(VI)
It was nearly half an hour later that Monsignor ended, and leanedback, at once exhausted and excited. He had said it all--he hadsaid even more than he had previously formulated to himself. Nowand then, as he paused, the monk with a word or two, or astrangely compelling look, had soothed or encouraged him. And hehad told the whole thing--the sense that there was no longer anyescape from Christianity, that it had dominated the world, andthat it was hateful and tyrannical in its very essence. Heconfessed that logic was against him, that a wholly Christiansociety must protect itself, that he saw no way of evading theconsequences that he had witnessed; and yet that his entire moralsense revolted against the arguments of his head. It seemed tohim, he said in effect, as if he were held in a grip whichoutraged his whole sentiment; as if the universe itself were in aconspiracy against him. For there was wanting, he said, exactlythat which was most characteristic of Christianity, exactly thatwhich made it divine--a heavenly patience and readiness tosuffer. The cross had been dropped by the Church, he said, andshouldered by the world.
The monk sat silent a moment or two, as motionless as he had beenat the beginning. Monsignor perceived by now, even through hisfierce agitation, that this man never moved except for a purpose;he made no gestures when he spoke; he turned his head or liftedhis eyes only when it was necessary. Then the monk's voice beganagain, level and unemotional:
* * * * *
"A great deal of what you say, Monsignor, is merely the effect ofa nervous strain. A nervous strain means that the emotional orthe receptive faculties gain an undue influence over thereasonable intelligence. You admit that the logic is flawless,yet that fact does not reassure you, as it would if you were in anormal condition."
"But----"
"Wait, please, till I have done. I know what you wish to say. Itis that your sense of protest is not merely sentimental, butrather moral; is it not so?"
Monsignor nodded. It was precisely what he had wished to say.
"That is not true, however. It is true that your moral sense seemsoutraged, but the reason is that you have not yet all the data(the moral sense is a department of the reason, remember). Well,you admit the logic of society's defending itself; but it seems toyou that that which is, as you very properly said, the divinecharacteristic of Christianity--I mean, readiness to suffer ratherthan to inflict suffering--is absent from the world; that thecross, as you said again, has been dropped by the Church.
"Now, if you will reflect a moment, you will see that it is verynatural that that should appear so, in a world that isoverwhelmingly Christian. It is very natural that there should notbe persecution of Christians, for example, since there is no oneto persecute them; and therefore that you should see only therights of the Church to rule, and not its divine prerogative ofpain. But I suppose that if you saw the opposite, if you were towatch the other process, and see that the Church is still able tosuffer, and to accept suffering, in a manner in which the world isnever capable of suffering, I imagine you would be reassured."
Monsignor drew a long breath.
"I thought so. . . . Well, does not the Contemplative Lifereassure you? And are you aware that in Ireland alone there arefour millions of persons wholly devoted to the ContemplativeLife? And that, so great is the rush of vocations, thecontinent of Europe----"
"No," cried the priest harshly. "Voluntary suffering is not thesame thing. . . . I . . . I long to see Christians suffering atthe hands of the world."
"You mean that you are doubtful as to how they would bear it?"
"Yes."
The monk smiled, slowly and brilliantly, and there was a look ofsuch serene confidence in his face that the other was amazed.
"Well . . ." he paused again. "Well, I take it that we have laidour finger upon what it is that troubles you. You admit that theChristian States have a right to punish all who attack the veryfoundations of their stability----"
"No-I----"
"By your _reason_, I mean, Monsignor."
"Yes," said Monsignor slowly. "By my _reason_."
"But that you are not satisfied that the Church can still suffer;that it seems to you she has lost that which is of her veryessence. If you saw that, you would be content."
"I suppose so," said the other hesitatingly.
The monk rose abruptly.
"We have talked enough for to-day," he said. "You will kindlyspend the rest of the day as yesterday. Do not say Mass in themorning. I will be with you at the same time."