an this, and was quite free from that mere
prurient itch of perverted sensuality which inspires the Puritans of
our time.

This religious terror, barbarous and hideous as it was in many of its
manifestations, may have been a legitimate expression of
subconscious panic in the presence of something that, at least now
and then, was really antagonistic to the general welfare.

Why should there not arise sometimes great demonic forces,
incarnated in formidable personalities, who are really and truly
"humani generis hostes," enemies of the human race? The weird
mediaeval dream of the anti-Christ, drawn from Apocalyptic
literature, symbolises this occult possibility.

Because a writer has immense genius there is no earthly reason why
his influence upon the world should be good. There is no reason
why it should be for the happiness of the world, putting the moral
question aside.

In the classic ages the State regulated literature. In the Middle Ages,
the Church regulated it. In our own age it is not regulated at all; it is
neglected by ignorance and expurgated by stupidity. The mob in our
days cringes before great names, the journalist exploits great names,
and the school-master dishes them up for the young. No one
seriously criticises them; no one seriously considers their influence
upon the world.

The business man has a shrewd suspicion that they have no
influence at all; or certainly none comparable with that of well
placed advertisements. Meanwhile under the surface, from sensitive
minds to sensitive minds, there run the electric currents of new
intellectual ideas, setting in motion those psychic and spiritual
forces which still, in spite of all our economic philosophers, upheave
the world.

Was Rousseau, more than any one, more than Voltaire, more than
Diderot, responsible for the French Revolution? I am inclined to
hold that he was, and if so, according to the revolutionary instincts
of all enemies of oppression, we are bound to regard his influence as
"good"; unless by chance we are among those who consider the
tyranny of the middle-class no less outrageous than the tyranny of
the aristocracy. But Rousseau's influence--so far stretching is the
power of personal genius--does not stop with the French Revolution.
It does not stop with the Commune or with any other outburst of
popular indignation. It works subterraneanly in a thousand devious
ways until the present hour. Wherever, under the impassioned
enthusiasm