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achieved the eternal world. To do this is the work of art. It may seem a fantastic idea, but I will venture the saying of it, since to me it is the truth. Art, I suppose, you think of as the realm and privilege of selected men, of sculptors, painters, musicians, poets, men of genius and having something that has always been called divine in their faculty; but it appears to me that art, like genius, is something that all men share, that it is the stamp of the soul in every one, and constitutes their true and immaterial life. The soul of the race, as it is seen in history and disclosed by history, is an artist soul; its career is an artistic career; its unerring selective power expels from its memory every mortal element and perserves only the essential spirit, and thereof builds its ideal imaginative world through which it finds its true expression; its more perfect comprehension of the world is science, its more perfect comprehension of its own nature is love, its more perfect expression of its remembered life is art. Mankind is the grandest and surest artist of all, and history as it clarifies is, in pure fact, an artistic process, a creation in its fullness of the beautiful soul.

It appears, then, that the language of literature in the race is a perfected nature and a perfected manhood and a perfected divinity, so far as the race at the moment can see toward perfection. The life which literature builds up ideally out of the material of experience is not wholly a past life, but there mingles with it and at last controls it the life that man desires to live. Fullness of life that fullness of action which is poured in the epic, that fullness of passion which is poured in the drama, that fullness of desire that is poured in the lyric -the life of which man knows himself capable and

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realizes as the opportunity and hope of life - this is the life that literature enthrones in its dream. You have heard much of the will to believe and of the desire to live: literature is made of these two, warp and woof. Race after race believes in the gods it has come to know and in the heroes it has borne, and in what it wishes to believe of divine and human experience; and the life it thus ascribes to its gods and to its own past is that life it most ardently desires to live. Literature, which records this, is thus the chief witness to the nobility, the constancy and instancy of man's effort for perfection. What wonder, then, if in his sublimest and tenderest song there steals that note of melancholy so often struck by the greatest masters in the crisis and climax of their works, and which, when so struck, has more of the infinite in it, more of the human in it, than any other in the slowly triumphant theme!

To sum up the language of literature is experience; the language of race-literature is race-experience, or history, the human use that the race has made of the world. The law appears to be that history in this sense is slowly transformed by a refining and spiritualizing process into an imaginative world, such as the world of mythology, chivalry or the Scriptures, and that this world in turn becomes emblematic and fades away into an expression of abstract truth. The crude beginning of the process is seen in our historical fiction; the height of it in Arthur or in Odin; the end of it in the symbolic or allegoric interpretation of even so human a book as Virgil's "Aeneid." Human desire for the best enters into this process with such force that the record of the past slowly changes into the prophecy of the future, and out of the passing away of what was is built the dream of what

shall be; so arises in race-life the creed of what man wishes to believe and the dream of the life he desires to live; this human desire for belief and for life is, in the final analysis, the principle of selection whose operation has been sketched, and on its validity rests the validity and truth of all literature.

III

THE TITAN MYTH

I

I PROPOSE Now to illustrate by the specific example of the Titan Myth how it is that Greek mythology is a tongue of the imagination—a living tongue of the universal imagination of men.

The Titan Myth - I wonder what it means to you? The Titans were the earliest children of the earth, elder than the Greek gods even, and were the sons of the Earth, their mother. You perhaps think of them as mere giants, such as Jack killed-medieval monsters of the kin of Beauty and the Beast. Think of them rather as majestic forms, with something of the sweep and mystery of those figures you may remember out of Ossian and his misty mountains, with the largeness and darkness of the earth in them, a massive dim-featured race, but with an earthly rather than celestial grandeur, embodiments of mighty force dull to beauty, intelligence, light. When Zeus, the then young Olympian, was born, and with him the other deities of the then new divine world, and when he dethroned his father and put the new gods in possession of the universe, these children of the old régime, misliking change, took the father's part, and warred on the usurper of ancient power, and were overthrown by his lightnings, and mountains were piled on them; and now you may read in Longfellow of Enceladus, the type and image of their fate, buried under

Etna whose earthquakes are the struggling of the great Titan beneath. This was the war of the Titans and the gods. One of the Titans, however, stood apart from the rest, being wiser than they. Prometheus made friends with Zeus, but his fortune was not less grievous to him; for when he saw that Zeus took no account of men "of miserable men,”—but yearned to destroy them from the face of the earth, he took pity on mankind, and stole for them the celestial fire and gave it to them, for until then man had lived a life of mere nature, without knowledge, or any arts, not even that of agriculture. Prometheus was the fire-bringer; and, bringing fire, he brought to men all the uses of fire, such as metal-working, for example, and in a word he gave to mankind its entire career, the long labor of progressive civilization, and the life of the spirit itself which is kindled, as we say, from the Promethean spark within. It was but a step for the Pagan imagination, at a later stage, to think of this patron of mankind as the creator of men, since he was the fosterer of their lives; it was said that he had made clay images, and moistened these with holy water, so that they became living creatures men. Zeus was angered by this befriending of the human race; and he flung Prometheus upon a mountain of the Caucasus, chained him there, and planted a vulture to eat always on his entrails; and in the imagination of men there he hangs to this day. Yet there was one condition on which he might be released and again received into heaven. He alone knew the secret of the fall of Zeus the means by which it would be brought about; and if he would tell this secret, so that Zeus might avoid the danger as was possible, and thereby his unjust reign become perpetual, Prometheus might save himself. But

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