MANY ages ago our fathers were living in dens and caves. Their bodies,
their low foreheads, were covered with hair. They were eating berries,
roots, bark and vermin. They were fond of snakes and raw fish. They
discovered fire and, probably by accident, learned how to cause it by
friction. They found how to warm themselves--to fight the frost and
storm. They fashioned clubs and rude weapons of stone with which they
killed the larger beasts and now and then each other. Slowly, painfully,
almost imperceptibly they advanced. They crawled and stumbled, staggered
and struggled toward the light. To them the world was unknown. On every
hand was the mysterious, the sinister, the hurtful. The forests were
filled with monsters, and the darkness was crowded with ghosts, devils,
and fiendish gods.
These poor wretches were the slaves of fear, the sport of dreams.
Now and then, one rose a little above his fellows--used his senses--the
little reason that he had--found something new--some better way. Then
the people killed him and afterward knelt with reverence at his grave.
Then another thinker gave his thought--was murdered--another tomb became
sacred--another step was taken in advance. And so through countless
years of ignorance and cruelty--of thought and crime--of murder and
worship, of heroism, suffering, and self-denial, the race has reached
the heights where now we stand.
Looking back over the long and devious roads that lie between the
barbarism of the past and the civilization of to-day, thinking of the
centuries that rolled like waves between these distant shores, we
can form some idea of what our fathers suffered--of the mistakes they
made--some idea of their ignorance, their stupidity--and some idea of
their sense, their goodness, their heroism.
It is a long road from the savage to the scientist--from a den to
a mansion--from leaves to clothes--from a flickering rush to the
arc-light--from a hammer of stone to the modern mill--a long distance
from the pipe of Pan to the violin--to the orchestra--from a floating
log to the steamship--from a sickle to a reaper--from a flail to a
threshing machine---from a crooked stick to a plow--from a spinning
wheel to a spinning jenny--from a hand loom to a Jacquard--a Jacquard
that weaves fair forms and wondrous flowers beyond Arachne's utmost
dream--from a few hieroglyphics on the skins of beasts--on bricks
of clay--to a printing press, to a library--a long distance from the
messenger, traveling on foot, to the electric spark--from knives
and tools of stone to those of steel--a long distance from sand to
telescopes--from echo to the phonograph, the phonograph that buries in
indented lines and dots the sounds of living speech, and then gives
back to life the very words and voices of the dead--a long way from the
trumpet to the telephone, the telephone that transports speech as swift
as thought and drops the words, perfect as minted coins, in listening
ears--a long way from a fallen tree to the suspension bridge--from
the dried sinews of beasts to the cables of steel--from the oar to
the propeller--from the sling to the rifle--from the catapult to the
cannon--a long distance from revenge to law--from the club to the
Legislature--from slavery to freedom--from appearance to fact--from fear
to reason.
And yet the distance has been traveled by the human race. Countless
obstructions have been overcome--numberless enemies have been
conquered--thousands and thousands of victories have been won for the
right, and millions have lived, labored and died for their fellow-men.
For the blessings we enjoy--for the happiness that is ours, we ought to
be grateful. Our hearts should blossom with thankfulness.
Whom, what, should we thank?
Let us be honest--generous.
Should we thank the church?
Christianity has controlled Christendom for at least fifteen hundred
years.
During these centuries what have the orthodox churches accomplished, for
the good of man?
In this life man needs raiment and roof, food and fuel. He must be
protected from heat and cold, from snow and storm. He must take thought
for the morrow. In the summer of youth he must prepare for the winter of
age. He must know something of the causes of disease--of the conditions
of health. If possible he must conquer pain, increase happiness and
lengthen life. He must supply the wants of the body--and feed the hunger
of the mind.
What good has the church done?
Has it taught men to cultivate the earth? to build homes? to weave cloth
to cure or prevent disease? to build ships, to navigate the seas? to
conquer pain, or to lengthen life?
Did Christ or any of his apostles add to the sum of useful knowledge?
Did they say one word in favor of any science, of any art? Did they
teach their fellow-men how to make a living, how to overcome the
obstructions of nature, how to prevent sickness--how to protect
themselves from pain, from famine, from misery and rags?
Did they explain any of the phenomena of nature? any of the facts
that affect the life of man? Did they say anything in favor of
investigation--of study--of thought? Did they teach the gospel of
self-reliance, of industry--of honest effort? Can any farmer, mechanic,
or scientist find in the New Testament one useful fact? Is there
anything in the sacred book that can help the geologist, the astronomer,
the biologist, the physician, the inventor--the manufacturer of any
useful thing?
What has the church done?
From the very first it taught the vanity--the worthlessness of all
earthly things. It taught the wickedness of wealth, the blessedness of
poverty. It taught that the business of this life was to prepare
for death. It insisted that a certain belief was necessary to insure
salvation, and that all who failed to believe, or doubted in the least
would suffer eternal pain. According to the church the natural desires,
ambitions and passions of man were all wicked and depraved.
To love God, to practice self-denial, to overcome desire, to despise
wealth, to hate prosperity, to desert wife and children, to live on
roots and berries, to repeat prayers, to wear rags, to live in filth,
and drive love from the heart--these, for centuries, were the highest
and most perfect virtues, and those who practiced them were saints.
The saints did not assist their fellow-men. Their fellow-men
assisted them. They did not labor for others. They were
beggars--parasites--vermin. They were insane. They followed the
teachings of Christ. They took no thought for the morrow. They mutilated
their bodies--scarred their flesh and destroyed their minds for the
sake of happiness in another world. During the journey of life they
kept their eyes on the grave. They gathered no flowers by the way--they
walked in the dust of the road--avoided the green fields. Their moans
made all the music they wished to hear. The babble of brooks, the songs
of birds, the laughter of children, were nothing to them. Pleasure was
the child of sin, and the happy needed a change of heart. They
were sinless and miserable--but they had faith--they were pious and
wretched--but they were limping towards heaven.
What has the church done?
It has denounced pride and luxury--all things that adorn and enrich
life--all the pleasures of sense--the ecstasies of love--the happiness
of the hearth--the clasp and kiss of wife and child.
And the church has done this because it regarded this life as a period
of probation--a time to prepare--to become spiritual--to overcome
the natural--to fix the affections on the invisible--to become
passionless--to subdue the flesh--to congeal the blood--to fold the
wings of fancy--to become dead to the world--so that when you appeared
before God you would be the exact opposite of what he made you.
What has the church done?
It pretended to have a revelation from God. It knew the road to eternal
joy, the way to death. It preached salvation by faith, and declared that
only orthodox believers could become angels, and all doubters would be
damned. It knew this, and so knowing it became the enemy of discussion,
of investigation, of thought. Why investigate, why discuss, why think
when you know? It sought to enslave the world. It appealed to force.
It unsheathed the sword, lighted the fagot, forged the chain, built
the dungeon, erected the scaffold, invented and used the instruments
of torture. It branded, maimed and mutilated--it imprisoned and
tortured--it blinded and burned, hanged and crucified, and utterly
destroyed millions and millions of human beings. It touched every nerve
of the body--produced every pain that can be felt, every agony that can
be endured.
And it did all this to preserve what it called the truth--to destroy
heresy and doubt, and to save, if possible, the souls of a few. It was
honest. It was necessary to prevent the development of the brain--to
arrest all progress--and to do this the church used all its power. If
men were allowed to think and express their thoughts they would fill
their minds and the minds of others with doubts. If they were allowed to
think they would investigate, and then they might contradict the creed,
dispute the words of priests and defy the church. The priests cried to
the people: "It is for us to talk. It is for you to hear. Our duty is to
preach and yours is to believe."
What has the church done?
There have been thousands of councils and synods--thousands and
thousands of occasions when the clergy have met and discussed and
quarreled--when pope and cardinals, bishops and priests have added to
or explained their creeds--and denied the rights of others. What useful
truth did they discover? What fact did they find? Did they add to
the intellectual wealth of the world? Did they increase the sum of
knowledge?
I admit that they looked over a number of Jewish books and picked out
the ones that Jehovah wrote.
Did they find the medicinal virtue that dwells in any weed or flower?
I know that they decided that the Holy Ghost was not created--not
begotten--but that he proceeded.
Did they teach us the mysteries of the metals and how to purify the ores
in furnace flames?