Reding had for near two years put aside his doubts about the Articles; but it was like putting off the payment of a bill—a respite, not a deliverance. The two conversations which we have been recording, bringing him to issue on most important subjects first with one, then with another, of two intimate friends, who were bound by the Articles as well as he, uncomfortably reminded him of his debt to the University and Church; and the nearer approach of his examination and degree inflicted on him the thought that the time was coming when he must be prepared to discharge it.
One day, when he was strolling out with Carlton, towards the end of the Vacation, he had been led to speak of the number of religious opinions and parties in Oxford, which had so many bad effects, making so many talk, so many criticise, and not a few perhaps doubt about truth altogether. Then he said that, evil as it was in a place of education, yet he feared it was unavoidable, if Carlton’s doctrine about parties were correct; for if there was a place where differences of religious opinions would show themselves, it would be in a university.
“I am far from denying it,” said Carlton; “but all systems have their defects; no polity, no theology, no ritual is perfect. One only came directly and simply from Heaven, the Jewish; and even that was removed because of its unprofitableness. This is no derogation from the perfection of Divine Revelation, for it arises from the subject-matter on and through which it operates.” There was a pause; then Carlton went on: “It is the fault of most young thinkers to be impatient, if they do not find perfection in everything; they are ‘new brooms’”. Another pause; he went on again: “What form of Religion is less objectionable than ours? You see the inconveniences of your own system, for you experience them; you have not felt, and cannot know, those of others.”
Charles was still silent, and went on plucking and chewing leaves from the shrubs and bushes through which their path winded. At length he said, “I should not like to say it to any one but you, Carlton, but, do you know, I was very uncomfortable about the Articles, going on for two years since; I really could not understand them, and their history makes matters worse. I put the subject from me altogether; but now that my examination and degree are coming on, I must take it up again.”
“You must have been put into the Article-lecture early,” said Carlton.
“Well, perhaps I was not up to the subject,” answered Charles.
“I didn’t mean that,” said Carlton; “but as to the thing itself, my dear fellow, it happens every day, and especially to thoughtful people like yourself. It should not annoy you.”
“But my fidget is,” said Charles, “lest my difficulties should return, and I should not be able to remove them.”
“You should take all these things calmly,” said Carlton; “all things, as I have said, have their difficulties. If you wait till everything is as it should be or might be conceivably, you will do nothing, and will lose life. The moral and social world is not an open country; it is already marked and mapped out; it has its roads. You can’t go across country; if you attempt a steeple-chase, you will break your neck for your pains. Forms of religion are facts; they have each their history. They existed before you were born, and will survive you. You must choose, you cannot make.”
“I know,” said Reding, “I can’t make a religion, nor can I perhaps find one better than my own. I don’t want to do so; but this is not my difficulty. Take your own image. I am jogging along my own old road, and lo, a high turnpike, fast locked; and my poor pony can’t clear it. I don’t complain; but there’s the fact, or at least may be.”
“The pony must,” answered Carlton; “or if not there must be some way about; else what is the good of a road? In religion all roads have their obstacles; one has a strong gate across it, another goes through a bog. Is no one to go on? Is religion to be at a dead-lock? Is Christianity to die out? Where else will you go? Not surely to Methodism or Plymouth brotherism. As to the Romish Church, I suspect it has more difficulties than we have. You must sacrifice your private judgment.”
“All this is very good,” answered Charles; “but what is very expedient still may be very impossible. The finest words about the necessity of getting home before nightfall will not enable my poor little pony to take the gate.”
“Certainly not,” said Carlton; “but if you had a command from a benevolent Prince, your own Sovereign and Benefactor, to go along the road steadily till evening, and he would meet you at the end of your journey, you would be quite sure that he who had appointed the end had also assigned the means. And, in the difficulty in question, you ought to look out for some mode of opening the gate, or some gap in the hedge, or some parallel cut, some way or other, which would enable you to turn the difficulty.”