Chapter XXVIII

by William Somerset Maugham

　　It occurred neither to Hayward nor to Weeks that the conversations whichhelped them to pass an idle evening were being turned over afterwards inPhilip's active brain. It had never struck him before that religion was amatter upon which discussion was possible. To him it meant the Church ofEngland, and not to believe in its tenets was a sign of wilfulness whichcould not fail of punishment here or hereafter. There was some doubt inhis mind about the chastisement of unbelievers. It was possible that amerciful judge, reserving the flames of hell for the heathen--Mahommedans,Buddhists, and the rest--would spare Dissenters and Roman Catholics(though at the cost of how much humiliation when they were made to realisetheir error!), and it was also possible that He would be pitiful to thosewho had had no chance of learning the truth,--this was reasonable enough,though such were the activities of the Missionary Society there could notbe many in this condition--but if the chance had been theirs and they hadneglected it (in which category were obviously Roman Catholics andDissenters), the punishment was sure and merited. It was clear that themiscreant was in a parlous state. Perhaps Philip had not been taught it inso many words, but certainly the impression had been given him that onlymembers of the Church of England had any real hope of eternal happiness.One of the things that Philip had heard definitely stated was that theunbeliever was a wicked and a vicious man; but Weeks, though he believedin hardly anything that Philip believed, led a life of Christian purity.Philip had received little kindness in his life, and he was touched by theAmerican's desire to help him: once when a cold kept him in bed for threedays, Weeks nursed him like a mother. There was neither vice norwickedness in him, but only sincerity and loving-kindness. It wasevidently possible to be virtuous and unbelieving.Also Philip had been given to understand that people adhered to otherfaiths only from obstinacy or self-interest: in their hearts they knewthey were false; they deliberately sought to deceive others. Now, for thesake of his German he had been accustomed on Sunday mornings to attend theLutheran service, but when Hayward arrived he began instead to go with himto Mass. He noticed that, whereas the Protestant church was nearly emptyand the congregation had a listless air, the Jesuit on the other hand wascrowded and the worshippers seemed to pray with all their hearts. They hadnot the look of hypocrites. He was surprised at the contrast; for he knewof course that the Lutherans, whose faith was closer to that of the Churchof England, on that account were nearer the truth than the RomanCatholics. Most of the men--it was largely a masculine congregation--wereSouth Germans; and he could not help saying to himself that if he had beenborn in South Germany he would certainly have been a Roman Catholic. Hemight just as well have been born in a Roman Catholic country as inEngland; and in England as well in a Wesleyan, Baptist, or Methodistfamily as in one that fortunately belonged to the church by lawestablished. He was a little breathless at the danger he had run. Philipwas on friendly terms with the little Chinaman who sat at table with himtwice each day. His name was Sung. He was always smiling, affable, andpolite. It seemed strange that he should frizzle in hell merely because hewas a Chinaman; but if salvation was possible whatever a man's faith was,there did not seem to be any particular advantage in belonging to theChurch of England.Philip, more puzzled than he had ever been in his life, sounded Weeks. Hehad to be careful, for he was very sensitive to ridicule; and theacidulous humour with which the American treated the Church of Englanddisconcerted him. Weeks only puzzled him more. He made Philip acknowledgethat those South Germans whom he saw in the Jesuit church were every bitas firmly convinced of the truth of Roman Catholicism as he was of that ofthe Church of England, and from that he led him to admit that theMahommedan and the Buddhist were convinced also of the truth of theirrespective religions. It looked as though knowing that you were rightmeant nothing; they all knew they were right. Weeks had no intention ofundermining the boy's faith, but he was deeply interested in religion, andfound it an absorbing topic of conversation. He had described his ownviews accurately when he said that he very earnestly disbelieved in almosteverything that other people believed. Once Philip asked him a question,which he had heard his uncle put when the conversation at the vicarage hadfallen upon some mildly rationalistic work which was then excitingdiscussion in the newspapers."But why should you be right and all those fellows like St. Anselm and St.Augustine be wrong?""You mean that they were very clever and learned men, while you have gravedoubts whether I am either?" asked Weeks."Yes," answered Philip uncertainly, for put in that way his questionseemed impertinent."St. Augustine believed that the earth was flat and that the sun turnedround it.""I don't know what that proves.""Why, it proves that you believe with your generation. Your saints livedin an age of faith, when it was practically impossible to disbelieve whatto us is positively incredible.""Then how d'you know that we have the truth now?""I don't."Philip thought this over for a moment, then he said:"I don't see why the things we believe absolutely now shouldn't be just aswrong as what they believed in the past.""Neither do I.""Then how can you believe anything at all?""I don't know."Philip asked Weeks what he thought of Hayward's religion."Men have always formed gods in their own image," said Weeks. "He believesin the picturesque."Philip paused for a little while, then he said:"I don't see why one should believe in God at all."The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he realised that he hadceased to do so. It took his breath away like a plunge into cold water. Helooked at Weeks with startled eyes. Suddenly he felt afraid. He left Weeksas quickly as he could. He wanted to be alone. It was the most startlingexperience that he had ever had. He tried to think it all out; it was veryexciting, since his whole life seemed concerned (he thought his decisionon this matter must profoundly affect its course) and a mistake might leadto eternal damnation; but the more he reflected the more convinced he was;and though during the next few weeks he read books, aids to scepticism,with eager interest it was only to confirm him in what he feltinstinctively. The fact was that he had ceased to believe not for thisreason or the other, but because he had not the religious temperament.Faith had been forced upon him from the outside. It was a matter ofenvironment and example. A new environment and a new example gave him theopportunity to find himself. He put off the faith of his childhood quitesimply, like a cloak that he no longer needed. At first life seemedstrange and lonely without the belief which, though he never realised it,had been an unfailing support. He felt like a man who has leaned on astick and finds himself forced suddenly to walk without assistance. Itreally seemed as though the days were colder and the nights more solitary.But he was upheld by the excitement; it seemed to make life a morethrilling adventure; and in a little while the stick which he had thrownaside, the cloak which had fallen from his shoulders, seemed anintolerable burden of which he had been eased. The religious exerciseswhich for so many years had been forced upon him were part and parcel ofreligion to him. He thought of the collects and epistles which he had beenmade to learn by heart, and the long services at the Cathedral throughwhich he had sat when every limb itched with the desire for movement; andhe remembered those walks at night through muddy roads to the parishchurch at Blackstable, and the coldness of that bleak building; he satwith his feet like ice, his fingers numb and heavy, and all around was thesickly odour of pomatum. Oh, he had been so bored! His heart leaped whenhe saw he was free from all that.He was surprised at himself because he ceased to believe so easily, and,not knowing that he felt as he did on account of the subtle workings ofhis inmost nature, he ascribed the certainty he had reached to his owncleverness. He was unduly pleased with himself. With youth's lack ofsympathy for an attitude other than its own he despised not a little Weeksand Hayward because they were content with the vague emotion which theycalled God and would not take the further step which to himself seemed soobvious. One day he went alone up a certain hill so that he might see aview which, he knew not why, filled him always with wild exhilaration. Itwas autumn now, but often the days were cloudless still, and then the skyseemed to glow with a more splendid light: it was as though natureconsciously sought to put a fuller vehemence into the remaining days offair weather. He looked down upon the plain, a-quiver with the sun,stretching vastly before him: in the distance were the roofs of Mannheimand ever so far away the dimness of Worms. Here and there a more piercingglitter was the Rhine. The tremendous spaciousness of it was glowing withrich gold. Philip, as he stood there, his heart beating with sheer joy,thought how the tempter had stood with Jesus on a high mountain and shownhim the kingdoms of the earth. To Philip, intoxicated with the beauty ofthe scene, it seemed that it was the whole world which was spread beforehim, and he was eager to step down and enjoy it. He was free fromdegrading fears and free from prejudice. He could go his way without theintolerable dread of hell-fire. Suddenly he realised that he had lost alsothat burden of responsibility which made every action of his life a matterof urgent consequence. He could breathe more freely in a lighter air. Hewas responsible only to himself for the things he did. Freedom! He was hisown master at last. From old habit, unconsciously he thanked God that heno longer believed in Him.Drunk with pride in his intelligence and in his fearlessness, Philipentered deliberately upon a new life. But his loss of faith made lessdifference in his behaviour than he expected. Though he had thrown on oneside the Christian dogmas it never occurred to him to criticise theChristian ethics; he accepted the Christian virtues, and indeed thought itfine to practise them for their own sake, without a thought of reward orpunishment. There was small occasion for heroism in the Frau Professor'shouse, but he was a little more exactly truthful than he had been, and heforced himself to be more than commonly attentive to the dull, elderlyladies who sometimes engaged him in conversation. The gentle oath, theviolent adjective, which are typical of our language and which he hadcultivated before as a sign of manliness, he now elaborately eschewed.Having settled the whole matter to his satisfaction he sought to put itout of his mind, but that was more easily said than done; and he could notprevent the regrets nor stifle the misgivings which sometimes tormentedhim. He was so young and had so few friends that immortality had noparticular attractions for him, and he was able without trouble to give upbelief in it; but there was one thing which made him wretched; he toldhimself that he was unreasonable, he tried to laugh himself out of suchpathos; but the tears really came to his eyes when he thought that hewould never see again the beautiful mother whose love for him had grownmore precious as the years since her death passed on. And sometimes, asthough the influence of innumerable ancestors, Godfearing and devout, wereworking in him unconsciously, there seized him a panic fear that perhapsafter all it was all true, and there was, up there behind the blue sky, ajealous God who would punish in everlasting flames the atheist. At thesetimes his reason could offer him no help, he imagined the anguish of aphysical torment which would last endlessly, he felt quite sick with fearand burst into a violent sweat. At last he would say to himselfdesperately:"After all, it's not my fault. I can't force myself to believe. If thereis a God after all and he punishes me because I honestly don't believe inHim I can't help it."