* April, 1894.
Most of our readers will recollect the controversy that was carried on,
more than twelve months ago, in the columns of the _Daily Chronicle_.
Mr. Robert Buchanan had published his new poem, "The Wandering Jew," in
which Jesus Christ was depicted as a forlorn vagrant, sick of the evil
and infamy wrought in his name, and for which he was historically though
not intentionally responsible. This poem was reviewed by Mr. Richard
Le Gallienne, a younger poet, who is also a professional critic in
the _Star_, where his weekly _causerie_ on books and their writers is
printed over the signature of "Logroller." Mr. Le Gallienne took Mr.
Buchanan to task for his hostility to "the Christianity of Christ," the
nature of which was not defined nor even made intelligible. Mr. Buchanan
replied with his usual impetuosity, declining to have anything to do
with Christianity except in the way of opposition, and laughing at the
sentimental dilution which his young friend was attempting to pass off
as the original, unadulterated article. Mr. Le Gallienne retorted
with youthful self-confidence that Mr. Buchanan did not understand
Christianity. Other writers then joined in the fray, and the result was
the famous "Is Christianity Played Out?" discussion in the _Chronicle_.
It was kept going for a week or two, until parliament met and Jesus
Christ had to make way for William Ewart Gladstone.
Mr. Le Gallienne hinted that he was preparing a kind of manifesto on the
subject of Christianity. The world was to be informed at length as to
the "essential" nature of that religion. Divines and Freethinkers had
alike misunderstood and misrepresented it. After a lapse of nearly two
thousand years the "straight tip," if we may so express it, was to come
from "Logroller." He would soon speak and set the weary world at rest
with the triumphant proclamation of the real, imperishable religion of
Jesus Christ. Presently it was announced, in judicious puffs, that the
manifesto was growing under Mr. Le Gallienne's hands. It would take the
form of a book, to be entitled _The Religion of a Literary Man_. The
title had little relation to the Galilean carpenter or his fishing
disciples. Nor was it in any sense happy. It smacked too much of the
"shop." Sir Thomas Browne, it is true, wrote a "Religio Medici," and
gave a physician's view of religion; but he was a man of rare genius as
well as quaintness, and allowance was to be made for his idiosyncrasy.
Besides, there is a certain speciality in a doctor's way of looking at
religion, if he compares his knowledge with his faith. But what is the
speciality of a literary man on this particular subject? Other trades
and professions might as well follow suit, and give us "The Religion
of a Porkbutcher," or "The Faith of a Farmer," or "The Creed of a
Constable." Even the "Belief of a Barman" is not beyond the scope of a
rational probability.
Mr. Le Gallienne's long-promised evangel "burst upon the town" a month
ago. The "Religio Scriptoris"--which a puzzler at Latin might render as
"The Religion of a Scribbler"--made a dainty appearance. The title-page
was in two colors, with a pretty arabesque border. The type throughout
was neatly leaded, with a column for summaries in the old fashion, and a
wide margin of imitation hand-made paper. The book was pretty, like the
writing, and opposite the title-page was a pretty verse:--
'The old gods pass'--the cry goes round,
'Lo! how their temples strew the ground';
Nor mark we where, on new-fledged wings,
Faith, like the phoenix, soars and sings.
Yes, it is _all_ pretty. There is an air of dilettanteism about the
whole production. It will probably be grateful to the sentimentalists
who, despite their scepticism, still cling to the name of Christian; but
we imagine it will rather irritate than satisfy other readers of more
strenuous and scrupulous intelligence.
The book is dedicated to "A. E. Fletcher, Esq.," editor of the _Daily
Chronicle_, who may well be proud (not of this dedication, but) of the
high position to which he has raised that organ of Radical principles.
Mr. Le Gallienne refers to the old controversy in the _Chronicle_
as "raising an important question--to me the most important of
questions--as to whether Christianity was really so obsolete to-day as
its opponents glibly assume." "I could not stand by," he continues, "and
see the sublime figure of Christ vulgarised to make an Adelphi holiday."
For this reason, he modestly says, he "ventured to play David to Mr.
Buchanan's Philistine." Mr. Fletcher allowed him a battlefield and
"thence sprung [he means _sprang_] the following pages." Thus much for
the origin of the work, and now for its character. "I have condensed in
its pages," the writer says, "much religious experience, and long
and ardent thought on spiritual matters." No doubt he believes this
statement, but is it true? Is not the writer too young to have had "much
experience"? and where are the traces of the "long and ardent thought"?
Mr. Le Gallienne might reply that his thought _has_ been long and
ardent, whatever the value of the result; but, in that case, he is not
cut out for a thinker; and, indeed, he seems aware of the fact, for he
often prints "thinker" in inverted commas to show his disdain of the
article. His "one cure" for "modern doubt" is to "think less and feel
more," and some may be tempted to remark that he has certainly followed
the first part of the prescription.
Mr. Le Gallienne is a long time in coming to "the sublime figure of
Christ." He has a considerable ground to cover before he undertakes the
cleaning and painting of the old idol. First of all, he has to establish
his native superiority over the common herd. He divides the world into
"natural spiritualists and materialists." The first have a Spiritual
Sense (capitals, please), while the second have not; and "it is obvious
that the large majority of mankind belong to the latter class." Mr. Le
Gallienne, of course, belongs to the former. He is a member of Nature's
(or God's) aristocracy. It is for them that he writes, although on his
own supposition the task is superfluous. The common herd of materialists
are warned against wasting their time in reading him--which also
is somewhat superfluous. The fault of materialists--or rather their
misfortune, for they are born that way--is that they are such sticklers
for facts, and have "no conception of aught they cannot touch and
handle, eat, or see through a microscope." Not, indeed, that Mr. Le
Gallienne objects to eating, for instance; he speaks of it with wet
lips, and looks down upon the Vegetarian as a person whose "spiritual
insight" is not "mercifully intermittent," especially at meal times. But
barring meal times, and other fleshly occasions when the spiritualists
join the materialists, the former habitually see facts as "transitory
symbols" of "transfiguring mysteries," so that the whole world (and
perhaps the moon) is "palpitating with occult significance."
For instance. A materialist eats rook-pie, and cares for nothing else
but a sound digestion. The spiritualist also eats rook-pie, but after
the repast he will sentimentalise over dead rooks, without losing his
belief in an all-merciful Providence. He will assure you, indeed, and
try to convince you, that the shooting of rooks and the pulling off
their heads to prevent the rook-pie from tasting bitter, is simply
one of the "terrible and beautiful mysteries" which make the world
so interesting--especially to gentlemen of comprehensive natures, who
combine a taste for rook-pie with a taste for optimistic theology.
When we come to test Mr. Le Gallienne's conception of mystery, we find
it to be nothing but muddle. The whole mystery of life, he says, may be
found in a curve: as thus, Why isn't it straight?
"Color in itself is a mystery, and are there not trance-like moments
when suddenly we ask ourselves, why a _colored_ world, why a _blue_ sky,
and _green_ grass, why not _vice versa_, or why any color at all?"
Mr. Le Gallienne is evidently prepared to stand aghast at the fact that
twice two make four. Why _always_ four? Why not three to-day and seven
to-morrow? Yea, and echo answers, Why?