_Man can form no Conclusion from the Ideas which are offered him of the
Divinity.--Of their want of just Inference.--Of the Inutility of his
Conduct._
It has been already stated, that ideas to be useful, must be founded
upon truth; that experience must at all times demonstrate their justice:
if, therefore, as we have proved, the erroneous ideas which man has in
almost all ages formed to himself of the Divinity, far from being of
utility, are prejudicial to morality, to politics, to the happiness of
society, to the welfare of the individuals who compose it, in short, to
the progress of the human understanding; reason, and our interest, ought
to make us feel the necessity of banishing from our mind these illusive,
futile opinions, which can never do more than confound it--which can
only disturb the tranquillity of our hearts. In vain should we flatter
ourselves with arriving at the correction of theological notions;
erroneous in their principles, they are not susceptible of reform. Under
whatever shape an error presents itself, as soon as man shall attach an
undue importance to it, it will, sooner or later, finish by producing
consequences dangerous in proportion to their extent. Besides, the
inutility of those researches, which in all ages have been made after
the true nature of the Divinity, the notions that have hitherto been
entertained, have done little more than throw it into greater obscurity,
even to those who have most profoundly meditated on the subject; then,
ought not this very inutility to convince us that this subject is not
within the reach of our capacity that this being will not be better
known to us, or by our descendants, than it hath been to our ancestors,
either the most savage or the most ignorant? The object, which of all
others man has at all times reasoned upon the most, written upon the
most, nevertheless remains the least known; far from progressing in his
research, time, with the aid of theological ideas, has only rendered
it more impossible to be conceived. If the Divinity be such as dreaming
theology depicts, he must himself be a Divinity who is competent to form
an idea of him. We know little of man, we hardly know ourselves, or our
own faculties, yet we are disposed to reason upon a being inaccessible
to our senses. Let us, then, travel in peace over the line described for
us by nature, without having a wish to diverge from it, to hunt after
vague systems; let us occupy ourselves with our true happiness; let us
profit of the benefits spread before us; let us labour to multiply them,
by diminishing the number of our errors; let us quietly submit to those
evils we cannot avoid, and not augment them by filling our mind with
prejudices calculated to lead us astray. When we shall give it serious
reflection, every thing will clearly prove that the pretended science of
theology is, in truth, nothing but presumptuous ignorance, masked under
pompous, unintelligible words. In short, let us terminate unfruitful
researches; be content at least to acknowledge our invincible ignorance;
it will clearly be more substantively advantageous, than an arrogant
science, which has hitherto done little more than sow discord on the
earth--affliction in the heart of man.
In supposing a sovereign intelligence who governs the world; in
supposing a Divinity who exacts from his creatures that they should
have a knowledge of him, that they should understand his attributes,
his wisdom, his power; who is desirous they should render him homage; it
must be allowed, that no man on earth in this respect completely fulfils
the views of providence. Indeed, nothing is more demonstrable than the
impossibility in which the theologians find themselves, to form to their
mind any idea whatever of the Divinity. Procopius, the first bishop of
the Goths, says in the most solemn manner: "I esteem it a very foolish
temerity to be disposed to penetrate into the knowledge of the nature of
God;" and further on he acknowledges, "that he has nothing more to say
of him, except that he is perfectly good. He who knoweth more, whether
he be ecclesiastic or layman, has only to tell it." The weakness, the
obscurity of the proofs offered, of the systems attributed to him, the
manifest contradictions into which they fall, the sophisms, the begging
of the question, which are employed, evidently prove they are themselves
in the greatest incertitude upon the nature of that being with whom it
is their profession to occupy their thoughts: even the author of _A
New View of Society_ acknowledges, "that up to this moment it is, not
possible yet to say which is right or which is wrong: that had any one
of the various opposing systems which until this day have governed the
world, and disunited man from man, been true, without any mixture of
error; that system, very speedily after its public promulgation, would
have pervaded society, and compelled all men to have acknowledged its
truth." But granting that they have a knowledge of this being, that
his essence, his attributes, his systems, were so fully demonstrated to
them, as no longer to leave any doubt in their mind, do the rest of the
human race enjoy the same advantages? Are they, in fact, in a condition
to be charged with this knowledge? Ingenuously, how many persons are
to be found in the world, who have the leisure, the capacity, the
penetration, necessary to understand what is meant to be designated
under the name of an immaterial being--of a pure spirit, who moveth
matter without being himself matter; who is the motive of all the powers
of nature, without being contained in nature--without being able to
touch it? Are there, in the most religious societies, many persons who
are competent to follow their spiritual guides, in the subtle proofs
which they adduce in evidence of their creeds, upon which they bottom
their systems of theology?
Without question very few men are capable of profound, connected
meditation; the exercise of intense thought is, for the greater number,
a species of labour as painful as it is unusual. The people, obliged
to toil hard, in order to obtain subsistence, are commonly incapable of
reflection; nobles, men of the world, women, young people, occupied with
their own immediate affairs, taken up with gratifying their passions,
employed in procuring themselves pleasure, as rarely think deeply as the
uninformed. There are not, perhaps, two men in an hundred thousand,
who have seriously asked themselves the question, _What it is they
understand by the word God?_ Whilst it is extremely rare to find persons
to whom the nature of God is a problem. Nevertheless, as we have said,
conviction supposes that evidence alone has banished doubt from the
mind. Where, then, are the web who are convinced of the rectitude
of these systems? Who are those in whom we shall find the complete
certitude of these truths, so important to all? Who are the persons, who
have given themselves an accurate account of the ideas they have
formed upon the Divinity, upon his attributes, upon his essence? Alas!
throughout the whole world, are only to be seen some speculators, who,
by dint of occupying themselves with the idea, have, with great fatuity,
believed they have discovered something decisive in the confused,
unconnected wanderings of their own imagination; they have, in
consequence, endeavoured to form a whole, which, chimerical as it is,
they have accustomed themselves to consider as actually existing: by
force of musing upon it, they have sometimes persuaded themselves they,
saw it distinctly; these have not unfrequently succeeded in making
others believe, their reveries, although they may not have mused upon it
quite so much as themselves.
It is seldom more than hearsay, that the mass of the people adopt
either the systems of their fathers, or of their priests: authority,
confidence, submission, habit, take place of conviction--supersede
proof; they prostrate themselves before idols, lend themselves to
different creeds, because their ancestors have taught them to fall down,
and worship; but never do they inquire wherefore they bend the knee: it
is only because, in times far distant, their legislators, their guides,
have imposed it upon them as a duty; these have said, "adore and believe
those gods, whom ye cannot comprehend; yield yourselves in this
instance to our profound wisdom; we know more than ye do respecting
the Divinity." But wherefore, it might be inquired, should I take this
system upon your authority? It is, they will reply, because the gods
will have it thus; because they will punish you, if you dare to resist.
But are not these gods the thing in question? Nevertheless, man has
always been satisfied with this circle of errors; the idleness of his
mind made him find it most easy to yield to the judgment of others.
All superstitions are uniformly founded upon error, established by
authority; equally forbid examination; are equally indisposed to permit
that man should reason upon them; it is power that wills he should
unconditionally accredit them: they are rested solely upon the influence
of some few men, who pretend to a knowledge of things, which they admit
are incomprehensible for all their species; who, at the same time,
affirm they are sent as missionaries to announce them to the inhabitants
of the earth: these inconceivable systems, formed in the brain of some
enthusiastic persons, have most unquestionably occasion for men to
expound them to their fellows. Man is generally credulous as a child
upon those objects which relate to superstition; he is told he must
believe them; as he generally understands nothing of the matter, he
imagines he runs no risk in joining sentiments with his priest, whom he
supposes has been competent to discover what he himself is not able to
comprehend. The most rational people argue thus: "What shall I do? What
interest can so many persons have to deceive?" But, seriously, does this
prove that they do not deceive? They may do it from two motives: either
because they are themselves deceived, or because they have a great
interest in deceiving. By the confession of the theologians themselves,
man is, for the greater part, without _religion_: he has only
_superstition_. Superstition, according to them, "is a worship of the
Divinity, either badly understood or irrational," or else, "worship
rendered to a false Divinity." But where are the people or the clergy
who will allow, either that their Divinity is false, or their worship
irrational? How shall it be decided who is right, or who is wrong? It
is evident that in this affair great numbers must be wrong. Indeed,
Buddaeus, in his _Treatise on Atheism_, tells us, "in order that a
religion may be true, not only the object of the worship must be true,
but we must also have a just idea of it. He, then, who adoreth God
without knowing him, adoreth him in a perverse and corrupt manner, and
is generally guilty of superstition." This granted, would it not be fair
to demand of the theologians, if they themselves can boast of having a
_just idea_ or real knowledge of the Divinity?
Admit for a moment they have, would it not then be evident, that it is
for the priest, for the inspired, for the metaphysician, that this
idea, which is said to be so necessary for the whole human race, is
exclusively reserved? If we examine, however, we shall not find any
harmony among the theological notions of these various inspired men, or
of that hierarchy which is scattered over the earth: even those who
make a profession of the same system, are not in unison upon the
leading points. Are they ever contented with the proofs offered by their
colleagues? Do they unanimously subscribe to each other's ideas?
Are they agreed upon the conduct to be adopted; upon the manner of
explaining their texts; upon the interpretation of the various oracles?
Does there exist one country upon the whole earth, where the science of
theology is actually perfectioned?--where the ideas of the Divinity are
rendered so clear, as not to admit of cavil? Has this science obtained
any of that steadiness, any of that consistency, any of that uniformity,
which is found attached to other branches of human knowledge; even to
the most futile arts, or to those trades which are most despised?
Has the multitude of subtle distinctions, with which theology in some
countries is filled throughout; have the words spirit, immateriality,
incorporeity, predestination, grace, with other ingenious inventions,
imagined by sublime thinkers, who during so many ages have succeeded
each other, actually had any other effect than to perplex things; to
render the whole obscure; decidedly unintelligible? Alas! do, they not
offer practical demonstration, that the science held forth as the most
necessary to man, has not, hitherto, been able to acquire the least
degree of stability; has remained in the most determined state of
indecision; has entirely failed in obtaining solidity? For thousands of
years the most idle dreamers have been relieving each other, meditating
on systems, diving into concealed ways, inventing hypothesis suitable
to develope this important enigma. Their slender success has not at all
discouraged theological vanity; the priests have always spoken of it as
of a thing with which they were most intimately acquainted; they have
disputed with all the pertinancy of demonstrated argument; they
have destroyed each other with the most savage barbarity; yet,
notwithstanding, to this moment, this sublime science remains entirely
unauthenticated; almost unexamined. Indeed, if things were coolly
contemplated, it would be obvious that these theories are not formed for
the generality of mankind, who for the most part are utterly incompetent
to comprehend the aerial subtilities upon which they rest. Who is the
man, that understandeth any thing of the fundamental principles of
these systems? Whose capacity embraces spirituality, immateriality,
incorporeity, or the mysteries of which he is every day informed? Are
there many persons who can boast of perfectly understanding the state of
the question, in those theological disputations, which have frequently
had the potency to disturb the repose of mankind? Nevertheless, even
women believe themselves obliged to take part in the quarrels excited by
these idle speculators, who are of less actual utility, to society, than
the meanest artizan.
Man would, perhaps, have been too happy, if confining himself to those
visible objects which interest him, he had employed half that energy
which he has wasted in researches after incomprehensible systems, upon
perfectioning the real sciences; in giving consistency to his laws; in
establishing his morals upon solid foundations; in spreading a wholesome
education among his fellows. He would, unquestionably, have been much
wiser, more fortunate, if he had agreed to let his idle, unemployed
guides quarrel among themselves unheeded; if he had permitted them
to fathom those depths calculated to astound the mind, to amaze the
intellect, without intermeddling with their irrational disputes. But it
is the essence of ignorance, to attach great importance to every thing
which it doth not understand. Human vanity makes the mind bear up
against difficulties. The more an object eludes our inquiry, the more
efforts we make to compass it; because from thence our pride is spurred
on, our curiosity is set afloat, our passions are irritated, and it
assumes the character of being highly interesting to us. On the other
hand, the more continued, the more laborious our researches have been,
the more importance we attach to either our real or our pretended
discoveries; the more we are desirous not to have wasted our time;
besides, we are always ready warmly to defend the soundness of our own
judgment. Do not let us then be surprised at the interest that ignorant
persons have at all times taken in the discoveries of their priests; nor
at the obstinate pertinacity which they have ever manifested in their
disputes. Indeed, in combating for his own peculiar system, each only
fought for the interests of his own vanity, which of all human passions
is the most quickly alarmed, the most calculated to lead man on to the
commission of great follies.
Theology is truly the vessel of the Danaides. By dint of contradictory
qualities, by means of bold assertions, it has so shackled its own
systems as to render it impossible they should act. Indeed, when even we
should suppose the existence of these theological systems, the reality
of codes so discordant with each other and with themselves, we can
conclude nothing from them to authorize the conduct, or sanction the
mode of worship which they prescribe. If their gods are infinitely good,
wherefore should we dread them? If they are infinitely wise, what reason
have we to disturb ourselves with our condition? If they are omniscient,
wherefore inform them of our wants, why fatigue them with our requests?
If they are omnipresent, of what use can it be to erect temples to them?
If they are lords of all, why make sacrifices to them; why bring them
offerings of what already belongs to them? If they are just, upon what
foundation believe that they will punish those creatures whom they have
filled with imbecility? If their grace works every thing in man, what
reason can there be why he should be rewarded? If they are omnipotent,
how can they be offended; how can we resist them? If they are rational,
how can the enrage themselves against blind mortals, to whom they have
left the liberty of acting irrationally? If they are immutable, by what
right shall we pretend to make them change their decrees? If they are
inconceivable, wherefore should we occupy ourselves with them? If the
knowledge of these systems be the most necessary thing, wherefore are
they not more evident, more consistent, more manifest?
This granted, he who can undeceive himself on the afflicting notions
of these theories, hath this advantage over the credulous, trembling,
superstitious mortal--that he establishes in his heart a momentary
tranquility, which, at least, rendereth him happy in this life. If the
study of nature hath banished from his mind, those chimeras with which
the superstitions man is infested, he, at least, enjoys a security of
which this sees himself deprived. In consulting this nature, his
fears are dissipated, his opinions, whether true or false, acquire a
steadiness of character; a calm succeeds the storm, which panic terror,
the result of wavering notions, excite in the hearts of all men who
occupy themselves with these systems. If the human soul, cheered by
philosophy, had the boldness to consider things coolly; it would no
longer behold the universe submitted to implacable systems, under which
man is continually trembling. If he was rational, he would perceive that
in committing evil he did not disturb nature; that he either injureth
himself alone, or injures other beings capable of feeling the effects of
his conduct, from thence he would know the line of his duties; he would
prefer virtue to vice, for his own permanent repose: he would, for
his own satisfaction, for his own felicity in this world, find himself
deeply interested in the practice of moral goodness; in rendering
virtue habitual; in making it dear to the feeling of his heart: his
own immediate welfare would be concerned in avoiding vice, in detesting
crime, during the short season of his abode among intelligent, sensible
beings, from whom he expects his happiness. By attaching himself to
these rules, he would live contented with his own conduct; he would
be cherished by those who are capable of feeling the influence of his
actions; he would expect without inquietude the term when his existence
should have a period; he would have no reason to dread the existence
which _might_ follow the one he at present enjoys: he would not fear to
be deceived in his reasonings. Guided by demonstration, led gently along
by honesty, he would perceive, that he could have nothing to dread from
a beneficent Divinity, who would not punish him for those involuntary
errors which depend upon the organization, which without his own consent
he has received.
Such a man so conducting himself, would have nothing to apprehend,
whether at the moment of his death, he falls asleep for ever; or whether
that sleep is only a prelude to another existence, in which he shall
find himself in the presence of his God. Addressing himself to the
Divinity, he might with confidence say,
"O God! Father, who hath rendered thyself invisible to thy child!
Inconceivable, hidden Author of all, whom I could not discover! Pardon
me, if my limited understanding hath not been able to know thee, in a
nature, where every thing hath appeared to me to be necessary! Excuse
me, if my sensible heart hath not discerned thine august traits among
those numerous systems which superstitious mortals tremblingly adore:
if, in that assemblage of irreconcileable qualities, with which the
imagination hath clothed thee, I could only see a phantom. How could my
coarse eyes perceive thee in nature, in which all my senses have
never been able to bring me acquainted but with material beings, with,
perishable forms? Could I, by the aid of these senses, discover thy
spiritual essence, of which no one could furnish me any idea? Could
my feeble brain, obliged to form its judgments after its own capacity,
discern thy plans, measure thy wisdom, conceive thine intelligence,
whilst the universe presented to my view a continued mixture of order
and confusion--of good and evil--of formation and destruction? Have I
been able to render homage to the justice of thy priests, whilst I so
frequently beheld crime triumphant, virtue in tears? Could I possibly
acknowledge the voice of a being filled with wisdom, in those ambiguous,
puerile, contradictory oracles, published in thy name in the different
countries of the earth I have quitted? If I have not known thy peculiar
existence, it is because I have not known either what thou couldst be,
where thou couldst be placed, or the qualities which could be assigned
thee. My ignorance is excusable, because it was invincible: my mind
could not bend itself under the authority of men, who acknowledged they
were as little enlightened upon thine essence as myself; who were for
ever disputing among themselves; who were in harmony only in imperiously
crying out to me, to sacrifice to them that reason which thou hadst
given to me; But, oh God! If thou cherishest thy creatures, I also, like
thee, have cherished them; I have endeavoured to render them happy, in
the sphere in which I have lived. If thou art the author of reason,
I have always listened to it--have ever endeavoured to follow it; if
virtue pleaseth thee, my heart hath always honoured it; I have never
willingly outraged it: when my powers have permitted me, I have myself
practised it; I was an affectionate husband, a tender father, a
sincere friend, a faithful subject, a zealous citizen; I have held out
consolation to the afflicted; and if the foibles of my nature have been
either injurious to myself or incommodious to others, I have not at
least made the unfortunate groan under the weight of my injustice. I
have not devoured the substance of the poor--I have not seen without
pity the widow's tears; I have not heard without commiseration the cries
of the orphan. If thou didst render man sociable, if thou was disposed
that society should subsist, if thou wast desirous the community might
be happy, I have been the enemy to all who oppressed him, the decided
foe to all those who deceived him, in order that they might advantage
themselves of his misfortunes.
"If I have not thought properly of thee, it is because my understanding
could not conceive thee; if I have spoken ill of thy systems, it is
because my heart, partaking too much of human nature, revolted against
the odious portrait under which they depicted thee. My wanderings have
been the effect of the temperament which thou hast given me; of the
circumstances in which, without my consent, thou hast placed me; of
those ideas, which in despite of me, have entered into my mind. As thou
art good, as thou art just, (as we are assured thou art) thou wilt not
punish me for the wanderings of mine imagination; for faults caused by
my passions, which are the necessary consequence of the organization
which I have received from thee. Thus I cannot doubt thy justice, I
cannot dread the condition which thou preparest for me. Thy goodness
cannot have permitted that I should incur punishment for inevitable
errors. Thou wouldst rather prevent my being born, than have called me
into the rank of intelligent beings, there to enjoy the fatal liberty of
rendering myself eternally unhappy."
It is thus that a disciple of nature, who, transported all at once into
the regions of space, should find himself in the presence of his God,
would be able to speak, although he should not have been in a condition
to lend himself to all the abstract systems of theology which appear to
have been invented for no other purpose than to overturn in his mind all
natural ideas. This illusory science seems bent an forming its systems
in a manner the most contradictory to human reason; notwithstanding
we are obliged to judge in this world according to its dictates; if,
however, in the succeeding world, there is nothing conformable to this,
what can be of more inutility, than to think of it or reason upon it?
Besides, wherefore should we leave it to the judgment of men, who are,
themselves, only enabled to act after our manner?
Without a very marked derangement of our organs, our sentiments hardly
ever vary upon those objects which either our senses experience, or
which reason has clearly demonstrated, In whatever circumstances we are
found, we have no doubt either upon the whiteness of snow, the light
of day, or the utility of virtue. It is not so with those objects which
depend solely upon our imagination--which are not proved to us by the
constant evidence of our senses; we judge of them variously, according
to the dispositions in which we find ourselves. These dispositions
fluctuate by reason of the involuntary impulse which our organs every
instant receive, on the part of an infinity of causes, either exterior
to ourselves, or else contained within our own frame. These organs are,
without our knowledge, perpetually modified, either relaxed or braced
by the density, more or less, of the atmosphere; by heat and by cold; by
dryness and by humidity; by health and by sickness; by the heat of the
blood; by the abundance of bile; by the state of the nervous system, &c.
These various causes have necessarily an influence upon the momentary
ideas, upon the instantaneous thoughts, upon the fleeting opinions of
man, He is, consequently, obliged to see under a great variety of hues,
those objects which his imagination presents to him; without it all
times having the capacity to correct them by experience: to compare them
by memory. This, without doubt, is the reason why man is continually
obliged to view his gods, to contemplate his superstitious systems,
under such a diversity of aspects, in different periods of his
existence. In the moment, when his fibres find themselves disposed to
he tremulous, he will be cowardly, pusillanimous; he will think of these
systems only with fear and trembling. In the moment, when these same
fibres shall have more tension, he will possess more firmness, he will
then view these systems with greater coolness. The theologian will call
his pusillanimity, "inward feeling;" "warning from heaven;" "secret
inspiration;" but he who knoweth man, will say that this is nothing
more than a mechanical motion, produced by a physical or natural cause.
Indeed, it is by a pure physical mechanism, that we can explain all the
revolutions that take place in the system, frequently from one minute
to another; all the fluctuations in the opinions of mankind; all the
variations of his judgment: in consequence of which we sometimes see him
reasoning justly, sometimes in the most irrational manner.
This is the mode by which, without recurring to grace, to inspirations,
to visions, to supernatural notions, we can render ourselves an account
of that uncertain, that wavering state into which we sometimes behold
persons fall, when there is a question respecting their superstition,
who are otherwise extremely enlightened. Frequently, in despite of all
reasoning, momentary dispositions re-conduct them to the prejudices of
their infancy, upon which on other occasions they appear to be
entirely undeceived. These changes are very apparent, especially under
infirmities, in sickness, or at approach of death. The barometer of the
understanding is then frequently obliged to fall. Those chimeras which
he despised, or which in a state of health, he set down at their true
value, are then realized. He trembles, because his machine is enfeebled;
he is irrational because his brain is incapable of fulfilling its
functions with exactitude. It is evident these are the actual causes
of those changes which the priests well know how to make use of against
what they call incredulity; from which they draw proofs of the reality
of their sublimated opinions. Those conversions, or those alterations,
which take place, in the ideas of man, have always their origin in some
derangement of his machine; brought on either by chagrin or by some
other natural or known cause.
Submitted to the continual influence of physical causes, our systems
invariably follow the variations of the body; we reason well when the
body is healthy--when it is soundly constituted; we reason badly when
the corporeal faculties are deranged; from thence our ideas become
disconnected, we are no longer equal to the task of associating them
with precision; we are incapable of finding principles, or to draw
from them just inferences; the brain, in fact, is shaken; we no longer
contemplate any thing under its actual point of view. It is a man of
this kind, who does not see things in frosty weather, under the same
traits as when the season is cloudy, or when it is rainy; he does not
view them in the same manner in sorrow as in gaiety; when in company
as when alone. Good sense suggests to us, that it is when the body is
sound, when the mind is undisturbed by any mist, that we can reason with
accuracy; this state can furnish us with a general standard, calculated
to regulate our judgment; even to rectify our ideas, when unexpected
causes shall make them waver.
If the opinions even of the same individual, are fluctuating, subject to
vaccillate, how many changes must they experience in the various beings
who compose the human race? If there do not, perhaps, exist two persons
who see a physical object under the same exact form or colour, what much
greater variety must they not have in their mode of contemplating those
things which have existence only in their imagination? What an infinity
of combinations, what a multitude of ideas, must not minds essentially
different, form to themselves when they endeavour to compose an ideal
being, which each moment of their existence must present to them under
a different aspect? It would, then, be a most irrational enterprise,
to attempt to prescribe to man what he ought to think of superstition,
which is entirely under the cognizance of his imagination; for the
admeasurement of which, as we have very frequently repeated, mortals
will never have any common standard. To oppugn the superstitious
opinions of man, is to commence hostilities with his imagination--to
attack his fancy--to be at war with his organization--to enter the lists
with his habits, which are of themselves sufficient to identify with
his existence, the most absurd, the most unfounded ideas. The more
imagination man has, the greater enthusiast he will be in matters of
superstition; reason will have the less ability to undeceive him in
his chimeras. In proportion as his fancy is powerful, these chimeras
themselves will become food necessary to its ardency. In fine, to battle
with the superstitious notions of man, is to combat the passions he
usually indulges for the marvellous; it is to assail him on that side
where he is least vulnerable; to force him in that position where he
unites all his strength--where he keeps the most vigilant guard. In
despite of reason, those persons who have a lively imagination, are
perpetually re-conducted to those chimeras which habit renders dear to
them, even when they are found troublesome; although they should prove
fatal. Thus a tender soul hath occasion for a God that loveth him;
the happy enthusiast needeth a God who rewardeth him; the unfortunate
visionary wants a God who taketh part in his sorrows; the melancholy
devotee requireth a God who chastiseth him, who maintaineth him in that
trouble which has become necessary to his diseased organization; the
frantic penitent exacteth a God, who imposes upon him an obligation to
be inhuman towards himself; whilst the furious fanatic would believe
himself unhappy, if he was deprived of a God who commanded him to make
others experience the effect of his inflamed humours, of his unruly
passions.
He is, without question, a less dangerous enthusiast who feeds himself
with agreeable illusions, than he whose soul is tormented with odious
spectres. If a placid, tender soul, does not commit ravages in society,
a mind agitated by incommodious passions, cannot fall to become, sooner
or later, troublesome to his fellow creatures. The God of a Socrates, or
a Fenelon, may be suitable to souls as gentle as theirs; but he cannot
be that of a whole nation, in which it is extremely rare men of their
temper are found: if honest men only view their gods as fitted with
benefits; vicious, restless, inflexible individuals, will give them
their own peculiar character, from thence will authorize themselves to
indulge, a free course to their passions. Each will view his deities
with eyes only open to his own reigning prejudice; the number of those
who will paint them as afflicting will always be greater, much more to
be feared, than those who shall delineate them under seducing colors:
for one mortal that those ideas will render happy, there will be
thousands who will be made miserable; they will, sooner or later,
become an inexhaustible source of contention; a never failing spring of
extravagant folly; they will disturb the mind of the ignorant, over whom
impostors will always gain ascendancy--over whom fanatics will ever
have an influence: they will frighten the cowardly, terrify the
pussillanimous, whose imbecility will incline them to perfidy, whose
weakness will render them cruel; they will cause the most upright to
tremble, who, even while practising virtue, will fear incurring the
divine displeasure; but they will not arrest the progress of the wicked,
who will easily cast them aside, that they may the more commodiously
deliver themselves up to crime; or who will even take advantage of these
principles, to justify their transgression. In short, in the hands
of tyrants, these systems will only serve to crush the liberty of the
people; will be the pretext for violating, with impunity, all equitable
rights. In the hands of priests they will become talismans, suitable
to intoxicate the mind; calculated to hoodwink the people; competent
to subjugate equally the sovereign as the subject; in the hands of the
multitude, they will be a two-edged sword, with which they will inflict,
at the same moment, the most dreadful wounds on themselves--the most
serious injuries on their associates.
On the other hand, these theological systems, as we have seen, being
only an heap of contradictions, which represent the Divinity under the
most incompatible characters, seem to doubt his wisdom, when they invite
mortals to address their prayers to him, for the gratification of their
desires; to pray to him to grant that which he has not thought it
proper to accord to them. Is it not, in other words, to accuse him with
neglecting his creatures? Is it not to ask him to alter the eternal
decrees of his justice; to change the invariable laws which he hath
himself determined? Is it not to say to him, "O, my God! I acknowledge
thy wisdom, thine omniscience, thine infinite goodness; nevertheless,
thou forgettest thy servant; thou losest sight of thy creature; thou
art ignorant, or thou feignest ignorance, of that which he wanteth: dost
thou not see that I suffer from the marvellous arrangement, which thy
wise laws have made in the universe? Nature, against thy commands,
actually renders my existence painful: change then, I beseech thee, the
essence which thy will has given to all beings. Grant that the elements,
at this moment, lose in my favor their distinguishing properties; so
order it, that heavy bodies shall not fall, that fire shall not burn,
that the brittle frame which I have received at thine hands, shall not
suffer those shocks which it every instant experiences. Rectify, I pray
thee, for my happiness, the plan which thine infinite prudence hath
marked out from all eternity." Such is very nearly the euchology
which man adopts; such are the discordant, absurd requests which he
continually puts up to the Divinity, whose wisdom he extols; whose
intelligence he holds forth to admiration; whose providence he
eulogizes; whose equity he applauds; whilst he is hardly ever contented
with the effects of the divine perfections.
Man is not more consequent in those thanksgivings which he believes
himself obliged to offer to the throne of grace. Is it not just, he
exclaims, to thank the Divinity for his kindness? Would it not be
the height of ingratitude to refuse our homage to the Author of our
existence; to withhold our acknowledgements from the Giver of every
thing that contributes to render it agreeable? But does he not
frequently offer up his thanksgivings for actions that overwhelm his
neighbour with misery? Does not the husbandman on the hill, return
thanks for the rain that irrigates his lands parched with drought,
whilst the cultivator of the valley is imploring a cessation of those
showers which deluge his fields--that render useless the labour of his
hands? Thus each becomes thankful for that which his own limited views
points out to him as his immediate interest, regardless of the general
effect produced by those circumstances on the welfare of his fellows.
Each believes that it is either a peculiar dispensation of providence
in his own favor, or a signal of the heavenly wrath directed against
himself; whilst the slightest reflection would clearly evince it to
be nothing more than the inevitable order of things, which take place
without the least regard to his individual comforts. From this it will
be obvious, that these systems do not teach their votaries, practically,
to love their neighbour as themselves. But in matters of superstition,
mortals never reason; they only follow the impulse of their fears; the
direction of their imagination; the force of their temperament; the
bent of their own peculiar passions; or those of the guides, who have
acquired the right of controling their understanding. Fear has generally
created these systems; terror unceasingly accompanies them; it is
impossible to reason while we tremble.
We do not, however, flatter ourselves that reason will be capable, all
at once, to deliver the human race from those errors with which so
many causes united have contributed to poison him. The vainest of
all projects would be the expectation of curing, in an instant, those
epidemical follies, those hereditary fallacies, rooted during so many
ages; continually fed by ignorance; corroborated by custom; borne along
by the passions made inveterate by interest; grounded upon the fears,
established upon the ever regenerating calamities of nations. The
ancient disasters of the earth gave birth to the first systems of
theology, new revolutions would equally produce others; even if the
old ones should chance to be forgotton. Ignorant, miserable, trembling
beings, will always either form to themselves systems, or else adopt
those which imposture shall announce--which fanaticism shall be disposed
to give them.
It would therefore be useless to propose more than to hold out reason to
those who are competent to understand it; to present truth to those who
can sustain its lustre; who can with serenity contemplate its refulgent
beauty; to undeceive those who shall not be inclined to oppose obstacles
to demonstration; to enlighten those who shall not desire pertinaciously
to persist in error. Let us, then, infuse courage into those who want
power to break with their illusions; let us cheer up the honest man, who
is much more alarmed by his fears than the wicked, who, in despite of
his opinions, always follows the rule of his passions: let us console
the unfortunate, who groans under a load of prejudices which he has not
examined: let us dissipate the incertitude of those whose doubts
render them unhappy; who ingenuously seek after truth, but who find in
philosophy itself only wavering opinions little calculated to determine
their fluctuating minds. Let us banish from the man of genius those
chimerical speculations which cause him to waste his time; let us wrest
his gloomy superstition from the intimidated mortal, who, duped by
his vain fears, becomes useless to society; let us remove from the
atrabilarious being those systems that afflict him, that exasperate his
mind, that do nothing more than kindle his anger against his incredulous
neighbour; let us tear from the fanatic those terrible ideas which arm
him with poniards against the happiness of his fellows; let us pluck
from tyrants, let us snatch from impostors, those opinions which enable
them to terrify, to enslave, and to despoil the human species. In
removing from honest men their formidable notions let us not encourage
those of the wicked, who are the enemies of society; let us deprive the
latter of those illegitimate sources, upon which they reckon to expiate
their transgressions; let us substitute actual, present terrors, to
those which are distant and uncertain to those which do not arrest the
most licentious excesses; let us make the profligate blush at beholding
themselves what they really are; let the ministers of superstition
tremble at finding their conspiracies discovered; let them dread the
arrival of the day, when mortals, cured of those errors with which they
have abused them, will no longer be enslaved by their artifice.
If we cannot induce nations to lay aside their inveterate prejudices,
let us, at least, endeavour to prevent them from relapsing into those
excesses, to the commission of which superstition has so frequently
hurried them; let mankind form to himself chimeras, if he cannot do
without them; let him think as he may feel inclined, provided his
reveries do not make him forget that he is a man; that he does not cease
to remember that a sociable being is not formed to resemble the most
ferocious animals. Let us try to balance the fictitious interests
of superstition, by the more immediate advantages of the earth. Let
sovereigns, as well as their subjects, at length acknowledge that the
benefits resulting from truth, the happiness arising from justice,
the tranquillity springing out of wholesome laws, the blessings to be
derived from a rational education, the superiority to be obtained from a
physical, peaceable morality, are much more substantive than those they
vainly expect from their respective superstitious systems, Let them
feel, that advantages so tangible, benefits so precious, ought not to be
sacrificed to uncertain hopes, so frequently contradicted by experience.
In order to convince themselves of these truths, let every rational man
consider the numberless crimes which superstition has caused upon our
globe; let them study the frightful history of theology: let them read
over the biography of its more odious ministers, who have too often
fanned the spirit of discord--kindled the flame of fury--stirred up
the raging fire of madness: let the prince and the people, at least,
sometimes learn to resist the demoniacal passions of these interpreters
of unintelligible systems, which they acknowledge they do not themselves
at all understand, especially when they shall invoke them to be
inhuman; when they shall preach up intolerance; when they invite them to
barbarity; above all, when they shall command them, in the name of their
gods, to stifle the cries of nature; to put down the voice of equity; to
be deaf to the remonstrances of reason; to be blind to the interest of
society.
Feeble mortals! led astray by error, how long will ye permit your
imagination, so active, so prompt to seize on the marvellous, to
continue to seek out of the universe pretexts to render you baneful
to yourselves, injurious to the beings with whom ye live in society?
Wherefore do ye not follow in peace, the simple, easy route marked out
for ye by nature? To what purpose do ye scatter thorns on the road
of life? What avails it, that ye multiply those sorrows to which your
destiny exposes ye? What advantages can ye derive from systems with
which the united efforts of the whole human species have not been
competent to bring ye acquainted? Be content, then, to remain ignorant
of that, which the human mind is not formed to comprehend; which human
intellect is not adequate to embrace: occupy yourselves with truth;
learn the invaluable art of living happy; perfection your morals; give
rationality to your governments; simplify your laws, and rest them on
the pillars of justice; watch over education, and see that it is of
an invigorating quality; give attention to agriculture, and encourage
beneficial improvements; foster those sciences which are actually
useful, and place their professors in the most honorable stations; labor
with ardour, and munificently reward those whose assiduity promotes
the general welfare; oblige nature by your industry to open her immense
stores, to become propitious to your exertions; do these things, and the
gods will oppose nothing to your felicity. Leave to idle thinkers, to
soporific dreamers, to waking visionaries, to useless enthusiasts, the
unproductive task, the unfruitful occupation, of fathoming depths,
from which ye ought sedulously to divert your attention; enjoy with
moderation, the benefits attached to your present existence; augment
their number when reason sanctions the multiplication; but never attempt
to spring yourselves forward, beyond the sphere destined for your
action. If you must have chimeras, permit your fellow creatures to have
theirs also; but never cut the throats of your brethren, when, they
cannot rave in your own manner. If ye will have unintelligible
systems, if ye cannot be contented without marvellous doctrines, if the
infirmities of your nature require an invisible crutch, adopt such as
may best suit with your humour; select those which you may think most
calculated to support your tottering frame; if ye can, let your own
imagination give birth to them; but do not insist on your neighbours
making the same choice with yourself: do not suffer these imaginary
theories to infuriate your mind: let them not so far intoxicate your
understandings, as to make ye mistake the duties ye owe to the real
beings with whom ye are associated. Always remember, that amongst these
duties, the foremost, the most consequential, the most immediate in
its bearing upon the felicity of the human race, stands, _a reasonable
indulgence for the foibles of others_.