It is hardly an exaggeration to say that there is in historic Christendom a sort of unnatural life: it could be explained as a supernatural life.

It could be explained as an awful galvanic life working in what would have been a corpse.

For our civilisation _ought_ to have died, by all parallels, by all sociological probability, in the Ragnorak of the end of Rome.

That is the weird inspiration of our estate: you and I have no business to be here at all.

We are all _revenants_; all living Christians are dead pagans walking about.