and barter.  And thus art is degraded, made a thing of carnal desire—­a commodity of the exchange.  Yes, Sophon, to be instructive, to become a teaching instrument, the art-edifice must be cleansed from its abominations; and, with them, must the artist sweep out the improvements and ruthless restorations that hang on it like formless botches on peopled tapestry.  The multitude must be brought to stand face to face with the pious and earnest builders, to enjoy the severely simple, beautiful, aspiring, and solemn temple, in all its first purity, the same as they bequeathed it to them as their posterity.

Kalon. The peasant, upon acquaintance, quickly prefers wheaten bread to the black and sour mass that formerly served him:  and when true jewels are placed before him, counterfeit ones in his eyes soon lose their lustre, and become things which he scorns.  The multitude are teachable—­teachable as a child; but, like a child, they are self-willed and obstinate, and will learn in their own way, or not at all.  And, if the artist wishes to raise them unto a fit audience, he must consult their very waywardness, or his work will be a Penelope’s web of done and undone:  he must be to them not only cords of support staying their every weakness against sin and temptation, but also, tendrils of delight winding around them.  But I cannot understand why regeneration can flow to them through sacred art alone.  All pure art is sacred art.  And the artist having soul as well as nature—­the lodestar as well as the lodestone—­to steer his path by—­and seeing that he must circle earth—­it matters little from what quarter he first points his course; all that is necessary is that he go as direct as possible, his knowledge keeping him from quicksands and sunken rocks.

Christian. Yes, Kalon;—­and, to compare things humble—­though conceived in the same spirit of love—­with things mighty, the artist, if he desires to inform the people thoroughly, must imitate Christ, and, like him, stoop down to earth and become flesh of their flesh; and his work should be wrought out with all his soul and strength in the same world-broad charity, and truth, and virtue, and be, for himself as well as for them, a justification for his teaching.  But all art, simply because it is pure and perfect, cannot, for those grounds alone, be called sacred:  Christian, it may, and that justly; for only since Christ taught have morals been considered a religion.  Christian and sacred art bear that relation to each other that the circle bears to its generating point; the first is only volume, the last is power:  and though the first—­as the world includes God—­includes with it the last, still, the last is the greatest, for it makes that which includes it:  thus all pure art is Christian, but not all is sacred.  Christian art comprises the earth and its humanities, and, by implication, God and Christ also; and sacred art is the emanating idea—­the central causating power—­the jasper throne, whereon sits Christ, surrounded by the prophets, apostles, and saints, administering judgement, wisdom, and holiness.  In this sense, then, the art you would call sacred is not sacred, but Christian:  and, as all perfect art is Christian, regeneration necessarily can only flow thence; and thus it is, as you say, that, from whatever quarter the artist steers his course, he steers aright.