n austere need. Matter is ever in evolution. Energy alone is
indestructible. Radium has revealed this to us. In eternity when the
Infinite throws the dice, double-sixes are sure to come up more than
once. Miracles? But why miraculous? Infinity of necessity must repeat
itself, and then I, sitting here now, will sit here again, sit and doubt
the goodness of God, ay, doubt His existence.... How horrible!" He
paused in the whirl of his thoughts.

"Yet how beautiful, for if the eternal recurrence be truth, then must
the great drama of the Redemption be repeated. Then will our foes be
convinced of Christianity and its reality. But shall we be conscious in
that far-off time of our anterior existence? Ah! hideous, coiling doubt.
What a demon is this Nietzsche to set whirring in the brains of poor,
suffering humanity such torturing questions! Better, far better for the
world to live and not to think. Thought is a disease, a morbid secretion
of the brain-cells. Ah! materialist that I am, I can no longer think
without remembering the ideas of Cabanis, that gross atheist. Why am I
punished so? What crimes have I committed in a previous
existence--Karma, again!--that I must perforce study the writings of
impious men? Yet I submitted myself as a candidate for the task, to save
my brethren in Christ from soiling their hearts. Heaven preserve me from
the blight of spiritual pride, but I believe that I am now a scapegoat
for the offences of my fellow-monks, and, thus, may redeem my own
wretched soul. Ah! Nietzsche--Antichrist."

He arose and threw the volume across his cell. Then going to the window
regarded with humid gaze the world that sprawled below him in the
voluptuous sunshine. But so sternly was the inner eye fixed on the
things of the spirit that he soon turned away from the delectable
picture, and as he did so his glance rested upon a crucifix. He started,
his perturbed imagination again touched.

"What if Nietzsche were right? The first Christian, the only Christian,
died on the cross, he has said. What an arraignment of our precious
faith, Jesus Christ, our Lord God! What sweet names are Thine! How could
Nietzsche not feel the music of that Hebrew-Greek combination? Perhaps
he did; perhaps he masked a profound love behind his hatred. Jesus our
Lord! Hebrew-Greek. But why Greek? Why ...?" Another pause in this
sequestered chamber where the buzzing of an insect could assume a
thunderous roar. "The eternal return. Why should