aving and embellishing all that
approach, was the symbol, in an Hellenic setting, of the fall and
redemption of man.

The human tragedy thus portrayed was the luminous counterpart of the
dark dramas that Athens beheld. There, in the theatre--which itself
was a church with the stage for pulpit--man, blinded by passions, the
Fates pursued and Destiny felled.

The sombre spectacle was inexplicable. At Eleusis was enlightenment.
"Eskato Bebeloi"--_Out from here, the profane_--the heralds shouted as
the mysteries began. "Konx ompax"--_Go in peace_--they called when the
epiphanies were completed.

In peace the initiate went, serenely, it is said, ever after. From
them the load of ignorance was lifted. But what their impressions were
is unrecorded. They were bound to secrecy. No one could learn what
occurred without being initiated, or without dying. For death too is
initiation.

The mysteries were schools of immortality. They plentifully taught
many a lesson that Christianity afterward instilled. But their drapery
was perhaps over ornate. Truth does not need any. Truth always should
be charming. Yet always it should be naked as well. About it the
mysteries hung a raiment that was beautiful, but of which the rich
embroideries obscured. The mysteries could not have been more
fascinating, that is not possible, but, the myths removed, in simple
nudity they would have been more clear. Doubtless it was for that very
reason, in order that they might not be transparent, that the myths
were employed. It is for that very reason, perhaps, that Christianity
also adopted a few. Yet at least from cant they were free. Among the
multiple divinities of Greece, hypocrisy was the unknown god.
Consideration of the others is, to-day, usually effected through the
pages of Ovid. One might as well study Christianity in the works of
Voltaire. Christianity's brightest days were in the dark ages. The
splendid glamour of them that persists is due to many causes, among
which, in minor degree, may be the compelling glare of Greek genius.
That glare, veiled in the mysteries, philosophy reflects.

Philosophy is but the love of wisdom. It began with Socrates. He had
no belief in the gods. The man who has none may be very religious. But
though Socrates did not believe in the gods he did not deny them. He
did what perhaps was worse. He ignored their perfectly poetic
existence. He was put to death for it, though only at the conclusion
of a long promenade