AL FRESCO INFIDELITY.
In a series of papers like the present it is necessary, every now and
then, to pause and apologize, either for the nature of the work in
general, or for certain particulars in its execution calculated to shock
good people whose feelings one would wish to respect. Having so long been
engaged in the study of infidelity in London, I may, perhaps, be
permitted to speak with something like authority in the matter; and I
have no hesitation in saying that I believe the policy of shirking the
subject is the most fatal and foolish one that could be adopted. Not only
does such a course inspire people, especially young people, with the idea
that there is something very fascinating in infidelity--something which,
if allowed to meet their gaze, would be sure to attract and convince
them--than which nothing is farther from the truth--not only so, however,
but many of the statements and most of the arguments which sound
plausibly enough on the glib tongue of a popular speaker read very
differently indeed, when put down in cold-blooded letter-press, and
published in the pages of a book. I protest strongly against making a
mystery of London infidelity. It has spread and is spreading, I know,
and it is well the public should know; but I believe there would be no
such antidote to it as for people to be fully made aware how and where it
is spreading. That is the rôle I have all along proposed to myself: not
to declaim against any man or any system, not to depreciate or disguise
the truth, but simply to describe. I cannot imagine a more legitimate
method of doing my work.
I suppose no one will regard it in any way as an indulgence or a luxury
on the part of a clergyman, who be it remembered, is, during a portion
of the Sunday, engaged in ministering to Christian people, that he
should devote another portion of that day to hearing Christ vilified,
and having his own creed torn to pieces. I myself feel that my own
belief is not shaken, but in a tenfold degree confirmed by all I have
heard and seen and written of infidelity; and therefore I cannot concede
the principle that to convey my experiences to others is in any way
dangerous. Take away the halo of mystery that surrounds this subject,
and it would possess very slender attractions indeed.
It was, for instance, on what has always appeared to me among the most
affecting epochs of our Christian year, the Fifth Sunday after
Easter--Christ's last Sunday upon earth--that, by one of those violent
antitheses, I went to Gibraltar Walk, Bethnal Green Road, to hear Mr.
Ramsey there demolish the very system which, for many years, it has
been my mission to preach. I did not find, and I hope my congregation
did not find, that I faltered in my message that evening. I even venture
to think that Mr. Ramsey's statements, which I shall repeat as
faithfully as possible, will scarcely seem as convincing here as they
did when he poured them forth so fluently to the costermongers and
navvies of the Bethnal Green Road; and if this be true of Mr. Ramsey it
is certainly so of the smaller men; for he is a master in his craft, and
certainly a creditable antagonist for a Christian to meet with the mild
defensive weapons we have elected to use.
When the weather proves fine, as it ought to have done in May, 1874,
infidelity adjourns from its generally slummy halls to the street
corners, and to fields which are often the reverse of green; thus
adopting, let me remark in passing, one of the oldest instrumentalities
of Christianity itself, one, too, in which we shall do well to follow
its example. Fas est ab hoste doceri--I cannot repeat too often.
Scorning the attractions of the railway arches in the St. Pancras Road,
where I hope soon to be a listener, I sped viâ the Metropolitan Railway
and tram to Shoreditch Church, not far from which, past the Columbia
Market and palatial Model Lodging Houses, is the unpicturesque corner
called Gibraltar Walk, debouching from the main road, with a triangular
scrap of very scrubby ground, flanked by a low wall, which young
Bethnal Green is rapidly erasing from the face of the earth. When I got
here, I found an unclerical-looking gentleman in a blue great-coat and
sandy moustache erecting his rostrum in the shape of a small deal stool,
from whence I could see he was preparing to pour forth the floods of his
rhetoric by diligent study of some exceedingly greasy notes which he
held in his hand and perused at what I feel sure must have been the
windiest street corner procurable outside the cave of Æolus. I fell back
into the small but very far from select crowd which had already begun to
gather, and an old man, who was unmistakably a cobbler, having
ascertained that I had come to hear the lecture, told me he had
"listened to a good many of 'em, but did not feel much for'arder."
Undismayed by this intelligence I still elected to tarry, despite the
cruel nor'-easter that was whistling round the corner of the Bethnal
Green Road. In a few minutes I perceived a slight excitement in the
small gathering due to the fact that the Christians had put in an
appearance, so that there would be some opposition. Mr. Harrington, a
young man whom I had heard once speak fluently enough on the theistic
side at an infidel meeting, was unpacking his rostrum, which was a
patent folding one, made of deal, like that of his adversary, but neatly
folded along with a large Bible, inside a green baize case. Both
gentlemen commenced proceedings at the same time; and as they had
pitched their stools very close to one another, the result was very
much like that of two grinding organs in the same street. Of the two,
Mr. Harrington's voice was louder than Mr. Ramsey's. The latter
gentleman had a sore throat, and had to be kept lubricated by means of a
jug of water, which a brother heretic held ready at his elbow. Mr.
Harrington was in prime condition, but his congregation was smaller than
ours; for I kept at first--I was going to say religiously, I suppose I
ought to say _ir_-religiously--to the infidels.
Mr. Ramsey, who had a rooted aversion to the letter "h," except where a
smooth breathing is usual, began by saying that Christianity differed
from other religions in the fact of its having an eternal 'Ell. The
Mahometans had their beautiful ladies; the North American Indian looked
for his 'Appy 'Unting Grounds; but 'Ell was a speciality of the
Christian system. On the other side was the fact that you continually
had salvation inundated upon you. Tracts were put into your hand,
asking--"What must I do to be saved?" We had to pay for this salvation
about _11,000,000l._ a year to the Church of England, and something like
an equal amount to the Dissenters. In fact every tub-thumper went about
preaching and ruining servant girls, and for this we paid over twenty
millions a year--more than the interest on the whole National Debt.
After this elegant exordium, Mr. Ramsey said he proposed to divide his
remarks under four heads. 1. Is Salvation necessary? 2. What are we to
be saved from? 3. What for? 4. How?
1. According to the Christian theory, God, after an eternity of "doin'
nothin'," created the world. He made Adam sin by making sin for him to
commit; and then damned him for doing what He knew he would do. He
predestined you--the audience--to be damned because of Adam's sin; but
after a time God "got sick and tired of damning people," and sent His
Son to redeem mankind.
This flower of rhetoric tickled Bethnal Green immensely; but Mr.
Harrington was equal to the occasion, and thundered out his orthodoxy so
successfully that Mr. Ramsey took a longer drink than usual, and
complained that he was not having "a free platform"--it was so he
dignified the rickety stool on which he was perched. He then meandered
into a long dissection of Genesis i., appearing to feel particularly
aggrieved by the fact of the moon being said to "rule the night," though
I could not see how this was relevant to the Christian scheme of
salvation; and a superb policeman, who had listened for a moment to Mr.
Ramsey's astronomical lucubrations, evidently shared my feelings and
passed on superciliously. I devoutly wished my duty had permitted me to
do the same.
The speaker then went into a long dissertation on the primal sin; the
gist of which was that though the woman had never been warned not to eat
of the Forbidden Fruit, she had to bear the brunt of the punishment.
Then--though one is almost ashamed to chronicle such a triviality--he
waxed very wroth because the serpent was spoken of as being cursed above
all "cattle." Who ever heard of snakes being called cattle? He was
condemned to go on his belly. How did he go before? Did he go on his
back or "'op" along on the tip of his tail? These pleasantries drew all
Mr. Harrington's audience away except a few little dirty boys on the
wall. Mr. Ramsey clearly knew his audience, and "acted to the gallery."
2. But what were we to be saved from? Eternal 'Ell-fire. This 'Ell-fire
was favourite sauce for sermons, and served to keep people awake. Where
was 'Ell? It was said to be a bottomless pit; if so, he should be all
right, because he could get out at the other end! Then, again, 'Ell was
said to be a very 'ot place. When the missionaries told the Greenlanders
that, everybody wanted to go to 'Ell; so they had to change their tune
and say it was very cold. Mr. Ramsey omitted to mention his authority
for this statement.
Into his pleasantries on the monotony of life in 'Eaven, I do not feel
inclined to follow this gentleman. The Atonement, he went on to remark,
if necessary at all, came 4000 years too late. It should have been--so
we were to believe on his ipse dixit--contemporaneous with the Fall.
This atonement we were to avail ourselves of by means of faith. Idiots
could not have faith, but were allowed to be saved. Consequently, argued
Mr. Ramsey, in conclusion, the best thing for all of us would have been
to have been born idiots, and, consistently enough, Christianity tried
to turn us all into idiots.
Such were some of the statements. I refrain from quoting the most
offensive, which were deliberately put forward at this al fresco
infidels' meeting; and with what result? Though a vast population kept
moving to and fro along that great highway there were never, I am sure,
more than a hundred people gathered at the shrine of Mr. Ramsey. They
laughed at his profanities, yes; but directly he dropped these, and grew
argumentative, they talked, and had to be vigorously reduced to order.
Gallio-like they cared for none of these things, and I am quite sure a
good staff of working clergy, men like Mr. Body or Mr. Steele of St.
Thomas's, who could talk to the people, would annihilate Mr. Ramsey's
prestige. As for Mr. Harrington, he meant well, and had splendid
lung-power, but his theology was too sectarian to suit a mixed body of
listeners embracing all shades of thought and no-thought.
Supposing Mr. Ramsey to have put forth all his power that morning--and I
have no reason to doubt that he did so--I deliberately say that I should
not hesitate to take my own boy down to hear him, because I feel that
even his immature mind would be able to realize how little there was to
be said against Christianity, if that were all.