"horoscope." We are aware that many commentators have discussed the star
of Christ's birth from various points of view. Some have thought it
a real star; others have had enough astronomy to see that this was
impossible, and have argued that it was a big will-o'-the-wisp, created
and directed by supernatural power, like the pillar of day-cloud and
night-fire that led the Jews in the wilderness; while still others have
favored the idea of a supernatural illusion, which was confined to the
wise men--and thus it was that the "star" was not seen or mentioned by
any of their contemporaries. But all this is the usual mixture of Bible
commentators. There is really no need to waste time in that fashion. The
Star of Bethlehem belongs to the realm of poetry, as much as the Star of
Caesar, to which the mighty Julius ascended in his apotheosis.

Thousands of sermons have been preached on that Star of Bethlehem,
and these also have been works of imagination. We have been told, for
instance, that it was the morning star of a new day for humanity.
But this is a falsehood, which the clergy palmed off on ignorant
congregations. The world was happier under the government of the great
Pagan emperors than it has ever been under the dominion of Christianity.
For a thousand years the triumph of the Cross was the annihilation of
everything that makes life pleasant and dignified. The Star of Bethlehem
shone in a sky of utter blackness. All the constellations of science,
art, philosophy, and literature were in disastrous eclipse. Cruelty and
hypocrisy abounded on earth, toil and misery were the lot of the people,
and bloodshed was as common as rain.

Religions, said Schopenhauer, are like glow-worms; they require darkness
to shine in. This was quite true of Christianity. It was splendid when
it had no competitor. To be visible--above all, to be worshipped--it
needed the sky to itself.

One by one, during the past three hundred years, the stars of
civilisation have emerged from their long eclipse, and now the sky of
humanity is full of countless hosts of throbbing glories. The Star of
Bethlehem is no longer even a star of the first magnitude. It pales and
dwindles every year. In another century it will be a very minor light.
Meanwhile it is drawn big on the maps of faith. But that little trick
is being seen through. Once it was the Star of Bethlehem first, and
the rest nowhere; now it takes millions of money, and endless special
pleading, to k