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No!  The decay of the old Christmas spirit among adults is undeniable, and its cause is fairly plain.  It is due to the labours of a set of idealists—­men who cared not for money, nor for glory, nor for anything except their ideal.  Their ideal was to find out the truth concerning nature and concerning human history; and they sacrificed all—­they sacrificed the peace of mind of whole generations—­to the pleasure of slaking their ardour for truth.  For them the most important thing in the world was the satisfaction of their curiosity.  They would leave naught alone; and they scorned consequences.  Useless to cry to them:  “That is holy.  Touch it not!” I mean the great philosophers and men of science—­especially the geologists—­of the nineteenth century.  I mean such utterly pure-minded men as Lyell, Spencer, Darwin and Huxley.  They inaugurated the mighty age of doubt and scepticism.  They made it impossible to believe all manner of things which before them none had questioned.  The movement spread until uneasiness was everywhere in the realm of thought, and people walked about therein fearsomely, as in a land subject to earthquakes.  It was as if people had said:  “We don’t know what will topple next.  Let’s raze everything to the ground, and then we shall feel safer.”  And there came a moment after which nobody could ever look at a picture of the Nativity in the old way.  Pictures of the Nativity were admired perhaps as much as ever, but for the exquisite beauty of their naivete, the charm of their old-world simplicity, not as artistic renderings of fact.

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An age of scepticism has its faults, like any other age, though certain persons have pretended the contrary.  Having been compelled to abandon its belief in various statements of alleged fact, it lumps principles and ideals with alleged facts, and hastily decides not to believe in anything at all.  It gives up faith, it despises faith, in spite of the warning of its greatest philosophers, including Herbert Spencer, that faith of some sort is necessary to a satisfactory existence in a universe full of problems which science admits it can never solve.  None were humbler than the foremost scientists about the narrowness of the field of knowledge, as compared with the immeasurability of the field of faith.  But the warning has been ignored, as warnings nearly always are.  Faith is at a discount.  And the qualities which go with faith are at a discount; such as enthusiasm, spontaneity, ebullition, lyricism, and self-expression in general.  Sentimentality is held in such horror that people are afraid even of sentiment.  Their secret cry is:  “Give us something in which we can believe.”

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