The Inside of the Cup | Page 4

of grace,--whatever that
may be. He didn't explain it. He didn't give me one notion as to how to
cope a little better with the frightful complexities of the modern lives
we live, or how to stop quarrelling with Phil when he stays at the office
and is late for dinner."
"Eleanor, I think you're unjust to him," said Lucy, amid the laughter of
the men of the family. "Most people in St. John's think he is a
remarkable preacher."
"So were many of the Greek sophists," George Bridges observed.
"Now if it were only dear old Doctor Gilman," Eleanor continued, "I
could sink back into a comfortable indifference. But every Sunday this
new man stirs me up, not by what he says, but by what he is. I hoped
we'd get a rector with modern ideas, who would be able to tell me what
to teach my children. Little Phil and Harriet come back from Sunday
school with all sorts of questions, and I feel like a hypocrite. At any
rate, if Mr. Hodder hasn't done anything else, he's made me want to
know."
"What do you mean by a man of modern ideas, Eleanor?" inquired Mr.
Bridges, with evident relish.

Eleanor put down her coffee cup, looked at him helplessly, and smiled.
"Somebody who will present Christianity to me in such a manner that it
will appeal to my reason, and enable me to assimilate it into my life."
"Good for you, Nell," said her husband, approvingly. "Come now,
professor, you sit up in the University' Club all Sunday morning and
discuss recondite philosophy with other learned agnostics, tell us what
is the matter with Mr. Hodder's theology. That is, if it will not shock
grandmother too much."
"I'm afraid I've got used to being shocked, Phil," said Mrs. Waring,
with her quiet smile.
"It's unfair," Mr. Bridges protested, "to ask a prejudiced pagan like me
to pronounce judgment on an honest parson who is labouring according
to his lights."
"Go on, George. You shan't get out of it that way."
"Well," said George, "the trouble is, from the theological point of view,
that your parson is preaching what Auguste Sabatier would call a
diminished and mitigated orthodoxy."
"Great heavens!" cried Phil. "What's that?"
"It's neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, nor good red herring," the professor
declared. "If Mr. Hodder were cornered he couldn't maintain that he, as
a priest, has full power to forgive sins, and yet he won't assert that he
hasn't. The mediaeval conception of the Church, before Luther's day,
was consistent, at any rate, if you once grant the premises on which it
was based."
"What premises?"
"That the Almighty had given it a charter, like an insurance company,
of a monopoly of salvation on this portion of the Universe, and agreed
to keep his hands off. Under this conception, the sale of indulgences,

masses for the soul, and temporal power are perfectly logical--
inevitable. Kings and princes derive their governments from the Church.
But if we once begin to doubt the validity of this charter, as the
Reformers did, the whole system flies to pieces, like sticking a pin into
a soap bubble.
"That is the reason why--to change the figure--the so-called Protestant
world has been gradually sliding down hill ever since the Reformation.
The great majority of men are not willing to turn good, to renounce the
material and sensual rewards under their hands without some definite
and concrete guaranty that, if they do so, they are going, to be rewarded
hereafter. They demand some sort of infallibility. And when we let go
of the infallibility of the Church, we began to slide toward what looked
like a bottomless pit, and we clutched at the infallibility of the Bible.
And now that has begun to roll.
"What I mean by a mitigated orthodoxy is this: I am far from accusing
Mr. Hodder of insincerity, but he preaches as if every word of the Bible
were literally true, and had been dictated by God to the men who held
the pen, as if he, as a priest, held some supernatural power that could
definitely be traced, through what is known as the Apostolic
Succession, back to Peter."
"Do you mean to say, George," asked Mrs. Waring, with a note of pain
in her voice, "that the Apostolic Succession cannot be historically
proved?"
"My dear mother," said George, "I hope you will hold me innocent of
beginning this discussion. As a harmless professor of history in our
renowned University (of which we think so much that we do not send
our sons to it) I have been compelled by the children whom you have
brought up to sit in judgment on the theology of your rector."
"They will leave us nothing!" she sighed.
"Nothing, perhaps, that