, and its wise\nphilosophers and fanciful pagan poets, about the priests and people of\nthe Catholic Church is that they still behave as if they were\nmessengers. A messenger does not dream about what his message might be,\nor argue about what it probably would be; he delivers it as it is. It is\nnot a theory or a fancy but a fact. It is not relevant to this\nintentionally rudimentary outline to prove in detail that it is a fact;\nbut merely to point out that these messengers do deal with it as men\ndeal with a fact. All that is condemned in Catholic tradition,\nauthority, and dogmatism and the refusal to retract and modify, are but\nthe natural human attributes of a man with a message relating to a fact.\nI desire to avoid in this last summary all the controversial\ncomplexities that may once more cloud the simple lines of that strange\nstory; which I have already called, in words that are much too weak, the\nstrangest story in the world. I desire merely to mark those main lines\nand specially to mark where the great line is really to be drawn. The\nreligion of the world, in its right proportions, is not divided into\nfine shades of mysticism or more or less rational forms of mythology. It\nis divided by the line between the men who are bringing that message and\nthe men who have not yet heard it, or cannot yet believe it.\n\nBut when we translate the terms of that strange tale back into the more\nconcrete and complicated terminology of our time, we find it covered by\nnames and memories of which the very familiarity is a falsification. For\ninstance, when we say that a country contains so many Moslems, we really\nmean that it contains so many monotheists; and we really mean, by that,\nthat it contains so many men; men with the old average assumption of\nmen--that the invisible ruler remains invisible. They hold it along with\nthe customs of a certain culture and under the simpler laws of a certain\nlaw-giver; but so they would if their law-giver were Lycurgus or Solon.\nThey testify to something which is a necessary and noble truth; but was\nnever a new truth. Their creed is not a new colour; it is the neutral\nand normal tint that is the background of the many-coloured life of man.\nMahomet did not, like the Magi, find a new star; he saw through his own\nparticular window a glimpse of the great grey field of the ancient\nstarlight. So when we say that the country contains so many Confucians\nor Buddhists, we mean that it contains so many Pagans whose prophets\nhave given them another and rather vaguer version of the invisible\npower; making it not only invisible but almost impersonal. When we say\nthat they also have temples and idols and priests and periodical\nfestivals, we simply mean that this sort of heathen is enough of a human\nbeing to admit the popular element of pomp and pictures and feasts and\nfairy-tales. We only mean that Pagans have more sense than Puritans. But\nwhat the gods are supposed to _be_, what the priests are commissioned to\n_say_, is not a sensational secret like what those running messengers of\nthe Gospel had to say. Nobody else except those messengers has any\nGospel; nobody else has any good news; for the simple reason that nobody\nelse has any news.\n\nThose runners gather impetus as they run. Ages afterwards they still\nspeak as if something had just happened. They have not lost the speed\nand momentum of messengers; they have hardly lost, as it were, the wild\neyes of witnesses. In the Catholic Church, which is the cohort of the\nmessage, there are still those headlong acts of holiness that speak of\nsomething rapid and recent; a self-sacrifice that startles the world\nlike a suicide. But it is not a suicide; it is not pessimistic; it is\nstill as optimistic as St. Francis of the flowers and birds. It is newer\nin spirit than the newest schools of thought; and it is almost certainly\non the eve of new triumphs. For these men serve a mother who seems to\ngrow more beautiful as new generations rise up and call her blessed. We\nmight sometimes fancy that the Church grows younger as the world grows\nold.\n\nFor this is the last proof of the miracle; that something so\nsupernatural should have become so natural. I mean that anything so\nunique when seen from the outside should only seem universal when seen\nfrom the inside. I have not minimised the scale of the miracle, as some\nof our milder theologians think it wise to do. Rather have I\ndeliberately dwelt on that incredible interruption, as a blow that broke\nthe very backbone of history. I have great sympathy with the\nmonotheists, the Moslems, or the Jews, to whom it seems a blasphemy; a\nblasphemy that might shake the world. But it did not shake the world; it\nsteadied the world. That fact, the more we consider it, will seem more\nsolid and more strange. I think it a piece of plain justice to all the\nunbelievers to insist upon the audacity of the act of faith that is\ndemanded of them. I willingly and warmly agree that it is, in itself, a\nsuggestion at which we might expect even the brain of the believer to\nreel, when he realised his own belief. But the brain of the believer\ndoes not reel; it is the brains of the unbelievers that reel. We can see\ntheir brains reeling on every side and into every extravagance of ethics\nand psychology; into pessimism and the denial of life; into pragmatism\nand the denial of logic; seeking their omens in nightmares and their\ncanons in contradictions; shrieking for fear at the far-off sight of\nthings beyond good and evil, or whispering of strange stars where two\nand two make five. Meanwhile this solitary thing that seems at first so\noutrageous in outline remains solid and sane in substance. It remains\nthe moderator of all these manias; rescuing reason from the Pragmatists\nexactly as it rescued laughter from the Puritans. I repeat that I have\ndeliberately emphasised its intrinsically defiant and dogmatic\ncharacter. The mystery is how anything so startling should have remained\ndefiant and dogmatic and yet become perfectly normal and natural. I have\nadmitted freely that, considering the incident in itself, a man who says\nhe is God may be classed with a man who says he is glass. But the man\nwho says he is glass is not a glazier making windows for all the world.\nHe does not remain for after ages as a shining and crystalline figure,\nin whose light everything is as clear as crystal.\n\nBut this madness has remained sane. The madness has remained sane when\neverything else went mad. The madhouse has been a house to which, age\nafter age, men are continually coming back as to a home. That is the\nriddle that remains; that anything so abrupt and abnormal should still\nbe found a habitable and hospitable thing. I care not if the sceptic\nsays it is a tall story; I cannot see how so toppling a tower could\nstand so long without foundation. Still less can I see how it could\nbecome, as it has become, the home of man. Had it merely appeared and\ndisappeared, it might possibly have been remembered or explained as the\nlast leap of the rage of illusion, the ultimate myth of the ultimate\nmood, in which the mind struck the sky and broke. But the mind did not\nbreak. It is the one mind that remains unbroken in the break-up of the\nworld. If it were an error, it seems as if the error could hardly have\nlasted a day. If it were a mere ecstasy, it would seem that such an\necstasy could not endure for an hour. It has endured for nearly two\nthousand years; and the world within it has been more lucid, more\nlevelheaded, more reasonable in its hopes, more healthy in its\ninstincts, more humorous and cheerful in the face of fate and death,\nthan all the world outside. For it was the soul of Christendom that came\nforth from the incredible Christ; and the soul of it was common sense.\nThough we dared not look on His face we could look on His fruits; and by\nHis fruits we should know Him. The fruits are solid and the fruitfulness\nis much more than a metaphor; and nowhere in this sad world are boys\nhappier in apple-trees, or men in more equal chorus singing as they\ntread the vine, than under the fixed flash of this instant and\nintolerant enlightenment; the lightning made eternal as the light.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX I\n\nON PREHISTORIC MAN\n\n\nIn a sense it would be better if history were more superficial. What is\nwanted is a reminder of the things that are seen so quickly that they\nare forgotten almost as quickly. The one moral of this book, in a manner\nof speaking, is that first thoughts are best. So a flash might reveal a\nlandscape; with the Eiffel Tower or the Matterhorn standing up in it as\nthey would never stand up again in the light of common day. I ended the\nbook with an image of everlasting lightning; in a very different sense,\nalas, this little flash has lasted only too long. But the method has\nalso certain practical disadvantages upon which I think it well to add\nthese two notes. It may seem to simplify too much and to ignore out of\nignorance. I feel this especially in the passage about the prehistoric\npictures; which is not concerned with all that the learned may learn\nfrom prehistoric pictures, but with the single point of what anybody\ncould learn from there being any prehistoric pictures at all. I am\nconscious that this attempt to express it in terms of innocence may\nexaggerate even my own ignorance. Without any pretence of scientific\nresearch, I should be sorry to have it thought that I knew no more than\nI had occasion to say in that passage of the stages into which primitive\nhumanity has been divided. I am aware, of course, that the story is\nelaborately stratified; and that there were many such stages before the\nCro-Magnan or any peoples with whom we associate such pictures. Indeed\nrecent studies about the Neanderthal and other races rather tend to\nrepeat the moral that is here most relevant. The notion, noted in these\npages, of something necessarily slow or late in the development of\nreligion will gain little indeed from these later revelations about the\nprecursors of the reindeer picture-maker. The learned appear to hold\nthat, whether the reindeer picture could be religious or not, the people\nthat lived before it were religious already. Men were already burying\ntheir dead with the care that is the significant sign of mystery and\nhope. This obviously brings us back to the same argument; an argument\nthat is not approached by any measurement of the earlier man\u2019s skull. It\nis little use to compare the head of the man with the head of the\nmonkey, if it certainly has never come into the head of the monkey to\nbury another monkey with nuts in his grave to help him towards a\nheavenly monkey-house. Talking of skulls, we all know the story of the\nfinding of a Cro-Magnan skull that is much larger and finer than a\nmodern skull. It is a very funny story; because an eminent evolutionist,\nawakening to a somewhat belated caution, protested against anything\nbeing inferred from one specimen. It is the duty of a solitary skull to\nprove that our fathers were our inferiors. Any solitary skull presuming\nto prove that they were superior is felt to be suffering from swelled\nhead.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX II\n\nON AUTHORITY AND ACCURACY\n\n\nIn this book, which is merely meant as a popular criticism of popular\nfallacies, often indeed of very vulgar errors, I feel that I have\nsometimes given an impression of scoffing at serious scientific work. It\nwas, however, the very reverse of my intention. I am not arguing with\nthe scientist who explains the elephant, but only with the sophist who\nexplains it away. And as a matter of fact the sophist plays to the\ngallery, as he did in ancient Greece. He appeals to the ignorant,\nespecially when he appeals to the learned. But I never meant my own\ncriticism to be an impertinence to the truly learned. We all owe an\ninfinite debt to the researches, especially the recent researches, of\nsingle-minded students in these matters; and I have only professed to\npick up things here and there from them. I have not loaded my abstract\nargument with quotations and references, which only make a man look more\nlearned than he is; but in some cases I find that my own loose fashion\nof allusion is rather misleading about my own meaning. The passage about\nChaucer and the Child Martyr is badly expressed; I only mean that the\nEnglish poet probably had in mind the English saint; of whose story he\ngives a sort of foreign version. In the same way two statements in the\nchapter on Mythology follow each other in such a way that it may seem to\nbe suggested that the second story about Monotheism refers to the\nSouthern Seas. I may explain that Atahocan belongs not to Australasian\nbut to American savages. So in the chapter called \u2018The Antiquity of\nCivilisation,\u2019 which I feel to be the most unsatisfactory, I have given\nmy own impression of the meaning of the development of Egyptian monarchy\ntoo much, perhaps, as if it were identical with the facts on which it\nwas founded, as given in works like those of Professor J. L. Myres. But\nthe confusion was not intentional; still less was there any intention to\nimply, in the remainder of the chapter, that the anthropological\nspeculations about races are less valuable than they undoubtedly are. My\ncriticism is strictly relative; I may say that the Pyramids are plainer\nthan the tracks of the desert, without denying that wiser men than I may\nsee tracks in what is to me the trackless sand.\n\n\nTranscriber's Note:\n\nTwo possible typos do match the printed editions:\n\n\"A lunatic may think he is omniscience, and a fool may talk as if he were omniscient. But Christ is in another sense omniscient if he not only knows, but knows that he knows.\"\n\n - \"omniscience\" seems awkward, but does make sense.\n\n\"But we may venture to say, in Mr. Mantalini's phrase, that this evolutionary history has no outline or is a demd outline.\"\n\n - It is unclear what \"demd\" should be.","title":"The Everlasting Man","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":107272}