places by that
pink irascible bit of dignity. I remember how at the time I didn't dare
betray my boiling indignation even to you--I scarcely dared admit it to
myself...."

He paused.

"It doesn't matter at all," and old Likeman waved it aside.

"Not at all," he confirmed, waving again.

"I spoke of the whole church of Christ on earth," he went on.
"These things, these Victorias and Edwards and so on, are temporary
accidents--just as the severance of an Anglican from a Roman communion
and a Greek orthodox communion are temporary accidents. You will remark
that wise men in all ages have been able to surmount the difficulty of
these things. Why? Because they knew that in spite of all these splits
and irregularities and defacements--like the cracks and crannies and
lichens on a cathedral wall--the building held good, that it was shelter
and security. There is no other shelter and security. And so I come to
your problem. Suppose it is true that you have this incidental vision
of the militant aspect of God, and he isn't, as you see him now that
is,--he isn't like the Trinity, he isn't like the Creed, he doesn't seem
to be related to the Church, then comes the question, are you going out
for that? And whither do you go if you do go out? The Church remains. We
alter doctrines not by changing the words but by shifting the accent. We
can under-accentuate below the threshold of consciousness."

"But can we?"

"We do. Where's Hell now? Eighty years ago it warmed the whole Church.
It was--as some atheist or other put it the other day--the central
heating of the soul. But never mind that point now. Consider the
essential question, the question of breaking with the church. Ask
yourself, whither would you go? To become an oddity! A Dissenter. A
Negative. Self emasculated. The spirit that denies. You would just go
out. You would just cease to serve Religion. That would be all. You
wouldn't do anything. The Church would go on; everything else would go
on. Only you would be lost in the outer wilderness.

"But then--"

Old Likeman leant forward and pointed a bony finger. "Stay in the Church
and modify it. Bring this new light of yours to the altar."

There was a little pause.

"No man," the bishop thought aloud, "putteth new wine into old bottles."

Old Likeman began to speak and had a fit of coughing. "Some of these
texts--whuff, whuff--like a conjuror's hat--whuff--make 'em--fit
anything."

A man-servant appeared and hand