And now on the boughs of the
Christmas Tree where richly we come upon vestiges of primitive rites
only these playful toys are left to suggest the massacre of the
innocent.
He had covered the ground; everything had yielded its story. All the
little stories, like pathways running backward into the distance and
ever converging, met somewhere in lost ages; they met in forest
worship and they met in some sacrifice by the human heart.
And thus he drew his conclusion as the lesson of the night:
"Thus, Josephine, my story ends for you and for me. The Christmas Tree
is all that is left of a forest memory. The forest worshipper could
not worship without giving, because to worship is to give: therefore
he brought his gifts to the forest--his first altar. These gifts,
remember, were never, as with us, decorations. They were his
sacrifices and self-sacrifices. In all the religions he has had since,
the same law lives. In his lower religions he has sacrificed the
better to the worse; in the higher ones he has sacrificed the worst to
the best. If the race should ever outgrow all religion whatsoever, it
would still have to worship what is highest in human nature and so
worshipping, it would still be ruled by the ancient law of sacrifice
become the law of self-sacrifice: it would still be necessary to offer
up what is low in us to what is higher.
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