Francis Thompson could have written any number of
good poems on the Cross, because it is a primary symbol.
The number of poems which Mr. Rudyard Kipling could
write on the Union Jack is, fortunately, limited, because
the Union Jack is too complex to produce luxuriance.
The same principle applies to any possible number
of cases. A poet like Francis Thompson could
deduce perpetually rich and branching meanings out
of two plain facts like bread and wine; with bread
and wine he can expand everything to everywhere.
But with a French menu he cannot expand anything; except
perhaps himself. Complicated ideas do not produce
any more ideas. Mongrels do not breed. Religious
ritual attracts because there is some sense in it.
Religious imagery, so far from being subtle, is the
only simple thing left for poets. So far from
being merely superhuman, it is the only human thing
left for human beings.
There is no more dangerous or disgusting habit than
that of celebrating Christmas before it comes, as
I am doing in this article. It is the very essence
of a festival that it breaks upon one brilliantly and
abruptly, that at one moment the great day is not
and the next moment the great day is. Up to a
certain specific instant you are feeling ordinary and
sad; for it is only Wednesday. At the next moment
your heart leaps up and your soul and body dance together
like lovers; for in one burst and blaze it has become
Thursday. I am assuming (of course) that you are
a worshipper of Thor, and that you celebrate his day
once a week, possibly with human sacrifice. If,
on the other hand, you are a modern Christian Englishman,
you hail (of course) with the same explosion of gaiety
the appearance of the English Sunday. But I say
that whatever the day is that is to you festive or
symbolic, it is essential that there should be a quite
clear black line between it and the time going before.
And all the old wholesome customs in connection with
Christmas were to the effect that one should not touch
or see or know or speak of something before the actual
coming of Christmas Day. Thus, for instance, children
were never given their presents until the actual coming
of the appointed hour. The presents were kept
tied up in brown-paper parcels, out of which an arm
of a doll or the leg of a donkey sometimes accidentally
stuck. I wish this principle were adopted in respect
of modern Christmas ceremonies and publications.
Especially it ought to be observed in connection with
what are called the Christmas numbers of magazines.
The editors of the magazines bring out their Christmas
numbers so long before the time that the reader is
more likely to be still lamenting for the turkey of
last year than to have seriously settled down to a
solid anticipation of the turkey which is to come.
Christmas numbers of magazines ought to be tied up
in brown paper and kept for Christmas Day. On
consideration, I should favour the editors being tied
up in brown paper. Whether the leg or arm of
an editor should ever be allowed to protrude I leave
to individual choice.
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