The world of the Future will possess a god whose highest fact will not be his own defeat and death upon a cross; a god whom the people, by their own power and skill, will force to unveil his face to them; a god who will be torn by the very children whom he once scattered over the face of the earth in his anger, from the infinite recesses of the distant heavens in which he loves to hide! Babel will be no more, all tribes and nations will meet and understand their mutual wants, and, united by a universal language, his scattered children, having attained their majority, assert their right to know their creator, and claim their just inheritance from a common father: 'the full possession of all truth!'
The god of humanity at last reveals himself to man!
The Man. Yes, He revealed Himself some centuries ago; through Him is humanity already redeemed.
Pancratius. Alas! let the redeemed delight in the sweetness of such redemption! let them rejoice in the multiplied agonies which have in vain cried to a Redeemer for relief during the three thousand years which have elapsed since His defeat and death!
The Man. Blasphemer, cease! I have seen the Cross, the holy symbol of His mystic love, standing in the heart of the eternal city, Rome; the ruins of a power far greater than thine were crumbling into dust around It; hundreds of gods such as those you trust in, were lying prostrate on the ground, trampled under careless feet, not even daring to raise their crushed and wounded heads to gaze upon the Crucified. It stood upon the seven hills, stretching its mighty arms to the east and to the west, its holy brow glittering in the golden sunshine; men wistfully gazed upon its perfect lesson of self-abnegating Love; it won all hearts, it RULED THE WORLD!
Pancratius. An old wife's tale, hollow as the rattling of these vain escutcheons! (He strikes the shield.) These discussions are in vain, for I have read all the secrets of your yearning heart! If you really wish to find the infinite which has so long baffled your search; if you love the truth, and are willing to suffer for it; if you are a man, created in the image of our common humanity, and not the impossible hero of an old nursery song—listen to me! Oh, let not these rapidly fleeting moments, the last in which you can possibly be saved, pass in vain! The race renews itself, man of the Past; and of the blood we shed to-day, no trace will be found to-morrow! For the last time I conjure you, if you are what you once appeared to be, A MAN, rise in your former might, aid the down-trodden and oppressed people, help to emancipate and enlighten your fellow men, work for the common good, forsake your false ideas of a personal glory, quit these tottering ruins which all your pride and power cannot prevent from crumbling o'er you, desert your falling house, and follow me!
The Man. O youngest born of Satan's brood!—(He paces up and down the hall, speaking to himself:) Dreams, dreams, beautiful dreams—but their realization is impossible! Who could achieve them? Adam died in the desert—the flaming sword still guards the gates—we are never more to enter Paradise! In vain we dream!
Pancratius (aside). I have driven the probe to the core of his heart; I have struck the electric nerve of Poetry, which quivers through the very base of his complicated being!
The Man. Progress of humanity; universal happiness; I once believed them possible! There—there—take my head—my life—if that were possi—.... (He sighs, and is silent for a moment.) It is past! two centuries ago it might have been—but now.... But now I have seen and know there will be nothing but assassination and murder—murder on either side—nothing can satisfy now but an unceasing war of mutual extermination!
Pancratius. Woe then to the vanquished! Falter not, seeker of universal happiness! Cry but once with us: 'Woe to the oppressors of the people!' and stand preëminent o'er all, the First among the Victors!