"No," said the rector, outwardly cool, but inwardly excited by the
coruscation of this magnificent paraphrase of Paul's sentence, by the
extraordinary turn the conversation had taken. "I am ashamed to own that
I have not followed the development of modern philosophy. The books I
have just returned, on historical criticism," he went on, after a
moment's hesitation, "infer what my attitude has been toward modern
thought. We were made acquainted with historical criticism in the
theological seminary, but we were also taught to discount it. I have
discounted it, refrained from reading it,--until now. And yet I have
heard it discussed in conferences, glanced over articles in the reviews.
I had, you see, closed the door of my mind. I was in a state where
arguments make no impression."

The librarian made a gesture of sympathetic assent, which was also a
tribute to the clergyman's frankness.

"You will perhaps wonder how I could have lived these years in an
atmosphere of modern thought and have remained uninfluenced. Well, I
have recently been wondering--myself." Hodder smiled. "The name of
Royce is by no means unfamiliar to me, and he taught at Harvard when I
was an undergraduate. But the prevailing philosophy of that day among
the students was naturalism. I represent a revolt from it. At the
seminary I imbibed a certain amount of religious philosophy--but I did
not continue it, as thousands of my more liberal fellow-clergymen have
done. My religion 'worked' during the time, at least, I remained in my
first parish. I had no interest in reconciling, for instance, the
doctrine of evolution with the argument for design. Since I have been
here in this city," he added, simply, "my days have been filled with a
continued perplexity--when I was not too busy to think. Yes, there was