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it was a terrible and paralysing tyranny。 Christ swept it aside。
He showed that the spirit alone was of value。 He took a keen
pleasure in pointing out to them that though they were always
reading the law and the prophets； they had not really the smallest
idea of what either of them meant。 In opposition to their tithing
of each separate day into the fixed routine of prescribed duties；
as they tithe mint and rue； he preached the enormous importance of
living completely for the moment。
Those whom he saved from their sins are saved simply for beautiful
moments in their lives。 Mary Magdalen； when she sees Christ；
breaks the rich vase of alabaster that one of her seven lovers had
given her； and spills the odorous spices over his tired dusty feet；
and for that one moment's sake sits for ever with Ruth and Beatrice
in the tresses of the snow…white rose of Paradise。 All that Christ
says to us by the way of a little warning is that every moment
should be beautiful； that the soul should always be ready for the
coming of the bridegroom； always waiting for the voice of the
lover； Philistinism being simply that side of man's nature that is
not illumined by the imagination。 He sees all the lovely
influences of life as modes of light： the imagination itself is
the world of light。 The world is made by it； and yet the world
cannot understand it： that is because the imagination is simply a
manifestation of love； and it is love and the capacity for it that
distinguishes one human being from another。
But it is when he deals with a sinner that Christ is most romantic；
in the sense of most real。 The world had always loved the saint as
being the nearest possible approach to the perfection of God。
Christ； through some divine instinct in him； seems to have always
loved the sinner as being the nearest possible approach to the
perfection of man。 His primary desire was not to reform people；
any more than his primary desire was to a relieve suffering。 To
turn an interesting thief into a tedious honest man was not his
aim。 He would have thought little of the Prisoners' Aid Society
and other modern movements of the kind。 The conversion of a
publican into a Pharisee would not have seemed to him a great
achievement。 But in a manner not yet understood of the world he
regarded sin and suffering as being in themselves beautiful holy
things and modes of perfection。
It seems a very dangerous idea。 It is … all great ideas are
dangerous。 That it was Christ's creed admits of no doubt。 That it
is the true creed I don't doubt myself。
Of course the sinner must repent。 But why？ Simply because
otherwise he would be unable to realise what he had done。 The
moment of repentance is the moment of initiation。 More than that：
it is the means by which one alters one's past。 The Greeks thought
that impossible。 They often say in their Gnomic aphorisms； 'Even
the Gods cannot alter the past。' Christ showed that the commonest
sinner could do it； that it was the one thing he could do。 Christ；
had he been asked； would have said … I feel quite certain about it
… that the moment the prodigal son fell on his knees and wept； he
made his having wasted his substance with harlots； his swine…
herding and hungering for the husks they ate； beautiful and holy
moments in his life。 It is difficult for most people to grasp the
idea。 I dare say one has to go to prison to understand it。 If so；
it may be worth while going to prison。
There is something so unique about Christ。 Of course just as there
are false dawns before the dawn itself； and winter days so full of
sudden sunlight that they will cheat the wise crocus into
squandering its gold before its time； and make some foolish bird
call to its mate to build on barren boughs； so there were
Christians before Christ。 For that we should be grateful。 The
unfortunate thing is that there have been none since。 I make one
exception； St。 Francis of Assisi。 But then God had given him at
his birth the soul of a poet； as he himself when quite young had in
mystical marriage taken poverty as his bride： and with the soul of
a poet and the body of a beggar he found the way to perfection not
difficult。 He understood Christ； and so he became like him。 We do
not require the Liber Conformitatum to teach us that the life of
St。 Francis was the true IMITATIO CHRISTI； a poem compared to which
the book of that name is merely prose。
Indeed； that is the charm about Christ； when all is said： he is
just like a work of art。 He does not really teach one anything；
but by being brought into his presence one becomes something。 And
everybody is predestined to his presence。 Once at least in his
life each man walks with Christ to Emmaus。
As regards the other subject； the Relation of the Artistic Life to
Conduct； it will no doubt seem strange to you that I should select
it。 People point to Reading Gaol and say； 'That is where the
artistic life leads a man。' Well； it might lead to worse places。
The more mechanical people to whom life is a shrewd speculation
depending on a careful calculation of ways and means； always know
where they are going； and go there。 They start with the ideal
desire of being the parish beadle； and in whatever sphere they are
placed they succeed in being the parish beadle and no more。 A man
whose desire is to be something separate from himself； to be a
member of Parliament； or a successful grocer； or a prominent
solicitor； or a judge； or something equally tedious； invariably
succeeds in being what he wants to be。 That is his punishment。
Those who want a mask have to wear it。
But with the dynamic forces of life； and those in whom those
dynamic forces become incarnate； it is different。 People whose
desire is solely for self…realisation never know where they are
going。 They can't know。 In one sense of the word it is of course
necessary； as the Greek oracle said； to know oneself： that is the
first achievement of knowledge。 But to recognise that the soul of
a man is unknowable； is the ultimate achievement of wisdom。 The
final mystery is oneself。 When one has weighed the sun in the
balance； and measured the steps of the moon； and mapped out the
seven heavens star by star； there still remains oneself。 Who can
calculate the orbit of his own soul？ When the son went out to look
for his father's asses； he did not know that a man of God was
waiting for him with the very chrism of coronation； and that his
own soul was already the soul of a king。
I hope to live long enough and to produce work of such a character
that I shall be able at the end of my days to say； 'Yes！ this is
just where the artistic life leads a man！' Two of the most perfect
lives I have come across in my own experience are the lives of
Verlaine and of Prince Kropotkin： both of them men who have passed
yea