“Assuredly.”

“If I were to ask you what were the essential attributes of a man, would you assign those which he had in common with a pig?”

“Certainly not.”

“But if I asked you what were those of an animal, I presume you would give those which both species possessed, and none that either possessed exclusively.”

“I should.”

“Need I add, then, that you are deceiving yourself when you say that you believe all the characteristic doctrines of Christianity, since you say that you believe only those which it has in common with every religion?  If I were to ask you what doctrines are essential to constitute any religion, then you would do well to enumerate those which belong to Christianity and every other.  But when we talk of the doctrines peculiar to Christianity, we mean those which discriminate it from every other, and not those which are common to it with them.”

“But however,” said Fellowes, “none of the doctrines you have enumerated are a part of Christianity, but are mere additions of imposture or fanaticism.”

“Then what are the doctrines which, though common to every other religion, are characteristic of it?  What is left that is essential or peculiar to Christianity, when you have denuded it of all that you reject?  Is it not then assimilated, by your own confession, to every other religion?  How shall we discriminate them?”

“By this, perhaps,” said Fellowes, “(for I acknowledge some difficulty here,) that Christianity contains these truths of absolute religion alone and pure.  As Mr. Parker says, This is the glory of genuine Christianity.”

“Do you not see that this is the very question,—­you yourself being obliged to reject nine tenths of the statements in the only records in which we know anything about it?  Might not an ancient priest of Jupiter say the same of his religion, by first divesting it of all but that which you say it had in common with every other?  However, let us now look at the positive side.  What is the residuum which you condescend to leave to your genuine Christianity?”

“Christianity,” said Fellowes, rather pompously, “is not so much a system as a discipline,—­not a creed, but a life:  in short, a divine philosophy.”

“All which I have heard from all sorts of Christianity a thousand times,” cried Harrington; “and it is delightfully vague; it may mean any thing or nothing.  But the truths, the truths, what are they, my friend?  I see I must get them from you by fragments.  Your faith includes, I presume, a belief in one Supreme God, who is a Divine Personality; in the duty of reverencing, loving, and obeying him,—­whether you know how that is to be done or not; that we must repent of our sins,—­if indeed we duly know what things are sins in his sight; that he will certainly forgive to any extent on such repentance, without any mediation; that perhaps there is a heaven hereafter; but that it is very doubtful if there are any punishments.”