How it happened that a little rocky peninsula in a remote corner of the Mediterranean was aide to provide our world in less than two centuries with the complete framework for all our present-day experiments in politics, literature, drama, sculpture,chemistry, physics, and Heaven knows what else, is a question which has puzzled a great many people for a great many centuries, and to which every philosopher,at one time or another during his career, has tried to give an answer.

Respectable historians, unlike their colleagues of the chemical and physical and astronomical and medical faculties, have always looked with ill-concealed contempt upon all efforts to discover what one might call 'the laws of history.' What holds good of tadpoles and microbes and shooting stars seems to have no business within the realm of human beings.

I may be very much mistaken, but it seems to me that there must be such laws. It is true that thus far we have not discovered many of them. But then again we have never looked very hard. We have been so busy accumulating facts that we have had no time to boil them and liquefy them and evaporate them and extract from them the few scraps of wisdom which might be of some real value to our particular variety of mammal.

It is with considerable trepidation that I approach this new field of research, and, taking a leaf out of the scientist's book, offer the following historical axiom.

According to the best knowledge of modern scientists, life (animate existence as differentiated from inanimate existence) began when for once all physical and chemical elements were present in the ideal proportion necessary for the creation of the first living cell.

Translate this into terms of history and you get this:

"A sudden and apparently spontaneous outbreak of a very high form of civilization is only possible when all the racial, climatic, economic, and political conditions are present in an ideal proportion or as nearly an ideal condition and proportion as can be in this imperfect world."

Let me elaborate this statement be a few negative observations.

A race with the brain development of a cave-man would not prosper, even in Paradise.

Rembrandt would not have painted pictures, Bach would not have composed fugues, Praxiteles would not have made statues if they had been born in an igloo near Upernivik and had been obliged to spend most of their waking hours watching a seal-hole in an ice-field.

Darwin would not have made his contributions to biology if he had been obliged to gain his livelihood in a cotton-mill in Lancashire. And Alexander Graham Bell would not have invented the telephone if he had been a conscripted serf and had lived in a remote village of the Romanov domains.

In Egypt, where the first high form of civilization was found, the climate was excellent, but the original inhabitants were not very robust or enterprising, and political and economic conditions were decidedly bad.The same held true of Babylonia and Assyria. The Semitic races which afterward moved into the valley between the Tigris and the Euphrates were strong and vigorous people. There was nothing the matter with the climate. But the political and economic environment remained far from good.

In Palestine the climate was nothing to boast of. Agriculture was backward and there was little commerce outside of the caravan route which passed through the country from Africa to Asia, and vice versa. Furthermore, in Palestine politics were entirely dominated by the priests of the Temple of Jerusalem,and this of course did not encourage the development of any sort of individual enterprise.

In Phoenicia the climate was of little consequence.The race was strong and trade conditions were good.The country, however, suffered from a badly balanced economic system. A small class of shipowners had been able to get hold of all the wealth and had established a rigid commercial monopoly. Hence the government in Tyre and Sidon had at an early date fallen into the hands of the very rich. The poor,deprived of all excuse for the practice of a reasonable amount of industry, grew callous and indifferent, and Phoenicia eventually shared the fate of Carthage and went to ruin through the short-sighted selfishness of her rulers.

In short, in every one of the early centres of civilization certain of the necessary elements for success were always lacking.

When the miracle of a perfect balance did occur,in Greece in the fifth century before our era, it lasted only a very short time, and strange to say even then it did not take place in the mother country but in the colonies across the Aegean Sea.

In another book I have given a description of those famous island-bridges which connected the mainland of Asia with Europe and across which the traders from Egypt and Babylonia and Crete since time immemorial had travelled to Europe. The main point of embarkation, both for merchandise and ideas bound from Asia to Europe, was to be found on the western coast of Asia Minor in a strip of land known as Ionia.

A few hundred years before the Trojan War this narrow bit of mountainous territory, ninety miles long and only a few miles wide, had been conquered by Greek tribes from the mainland, who there had founded a number of colonial towns of which Ephesus,Phocsea, Erythrsea, and Miletus were the best known,and it was among those cities that at last the conditions of success were present in such perfect proportion that civilization reached a point which has sometimes been equalled but never has been surpassed.

In the first place, these colonies were inhabited by the most active and enterprising elements from among a dozen different nations.

In the second place, there was a great deal of general wealth derived from the carrying trade between the old and the new world, between Europe and Asia.

In the third place, the form of government under which the colonists lived gave the majority of the freemen a chance to develop their talents to the very best of their ability.

If I do not mention the climate the reason is this,that in countries devoted exclusively to commerce the climate does not matter much. Ships can be built and goods can be unloaded, rain or shine. Provided it does not get so cold that the harbours freeze, or so wet that the towns are flooded, the inhabitants will take very little interest in the daily weather reports.

But apart from this, the weather of Ionia was distinctly favourable to the development of an intellectual class. Before the existence of books and libraries learning was handed down from man to man by word of mouth.

The town-pump is the earliest of all social centres and the oldest of universities.

In Miletus it was possible to sit round the townpump for 350 out of every 365 days. And the early Ionian professors made such excellent use of their climatic advantages that they became the pioneers of all future scientific development.

The first of whom we have any report, the real founder of modern science, was a person of doubtful origin. Not in the sense that he had robbed a bank or murdered his family and had fled to Miletus from parts unknown. But no one knew much about his antecedents. Was be a Boeotian or a Phoenician, a Nordic (to speak in the jargon of our learned racial experts), or a Semite?

It shows what an international centre this little old city at the month of the Maender was in those days.Its population consisted of so many different elements that people accepted their neighbours at their face value and did not look too closely into the family antecedents.

Since this is not a history of mathematics or a handbook of philosophy, the speculations of Thales do not properly belong in these pages, except in so far as they tend to show the tolerance toward new ideas which prevailed among the Ionians at a time when Rome was a small market-town on a muddy river somewhere in a distant and unknown region, when the Jews were still captives in the land of Assyria, and when northern and western Europe were naught but a howling wilderness.

In order that we may understand how such a development was possible, we must know something about the changes which had taken place since the days when Greek chieftains sailed across the Aegean Sea, intent upon the plunder of the rich fortress of Troy. Those far-famed heroes were still the product of an exceedingly primitive form of civilization. They were overgrown children who regarded life as one long, glorified rough-house, full of excitement and wrestling-matches and running races and all the many things which we ourselves would dearly love to do if we were not forced to stick to the routine jobs which provide us with bread and bananas.

The relationship between these boisterous paladins and their gods was as direct and as simple as their attitude toward the serious problems of everyday existence. For the inhabitants of high Olympus, who ruled the world of the Hellenes in the tenth century before our era, were of this earth earthy, and not very far removed from ordinary mortals. Exactly where and when and how man and his gods had parted company was a more or less hazy point, never clearly established. Even then the friendship which those who lived beyond the clouds had always felt toward their subjects who crawled across the face of the earth had in no way been interrupted, and it had remained flavoured with those personal and intimate touches which gave the religion of the Greeks its own peculiar charm.

Of course, all good little Greek boys were duly taught that Zeus was a very powerful and mighty potentate with a long beard who upon occasion would juggle so violently with his flashes of lightning and his thunderbolts that it seemed that the world was coming to an end. But as soon as they were a little older and were able to read the ancient sagas for themselves they began to appreciate the limitations of those terrible personages of whom they had heard so much in their nursery and who now appeared in the light of a merry family-party—everlastingly playing practical jokes upon each other and taking such bitter sides in the political disputes of their mortal friends that every quarrel in Greece was immediately followed by a corresponding row among the denizens of the aether.

Of course, in spite of all these very human shortcomings Zeus remained a very great god, the mightiest of all rulers and a personage whom it was not safe to displease. But he was 'reasonable.' He could be approached if one knew the proper way. And, best of all, he had a sense of humour and did not take either himself or his world too seriously.

This was, perhaps, not the most sublime conception of a divine figure, but it offered certain very distinct advantages. Among the ancient Greeks there never was a hard and fast rule as to what people must hold true and what they must disregard as false. And because there was no 'creed' in the modern sense of the word,with adamantine dogmas and a class of professional priests ready to enforce them with the help of the secular gallows, the people in different parts of the country were able to reshape their religious ideas and ethical conceptions as best suited their own individual tastes.

The Thessalians, who lived within hailing distance of Mount Olympus, showed of course much less respect for their august neighbours than did the Asopiums who dwelled in a distant village on the Laconian Gulf. The Athenians, feeling themselves under the direct protection of their own patron saint,Pallas Athene, felt that they could take great liberties with the lady's father, while the Arcadians, whose valleys were far removed from the main trade routes,clung tenaciously to a simpler faith and frowned upon all levity in the serious matter of religion; as for the inhabitants of Phocis, who made a living from the pilgrims bound for the village of Delphi, they were firmly convinced that Apollo (who was worshipped at that profitable shrine) was the greatest of all divine spirits and deserved the special homage of those who came from afar and still had a couple of drachmas in their pocket.

The belief in only one God, which soon afterward was to set the Jews apart from all other nations, would never have been possible if the life of Judea had not centred round a single city which was strong enough to destroy all rival places of pilgrimage and was able to maintain an exclusive religious monopoly for almost ten consecutive centuries.

In Greece such a condition did not prevail. Neither Athens nor Sparta ever succeeded in establishing themselves as the recognized capital of a united Greek fatherland; their efforts in this direction only led to long years of unprofitable civil war.

No wonder that a race composed of such sublime individualists offered great scope for the development of a very independent spirit of thought.

The Iliad and the Odyssey have sometimes been called the "Bible of the Greeks." They were nothing of the sort. They were just books. They were never united into 'The Book.' They told the adventures of certain wonderful heroes who were fondly believed to be the direct ancestors of the generation then living. Incidentally they contained a certain amount of religious information because the gods, without exception, had taken sides in the quarrel and had neglected all other business for the joy of watching the rarest prize-fight that had ever been staged within their domain.

The idea, however, that the works of Homer might either directly or indirectly have been inspired by Zeus or Minerva or Apollo never even dawned upon the Greek mind. They were a fine piece of literature and made excellent reading during the long winter evenings. Furthermore, they caused children to feel proud of their own race.

And that was all.

In such an atmosphere of intellectual and spiritual freedom, in a city filled with the pungent smell of ships from all the seven seas, rich with fabrics of the Orient, merry with the laughter of a well-fed and contented populace, Thales was born. In such a city he worked and taught, and in such a city he died. If the conclusions which he reached differed greatly from the opinions held by most of his neighbours,remember that his ideas never penetrated beyond a very limited circle. The average Miletian may have heard the name of Thales, just as the average citizen of to-day has probably heard the name of Einstein. Ask him who Einstein is, and he will answer that he is a fellow with long hair who smokes a pipe and plays the fiddle and who wrote something about a man walking through a railway train, about which there once was an article in a Sunday paper.

That this strange person who smokes a pipe and plays the fiddle has got hold of a little spark of truth which eventually may upset (or at least greatly modify) the scientific conclusions of the last sixty centuries is a matter of profound indifference to the millions of easy-going citizens whose interest in mathematics does not reach beyond the conflict which arises when their favourite batsman tries to upset the law of gravity.

The text-books of ancient history usually get rid of the difficulty by printing, "Thales of Miletus (640546 b.c.), the founder of modern science." And we can almost see the headlines in the Miletus Gazette , "Local graduate discovers secret of true science."

But just how and where and when Thales left the beaten track and struck out for himself I could not possibly tell you. This much is certain, that he did not live in an intellectual vacuum, nor did he develop his wisdom out of his inner consciousness. In the seventh century before Christ a great deal of the pioneer work in the realm of science had already been done, and there was quite a large body of mathematical and physical and astronomical information at the disposal of those intelligent enough to make use of it.

Babylonian star-gazers had searched the heavens.

Egyptian architects had done considerable figuring before they dared to dump a couple of million tons of granite on top of a little burial chamber in the heart of a pyramid.

The mathematicians of the Nile Valley had seriously studied the behaviour of the sun that they might predict the wet and dry seasons and give the peasants a calendar by which they could regulate their work on the farms.

All these problems, however, had been solved by people who still regarded the forces of nature as the direct and personal expression, of the will of certain invisible gods who administered the seasons and the course of the planets and the tides of the ocean as the members of the Government manage the Ministry of Agriculture, or the Post Office, or the Treasury.

Thales rejected this point of view. But like most well-educated people of his day he did not bother to discuss it in public. If the fruit vendors along the water-front wanted to fall upon their faces whenever there was an eclipse of the sun and invoke the name of Zeus in fear of this unusual sight, that was their business, and Thales would have been the last man to try to convince them that any schoolboy with an elementary knowledge of the behaviour of heavenly bodies could have foretold that on the 25th of May of the year 585 b.c., at such and such an hour, the moon would find herself between the earth and the sun, and that therefore the town of Miletus would experience a few minutes of comparative darkness.

Even when it appeared (as it did appear) that the Persians and the Lydians had been engaged in battle on the afternoon of this famous eclipse and had been obliged to cease killing each other for lack of sufficient light, he refused to believe that the Lydian deities(following a famous precedent established a few years previously during a certain battle in the valley of Ajalon) had performed a miracle, and had suddenly turned off the light of Heaven that the victory might go to those whom they favoured.

For Thales had reached the point (and that was his great merit) where he dared to regard all nature as the manifestation of one Eternal Will, subject to one Eternal Law, and entirely beyond the personal influence of those divine spirits which man was for ever creating after his own image. And the eclipse,so he felt, would have taken place just the same if there had been no more important engagement that particular afternoon than a dog-fight in the streets of Ephesus or a wedding-feast in Halicarnassus.

Drawing the logical conclusions from his own scientific observations he laid down one general and inevitable law for all creation, and guessed (and to a certain extent guessed correctly) that the beginning of all things was to be found in the water which apparently surrounded the world on all sides and which had probably existed from the very beginning of time.

Unfortunately we do not possess anything that Thales himself wrote. It is possible that he may have put his ideas into concrete form (for the Greeks had already learned the alphabet from the Phoenicians),but not a page which can be directly attributed to him survives to-day. For our knowledge of himself and his ideas we depend upon the scanty bits of information found in the books of some of his contemporaries.From these, however, we have learned that Thales in private life was a merchant with wide connexions in all parts of the Mediterranean. That, by the way, was typical of most of the early philosophers. They were"lovers of wisdom." But they never closed their eyes to the fact that the secret of life is found among the living and that "wisdom for the sake of wisdom" is quite as dangerous as "art for art's sake" or a dinner for the sake of the food.

To them, man with all his human qualities, good and bad and indifferent, was the supreme measure of all things. Wherefore they spent their leisure time patiently studying this strange creature as he was and not as they thought that he ought to be.

This made it possible for them to remain on the most amicable terms with their fellow-citizens and allowed them to wield a much greater power than if they had undertaken to show their neighbours a short cut to the millennium.

They rarely laid down a hard and fast rule of conduct.

But by their own example they managed to show how a true understanding of the forces of nature must inevitably lead to that inner peace of the soul upon which all true happiness depends, and having in this way gained the goodwill of their community they were given full liberty to study and explore and investigate and were even permitted to venture within those domains which were popularly believed to be the exclusive property of the gods. And as one of the pioneers of this new gospel did Thales spend the long years of his useful career.

Although he had pulled the entire world of the Greeks apart, although he had examined each little piece separately, and had openly questioned all sorts of things which the majority of the people since the beginning of time had held to be established facts, he was allowed to die peacefully in his own bed, and if anyone ever called him to account for his heresies we have no record of the fact.

And once he had shown the way there were many others eager to follow.

There was, for example, Anaxagoras of Clazomenae,who left Asia Minor for Athens at the age of thirty-six and spent the following years as a 'sophist' or private tutor in different Greek cities. He specialized in astronomy and among other things he taught the sun was not a heavenly chariot, driven by a god, as was generally believed, but a red-hot ball of fire, thousands and thousands of times larger than the whole of Greece.

When nothing happened to him, when no bolt from Heaven killed him for his audacity, he went a little farther in his theories and stated boldly that the moon was covered with mountains and valleys, and finally he even hinted at a certain "original matter" which was the beginning and the end of all things and which had existed from the very beginning of time.

But here, as many other scientists after him were to discover, he trod upon dangerous ground, for he discussed something with which people were familiar.The sun and the moon were distant orbs. The average Greek did not care what names the philosopher wished to call them. But when the professor began to argue that all things had gradually grown and developed out of a vague substance called "original matter"—then he went decidedly too far. Such an assertion was in flat contradiction with the story of Deucalion and Pyrrha,who after the great flood had repopulated the world by turning bits of stone into men and women. To deny the truth of a most solemn tale which all little Greek boys and girls had been taught in their early childhood was most dangerous to the safety of established society. It would make the children doubt the wisdom of their elders and that would never do. Hence Anaxagoras was made the subject of a formidable attack on the part of the Athenian Parents' League.

During the monarchy and the early days of the Republic the rulers of the city would have been more than able to protect a teacher of unpopular doctrines from the foolish hostility of the illiterate Attic peasants. But Athens by this time had become a fullfledged democracy and the freedom of the individual was no longer what it used to be. Furthermore,Pericles, just then in disgrace with the majority of the people, was himself a favourite pupil of the great astronomer, and the legal prosecution of Anaxagoras was welcomed as an excellent political move against the city's old dictator.

A priest by the name of Diopheites, who also was a ward-leader in one of the most densely populated suburbs, got a law passed which demanded "the immediate prosecution of all those who disbelieved in the established religion or held theories of their own about certain divine things." Under this law,Anaxagoras was actually thrown into prison. Finally,however, the better elements in the city prevailed.Anaxagoras was allowed to go free, after the payment of a small fine, and move to Lampsacus in Asia Minor,where he died, full of years and honour, in the year 428 b.c.

His case shows how little is ever accomplished by the official suppression of scientific theories. For although Anaxagoras was forced to leave Athens,his ideas remained behind and two centuries later they came to the notice of one Aristotle, who in turn used them as a basis for many of his own scientific speculations. Reaching merrily across a thousand years of darkness, he handed them on to one AbulWalid Muhammad Ibn-Ahmad (commonly known as Averroës), the great Arab physician, who in turn popularized them among the students of the Moorish universities of southern Spain. Then, together with his own observations, he wrote them down in a number of books. These were duly carried across the Pyrenees until they reached the universities of Paris and Bologna. There they were translated into Latin and French and English, and so thoroughly were they accepted by the people of Western and Northern Europe that to-day they have become an integral part of every primer of science and are considered as harmless as the tables of multiplication.

But to return to Anaxagoras. For almost an entire generation after his trial Greek scientists were allowed to teach doctrines which were at variance with popular belief. And then, during the last years of the fifth century, a second case occurred.

The victim this time was a certain Protagoras, a wandering teacher who hailed from the village of Abdera, an Ionian colony in northern Greece. This spot already enjoyed a doubtful reputation as the birthplace of Democritus, the original 'laughing philosopher,'who had laid down the law that "only that society is worthwhile which offers to the largest number of people the greatest amount of happiness obtainable with the smallest amount of pain," and who therefore won regarded as a good deal of a radical and a fellow who should be under constant police supervision.

Protagoras, deeply impressed by this doctrine,went to Athens, and there, after many years of study,proclaimed that man was the measure of all things,that life was too short to waste valuable time upon an inquiry into the doubtful existence of any gods, and that all energies ought to be used for the purpose of making existence more beautiful and more thoroughly enjoyable.

This statement, of course, went to the very root of the matter, and it was bound to shock the faithful more than anything that had ever been written or said.Furthermore it was made during a very serious crisis in the war between Athens and Sparta, and the people,after a long series of defeats and pestilence, were in a state of utter despair. Most evidently it was not the right moment to incur the wrath of the gods by an inquiry into the scope of their supernatural powers.Protagoras was accused of atheism, of "godlessness," and was told to submit his doctrines to the courts.

Pericles, who could have protected him , was dead,and Protagoras, although a scientist, felt little taste for martyrdom.

He fled.

Unfortunately, on the way to Sicily, his ship was wrecked, and it seems that he was drowned, for we never hear of him again.

As for Diagoras, another victim of Athenian malevolence, he was really not a philosopher at all but a young writer who harboured a personal grudge against the gods because they had once failed to give him their support in a lawsuit. He brooded so long upon his supposed grievance that finally his mind became affected and be went about saying all sorts of blasphemous things about the Holy Mysteries, which just then enjoyed great popularity among the people of northern Hellas. For this unseemly conduct he was condemned to death. But, ere the sentence was executed, the poor devil was given the opportunity to escape. He went to Corinth, continued to revile his Olympian enemies, and peacefully died of his own bad temper.

And this brings us at last to the most notorious and the most famous case of Greek intolerance of which we possess any record, the judicial murder of Socrates.

When it is sometimes stated that the world has not changed at all and that the Athenians were no more broad-minded than the people of later times, the name of Socrates is dragged into the debate as a terrible example of Greek bigotry. But to-day, after a very exhaustive study of the case, we know better, and the long and undisturbed career of this brilliant but exasperating soap-box orator is a direct, tribute to the spirit of intellectual liberty which prevailed throughout ancient Greece in the fifth century before our era.

For Socrates, at a time when the common people still firmly believed in a large number of divine beings, made himself the prophet of an only God.And although the Athenians may not always have known what he meant when he spoke of his daemon (that inner voice of divine inspiration which told him what to do and say), they were fully aware of his very unorthodox attitude toward those ideals which most of his neighbours continued to hold in holy veneration and his utter lack of respect for the established order of things. In the end, however, politics killed the old man, and theology (although dragged in for the benefit of the crowd) had really very little to do with the outcome of the trial.

Socrates was the son of a stonecutter who had many children and little money. The boy therefore had never been able to pay for a regular college course, for most of the philosophers were practical fellows and often charged as much as four hundred pounds for a single course of instruction. Besides, the pursuit of pure knowledge and the study of useless scientific facts seemed to young Socrates a mere waste of time and energy. Provided a person cultivated his conscience, so he reasoned, he could well do without geometry, and a knowledge of the true nature of comets and planets was not necessary for the salvation of the soul.

All the same, the homely little fellow with the broken nose and the shabby cloak, who spent his days arguing with the loafers on the corner of the street and his nights listening to the harangues of his wife (who was obliged to provide for a large family by taking in washing, as her husband regarded the gaining of a livelihood as an entirely negligible detail of existence),this honourable veteran of many wars and expeditions and ex-member of the Athenian Senate was chosen among all the many teachers of his day to suffer for his opinions.

In order to understand how this happened, we must know something about the politics of Athens in the days when Socrates rendered his painful but highly useful service to the cause of human intelligence and progress.

All his life long (and he was past seventy when he was executed) Socrates tried to show his neighbours that they were wasting their opportunities; that they were living hollow and shallow lives; that they devoted entirely too much time to empty pleasures and vain triumphs and almost invariably squandered the divine gifts with which a great and mysterious God had endowed them for the sake of a few hours of futile glory and self-satisfaction. And so thoroughly convinced was he of man's high destiny that he broke through the bounds of all old philosophies and went even farther than Protagoras. For whereas the latter had taught that "man is the measure of all things,"Socrates preached that "man's invisible conscience is(or ought to be) the ultimate measure of all things and that it is not the gods but we ourselves who shape our destiny."

The speech which Socrates made before the judges who were to decide his fate (there were five hundred of them, to be precise, and they had been so carefully chosen by his political enemies that some of them could actually read and write) was one of the most delightful bits of common sense ever addressed to any audience, sympathetic or otherwise.

"No person on earth," so the philosopher argued,"has the right to tell another man what he should believe or to deprive him of the right to think as he pleases." Further: "Provided that man remain on good terms with his own conscience, he can well do without the approbation of his friends, without money, without a family, or even a home. But, as no one can possibly reach the right conclusions without a thorough examination of all the pros and cons of every problem,people must be given a chance to discuss all questions with complete freedom and without interference on the part of the authorities."

Unfortunately for the accused this was exactly the wrong statement at the wrong moment. Ever since the Peloponnesian War there had been a bitter struggle in Athens between the rich and the poor, between capital and labour. Socrates was a 'moderate'—a liberal who saw good and evil in both systems of government and who tried to find a compromise which should satisfy all reasonable people. This, of course, had made him thoroughly unpopular with both sides, but thus far they had been too evenly balanced to take action against him.

When at last, in the year 403 b.c., the one-hundredpercent democrats gained complete control of the state and expelled the aristocrats. Socrates was a. doomed man.

His friends knew this. They suggested that he leave the city before it was too late, and this would have been a very wise thing to do.

For Socrates had quite as many enemies as friends.During the greater part of a century he had been a sort of vocal 'columnist,' a terribly clever busybody who had made it his hobby to expose the shams and the intellectual swindles of those who regarded themselves as the pillars of Athenian society. As a result, everyone had come to know him. His name had become a household word throughout eastern Greece. When he said something funny in the morning, by night the whole town had heard about it. Plays had been written about him and when he was finally arrested and taken to prison there was not a citizen in the whole of Attica who was not thoroughly familiar with all the details of his career.

Those who took the leading part in the actual trial(like that honourable grain merchant who could neither read nor write but who knew all about the will of the gods and therefore was loudest in his accusations) were undoubtedly convinced that they were rendering a great service to the community by ridding the city of a highly dangerous member of the so-called intelligentzia , a man whose teaching could only lead to laziness and crime and discontent among the slaves.

It is rather amusing to remember that even under those circumstances Socrates pleaded his case with such tremendous virtuosity that a majority of the jury was for letting him go free and suggested that he might be pardoned if only he would give up this terrible habit of arguing, of debating, or wrangling and moralizing; in short, if only he would leave his neighbours and their pet prejudices in peace and not bother them with his eternal doubts.

But Socrates would not hear of it.

"By no means," he exclaimed. "As long as my conscience, as long as the still small voice within me,bids me go forth and show men the true road to reason,I shall continue to buttonhole whomsoever I happen to meet and I shall say what is on my mind, regardless of consequences."

After that there was no other course but to condemn the prisoner to death.

Socrates was given a respite of thirty days. The holy ship which made an annual pilgrimage to Delos had not yet returned from its voyage and until then the Athenian law did not allow any executions. The whole of this month the old man spent quietly in his cell, trying to improve his system of logic. Although he was repeatedly given the opportunity to escape, he refused to go. He had lived his life and had done his duty. He was tired and ready to depart. Until the hour of his execution he continued to talk with his friends,trying to educate them in what he held to be right and true, asking them to turn their minds upon the things of the spirit rather than those of the material world.

Then he drank the cup of hemlock, laid himself upon his couch, and all further argument was settled by sleep everlasting.

For a short time his disciples, rather terrified by this terrible outburst of popular wrath, thought it wise to remove themselves from the scene of their former activities.

But when nothing happened they returned and resumed their former occupation as public teachers,and within a dozen years after the death of the old philosopher his ideas were more popular than ever.

The city meanwhile had gone through a very difficult period. It was five years since the struggle for the leadership of the Greek peninsula had ended with the defeat of Athens and the ultimate victory of the Spartans. This had been a complete triumph of brawn over brain. Needless to say, it did not last very long. The Spartans, who never wrote a line worth remembering or contributed a single idea to the sum total of human knowledge (with the exception of certain military tactics which survive in our modern game of football) thought that they had accomplished their task when the walls of their rival had been pulled down and the Athenian fleet had been reduced to a dozen ships. But the Athenian mind had lost none of its shrewd brilliancy. A decade after the end of the Peloponnesian War the old harbour of the Piraeus was once more filled with ships from all parts of the world,and Athenian admirals were again fighting at the head of the allied Greek navies.

Furthermore, the labour of Pericles, although not appreciated by his own contemporaries, had made the city the intellectual capital of the world—the Paris of the fourth century before the birth of Christ.Whosoever in Rome or Spain or Africa was rich enough to give his sons a fashionable education felt flattered if the boys were allowed to visit a school situated within the shadow of the Acropolis.

For this ancient world, which we modern people find so difficult to understand properly, took the problem of existence seriously.

Under the influence of the early Christian enemies of pagan civilization the impression had gained ground that the average Roman or Greek was a highly immoral person who paid a shallow homage to certain nebulous gods and for the rest spent his waking hours eating enormous dinners, drinking vast bumpers of Salernian wine, and listening to the pretty prattle of Egyptian dancing girls, unless for a change he went to war and slaughtered innocent Germans and Franks and Dacians for the pure sport of shedding blood.

Of course, in Greece, and even more so in Rome, there were a great many merchants and war contractors who had accumulated their millions without much regard for those ethical principles which Socrates had so well defined before his judges. Because these people were very wealthy they had to be put up with. This, however, did not mean that they enjoyed the respect of the community or were regarded as commendable representatives of the civilization of their day.

We dig up the villa of Epaphroditus, who amassed millions as one of the gang who helped Nero to plunder Rome and her colonies. We look at the ruins of the forty-room palace which the old profiteer built out of his ill-gotten gains. And we shake our heads and say, "What depravity!"

Then we sit down and read the works of Epictetus,who was one of the house slaves of the old scoundrel,and we find ourselves in the company of a spirit as lofty and as exalted as ever lived.

I know that the making of generalizations about our neighbours and about other nations is one of the most popular of indoor sports, but let us not forget that Epictetus, the philosopher, was quite as truly a representative of the time in which he lived as Epaphroditus, the imperial flunkey, and that the desire for holiness was as great twenty centuries ago as it is to-day.

Undoubtedly it was a very different sort of holiness from that which is practised to-day. It was the product of an essentially European brain and had nothing to do with the Orient. But the 'barbarians' who established it as their ideal of what they held to be most noble and desirable were our own ancestors, and they were slowly developing a philosophy of life which was highly successful if we agree that a clear conscience and a simple, straightforward life, together with good health and a moderate but sufficient income are the best guarantee for general happiness and contentment. The future of the soul did not interest these people overmuch. They accepted the fact that they were a special sort of mammal which by reason of its intellectual application had risen high above the other creatures which crawled upon this earth. If they frequently referred to the gods, they used the word as we use 'atoms' or 'electrons' or 'ether.' The beginning of things has got to have a name, but Zeus in the mouth of Epictetus was as problematical a value as x or y in the problems of Euclid and meant just as much or as little.

Life it was which interested those men, and next to living, art.

Life, therefore, in all its endless varieties they studied, and, following the method of reasoning which Socrates had originated and made popular, they achieved some very remarkable results.

That sometimes in their zeal for a perfect spiritual world they went to absurd extremes was regrettable,but no more than human. But Plato is the only one among all the teachers of antiquity who from sheer love for a perfect world ever came to preach a doctrine of intolerance.

This young Athenian, as is well known, was the beloved disciple of Socrates and became his literary executor.

In this capacity he immediately gathered all that Socrates had ever said or thought into a series of dialogues which might be truthfully called the Socratian Gospels.

When this had been done, he began to elaborate certain of the more obscure points in his master's doctrines and explained them in a series of brilliant essays. And finally he conducted a number of lecture courses which spread the Athenian ideas of justice and righteousness far beyond the confines of Attica.

In all these activities he showed such wholehearted and unselfish devotion that we might almost compare him to St Paul. But whereas St Paul had led a most adventurous and dangerous existence, ever travelling from north to south and from west to cast that he might bring the Good Tidings to all parts of the Mediterranean world, Plato never budged from his comfortable garden chair and allowed the world to come to him.

Certain advantages of birth and the possession of independent wealth allowed him to do this.

In the first place he was an Athenian citizen, and through his mother could trace his descent to no one less than Solon. Then as soon as he came of age he inherited a fortune more than sufficient for his simple needs.

And, finally, his eloquence was such that people willingly travelled to the Aegean Sea if only they were allowed to follow a few of the lectures in the Platonic University.

For the rest, Plato was very much like the other young men of his time. He served in the army, but without any particular interest in military affairs. He went in for outdoor sports, became a good wrestler, a fairly good runner, but never achieved any particular fame in the stadium. Again, like most young men of that age he spent a great deal of his time in foreign travel and crossed the Aegean Sea and paid a short visit to northern Egypt, as his famous grandfather Solon had done before him. After that, however, he returned home for good, and during fifty consecutive years he quietly taught his doctrines in the shadowy corners of a pleasure garden which was situated on the banks of the river Cephissus in the suburbs of Athens and was called the Academy.

He had begun his career as a mathematician, but gradually he switched over to politics, and in this field he laid the foundations for our modern school of government. He was at heart a confirmed optimist and believed in a steady process of human evolution. The life of man, so he taught, rises slowly from a lower plane to a higher one. From beautiful bodies the world proceeds to beautiful institutions, and from beautiful institutions to beautiful ideas.

This sounded well on parchment, but when Plato tried to lay down certain definite principles upon which his perfect state was to be founded his zeal for righteousness and his desire for justice were so great that they made him deaf and blind to all other considerations. His Republic, which has ever since been regarded as the last word in human perfection by the manufacturers of paper Utopias, was a very strange commonwealth, and reflected and continues to reflect with great nicety the prejudices of those retired colonels who have always enjoyed the comforts of a private income, who like to move in polite circles,and who have a profound distrust of the lower classes,lest they forget 'their place' and want to have a share of those special privileges which by right should go to the members of the 'upper class'.

Unfortunately, the books of Pluto enjoyed great respect among the medieval scholars of western Europe, and in their hands the famous Republic became a most formidable weapon in their warfare upon tolerance.

For these learned doctors were apt to forget that Plato had reached his conclusions from very different premises than those which were popular in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.

For instance, Plato had been anything but a pious man in the Christian sense of the word. The gods of his ancestors he had always regarded with deep contempt as ill-mannered rustics from distant Macedonia. He had been deeply mortified by their scandalous behaviour as related in the chronicles of the Trojan War. But as he grew older and sat and sat and sat in his little olive grove, and became more and more exasperated by the foolish quarrels of the little city-states of his native land, and witnessed the utter failure of the old democratic ideal, he grew convinced that some sort of religion was necessary for the average citizen, or his imaginary Republic would at once degenerate into a state of rampant anarchy.He therefore insisted that the legislative body of his model community should establish a definite rule of conduct for all citizens and should force both freemen and slaves to obey these regulations on pain of death or exile or imprisonment. This sounded like an absolute negation of that broad spirit of tolerance and of that liberty of conscience for which Socrates had so valiantly fought only a short time before, and that is exactly what it was meant to be.

The reason for this change in attitude is not hard to find. Whereas Socrates had been a man among men, Plato was afraid of life and escaped from an unpleasant and ugly world into the realm of his own day dreams. He knew, of course, that there was not the slightest chance of his ideas ever being realized.The day of the little independent city-states, whether imaginary or real, was over. The era of centralization had begun, and soon the entire Greek peninsula was to be incorporated into that vast Macedonian Empire which stretched from the shores of the Maritsa to the banks of the Indus River.

But ere the heavy hand of the conqueror descended upon the unruly democracies of the old peninsula the country had produced the greatest of those many benefactors who have put the rest of the world under eternal obligation to the now defunct race of the Greeks.

I refer, of course, to Aristotle, the wonder-child from Stagira, the man who in his day and age knew everything that was to be known, and added so much to the sum total of human knowledge that his books became an intellectual quarry from which fifty successive generations of Europeans and Asiatics were able to steal to their hearts' content without exhausting that rich vein of pure learning.

At the age of eighteen Aristotle had left his native village in Macedonia to go to Athens and follow the lectures in Plato's university. After his graduation he lectured in a number of places until the year 336, when he returned to Athens and opened a school of his own in a garden near the temple of Apollo Lyceus, which became known as the Lyceum and soon attracted pupils from all over the world.

Strangely enough, the Athenians were not at all in favour of increasing the number of academies within their walls. The town was at last beginning to lose its old commercial importance, and all of her more energetic citizens were moving to Alexandria and to Marseilles and other cities of the south and the west. Those who remained behind were either too poor or too indolent to escape. They were the hidebound remnant of those old, turbulent masses of free citizens, who had been at once the glory and the ruin of the long-suffering Republic. They had regarded the'goings on' in Plato's orchard with small favour. When a dozen years after his death his most notorious pupil came back and openly taught still more outrageous doctrines about the beginning of the world and the limited ability of the gods, the old fogies shook their solemn heads and mumbled dark threats against the man who was making their city a by-word for free thinking and unbelief.

If they had had their own way they would have forced him to leave their country. But they wisely kept these opinions to themselves. For this shortsighted, stoutish gentleman, famous for his good taste in books and in clothes, was no negligible quantity in the political life of that day, no obscure little professor who could be driven out of town by a couple of hired bravos. He was no one less than the son of a Macedonian court-physician and he had been brought up with the royal princes. And furthermore, as soon as he had finished his studies, he had been appointed tutor to the Crown Prince, and for eight years he had been the daily companion of young Alexander. Hence he enjoyed the friendship and the protection of the most powerful ruler the world had ever seen, and the regent who administered the Greek provinces during the monarch's absence on the Indian front watched carefully lest harm should befall one who had been the boon companion of his Imperial master.

No sooner, however, had news of Alexander's death reached Athens than Aristotle's life was in peril. He remembered what had happened to Socrates and felt no desire to suffer a similar fate. Like Plato, he had carefully avoided mixing philosophy with practical polities. But his distaste for the democratic form of government and his lack of belief in the sovereign abilities of the common people were known to all.And when the Athenians, in a sudden outburst of fury, expelled the Macedonian garrison, Aristotle moved across the Euboean Sound and went to live in Chalcis, where he died a few months before Athens was reconquered by the Macedonians and was duly punished for her disobedience.

At this far distance it is not easy to discover upon what positive grounds Aristotle was accused of impiety. But as usual in that nation of amateur orators his case was inextricably mixed up with politics,and his unpopularity was due to his disregard of the prejudices of a few local ward-bosses, rather than to the expression of any startlingly new heresies which might have exposed Athens to the vengeance of Zeus.

Nor does it matter very much.

The days of the small independent republics were numbered.

Soon afterward the Romans fell heir to the European heritage of Alexander, and Greece became one of their many provinces.

Then there was an end to all further bickering, for the Romans in most matters were even more tolerant than the Greeks of the Golden Age had been, and they permitted their subjects to think as they pleased,provided they did not question certain principles of political expediency upon which the peace and prosperity of the Roman state had, since time immemorial, been safely builded.

All the same, there existed a subtle difference between the ideals which animated the contemporaries of Cicero and those which had been held sacred by the followers of such a man as Pericles. The old leaders of Greek thought had based their tolerance upon certain definite conclusions which they had reached after centuries of careful experiment and meditation. The Romans felt that they could do without the preliminary study. They were merely indifferent, and were proud of the fact. They were interested in practical things.They were men of action and had a deep-seated contempt for words.

If other people wished to spend their afternoons underneath an old olive-tree discussing the theoretical aspects of government, or the influence of the moon upon the tides, they wore more than welcome to do so.If, furthermore, their knowledge could be turned to some practical use, then it was worthy of further attention. Otherwise, together with singing and dancing and cooking, sculpture and science, this business of philosophizing had better be left to the Greeks and to the other foreigners whom Jupiter in his mercy had created to provide the world with those things which were unworthy of a true Roman's attention.

Meanwhile they themselves would devote their attention to the administration of their ever-increasing domains; they would drill the necessary companies of foreign infantry and cavalry to protect their outlying provinces; they would survey the roads that were to connect Spain with Bulgaria; and generally they would devote their energies to the keeping of the peace between half a thousand different tribes and nations.

Let us give honour where honour is due.

The Romans did their job so thoroughly that they created a structure which under one form or another has survived until our own time, and that in itself is no mean accomplishment. As long as the necessary taxes were paid and a certain outward homage was paid to the few rules of conduct laid down by their Roman masters, the subject-tribes enjoyed a very large degree of liberty. They could believe or disbelieve whatever they pleased. They could worship one God or a dozen gods or whole temples full of gods. It made no difference. But whatever religion they chose to profess, these strangely assorted members of a worldencircling empire were forever reminded that the pax Romana depended for its success upon a liberal application of the principle of "live and let live." They must under no condition interfere either with their own neighbours or with the strangers within their gates.And if perchance they thought that their gods had been insulted, they must not rush to the magistrate for relief. "For," as the Emperor Tiberius remarked upon one memorable occasion, "if the gods think that they have just claims for grievance, they can surely take care of themselves."

And with such scant words of consolation all similar cases were instantly dismissed and people were requested to keep their private opinions out of the courts.

If a number of Cappadocian traders decided to settle down among the Colossians they had a right to bring their own gods with them and erect a temple of their own in the town of Colossae. But if the Colossians should for similar reasons move into the land of the Cappadocians they must be granted the same privileges and must be given an equal freedom of worship.

It has often been argued that the Romans could permit themselves the luxury of such a superior and tolerant attitude because they felt an equal contempt for both the Colossians and the Cappadocians and all the other savage tribes who dwelled outside of Latium. That may have been true. I don't know. But the fact remains that for half a thousand years a form of almost complete religious tolerance was strictly maintained within the greater part of civilized and semi-civilized Europe, Asia, and Africa, and that the Romans developed a technique of statecraft which produced a maximum of practical results together with a minimum of friction.

To many people it seemed that the millennium had been achieved and that this condition of mutual forbearance would last for ever.

But nothing lasts for ever. Least of all an empire built upon force.

Rome had conquered the world, but in the effort she had destroyed herself.

The bones of her young soldiers lay bleaching on a thousand battlefields.

For almost five centuries the brains of her most intelligent citizens had wasted themselves upon the gigantic task of administering a colonial empire that stretched from the Irish Sea to the Caspian.

At last the reaction set in.

Both the body and the mind of Rome had been exhausted by the impossible task of a single city ruling an entire world.

And then a terrible thing happened. A whole people grew tired of life and lost the zest for living.

They had come to own all the country houses, all the town houses, all the yachts and all the stagecoaches they could ever hope to use.

They found themselves possessed of all the slaves in the world.

They had eaten everything, they had seen everything,they had heard everything.

They had tried the taste of every drink, they had been everywhere, they had made love to all the women from Barcelona to Thebes. All the books that had ever been written were in their libraries. The best pictures that had ever been painted were on their walls. The cleverest musicians of the entire world had entertained them at their meals. And, as children, they had been instructed by the best professors and pedagogues, who had taught them everything there was to be taught. As a result, all food and drink had lost its taste, all books had grown dull, all women had become uninteresting,and existence itself had developed into a burden which a good many people were willing to drop at the first respectable opportunity.

There remained only one consolation, the contemplation of the Unknown and the Invisible.

The old gods, however, had died years before. No intelligent Roman any longer took stock in the silly nursery rhymes about Jupiter and Minerva.

There were the philosophic systems of the Epicureans and the Stoics and the Cynics, all of whom preached charity and self-denial and the virtues of an unselfish and useful life.

But they were so empty. They sounded well enough in the books of Zeno and Epicurus and Epictetus and Plutarch, which were to be found in every library.

But in the long run this diet of pure reason was found to lack the necessary nourishing qualities. The Romans began to clamour for a certain amount of'emotion' with their spiritual meals.

Hence the purely philosophical 'religions' (for such they really were, if we associate the idea of religion with a desire to lead useful and noble lives) could only appeal to a very small number of people, and almost all of those belonged to the upper classes who had enjoyed the advantages of private instruction at the hands of competent Greek teachers.

To the mass of the people these burly spun philosophic meant less than nothing at all. They too had reached a point of development at which a good deal of the ancient mythology seemed the childish invention of rude and credulous ancestors. But they could not possibly go as far as their so-called intellectual superiors and deny the existence of any and all personal gods.

Wherefore they did what all half-educated people do under such circumstances. They paid a formal and outward tribute of respect to the official gods of the Republic and then betook themselves for real comfort and happiness to one of the many mystery religions which during the last two centuries had found a most,cordial welcome in the ancient city on the banks of the Tiber.

The word 'mystery,' which I have used before, was of Greek origin. It originally meant a gathering of"initiated people"—of men and women whose "mouth had been shut" against the betrayal of those most holy secrets which only the true members of the mystery were supposed to know and which bound them together like the hocus-pocus of a college fraternity or the cabalistic incantations of the Independent Order of Sea-mice.

During the first century of our era, however, a mystery was nothing more nor less than a special form of worship, a denomination, a church. If a Greek or a Roman (if you will pardon a little juggling with time) had left the Presbyterian Church for the Christian Science Church, he would have told his neighbours that he had gone to "another mystery." For the word 'church' the 'kirk,' the 'house of the Lord,' is of comparatively recent origin and was not known in those days.

Rome was full of imported and domestic religions.The international nature of the city had made this unavoidable. From the vino-covered mountain slopes of northern Asia Minor had come the cult of Cybele,whom the Phrygians revered as the mother of the gods, and whose worship was connected with such unseemly outbreaks of emotional hilarity that the Roman police had repeatedly been forced to close the Cybelian temples and had at last passed very drastic laws against the further propaganda of a faith which encouraged public drunkenness and many other things that were even worse.

Egypt, the old land of paradox and secrecy, had contributed half a dozen strange divinities and the names of Osiris, Serapis, and Isis had become as familiar to Roman ears as those of Apollo, Demeter,and Hermes.

As for the Greeks, who centuries before had given to the world a primary system of abstract truth and a practical code of conduct based upon virtue, they now supplied the people of foreign lands who insisted upon images and incense with the far-famed 'mysteries' of Attis and Dionysus and Orpheus and Adonis, none of them entirely above suspicion as far as public morals were concerned, but nevertheless enjoying immense popularity.

The Phoenician traders, who for a thousand years had frequented the shores of Italy, had made the Romans familiar with their great god Baal (the archenemy of Jehovah) and with Astarte his wife, that strange creature to whom Solomon in his old age and to the great horror of all his faithful subjects had built a 'high place' in the very heart of Jerusalem,the terrible goddess who had been recognized as the official protector of the city of Carthage during her long struggle for the supremacy of the Mediterranean,and who, finally, after the destruction of all her temples in Asia and Africa, was to return to Europe in the shape of a most respectable and demure Christian saint.

But the most important of all, because highly popular among the soldiers of the army, was a deity whose broken images can still be found underneath every rubbish pile that marks the Roman frontier from the mouth of the Rhine to the source of the Tigris.

This was the great god Mithras.

Mithras, as far as we know, was the old Asiatic god of Light and Air and Truth, and he had been worshipped in the plains of the Caspian lowlands when our first ancestors took possession of those wonderful grazing fields and made ready to settle those valleys and hills which afterward became known as Europe. To them he had been the giver of all good things and they believed that the rulers of this earth exercised their power only by the grace of his mighty will. Hence, as a token of his divine favour, he sometimes bestowed upon those called to high offices a bit of that celestial fire by which he himself was for ever surrounded, and although he is gone and his name has been forgotten, the kindly saints of the Middle Ages, with their halo of light, remind us of an ancient tradition which was started thousands of years before the Church was ever dreamed of.

But although he was held in great reverence for an incredibly long time, it has been very difficult to reconstruct his life with any degree of accuracy.There was a good reason for this. The early Christian missionaries abhorred the Mithras myth with a hatred infinitely more bitter than that reserved for the common, everyday mysteries. In their heart of hearts they knew that the Indian god was their most serious rival. Hence they tried as hard as possible to remove everything that might possibly remind people of his existence. In this task they succeeded so well that all Mithras temples have disappeared and not a scrap of written evidence remains about a religion which for more than half a thousand years was as popular in Rome as Methodism or Presbyterianism is in the United States of today.

However, with the help of a few Asiatic sources and by a careful perusal of certain ruins which could not be entirely destroyed in the days before the invention of dynamite, we have been able to overcome this initial handicap and now possess a fairly accurate idea about this interesting god and the things for which he stood.

Ages and ages ago, so the story ran, Mithras was mysteriously horn of a rock. As soon as he lay in his cradle several local shepherds came to worship him and make him happy with their gifts.

As a boy Mithras had met with all sorts of strange adventures. Many of these remind us closely of the deeds which had made Hercules such a popular hero with the children of the Greeks. But whereas Hercules was often very cruel Mithras was for ever doing good.Once he had engaged in a wrestling match with the Sun and had beaten him. But he was so generous in his victory that the Sun and he had become like brothers,and were often mistaken for each other.

When the god of all evil had sent a drought which threatened to kill the race of man, Mithras had struck a rock with his arrow, and behold! Plentiful water had gushed forth upon the parched fields. When Ahriman (for that was the name of the arch-enemy) had thereupon tried to achieve his wicked purpose by a terrible flood, Mithras had heard of it, had warned one man, had told him to build a big boat and load it with his relatives and his flocks and in this way had saved the human race from destruction. Until finally,having done all he could to save the world from the consequences of its own follies, he had been taken to Heaven to rule the just and righteous for all time.

Those who wished to join the Mithras cult were obliged to go through an elaborate form of initiation and were forced to eat a ceremonious meal of bread and wine in memory of the famous supper eaten by Mithras and his friend the Sun. Furthermore, they were obliged to accept baptism in a font of water and do many other things which have no special interest to us,as that form of religion was completely exterminated more than fifteen hundred years ago.

Once inside the fold, the faithful were all treated upon a footing of absolute equality. Together they prayed before the same, candle-lit altars. Together they chanted the same holy hymns, and together they took part in the festivities which were held each year on the twenty-fifth of December to celebrate the birth of Mithras. Furthermore, they abstained from all work on the first day of the week, which even to-day is called Sun-day in honour of the great god. And finally, when they died they were laid away in patient rows to await the day of resurrection when the good should enter into their just reward and the wicked should he east into the fire everlasting.

The success of these different mysteries, the widespread influence of Mithraism among the Roman soldiers, points to a condition far removed from religious indifference. Indeed, the early centuries of the Empire were a period of restless search after something that should satisfy the emotional needs of the masses.

But early in the year 47 of our own era something happened. A small vessel left Phoenicia for the city of Perga, the starting point for the overland route to Europe. Among the passengers were two men not overburdened with luggage.

Their names were Paul and Barnabas.

They were Jews, but one of them carried a Roman passport and was well versed in the wisdom of the Gentile world. It was the beginning of a memorable voyage.

Christianity had set out to conquer the world. KfFX3R/SXQJwfAF9ze7OdItjsRT60J8G2uSgkCBe++Xx5sQEerOiDrFKCp5Dl8VW