THINGS THAT SHOULD BE
IF Giles had lived through years in a week when he awoke to his love
for Phyllys, Phyllys lived through months in three weeks, while
striving to reduce a chaos of new ideas to what has been called "a
workable philosophy of life."
Not that she, in so many words, put this before herself. She only
tried "to get things straight," and even in that she failed. She was
too young, life was too new, the "things" in question were too large,
for immediate success. She did not yet know herself; and till we know
ourselves, we cannot know those about us—those who make our "world"—or
grapple with the problems of their and our existence.
From an artistic and contemplative atmosphere, from a home where the
cult of beauty ranked foremost, from a new breadth of view and a new
rush of thought, she was plunged in the old narrow circle, where what
she best loved was condemned, where beauty was regarded as a snare,
where the love of Nature was a synonym for wasted time, where Art was a
delusion and a plaything for a dying world.
The contrast tried her. With the unbalanced eagerness of youth, she
expected to find all good on one side, all evil on the other; and,
like a child, impatient of consideration, she was as ready to condemn
Barbara, Miss Robins, even her grandmother, as they were to condemn her
friends.
Yet she had begun to see with wider eyes,—to realise that others too
found difficulties, and that the same clues do not serve for all minds.
She had begun to feel the need in herself of a kinder and fairer
spirit. She had begun to appreciate the saintly goodness of her stern
old grandmother, to perceive the true beauty which underlay superficial
blemishes.
"It is all bewilderment," she had often said. But step by step she was
being led to levels where she could look over dividing walls which once
had shut her in.
She was gaining glimpses of the true unity which underlies
diversity—that unity which meets in Christ. She was dimly seeing that
all ideals of beauty centre in Him; that the highest types of beauty
are reflected from Him. So these weeks meant much to her. She was
learning tolerance from the bigotry of others, and sympathy through
her own struggles. Such lessons once mastered, differences of opinion
on lesser points fall into their right positions, and the pursuit of
beauty rises to a higher level.
The old Vicar saw, and he would not meddle. He had faith in the Divine
training of individuals; and he had learnt something of that quality,
rare in human beings,—Divine patience. He would not hurry her faster
than she could go safely. A word here, a sentence there, gave the
needed touches. They were oftener together than in past days. Phyllys'
absence had made a difference, setting her more at liberty. But the
ruthless condemnation of people and things went on as of old; and
Phyllys was far from having Divine patience.
Barbara, Miss Robins, even Mrs. Wyverne, with all her single-hearted
devotion, knew nothing of the many-sidedness of truth. The simple fact
that Christ is truth, and that in possessing Him a man possesses Divine
truth, they recognised verbally; but the Impossibility that any human
mind should grasp truth in its completeness, because no man can grasp
God, they did not see. It was with them as with Giles on the foggy
moor. Each walked in her tiny circle of mist, perceiving a patch of
grass, a bush; while of the world, the Universe, beyond, nothing was
visible.
Giles had known, though he could not see, that a world, a Universe, did
exist. They, walking in their foggy circles, did not believe in aught
beyond.
Yet, despite these limitations, Mrs. Wyverne lived a life which many of
loftier conceptions might have envied; for it was a life of personal
knowledge of God, of personal intercourse with her Heavenly Father,
little hindered by the narrowness of her theories. The theories were on
one plane; the life lived was on another. She fell into the error of
severely judging those from whom she differed: yet even this she did as
a high Christian duty, "verily thinking that she ought," and not from
lack of love.
"They won't see! They won't understand," Phyllys one day broke out.
The Vicar, in his shabbiest coat, tended a large rose-bed, his pride
and delight. Some fine blooms lingered still.
"I would put a 'can't' for the 'won't,'" he suggested.
"Barbara says there is no such thing as 'fineness' in human nature.
I said Giles had a fine character. And he has! And she said that was
wrong, for human nature is all failure and wickedness."
"Ah, we learn to know others by ourselves. She finds it so, does she?"
Phyllys laughed. The Vicar always brought her round.
"And when I told her that he was a really good man, she was horrified.
She says no man is good."
"Miss Pringle is wiser than her Bible. She should hunt out the word
with a Concordance."
"And she says the idea of singing prayers in Church is foolish—nobody
can pray, singing. It is all outward show."
"Doubtless Miss Pringle cannot!" The Vicar chuckled, recalling grim
sounds wont to issue from Mrs. Wyverne's pew. "She is not precisely
musical."
"You don't think that?"
"Certainly not. Music, like any art, may become an avenue to higher
things—but only with those capable of using it. To my mind, the highest
uses of music are for the noblest purposes—above all, for God's
children, addressing their Father in concert. But, my little girl, you
can't make everybody see as you see. Some can pray, singing; some can
only pray, speaking. Some can speak to God in poetry, some only in
prose. Our Father in heaven hears all, understands all. No use to try
to stuff our own opinions down other people's throats."
"Only, if one knows they are wrong—!"
"For the matter of that, Miss Pringle knows you are wrong."
"Must one never persuade them to think differently?"
"I've no vast faith in the power of argument." The Vicar stood, hoe in
hand, looking down on his companion. "The great foundation-truths of
Christianity have to be fought for. But breath and temper are often
wasted on non-essentials. People have to work out doubtful points for
themselves."
"Only Barbara 'was' wrong!"
"So are you and I on a hundred points. We hope to be set right in time;
if not in this life, then in the next."
"Then oughtn't one to try to understand now?"
"Try your hardest; and be ready always for fresh teaching. But try much
more to do, to be, to live! It signifies less whether you have a great
deal of light than whether you make the best possible use of such light
as you have."
She murmured a "Yes."
"Beyond all, don't condemn others for seeing on these lesser questions
not so clearly, perhaps, as you are conscious of seeing yourself. They
may be all the while more fully after God's own heart. An ounce of true
humility is worth gallons of excellent opinions. A cupful of Christlike
self-abnegation is worth an ocean of correct definitions."
He went back to his weeding, and presently a sound made Phyllys turn.
"Oh!" she exclaimed.
Colin stood on the gravel path with lifted cap and a light in his eyes.
"I have come to finish the bust," he said.