Rather it is a fear of the past; a fear not merely of
the evil in the past, but of the good in the past also.
The brain breaks down under the unbearable virtue of mankind.
There have been so many flaming faiths that we cannot hold;
so many harsh heroisms that we cannot imitate; so many
great efforts of monumental building or of military glory
which seem to us at once sublime and pathetic. The future
is a refuge from the fierce competition of our forefathers.
The older generation, not the younger, is knocking at our door.
It is agreeable to escape, as Henley said, into the Street
of By-and-Bye, where stands the Hostelry of Never. It is
pleasant to play with children, especially unborn children.
The future is a blank wall on which every man can write his own
name as large as he likes; the past I find already covered
with illegible scribbles, such as Plato, Isaiah, Shakespeare,
Michael Angelo, Napoleon. I can make the future as narrow as myself;
the past is obliged to be as broad and turbulent as humanity.
And the upshot of this modern attitude is really this:
that men invent new ideals because they dare not attempt old ideals.
They look forward with enthusiasm, because they are afraid
to look back.

Now in history there is no Revolution that is not a Restoration.
Among the many things that Leave me doubtful about the modern
habit of fixing eyes on the future, none is stronger than this:
that all the men in history who have really done anything
with the future have had their eyes fixed upon the past.
I need not mention the Renaissance, the very word proves my case.
The originality of Michael Angelo and Shakespeare began with
the digging up of old vases and manuscripts. The mildness