Country life -- England -- Fiction; England -- Social conditions -- 19th century -- Fiction; Rural poor -- England -- Fiction
'Do you think,' asked Lancelot with a smile, 'that he who will not
confess his faults either to God or to himself, would confess them
to man? And would his priest honestly tell him what he really wants
to know? which sin of his has called down this so-called judgment?
It would be imputed, I suppose, to some vague generality, to
inattention to religious duties, to idolatry of the world, and so
forth. But a Romish priest would be the last person, I should
think, who could tell him fairly, in the present case, the cause of
his affliction; and I question whether he would give a patient
hearing to any one who told it him.'
'How so? Though, indeed, I have remarked that people are perfectly
willing to be told they are miserable sinners, and to confess
themselves such, in a general way; but if the preacher once begins
to specify, to fix on any particular act or habit, he is accused of
personality or uncharitableness; his hearers are ready to confess
guilty to any sin but the very one with which he charges them. But,
surely, this is just what I am urging against you Protestants--just
what the Catholic use of confession obviates.'
'Attempts to do so, you mean!' answered Lancelot. 'But what if your
religion preaches formally that which only remains in our religion
as a fast-dying superstition?--That those judgments of God, as you
call them, are not judgments at all in any fair use of the word, but
capricious acts of punishment on the part of Heaven, which have no
more reference to the fault which provokes them, than if you cut off
a man's finger because he made a bad use of his tongue. That is
part, but only a part, of what I meant just now, by saying that
people represent God as capricious, proud, revengeful.'
'But do not Protestants themselves confess that our sins provoke
God's anger?'
'Your common creed, when it talks rightly of God as one "who has no
passions," ought to make you speak more reverently of the
possibility of any act of ours disturbing the everlasting equanimity
of the absolute Love. Why will men so often impute to God the
miseries which they bring upon themselves?'
'Because, I suppose, their pride makes them more willing to confess
themselves sinners than fools.'
'Right, my friend; they will not remember that it is of "their
pleasant vices that God makes whips to scourge them." Oh, I at
least have felt the deep wisdom of that saying of Wilhelm Meister's
harper, that it is
"Voices from the depth of NATURE borne
Which woe upon the guilty head proclaim."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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