“To man has been given the grief, often, of seeing his gods overthrown
and his altars crumbling; but to the wolf and the wild dog who have
come in to crouch at man’s feet, this grief has never come. Unlike man,
whose gods are of the unseen and the overguessed, vapors of mist
and fancy eluding the garmenture of reaity, wandering wraiths of
desired goodness and power, intangible outcroppings of self into the
realm of spirit- unlike man, the wolf and the wild dog that have
come into their fire find their gods in the living flesh, solid to the
touch, occupying earth-space and requiring time for the
accomplishment of their ends and their existence. No effort of
faith is necessary to believe in such a god; no effort of will can
possibly induce disbelief in such a god. There is no getting
away from it. There it stands on its two hind legs, club in
hand, immensely potential, passionate and wrathful and loving,
god and mystery and power all wrapped up and around by
flesh that bleeds when it is torn and that is good to eat
like any flesh.”
Jack London, [“White Fang”]
Islander.