CHAPTER FIFTEEN—THE DEFENCE OF THE BOTTOM DOG
FRIENDS, I write to defend the Bottom Dog. It is a task to stagger the stoutest heart. With nearly all the power, learning, and wealth of the world against him; with all the precedents of human history against him; with law, religion, custom, and public sentiment against him, the unfortunate victim's only hope is in the justice of his case. I would he had a better advocate, as I trust he some day will.
The prosecution claim a monopoly of learning, and virtue, and modesty. They may be justified in this. I do not grudge them such authority as their shining merits may lend to a case so unjust, so feeble, and so cruel as theirs.
Many of the gentlemen on the other side are Christian ministers. They uphold blame and punishment, in direct defiance of the teaching and example of Jesus Christ.
The founder of their religion bade them love their enemies. He taught them that if one stole their coat they should give him their cloak also. He prevented the punishment of the woman taken in adultery, and called upon him without sin to cast the first stone. He asked God to forgive his murderers, because they knew not what they did. In not one of these cases did Christ say a word in favour of punishment nor of blame.
Christians pray to be forgiven, as they forgive; they ask God to "have mercy upon us miserable sinners"; they ask Him to "succour, help, and comfort all that are in danger, necessity, and tribulation," and to "show His pity upon all prisoners and captives"; how, then, can Christians advocate the blame of the weak, and the punishment of the persecuted and unfortunate?
I suggest that men who do not understand their own religion are not likely to understand a religion to which they are opposed.
As I am generally known as a poor man's advocate, I ask you to remember that I am not now appearing for the poor, but for the wrong-doer. There are many very poor who do no serious wrong; there are many amongst the rich, the successful, and the respectable, whose lives are evil.
One does not live half a century without knowing one's world pretty well. I know the honourable and noble lord, full of gout, vainglory, and stealthy vices; I know the fashionable divine, with pride in his heart, milk on his lips, and cobwebs in his brain; I know the smug respectability, with low cunning under his silk hat, and chicanery buttoned up in his irreproachable frock coat; I know the fine lady, beautiful as a poppy, who is haughty from sheer lack of sense; I know the glib orator of mean acts and golden words; I know the elected person of much dignity and little wit,' and the woman of much loveliness and little love.
I have to defend men and women whose deeds revolt me, whose presence disgusts me. I have to defend them against the world, and against my own prejudices and aversion. For I also have a heredity and an environment, and therefore crochets, and passions, and antipathies. Though I can defend all victims of heredity and environment, though I can demand justice for the worst, yet my nature loathes the bully and the tyrant, and still more does it loathe the mean: the man of the Judas spirit, who barters children's lives, and women's souls, and the manhood of cities, for dirty pieces of silver. Such a wretch is not to be hated, is not to be punished: he is to be pitied and I am to defend him. But when I think of him my soul is sick. I feel as if a worm had crawled over me. I cannot help this. I cannot endure him. I am not big enough: I lack the grace. I pity him profoundly; but my pity is cold. I pity the devil-fish, and the conger eel; but I could not touch them. They are repulsive to me.