INGERSOLL'S LECTURE ON GODS_Lectures of Col. R. G. Ingersoll, Volume I Including His Answers to the Clergy, His Oration at His Brother's Grave, Etc., Etc.

Ladies and Gentlemen: An honest god is the noblest work of man. Each

nation has created a god, and the god has always resembled his

creators. He hated and loved what they hated and loved, and he was

invariably found on the side of those in power. Each god was intensely

patriotic, and detested all nations but his own. All these Gods

demanded praise, flattery, and worship. Most of them were pleased with

sacrifice, and the smell of innocent blood has ever been considered a

divine perfume. All these gods have insisted upon having a vast number

of priests, and the priests have always insisted upon being supported

by the people, and the principal business of these priests has been to

boast about their God, and to insist that he could easily vanquish all

the other gods put together.

These gods have been manufactured after numberless models, and

according to the most grotesque fashions. Some have a thousand arms,

some a hundred heads, some are adorned with necklaces of living snakes,

some are armed with clubs, some with sword and shield, some with

bucklers, and some with wings as a cherub; some were invisible, some

would show themselves entire, and some would only show their backs;

some were jealous, some were foolish, some turned themselves into men,

some into swans, some into bulls, some into doves, and some into holy

ghosts, and made love to the beautiful daughters of men. Some were

married--all ought to have been--and some were considered as old

bachelors from all eternity. Some had children, and the children were

turned into gods and worshiped as their fathers had been. Most of

these gods were revengeful, savage, lustful, and ignorant; as they

generally depended upon their priests for information, their ignorance

can hardly excite our astonishment.

These gods did not even know the shape of the worlds they had created,

but supposed them perfectly flat. Some thought the day could be

lengthened by stopping the sun, that the blowing of horns could throw

down the walls of a city, and all knew so little of the real nature of

the people they had created, that they commanded the people to love

them. Some were so ignorant as to suppose that man could believe just

as he might desire, or as might command, and to be governed by

observation, reason, and experience was a most foul and damning sin.

None of these gods could give a true account of the creation of this

little earth. All were woefully deficient in geology and astronomy.

As a rule, they were most miserable legislators, and as executives,

they were far inferior to the average of American presidents.

The deities have demanded the most abject and degrading obedience. In

order to please them, man must lay his very face in the dust. Of

course, they have always been partial to the people who created them,

and they have generally shown their partiality by assisting those

people to rob and destroy others, and to ravish their wives and

daughters. Nothing is so pleasing to these gods as the butchery of

unbelievers. Nothing so enrages them, even now as to have some one

deny their existence.

Few nations have been so poor as to have but one god. Gods were made

so easily, and the raw material cost so little, that generally the god

market was fairly glutted, and heaven crammed with these phantoms.

These gods not only attended to the skies, but were supposed to

interfere in all the affairs of men. They presided over everybody and

everything. They attended to every department. All was supposed to be

under their immediate control. Nothing was too small--nothing too

large; the falling of sparrows and the motions of planets were alike

attended to by these industrious and observing deities. From their

starry thrones they frequently came to the earth for the purpose of

imparting information to man. It is related of one that he came amid

thunderings and lightnings in order to tell the people they should not

cook a kid in its mother's milk. Some left their shining abode to tell

women that they should, or should not, have children, to inform a

priest how to cut and wear his apron, and to give directions as to the

proper manner for cleaning the intestines of a bird.

When the people failed to worship one of these gods, or failed to feed

and clothe his priests, (which was much the same thing,) he generally

visited them with pestilence and famine. Sometimes he allowed some

other nation to drag them into slavery--to sell their wives and

children; but generally he glutted his vengeance by murdering their

first born. The priests always did their whole duty, not only in

predicting these calamities, but in proving, when they did happen, that

they were brought upon the people because they had not given quite

enough to them.

These gods differed just as the nations differed; the greatest and most

powerful had the most powerful gods, while the weaker ones were obliged

to content themselves with the very off-scourings of the heavens. Each

of these gods promised happiness here and hereafter to all his slaves,

and threatened to eternally punish all who either disbelieved in his

existence or suspected that some other God might be his superior; but

to deny the existence of all gods was, and is, the crime of crimes.

Redden your hands with human blood; blast by slander the fair fame of

the innocent; strangle the smiling child upon its mother's knees;

deceive, ruin and desert the beautiful girl who loves and trusts you,

and your case is not hopeless. For all this, and for all these, you

may be forgiven. For all this, and for all these, that bankrupt court

established by the gospel, will give you a discharge; but deny the

existence of these divine ghosts, of these gods, and the sweet and

tearful face of Mercy becomes livid with eternal hate. Heaven's golden

gates are shut, and you, with an infinite curse ringing in your ears,

with the brand of infamy upon your brow, commence your endless

wanderings in the lurid gloom of hell--an immortal vagrant--an eternal

outcast--a deathless convict.

One of these gods, and one who demands our love, our admiration and our

worship, and one who is worshiped, if mere heartless ceremony is

worship, gave to his chosen people for their guidance the following

laws of war: "When thou comest nigh unto a city to fight against it,

then proclaim peace unto it. And it shall be if it make thee answer of

peace, and open unto thee, then it shall be that all the people that is

found therein shall be tributaries unto thee, and they shall serve

thee. And if it will make no peace with thee, but will make war against

thee, then thou shalt besiege it. And when the Lord thy God hath

delivered it into thine hands, thou shalt smite every male thereof with

the edge of the sword. But the women and the little ones, and the

cattle, and all that is in the city, even all the spoil thereof, shalt

thou take unto thyself, and thou shalt eat the spoil of thine enemies

which the Lord thy God hath given thee. Thus shalt thou do unto all

the cities which are very far off from thee, which are not of the

cities of these nations. But of the cities of these people which the

Lord thy God doth give thee for an inheritance, thou shall save alive

nothing that breatheth."

Is it possible for man to conceive of anything more perfectly infamous?

Can you believe that such directions were given by any except an

infinite fiend? Remember that the army receiving these instructions

was one of invasion. Peace was offered on condition that the people

submitting should be the slaves of the invader; but if any should have

the courage to defend their home, to fight for the love of wife and

child, then the sword was to spare none--not even the prattling,

dimpled babe.

And we are called upon to worship such a god; to get upon our knees and

tell him that he is good, that he is merciful, that he is just, that he

is love. We are asked to stifle every noble sentiment of the soul, and

to trample under foot all the sweet charities of the heart. Because we

refuse to stultify ourselves--refuse to become liars--we are denounced,

hated, traduced and ostracized here, and this same god threatens to

torment us in eternal fire the moment death allows him to fiercely

clutch our naked helpless souls. Let the people hate, let the god

threaten--we will educate them, and we will despise and defy him.

The book, called the bible, is filled with passages equally horrible,

unjust and atrocious. This is the book to read in schools in order to

make our children loving, kind and gentle! This is the book recognized

in our Constitution as the source of authority and justice!

Strange that no one has ever been persecuted by the Church for

believing God bad, while hundreds of millions have been destroyed for

thinking him good. The orthodox church never will forgive the

Universalist for saying "God is love." It has always been considered

as one of the very highest evidence of true and undefiled religion to

insist that all men, women and children deserve eternal damnation. It

has always been heresy to say, "God will at last save all."

We are asked to justify these frightful passages, these infamous laws

of war, because the bible is the word of God. As a matter of fact,

there never was, and there never can be, an argument, even tending to

prove the inspiration of any book whatever. In the absence of positive

evidence, analogy and experience, argument is simply impossible, and at

the very best, can amount only to a useless agitation of the air. The

instant we admit that a book is too sacred to be doubted, or even

reasoned about, we are mental serfs. It is infinitely absurd to

suppose that a god would address a communication to intelligent beings,

and yet make it a crime, to be punished in eternal flames for them to

use their intelligence for the purpose of understanding his

communication. If we have the right to use our reason, we certainly

have the right to act in accordance with it, and no god can have the

right to punish us for such action.

The doctrine that future happiness depends upon belief is monstrous. It

is the infamy of infamies. The notion that faith in Christ is to be

rewarded by an eternity of bliss, while a dependence upon reason,

observation, and experience merits everlasting pain, is too absurd for

refutation, and can be relieved only by that unhappy mixture of

insanity and ignorance, called "faith." What man, who ever thinks, can

believe that blood can appease God? And yet, our entire system of

religion is based upon that belief. The Jews pacified Jehovah with the

blood of animals, and according to the Christian system, the blood of

Jesus softened the heart of God a little, and rendered possible the

salvation of a fortunate few. It is hard to conceive how the human mind

can give assent to such terrible ideas, or how any sane man can read

the bible and still believe in the doctrine of inspiration.

Whether the bible is true or false, is of no consequence in comparison

with the mental freedom of the race.

Salvation through slavery is worthless. Salvation from slavery is

inestimable.

As long as man believes the bible to be infallible, that is his master.

The civilization of this century is not the child of faith, but of

unbelief--the result of free thought.

All that is necessary, as it seems to me, to convince any reasonable

person that the bible is simply and purely of human invention--of

barbarian invention--is to read it. Read it as you would any other

book; think of it as you would any other; get the bandage of reverence

from your eyes; drive from your heart the phantom of fear; push from

the throne of your brain the cowled form of superstition--then read the

holy bible, and you will be amazed that you ever, for one moment,

supposed a being of infinite wisdom, goodness and purity to be the

author of such ignorance and of such atrocity.

Our ancestors not only had their God-factories, but they made devils as

well. These devils were generally disgraced and fallen gods. Some had

headed unsuccessful revolts; some had been caught sweetly reclining in

the shadowy folds of some fleecy clouds, kissing the wife of the God of

gods. These devils generally sympathized with man. There is in regard

to them a most wonderful fact: In nearly all the theologies, mythologic

and religious, the devils have been much more humane and merciful than

the gods. No devil ever gave one of his generals an order to kill

children and to rip open the bodies of pregnant women. Such

barbarities were always ordered by the good gods. The pestilences were

sent by the most merciful gods. The frightful famine, during which the

dying child with pallid lips sucked the withered bosom of a dead

mother, was sent by the loving gods. No devil was ever charged with

such fiendish brutality.

One of these gods, according to the account, drowned an entire world,

with the exception of eight persons. The old, the young, the beautiful

and the helpless were remorselessly devoured by the shoreless sea.

This, the most fearful tragedy that the imagination of ignorant priests

ever conceived, was the act not of a devil, but of God so-called, whom

men ignorantly worship unto this day. What a stain such an act would

leave upon the character of a devil! One of the prophets of one of

these gods, having in his power a captured king, hewed him in pieces in

the sight of all the people. Was ever any imp of any devil guilty of

such savagery?

One of these gods is reported to have given the following directions

concerning human slavery: "If thou buy a Hebrew servant six years

shall he serve, and in the seventh he shall go out free for nothing. If

he came in by himself, he shall go out by himself; if he were married,

then his wife shall go out with him. If his master have given him a

wife, and she have borne him sons or daughters, the wife and her

children shall be her master's, and he shall go out by himself. And if

the servant shall plainly say, I love my master, my wife and my

children; I will not go out free; then his master shall bring him unto

the judges: he shall also bring him unto the door, or unto the

doorpost; and his Master shall bore his ear with an awl; and he shall

serve him forever."

According to this, a man was given liberty upon condition that he would

desert forever his wife and children. Did any devil ever force upon a

husband, upon a father, so cruel and so heartless an alternative? Who

can worship such a god? Who can bend the knee to such a monster? Who

can pray to such a fiend?

All these gods threatened to torment forever the souls of their

enemies. Did any devil ever make so infamous a threat? The basest

thing recorded of the devil, is what he did concerning job and his

family, and that was done by the express permission of one of these

gods and to decide a little difference of opinion between their serene

highnesses as to the character of "my servant Job."

The first account we have of the devil is found in that purely

scientific book called Genesis, and is as follows: "Now the serpent was

more subtle than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made,

and he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said, ye shall not eat of the

fruit of the trees of the garden? And the woman said unto the serpent.

We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden; but of the fruit of

the tree which is in the midst of the garden God hath said, Ye shall

not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die. And the serpent

said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die. For God doth know that

in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened and ye shall

be as gods, knowing good and evil. And when the woman saw that the

tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a

tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof and

did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her, and he did eat......

And the Lord God said, Behold the man has become as one of us, to know

good and evil; and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of

the tree of life and eat, and live forever. Therefore the Lord God

sent him forth from the garden of Eden to till the ground from which he

was taken. So he drove out the man, and he placed at the east of the

garden of Eden cherubims and a flaming sword, which turned every way to

keep the way of the tree of life."

According to this account the promise of the devil was fulfilled to the

very letter. Adam and Eve did not die, and they did become as gods,

knowing good and evil. The account shows, however, that the gods

dreaded education and knowledge then just as they do now. The church

still faithfully guards the dangerous tree of knowledge, and has

exerted in all ages her utmost power to keep mankind from eating the

fruit thereof. The priests have never ceased repeating the old

falsehood and the old threat: "Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye

touch it, lest ye die." From every pulpit comes the same cry, born of

the same fear "Lest they eat and become as gods, knowing good and

evil." For this reason, religion hates science, faith detests reason,

theology is the sworn enemy of philosophy, and the church with its

flaming sword still guards the hated tree, and like its supposed

founder, curses to the lowest depths the brave thinkers who eat and

become as gods.

If the account given in Genesis is really true, ought we not, after

all, to thank this serpent? He was the first schoolmaster, the first

advocate of learning, the first enemy of ignorance, the first to

whisper in human ears the sacred word liberty, the creator of ambition,

the author of modesty, of inquiry, of doubt, of investigation, of

progress and of civilization.

Give me the storm and tempest of thought and action, rather than the

dead calm of ignorance and faith. Banish me from Eden when you will;

but first let me eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge! Some

nations have borrowed their gods; of this number, we are compelled to

say, is our own. The Jews having ceased to exist as a nation, and

having no further use for a god, our ancestors appropriated him and

adopted their devil at the same time. This borrowed god is still an

object of some adoration, and this adopted devil still excites the

apprehensions of our people. He is still supposed to be setting his

traps and snares for the purpose of catching our unwary souls, and is

still, with reasonable success, waging the old war against our god.

To me, it seems easy to account for these ideas concerning gods and

devils. They are a perfectly natural production. Man has created them

all, and under the same circumstances will create them again. Man has

not only created all these gods, but he has created them out of the

materials by which he has been surrounded. Generally he has modeled

them after himself, and has given them hands, heads, feet, eyes, ears,

and organs of speech. Each nation made its gods and devils speak its

language not only, but put in their mouths the same mistakes in

history, geography, astronomy, and in all matters of fact, generally

made by the people.

No god was ever in advance of the nation that created him. The negroes

represented their deities with black skins and curly hair. The

Mongolian gave to his a yellow complexion and dark almond-shaped eyes.

The Jews were not allowed to paint theirs, or we should have seen

Jehovah with a full beard, an oval face, and an aquiline nose. Zeus was

a perfect Greek and Jove looked as though a member of the Roman senate.

The gods of Egypt had the patient face and placid look of the loving

people who made them. The gods of northern countries were represented

warmly clad in robes of fur; those of the tropics were naked. The gods

of India were often mounted upon elephants, those of some islanders

were great swimmers, and the deities of the Arctic zone were

passionately fond of whale's blubber. Nearly all people have carved or

painted representations of their gods, and these representations were,

by the lower classes generally treated as the real gods, and to these

images and idols they addressed prayers and offered sacrifice.

In some countries, even at this day, if the people after long praying

do not obtain their desires, they turn their images off as impotent

gods, or upbraid them in a most reproachful manner, loading them with

blows and curses. 'How now, dog of a spirit,' they say, 'we give you

lodging in a magnificent temple, we gild you with gold, feed you with

the choicest food, and offer incense to you; yet, after all this care,

you are so ungrateful as to refuse us what we ask.' Hereupon they will

pull the god down and drag him through the filth of the street. If, in

the meantime, it happens that they obtain their request, then with a

great deal of ceremony, they wash him clean, carry him back and place

him in his temple again, where they fall down and make excuses for what

they have done. 'Of a truth,' they say, 'we were a little too hasty,

and you were a little too long in your grant. Why should you bring

this beating on yourself. But what is done cannot be undone.' Let us

not think of it any more. If you will forget what is past, we will

gild you over brighter again than before.

Man has never been at a loss for gods. He has worshiped almost

everything, including the vilest and most disgusting beasts. He has

worshiped fire, earth, air, water, light, stars, and for hundreds of

ages, prostrated himself before enormous snakes. Savage tribes often

make gods of articles they get from civilized people. The Todas

worship a cow-bell. The Kotas worship two silver plates, which they

regard as husband and wife, and another tribe manufactured a god out of

a king of hearts.

Man, having always been the physical superior of woman, accounts for

the fact that most of the high gods have been males. Had woman been

the physical superior, the powers supposed to be the ruler of Nature

would have been woman, and instead of being represented in the apparel

of man, they would have luxuriated in trains, low necked dresses, laces

and back-hair.

Nothing can be plainer than that each nation gives to its god its

peculiar characteristics, and that every individual gives to his God

his personal peculiarities.

Man has no ideas, and can have none, except those suggested by his

surroundings. He cannot conceive of anything utterly unlike what he

has seen or felt. He can exaggerate, diminish, combine, separate,

deform, beautify, improve, multiply and compare what he sees, what he

feels, what he hears, and all of which he takes cognizance through the

medium of the senses; but he cannot create. Having seen exhibitions of

power, he can say, omnipotent. Having lived, he can say, immortality.

Knowing something of time, he can say, eternity. Conceiving something

of intelligence, he can say God. Having seen exhibitions of malice, he

can say, devil. A few gleams of happiness having fallen athwart the

gloom of his life, he can say, heaven. Pain, in its numberless forms,

having been experienced, he can say, hell. Yet all these ideas have a

foundation in fact, and only a foundation. The superstructure has been

reared by exaggerating, diminishing, combining, separating, deforming,

beautifying, improving or multiplying realities, so that the edifice or

fabric is but the incongruous grouping of what man has perceived

through the medium of the senses. It is as though we should give to a

lion the wings of an eagle, the hoofs of a bison, the tail of a horse,

the pouch of a kangaroo, and the trunk of an elephant. We have in

imagination created an impossible monster. And yet the various parts

of this monster really exist. So it is with all the gods that man has

made.

Beyond nature man cannot go even in thought--above nature he cannot

rise--below nature he cannot fall.

Man, in his ignorance, supposed that all phenomena were produced by

some intelligent powers, and with direct reference to him. To preserve

friendly relations with these powers was, and still is, the object of

all religions. Man knelt through fear and to implore assistance, or

through gratitude for some favor which he supposed had been rendered.

He endeavored by supplication to appease some being who, for some

reason, had, as he believed become enraged. The lightning and thunder

terrified him. In the presence of the volcano he sank upon his knees.

The great forests filled with wild and ferocious beasts, the monstrous

serpents crawling in mysterious depths, the boundless sea, the flaming

comets, the sinister eclipses, the awful calmness of the stars, and

more than all, the perpetual presence of death, convinced him that he

was the sport and prey of unseen and malignant powers. The strange and

frightful diseases to which he was subject, the freezings and burnings

of fever, the contortions of epilepsy, the sudden palsies, the darkness

of night, and the wild, terrible and fantastic dreams that filled his

brain, satisfied him that he was haunted and pursued by countless

spirits of evil. For some reason he supposed that these spirits

differed in power--that they were not all alike malevolent--that the

higher controlled the lower, and that his very existence depended upon

gaining the assistance of the more powerful. For this purpose he

resorted to prayer, to flattery, to worship and to sacrifice. These

ideas appear to have been almost universal in savage man.

For ages all nations supposed that the sick and insane were possessed

by evil spirits. For thousands of years the practice of medicine

consisted in frightening these spirits away. Usually the priests would

make the loudest and most discordant noises possible. They would blow

horns, beat upon rude drums, clash cymbals, and in the meantime utter

the most unearthly yells. If the noise-remedy failed, they would

implore the aid of some more powerful spirit.

To pacify these spirits was considered of infinite importance. The poor

barbarian, knowing that men could be softened by gifts, gave to these

spirits that which to him seemed of the most value. With bursting heart

he would offer the blood of his dearest child. It was impossible for

him to conceive of a god utterly unlike himself, and he naturally

supposed that these powers of the air would be affected a little at the

sight of so great and so deep a sorrow. It was with the barbarian then

as with the civilized now--one class lived upon and made merchandise of

the fears of another. Certain persons took it upon themselves to

appease the gods, and to instruct the people in their duties to these

unseen powers. This was the origin of the priesthood. The priest

pretended to stand between the wrath of the gods and the helplessness

of man. He was man's attorney at the court of heaven. He carried to

the invisible world a flag of truce, a protest and a request. He came

back with a command, with authority and with power. Man fell upon his

knees before his own servant, and the priest, taking advantage of the

awe inspired by his supposed influence with the gods, made of his

fellow-man a cringing hypocrite and slave. Even Christ, the supposed

son of God, taught that persons were possessed of evil spirits, and

frequently, according to the account, gave proof of his divine origin

and mission by frightening droves of devils out of his unfortunate

countrymen. Casting out devils was his principal employment, and the

devils thus banished generally took occasion to acknowledge him as the

true Messiah; which was not only very kind of them, but quite fortunate

for him. The religious people have always regarded the testimony of

these devils as perfectly conclusive, and the writers of the New

Testament quote the words of these imps of darkness with great

satisfaction.

The fact that Christ could withstand the temptations of the devil was

considered as conclusive evidence that he was assisted by some god, or

at least by some being superior to man. St. Matthew gives an account

of an attempt made by the devil to tempt the supposed son of God; and

it has always excited the wonder of Christians that the temptation was

so nobly and heroically withstood. The account to which I refer is as

follows:

"Then was Jesus led up of the spirit into the wilderness to be tempted

of the devil. And when the tempter came to him, he said: 'If thou be

the son of God command that these stones be made bread.' But he

answered, and said 'It is written: man shall not live by bread alone,

but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.' Then the

devil taketh him up into the holy city and setteth him upon a pinnacle

of the temple and saith unto him: 'If thou be the son of God, cast

thyself down, for it is written. He shall give his angels charge

concerning thee, lest at any time thou shalt dash thy foot against a

stone.' Jesus said unto him 'It is written again, thou shalt not

tempt the Lord thy God.' Again the devil taketh him up into an

exceeding high mountain and showeth him all the kingdoms of the world

and the glory of them, and saith unto him 'All these will I give thee

if thou wilt fall down and worship me.'"

The Christians now claim that Jesus was God. If he was God, of course

the devil knew that fact, and yet, according to this account, the devil

took the omnipotent God and placed him upon a pinnacle of the temple,

and endeavored to induce him to dash himself against the earth.

Failing in that, he took the creator, owner and governor of the

universe up into an exceeding high mountain, and offered him this

world--this grain of sand--if he, the God of all the worlds, would fall

down and worship him, a poor devil, without even a tax title to one

foot of dirt! Is it possible the devil was such an idiot? Should any

great credit be given to this deity for not being caught with such

chaff? Think of it! The devil--the prince of sharpers--the king of

cunning--the master of finesse, trying to bribe God with a grain of

sand that belonged to God!

Is there in ail the religious literature of the world any thing more

grossly absurd than this?

These devils, according to the bible, were various kinds--some could

speak and hear, others were deaf and dumb. All could not be cast out

in the same way. The deaf and dumb spirits were quite difficult to

deal with. St. Mark tells of a gentleman who brought his son to

Christ. The boy, it seems, was possessed of a dumb spirit, over which

the disciples had no control. "Jesus said unto the spirit: 'Thou dumb

and deaf spirit. I charge thee come out of him, and enter no more into

him.'" Whereupon, the deaf spirit having heard what was said, cried out

(being dumb) and immediately vacated the premises. The ease with which

Christ controlled this deaf and dumb spirit excited the wonder of his

disciples, and they asked him privately why they could not cast that

spirit out. To whom he replied: "This kind can come forth by nothing

but prayer and fasting." Is there a Christian in the whole world who

would believe such a story if found in any other book? The trouble is,

these pious people shut up their reason, and then open their bible.

In the olden times the existence of devils was universally admitted.

The people had no doubt upon that subject, and from such belief it

followed as a matter of course, that a person, in order to vanquish

these devils, had either to be a god, or to be assisted by one. All

founders of religions have established their claims to divine origin by

controlling evil spirits--and suspending the laws of nature. Casting

out devils was a certificate of divinity. A prophet, unable to cope

with the powers of darkness, was regarded with contempt. The utterance

of the highest and noblest sentiments, the most blameless and holy

life, commanded but little respect, unless accompanied by power to work

miracles and command spirits.

This belief in good and evil powers had its origin in the fact that man

was surrounded by what he was pleased to call good and evil phenomena.

Phenomena affecting man pleasantly were ascribed to good spirits, while

those affecting him unpleasantly or injuriously, were ascribed to evil

spirits. It being admitted that all phenomena were produced by

spirits, the spirits were divided according to the phenomena, and the

phenomena were good or bad as they affected man. Good spirits were

supposed to be the authors of good phenomena, and evil spirits of the

evil--so that the idea of a devil has been as universal as the idea of

a god.

Many writers maintain that an idea to become universal must be true;

that all universal ideas are innate, and that innate ideas cannot be

false. If the fact that an idea has been universal proves that it is

innate, and if the fact that an idea is innate proves that it is

correct, then the believer in innate ideas must admit that the evidence

of a god superior to nature, and of a devil superior to nature, is

exactly the same, and that the existence of such a devil must be as

self-evident as the existence of such a god. The truth is, a god was

inferred from good, and a devil from bad, phenomena. And it is just as

natural and logical to suppose that a devil would cause happiness as to

suppose that a god would produce misery. Consequently, if an

intelligence, infinite and supreme, is the immediate author of all

phenomena, it is difficult to determine whether such intelligence is

the friend or enemy of man. If phenomena were all good, we might say

they were all produced by a perfectly beneficent being. If they were

all bad, we, might say they were produced by a perfectly malevolent

power; but as phenomena are, as they affect man, both good and bad,

they must be produced by different and antagonistic spirits; by one who

is sometimes actuated by kindness, and sometimes by malice; or all must

be produced of necessity, and without reference to their consequences

upon man.

The foolish doctrine that all phenomena can be traced to the

interference of good and evil spirits, has been, and still is, almost

universal. That most people still believe in some spirit that can

change the natural order of events, is proven by the fact that nearly

all resort to prayer. Thousands, at this very moment, are probably

imploring some supposed power to interfere in their behalf. Some want

health restored; some ask that the loved and absent be watched over and

protected, some pray for riches, some for rain, some want diseases

stayed, some vainly ask for food, some ask for revivals, a few ask for

more wisdom, and now and then one tells the Lord to do as he thinks

best. Thousands ask to be protected from the devil; some, like David,

pray for revenge, and some implore, even God, not to lead them into

temptation. All these prayers rest upon, and are produced by the idea

that some power not only can, but probably will, change the order of

the universe. This belief has been among the great majority of tribes

and nations. All sacred books are filled with the accounts of such

interferences, and our own bible is no exception to this rule.

If we believe in a power superior to nature, it is perfectly natural to

suppose that such power can and will interfere in the affairs of this

world. If there is no interference, of what practical use can such

power be? The scriptures give us the most wonderful accounts of divine

interference: Animals talk like men; springs gurgle from dry bones; the

sun and moon stop in the heavens in order that General Joshua may have

more time to murder; the shadow on a dial goes back ten degrees to

convince a petty king of a barbarous people that he is not going to die

of a boil; fire refused to burn; water positively declined to seek its

level, but stands up like a wall; grains of sand become lice; common

walking-sticks, to gratify a mere freak, twist themselves into

serpents, and then swallow each other by way of exercise; murmuring

streams, laughing at the attraction of gravitation, run up hill for

years, following wandering tribes from a pure love of frolic; prophecy

becomes altogether easier than history; the sons of God become enamored

of the world's girls; women are changed into salt for the purpose of

keeping a great event fresh in the minds of man; an excellent article

of brimstone is imported from heaven free of duty; clothes refuse to

wear out for forty years, birds keep restaurants and feed wandering

prophets free of expense; bears tear children in pieces for laughing at

old men without wigs; muscular development depends upon the length of

one's hair; dead people come to life, simply to get a joke on their

enemies and heirs; witches and wizards converse freely with the souls

of the departed, and God himself becomes a stone-cutter and engraver,

after having been a tailor and dressmaker.

The veil between heaven and earth was always rent or lifted. The

shadows of this world, the radiance of heaven, and the glare of hell

mixed and mingled until man became uncertain as to which country he

really inhabited. Man dwelt in an unreal world. He mistook his ideas,

his dream, for real things. His fears became terrible and malicious

monsters. He lived in the midst of furies and fairies, nymphs and

naiads, goblins and ghosts, witches and wizards, sprites and spooks,

deities and devils. The obscure and gloomy depths were filled with

claw and wing--with beak and hoof--with leering look and sneering

mouths--with the malice of deformity--with the cunning of hatred, and

with all the slimy forms that fear can draw and paint upon the shadowy

canvas of the dark.

It is enough to make one almost insane with pity to think what man in

the long night has suffered: of the tortures he has endured,

surrounded, as he supposed, by malignant powers and clutched by the

fierce phantoms of the air. No wonder that he fell upon his trembling

knees--that he built altars and reddened them even with his own blood.

No wonder that he implored ignorant priests and impudent magicians for

aid. No wonder that he crawled groveling in the dust to the temple's

door, and there, in the insanity of despair, besought the deaf gods to

hear his bitter cry of agony and fear.

The savage as he emerges from a state of barbarism, gradually loses

faith in his idols of wood and stone, and in their place puts a

multitude of spirits. As he advances in knowledge, he generally

discards the petty spirits, and in their stead believes in one, whom he

supposes to be infinite and supreme. Supposing this great spirit to be

superior to nature, he offers worship or flattery in exchange for

assistance. At last, finding that he obtains no aid from this supposed

deity--finding that every search after the absolute must of necessity

end in failure--finding that man cannot by any possibility conceive of

the conditionless--he begins to investigate the facts by which he is

surrounded, and to depend upon himself.

The people are beginning to think, to reason and to investigate.

Slowly, painfully, but surely, the gods are being driven from the

earth. Only upon rare occasions are they, even by the most religious,

supposed to interfere in the affairs of men. In most matters we are at

last supposed to be free. Since the invention of steamships and

railways, so that the products of all countries can be easily

interchanged, the gods have quit the business of producing famine. Now

and then they kill a child because it is idolized by its parents. As a

rule they have given up causing accidents on railroads, exploding

boilers, and bursting kerosene lamps. Cholera, yellow fever, and

smallpox are still considered heavenly weapons; but measles, itch and

ague are now attributed to natural causes. As a general thing, the

gods have stopped drowning children, except as a punishment for

violating the Sabbath. They still pay some attention to the affairs of

kings, men of genius and persons of great wealth: but ordinary people

are left to shift for themselves as best they may. In wars between

great nations, the gods still interfere; but in prize fights, the best

man with an honest referee, is almost sure to win.

The church cannot abandon the idea of special providence. To give up

that doctrine is to give up all. The church must insist that prayer is

answered--that some power superior to nature hears and grants the

request of the sincere and humble Christian, and that this same power

in some mysterious way provides for all.

A devout Clergyman sought every opportunity to impress upon the mind of

his son the fact, that God takes care of all his creatures; that the

falling sparrow attracts his attentions, and that his loving kindness

is over all his works. Happening, one day, to see a crane wading in

quest of food, the good man pointed out to his son the perfect

adaptation of the crane to get his living in that manner. "See," said

he, "how his legs are formed for wading! What a long slender bill he

has! Observe how nicely he folds his feet when putting them in or

drawing them out of the water! He does not cause the slightest ripple.

He is thus enabled to approach the fish without giving them any notice

of his arrival." "My son," said he, "it is impossible to look at that

bird without recognizing the design, as well as the goodness of God, in

thus providing the means of subsistence." "Yes" replied the boy, "I

think I see the goodness of God, at least so far as the crane is

concerned: but after all, father, don't you think the arrangement a

little tough on the fish?"

Even the advanced religionist, although disbelieving in any great

amount of interference by the gods in this age of the world, still

thinks that in the beginning some god made the laws governing the

universe. He believes that in consequence of these laws a man can lift

a greater weight with than without a lever; that this god so made

matter, and so established the order of things, that--two bodies cannot

occupy the same space at the same time; so that a body once put in

motion will keep moving until it is stopped; so that it is a greater

distance around than across a circle; so that a perfect square has four

equal sides, instead of five or seven. He insists that it took a direct

interposition of providence to make the whole greater than a part, and

that had it not been for this power superior to nature, twice one might

have been more than twice two, and sticks and strings might have had

only one end apiece. Like the old Scotch divine, he thanks God that

Sunday comes at the end instead of in the middle of the week, and that

death comes at the close instead of at the commencement of life,

thereby giving us time to prepare for that holy day and that most

solemn event. These religious people see nothing but design everywhere,

and personal, intelligent interference in everything. They insist that

the universe has been created, and that the adaptation of means to ends

is perfectly apparent. They point us to the sunshine, to the flowers,

to the April rain, and to all there is of beauty and of use in the

world. Did it ever occur to them that a cancer is as beautiful in its

development as is the reddest rose? That what they are pleased to call

the adaptation of means to ends, is as apparent in the cancer as in the

April rain? How beautiful the process of digestion! By what ingenious

methods the blood is poisoned so that the cancer shall have food! By

what wonderful contrivances the entire system of man is made to pay

tribute to this divine and charming cancer! See by what admirable

instrumentalities it feeds itself from the surrounding, quivering,

dainty flesh! See how it gradually but surely expands and grows! By

what marvelous mechanism it is supplied with long and slender roots

that reach out to the most secret nerves of pain for sustenance and

life! What beautiful colors it presents! Seen through the microscope

it is a miracle of order and beauty. All the ingenuity of man cannot

stop its growth. Think of the amount of thought it must have required

to invent a way by which the life of one man might be given to produce

one cancer? Is it possible to look upon it and doubt that there is

design in the universe, and that the inventor of this wonderful cancer

must be infinitely powerful, ingenious and good?

We are told that the universe was designed and created, and that it is

absurd to suppose that matter has existed from eternity, but that it is

perfectly self-evident that a god has.

If a god created the universe, then there must have been a time when he

commenced to create. Back of that time there must have been an

eternity, during which there had existed nothing--absolutely

nothing--except this supposed god. According to this theory, this god

spent an eternity, so to speak, in an infinite vacuum, and in perfect

idleness.

Admitting that a god did create the universe, the question then arises,

of what did he create it? It certainly was not made of nothing.

Nothing, considered in the light of a raw material, is a most decided

failure. It follows, then, that a god must have made the universe out

of himself, he being the only existence. The universe is material, and

if it was made of god, the god must have been material. With this very

thought in his mind, Anaximander of Miletus said: "Creation is the

decomposition of the infinite."

It has been demonstrated that the earth would fall to the sun, only for

the fact that it is attracted by other worlds, and those worlds must be

attracted by other worlds still beyond them, and so on, without end.

This proves the material universe to be infinite. If an infinite

universe has been made out of an infinite god, how much of the god is

left?

The idea of a creative deity is gradually being abandoned, and nearly

all truly scientific minds admit that matter must have existed from

eternity. It is indestructible, and the indestructible cannot be

created. It is the crowning glory of our century to have demonstrated

the indestructibility and the eternal persistence of force. Neither

matter nor force can be increased nor diminished. Force cannot exist

apart from matter. Matter exists only in connection with force, and

consequently a force apart from matter, and superior to nature, is a

demonstrated impossibility.

Force, then, must have also existed from eternity, and could not have

been created. Matter in its countless forms, from dead earth to the

eyes of those we love, and force, in all its manifestations, from

simple motions to the grandest thought, deny creation and defy control.

Thought is a form of force. We walk with the same force with which we

think. Man is an organism that changes several forms of force into

thought-force. Man is a machine into which we put what we call food,

and produce what we call thought. Think of that wonderful chemistry by

which bread was changed into the divine tragedy of Hamlet!

A god must not only be material, but he must be an organism, capable of

changing other forms of force into thought-force. This is what we call

eating. Therefore, if the god thinks he must eat, that is to say, he

must of necessity have some means of supplying the force with which to

think. It is impossible to conceive of a being who can eternally

impart force to matter, and yet have no means of supplying the force

thus imparted.

If neither matter nor force were created, what evidence have we, then,

of the existence of a power superior to nature? The theologian will

probably reply, "We have law and order, cause and effect, and beside

all this, matter could not have put itself in motion."

Suppose, for the sake of an argument, that there is no being superior

to nature, and that matter and force have existed from eternity. Now

suppose that two atoms should come together, would there be an effect?

Yes. Suppose they came in exactly opposite directions with equal

force, they would be stopped, to say the least. This would be an

effect. If this is so, then you have matter, force and effect without

a being superior to nature. Now suppose that two other atoms, just

like the first two, should come together under precisely the same

circumstances, would not the effect be exactly the same? Yes. Like

causes, producing like effects, is what we mean by law and order. Then

we have matter, force, effect, law and order without a being superior

to nature. Now, we know that every effect must also be a cause, and

that every cause must be an effect. The atoms coming together did

produce an effect, and as every effect must also be a cause, the effect

produced by the collision of the atoms, must, as to something else,

have been a cause. Then we have matter, force, law, order, cause and

effect without a being superior to nature. Nothing is left for the

supernatural but empty space. His throne is a void, and his boasted

realm is without matter, without force, without law, without cause, and

without effect.

But what put all this matter in motion? If matter and force have

existed from eternity, then matter must have always been in motion.

There can be no force without motion. Force is forever active, and

there is, and there can be no cessation. If therefore, matter and

force have existed from eternity, so has motion. In the whole universe

there is not even one atom in a state of rest.

A deity outside of nature exists in nothing, and is nothing. Nature

embraces with infinite arms all matter and all force. That which is

beyond her grasp is destitute of both, and can hardly be worth the

worship and adoration even of a man.

There is but one way to demonstrate the existence of a power

independent of and superior to nature, and that is by breaking, if only

for one moment, the continuity of cause and effect. Pluck from the

endless chain of existence one little link; stop for one instant the

grand procession, and you have shown beyond all contradiction that

nature has a master. Change the fact, just for one second, that matter

attracts matter, and a god appears.

The rudest savage has always known this fact, and for that reason

always demanded the evidence of miracle. The founder of a religion

must be able to turn water into wine--cure with a word the blind and

lame, and raise with a simple touch the dead to life. It was necessary

for him to demonstrate to the satisfaction of his barbarian disciple,

that he was superior to nature. In times of ignorance this was easy to

do. The credulity of the savage was almost boundless. To him the

marvelous was the beautiful, the mysterious was the sublime.

Consequently, every religion has for its foundation a miracle--that is

to say, a violation of nature--that is to say, a falsehood.

No one, in the world's whole history, ever attempted to substantiate a

truth by a miracle. Truth scorns the assistance of miracle. Nothing

but falsehood ever attested itself by signs and wonders. No miracle

ever was performed, and no sane man ever thought he had performed one,

and until one is performed, there can be no evidence of the existence

of any power superior to, and independent of nature.

The church wishes us to believe. Let the church, or one of its

intellectual saints, perform a miracle, and we will believe. We are

told that nature has a superior. Let this superior, for one single

instant, control nature, and we will admit the truth of your assertion.

We have heard talk enough. We have listened to all the drowsy,

idealess, vapid sermons that we wish to hear. We have read your bible

and the works of your best minds. We have heard your prayers, your

solemn groans and your reverential amens. All these amount to less

than nothing. We beg at the doors of your churches for just one little

fact. We pass our hats along your pews and under your pulpits and

implore you for just one fact. We know all about your moldy wonders

and your stale miracles. We want this year's fact. We ask only one.

Give us one fact of charity. Your miracles are too ancient. The

witnesses have been dead for nearly two thousand years. Their

reputations for "truth and veracity" in the neighborhood where they

resided is wholly unknown to us. Give us a new miracle, and

substantiate it by witnesses who still have the cheerful habit of

living in this world. Do not send us to Jericho to hear the winding

horns, nor put us in the fire with Shadrach, Moshech, and Abednego. Do

not compel us to navigate the sea with Captain Jonah, nor dine with Mr.

Ezekiel. There is no sort of use in sending us fox-hunting with

Samson. We have positively lost interest in that little speech so

eloquently delivered by Balaam's inspired donkey. It is worse than

useless to show us fishes with money in their mouths, and call our

attention to vast multitudes stuffing themselves with five crackers and

two sardines. We demand a new miracle and we demand it now. Let the

church furnish at least one, or forever after hold her peace.

In the olden time, the church, by violating the order of nature, proved

the existence of her God. At that time miracles were performed with

the most astonishing ease. They became so common that the church

ordered her priests to desist. And now this same church--the people

having found so little sense--admits, not only, that she cannot perform

a miracle, but insists--that absence of miracle--the steady, unbroken

march of cause and effect, proves the existence of a power superior to

nature. The fact is, however, that the indissoluble chain of cause and

effect proves exactly the contrary.

Sir William Hamilton, one of the pillars of modern theology, in

discussing this very subject, uses the following language: "The

phenomena of matter taken by themselves, so far from warranting any

inference to the existence of a god, would on the contrary ground even

an argument to his negation. The phenomena of a material world are

subjected to immutable laws; are produced and reproduced in the same

invariable succession, and manifest only the blind force of mechanical

necessity."

Nature is but an endless series of efficient causes. She cannot

create, but she eternally transforms. There was no beginning; and

there can be no end.

The best minds, even in the religious world, admit that in material

nature there is no evidence of what they are pleased to call a god.

They find their evidence in the phenomena of intelligence, and very

innocently assert that intelligence is above, and in fact, opposed to

nature. They insist that man, at least, is a special creation; that he

had somewhere in his brain a divine spark, a little portion of the

"Great First Cause." They say that matter cannot produce thought; but

that thought can produce matter. They tell us that man has

intelligence, and therefore there must be an intelligence greater than

his. Why not say, God has intelligence, therefore there must be an

intelligence greater than his? So far as we know, there is no

intelligence apart from matter. We cannot conceive of thought, except

as produced within a brain.

The science, by means of which they demonstrate the existence of an

impossible intelligence, and an incomprehensible power, is called

metaphysics or theology. The theologians admit that the phenomena of

matter tend, at least, to disprove the existence of any power superior

to nature, because in such phenomena we see nothing but an endless

chain of efficient causes--nothing but the force of a mechanical

necessity. They therefore appeal to what they denominate the phenomena

of mind to establish this superior power.

The trouble is, that in the phenomena of mind we find the same endless

chain of efficient causes; the same mechanical necessity. Every thought

must have had an efficient cause. Every motive, every desire, every

fear, hope and dream must have been necessarily produced. There is no

room in the mind of a man for providence or change. The facts and

forces governing thought are as absolute as those governing the motions

of the planets. A poem is produced by the forces of nature, and is as

necessarily and naturally produced as mountains and seas. You will

seek in vain for a thought in man's brain without its efficient cause.

Every mental operation is the necessary result of certain facts and

conditions. Mental phenomena are considered more complicated than those

of matter, and consequently more mysterious. Being more mysterious,

they are considered better evidence of the existence of a god. No one

infers a god from the simple, from the known, from what is understood,

but from the complex, from the unknown and incomprehensible. Our

ignorance is God; what we know is science.

When we abandon the doctrine that some infinite being created matter

and force, and enacted a code of laws for their government, the idea of

interference will be lost. The real priest will then be, not the

mouth-piece of some pretended deity, but the interpreter of nature.

From that moment the church ceases to exist. The tapers will die out

upon the dusty altar; the moths will eat the fading velvet of pulpit

and pew; the Bible will take its place with the Shastras, Puranas,

Vedas, Eddas, Sagas and Korans, and the fetters of a degrading faith

will fall from the minds of men.

"But," says the religionist "you cannot explain everything; you cannot

understand everything; and that which you cannot explain, that which

you do not comprehend, is my god."

We are explaining more every day. We are understanding more every day;

consequently your God is growing smaller every day.

Nothing daunted, the religionist then insists that nothing can exist

without a cause, except cause, and that this uncaused cause is God.

To this we again replied: Every cause must produce an effect, because

until it does produce an effect, it is not a cause. Every effect must

in its turn become a cause. Therefore, in the nature of things, there

cannot be a last cause, for the reason that a so-called last cause

would necessarily produce an effect, and that effect must of necessity

become a cause. The converse of these propositions must be true.

Every effect must have had a cause, and every cause must have been an

effect. Therefore, there could have been no first cause. A first cause

is just as impossible as a last effect.

Beyond the universe there is nothing, and within the universe the

supernatural does not and cannot exist.

The moment these great truths are understood and admitted, a belief in

general or special providence becomes impossible. From that instant

men will cease their vain efforts to please an imaginary being, and

will give their time and attention to the affairs of this world. They

will abandon the idea of attaining any object by prayer and

supplication. The element of uncertainty will, in a great measure, be

removed from the domain of the future, and man, gathering courage from

a succession of victories over the obstructions of nature, will attain

a serene grandeur unknown to the disciples of any superstition. The

plans of mankind will no longer be interfered with by the finger of a

supposed omnipotence, and no one will believe that nations or

individuals are protected or destroyed by any deity whatever. Science,

freed from the chains of pious custom and evangelical prejudice, will,

within her sphere, be supreme. The mind will investigate without

reverence and publish its conclusions without fear. Agassiz will no

longer hesitate to declare the Mosaic cosmogony utterly inconsistent

with the demonstrated truths of geology, and will cease pretending any

reverence for the Jewish scriptures. The moment science succeeds in

rendering the church powerless for evil, the real thinkers will be

outspoken. The little flags of truce carried by timid philosophers

will disappear, and the cowardly parley will give place to victory

lasting and universal.

If we admit that some infinite being has controlled the destinies of

persons and people, history becomes a most cruel and bloody farce. Age

after age, the strong have trampled upon the weak; the crafty and

heartless have ensnared and enslaved the simple and innocent, and

nowhere, in all the annals of mankind, has any god succored the

oppressed.

Man should cease to expect aid from on high. By this time he should

know that heaven has no ear to hear, and no hand to help. The present

is the necessary child of all the past. There has been no chance, and

there can be no interference.

If abuses are destroyed, man must destroy them. If slaves are freed,

man must free them. If new truths are discovered, man must discover

them. If the naked are clothed; if the hungry are fed; if justice is

done; if labor is rewarded; if superstition is driven from the mind, if

the defenseless are protected, and if the right finally triumphs, all

must be the work of man. The grand victories of the future must be won

by man, and by man alone.

Nature, so far as we can discern, without passion and without

intention, forms, transforms, and retransforms forever. She neither

weeps nor rejoices. She produces man without purpose, and obliterates

him without regret. She knows no distinction between the beneficial

and the hurtful. Poison and nutrition, pain and joy, life and death,

smiles and tears are alike to her. She is neither merciful nor cruel.

She cannot be flattered by worship nor melted by tears. She does not

know even the attitude of prayer. She appreciates no difference between

poison in the fangs of snakes and mercy in the hearts of men. Only

through man does nature take cognizance of the good, the true, and the

beautiful; and, so far as we know, man is the highest intelligence.

And yet man continues to believe that there is some power independent

of and superior to nature, and still endeavors, by form, ceremony,

supplication, hypocrisy, to obtain its aid. His best energies have

been wasted in the service of this phantom. The horrors of witchcraft

were all born of an ignorant belief in the existence of a totally

depraved being superior to nature, acting in perfect independence of

her laws; and all religious superstition has had for its basis a belief

in at least two beings, one good and the other bad, both of whom could

arbitrarily change the order of the universe. The history of religion

is simply the story of man's efforts in all ages to avoid one of these

powers and to pacify the other. Both powers have inspired little else

than abject fear. The cold, calculating sneer of the devil, and the

frown of God, were equally terrible. In any event, man's fate was to

be arbitrarily fixed forever by an unknown power superior to all law,

and to all fact. Until this belief is thrown aside, man must consider

himself the slave of phantom masters--neither of whom promise liberty

in this world nor in the next.

Man must learn to rely upon himself. Reading bibles will not protect

him from the blasts of winter, but houses, fires, and clothing will.

To prevent famine, one plow is worth a million sermons, and even patent

medicines will cure more diseases than all the prayers uttered since

the beginning of the world.

Although many eminent men have endeavored to harmonize necessity and

free will, the existence of evil, and the infinite power and goodness

of God, they have succeeded only in producing learned and ingenious

failures. Immense efforts have been made to reconcile ideas utterly

inconsistent with the facts by which we are surrounded, and all persons

who have failed to perceive the pretended reconciliation, have been

denounced as infidels, atheists and scoffers. The whole power of the

church has been brought to bear against philosophers and scientists in

order to compel a denial of the authority of demonstration,--and to

induce some Judas to betray Reason, one of the saviors of mankind.

During that frightful period known as the "Dark Ages," Faith reigned,

with scarcely rebellious subject. Her temples were "carpeted with

knees," and the wealth of nations adorned her countless shrines. The

great painters prostituted their genius to immortalize her vagaries,

while the poets enshrined them in song. At her bidding, man covered the

earth with blood. The scales of justice were turned with gold, and for

her use were invented all the cunning instruments of pain. She built

cathedrals for God, and dungeons for men. She peopled the clouds with

angels and the earth with slaves. For centuries the world was

retracing its steps--going steadily back toward, barbaric night! A few

infidels--a few heretics cried, "Halt!" to the great rabble of ignorant

devotion, and made it possible for the genius of the nineteenth century

to revolutionize the cruel creeds and superstitions of mankind.

The thoughts of man, in order to be of any real worth, must be free.

Under the influence of fear the brain is paralyzed, and instead of

bravely solving a problem for itself, tremblingly adopts the solution

of another. As long as a majority of men will cringe to the very earth

before some petty prince or king, what must be the infinite abjectness

of their little souls in the presence of their supposed creator and

God? Under such circumstances, what can their thoughts be worth?

The originality of repetition, and the mental vigor of acquiescence,

are all that we have any right to expect from the Christian world. As

long as every question is answered by the word "God," scientific

inquiry is simply impossible. As fast as phenomena are satisfactorily

explained the domain of the power, supposed to be superior to nature

must decrease, while the horizon of the known must as constantly

continue to enlarge.

It is no longer satisfactory to account for the fall and rise of

nations by saying, "It is the will of God." Such an explanation puts

ignorance and education upon exact equality, and does away with the

idea of really accounting for anything whatever.

Will the religionist pretend that the real end of science is to

ascertain how and why God acts? Science, from such a standpoint, would

consist in investigating the law of arbitrary action, and in a grand

endeavor to ascertain the rule necessarily obeyed by infinite caprice.

From a philosophical point of view, science is knowledge of the laws of

life; of the condition of happiness; of the facts by which we are

surrounded, and the relations we sustain to men and things--by means of

which man, so to speak, subjugates nature and bends the elemental

powers to his will, making blind force the servant of his brain.

A belief in special providence does away with the spirit of

investigation, and is inconsistent with personal efforts. Why should

man endeavor to thwart the designs of God? "Which of you, with taking

thought, can add to his stature one cubit?" Under the influence of

this belief, man, basking in the sunshine of a delusion, considers the

lilies of the field and refuses to take any thought for the morrow.

Believing himself in the power of an infinite being, who can, at any

moment, dash him to the lowest hell or raise him to the highest heaven,

he necessarily abandons the idea of accomplishing anything by his own

efforts. So long as this belief was general, the world was filled with

ignorance, superstition and misery. The energies of man were wasted in

a vain effort to obtain the aid of this power, supposed to be superior

to nature. For countless ages, even men were sacrificed upon the altar

of this impossible god. To please him, mothers have shed the blood of

their own babies; martyrs have chanted triumphant songs in the midst of

flames; priests have gorged themselves with blood; nuns have forsworn

the ecstasies of love; old men have tremblingly implored; women have

sobbed and entreated; every pain has been endured, and every horror has

been perpetrated.

Through the dim long years that have fled, humanity has suffered more

than can be conceived. Most of the misery has been endured by the

weak, the loving and the innocent. Women have been treated like

poisonous beasts, and little children trampled upon as though they had

been vermin. Numberless altars have been reddened, even with the blood

of babies; beautiful girls have been given to slimy serpents; whole

races of men doomed to centuries of slavery, everywhere there has been

outrage beyond the power of genius to express. During all these years

the suffering have supplicated; the withered lips of famine have

prayed; the pale victims have implored, and heaven has been deaf and

blind.

Of what use have the gods been to man?

It is no answer to say that some god created the world, established

certain laws, and then turned his attention to other matters, leaving

his children, weak, ignorant and unaided, to fight the battle of life

alone. It is no solution to declare that in some other world this god

will render a few or even all of his subjects happy. What right have

we to expect that a perfectly wise, good and powerful being will ever

do better than he has done, and is doing? The world is filled with

imperfections. If it was made by an infinite being, what reason have

we for saying that he will render it nearer perfect than it now is? If

the infinite Father allows a majority of his children to live in

ignorance and wretchedness now, what evidence is there that he will

ever improve their condition? Will god have more power? Will he

become more merciful? Will his love for his poor creatures increase?

Can the conduct of infinite wisdom, power and love ever change? Is the

infinite capable of any improvement whatever.

We are informed by the clergy that this world is a kind of school; that

the evils by which we are surrounded are for the purpose of developing

our souls, and that only by suffering can men become pure, strong,

virtuous and grand.

Supposing this to be true, what is to become of those who die in

infancy? The little children, according to this philosophy, can never

be developed. They were so unfortunate as to escape the ennobling

influences of pain and misery, and as a consequence, are doomed to an

eternity of mental inferiority. If the clergy are right on this

question, none are so unfortunate as the happy, and we should envy only

the suffering and distressed. If evil is necessary to the development

of man, in this life, how is it possible for the soul to improve in the

perfect joy of paradise?

Since Paley found his watch, the argument of "design" has been relied

upon as unanswerable. The Church teaches that this world, and all that

it contains, were created substantially as we now see them, that the

grasses, the flowers, the trees, and all animals, including man, were

special creations, and that they sustain no necessary relation to each

other. The most orthodox will admit that some earth has been washed

into the sea, that the sea has encroached a little upon the land, and

that some mountains may be a trifle lower than in the morning of

creation. The theory of gradual development was unknown to our

fathers; the idea of evolution did not occur to them. Our fathers

looked upon the then arrangement of things as the primal arrangement.

The earth appeared to them fresh from the hands of a deity. They knew

nothing of the slow evolutions of countless years, but supposed that

the almost infinite variety of vegetable and animal forms had existed

from the first.

Suppose that upon some island we should find a man a million years of

age, and suppose that we should find him in the possession of a most

beautiful carriage, constructed upon the most perfect model. And

suppose further, that he should tell us that it was the result of

several hundred thousand years of labor and of thought; that for fifty

thousand years he used as flat a log as he could find, before it

occurred to him that by splitting the log he could have the same

surface with only half the weight; that it took him many thousand years

to invent wheels for this log; that the wheels he first used were

solid, and that fifty thousand years of thought suggested the use of

spokes and tire; that for many centuries he used the wheels without

linch-pins: that it took a hundred thousand years more to think of

using four wheels, instead of two; that for ages he walked behind the

carriage, when going down hill, in order to hold it back, and that only

by a lucky chance he invented the tongue; would we conclude that this

man, from the very first, had been an infinitely ingenious and perfect

mechanic? Suppose we found him living in an elegant mansion, and he

should inform us that he lived in that house for five hundred thousand

years before he thought of putting on a roof, and that he had but

recently invented windows and doors; would we say that from the

beginning he had been an infinite accomplished and scientific architect.

Does not an improvement in the things created, show the corresponding

improvement in the creator?

Would an infinitely wise, good and powerful God, intending to produce

man, commence with the lowest possible forms of life; with the simplest

organism that can be imagined, and during immeasurable periods of time,

slowly and almost imperceptibly improve upon the rude beginning, until

man was evolved? Would countless ages thus be wasted in the production

of awkward forms, afterward abandoned? Can the intelligence of man

discover the least wisdom in covering the earth with crawling, creeping

horrors, that live only upon the agonies and pangs of others? Can we

see the propriety of so constructing the earth, that only an

insignificant portion of its surface is capable of producing an

intelligent man? Who can appreciate the mercy of so making the world

that all animals devour animals? so that every mouth is a

slaughter-house, and every stomach a tomb? Is it possible to discover

infinite intelligence and love in universal and eternal carnage?

What would we think of a father, who should give a farm to his

children, and before giving them possession should plant upon it

thousands of deadly shrubs and vines; should stock it with ferocious

beasts; and poisonous reptiles; should take pains to put a few swamps

in the neighborhood to breed malaria; should so arrange matters, that

the ground would occasionally open and swallow a few of his darlings,

and besides all this, should establish a few volcanoes in the immediate

vicinity, that might at any moment overwhelm his children with rivers

of fire? Suppose that this father neglected to tell his children which

of the plants were deadly; that the reptiles were poisonous; failed to

say anything about the earthquakes, and kept the volcano business a

profound secret; would we pronounce him angel or fiend?

And yet this is exactly what the orthodox God has done.

According to the theologians, God prepared this globe expressly for the

habitation of his loved children, and yet he filled the forests with

ferocious beasts; placed serpents in every path; stuffed the world with

earthquakes, and adorned its surface with mountains of flame.

Notwithstanding all this, we are told that the world is perfect; that

it was created by a perfect being, and is therefore necessarily

perfect. The next moment, these same persons will tell us that the

world was cursed; covered with brambles, thistles and thorns, and that

man was doomed to disease and death, simply because our poor, dear

mother ate an apple contrary to the command of an arbitrary God.

A very pious friend of mine, having heard that I had said the world was

full of imperfections, asked me if the report was true. Upon being

informed that it was, he expressed great surprise that any one could be

guilty of such presumption. He said that, in his judgment, it was

impossible to point out an imperfection. "Be kind enough," said he,

"to name even one improvement that you could make, if you had the

power." "Well," said I, "I would make good health catching, instead of

disease."

The truth is, it is impossible to harmonize all the ills, and pains,

and agonies of this world with the idea that we were created by, and

are watched over and protected by an infinitely wise, powerful and

beneficent God, who is superior to and independent of nature.

The clergy, however, balance all the real ills of this life with the

expected joys of the next. We are assured that all is perfection in

heaven--there the skies are cloudless--there all is serenity and peace.

Here empires may be overthrown; dynasties may be extinguished in blood;

millions of slaves may toil 'neath the fierce rays of the sun, and the

cruel strokes of the lash; yet all is happiness in heaven. Pestilence

may strew the earth with corpses of the loved; the survivors may bend

above them in agony--yet the placid bosom of heaven is unruffled.

Children may expire vainly asking for bread; babies may be devoured by

serpents, while the gods sit smiling in the clouds. The innocent may

languish unto death in the obscurity of dungeons; brave men and heroic

women may be changed to ashes at the bigot's stake, while heaven is

filled with song and joy. Out on the wide sea, in darkness and in

storm, the shipwrecked struggle with the cruel waves, while the angels

play upon their golden harps. The streets of the world are filled with

the diseased, the deformed and the helpless; the chambers of pain are

crowded with the pale forms of the suffering, while the angels float

and fly in the happy realms of day. In heaven they are too happy to

have sympathy; too busy singing to aid the imploring and distressed.

Their eyes are blinded; their ears are stopped and their hearts are

turned to stone by the infinite selfishness of joy. The saved mariner

is too happy when he touches the shore to give a moment's thought to

his drowning brothers. With the indifference of happiness, with the

contempt of bliss, heaven barely glances at the miseries of earth.

Cities are devoured by the rushing lava; the earth opens and thousands

perish; women raise their clasped hands towards heaven, but the gods

are too happy to aid their children. The smiles of the deities are

unacquainted with the tears of men. The shouts of heaven drown the

sobs of earth.

Having shown how man created gods, and how he became the trembling

slave of his own creation, the questions naturally arise: How did he

free himself even a little, from these monarchs of the sky, from these

despots of the clouds, from this aristocracy of the air? How did he,

even to the extent that he has, outgrow his ignorant, abject terror,

and throw off, the yoke of superstition?

Probably, the first thing that tended to disabuse his mind was the

discovery of order, of regularity, of periodicity in the universe. From

this he began to suspect that everything did not happen purely with

reference to him. He noticed, that whatever he might do, the motions

of the planets were always the same; that eclipses were periodical, and

that even comets came at certain intervals. This convinced him that

eclipses and comets had nothing to do with him, and that his conduct

had nothing to do with them. He perceived that they were not caused

for his benefit or injury. He thus learned to regard them with

admiration instead of fear. He began to suspect that famine was not

sent by some enraged and revengeful deity but resulted often from the

neglect and ignorance of man. He learned that diseases were not

produced by evil spirits. He found that sickness was occasioned by

natural causes, and would be cured by natural means. He demonstrated,

to his own satisfaction at least, that prayer is not a medicine. He

found by sad experience that his gods were of no practical use, as they

never assisted him, except when he was perfectly able to help himself.

At last, he began to discover that his individual action had nothing

whatever to do with strange appearances in the heavens; that it was

impossible for him to be bad enough to cause a whirlwind, or good

enough to stop one. After many centuries of thought, he about half

concluded that making mouths at a priest would not necessarily cause an

earthquake. He noticed, and no doubt with considerable astonishment,

that very good men were occasionally struck by lightning, while very

bad ones escaped. He was frequently forced to the painful conclusion

(and it is the most painful to which any human being ever was forced)

that the right did not always prevail. He noticed that the gods did not

interfere in behalf of the weak and innocent. He was now and then

astonished by seeing an unbeliever in the enjoyment of most excellent

health. He finally ascertained that there could be no possible

connection between an unusually severe winter and his failure to give

sheep to a priest. He began to suspect that the order of the universe

was not constantly being changed to assist him because he repeated a

creed. He observed that some children would steal after having been

regularly baptized. He noticed a vast difference between religions and

justice, and that the worshipers of the same God took delight in

cutting each other's throats. He saw that these religious disputes

filled the world with hatred and slavery. At last he had the courage

to suspect, that no God at any time interferes with the order of

events. He learned a few facts, and these facts positively refused to

harmonize with the ignorant superstitions of his fathers. Finding his

sacred books incorrect and false in some particulars, his faith in

their authenticity began to be shaken; finding his priests ignorant on

some points, he began to lose respect for the cloth. This was the

commencement of intellectual freedom.

The civilization of man has increased just to the same extent that

religious power has decreased. The intellectual advancement of man

depends upon how often he can exchange an old superstition for a new

truth. The Church never enabled a human being to make even one of

these exchanges; on the contrary, all her power has been used to

prevent them. In spite, however, of the Church, man found that some of

his religious conceptions were wrong. By reading his bible, he found

that the ideas of his God were more cruel and brutal than those of the

most depraved savage. He also discovered that this holy book was

filled with ignorance, and that it must have been written by persons

wholly unacquainted with the nature of the phenomena by which we are

surrounded; and now and then, some man had the goodness and courage to

speak his honest thoughts. In every age some thinker, some doubter,

some investigator, some hater of hypocrisy, some despiser of sham, some

brave lover of the right, has gladly, proudly and heroically braved the

ignorant fury of superstition for the sake of man and truth. These

divine men were generally torn in pieces by the worshipers of the gods.

Socrates was poisoned because he lacked reverence for some of the

deities. Christ was crucified by the religious rabble for the crime of

blasphemy. Nothing is more gratifying to a religionist than to destroy

his enemies at the command of God. Religious persecution springs from

a due admixture of love towards God and hatred towards man.

The terrible religious wars that inundated the world with blood tended

at least to bring all religion into disgrace and hatred. Thoughtful

people began to question the divine origin of a religion that made its

believers hold the rights of others in absolute contempt. A few began

to compare Christianity with the religions of heathen people, and were

forced to admit that the difference was hardly worth dying for. They

also found that other nations were even happier and more prosperous

than their own. They began to suspect, that their religion, after all,

was not of much real value.

For three hundred years the Christian world endeavored to rescue from

the "Infidel" the empty sepulchre of Christ. For three hundred years

the armies of the cross were baffled and beaten by the victorious hosts

of an impudent impostor. This immense fact sowed the seeds of distrust

throughout all Christendom, and millions began to lose confidence in a

God who had been vanquished by Mohammed. The people also found that

commerce made friends where religion made enemies, and that religious

zeal was utterly incompatible with peace between nations or

individuals. The discovered that those who loved the gods most were apt

to love men least; that the arrogance of universal forgiveness was

amazing; that the most malicious had the effrontery to pray for their

enemies, and that humility and tyranny were the fruit of the same tree.

For ages, a deadly conflict has been waged between a few brave men and

women of thought and genius upon the one side, and the great ignorant

religious mass on the other. This is the war between Science and

Faith. The few have appealed to reason, to honor, to law, to freedom,

to the known, and to happiness here in this world. The many have

appealed to prejudice, to fear, to miracle, to slavery, to the unknown,

and to misery hereafter. The few have said, "Think!" The many have

said, "Believe!"

The first doubt was the womb and cradle of progress, and from the first

doubt, man has continued to advance. Men began to investigate, and the

church began to oppose. The astronomer scanned the heavens, while the

church branded his grand forehead with the word, "Infidel"; and now,

not a glittering star in all the vast expanse bears a Christian name.

In spite of all religion, the geologist penetrated the earth, read her

history in books of stone, and found hidden within her bosom, souvenirs

of all the ages. Old ideas perished in the retort of the chemist,

useful truths took their places. One by one religious conceptions have

been placed in the crucible of science, and thus far, nothing but dross

has been found. A new world has been discovered by the microscope;

everywhere has been found the infinite; in every direction man has

investigated and explored, and nowhere, in earth or stars, has been

found the footstep of any being superior to or independent of nature.

Nowhere has been discovered the slightest evidence of any interference

from without. These are the sublime truths that enable man to throw

off the yoke of superstition. These are the splendid facts that

snatched the sceptre of authority from the hands of priests.

In the vast cemetery called the past are most of the religions of men,

and there, too, are nearly all their gods. The sacred temples of India

were ruins long ago. Over column and cornice; over the painted and

pictured walls, cling and creep the trailing vines. Brahma, the golden,

with four heads and four arms; Vishnu, the sombre, the punisher of the

wicked, with his three eyes, his crescent, and his necklace of skulls;

Siva, the destroyer, red with seas of blood; Kali, the goddess;

Draupadi, the white-armed, and Chrishna, the Christ, all passed away

and left the thrones of heaven desolate. Along the banks of the sacred

Nile, Isis no longer wandering weeps, searching for the dead Osiris.

The shadow of Typhon's scowl falls no more upon the waves. The sun

rises as of yore, and his golden beams still smite the lips of Memnon,

but Memnon is as voiceless as the Sphinx. The sacred fanes are lost in

desert sands; the dusty mummies are still waiting for the resurrection

promised by their priests, and the old beliefs, wrought in curiously

sculptured stone, sleep in the mystery of a language lost and dead.

Odin, the author of life and soul, Vili and Ve, and the mighty giant

Ymir, strode long ago from the icy halls of the North; and Thor, with

iron glove and glittering hammer, dashes mountains to the earth no

more. Broken are the circles and cromlechs of the ancient Druids;

fallen upon the summits of the hills, and covered with the centuries'

moss, are the sacred cairns. The divine fires of Persia and of the

Aztecs, have died out in the ashes of the past, and there is none to

rekindle, and none to feed the holy flames. The harp of Orpheus is

still; the drained cup of Bacchus has been thrown aside; Venus lies

dead in stone, and her white bosom heaves no more with love. The

streams still murmur, but no naiads bathe; the trees still wave, but in

the forest aisles no dryads dance. The gods have flown from high

Olympus. Not even the beautiful women can lure them back, and Danee

lies unnoticed, naked to the stars. Hushed forever are the thunders of

Sinai; lost are the voices of the prophets, and the land once flowing

with milk and honey is but a desert and waste.

One by one, the myths have faded from the clouds; one by one, the

phantom host has disappeared, and one by one facts, truths and

realities have taken their places. The supernatural has almost gone,

but the natural remains. The gods have fled, but man is here.

Nations, like individuals, have their periods of youth, of manhood and

decay. Religions are the same. The same inexorable destiny awaits

them all. The gods created by the nations must perish with their

creators. They were created by men, and like men, they must pass away.

The deities of one age are the by-words of the next. The religion of

one day and country, is no more exempt from the sneer of the future

than others have been. When India was supreme, Brahma sat upon the

world's throne. When the scepter passed to Egypt, Isis and Osiris

received the homage of mankind. Greece, with her fierce valor, swept

to empire, and Zeus put on the purple of authority. The earth trembled

with the tread of Rome's intrepid sons, and Jove grasped with mailed

hand the thunderbolts of heaven. Rome fell, and Christians from her

territory, with the red sword of war, carved out the ruling nations of

the world, and now Christ sits upon the old throne. Who will be his

successor?

Day by day, religious conceptions grow less and less intense. Day by

day, the old spirit dies out of book and creed. The burning

enthusiasm, the quenchless zeal of the early church have gone, never,

never to return. The ceremonies remain, but the ancient faith is

fading out of the human heart. The worn out arguments fail to

convince, and denunciations that once blanched the faces of a race,

excite in us only derision and disgust. As time rolls on, the miracles

grow mean and small, and the evidences our fathers thought conclusive

utterly fail to satisfy us. There is an "irrepressible conflict"

between religion and science, and they cannot peaceably occupy the same

brain nor the same world.

While utterly discarding all creeds, and denying the truth of all

religions, there is neither in my heart nor upon my lips a sneer for

the hopeful, loving and tender souls who believe that from all this

discord will result a perfect harmony; that every evil will in some

mysterious way become a good, and that above and over all there is a

being who, in some way, will reclaim and glorify everyone of the

children of men; but for those who heartlessly try to prove that

salvation is almost impossible; that damnation is almost certain; that

the highway of the universe leads to hell; who fill life with fear and

death with horror; who curse the cradle and mock the tomb, it is

impossible to entertain other than feelings of pity, contempt and scorn.

Reason, Observation and Experience--the Holy Trinity of Science--have

taught us that happiness is the only good; that the time to be happy is

now, and the way to be happy is to make others so. This is enough for

us. In this belief we are content to live and die. If by any

possibility the existence of a power superior to, and independent of,

nature shall be demonstrated, there will then be time enough to kneel.

Until then, let us stand erect.

Notwithstanding the fact that infidels in all ages have battled for the

rights of man, and have at all times been the fearless advocates of

liberty and justice, we are constantly charged by the Church with

tearing down without building again. The Church should by this time

know that it is utterly impossible to rob men of their opinions. The

history of religious persecutions fully establishes the fact that the

mind necessarily resists and defies every attempt to control it by

violence. The mind necessarily clings to old ideas until prepared for

the new. The moment we comprehend the truth, all erroneous ideas are

of necessity cast aside.

A surgeon once called upon a poor cripple and kindly offered to render

him any assistance in his power. The surgeon began to discourse very

learnedly upon the nature and origin of disease; of the curative

properties of certain medicines; of the advantages of exercise, air and

light, and of the various ways in which health and strength could be

restored. These remarks were so full of good sense, and discovered so

much profound thought and accurate knowledge, that the cripple,

becoming thoroughly alarmed, cried out, "Do not, I pray you, take away

my crutches. They are my only support, and without them, I should be

miserable, indeed." "I am not going," said the surgeon, "to take away

your crutches. I am going to cure you, and then you will throw the

crutches away yourself."

For the vagaries of the clouds, the infidels propose to substitute the

realities of the earth; for superstition, the splendid demonstrations

and achievements of science; and for the theological tyranny, the

chainless liberty of thought.

We do not say we have discovered all; that our doctrines are the all in

all in truth. We know of no end to the development of man. We cannot

unravel the infinite complications of matter and force. The history of

one monad is as unknown as that of the universe; one drop of water is

as wonderful as all the seas; one leaf, as all the forests; and one

grain of sand, as all the stars.

We are not endeavoring to chain the future, but to free the present. We

are not forgoing fetters for our children, but we are breaking those

our fathers made for us. We are the advocates of inquiry, of

investigation and thought. This of itself, is an admission that we are

not perfectly satisfied with all our conclusions. Philosophy has not

the egotism of faith. While superstition builds walls and creates

obstructions, science opens all the highways of thought. We do not

pretend to have circumnavigated everything, and to have solved all

difficulties, but we do believe that it is better to love men than to

fear gods, that it is grander and nobler to think and investigate for

yourself than to repeat a creed. We are satisfied that there can be

but little liberty on earth while men worship a tyrant in heaven. We

do not expect to accomplish everything in our day; but we want to do

what good we can, and to render all the service possible in the holy

cause of human progress. We know that doing away with gods and

supernatural persons and powers is not an end. It is a means to an

end; the real end being the happiness of man.

Felling forests is not the end of agriculture. Driving pirates from

the sea is not all there is of commerce.

We are laying the foundations of a grand temple of the future--not the

temple of all the gods, but of all the people--wherein, with

appropriate rites, will be celebrated the religion of Humanity. We are

doing what little we can to hasten the coming of the day when society

shall cease producing millionaires and mendicants--gorged indolence and

famished industry--truth in rags, and superstition robed and crowned.

We are looking for the time when the useful shall be the honorable; and

when REASON, throned upon the world's brain, shall be the King of

Kings, and God of Gods.

Lectures of Col. R. G. Ingersoll, Volume I Including His Answers to the Clergy, His Oration at His Brother's Grave, Etc., Etc. · 第 5 / 33 题