Tradition (n.) is formed in a people as childhood memories are in a person: whatever is distressing to national feeling is wiped away.
Tradition (n.) must deny the small truth to protect the large one: to admit circumcision was Egyptian would be to admit the whole religion was.
Tradition (n.) can win slowly what its founder lost at once: the people renounced Moses and removed him, yet over centuries his teaching reached the aim denied him.
Tradition (n.) that should fade instead grows stronger over centuries, until it seizes the minds of the people and turns their god back into the one they abandoned.
Tradition (n.) is the complement and the contradiction of written history: freer from deliberate distortion, so perhaps truer — but vaguer, and worn by every mouth it passes through.
Tradition (n.) is the more fit for the poet the more shadowy it has become: he fills its gaps as his imagination bids.
Tradition (n.) passed by word of mouth alone could never become obsessive: it would be weighed and maybe rejected like any news — only by first being repressed does it gain the power to escape logic and seize the masses.