orthodoxy-第25章
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at least； that I could find written in English and lying about；
and I read nothing else； I mean I read nothing else on any other
note of philosophy。 The penny dreadfuls which I also read
were indeed in a healthy and heroic tradition of Christianity；
but I did not know this at the time。 I never read a line of
Christian apologetics。 I read as little as I can of them now。
It was Huxley and Herbert Spencer and Bradlaugh who brought me
back to orthodox theology。 They sowed in my mind my first wild
doubts of doubt。 Our grandmothers were quite right when they said
that Tom Paine and the free…thinkers unsettled the mind。 They do。
They unsettled mine horribly。 The rationalist made me question
whether reason was of any use whatever； and when I had finished
Herbert Spencer I had got as far as doubting （for the first time）
whether evolution had occurred at all。 As I laid down the last of
Colonel Ingersoll's atheistic lectures the dreadful thought broke
across my mind； 〃Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian。〃 I was
in a desperate way。
This odd effect of the great agnostics in arousing doubts
deeper than their own might be illustrated in many ways。
I take only one。 As I read and re…read all the non…Christian
or anti…Christian accounts of the faith； from Huxley to Bradlaugh；
a slow and awful impression grew gradually but graphically
upon my mindthe impression that Christianity must be a most
extraordinary thing。 For not only （as I understood） had Christianity
the most flaming vices； but it had apparently a mystical talent
for combining vices which seemed inconsistent with each other。
It was attacked on all sides and for all contradictory reasons。
No sooner had one rationalist demonstrated that it was too far
to the east than another demonstrated with equal clearness that it
was much too far to the west。 No sooner had my indignation died
down at its angular and aggressive squareness than I was called up
again to notice and condemn its enervating and sensual roundness。
In case any reader has not come across the thing I mean； I will give
such instances as I remember at random of this self…contradiction
in the sceptical attack。 I give four or five of them； there are
fifty more。
Thus； for instance； I was much moved by the eloquent attack
on Christianity as a thing of inhuman gloom； for I thought
（and still think） sincere pessimism the unpardonable sin。
Insincere pessimism is a social accomplishment； rather agreeable
than otherwise； and fortunately nearly all pessimism is insincere。
But if Christianity was； as these people said； a thing purely
pessimistic and opposed to life； then I was quite prepared to blow
up St。 Paul's Cathedral。 But the extraordinary thing is this。
They did prove to me in Chapter I。 （to my complete satisfaction）
that Christianity was too pessimistic； and then； in Chapter II。；
they began to prove to me that it was a great deal too optimistic。
One accusation against Christianity was that it prevented men；
by morbid tears and terrors； from seeking joy and liberty in the bosom
of Nature。 But another accusation was that it comforted men with a
fictitious providence； and put them in a pink…and…white nursery。
One great agnostic asked why Nature was not beautiful enough；
and why it was hard to be free。 Another great agnostic objected
that Christian optimism； 〃the garment of make…believe woven by
pious hands；〃 hid from us the fact that Nature was ugly； and that
it was impossible to be free。 One rationalist had hardly done
calling Christianity a nightmare before another began to call it
a fool's paradise。 This puzzled me； the charges seemed inconsistent。
Christianity could not at once be the black mask on a white world；
and also the white mask on a black world。 The state of the Christian
could not be at once so comfortable that he was a coward to cling
to it； and so uncomfortable that he was a fool to stand it。
If it falsified human vision it must falsify it one way or another；
it could not wear both green and rose…coloured spectacles。
I rolled on my tongue with a terrible joy； as did all young men
of that time； the taunts which Swinburne hurled at the dreariness of
the creed
〃Thou hast conquered； O pale Galilaean； the world has grown
gray with Thy breath。〃
But when I read the same poet's accounts of paganism （as
in 〃Atalanta〃）； I gathered that the world was； if possible；
more gray before the Galilean breathed on it than afterwards。
The poet maintained； indeed； in the abstract； that life itself
was pitch dark。 And yet； somehow； Christianity had darkened it。
The very man who denounced Christianity for pessimism was himself
a pessimist。 I thought there must be something wrong。 And it did
for one wild moment cross my mind that； perhaps； those might not be
the very best judges of the relation of religion to happiness who；
by their own account； had neither one nor the other。
It must be understood that I did not conclude hastily that the
accusations were false or the accusers fools。 I simply deduced
that Christianity must be something even weirder and wickeder
than they made out。 A thing might have these two opposite vices；
but it must be a rather queer thing if it did。 A man might be too fat
in one place and too thin in another； but he would be an odd shape。
At this point my thoughts were only of the odd shape of the Christian
religion； I did not allege any odd shape in the rationalistic mind。
Here is another case of the same kind。 I felt that a strong
case against Christianity lay in the charge that there is something
timid； monkish； and unmanly about all that is called 〃Christian；〃
especially in its attitude towards resistance and fighting。
The great sceptics of the nineteenth century were largely virile。
Bradlaugh in an expansive way； Huxley； in a reticent way；
were decidedly men。 In comparison； it did seem tenable that there
was something weak and over patient about Christian counsels。
The Gospel paradox about the other cheek； the fact that priests
never fought； a hundred things made plausible the accusation
that Christianity was an attempt to make a man too like a sheep。
I read it and believed it； and if I had read nothing different；
I should have gone on believing it。 But I read something very different。
I turned the next page in my agnostic manual； and my brain turned
up…side down。 Now I found that I was to hate Christianity not for
fighting too little； but for fighting too much。 Christianity； it seemed；
was the mother of wars。 Christianity had deluged the world with blood。
I had got thoroughly angry with the Christian； because he never
was angry。 And now I was told to be angry with him because his
anger had been the most huge and horrible thing in human history；
because his anger had soaked the earth and smoked to the sun。
The very people who reproached Christianity with the meekness and
non…resistance of the monasteries were the very people who reproached
it also with the violence and valour of the Crusades。 It was the
fault of poor old Christianity （somehow or other） both that Edward
the Confessor did not fight and that Richard Coeur de Leon did。
The Quakers （we were told） were the only characteristic Christians；
and yet the massacres of Cromwell and Alva were characteristic
Christian crimes。 What could it all mean？ What was this Christianity
which always forbade war and always produced wars？ What c
