Editorial May 8, 1920 Issue

"A murderer from the beginning"

Frederick Dixon

Any cause which is buttressed with lies is like a house built in the sands. In the summer of the senses such a house may seem as strong as one built on the rocks. But the moment the winds of Truth begin to blow, the walls of the house begin to rock, and in a little while nothing is left but the wind swept sands. The metaphysical reason for this is extremely simple. A lie—no matter how much the statement may stagger the human mind, which is the father of the whole family—simply does not exist. There is no halfway about it: a lie is what the King James translators termed a vanity, meaning thereby an empty falsehood. But the King James translator, with all his appreciation of the Bible, was not a true metaphysician. In spite of his study of the gospels, the father of lies remained to him a person; matter, the creation of Spirit; and the image and likeness of Principle, "that unfeather'd two-legged thing," a man. Clearly between the metaphysics of Galilee, in the first century, and those of England, in the seventeenth, there was a great gulf fixed.

A great satirist of the latter century wrote of the world as he saw it, and as the metaphysicians of the day taught that it was:—

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