ertain ecclesiastical
politicians, themselves lovers of letters, between the old world and the
new. It was agreed, in effect, that the schools should teach humane
letters and mythology, leaving it to the Church to teach divine doctrine
and the conduct of life. All later history bears the marks of this
compromise. Here was the beginning of that distinction and apportionment
between the secular and the sacred which is so much more conspicuous in
Christian communities than ever it has been among the followers of other
religions. Here also was the beginning of that strange mixture, familiar
to all students of literature, whereby the Bible and Virgil are quoted as
equal authorities, Plato is set over against St. Paul, the Sibyl confirms
the words of David, and, when a youth of promise, destined for the
Church, is drowned, St. Peter and a river-god are the chief mourners at
his poetic obsequies. This mixture is not a fantasy of the Renaissance;
it has been part and parcel, from the earliest times, of the tradition of
the Christian church.

History is larger than morality; and a wise man will not attempt to pass
judgment on those who found themselves in so unparalleled a position. A
new religion, claiming an authority not of this world, prevailed in this
world, and was confronted with all the resources of civilization,
inextricably entangled with the ancient pagan faiths. What was to be
done? The Gospel precepts seemed to admit of no transaction. "They that
say such things declare plainly that they seek a country. And truly, if
they had been mindful of that country from whence they came out, they
might have had opportunity to have returned. But now they desire a
better country, that is an heavenly." The material prosperity and social
order which Law and Politics take such pains to preserve and increase are
no part of their care. They are strangers and pilgrims in the country
where they pitch their tent for a night. How dare they spend time on
cherishing the painted veil called Life, when their desires are fixed on
what it conceals? When Tacitus called the Christian religion "a deadly
superstition," he spoke as a true Roman, a member of the race of Empire-
builders. His subtle political instinct scented danger from those who
looked with coldness on the business and desire of this world. The
Christian faith, which presents no social difficulties while it is
professed here and there by a lonely saint or seer, is a