“No.”
“Then may I ask in what way the religion of Vinehall is so superior to the religion of Leasan?”
“Just because it isn’t the religion of Vinehall—it’s the religion of the whole world. It’s a religion for everybody, not just for Englishmen. When I was at school I thought religion was simply a kind of gentlemanly aid to a decent life. After a time you find out that sort of life can be lived just as easily without religion—that good form and good manners and good nature will pull the thing through without any help from prayers and sermons. But when I saw Catholic Christianity I saw that it pointed to a life which simply couldn’t be lived without its help—that it wasn’t just an aid to good behaviour but something which demanded your whole life, not only in the teeth of what one calls evil, but in the teeth of that very decency and good form and good nature which are the religion of most Englishmen.”
“In other words and more briefly,” said Sir John, “you fell in love with a pretty girl.”
Gervase’s face darkened with a painful flush, and George felt sorry for him.
“I don’t deny,” he said rather haltingly, “that, if it hadn’t been for Stella I should never have gone to Vinehall church. But I assure you the thing isn’t resting on that now. I’ve nothing to gain from Stella by pleasing her. We’re not on that footing at all. She never tried to persuade me, either. It’s simply that after I’d seen only a little of the Catholic faith I realised that it was what I’d always unconsciously believed ... in my heart.... It was my childhood’s faith—all the things I’d ‘loved long since and lost awhile.’”
“But don’t you see,” said George, suddenly finding his feet in the argument, “that you’ve just put your finger on the weak spot of the whole thing? This ‘Catholic faith’ as you call it was unconsciously your faith as a child—well, now you ought to go on and leave all that behind you. ‘When I became a man I put away childish things.’”
“And ‘whosoever will not receive the kingdom of heaven as a little child shall in no wise enter therein.’ It’s no good quoting texts at me, George—we might go on for ever like that. What I mean is that I’ve found what I’ve always been looking for, and it’s made Our Lord real to me, as He’s never been since I was a child—and now the whole of life seems real in a way it didn’t before—I don’t know how to explain, but it does. And it wasn’t only the romantic side of things which attracted me—it was the hard side too. In fact the hardness impressed me almost before I saw all the beauty and joy and romance. It was when we were having all that argument about Mary’s divorce.... I saw then that the Catholic Church wasn’t afraid of a Hard Saying. I thought, ‘Here’s a religion which wouldn’t be afraid to ask anything of me—whether it was to shut myself up for life in a monastery or simply to make a fool of myself.’”
“Well, on the whole, I’m glad you contented yourself with the latter,” said Sir John.
George said—“I think it’s a pity Gervase didn’t go to Oxford.”