Part 17 (1/2)
”Life is full of emotions. Such a variety of them, too!”
”And all good--or, at least, pretty much so. A rook pie! That is a luxury indeed! I suppose there is a rookery at Cramer.”
”A very ancient and a very large one,” answered Dr. Macrae, and he recognized in his own voice and manner that slight sense of proprietors.h.i.+p which flavors a coming good. He was ashamed of it, and made some foolish remark about the rooks being a present. ”The birds are not in the market,” he said, ”and, if they were, a poor minister could not buy them.”
”You are a fortunate man. The country is full of blessings. I wish I lived in the country. You must like it, Macrae.”
”I am of _Touchstone's_ opinion--in respect that it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but, in respect that it is not in the city, it is tedious. That reminds me, we shall leave for the city early in the morning.”
”Not too early, I hope?”
”About ten o'clock.”
”That will do very well.”
The men were up early, but Mrs. Caird saw that Ian had spent a sleepless night. Indeed, his conversations with Dr. Scott had raised many serious questions in his mind. Was it possible that this doubt of G.o.d's existence--of the inspiration of the Bible--of the dogma of eternal punishment and other vital points of Christian belief was not an uncommon condition of the ministerial mind, not only in Calvinistic churches but throughout the creeds of Christendom?
”There is no absolute Faith in any Protestant Church, no matter how its creed is written,” Dr. Scott had said, with an air of knowledge and certainty; adding, ”Belief is an individual thing, Macrae, every man must discover what is true in his own case.”
”What is the most general point of unbelief among ministers?” asked Ian, and Dr. Scott, after a moment's reflection, answered, ”I think, perhaps, the divinity of Jesus Christ.” At these words Mrs. Caird flushed angrily, and looked at Ian. She expected him to deny this accusation, but he only cast down his eyes and remained silent. Then, she said, with great feeling, ”Constance Norden has well described the religion of such men as
'Pale Christianity, with Christ expunged; Faint unbelief deploring its own skill, With tomes of metaphysic lore, that sponged The World away, leaving the lonely Will.'”
And Dr. Scott bowed slightly, but made no other answer to Constance Norden's accusation.
”Do you think the divergencies of the Bible are a great difficulty, Jessy?” and Ian looked anxiously at his sister as she answered without a moment's hesitation, ”A want of belief is the chief, is the whole difficulty. G.o.d speaks to men and they will not believe Him.”
”You must remember, Mrs. Caird, that we have to talk to congregations who know all about the system of Christian theology.”
”If I was a preacher, Doctor, I would let the system of theology alone.
I would take for granted the divine in men, bring them past every disability of race, station, or morality, right into the presence of G.o.d, and offer them all G.o.d's good will, though they were slaves or outcasts.”
”Such sermons would not do for this era of the Church. They would have to be gradually introduced.”
”Then do not introduce them. Better do nothing than do by halves and quarters.”
”Our civilization, Mrs. Caird----”
”Can never save the world. It cannot even save the individual. Besides, our civilization, whatever it may be scientifically, is ethically bankrupt.”
”I was going to say, Mrs. Caird, that new truths affecting old clerical dogmas are generally offensive to old church members. Many good men live by serving the altar. They must be considered, and your brother and I, and every minister, knows that our people judge for themselves and only accept what they desire to accept. Is not that so, Macrae?” And Macrae, as he looked at his watch, answered indifferently, ”You are right, Doctor. It is now time we took the carriage if we intend to catch our train.”
So there was movement and a little noise, but, amid it, Ian heard his sister's answer, ”To be sure, Dr. Scott, we all know well that Scotsmen do that which is right in their own eyes--and, also, that which is wrong.”
With the usual pleasant formalities the men went away together, and Jessy sadly walked through the peris.h.i.+ng garden, whispering to herself, as she did so:
”Through sins of sense, perversities of will, Through doubt and pain, through guilt and shame, and ill, Thy pitying eye is on Thy creatures still.”
For she knew in her heart that no man could be more miserable than Ian Macrae. His religion was no longer even a habit, it had become an acute fever, and all conversation on this tremendous subject seemed so ineffectual, so mockingly beneath its meaning and its needs. It wearied his aching heart and brain, and gave him neither hope nor consolation.