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{{title
{{TextQuality|75%}}{{title
|title = The Everlasting Man
|title = The Everlasting Man
|author = Gilbert Keith Chesterton
|author = Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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* Prefatory Note
* Prefatory Note
* [[The Everlasting Man/Introduction|Introduction: The Plan Of This Book]]
* [[The Everlasting Man/Introduction|Introduction: The Plan Of This Book]]
* Part I: On the Creature Called Man
* '''Part I: On the Creature Called Man'''
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I, 1|I. The Man in the Cave]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I/1|I. The Man in the Cave]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I, 2|II. Professors and Prehistoric Men]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I/2|II. Professors and Prehistoric Men]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I, 3|III. The Antiquity of Civilisation]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I/3|III. The Antiquity of Civilisation]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I, 4|IV. God and Comparative Religion]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I/4|IV. God and Comparative Religion]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I, 5|V. Man and Mythologies]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I/5|V. Man and Mythologies]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I, 6|VI. The Demons and the Philosophers]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I/6|VI. The Demons and the Philosophers]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I, 7|VII. The War of the Gods and Demons]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I/7|VII. The War of the Gods and Demons]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I, 8|VIII. The End of the World]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part I/8|VIII. The End of the World]]
* Part II: On the Man Called Christ
* '''Part II: On the Man Called Christ'''
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part II, 1|I. The God in the Cave]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part II/1|I. The God in the Cave]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part II, 2|II. The Riddles of the Gospel]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part II/2|II. The Riddles of the Gospel]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part II, 3|III. The Strangest Story in the World]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part II/3|III. The Strangest Story in the World]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part II, 4|IV. The Witness of the Heretics]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part II/4|IV. The Witness of the Heretics]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part II, 5|V. The Escape from Paganism]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part II/5|V. The Escape from Paganism]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part II, 6|VI. The Five Deaths of the Faith]]
** [[The Everlasting Man/Part II/6|VI. The Five Deaths of the Faith]]
* Conclusion: The Summary Of This Book
* [[The Everlasting Man/Conclusion and Appendices|Conclusion and Appendices]]
* Appendix I. On Prehistoric Man
** Conclusion: The Summary Of This Book
* Appendix II. On Authority and Accuracy
** Appendix I. On Prehistoric Man
** Appendix II. On Authority and Accuracy


==Prefatory Note==
==Prefatory Note==
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can with the facts which the specialists provide.
can with the facts which the specialists provide.


==Introduction: The Plan Of This Book==
[[Category:Gilbert Keith Chesterton]]
 
[[Category:1925]]
There are two ways of getting home; and one of them is to stay there. The
{{PD-old-70}}
other is to walk round the whole world till we come back to the same place;
{{DEFAULTSORT:Everlasting Man}}
and I tried to trace such a journey in a story I once wrote. It is, however, a
relief to turn from that topic to another story that I never wrote. Like every
book I never wrote, it is by far the best book I have ever written. It is only too
probable that I shall never write it, so I will use it symbolically here; for it was
a symbol of the same truth. I conceived it as a romance of those vast valleys
with sloping sides, like those along which the ancient White Horses of Wessex
are scrawled along the flanks of the hills. It concerned some boy whose farm
or cottage stood on such a slope, and who went on his travels to find
something, such as the effigy and grave of some giant; and when he was far
enough from home he looked back and saw that his own farm and kitchengarden,
shining flat on the hill-side like the colours and quarterings of a shield,
were but parts of some such gigantic figure, on which he had always lived, but
which was too large and too close to be seen. That, I think, is a true picture of
the progress of any really independent intelligence today; and that is the point
of this book.
 
The point of this book, in other words, is that the next best thing to being
really inside Christendom is to be really outside it. And a particular point of it
is that the popular critics of Christianity are not really outside it. They are on a
debatable ground, in every sense of the term. They are doubtful in their very
doubts. Their criticism has taken on a curious tone; as of a random and
illiterate heckling. Thus they make current and anti-clerical cant as a sort of
small-talk. They will complain of parsons dressing like parsons; as if we
should be any more free if all the police who shadowed or collared us were
plain clothes detectives. Or they will complain that a sermon cannot be
interrupted, and call a pulpit a coward's castle; though they do not call an
editor's office a coward's castle. It would be unjust both to journalists and
priests; but it would be much truer of journalist. The clergyman appears in
person and could easily be kicked as he came out of church; the journalist
conceals even his name so that nobody can kick him. They write wild and
pointless articles and letters in the press about why the churches are empty,
without even going there to find out if they are empty, or which of them are
empty. Their suggestions are more vapid and vacant than the most insipid
curate in a three-act farce, and move us to comfort him after the manner of the
curate in the Bab Ballads; 'Your mind is not so blank as that of Hopley Porter.'
So we may truly say to the very feeblest cleric: 'Your mind is not so blank as
that of Indignant Layman or Plain Man or Man in the Street, or any of your
critics in the newspapers; for they have not the most shadowy notion of what
they want themselves. Let alone of what you ought to give them.' They will
suddenly turn round and revile the Church for not having prevented the War,
which they themselves did not want to prevent; and which nobody had ever
professed to be able to prevent, except some of that very school of progressive
and cosmopolitan sceptics who are the chief enemies of the Church. It was the
anti-clerical and agnostic world that was always prophesying the advent of
universal peace; it is that world that was, or should have been, abashed and
confounded by the advent of universal war. As for the general view that the
Church was discredited by the War--they might as well say that the Ark was
discredited by the Flood. When the world goes wrong, it proves rather that the
Church is right. The Church is justified, not because her children do not sin,
but because they do. But that marks their mood about the whole religious
tradition they are in a state of reaction against it. It is well with the boy when
he lives on his father's land; and well with him again when he is far enough
from it to look back on it and see it as a whole. But these people have got into
an intermediate state, have fallen into an intervening valley from which they
can see neither the heights beyond them nor the heights behind. They cannot
get out of the penumbra of Christian controversy. They cannot be Christians
and they can not leave off being Anti-Christians. Their whole atmosphere is
the atmosphere of a reaction: sulks, perversity, petty criticism. They still live
in the shadow of the faith and have lost the light of the faith.
Now the best relation to our spiritual home is to be near enough to love it. But
the next best is to be far enough away not to hate it. It is the contention of
these pages that while the best judge of Christianity is a Christian, the next
best judge would be something more like a Confucian. The worst judge of all
is the man now most ready with his judgements; the ill-educated Christian
turning gradually into the ill-tempered agnostic, entangled in the end of a feud
of which he never understood the beginning, blighted with a sort of hereditary
boredom with he knows not what, and already weary of hearing what he has
never heard. He does not judge Christianity calmly as a Confucian would; he
does not judge it as he would judge Confucianism. He cannot by an effort of
fancy set the Catholic Church thousands of miles away in strange skies of
morning and judge it as impartially as a Chinese pagoda. It is said that the
great St. Francis Xavier, who very nearly succeeded in setting up the Church
there as a tower overtopping all pagodas, failed partly because his followers
were accused by their fellow missionaries of representing the Twelve Apostles
with the garb or attributes of Chinamen. But it would be far better to see them
as Chinamen, and judge them fairly as Chinamen, than to see them as
featureless idols merely made to be battered by iconoclasts; or rather as
cockshies to be pelted by empty-handed cockneys. It would be better to see the
whole thing as a remote Asiatic cult; the mitres of its bishops as the towering
head dresses of mysterious bonzes; its pastoral staffs as the sticks twisted like
serpents carried in some Asiatic procession; to see the prayer book as fantastic
as the prayer-wheel and the Cross as crooked as the Swastika. Then at least we
should not lose our temper as some of the sceptical critics seem to lose their
temper, not to mention their wits. Their anti-clericalism has become an
atmosphere, an atmosphere of negation and hostility from which they cannot
escape. Compared with that, it would be better to see the whole thing as
something belonging to another continent, or to another planet. It would be
more philosophical to stare indifferently at bonzes than to be perpetually and
pointlessly grumbling at bishops. It would be better to walk past a church as if
it were a pagoda than to stand permanently in the porch, impotent either to go
inside and help or to go outside and forget. For those in whom a mere reaction
has thus become an obsession, I do seriously recommend the imaginative
effort of conceiving the Twelve Apostles as Chinamen. In other words, I
recommend these critics to try to do as much justice to Christian saints as if
they were Pagan sages.
 
But with this we come to the final and vital point I shall try to show in these
pages that when we do make this imaginative effort to see the whole thing
from the outside, we find that it really looks like what is traditionally said
about it inside. It is exactly when the boy gets far enough off to see the giant
that he sees that he really is a giant. It is exactly when we do at last see the
Christian Church afar under those clear and level eastern skies that we see that
it is really the Church of Christ. To put it shortly, the moment we are really
impartial about it, we know why people are partial to it. But this second
proposition requires more serious discussion; and I shall here set myself to
discuss it.
 
As soon as I had clearly in my mind this conception of something solid in the
solitary and unique character of the divine story, it struck me that there was
exactly the same strange and yet solid character in the human story that had
led up to it; because that human story also had a root that was divine. I mean
that just as the Church seems to grow more remarkable when it is fairly
compared with the common religious life of mankind, so mankind itself seems
to grow more remarkable when we compare it with the common life of nature.
And I have noticed that most modern history is driven to something like
sophistry, first to soften the sharp transition from animals to men, and then to
soften the sharp transition from heathens to Christians. Now the more we
really read in a realistic spirit of those two transitions the sharper we shall find
them to be. It is because the critics are not detached that they do not see this
detachment; it is because they are not looking at things in a dry light that they
cannot see the difference between black and white. It is because they are in a
particular mood of reaction and revolt that they have a motive for making out
that all the white is dirty grey and the black not so black as it is painted. I do
not say there are not human excuses for their revolt; I do not say it is not in
some ways sympathetic; what I say is that it is not in any way scientific. An
iconoclast may be indignant; an iconoclast may be justly indignant; but an
iconoclast is not impartial. And it is stark hypocrisy to pretend that nine-tenths
of the higher critics and scientific evolutionists and professors of comparative
religion are in the least impartial. Why should they be impartial, what is being
impartial, when the whole world is at war about whether one thing is a
devouring superstition or a divine hope? I do not pretend to be impartial in the
sense that the final act of faith fixes a man's mind because it satisfies his mind.
But I do profess to be a great deal more impartial than they are; in the sense
that I can tell the story fairly, with some sort of imaginative justice to all sides;
and they cannot. I do profess to be impartial in the sense that I should be
ashamed to talk such nonsense about the Lama of Thibet as they do about the
Pope of Rome, or to have as little sympathy with Julian the Apostate as they
have with the Society of Jesus. They are not impartial; they never by any
chance hold the historical scales even; and above all they are never impartial
upon this point of evolution and transition. They suggest everywhere the grey
gradations of twilight, because they believe it is the twilight of the gods. I
propose to maintain that whether or no it is the twilight of gods, it is not the
daylight of men.
 
I maintain that when brought out into the daylight these two things look
altogether strange and unique; and that it is only in the false twilight of an
imaginary period of transition that they can be made to look in the least like
anything else. The first of these is the creature called man and the second is the
man called Christ. I have therefore divided this book into two parts: the former
being a sketch of the main adventure of the human race in so far as it remained
heathen; and the second a summary of the real difference that was made by it
becoming Christian. Both motives necessitate a certain method, a method
which is not very easy to manage, and perhaps even less easy to define or
defend.
 
In order to strike, in the only sane or possible sense, the note of impartiality, it
is necessary to touch the nerve of novelty. I mean that in one sense we see
things fairly when we see them first. That, I may remark in passing, is why
children generally have very little difficulty about the dogmas of the Church.
But the Church, being a highly practical thing for working and fighting, is
necessarily a thing for men and not merely for children. There must be in it for
working purposes a great deal of tradition, of familiarity, and even of routine.
So long as its fundamentals are sincerely felt, this may even be the saner
condition. But when its fundamentals are doubted, as at present, we must try to
recover the candour and wonder of the child; the unspoilt realism and
objectivity of innocence. Or if we cannot do that, we must try at least to shake
off the cloud of mere custom and see the thing as new, if only by seeing it as
unnatural. Things that may well be familiar so long as familiarity breeds
affection had much better become unfamiliar when familiarity breeds
contempt. For in connection with things so great as are here considered,
whatever our view of them, contempt must be a mistake. Indeed contempt
must be an illusion. We must invoke the most wild and soaring sort of
imagination; the imagination that can see what is there.
The only way to suggest the point is by an example of something, indeed of
almost anything, that has been considered beautiful or wonderful. George
Wyndham once told me that he had seen one of the first aeroplanes rise for the
first time and it was very wonderful but not so wonderful as a horse allowing a
man to ride on him. Somebody else has said that a fine man on a fine horse is
the noblest bodily object in the world. Now, so long as people feel this in the
right way, all is well. The first and best way of appreciating it is to come of
people with a tradition of treating animals properly; of men in the right
relation to horses. A boy who remembers his father who rode a horse, who
rode it well and treated it well, will know that the relation can be satisfactory
and will be satisfied. He will be all the more indignant at the ill-treatment of
horses because he knows how they ought to be treated; but he will see nothing
but what is normal in a man riding on a horse. He will not listen to the great
modern philosopher who explains to him that the horse ought to be riding on
the man. He will not pursue the pessimist fancy of Swift and say that men
must be despised as monkeys and horses worshipped as gods. And horse and
man together making an image that is to him human and civilised, it will be
easy, as it were, to lift horse and man together into something heroic or
symbolical; like a vision of St. George in the clouds. The fable of the winged
horse will not be wholly unnatural to him: and he will know why Ariosto set
many a Christian hero in such an airy saddle, and made him the rider of the
sky. For the horse has really been lifted up along with the man in the wildest
fashion in the very word we use when we speak 'chivalry.' The very name of
the horse has been given to the highest mood and moment of the man; so that
we might almost say that the handsomest compliment to a man is to call him a
horse.
 
But if a man has got into a mood in which he is not able to feel this sort of
wonder, then his cure must begin right at the other end. We must now suppose
that he has drifted into a dull mood, in which somebody sitting on a horse
means no more than somebody sitting on a chair. The wonder of which
Wyndham spoke, the beauty that made the thing seem an equestrian statue, the
meaning of the more chivalric horseman, may have become to him merely a
convention and a bore. Perhaps they have been merely a fashion; perhaps they
have gone out of fashion; perhaps they have been talked about too much or
talked about in the wrong way; perhaps it was then difficult to care for horses
without the horrible risk of being horsy. Anyhow, he has got into a condition
when he cares no more for a horse than for a towel-horse. His grandfather's
charge at Balaclava seems to him as dull and dusty as the album containing
such family portraits. Such a person has not really become enlightened about
the album; on the contrary, he has only become blind with the dust. But when
he has reached that degree of blindness, he will not be able to look at a horse
or a horseman at all until he has seen the whole thing as a thing entirely
unfamiliar and almost unearthly.
 
Out of some dark forest under some ancient dawn there must come towards us,
with lumbering yet dancing motions, one of the very queerest of the
prehistoric creatures. We must see for the first time the strangely small head
set on a neck not only longer but thicker than itself, as the face of a gargoyle is
thrust out upon a gutter-spout, the one disproportionate crest of hair running
along the ridge of that heavy neck like a beard in the wrong place; the feet,
each like a solid club of horn, alone amid the feet of so many cattle; so that the
true fear is to be found in showing, not the cloven, but the uncloven hoof. Nor
is it mere verbal fancy to see him thus as a unique monster; for in a sense a
monster means what is unique, and he is really unique. But the point is that
when we thus see him as the first man saw him, we begin once more to have
some imaginative sense of what it meant when the first man rode him. In such
a dream he may seem ugly, but he does not seem unimpressive; and certainly
that two-legged dwarf who could get on top of him will not seem
unimpressive. By a longer and more erratic road we shall come back to the
same marvel of the man and the horse; and the marvel will be, if possible,
even more marvellous. We shall have again a glimpse of St. George; the more
glorious because St. George is not riding on the horse, but rather riding on the
dragon.
 
In this example, which I have taken merely because it is an example, it will be
noted that I do not say that the nightmare seen by the first man of the forest is
either more true or more wonderful than the normal mare of the stable seen by
the civilised person who can appreciate what is normal. Of the two extremes, I
think on the whole that the traditional grasp of truth is the better. But I say that
the truth is found at one or other of these two extremes, and is lost in the
intermediate condition of mere fatigue and forgetfulness of tradition. In other
words, I say it is better to see a horse as a monster than to see it only as a slow
substitute for a motor-car. If we have got into that state of mind about a horse
as something stale, it is far better to be frightened of a horse because it is a
good deal too fresh.
 
Now, as it is with the monster that is called a horse, so it is with the monster
that is called a man. Of course the best condition of all, in my opinion, is
always to have regarded man as he is regarded in my philosophy. He who
holds the Christian and Catholic view of human nature will feel certain that it
is a universal and therefore a sane view, and will be satisfied. But if he has lost
the sane vision, he can only get it back by something very like a mad vision;
that is, by seeing man as a strange animal and realising how strange an animal
he is. But just as seeing the horse as a prehistoric prodigy ultimately led back
to, and not away from, an admiration for the mastery of man, so the really
detached consideration of the curious career of man will lead back to, and not
away from, the ancient faith in the dark designs of God. In other words, it is
exactly when we do see how queer the quadruped is that we praise the man
who mounts him; and exactly when we do see how queer the biped is that we
praise the Providence that made him. In short, it is the purpose of this
introduction to maintain this thesis: that it is exactly when we do regard man
as an animal that we know he is not an animal. It is precisely when we do try
to picture him as a sort of horse on its hind legs, that we suddenly realise that
he must be something as miraculous as the winged horse that towered up into
the clouds of heaven. All roads lead to Rome, all ways lead round again to the
central and civilised philosophy, including this road through elf-land and
topsyturvydom. But it may be that it is better never to have left the land of the
reasonable tradition, where men ride lightly upon horses and are mighty
hunters before the Lord. So also in the specially Christian case we have to
react against the heavy bias of fatigue. It is almost impossible to make the
facts vivid, because the facts are familiar; and for fallen men it is often true
that familiarity is fatigue. I am convinced that if we could tell the supernatural
story of Christ word for word as of a Chinese hero, call him the Son of Heaven
instead of the Son of God, and trace his rayed nimbus in the gold tread of
Chinese embroideries or the gold lacquer of Chinese pottery, instead of in the
gold leaf of our own old Catholic paintings, there would be a unanimous
testimony to the spiritual purity of the story. We should hear nothing then of
the injustice of substitution or the illogicality of atonement, of the superstitious
exaggeration of the burden of sin or the impossible insolence of an invasion of
the laws of nature. We should admire the chivalry of the Chinese conception
of a god who fell from the sky to fight the dragons and save the wicked from
being devoured by their own fault and folly. We should admire the subtlety of
the Chinese view of life, which perceives that all human imperfection is in
very truth a crying imperfection. We should admire the Chinese esoteric and
superior wisdom, which said there are higher cosmic laws than the laws we
know; we believe every common Indian conjurer who chooses to come to us
and talk in the same style. If Christianity were only a new oriental fashion, it
would never be reproached with being an old and oriental faith. I do not
propose in this book to follow the alleged example of St. Francis Xavier with
the opposite imaginative intention, and turn the Twelve Apostles into
Mandarins; not so much to make them look like natives as to make them look
like foreigners. I do not propose to work what I believe would be a completely
successful practical joke; that of telling the whole story of the Gospel and the
whole history of the church in a setting of pagodas and pigtails; and noting
with malignant humour how much it was admired as a heathen story, in the
very quarters where it is condemned as a Christian story. But I do propose to
strike wherever possible this note of what is new and strange, and for that
reason the style even on so serious a subject may sometimes be deliberately
grotesque and fanciful. I do desire to help the reader to see Christendom from
the outside in the sense of seeing it as a whole, against the background of other
historic things; just as I desire him to see humanity as a whole against the
background of natural things. And I say that in both cases, when seen thus,
they stand out from their background like supernatural things. They do not
fade into the rest with the colours of impressionism; they stand out from the
rest with the colours of heraldry; as vivid as a red cross on a white shield or a
black lion on a ground of gold. So stands the Red Clay against the green field
of nature, or the White Christ against the red clay of his race.
But in order to see them clearly we have to see them as a whole. We have to
see how they developed as well as how they began; for the most incredible
part of the story is that things which began thus should have developed thus.
Anyone who chooses to indulge in mere imagination can imagine that other
things might have happened or other entities evolved. Anyone thinking of
what might have happened may conceive a sort of evolutionary equality; but
anyone facing what did happen must face an exception and a prodigy. If there
was ever a moment when man was only an animal, we can if we choose make
a fancy picture of his career transferred to some other animal. An entertaining
fantasia might be made in which elephants built in elephantine architecture,
with towers and turrets like tusks and trunks, cities beyond the scale of any
colossus. A pleasant fable might be conceived in which a cow had developed a
costume, and put on four boots and two pairs of trousers. We could imagine a
Supermonkey more marvellous than any Superman, a quadrumanous creature
carving and painting with his hands and cooking and carpentering with his
feet. But if we are considering what did happen, we shall certainly decide that
man has distanced everything else with a distance like that of the astronomical
spaces and a speed like that of the still thunderbolt of the light. And in the
same fashion, while we can if we choose see the Church amid a mob of
Mithraic or Manichean superstitions squabbling and killing each other at the
end of the Empire, while we can if we choose imagine the Church killed in the
struggle and some other chance cult taking its place, we shall be the more
surprised (and possibly puzzled) if we meet it two thousand years afterwards
rushing through the ages as the winged thunderbolt of thought and everlasting
enthusiasm; a thing without rival or resemblance; and still as new as it is old.

Latest revision as of 16:39, 27 August 2010

The Everlasting Man
written by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
The Everlasting Man is a two-part history of mankind, Christ, and Christianity published in 1925.



Prefatory Note

This book needs a preliminary note that its scope be not misunderstood. The view suggested is historical rather than theological, and does not deal directly with a religious change which has been the chief event of my own life; and about which I am already writing a more purely controversial volume. It is impossible, I hope, for any Catholic to write any book on any subject, above all this subject, without showing that he is a Catholic; but this study is not specially concerned with the differences between a Catholic and a Protestant. Much of it is devoted to many sorts of Pagans rather than any sort of Christians; and its thesis is that those who say that Christ stands side by side with similar myths, and his religion side by side with similar religions, are only repeating a very stale formula contradicted by a very striking fact. To suggest this I have not needed to go much beyond matters known to us all; I make no claim to learning; and have to depend for some things, as has rather become the fashion, on those who are more learned. As I have more than once differed from Mr. H. G. Wells in his view of history, it is the more right that I should here congratulate him on the courage and constructive imagination which carried through his vast and varied and intensely interesting work; but still more on having asserted the reasonable right of the amateur to do what he can with the facts which the specialists provide.

This work is in the public domain in countries where the copyright term is the author's life plus 70 years or less.