“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?”