“Only a few minds are strong enough to stand alone. Our Church does not forbid inquiry. She does not punish freethought. What she forbids and punishes is the attempt to disturb the ignorant, to rob them of the faith which is the best for them, without giving them anything in exchange. You may persuade the peasant-woman to give up her Christian Catechism, but you will not persuade her to replace it by the Synthetical Philosophy.” Alistair felt that this was still the old situation. He was to be silenced lest others might be shocked. He was to be bound that they might be free--to suffer that they might be strong. While he thus found himself cut off from the communion of the orthodox, the Christian religion continued to fascinate him. His spirit felt the presence of a living truth concealed in these formulas which his mind could not accommodate, like a beautiful face hidden beneath an ugly mask. Sir Bernard Vanbrugh’s theology was of the new scientific kind which calls itself anthropology. The analysis of myths and the genesis of beliefs had formed his favourite study, outside the range of his profession, and he found a missionary’s satisfaction in imparting his lore to Alistair Stuart. “Christianity,” Vanbrugh proclaimed, “is a synthesis of all the ancient beliefs of the Mediterranean, some of them comparatively enlightened, others purely barbarous. We are now able to trace every one of its rites and dogmas to an origin in some older state of society. Its evolution has been as entirely natural as that of man himself.” “Is not that rather in its favour than against it?” Alistair suggested. “Is it not possible to view the primitive beliefs as the gradual unfolding of a great truth?” Vanbrugh frowned. This was not language that he liked to hear. “That is what the orthodox would say, no doubt. But I am not concerned with apologetics. No serious thinker will ever again waste his time in controversy with that class of person.” “I am afraid the orthodox would not think one view any better than the other,” replied Alistair, thinking of his mother. “Isn’t it the orthodox view that all the resemblances to Christianity found in other religions are blasphemous parodies contrived by the devil in order to discredit the true faith?” Sir Bernard smiled, reassured of his pupil. “Yes, I suppose that is the sound explanation. But there is a school of reconcilers abroad, men who want to retain positions in the Church without wholly forfeiting the respect of educated men, and their favourite cry just now is the evolution of religion.” “But the religious instinct itself? How do you account for that?” “In the beginning it was nothing but the savage’s fear of Nature, as Lucretius observed. In our days it is an atavistic survival--practically a disease.” Alistair trembled. “Is it a disease that can be cured?”