Christian fiction; Wingfold, Thomas (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
“Somewhere in this time at length, I began to feel dissatisfied, even
displeased with myself. At first the feeling was vague, altogether
undefined--a mere sense that I did not fit into things, that I was not
what I ought to be, what was somehow and by the Authority required of
me. This went on, began to gather roots rather than send them out,
grew towards something more definite. I began to be aware that, heavy
affliction as it was to be made so different from my fellows, my outward
deformity was but a picture of my inward condition. There nothing was
right. Many things which in theory I condemned, and in others despised,
were yet a part of myself, or, at best, part of evil disease cleaving
fast unto me. I found myself envious and revengeful and conceited. I
discovered that I looked down on people whom I thought less clever
than myself. Once I caught myself scorning a young fellow to whose
disadvantage I knew nothing, except that God had made him handsome
enough for a woman. All at once one day, with a sickening conviction
it came upon me--with one of those sudden slackenings of the cord of
self-consciousness, in which it doubles back quivering, and seems to
break, while the man for an instant beholds his individuality apart from
himself, is generally frightened at it, and always disgusted--a strange
and indeed awful experience, which if it lasted longer than its allotted
moment, might well drive a man mad who had no God to whom to offer back
his individuality, in appeal against his double consciousness--it was
in one of these cataleptic fits of the spirit, I say, that I first saw
plainly what a contemptible little wretch I was, and writhed in the
bright agony of conscious worthlessness.
“I now concluded that I had been nothing but a pharisee and a hypocrite,
praying with a bad heart, and that God saw me just as detestable as I
saw myself, and despised me and was angry with me. I read my bible more
diligently than ever for a time, found in it nothing but denunciation
and wrath, and soon dropped it in despair. I had already ceased to pray.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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