ll to God.

III

Certainly we were not a religious family. One attendance at church
upon Sunday--if it did not rain!--and occasionally the Communion,
this was the extent of any outward religious feeling. But my father's
daily life and acts were full of Christianity. A man of a naturally
somewhat violent temper, he had so brought himself under control
that towards everyone, high and low, he had become all that was
sweet and patient, sympathetic and gentle.

About this time a devouring curiosity for knowledge commenced to
possess me. What was the truth--what was the truth about every
single thing I saw? Astronomy, Biology, Geology--in these things I
discovered a new and marvellous interest: here at last I found my
natural bent. History had small attraction for me: it spoke of the
doings of people mostly vain or cruel, and untruthful. I wanted
truth--irrefutable facts! No scientific work seemed too difficult for me;
but I never, then or later, read anything upon the subject of religion,
philosophy, or psychology. I had a healthy, wholesome young
intelligence with a voracious appetite: it would carry me a long way,
I thought. It did--it landed me in Atheism.

To a woman Atheism is intolerable pain: her very nature, loving,
tender, sensitive, clinging, demands belief in God. The high moral
standard demanded of her is impossible of fulfilment for mere
reasons of race-welfare. The personal reason, the Personal
God--these are essential to high virtue. Young as I was, I realised this.
Outwardly I was frivolous; inwardly I was no butterfly, the deep
things of my nature were by no means unknown to me. I not only
became profoundly unrestful at heart but I was fearful for myself,
and of where strong forces of which I felt the pull might lead me. I
had great power over the emotions of men: moreover, interests and
instincts within me corresponded to this dangerous capacity. I felt
that the world held many strange fires: some holy and beautiful;
some far otherwise.

Without God I knew myself incapable of overcoming the evil of the
world, or even of my own petty nature and entanglements. I
despaired, for I perceived that God does not reveal Himself because
of an imperious demand of the human mind, and I had yet to learn
that those mysteries which are under lock and key to the intelligence
are open to the heart and soul. But indeed there was no God to
reveal Himself. All was a fantastic make-believe! a pitiful childish
invention