I was thinking over the pictures of God I had seen--rash advances of the devout mind of man, representing his Omnipotent Deity as an old man in a flowing robe, flowing hair, flowing beard, and in the light of her perfectly frank and innocent questions this concept seemed rather unsatisfying. I explained that the God of the Christian world was really the ancient Hebrew God, and that we had simply taken over the patriarchal idea--that ancient one which quite inevitably clothed its thought of God with the attributes of the patriarchal ruler, the grandfather. “I see,” she said eagerly, after I had explained the genesis and development of our religious ideals. “They lived in separate groups, with a male head, and he was probably a little--domineering?” “No doubt of that,” I agreed. “And we live together without any ‘head,’ in that sense--just our chosen leaders--that _does_ make a difference.” “Your difference is deeper than that,” I assured her. “It is in your common motherhood. Your children grow up in a world where everybody loves them. They find life made rich and happy for them by the diffused love and wisdom of all mothers. So it is easy for you to think of God in the terms of a similar diffused and competent love. I think you are far nearer right than we are.” “What I cannot understand,” she pursued carefully, “is your preservation of such a very ancient state of mind. This patriarchal idea you tell me is thousands of years old?” “Oh yes--four, five, six thousand--every so many.” “And you have made wonderful progress in those years--in other things?” “We certainly have. But religion is different. You see, our religions come from behind us, and are initiated by some great teacher who is dead. He is supposed to have known the whole thing and taught it, finally. All we have to do is believe--and obey.” “Who was the great Hebrew teacher?” “Oh--there it was different. The Hebrew religion is an accumulation of extremely ancient traditions, some far older than their people, and grew by accretion down the ages. We consider it inspired--‘the Word of God.’” “How do you know it is?” “Because it says so.” “Does it say so in as many words? Who wrote that in?” I began to try to recall some text that did say so, and could not bring it to mind. “Apart from that,” she pursued, “what I cannot understand is why you keep these early religious ideas so long. You have changed all your others, haven’t you?” “Pretty generally,” I agreed. “But this we call ‘revealed religion,’ and think it is final. But tell me more about these little temples of yours,” I urged. “And these Temple Mothers you run to.” Then she gave me an extended lesson in applied religion, which I will endeavor to concentrate.