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Autobiography of Alice A. Bailey - Chapter III
I felt I was of no use to anybody; that I must have gone off the track along some line or else I would not be in this position. The old Christian complex of being a "miserable sinner" overwhelmed me. My conscience, morbidly conditioned by the fundamentalist theology, kept telling me I was paying the penalty of my questioning doubts and that if I had held on to my girlhood faith and surety I would not now be in this pickle. The church had failed me, because Walter was a churchman and the other churchmen I had met seemed to be so mediocre, with the exception of the Bishop. He was a saint but then, I argued, he would have been a saint anyway even if he had been a plumber or a stockbroker. I knew enough of theology to have lost my faith in theological interpretations and I felt that there was nothing left me except a vague belief in Christ, Who at this time seemed very far away. I felt deserted by God and man.

Let me say here that there is no question in my mind that the Church is playing a losing game unless it changes its technique. I cannot understand why churchmen do not move with the times. All evolutionary development in all fields is an expression of divinity and the static condition of theological interpretation is contrary to the great law of the universe, evolution. After all, theology is simply man's interpretation and understanding of what he thinks God means. But it is a human, finite brain that does the thinking and has done the thinking down the ages. Hence other human and finite brains can appear and give other, deeper, more significant or broader interpretations and thus found a more progressive theology. Who dare say that [124] they are not as right as churchmen in the past? Unless the churches broaden their vision, eliminate their disputations concerning non-important details, and preach a Christ, risen, living and loving, and not a Christ, dead, suffering and a sacrifice to an angry God, they will lose the allegiance of coming generations - and rightly so. Christ lives, triumphant and ever present. We are saved by His life. The death that He died, we can die too - and triumphantly, the Bible says so. The churches will have to begin with their theological seminaries. I have taken a theological training and I know what I am talking about. Intelligent young men will no longer enter them when confronted with ancient meanings to what they recognize as living truths. They are not interested in the Virgin Birth - they are interested in the fact of Christ. They know too much to accept the verbal inspiration of the Scriptures; but they are prepared to believe in the Word of God. Life is so full of movement today, of heroes, of beauty, of tragedy and cataclysm and of reality and glorious opportunity that this generation has no time for the puerilities of theology. Fortunately, there are within the church a few men of vision who will, eventually, change the reactionary attitude, but it will take time. In the meantime, the cults and the isms will engulf the people. This would not be necessary if the Church would wake up and give a seeking, urgent humanity what it needs - not soporifics, not authority, not sweet platitudes - but the living Christ.

After six months of this kind of life, if I remember correctly, I saw the Bishop again and told him that Walter had behaved himself. The Bishop then very kindly set in to find a place where he could again resume his church work. He finally got a small charge in a mining village in Montana, with the understanding that part of his stipend should be sent monthly to me. I, in the meantime, moved [125] to a tiny, three-roomed cottage in a more populated district in Pacific Grove. This was in 1915 and it was the last time I ever saw Walter Evans. Practically none of his stipend was ever sent to me and his letters grew increasingly abusive. They were full of threats and innuendo. There was nothing that I could do and I realized that I must handle my life alone and do what was best for the three little girls.

The war in Europe was in full swing. Every relative that I had was involved. The small income I had came to me erratically. It was heavily taxed and the bank draft sometimes never arrived owing to the sinking of the ship on which the mails went. I was in a most difficult position; without a relative in the country to whom I could go and (apart from the Bishop and his wife) no friends to whom I cared to talk. I was surrounded by kind and good friends, however, but none of them were in a position to do anything for me and looking back now I question if I ever let them know how serious the situation was. The Bishop wanted to write to my people and let them know the situation but I would not let him. I've always been a great believer in the proverb that "as a man makes his bed, so must he lie," and I am not at all a believer in squealing and crying and wailing to one's friends. I knew "God helps those who help themselves" but at this time I admit it seemed to me that God, also, had failed me and I couldn't even go squealing to Him.

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