THE SOLDIER AND THE HUNCHBACK
to pieces our tower of thought, but rooted up the foundation-
stone and ground it into finer and more poisonous powder than
that into which Moses ground the calf. These golden Elohim!
Our calf-heads that brought us not out of Egypt, but into a
darkness deeper and more tangible than any darkness of the
double Empire of Asar.
Hume put his little ? to Berkeley's God-!; Buddha his ?
to the Vedic Atman-!—and neither Hume nor Buddha was
baulked of his reward. Ourselves may put? to our own?
since we have found no ! to put it to; and wouldn't it be
jolly if our own second ? suddenly straightened its back and
threw its chest out and marched off as ! ?
Suppose then we accept our scepticism as having destroyed
our knowledge root and branch—is there no limit to its
action? Does it not in a sense stultify itself? Having
destroyed logic by logic—if Satan cast out Satan, how shall
his kingdom stand?
Let us stand on the Mount, Saviours of the World that
we are, and answer “Get thee behind me, Satan!” though
refraining from quoting texts or giving reasons.
Oho! says somebody; is Aleister Crowley here ?—Samson
blinded and bound, grinding corn for the Philistines!
Not at all, dear boy!
We shall put all the questions that we can put—but we
may find a tower built upon a rock, against which the winds
beat in vain.
Not what Christians call faith, be sure! But what (pos-
sibly) the forgers of the Epistles—those eminent mystics !—
meant by faith. What I call Samadhi—and as “ faith with-
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