“That,” returned David, “is exactly what I’m trying to figure out.”
Corin looked at him commiseratingly.
“My dear man,” he said gently, “you’ll find that your figuring will bring you to but one conclusion. You’ve got to interpret for yourself. If you go off to ask other people, what will you find? Every man will tell you that his way is the right way. A Calvinist will talk of predestination, a Congregationalist will talk of conversion, a Catholic will tell you to go and confess your sins to a priest, and a member of the established Church of England—well, the Lord only knows what he’ll tell you. It’ll be a toss-up on the special species you light on.”
“But,” said David firmly, “there must be truth somewhere.”
“Of course there is,” returned Corin magnificently. “There’s a modicum of truth in every religion. Divest them of their forms and you’ll get vastly nearer the whole truth. I tell you, there’s the Divine in every man. The various churches have set up God as a kind of bogey wherewith to frighten naughty children. God exists, but not separate from us, as the churches teach, a judge to allot punishment or reward to a feeble humanity; He exists in each one of us. Each one of us is an actual part of the Divine, and thereby is his own arbitrator, ruler, and judge. And, that being so, it is absurd to imagine that we are incapable of understanding the Divine plan. Of course we understand it. To believe, to know, that, is merely common-sense.”
David was silent.
“Isn’t it?” urged Corin.
David turned towards him.
“Well, if you really want my opinion,” he said slowly, “I’m blamed if I don’t call it merely pride.”
Corin stared.