Teachers have overcome their timidity in dealing with the difficulties presented by the Old Testament.  Very few now hesitate to take the book of Genesis, and, at all events if they are dealing with a high form, they let the boys see that the conflict between science and religion is only apparent, and that the victory of science does not mean the defeat of religion.  If they have been lucky enough to use Driver’s book on Genesis they will have felt on sure ground and any learner who has half understood it will have a shield against some of the weapons that assailed and defeated his father’s generation.  No teacher now would be afraid of making clear the problems presented by the book of Daniel or the book of Job, but when the New Testament is approached much more diffidence is felt, and indeed ought to be felt.  Diffidence ought not however to involve silence.

A wise teacher has said that it is not the miracles of Christ but his standard that keeps men away from his Church, and therefore outside the influence for which the Church stands.  True though this may be of men as life goes on, of the young it is not the whole truth.  In those critical years of a man’s religion—­between eighteen and twenty-five—­it is the sudden or the slow-growing doubt about the miracles of the New Testament, as much as the lofty standard that the “Follow me” of Christ requires, that makes the profession and even the holding of a religious faith so hard.  More and more are the schools trying to prepare those in their charge for the perils that threaten the physical health and the character of the young; but it is tragic that they should be so unwilling to face frankly the perils that will sap the man’s faith, and so expose his soul to the assaults of the world and the devil.  It is very hard to put oneself in another’s place; perhaps harder for the schoolmaster than for any other man, but when we are teaching such a subject as religion—­a subject whose roots must perish if they cannot draw moisture from the springs of sincerity, we should try to imagine what must be the feelings of the thoughtful boy when he first discovers that the lessons which he has so often learnt and the Creeds that he has so often repeated were taken by his teachers in a sense which they carefully concealed from him.  More harm is done by the economy of truth than by the suggestion of doubt.

It may be extraordinarily difficult to treat these problems of the New Testament with becoming reverence; but is it not true to say that the day when it becomes easy to any man to do so will be the day when he ought to stop dealing with them?  The real irreverence, the only irreverence, is the glib confidence of the ignorant or the cynical concealment of one who knows but dare not tell.  What idea of the New Testament does the average boy who leaves, say in the fifth form, carry away with him from his public school?  He may know that certain facts are told in one Gospel and not in another; that there are certain inconsistencies