And so we read on, up to the beginning of the fifty-ninth page, becoming better and better acquainted with our ancestor all the while. The conviction grows that Browne was there. Then, suddenly, he tells us that, though he is aware that his narrative has made it seem “as though the writer knew for certain just what had happened ... actually he knows nothing of the sort. All he knows is what many learned anthropologists after much painstaking research, have _surmised_.” The italics are his own. “Of course,” thus begins page 60, “they may have surmised quite badly. Their underlying theory may be entirely wrong, and religion, instead of having been originally created to elude or conquer fear, may have arisen quite independently of it. Religion may be an altogether primal instinct in the human race--something just as old and fundamental and innate as fear itself. Who knows?” As candor, this is flawless. But it is disturbing. If learned anthropologists, after much painstaking research, can be entirely wrong (and indeed a great many other learned anthropologists, after equally painstaking research, have time and time again declared these particular learned anthropologists to be wrong altogether) why cannot the learned anthropologists and biologists who furnished the data for the spirited pen-and-ink sketch of our gibbering, half-ape _aïeul_ be wrong as well? What if this surmising about monkeys and worms be as badly done as may be this surmising about religion? And what is the use of going on with all this if it be just a guess? Shall we continue because it is stranger than fiction? But it is not in itself as interesting as is fiction. We were lured into reading by the idea that it was being presented as truth. And now we are haunted by the fear that it may be a blasphemous invention--that religion rather than this anthropology may have some truth in it. So we skip “What Happened in India,” “What Happened in China,” “What Happened in Persia,” and “What Happened in Israel,” since, after all, it may never have happened; and turn to part seven, “What Happened in Europe.” Here, as near home as this, we ought to be on safe ground, with dependable historians instead of surmising anthropologists to act as guides. This is the portion of the book which deals with the Christian religion, in itself of more interest to most than are the Shebatum taboos, Taoism, or the heliotropisms of Zoroaster. What, then, did happen in Europe in the days when Christianity was born?