for he was both the patron of poetry and the patron of healing.  Of necessary dogmas and a special creed I shall speak later.  But that transcendentalism by which all men live has primarily much the position of the sun in the sky.  We are conscious of it as of a kind of splendid confusion; it is something both shining and shapeless, at once a blaze and a blur.  But the circle of the moon is as clear and unmistakable, as recurrent and inevitable, as the circle of Euclid on a blackboard.  For the moon is utterly reasonable; and the moon is the mother of lunatics and has given to them all her name.

CHAPTER III.—­The Suicide of Thought

The phrases of the street are not only forcible but subtle:  for a figure of speech can often get into a crack too small for a definition.  Phrases like “put out” or “off colour” might have been coined by Mr. Henry James in an agony of verbal precision.  And there is no more subtle truth than that of the everyday phrase about a man having “his heart in the right place.”  It involves the idea of normal proportion; not only does a certain function exist, but it is rightly related to other functions.  Indeed, the negation of this phrase would describe with peculiar accuracy the somewhat morbid mercy and perverse tenderness of the most representative moderns.  If, for instance, I had to describe with fairness the character of Mr. Bernard Shaw, I could not express myself more exactly than by saying that he has a heroically large and generous heart; but not a heart in the right place.  And this is so of the typical society of our time.

The modern world is not evil; in some ways the modern world is far too good.  It is full of wild and wasted virtues.  When a religious scheme is shattered (as Christianity was shattered at the Reformation), it is not merely the vices that are let loose.  The vices are, indeed, let loose, and they wander and do damage.  But the virtues are let loose also; and the virtues wander more wildly, and the virtues do more terrible damage.  The modern world is full of the old Christian virtues gone mad.  The virtues have gone mad because they have been isolated from each other and are wandering alone.  Thus some scientists care for truth; and their truth is pitiless.  Thus some humanitarians only care for pity; and their pity (I am sorry to say) is often untruthful.  For example, Mr. Blatchford attacks Christianity because he is mad on one Christian virtue:  the merely mystical and almost irrational virtue of charity.  He has a strange idea that he will make it easier to forgive sins by saying that there are no sins to forgive.  Mr. Blatchford is not only an early Christian, he is the only early Christian who ought really to have been eaten by lions.  For in his case the pagan accusation is really true:  his mercy would mean mere anarchy.  He really is the enemy of the human race—­because he is so human.  As the other extreme, we may take