Virginia asked whether she might say for us “Abou ben Adhem,” which expressed our idea of man and God. And she said it for us. We were all silent for a few moments. Then I said: “And the love of even more than man, of all creatures, of all the world.” Marian admitted that she did not love animals. Ruth said she did. Marian seems distressed by the fact that she cannot be perfect at once. That is what she means when she says she is mentally convinced, but doesn’t feel it yet. Alfred feels the same lack. These ambitious children! “Now,” I said, “I want you to feel certain and convinced of each thing as we go on. We all agree at present, don’t we?” “Yes,” they answered. “I feel as if something must be wrong, because we all agree,” I went on, “and yet I know you are independent thinkers. Are you sure that all bad is a condition of good, even all physical bad, such things as accidents and loss? For instance, railroads are of value—why?” None knew the true reason but Ruth. She said they brought nations together. “And the accidents on railroads,” I said, “are the price of that progress, a price we have to pay for perfecting that system. It would be better to avoid all accidents—as I hope we shall do one day—but, meanwhile, we would rather take the risk than not have railroads. No one can be convinced, however, that all bad is a condition of good, until tried.” “I have been tried,” answered Virginia. They all thought themselves convinced, except Alfred. He said: “It might be true nine times, but the tenth time it might not be true.” “Then,” said Henry, “you would believe it were true the tenth time, even though you didn’t understand how.” “No,” I answered; “he would test it the tenth time. We will _know_ each thing.” Now we re-examined our conviction on all these questions, and went over each point again. We probed the possibilities of atheism, and saw that no one who faced things could be an atheist, that atheism was the result of laziness, fear or vanity. Either a man feared to face the truth, or could not bear to admit how little he knew. And we saw that an atheist might be a very good man, only he would build his morality on a philosophy he did not understand or examine. We might be good without any religious convictions, but this conviction, this belief, would give us a reason for goodness, and make us strong in the face of uncertainty, temptation and trial. Henry said things were worth while only when they were hard to do. “There,” said I, “you have a proof of our instinctive feeling that pain is a necessary part of progress.” Virginia said she wanted to believe what would make her happy; that she would choose the optimistic faith. I answered her I wanted to believe the truth, happy or unhappy, but I had come to the conclusion at last that the truth was very good. I told them how at their age I had been in great doubt, how I had thought the truth might be very bad.