I answer, No--superstition is not religion. Belief without evidence is
not religion. Faith without facts is not religion.
To love justice, to long for the right, to love mercy, to pity
the suffering, to assist the weak, to forget wrongs and remember
benefits--to love the truth, to be sincere, to utter honest words, to
love liberty, to wage relentless war against slavery in all its forms,
to love wife and child and friend, to make a happy home, to love the
beautiful in art, in nature, to cultivate the mind, to be familiar with
the mighty thoughts that genius has expressed, the noble deeds of all
the world, to cultivate courage and cheerfulness, to make others happy,
to fill life with the splendor of generous acts, the warmth of loving
words, to discard error, to destroy prejudice, to receive new truths
with gladness, to cultivate hope, to see the calm beyond the storm, the
dawn beyond the night, to do the best that can be done and then to be
resigned this is the religion of reason, the creed of science. This
satisfies the brain and heart.
But, says the prejudiced priest, the malicious minister, "You take away
a future life."
I am not trying to destroy another world, but I am endeavoring to
prevent the theologians from destroying this.
If we are immortal it is a fact in nature, and that fact does not depend
on bibles, or Christs, or priests or creeds.
The hope of another life was in the heart, long before the "sacred
books" were written, and will remain there long after all the "sacred
books" are known to be the work of savage and superstitious men. Hope is
the consolation of the world.
The wanderers hope for home.--Hope builds the house and plants the
flowers and fills the air with song.
The sick and suffering hope for health.--Hope gives them health and
paints the roses in their cheeks.
The lonely, the forsaken, hope for love.--Hope brings the lover to their
arms. They feel the kisses on their eager lips.
The poor in tenements and huts, in spite of rags and hunger hope for
wealth.--Hope fills their thin and trembling hands with gold.
The dying hopes that death is but another birth, and Love leans above
the pallid face and whispers, "We shall meet again."
Hope is the consolation of the world.
Let us hope, if there be a God that he is wise and good.
Let us hope that if there be another life it will bring peace and joy to
all the children of men.
And let us hope that this poor earth on which we live, may be a perfect
world--a world without a crime--without a tear.