“And you mean to say that having a religion or not is a mere matter of taste?” asked Miss Winthrop.
“Yes, I should say it was, and practically that it is. You ladies, and nearly all that I have met, seem to choose a style of religion suited to your tastes; and the tastes of many incline them to have no religion at all.”
“Why, Miss Ludolph!” exclaimed Miss Winthrop, her cheeks glowing with honest dissent and zeal for the truth; “our religion is taken from the Bible. Do you not believe in the Bible?”
“No! not in the sense in which you ask the question; nor you either, my charming Miss Winthrop.”
“Indeed I do, every word of it,” said the orthodox young lady, hotly.
“Let me test you. Miss Brown, have you such a book in the house? Oh, yes, here is an elegantly bound copy, but looking as if never opened. And now, Miss Winthrop, this city is full of all sorts of horrid people, living in alleys and tenement houses. They are poor, half-naked, hungry, and sometimes starving. Many are in prison, and more ought to be; many are strangers, more utterly alone and lonely in our crowded streets than on a desert island. They are suffering from varieties of disgusting disease, and having a hard time generally. How many hungry people have you fed? How many strangers (I do not mean distinguished ones from abroad) have you taken in and comforted? How many of the naked have you clothed? And how long is your list of the sick and imprisoned that you have visited, my luxurious little lady?”
A real pallor overspread Miss Winthrop’s sunny face, for she saw what was coming, but she answered, honestly, “I have done practically nothing of all this.” Then she added: “Papa and mamma are not willing that I should visit such places and people. I have asked that I might, but they always discourage me, and tell of the awful experiences of those who do.”
“Then they don’t believe the Bible, either,” said Christine; “for if they did they would insist on your doing it; and if you believed you would do all this in spite of them; for see what is written here; the very Being that you worship and dedicate your churches to will say, because of your not doing this, ‘Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels.’ And this is but one of many similar passages. Now all this is a monstrous fable to me. The idea of any such experiences awaiting my lighthearted little Sybarite here!”
Miss Winthrop had buried her face in her hands, and was trembling from head to foot. The words of God never seemed so real and true before as now when uttered by an unbeliever.
“I don’t believe there is any such place or things,” said Miss Brown, bluntly.
“There spake my mature and thoughtful friend who is not to be imposed upon,” said Christine, with a touch of irony in her tone.
Dennis had listened in sad wonder. Such words of cynical unbelief were in dark, terrible contrast with the fair young face. He saw the mind and training of her father in all she said, but he bitterly condemned the worldly, inconsistent life of multitudes in the church who do more to confirm unbelievers than all their sophistries. But as she went on, seemingly having the argument all her own way, his whole soul burned to meet and refute her fatal views. For her own sake and the others’ as well as for the dishonored name of his Lord, he must in some way turn the tide. Though regarded as a humble servitor, having no right to take part in the conversation, he determined that his hands must lift up the standard of truth if no others would or could. To his joy he found that the programme would soon give him the coveted opportunity.
Christine went on with a voice as smooth and musical as the flow of a stream over a glacier.
“I have read the Bible several times, and that is more than all of you can say, I think. It is a wonderful book, and has been the inspiration of some of our best art. There are parts that I enjoy reading very much for their sublimity and peculiarity. But who pretends to live as this old and partially obsolete book teaches? Take my father, for instance. All the gentlemen in the church that I know of can do, and are accustomed to do, just what he does, and some I think do much worse; and yet he is an infidel, as you would term him. And as to the ladies, not the Bible, but fashion rules them with a rod of iron. I have cut free from it all, and art shall be my religion and the inspiration of my life.”
As Christine talked on, the twilight deepened, and Dennis worked with increasing eagerness.
“After all,” she continued, “it is only history repeating itself. The educated mind today stands in the same attitude toward Christianity as that of the cultured mind of Greece and Rome toward the older mythology in the second century. Then as now the form of religion was kept up, but belief in its truth was fast dying out. The cities abounded in gorgeous temples, and were thronged with worshippers, but they sacrificed at the dictates of fashion, custom, and law, not of faith. So our cities are adorned with splendid churches, and fashion and the tastes of the congregation decide as to the form of service. The sects differ widely with each other, and all differ with the Bible. The ancients gave no more respect to what was regarded as the will of their imaginary deities than do modern Christians to the precepts of the Bible. People went to the ceremonies, got through with them,
