The (almost really) Complete Works of Lewis Carroll

To the Editor of the Pall Mall Gazette

Sir,—I should not venture to hope that you will find room for this letter, on so uninviting a topic, did I not believe that it contains something which may prove, as I trust, a useful contribution to the discussion—an answer, namely, to an argument constantly and triumphantly advanced in defence of this book and the system to which it belongs. The argument is this: that “just as the physician is obliged, in treating certain diseases of the body, to ask questions which under other circumstances could not be asked; so the priest is obliged, in treating certain diseases of the soul, to do the same thing.” Many who are met with this argument are apt to go on the principle “omne ignotum pro magnifico”—to profess an entire ignorance of medical matters, and to yield the battle, without another blow, to the Ritualistic “father confessor.” But it should always be borne in mind that there is no more fertile source of error in controversy than a “false analogy,” and that every argument which rests on analogy ought to be very carefully and critically tested. The present case is a very good instance of this fallacy, as the analogy breaks down in two essential points; and my object in writing this letter is to make these two points clear to all who are interested in opposing the Roman theory of confession. The first point concerns the necessity of human intervention: this is universal on the physiological side of the analogy—most exceptional on the psychological; and even where confession to a human being is desirable, it by no means follows that a priest is the best person to go to; in the case of young persons a parent is often a much more suitable “confessor.” The second point concerns the effect of the questioning process in aggravating the disease; on the physiological side (in cases where such questions are asked) no such effect is to be feared—on the psychological side the danger is real and imminent. If they want a really parallel case in medicine, let them take the handling of a an inflamed joint. “To an inflamed part,” a great physician has said, “every touch is a bruise,” and, with a strict parallelism, we may say that to a morbid imagination every question is an injury. And if they demand that the parallel case shall also involve the asking of questions, let them take a case where the question would involve a similar danger, e. g., a case of melancholia with suicidal tendencies. What course does a wise physician take? Does he try to turn the thoughts into other channels, by suggesting subjects of healthy interest? That would be parallel to the practice of our Church. Or does he, by a series of minute questions as to the form of suicide which the patient has attempted, &c., convert a shadowy and transient delusion into a definite, haunting, and irresistible frenzy? That would be parallel to the theory of Rome, and of the Ritualists. Let there be no mistake about this. I would appeal to any experienced physician, who has ever had to deal with morbid impulses of any kind—nay, I would appeal to any man, however profligate, even to one who has abandoned all hope of a return to purity, and has accepted his miserable lot

but who yet remembers (as who does not?) the days of innocence and the perfect peace that springs from purity of thought—whether it is not a fast principle (a principle that seems to be ignored in this wretched book) to keep the foe at arm’s length, to banish him to the realm of shadows and dreams, never to admit him to parley or let him take a definite shape.

It is pitiable to think how many of these young priests there are, full of zeal and self-devotion, honestly believing that they are forwarding the cause of religion, who nevertheless, in their utter ignorance of the elementary laws of body and mind, are doing they know not what, and endangering not only their own souls (every man must choose for himself what risks he will run), but also many a young and innocent soul who has no choice in the matter. Surely it is high time that this delicate and importent matter were taken out of the hands of these pseudo “fathers,” and that the real “fathers” of England took it up with a fixed resolution to preserve our pure English Church from priestly despotism, and pure English children from the poison of an enforced confessional.—Your obedient servant,