of Christianity was forcing the family and marriage upon us; that it doomed women to the drudgery of their homes and children, and forbade them loneliness and contemplation.  The charge was actually reversed.  Or, again, certain phrases in the Epistles or the Marriage Service, were said by the anti-Christians to show contempt for woman’s intellect.  But I found that the anti-Christians themselves had a contempt for woman’s intellect; for it was their great sneer at the Church on the Continent that “only women” went to it.  Or again, Christianity was reproached with its naked and hungry habits; with its sackcloth and dried peas.  But the next minute Christianity was being reproached with its pomp and its ritualism; its shrines of porphyry and its robes of gold.  It was abused for being too plain and for being too coloured.  Again Christianity had always been accused of restraining sexuality too much, when Bradlaugh the Malthusian discovered that it restrained it too little.  It is often accused in the same breath of prim respectability and of religious extravagance.  Between the covers of the same atheistic pamphlet I have found the faith rebuked for its disunion, “One thinks one thing, and one another,” and rebuked also for its union, “It is difference of opinion that prevents the world from going to the dogs.”  In the same conversation a free-thinker, a friend of mine, blamed Christianity for despising Jews, and then despised it himself for being Jewish.

I wished to be quite fair then, and I wish to be quite fair now; and I did not conclude that the attack on Christianity was all wrong.  I only concluded that if Christianity was wrong, it was very wrong indeed.  Such hostile horrors might be combined in one thing, but that thing must be very strange and solitary.  There are men who are misers, and also spendthrifts; but they are rare.  There are men sensual and also ascetic; but they are rare.  But if this mass of mad contradictions really existed, quakerish and bloodthirsty, too gorgeous and too thread-bare, austere, yet pandering preposterously to the lust of the eye, the enemy of women and their foolish refuge, a solemn pessimist and a silly optimist, if this evil existed, then there was in this evil something quite supreme and unique.  For I found in my rationalist teachers no explanation of such exceptional corruption.  Christianity (theoretically speaking) was in their eyes only one of the ordinary myths and errors of mortals. They gave me no key to this twisted and unnatural badness.  Such a paradox of evil rose to the stature of the supernatural.  It was, indeed, almost as supernatural as the infallibility of the Pope.  An historic institution, which never went right, is really quite as much of a miracle as an institution that cannot go wrong.  The only explanation which immediately occurred to my mind was that Christianity did not come from heaven, but from hell.  Really, if Jesus of Nazareth was not Christ, He must have been Antichrist.