171 their faces; they admire Thy goings”1 . . . “creatures live through Thee, while their eyes are upon Thy beauty.” And not only are such expressions applied to the Sun Himself, but the whole picture of the world pulsating with life and joy under His daily touch — men, bathed and clothed in clean garments, raising their hands in adoration to Him; birds circling round with thrills of joy in the clear morning sky; beasts running and skipping about in fields flooded with light; fishes, whose golden scales shine through the sunlit water as they leap up from the depth, before the rising God; and the tender lilies that open themselves to His fiery kiss and “drink themselves drunk” of warmth, of light, of impalpable effulgences, in the marshes where they bloom — that entire picture, we say, is the inspired vision of an artist which, more than anything else, Akhnaton was. No less than the perfection of the One God, the hymns exalt the joy of life and the loveliness of the visible world. Life is sweet, in fact, because there is so much beauty all round us. It is a pleasure to have eyes and to behold graceful forms and delicate colours — the green trees and water-reeds, the rich brown earth, the reddish-yellow desert, the blue hills in the distance and, above all, the deep, transparent, boundless, radiant sky, with the flaming Orb — God’s face — “rising, shining, departing afar off and returning”2; to witness the glory of dawn and sunset. It is a pleasure to see happy four-legged creatures stretch out their bodies in the light. It is a pleasure to see a flight of birds sail through the calm, vibrating infinity. It is a pleasure to listen to the noises of life: the song of the crickets, children’s laughter, and the music of the wind in the high trees. It is a pleasure to be alive, for there is beauty in the child, in the beast, in the bird, in the trees — in all that lives; beauty in land, water and sky — in all that is. The emphasis that the young Pharaoh puts on the ravishment of the senses at the sight of daylight — and of all that daylight beautifies — is perhaps equalled only in the masterpieces of Greek literature, centuries later; 1 Longer Hymn, Translation of Sir Wallis Budge, Tutankhamen, Amenism, Atenism, and Egyptian Monotheism (Edit. 1923), p. 124. 2 Longer Hymn, Translation of Sir Wallis Budge, Tutankhamen, Amenism, Atenism, and Egyptian Monotheism (Edit. 1923), p. 133.

172 it forestalls the words so often repeated by the chorus in classical tragedies: “It is sweet to behold the Sun.” * * * One can say of Akhnaton’s whole life that it was an attempt to establish on this earth, here and now, the reign of perfection. His City, as we have seen previously, was to be the City of God, the model of that ideal world which he visualised in his heart and which seems to us, still to-day, so far, far away, so unreal, so impossible. And it was “a place of surpassing beauty,”1 planned “with delicate taste and supreme elegance.”2 We have already spoken3 of its temples with their successive pillared courts open to the sky; of its fair villas surrounded with palm-groves and flower-beds; of the king’s palace, that exceeded in splendour that in which Amenhotep the Third had spent in Thebes his luxurious days; and of the peaceful gardens — “Precincts of Aton” — that lay to the south, with their colonnaded pavilions, their verdant arbours, their artificial lakes full of lotuses. The very choice of its site, in the eastern half of a broad plain cut in two by the Nile and encircled in a double horizon of mountain-ridges, had been an act of good taste. From the flat roofs of Akhetaton one could see the river shining, to the west, beyond groves and gardens and stretches of green fields. And from the opposite bank onwards, the plain — a narrow ribbon of fertile earth and a wide expanse of desert — unrolled its changing succession of pale or dark colours, finally lost in pink or blue mist, up to the distant hills behind which the Sun would set. To the east, the same broad panorama of rich vegetation, sand and sky extended up to the chalky white cliffs, honeycombed with tombs, that limited the horizon — the hills of rest. At dawn, the western mountains were the first to shine at the touch of the Lord of Rays. And at dusk, the cliffs in the east were the last to reflect the crimson after- 1 Arthur Weigall: Life and Times of Akhnaton (New and Revised Edit. 1922) p. 175. 2 Arthur Weigall: Short History of Ancient Egypt (Edit. 1934), p. 151. 3 In Chapter IV.

173 glow. Thus the glory of Ra-Horakhti of the Two Horizons was manifested to all the dwellers in His City, as day after day dawned and faded away over the beautiful bay where the place was built. The landscape itself was a hymn and a teaching. The elegant architecture of the houses and villas, of the palace and temples — the sober outlines of light-coloured brick against a clear sky; the harmonious perspectives of pillared porticos and inner halls, with deep contrasts of light and shadow; the imposing profile of the pylons with their flag-staves bearing fluttering pennons of purple; and the airy splendour of the sacred courts with their single altar smoking under the bright sunshine, on a flight of steps — that architecture, we say, was in tune with its natural setting. And the fresh, shady gardens in the neighbourhood of the desert seemed all the more fresh and delightful; and the reddish-yellow sands in the background all the more austere, all the more endless and barren — full of sunshine alone; full of infinite peace. The City was not, as are so many others, a monument of man’s domination over nature, and of his pride. It was but a beautiful detail added to the immense landscape, as a permanent offering to the Soul of all beings, the Sun; a monument of worship lying between the silent sands, the majestic River and the radiant sky. * * * But it is not only in the emphasis he put in his hymns on the beauty of the Sun-disk; not only in the choice of an inspiring site and in the building of “as fair a city as the world had ever seen”1 that Akhnaton proves himself an artist in the full sense of the word. The arts held a large place both in his cult and in his life. As far as one can tell from the paintings and reliefs that depict him in familiar attitudes, his days were works of beauty. As already said, we know hardly anything about the ceremonial of the Religion of the Disk; but we do know that 1 Arthur Weigall: Life and Times of Akhnaton (New and Revised Edit. 1922), p. 176.

174 music and singing — and dancing — were an essential part of it. It is written in the shorter hymn that “singing men and singing women and chorus men produce joyful sounds in the Hall of the House of the Benben Obelisk, and in every temple of Akhetaton, the seat of Truth.” In a painting in the tomb of the high-priest Merira, that represents a visit of the king and queen to the main temple of Aton, probably on a festive occasion, one can see a group of blind musicians singing to the accompaniment of a seven-stringed harp. And this is not the only pictorial evidence of musical instruments used in the temples to glorify the One God. Moreover, from the famous stele1 in which Tutankhamen describes the state of Egypt under the “heretic” Pharaoh, it appears that Akhnaton also maintained a large number of dancers in connection with the service of Aton.2 We know, too, that the places of worship which he dedicated, be it in Thebes during the first years of his reign, be it in his sacred City, were richly adorned with frescoes and bas-reliefs and statues, some fragments of which have been found. The temple built as Queen Tiy’s private house of worship, on the occasion of her coming to Akhetaton, and named “Shade of the Sun,” contained statues of the king himself, of Amenhotep the Third, and of the dowager-queen, between the columns that stood on either side of its main court.3 There were statues of the royal couple — or perhaps of Akhnaton with one of his daughters4 — in front of each column at the entrance of the pillared portico which led into the smaller temple of Aton, behind the main one. And it is highly probable that, in the shrines dedicated to the memory of the king’s father and to that of his ancestors, Thotmose the Fourth, Amenhotep the Second, etc., statues of those monarchs were to be seen as well as diverse representations of them in colour and relief. This shows that, rigorously monotheistic as it surely was, 1 In the Cairo Museum. 2 Sir Wallis Budge: Tutankhamen, Amenism, Atenism, and Egyptian Monotheism (Edit. 1923), p. 92. 3 Arthur Weigall: Life and Times of Akhnaton (New and Revised Edit. 1922), p. 158. 4 Arthur Weigall: Life and Times of Akhnaton (New and Revised Edit. 1922), p. 174.

175 the Religion of the Disk remained a religion strongly appealing to the senses; one that readily put to contribution all manner of artistic skill, and gave occasion to the greatest display of beauty. Men and women attached to the temples praised the “Lord and Origin of life” in solos and choruses, and on the harp. Sistrums were rattled and drums beaten at certain solemn moments during the ceremonies. And, no doubt also to the accompaniment of music, sacred dancers expressed, in symbolical attitudes and harmoniously suggestive movements, the succession of the seasons or the daily course of the Sun. Akhnaton, so vehemently opposed to any graven or painted representation of God, did not object in the least to the presence in temples of statues of human beings whom he wished to honour, or of fanciful figures, semi-animal, semi-human, such as that remarkable sphinx en relief in his own likeness, familiar to all students of the Tell-el-Amarna art. Any image of God, already sacrilegious in itself by its necessary inadequacy, could tempt the worshipper to forget the Unnameable and Limitless, and to carry his homage to the concrete shape. It was a lie and a danger. While in the portraits in colour or in stone of people destined to be exalted, but not adored, there lay no such falsehood and no such snare. The Pharaoh not only tolerated them, but seems to have encouraged his sculptors to produce them, for the embellishment of the “Houses of Aton.” Perhaps, also, did he expect to strengthen the faith of his followers by maintaining them in contact with the long tradition of Egyptian Sun-worship, of which the upstart cult of Amon was, in his eyes, a distortion, and his own Teaching the culmination. That worship had been linked, in the minds of the people, with a religious reverence for the monarch and his line; the fact was not one to be disdained. Be it so or otherwise, Akhnaton evidently looked upon melodious sounds and rhythmic movements, and colours and forms pleasing to the eye, as powerful means of edification; and he closely associated his rational cult with all the arts. Nothing was more alien to his spirit than that austere puritanism, enemy of dance and music, which so many

176 zealous reformers of various creeds put forward centuries after him, apparently with the purpose of turning the hearts of the faithful away from the world back to God. To him, the visible beauty of the world was god-like; the refined joys of the senses were uplifting to the soul. And the latter-day idea of the opposition of “the world” to God would have seemed to him impious and absurd. What perhaps characterises Akhnaton the best, besides his uncompromising truthfulness, is the atmosphere of serene beauty in which he seems to have moved in daily life. We have sufficiently stressed the quiet splendour of his material surroundings, the place of the arts in his leisure, and his constant contact with nature, not to have to insist on those points here too elaborately. Yet we cannot help recalling the sets of reliefs in the tomb of Huya which represent the royal family and the dowager-queen feasting, while two string bands play alternately. One of the musical groups consists of “four female performers, the one playing on a harp, the second and third on a lute, and the fourth on a lyre,” while in the other can be distinguished “a large standing lyre, about six feet in height, having eight strings and being played with both hands.”1 Nor can we refrain from quoting Arthur Weigall’s charming description of another representation of Akhnaton in the privacy of his palace — a picture indeed more eloquent than those of the banquet in honour of Queen Tiy and similar such, for it portrays the king not on any special occasion (on which an unusually lavish display of artistic decorum and extra entertainments might be expected), but simply sitting with his consort and children — and no courtiers — on an ordinary day like any other. “The royal family is shown inside a beautiful pavilion, the roof of which is supported by wooden pillars painted with many colours and having capitals carved in high relief to represent wild geese suspended by their legs and above them branches of flowers. The pillars are hung with garlands of flowers, and from the ceiling there droop festoons of flowers and trailing branches of vines. The roof of the pavilion on the outside is 1 Arthur Weigall: Life and Times of Akhnaton (New and Revised Edit. 1922), pp. 156-157.

177 edged by an endless line of gleaming cobras, probably wrought in bronze. Inside this fair arbour stand a group of naked girls playing upon the harp, the lute and the lyre, and no doubt singing to that accompaniment the artless love-songs of the period. Servants are shown attending to the jars of wine which stand at the side of the enclosure. The king is seen leaning back upon the cushions of an armchair. . . . In the fingers of his left hand he idly dandles a few flowers, while with his right hand he languidly holds out a delicate bowl in order that the wine in it may be replenished. This is done by the queen who is standing before him, all solicitous for his comfort. She pours the wine from a vessel, causing it to pass through a strainer before flowing into the bowl. Three little princesses stand nearby: one of them laden with bouquets of flowers, another holding out some sweetmeat upon a dish, and a third talking to her father.”1 Here we have one more instance of Akhnaton’s love of every form of sensuous beauty. Both the loveliness of nature and the fine arts were to him a part and parcel of ordinary life no less than of the temple services. They produced something like a rhythmic accompaniment to the simple gestures that we repeat every day; a background on which the most monotonous actions took on a decorous beauty. The sweet-smelling freshness of those pillars festooned with flowers and green leaves, the sight of fair figures and harmonious movements, the soft music, the elegant shape of the cup as well as the taste of the good rich wine, all combined to raise that most ordinary act of quenching his thirst to the level of a higher enjoyment involving the whole being — a moment of beauty. Life was to be a succession of such moments to anyone who, like him, lived it in a spirit of sincerity, of innocence and of understanding; to anyone, that is to say, who knew the value of simple things — of a fiery reflection upon the wall, of a sweet voice, of a child’s smile — as well as of the so-called great ones, and who could constantly feel, as he did, the presence of the divine Disk, with His rays stretched over the world, “encompassing all lands which He hath 1 Arthur Weigall: Life and Times of Akhnaton (New and Revised Edit. 1922), pp. 145-146.

178 made,” beautifying, dignifying, sanctifying the humblest manifestations of everyday existence. The things which, in our age of specialized activities might appear as trifles when connected with the life of a philosopher and of a prophet, did not seem so to him. From the pictures we have of him, it is visible that he brought in the care of his person, and particularly of his dress, an eagerness that numbers of later saintly teachers would have disdained. Not only was he scrupulously clean — as was all the aristocracy of Egypt — but he knew what to wear, and how to wear it. The exquisite painted relief in the Berlin Museum, in which one sees him smelling a bunch of flowers, and the picture in the tomb of Merira which shows him burning perfumes at the altar of the Sun,1 speak eloquently of the supreme elegance of his attire. Save on very special occasions, he seems to have discarded the abundant display of jewels customary to other Pharaohs, and in those two pictures, as in many others, he is portrayed wearing none at all. His only ornaments are the soft pleats of his garment itself — a simple white skirt of fine linen, that hangs gracefully from the waist, with a long purple sash. And the garment seems to have no other function but to underline the natural grace of the body. Commenting upon the portrait in the Berlin Museum just referred to, Professor H. R. Hall rightly remarks that there is in it a delicacy only to be found in the best productions of Greek sculpture.2 We may add, turning our attention from that one among many masterpieces of the Tell-el-Amarna school to the model who inspired it, that Akhnaton’s passionate love of tangible beauty, of sunshine and of healthy joy, such as it is expressed both in his poems, in his cult and in his person, makes him, perhaps, the first illustrious individual embodiment of that very ideal of art and life which the Hellenes were to put forward, as a nation, a thousand years after him. We can say more: his ideal of integral, harmonised perfection, in which the physical side of things was not 1 Arthur Weigall: Life and Times of Akhnaton (New and Revised Edit. 1922), p. 143. 2 H. R. Hall: Ancient History of the Near East (Ninth Edit. 1936), p. 305.

179 to be under-estimated — in which even such details as the pleats of a drapery had their importance — contrasts with the contempt of the body shown, not only by the early Christians, but by some of the most prominent Neo-platonists,1 and also, strange as it may seem, by the bitterest and most determined champion of Hellenic culture against growing Christianity, Emperor Julian.2 It may be declared, without fear of anachronism, that however great they were, those men were far less “Greek” — in the classical sense of the word — than the young king of the Nile Valley who died two hundred years before the Acheans besieged Troy. * * * A lover of sensuous beauty Akhnaton was indeed, and to the utmost. But he did not stop there. From the happy awareness of colour, line and movement, of touch, of sound, of fragrance, he lifted himself, as we know, to the subtler plane of abstract relations and finally to the realisation of the all-pervading oneness of the supreme entity: the Power within the Sun. We need not here expatiate on the great principles on which his creed was based, principles of which modern science has confirmed the amazing accuracy: the ultimate equivalence of all forms of energy, and the ultimate identity of Energy and Matter. As most if not all ideas of genius, these appear to have resulted from some direct insight into truth, which it is not possible to account for either by the data of external experience available at the time, or by the ordinary means of discursive reasoning. And what the hymns tell us plainly, and what the pictures suggest to us of Akhnaton’s extreme sensitiveness to beauty, makes us think of the fundamental connection between scientific enlightenment and artistic inspiration, put forward so forcefully, nowadays, in autobiographical essays, by eminent creative scientists.3 The knowledge which the Pharaoh expressed by 1 See The Life of Plotinus, by his disciple Porphyry. 2 Gibbon: Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Vol. II (Everyman’s Library), p. 349. 3 For instance, by H. Poincaré, Science et Méthode (Chap. III, pp. 50-59); La Science et l’Hypothèse, p. 186.

180 calling the “Lord of Rays” also “Great One of roarings” (or thunders) and by identifying the “Heat-and-light-within-the-Disk” with the Disk itself, came to him, it would seem, as all great ideas do to their discoverers, namely, through some spontaneous intuition following a long period of subconscious preparation. And if, in most cases, the aesthetic element plays a notable part in the discovery of truth; if a particular solution of a mathematical problem, or a particular explanation of physical data, seems to draw the mind to it by its very simplicity and elegance, then we can all the more safely conjecture that the young author of the Hymns and inspirer of the Tell-el-Amarna school of art was urged to put forth his hypothesis of universal oneness partly, if not solely, for the beauty of the endless horizons it opened to his vision; for the impressive harmony it brought into his conception of things. His preparation was that very quest for the perfect that appears to have possessed him all his life, the “perfect” being, in his eyes, primarily, that which would totally satisfy his aesthetic sense: flawless beauty. And the consciousness of the unity of all forms of energy in the intangible Soul of the Sun — of the unity of all appearances in the One Reality — seems to have come to him as the sharp, direct feeling of a perfect pattern, half-hidden by the necessary limitations of material existence. It was the vision of an immense orderly scheme, remarkable by its stately simplicity; the product of his own mind, no doubt, but destined, one day, to prove objective. It was, actually, the vision of the permanent underlying beauty of the Universe, to which an all-round artist could alone have access. Thus Akhnaton loved the world of forms because it is beautiful, and, through it, soon grasped and loved the eternal beauty of the unseen world of essences. The splendour of the Disk that rises and sets led him to the worship of the “Ka” of the Disk, the supreme Essence. When, a thousand years later, Plato put forward, in immortal language, his famous dialective of love — the glorious ascension of the enraptured soul from beautiful forms to beautiful Ideas, everlasting prototypes of all that appears for a while in the phenomenal

181 play — he expressed nothing else but that which the youthful Founder of the Religion of the Disk had once realised, lived and taught. * * * Not only does the king’s insight into the nature of the physical world seem to spring mainly from an innate yearning for the beautiful, but his belief in the oneness of life — that truth at the back of his whole scale of values — has apparently the same origin. The hymns tell the beauty of the Sun and the joy of all creatures at His sight. The works of the Tell-el-Amarna school — of those artists whom Akhnaton had “taught to look at the world in the spirit of life”1 — show us what the beauty of creatures meant both to the disciples and to the Master. The happy scenes of animal and plant life, such as, for instance, those depicted on the pavements of the king’s palace,2 have more than a decorative value. They preach the love of living beings for the sake of that beauty which shines in even the meanest among them. They remind us what a masterpiece of the supreme Artist is a quadruped, or a butterfly; a poppy; even a blade of grass; and they prompt us to love the graceful innocent things which only wish to live and enjoy the daylight: the young calf frisking in the sunshine, the wild geese, the fish that leap up from the depth to greet the Sun, the spotless lilies. At the sight of those representations, the modern man recalls the passage which Coleridge puts in the mouth of his “Ancient Mariner,” gazing at the water-snakes: “O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare . . .” Those were the words of a poet who, in the midst of the tragically man-ridden world that we know too well, found in his heart a glimpse of eternal truth. But here, in the scattered evidence which enables one to rediscover the spirit 1 Arthur Weigall: Life and Times of Akhnaton (New and Revised Edit. 1922), p. 181. 2 Arthur Weigall: Life and Times of Akhnaton (New and Revised Edit. 1922), p. 178.

182 of the Religion of the Disk, we have that same truth expressed under the inspiration of one who endeavoured to remodel the world on the basis of it, and who lost an empire for its sake. For, as we have already stressed, Akhnaton’s conscientious objection to war which brought both the end of Egyptian domination in Syria and, indirectly, the downfall of the cult of Aton in Egypt, seems to have been but one aspect of his objection to the infliction of suffering in general. And in the light of all that we know of him through his poems, we may, it seems, safely say that the main source of his love for living beings, from man to plant, and the main reason for him to wish to spare them, lay in his intense awareness of the beauty of life as such. He saw in every sentient creature, patiently brought forth from an obscure germ by the action of divine Heat and Light and graced with all the loveliness of its species, a work of art far too precious to be destroyed or spoilt for the sake of sport or vain glory — even for the sake of “national interest.” And that is apparently why we find, during his reign, neither records of chase nor accounts of battle. It would seem that he had little time for such “grim beauty” as painters and poets have sometimes tried to bring out of scenes of horror. And that confirms our view that visible beauty, however important in his eyes, was not all to him. Beyond it — and through it — he sought that permanent harmony between fact and thought, action and ideal, existence and essence; that subtler beauty which cannot be discovered from a superficial view of things, and which is the essence of goodness. A scene of horror can only be beautiful seen in its outlines or from a distance. Once one stoops to examine the details that go to make it, one finds that it implies too much ugliness to be described as such. Nothing which presupposes the distortion of living forms through pain can be styled as beautiful, for in healthy sentient life lies the actual masterpiece of universal Energy and the supreme beauty. Here we may remark that, for Akhnaton as for the greatest artist among Greek philosophers, more than ten centuries

183 after him, the Beautiful and the Good were closely interrelated, if not identical. But instead of saying, as Plato was to do, that “the Beautiful is the radiance of the Good,” it seems, from the idea that we can form of him, that the young Prophet of the Sun would have said that the Good is that which is consistently beautiful. Strictly speaking, it is correct to assert, with several modern authors, that there is no reference to morality in Akhnaton’s Teaching and that, to him, that which is was right.1 On the other hand, it would be unfair to the Religion of the Disk not to admit that, though it put forth no list of commandments and prohibitions, it had nevertheless a close connection with action. And the practical side of it appears to have rested entirely upon an aesthetic basis. Moral values were, it seems, to Akhnaton, but the highest among aesthetic values. In other words, beauty was, in his eyes, the ultimate criterion of moral as well as of intellectual truth,2 and the safest guide to the discovery of both. * * * We can thus characterise the Religion of the Disk as a religion of beauty. Whatever it be in addition to that, springs from that fundamental aspect of it. In particular, its three negative features which we have pointed out in a previous chapter — namely, the absence in it of any mythology whatsoever; the absence of any account of supernatural happenings; and the absence of any explicit theory of the next world, marks of rationality to be found in very few other religions if in any at all — seem partly ascribable to a consistently “pagan” spirit. Mythological symbolism was superfluous; the facts of the physical world were beautiful enough to stand at the background of any solemn cult and to inspire any sensitive soul. Nature was beautiful enough, without man craving for the supernatural. And this life, here and now, was beautiful enough for one to live it with all one’s concentrated interest, drawing from it its daily joys and its daily teachings, without seeking to pierce the mystery of the 1 Breasted: Cambridge Ancient History (Edit. 1924), Vol. II, p. 120. 2 See above, p. 170.

184 great beyond. At the most, as we have seen, we find, in the prayer on Akhnaton’s coffin and in the inscriptions in the tombs of his followers, the idea of a prolongation of individual existence in a blissful state of subtler materiality in which one would still enjoy the sight of the Sun. That is all. The Founder of the Aton cult could not imagine anything more beautiful than the resplendent fact of our parent star. That was the visible expression of the One God. To contemplate it was paradise. To understand the nature of its radiance and its relation to ourselves and to all things was to experience everlasting life. To worship It in truth (i.e., in the proper spirit) was to attain the goal of man — the goal of life. And through the overwhelming appeal of sensuous beauty, that goal was within our reach, and paradise was here. It was perhaps beyond the grave also; but it was here already, on this side of the eternal gates. For, to Akhnaton, bliss seems to have been nothing else but the state in which the fact of unmixed beauty fills one’s consciousness — as when one beholds the Sun in the manner he did. There is, no doubt, as we have said, much more in the hymns than a mere physical enjoyment of the Sun. But a thrill of well-being — intensely physical indeed — at the contact of light, of warmth and of happy living nature; a feeling of plenitude at the sight of the loveliness of the visible world is surely there, at the root of all subsequent idealism. The repeated praise of the sweetness of sunshine; the choice of expressions that suggest, in the most various creatures, an exaltation of all their being at the appearing of the Sun; the predominant idea of universal fecundity, expressed in different pictures of appealing beauty; all go to confirm, in those poems, that essentially pagan joy which we have mentioned above. We use here the word “pagan” in its noblest sense, suggesting thereby how much the inspired king stands, in our eyes, as an upholder of that ideal of healthy, joyful, sensuous perfection — and also of clear rational thinking — towards which Greece and the whole Mediterranean world have strived, long after him, in their days of glory; how much he appears to us, nay, as the historic forerunner of classical Hellas, at least as we imagine it.

185 He is, we have said, nearer to the Greek ideal, rooted in the depth of his aesthetic nature, than many of those who have claimed, in course of centuries, an unflinching allegiance to Hellenism. What is remarkable is that, from that very sensitiveness to beauty, he seems to have received the impulse that carried him far beyond the stage of experience that corresponds, historically, to Hellenism; far beyond that also, attained, in the name of Christianity and of modern humanitarianism, by people only too aware of the limitations of classical pagan culture. The love implied in his songs is not that unjustified interest in our species before all others, preached by most of the creeds which have transcended the national and mainly ritualistic religions of antiquity. It springs from the consciousness of the brotherhood of all beings to whom the Sun gives life and loveliness. It is the truly universal love in the light of which the superstition of the chosen species appears as puerile and barbaric as that of the chosen nation; the love for the beast, the fish, the plant, no less than for man, clearly put forward by none of the living religions of the world save a few of those evolved in India or derived from Indian teachings. But while, in those doctrines, such love seems based upon metaphysical considerations or upon moral principles, it appears to be, in the Religion of the Disk, the immediate spontaneous outcome of an overwhelming sense of the beauty of life. If indeed, as for Akhnaton, beauty be the final measure of all values, then surely man is not the centre of the universe and the focus of all desirable activity; for the other children of the life-giving God are as lovely as he, if not more, in their absolute innocence. * * * Thus the aesthetic attitude towards life which the modern man, badly acquainted as he generally is with a remoter past, is inclined to style as “hellenic,” can lead a true worshipper of beauty — as it did, in fact, lead Akhnaton — to that truly universal love which neither Greek nor Christian consciousness seems to have realised, save occasionally.

186 Ever since the bitter struggle between the eminently artistic and rational spirit of Hellenism and eminently humanitarian Christianity, in the early centuries of the most widely accepted western era, the best minds of the West, from the author of the “Stromata” onwards, have been yearning for the synthesis which would unite the excellences of the complementary wisdoms. Possibly also, in other areas of culture, the need of a similar synthesis has been experienced between old thought-currents, each one expressing separately the everlasting ideals of aesthetic perfection, of intellectual efficiency and of kindness that knows no limits. The Religion of the Disk, with its joyous intoxication of sunshine and tangible beauty, finally leading to a most rational outlook on the universe and to the love of all forms of life, seems to provide an answer to the age-long yearning for something that would satisfy all sides of our nature at the same time. The inspiration that fills it is perhaps of the only sort that can lift us to heaven without detaching us from this lovely and lovable earth. And whatever be one’s opinion of him on other points, one has to admit that we do find combined in its Founder — indissolubly blended into one blissful awareness of dancing harmony, in the midst of full-blooming life — the best of the ideal Athenian, more than a thousand years before Plato, and the best of the ideal Indian, some nine centuries before the Buddha.