In this strain the conversation continued for some little time longer. Seeing the invalid’s tender yearning, Bradley spoke yet more hopefully of the great Christian promise, describing the soul as imperishable, and the moral order of the universe as stationary and secure; but what he said was half-hearted, and carried with it no conviction. He felt for the first time the helplessness of a transcendental Christianity, like his own. Presently he returned, almost unconsciously, to the point from which he had set forth.
‘There is something, perhaps,’ he said, ‘in the Positivist conception of mankind as one ever-changing and practically deathless Being. Though men perish, Man survives. Children spring like flowers in the dark footprints of Death, and in them the dead inherit the world.’
‘That creed would possibly suit me,’ retimed Miss Combe, smiling sadly again, ‘if I were a mother, if I were to live again in my own offspring. I’m afraid it is a creed with little comfort for childless men, or for old maids like myself! No; my selfishness requires something much more tangible. If I am frankly told that I must die, that consciousness ceases for ever with the physical breath of life, I can understand it, and accept my doom; it is disagreeable, since I am rather fond of life and activity, but I can accept it. It is no consolation whatever to reflect that I am to exist vicariously, without consciousness of the fact, in other old maids to come! The condition of moral existence is—consciousness; without that, I shall be practically abolished. Such a creed, as the other you have named, is simple materialism, disguise it as you will.’
‘I am not preaching Positivism,’ cried Bradley; ‘God forbid! I only said there was something in its central idea. Christ’s promise is that we shall live again! Can we not accept that promise, without asking “how?”’
‘No, we can’t; that is to say, I can’t. It is the “how” which forms the puzzle. Besides, the Bible expressly speaks of the resurrection of the body.’
‘A poetical expression,’ suggested Bradley.
‘Yes; but something more,’ persisted the little woman. ‘I can’t conceive an existence without those physical attributes with which I was born. When I think of my dead mother, it is of the very face and form I used to know; the same eyes, the same sweet lips, the same smile, the same touch of loving hands. Either we shall exist again as we are, or——’
‘Of course we shall so exist,’ broke in Alma, more and more nervous at the turn the conversation was taking. ‘Is it not all beautifully expressed in St. Paul? We sow a physical body, we shall reap a spiritual body; but they will be one and the same. But pray do not talk of it any more. You are not dying, dear, thank God!’
Half an hour later Bradley and Alma left the house together.
‘I am sorry dear Agatha has not more faith,’ said Alma, thoughtfully, as they wandered back towards the park.