found to be true.  This was exactly one of the paradoxes in which sceptics found the creed wrong; and in this I had found it right.  Madly as Christians might love the martyr or hate the suicide, they never felt these passions more madly than I had felt them long before I dreamed of Christianity.  Then the most difficult and interesting part of the mental process opened, and I began to trace this idea darkly through all the enormous thoughts of our theology.  The idea was that which I had outlined touching the optimist and the pessimist; that we want not an amalgam or compromise, but both things at the top of their energy; love and wrath both burning.  Here I shall only trace it in relation to ethics.  But I need not remind the reader that the idea of this combination is indeed central in orthodox theology.  For orthodox theology has specially insisted that Christ was not a being apart from God and man, like an elf, nor yet a being half human and half not, like a centaur, but both things at once and both things thoroughly, very man and very God.  Now let me trace this notion as I found it.

All sane men can see that sanity is some kind of equilibrium; that one may be mad and eat too much, or mad and eat too little.  Some moderns have indeed appeared with vague versions of progress and evolution which seeks to destroy the meson or balance of Aristotle.  They seem to suggest that we are meant to starve progressively, or to go on eating larger and larger breakfasts every morning for ever.  But the great truism of the meson remains for all thinking men, and these people have not upset any balance except their own.  But granted that we have all to keep a balance, the real interest comes in with the question of how that balance can be kept.  That was the problem which Paganism tried to solve:  that was the problem which I think Christianity solved and solved in a very strange way.

Paganism declared that virtue was in a balance; Christianity declared it was in a conflict:  the collision of two passions apparently opposite.  Of course they were not really inconsistent; but they were such that it was hard to hold simultaneously.  Let us follow for a moment the clue of the martyr and the suicide; and take the case of courage.  No quality has ever so much addled the brains and tangled the definitions of merely rational sages.  Courage is almost a contradiction in terms.  It means a strong desire to live taking the form of a readiness to die.  “He that will lose his life, the same shall save it,” is not a piece of mysticism for saints and heroes.  It is a piece of everyday advice for sailors or mountaineers.  It might be printed in an Alpine guide or a drill book.  This paradox is the whole principle of courage; even of quite earthly or quite brutal courage.  A man cut off by the sea may save his life if he will risk it on the precipice.