Playing With Fire

"That is another question. Answer it yourself, Macrae. I can only say that, in preparing for the profession of Divinity at St. Andrews Divinity Hall, it was understood I would preach Calvinism. There was no specification concerning my belief or non-belief in it. I was licensed to be a preacher of Calvinism, and I have never preached anything else. My brother has the authority of the courts to be a pleader for criminals. He pleads well for them, and he does not much care whether they are guilty or innocent. You see, Macrae, this preaching is a professional business. Men are qualified for it, as men are qualified for law or medicine. They serve – just as Divinity does – rich and poor, good and bad. I do not know but what they are as reputable and useful 'divines' as we are."

"Supposing you were a sceptic – as many now are – would you go on preaching?"

"Unquestionably. Pray, why not? What I believe is between my Maker and myself. My congregation have nothing to do with it. My belief or non-belief would not injure or improve my sermons. I should in either case preach a good Calvinistic sermon; that is what I qualified myself for. It is my business. If you have been in London you have seen in the great thoroughfares men in scarlet blouses, whose business it is to direct strangers to the places they wish to find. Nobody asks them about their personal religion. If they are good guides to those seeking certain places, they fulfil their duty. I am in just such a position. So are you."

"If I thought so, I would leave it at once."

"If you had a wife and five children you would put their comfort before your own feelings. That stands to reason. All this talk about the higher criticism is like the sickly talk of the higher civilization; it is anemia in some form or other. Macrae, we have our duty to the Church. We are pledged and sworn to that. It is as much the work given us to do as plowing and sowing are the farmer's work."

"But the Truth – the Truth, Doctor!"

"What is Truth, Macrae? Who knows? The Truth of yesterday is the error of to-day."

"Then, it never was Truth, for Truth is unaffected by time, and remains a witness of the past, the present, and the future."

Then the visiting cleric struck the table heavily with his closed hand and, with a fierce intensity, whispered,

"O Man! Man! what if all this religion should be a dream!"

And Dr. Macrae answered, "Then, where is the Reality?"

Both men were silent, but in the eyes of both there was that look which is only seen in the eyes of men who are defrauding their own souls.

In a few moments there was the tinkle of a small silver bell, and Dr. Macrae said, "Tea is ready," and they rose together. Passing the parlor they heard Marion trying a new song, and they loitered a moment or two and listened, as very slowly and softly she asked:

"What says thy song, thou joyous thrush,
Up in the walnut tree?"
"I love my Love, because I know
My Love loves me."

A little sadly they entered the parlor, but the blazing fire threw warm gleams on the handsomely set table; and the tempting odors of young hyson, fresh bread, and a rook pie filled the room. Involuntarily everyone smiled and sat down gladly to the dainty, delicate food before them; and Dr. Macrae said to his friend:

"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 proprietorship 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 God'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. God 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 God, and offer them all God'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 perishing 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. For he knew that any reasoned argument would be but the surface exhibition; it was only the unreasoned and immediate assurance that could satisfy his soul.

CHAPTER VI

DONALD TAKES HIS OWN WAY

"Love is a sea for which no compass has been invented."

There are times which mark epochs in life; they cut it sharply asunder – the continuity of life is broken.

There was a sense of relief when the two divines were comfortably beyond the horizon of the Little House the next morning, and Mrs. Caird could begin her preparations for their own removal. "I was fain to come to this place, Marion," she said, "and mightily set up with it when I got here. But I have had lots of care in its pretty rooms and among its flowers. So I am just as fain to go back to the big, dull rooms in Bath Street. Paradise is fairly lost, dear. We may dream of it, but we never find it."

"O Aunt Jessy, some surely find it."