“According to your line of reasoning,” observed Yourii cautiously, “one had better make a bonfire of all literature.”
“Oh no! Why do that?” replied Sanine. “Literature is a very great, and a very interesting thing. Real literature, such as I mean, is not polemical after the manner of some prig who, having nothing to do, endeavours to convince everybody that he is extremely intelligent. Literature reconstructs life, and penetrates even to the very life- blood of humanity, from generation to generation. To destroy literature would be to take away all colour from life and make it insipid.”
Von Deitz stopped short, letting Yourii pass him, and then he asked Sanine:
“Oh! pray tell me more! What you were saying just now interests me immensely.”
Sanine laughed.
“What I said was simple enough. I can explain my point at greater length, if you wish. In my opinion Christianity has played a sorry part in the life of humanity. At the very moment when human beings felt that their lot was unbearable, and when the down-trodden and oppressed, coming to their senses, had determined to upset the monstrously unjust order of things, and to destroy all human parasites—then, I say, Christianity made its appearance, gentle, humble, and promising much. It condemned strife, held out visions of eternal bliss, lulled mankind to sweet slumber, and preached a religion of non-resistance to ill- treatment; in short, it acted as a safety-valve for all this pent-up wrath. Those of powerful character, nurtured amid a spirit of revolt, and longing to shake off the yoke of centuries, lost all their fire. Like imbeciles, they walked into the arena and, with courage worthy of a better aim, courted destruction. Naturally, their enemies wished for nothing better. And now it will need centuries of infamous oppression before the flame of revolt shall again be lighted. Christianity has clothed human individuality, too obstinate ever to accept slavery, with a garb of penitence, hiding under it all the colours of liberty. It deceived the strong who to-day could have captured fortune and happiness, transferring life’s centre of gravity to the future, to a dreamland that does not exist, and that none of them will ever see. And thus all the charm of life vanished; bravery, passion, beauty, all were dead; duty alone remained, and the dream of a future golden age—golden maybe, for others, coming after. Yes, Christianity has played a sorry part; and the name of Christ …”
“Well! I never!” broke in Von Deitz, as he stopped short, waving his long arms in the dusk. “That’s really a bit too much!”
“Yet, have you never thought what a hideous era of bloodshed would have supervened if Christianity had not averted it?” asked Yourii nervously.
“Ha! ha!” replied Sanine, with a disdainful gesture, “at first, under the cloak of Christianity, the arena was drenched with the blood of the martyrs, and then, later, people were massacred and shut up in prisons and mad-houses. And now, every day, more blood is spilt than ever could be shed by a universal revolution. The worst of it all is that each betterment in the life of humanity has always been achieved by bloodshed, anarchy and revolt, though men always affect to make humanitarianism and love of one’s neighbour the basis of their lives and actions. The whole thing results in a stupid tragedy; false, hypocritical, neither flesh nor fowl. For my part, I should prefer an immediate world-catastrophe to a dull, vegetable-existence lasting probably another two thousand years.”
Yourii was silent. Strange to say, his thoughts were not fixed upon the speaker’s words, but upon the speaker’s personality. The latter’s absolute assurance he considered offensive, in fact insupportable.