That the national self is organic, i.e., that it is functional, a vital, living thing which grows and dies is clearly brought out by the second group of legends considered. This is the second general conclusion. The legends and traditions mentioned in this group are of course again part of a larger body, all of which have to do with the introduction of Christianity into the country. The important point is that from this larger body of beliefs there resulted a new national sentiment, new because something had come to be incorporated within it which was not there before. This something was a sentiment of loyalty to the church, evidenced in the readiness to uphold and protect the church with all its recognized encumbrances of hierarchies and paraphernalia against all foreign intrusion, whether peaceful or military in character. With the destruction of the state, this sentiment of loyalty to the church largely absorbed the sentiment of loyalty to the state. Reverence for the past glory of the nation went on unchanged except in so far as the church intensified it as a means of intensifying the whole national sentiment.
A loosely organized, heterogeneous group of people can not boast of a national sentiment, nor of the united action necessary in times of national crisis, as when a people go to war. This united action is only possible where the diverse sentiments of a more or less heterogeneous people have been woven into a national sentiment of the kind spoken of. This weaving process, as I have shown, is essentially a social process, and the materials by means of which it is carried on are largely such as I have been describing, namely, the legends, traditions, and folk-lore that have somehow grown up among a people.
As the materials of Part One are part of a larger mass of legends, traditions, and folk-lore, the social value of which lies in their power of creating a national or group sentiment, so the festivals and ceremonies to be taken up in Part Two are part of a larger mass of festivals, ceremonies, and rites whose social value lies in the fact that they constitute a necessary vehicle of expression for this same national sentiment. The festivals are a necessary counterpart of the legends, as the latter are a necessary counterpart of the former. Activity is one of the most fundamental of nature's laws. The sentiment of love for an individual dies eventually in the absence of some formal mode of active expression. But be the action ever so little a thing, such as the laying of flowers upon the grave of the dead, the visiting of a shrine, or the sight of some hallowed spot of sacred memory, the sentiment is kept alive. To be sure a sentiment may smoulder for a lifetime, even as a national sentiment may slumber for centuries without a mode of expression, and then all of a sudden burst forth into a flame, or awaken into life at a mere suggestion from outside. Bereft of statehood, the sentiment of loyalty for the state has slumbered for centuries within the breast of the Armenian people, but how often, how too sadly often, has it not suddenly awakened into hot, new life only to be pacified into slumber again. But the last glow, the little flicker at the end is all that separates the living embers from the dead ash.