SCIENCE AND MODERN POETRY 741 



same in religion. It was once said by a Frenchman — I forget 

 his name — " In the beginning God created man in His own 

 image, and since then man has returned the compliment by 

 creating God in his." The jibe — for jibe it was— is really the 

 expression of a fundamental truth : among all the lower and 

 early religions, even as in our own, the conception of God is 

 essentially anthropomorphic like primitive man's conception 

 of Nature. This inner world, which man thus creates for 

 himself, is a world of poetry and is very different from that 

 which he afterwards acquires from his thoughts, but neverthe- 

 less this childish comprehension of the world is in peculiar 

 harmony with things as they appeared to our ingenuous 

 ancestor. We may say, in fact, that if poetry could be the pre- 

 vailing sentiment in the world, the life of man would be one 

 harmonious whole, but at the same time his comprehension of 

 the world would be vague and dreamy. He would not be fully 

 conscious, if at all, of the rational connection between 

 phenomena. He has to be led, so to speak, by knowledge — that 

 is, by science, which is only organised knowledge — to the 

 point where thought and poetry will no longer be opposed. 

 This intellectual development is forced upon man by the very 

 constitution of Nature. Nature does not permit man to bury 

 himself in a world of poetry and he is prevented from doing 

 so by external influences ; objects intrude themselves which 

 require his constant consideration. Irresistible impressions 

 and thoughts appear in prominent distinctness, and oblige him 

 to look at things in a new manner. This induces one of two 

 opposite sensations : either joy and satisfaction at the new idea 

 that he finds revealed to his ken, or discontent at the encroach- 

 ment which has been made into his habitual view of the world. 

 Either will have a direct influence on the expression of his 

 thoughts and ideas in poetic form. It is the latter idea that 

 dominates those who deplore the disappearance of mystery and 

 superstition on the plea that it means a serious loss to the poet, 

 and hence to the world. It is not so. The muse of the poet is 

 the eternal beautiful — and, surely, truth is the highest expression 

 of the beautiful ; as Browning has it : 



Ah ! world as God has made it ! Truth is beauty, 

 And knowing this is love, and love is duty. 



I think we may say, then, that the poet not only cannot, but 



