consider the effects that religion produces on minds really penetrated
with its pretended truths. We shall generally find in those who the
most sincerely profess and the most exactly practise them, a joyless
and melancholy disposition, which announces no contentment, nor that
interior peace of which they speak so incessantly, without ever
exhibiting any undoubted manifestations of it. Whoever is in the
enjoyment of peace within, shows some exterior marks of it; but the
internal satisfaction of devotees is commonly so concealed, that we
may well suspect it of being nothing but a mere chimera. Their
interior peace, which they allege gives them a good conscience, is
visible to others only by a bilious and petulant humor, that is not
usually much applauded by those who come under its influence. If,
however, there are occasionally some devotees who actually display the
serene countenance of satisfaction and enjoyment, it is because the
dismal ideas of religion are rendered inoperative by a happy
temperament; or that such persons have not fully become impregnated
with their system of faith, whose legitimate effect is to plunge its
devotees into terrible inquietudes and sombre chagrins.
Thus, Madam, we are brought back to the contradictory discourses of
those priests who, after having caused terror by their desolating
dogmas, attempt to reassure us by vague hopes, and exhort us to place
confidence in a God whom they have themselves so repulsively
delineated. It is idle for them to tell us the yoke of Jesus Christ is
light. It is insupportable to those who consider it properly. It is
only light for those who bear it without reflection, or for those who
assume it in order to impose it upon others, without intending to
suffer its annoyances themselves.
Suffer me, Madam, to refer you to yourself. Were you happy, contented,
or gay, when you made me the depository of the secret inquietudes
inflicted upon you by prejudices, and which had commenced taking that
fatal empire over your mind which I have endeavored to destroy? Was
not your soul involved in woe in spite of your judgment? Were you not
taking measures to wither all your happiness? In favor of religion,
were you not ready to renounce the world, and disregard all you owe to
society? If I was afflicted, I was not surprised. The Christian
religion inevitably destroys the happiness and repose of those who are
subjected by it; alarms and terrors are the objects of its pleasures;
it cannot make those happy who fully receive it. It would certainly
have plunged you into distress. All your faculties would have been
injured, and your too susceptible imagination would have been carried
to such dangerous extremes, that many others would have grieved at the
result. A gentle and beneficent spirit, like yours, could never
receive peace from Christianity. The evils of religion are sure, while
its consolations are contradictory and vague. They cannot give that
temper and tranquillity to the mind which is necessary to enable men
to labor for their own happiness and that of others.
In effect, as I have already observed, it is very difficult for an
individual to occupy himself with the happiness of another when he is
himself miserable. The devotee, who imposes penances on his own head,
who is suspicious of every thing, who is full of self-reproaches, and
who is heated by visionary meditation, by fasting and seclusion, must
naturally be irritated against all those who do not believe it their
duty to make such absurd sacrifices. He can scarcely avoid being
enraged at those audacious persons who neglect practices or duties
that are claimed as the exactions of God. He will desire to be with
those only who view things as he does himself; he will keep himself
apart from all others, and will end by hating them. He believes
himself obliged to make a loud and public parade of his mode of
thinking, and he signalizes his zeal even at the risk of appearing
ridiculous. If he showed indulgence, he would doubtless fear he
should render himself an accomplice in a neglect of his God. He would
reprehend such sinners, and it would be with acrimony, because his own
soul was filled with it. In fine, if zealous, he would always be under
the dominion of anger, and would only be indulgent in proportion as he
was not bigoted.
Religious devotion tends to arouse fierce sentiments, that sooner or
later manifest themselves in a manner disagreeable for others. The
mystical devotees clearly illustrate this. They are vexed with the
world, and it could not exist if the extravagances required by
religion were altogether carried out. The world cannot be united to
Jesus Christ. God demands our entire heart, and nothing is allowed to
remain for his weak creatures. To produce the little zeal for heaven
which Christians have, it is requisite to torment them, and thus lead
them to the practice of those marvellous virtues in which they imagine
is placed all their safety. A strange religion, which, practised in
all its rigor, would drag society to ruin! The sincere devotee
proposes impossible attainments, of which human nature is not capable;
and as, in spite of all his endeavors, he is unable to succeed in
their acquisition, he is always discontented with himself. He regards
himself as the object of God's anger; he reproaches himself with all
that he does; he suffers remorse for all the pleasures he experiences,
and fears that they may occasion a fall from grace. For his greater
security, he often avoids society which may at any moment turn him
from his pretended duties, excite him to sin, and render him the
witness or accomplice of what is offensive to zealots. In fine, if the
devotee is very zealous, he cannot prevent himself from avoiding or
detesting beings, who, according to his gloomy notions of religion,
are perpetually occupied in irritating God. On the other hand, you
know, Madam, that it is chagrin and melancholy that lead to devotion.
It is usually not till the world abandons and displeases men that they
have recourse to heaven; it is in the arms of religion that the
ambitious seek to console themselves for their disgraces and
disappointed projects; dissolute and loose women turn devotees when
the world discards them, and they offer to God hearts wasted, and
charms that are no longer in repute. The ruin of their attractions
admonishes them that their empire is no longer of this world; filled
with vexation, consumed with chagrin, and irritated against a society
where they were deprived of enacting an agreeable part, they yield
themselves up to devotion, and distinguish themselves by religious
follies, after having run the race of fashionable vices, and been
engaged in worldly scandals. With rancor in their hearts, they offer a
gloomy adoration to a God who indemnifies them most miserably for
their ascetic worship. In a word, it is passion, affliction, and
despair to which most conversions must be attributed; and they are
persons of such character who deliver themselves to the priests, and
these mental aberrations and physical afflictions are the marvellous
strokes of grace of which God makes use to lead men to himself.
It is not, then, surprising if we see persons subject to this devotion
most commonly ruled by sorrow and passion. These mental moods are
perpetually aggravated by religion, which is exactly calculated to
imbitter more and more the souls thus filled with vexations. The
conversation of a spiritual director is a weak consolation for the
loss of a lover; the remote and flattering hopes of another world
rarely make up for the realities of this; nor do the fictitious
occupations of religion suffice to satisfy souls accustomed to
intrigues, dissipation, and scandalous pleasures.
Thus, Madam, we see that the effects of these brilliant conversions,
so well adapted to give pleasure to the Omnipotent and to his court,
present nothing advantageous for the inhabitants of this lower world.
If the changes produced by grace do not render those more happy upon
whom they are operated, they cannot cause much admiration on the part
of those who witness them. Indeed, what advantages does society reap
from the greater part of conversions? Do the persons so touched by
grace become better? Do they make amends for the evil they have done,
or are they heartily and generously engaged in doing good to those by
whom they are surrounded? A mistress, for example, who has been
arrogant and proud,--does conversion render her humble and gentle?
Does the unjust and cruel man recompense those to whom he has done
evil? Does the robber return to society the property of which he has
plundered it? Does the dissipated and licentious woman repair by her
vigilant cares the wrongs that her disorders and dissipations have
occasioned? No, far from it. These persons so touched and converted by
God ordinarily content themselves with praying, fasting, religious
offerings, frequenting churches, clamoring in favor of their priests,
intriguing to sustain a sect, decrying all who disagree with their
particular spiritual director, and exhibiting an ardent and ridiculous
zeal for questions that they do not understand. In this manner they
imagine they get absolution from God, and give indemnification to men;
but society gains nothing from their miraculous conversion. On the
other hand, devotion often exalts, infuriates, and strengthens the
passions which formerly animated the converts. It turns these passions
to new objects, and religion justifies the intolerant and cruel
excesses into which they rush for the interest of their sect. It is
thus that an ambitious personage becomes a proud and turbulent
fanatic, and believes himself justified by his zeal; it is thus that a
disgraced courtier cabals in the name of heaven against his own
enemies; and it is thus that a malignant and vindictive man, under the
pretext of avenging God, seeks the means of avenging himself. Thus,
also, it happens that a woman, to indemnify herself for having
quitted rouge, considers she has the right to outrage with her acrid
humor a husband whom she had previously, in a different manner,
outraged many times. She piously denounces those who allow themselves
the indulgence of the most innocent pleasures; in the belief of
manifesting religious earnestness, she exhales downright passion,
envy, jealousy, and spite; and in lending herself warmly to the
interests of heaven she shows an excess of ignorance, insanity, and
credulity.
But is it necessary, Madam, to insist upon this? You live in a country
where you see many devotees, and few virtuous people among them. If
you will but slightly examine the matter, you will find that among
these persons so persuaded of their religion, so convinced of its
importance and utility, who speak incessantly of its consolations, its
sweets, and its virtues,--you will find that among these persons there
are very few who are rendered happier, and yet fewer who are rendered
better. Are they vividly penetrated with the sentiments of their
afflicting and terrible religion? You will find them atrabilious,
disobliging, and fierce. Are they more lightly affected by their
creed? You will then find them less bigoted, more beneficent, social,
and kind. The religion of the court, as you know, is a continual
mixture of devotion and pleasure, a circle of the exercises of piety
and dissipation, of momentary fervor and continuous irregularities.
This religion connects Jesus Christ with the pomps of Satan. We there
see sumptuous display, pride, ambition, intrigue, vengeance, envy, and
libertinism all amalgamated with a religion whose _maxims_ are
austere. Pious casuists, interested for the great, approve this
alliance, and give the lie to their own religion in order to derive
advantage from circumstances and from the passions and vices of men.
If these court divines were too rigid, they would affright their
fashionable disciples seeking to reach heaven on "flowery beds of
ease," and who embrace religion with the understanding that they are
to be allowed no inconsiderable latitude. This is doubtless the reason
why Jansenism, which wished to renew the austere principles of
primitive Christianity, obtained no general influence at the Parisian
court. The monkish precepts of early Christianity could only suit men
of the temper of those who first embraced it. They were adapted for
persons who were abject, bilious, and discontented, who, deprived of
luxury, power, and honors, became the enemies of grandeurs from which
they were excluded. The devotees had the art of making a merit of
their aversion and disdain for what they could not obtain.
Nevertheless, a Christian, in consonance with his principles, should
"take no thought for the morrow;" should have no individual
possessions; should flee from the world and its pomps; should give his
coat to the thief who stole his cloak; and, if smitten on one cheek,
should turn the other to the aggressor. It is upon Stoicism that
religious fanatics built their gloomy philosophy. The so-called
perfections which Christianity proposes place man in a perpetual war
with himself, and must render him miserable. The true Christian is an
enemy both of himself and the human race, and for his own consistency
should live secluded in darkness, like an owl. His religion renders
him essentially unsocial, and as useless to himself as he is
disagreeable to others. What advantage can society receive from a man
who trembles without cessation, who is in a state of superstitious
penance, who prays, and who indulges in solitude? Or what better is
the devotee who flies from the world and deprives himself even of
innocent pleasures, in the fear that God might damn him for
participation in them?
What results from these maxims of a moral fanaticism? It happens that
laws so atrocious and cruel are enacted, that bigots alone are willing
to execute them. Yes, Madam, blameless as you know my whole life to
have been, consonant to integrity and honesty as you know my conduct
to be, and free as I have ever been from intolerance, my existence
would be endangered were these letters I am now writing to you to
appear in print, or even be circulated in manuscript with my name
attached to them as author. Yes, Christians have made laws, now
dominant here in France, which would tie me to the stake, consume my
body with fire, bore my tongue with a red hot iron, deprive me of
sepulture, strip my family of my property, and for no other cause than
for my opinions concerning Christianity and the Bible. Such is the
horrid cruelty engendered by Christianity. It has sometimes been
called in question whether a society of atheists could exist; but we
might with more propriety ask if a society of fierce, impracticable,
visionary, and fanatical Christians, in all the plenitude of their
ridiculous system, could long subsist.[5] What would become of a
nation all of whose inhabitants wished to attain perfection by
delivering themselves over to fanatical contemplation, to ascetical
penance, to monkish prayers, and to that state of things set forth in
the Acts of the Apostles? What would be the condition of a nation
where no one took any "thought for the morrow"?--where all were
occupied solely with heaven, and all totally neglected whatever
related to this transitory and passing life?--where all made a merit
of celibacy, according to the precepts of St. Paul?--and where, in
consequence of constant occupation in the ceremonials of piety, no one
had leisure to devote to the well-being of men in their worldly and
temporal concerns? It is evident that such a society could only exist
in the Thebaid, and even there only for a limited time, as it must
soon be annihilated. If some enthusiasts exhibit examples of this
sort, we know that convents and nunneries are supported by that
portion of society which they do not enclose. But who would provide
for a country that abandoned every thing else for the purpose of
heavenly contemplations?
[5] Upon this topic consult what Bayle says, _Continuation des Pensees
diverses sur la Comete_, Sections 124, 125, tome iv., Rousseau de
Geneve, in his _Contrat Social_, l. 4, ch. 8. See also the _Lettres
ecrites de la Montague_, letter first, pp. 45 to 54, edit. 8vo. The
author discusses the same matter, and confirms his opinions by new
reasonings, which particularly deserve perusal.--_Note of the Editor_,
(NAIGEON.)
We may therefore legitimately conclude that the Christian religion is
not fitted for this world; that it is not calculated to insure the
happiness either of societies or individuals; that the precepts and
counsels of its God are impracticable, and more adapted to discourage
the human race, and to plunge men into despair and apathy, than to
render them happy, active, and virtuous. A Christian is compelled to
make an abstraction of the maxims of his religion if he wishes to live
in the world; he is no longer a Christian when he devotes his cares to
his earthly good; and, in a word, a real Christian is a man of another
world, and is not adapted for this.
Thus we see that Christians, to humanize themselves, are constantly
obliged to depart from their supernatural and divine speculations.
Their passions are not repressed, but on the contrary are often thus
rendered more fierce and more calculated to disturb society. Masked
under the veil of religion, they generally produce more terrible
effects. It is then that ambition, vengeance, cruelty, anger, calumny,
envy, and persecution, covered by the deceptive name of zeal, cause
the greatest ravages, range without bounds, and even delude those who
are transported by these dangerous passions. Religion does not
annihilate these violent agitations of the mind in the hearts of its
devotees, but often excites and justifies them; and experience proves
that the most rigid Christians are very far from being the best of
men, and that they have no right to reproach the incredulous either
concerning the pretended consequences of their principles, or for the
passions which are falsely alleged to spring from unbelief.
Indeed, the charity of the peaceful ministers of religion and of their
pious adherents does not prevent their blackening their adversaries
with a view of rendering them odious, and of drawing down upon their
heads the malevolence of a superstitious community, and the
persecution of tyrannical and oppressive laws; their zeal for God's
glory permits them to employ indifferently all kinds of weapons; and
calumny, especially, furnishes them always a most powerful aid.
According to them, there are no irregularities of the heart which are
not produced by incredulity; to renounce religion, say they, is to
give a free course to unbridled passions, and he who does not believe
surely indicates a corrupt heart, depraved manners, and frightful
libertinism. In a word, they declare that every man who refuses to
admit their reveries or their marvellous morality, has no motives to
do good, and very powerful ones to commit evil.
It is thus that our charitable divines caricature and misrepresent the
opponents of their supremacy, and describe them as dangerous
brigands, whom society, for its own interest, ought to proscribe and
destroy. It results from these imputations that those who renounce
prejudices and consult reason are considered the most unreasonable of
men; that they who condemn religion on account of the crimes it has
produced upon the earth, and for which it has served as an eternal
pretext, are regarded as bad citizens; that they who complain of the
troubles that turbulent priests have so often excited, are set down as
perturbators of the repose of nations; and that they who are shocked
at the contemplation of the inhuman and unjust persecutions which have
been excited by priestly ambition and rascality, are men who have no
idea of justice, and in whose bosoms the sentiments of humanity are
necessarily stifled. They who despise the false and deceitful motives
by which, to the present time, it has been vainly attempted through
the other world to make men virtuous, equitable, and beneficent, are
denounced as having no real motives to practise the virtues necessary
for their well-being _here_. In fine, the priests scandalize those who
wish to destroy sacerdotal tyranny, and impostures dangerous alike to
nations and people, as enemies of the state so dangerous that the laws
ought to punish them.
But I believe, Madam, that you are now thoroughly convinced that the
true friends of the human race and of governments cannot also be the
friends of religion and of priests. Whatever may be the motives or
the passions which determine men to incredulity, whatever may be the
principles which flow from it, they cannot be so pernicious as those
which emanate directly and necessarily from a religion so absurd and
so atrocious as Christianity. Incredulity does not claim extraordinary
privileges as flowing from a partial God; it pretends to no right of
despotism over men's consciences; it has no pretexts for doing
violence to the minds of mankind; and it does not hate and persecute
for a difference of opinion. In a word, the incredulous have not an
infinity of motives, interests, and pretexts to injure, with which the
zealous partisans of religion are abundantly provided.
The unbeliever in Christianity, who reflects, perceives that without
going out of this world there are pressing and real motives which
invite to virtuous conduct; he feels the interest that he has in
self-preservation, and of avoiding whatever is calculated to injure
another; he sees himself united by physical and reciprocal wants with
men who would despise him if he had vices, who would detest him if he
was guilty of any action contrary to justice and virtue, and who would
punish him if he committed any crimes, or if he outraged the laws. The
idea of decency and order, the desire of meriting the approbation of
his fellow-citizens, and the fear of being subjected to blame and
punishment, are sufficient to govern the actions of every rational
man. If, however, a citizen is in a sort of delirium, all the
credulity in the world will not be able to restrain him. If he is
powerful enough to have no fear of men on this earth, he will not
regard the divine law more than the hatred and the disdain of the
judges he has constantly before his eyes.
But the priests may perhaps tell us that the fear of an avenging God
at least serves to repress a great number of latent crimes that would
appear but for the influence of religion. Is it true, however, that
religion itself prevents these latent crimes? Are not Christian
nations full of knaves of all kinds, who secretly plot the ruin of
their fellow-beings? Do not the most ostensibly credulous persons
indulge in an infinity of vices for which they would blush if they
were by chance brought to light? A man who is the most persuaded that
God sees all his actions frequently does not blush to commit deeds in
secret from which he would refrain if beheld by the meanest of human
beings.
What, then, avails the powerful check on the passions which religion
is said to interpose? If we could place any reliance on what is said
by our priests, it would appear that neither public nor secret crimes
could be committed in countries where their instructions are received;
the priests would appear like a brotherhood of angels, and every
religious man to be without faults. But men forget their religious
speculations when they are under the dominion of violent passions,
when they are bound by the ties of habit, or when they are blinded by
great interests. Under such circumstances they do not reason. Whether
a man is virtuous or vicious depends on temperament, habit, and
education. An unbeliever may have strong passions, and may reason very
justly on the subject of religion, and very erroneously in regard to
his conduct. The religious dupe is a poor metaphysician, and if he
also acts badly he is both imbecile and wicked.