第47章 GEOFFREY LECTURES(4)

"After that， too， I went to the college and there I fell in with a lady， one of the mistresses， who was the cleverest woman that I ever knew， and in her way a good woman， but one who believed that religion was the curse of the world， and who spent all her spare time in attacking it in some form or other. Poor thing， she is dead now. And so， you see， what between these causes and the continual spectacle of human misery which to my mind negatives the idea of a merciful and watching Power， at last it came to pass that the only altar left in my temple is an altar to the 'Unknown God.'"Geoffrey， like most men who have had to think on these matters， did not care to talk about them much， especially to women. For one thing， he was conscious of a tendency to speech less reverent than his thought. But he had not entered Beatrice's church of Darkness， indeed he had turned his back on it for ever， though， like most people， he had at different periods of his past life tarried an hour in its porch. So he ventured on an objection.

"I am no theologian，" he said， "and I am not fond of discussion on such matters. But there are just one or two things I should like to say. It is no argument， to my mind at least， to point to the existence of evil and unhappiness among men as a proof of the absence of a superior Mercy； for what are men that such things should not be with them？ Man， too， must own some master. If he has doubts let him look up at the marshalling of the starry heaven， and they will vanish.""No，" said Beatrice， "I fear not. Kant said so， but before that Molière had put the argument in the mouth of a fool. The starry heavens no more prove anything than does the running of the raindrops down the window-pane. It is not a question of size and quantity.""I might accept the illustration，" answered Geoffrey； "one example of law is as good as another for my purpose. I see in it all the working of a living Will， but of course that is only my way of looking at it， not yours.""No； I am afraid，" said Beatrice， "all this reasoning drawn from material things does not touch me. That is how the Pagans made /their/religions， and it is how Paley strives to prove his. They argued from the Out to the In， from the material to the spiritual. It cannot be；if Christianity is true it must stand upon spiritual feet and speak with a spiritual voice， to be heard， not in the thunderstorm， but only in the hearts of men. The existence of Creative Force does not demonstrate the existence of a Redeemer； if anything， it tends to negative it， for the power that creates is also the power which destroys. What does touch me， however， is the thought of the multitude of the Dead. /That/ is what we care for， not for an Eternal Force， ever creating and destroying. Think of them all--all the souls of unheard-of races， almost animal， who passed away so long ago. Can ours endure more than theirs， and do you think that the spirit of an Ethiopian who died in the time of Moses is anywhere now？""There was room for them all on earth，" answered Geoffrey. "The universe is wide. It does not dismay me. There are mysteries in our nature， the nature we think we know--shall there be none in that which we know not？ Worlds die， to live again when， after millions of ages， the conditions become once more favourable to life， and why should not a man？ We are creatures of the world， we reflect its every light and shadow， we rejoice in its rejoicing， its every feature has a tiny parallel in us. Why should not our fate be as its fate， and its fate is so far as we know eternal. It may change from gas to chaos， from chaos to active life， from active life to seeming death. Then it may once more pass into its elements， and from those elements back again to concrete being， and so on for ever， always changing， but always the same. So much for nature's allegory. It is not a perfect analogy， for Man is a thing apart from all things else； it may be only a hint or a type， but it is something.

"Now to come to the question of our religion. I confess I draw quite a different conclusion from your facts. You say that you trace the same superstitions in all religions， and that the same spiritual myths are in some shape present in almost all. Well， does not this suggest that the same great /truth/ underlies them all， taking from time to time the shape which is best suited to the spiritual development of those professing each. Every great new religion is better than the last. You cannot compare Osirianism with Buddhism， or Buddhism with Christianity， or Mahomedanism with the Arabian idol worship. Take the old illustration--take a cut crystal and hold it in the sun， and you will see many different coloured rays come from its facets. They look different， but they are all born of the same great light； they are all the same light. May it not be so with religion？ Let your altar be to the 'Unknown God，' if you like--for who can give an unaltering likeness to the Power above us？--but do not knock your altar down.

"Depend upon it， Miss Granger， all indications to the contrary notwithstanding， there is a watching Providence without the will of which we cannot live， and if we deliberately reject that Providence， setting up our intelligence in its place， sorrow will come of it， even here； for it is wiser than we. I wish that you would try and look at the question from another point of view--from a higher point of view.

I think you will find that it will bear a great deal of examination， and that you will come to the conclusion that the dictum of the wise-acre who says there is nothing because he can see nothing， is not necessarily a true one. There， that is all I have to say， and I wish that I could say it better.""Thank you，" said Beatrice， "I will. Why here we are at home； I must go and put Effie to bed."And here it may be stated that Geoffrey's advice was not altogether thrown away. Beatrice did try looking at the question again， and if Faith did not altogether come back to her at least Hope did， and "the greatest of these， which is Charity，" had never deserted her. Hope came slowly back， not by argument probably， but rather by example. In the sea of Doubt she saw another buoyed up， if it were but on broken pieces of the ship. This encouraged her. Geoffrey believed， and she--believed in Geoffrey. Indeed， is not this the secret of woman's philosophy--even， to some extent， of that of such a woman as Beatrice？

"Let the faith or unfaith of This， That， or the other Rabbi answer for me，" she says--it is her last argument. She believes in This， or That， or some other philosopher： that is her creed. And Geoffrey was the person in whom Beatrice began to believe， all the more wholly because she had never believed in any one before. Whatever else she was to lose， this at least she won when she saved his life.