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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ball and The Cross, by G.K. Chesterton#15 in our series by G.K. ChestertonCopyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check thecopyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributingthis or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this ProjectGutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit theheader without written permission.Please read the "legal small print," and other information about theeBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included isimportant information about your specific rights and restrictions inhow the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make adonation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts****eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971*******These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****Title: The Ball and The CrossAuthor: G.K. ChestertonRelease Date: March, 2004 [EBook #5265][Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule][This file was first posted on June 19, 2002][Date last updated: July 10th, 2002]Edition: 10Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: ASCII*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BALL AND THE CROSS ***Produced by Ben Crowder <crowderb@blankslate.net>THE BALL AND THE CROSSG.K. Chesterton
 
CONTENTSI. A Discussion Somewhat in the AirII. The Religion of the Stipendiary MagistrateIII. Some Old CuriositiesIV. A Discussion at DawnV. The PeacemakerVI. The Other PhilosopherVII. The Village of Grassley-in-the-HoleVIII. An Interlude of ArgumentIX. The Strange LadyX. The Swords RejoinedXI. A Scandal in the VillageXII. The Desert IslandXIII. The Garden of PeaceXIV. A Museum of SoulsXV. The Dream of MacIanXVI. The Dream of TurnbullXVII. The IdiotXVIII. A Riddle of FacesXIX. The Last ParleyXX. Dies IraeI. A DISCUSSION SOMEWHAT IN THE AIRThe flying ship of Professor Lucifer sang through the skies likea silver arrow; the bleak white steel of it, gleaming in thebleak blue emptiness of the evening. That it was far above theearth was no expression for it; to the two men in it, it seemedto be far above the stars. The professor had himself inventedthe flying machine, and had also invented nearly everything init. Every sort of tool or apparatus had, in consequence, to thefull, that fantastic and distorted look which belongs to themiracles of science. For the world of science and evolution isfar more nameless and elusive and like a dream than the world ofpoetry and religion; since in the latter images and ideas remainthemselves eternally, while it is the whole idea of evolutionthat identities melt into each other as they do in a nightmare.All the tools of Professor Lucifer were the ancient human toolsgone mad, grown into unrecognizable shapes, forgetful of theirorigin, forgetful of their names. That thing which looked like anenormous key with three wheels was really a patent and verydeadly revolver. That object which seemed to be created by theentanglement of two corkscrews was really the key. The thingwhich might have been mistaken for a tricycle turned upside-downwas the inexpressibly important instrument to which the corkscrewwas the key. All these things, as I say, the professor hadinvented; he had invented everything in the flying ship, with theexception, perhaps, of himself. This he had been born too lateactually to inaugurate, but he believed at least, that he hadconsiderably improved it.There was, however, another man on board, so to speak, at thetime. Him, also, by a curious coincidence, the professor had notinvented, and him he had not even very greatly improved, though
 
he had fished him up with a lasso out of his own back garden, inWestern Bulgaria, with the pure object of improving him. He wasan exceedingly holy man, almost entirely covered with white hair.You could see nothing but his eyes, and he seemed to talk withthem. A monk of immense learning and acute intellect he had madehimself happy in a little stone hut and a little stony garden inthe Balkans, chiefly by writing the most crushing refutations ofexposures of certain heresies, the last professors of which hadbeen burnt (generally by each other) precisely 1,119 yearspreviously. They were really very plausible and thoughtfulheresies, and it was really a creditable or even gloriouscircumstance, that the old monk had been intellectual enough todetect their fallacy; the only misfortune was that nobody in themodern world was intellectual enough even to understand theirargument. The old monk, one of whose names was Michael, and theother a name quite impossible to remember or repeat in ourWestern civilization, had, however, as I have said, made himselfquite happy while he was in a mountain hermitage in the societyof wild animals. And now that his luck had lifted him above allthe mountains in the society of a wild physicist, he made himselfhappy still."I have no intention, my good Michael," said Professor Lucifer,"of endeavouring to convert you by argument. The imbecility ofyour traditions can be quite finally exhibited to anybody withmere ordinary knowledge of the world, the same kind of knowledgewhich teaches us not to sit in draughts or not to encouragefriendliness in impecunious people. It is folly to talk of thisor that demonstrating the rationalist philosophy. Everythingdemonstrates it. Rubbing shoulders with men of all kinds----""You will forgive me," said the monk, meekly from under loads ofwhite beard, "but I fear I do not understand; was it in orderthat I might rub my shoulder against men of all kinds that youput me inside this thing?""An entertaining retort, in the narrow and deductive manner ofthe Middle Ages," replied the Professor, calmly, "but even uponyour own basis I will illustrate my point. We are up in the sky.In your religion and all the religions, as far as I know (and Iknow everything), the sky is made the symbol of everything thatis sacred and merciful. Well, now you are in the sky, you knowbetter. Phrase it how you like, twist it how you like, you knowthat you know better. You know what are a man's real feelingsabout the heavens, when he finds himself alone in the heavens,surrounded by the heavens. You know the truth, and the truth isthis. The heavens are evil, the sky is evil, the stars are evil.This mere space, this mere quantity, terrifies a man more thantigers or the terrible plague. You know that since our sciencehas spoken, the bottom has fallen out of the Universe. Now,heaven is the hopeless thing, more hopeless than any hell. Now,if there be any comfort for all your miserable progeny of morbidapes, it must be in the earth, underneath you, under the roots ofthe grass, in the place where hell was of old. The fiery crypts,the lurid cellars of the underworld, to which you once condemnedthe wicked, are hideous enough, but at least they are more homelythan the heaven in which we ride. And the time will come when youwill all hide in them, to escape the horror of the stars."
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