"With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls."
THE same rules or laws of probability must govern in religious questions
as in others. There is no subject--and can be none--concerning which any
human being is under any obligation to believe without evidence. Neither
is there any intelligent being who can, by any possibility, be flattered
by the exercise of ignorant credulity. The man who, without prejudice,
reads and understands the Old and New Testaments will cease to be an
orthodox Christian. The intelligent man who investigates the religion of
any country without fear and without prejudice will not and cannot be a
believer.
Most people, after arriving at the conclusion that Jehovah is not God,
that the Bible is not an inspired book, and that the Christian religion,
like other religions, is the creation of man, usually say: "There must
be a Supreme Being, but Jehovah is not his name, and the Bible is not
his word. There must be somewhere an over-ruling Providence or Power."
This position is just as untenable as the other. He who cannot harmonize
the cruelties of the Bible with the goodness of Jehovah, cannot
harmonize the cruelties of Nature with the goodness and wisdom of a
supposed Deity. He will find it impossible to account for pestilence and
famine, for earthquake and storm, for slavery, for the triumph of the
strong over the weak, for the countless victories of injustice. He will
find it impossible to account for martyrs--for the burning of the good,
the noble, the loving, by the ignorant, the malicious, and the infamous.
How can the Deist satisfactorily account for the sufferings of women and
children? In what way will he justify religious persecution--the flame
and sword of religious hatred? Why did his God sit idly on his throne
and allow his enemies to wet their swords in the blood of his friends?
Why did he not answer the prayers of the imprisoned, of the helpless?
And when he heard the lash upon the naked back of the slave, why did he
not also hear the prayer of the slave? And when children were sold from
the breasts of mothers, why was he deaf to the mother's cry?
It seems to me that the man who knows the limitations of the mind, who
gives the proper value to human testimony, is necessarily an Agnostic.
He gives up the hope of ascertaining first or final causes, of
comprehending the supernatural, or of conceiving of an infinite
personality. From out the words Creator, Preserver, and Providence, all
meaning falls.
The mind of man pursues the path of least resistance, and the
conclusions arrived at by the individual depend upon the nature and
structure of his mind, on his experience, on hereditary drifts and
tendencies, and on the countless things that constitute the difference
in minds. One man, finding himself in the midst of mysterious phenomena,
comes to the conclusion that all is the result of design; that back of
all things is an infinite personality--that is to say, an infinite man;
and he accounts for all that is by simply saying that the universe was
created and set in motion by this infinite personality, and that it is
miraculously and supernaturally governed and preserved. This man
sees with perfect clearness that matter could not create itself, and
therefore he imagines a creator of matter. He is perfectly satisfied
that there is design in the world, and that consequently there must
have been a designer. It does not occur to him that it is necessary to
account for the existence of an infinite personality. He is perfectly
certain that there can be no design without a designer, and he is
equally certain that there can be a designer who was not designed. The
absurdity becomes so great that it takes the place of a demonstration.
He takes it for granted that matter was created and that its creator was
not. He assumes that a creator existed from eternity, without cause,
and created what is called matter out of nothing; or, whereas there was
nothing, this creator made the something that we call substance.
Is it possible for the human mind to conceive of an infinite
personality? Can it imagine a beginningless being, infinitely powerful
and intelligent? If such a being existed, then there must have been an
eternity during which nothing did exist except this being; because, if
the Universe was created, there must have been a time when it was not,
and back of that there must have been an eternity during which nothing
but an infinite personality existed. Is it possible to imagine an
infinite intelligence dwelling for an eternity in infinite nothing?
How could such a being be intelligent? What was there to be intelligent
about? There was but one thing to know, namely, that there was nothing
except this being. How could such a being be powerful? There was nothing
to exercise force upon. There was nothing in the universe to suggest an
idea. Relations could not exist--except the relation between infinite
intelligence and infinite nothing.
The next great difficulty is the act of creation. My mind is so that I
cannot conceive of something being created out of nothing. Neither can
I conceive of anything being created without a cause. Let me go one
step further. It is just as difficult to imagine something being created
with, as without, a cause. To postulate a cause does not in the least
lessen the difficulty. In spite of all, this lever remains without a
fulcrum.
We cannot conceive of the destruction of substance. The stone can be
crushed to powder, and the powder can be ground to such a fineness that
the atoms can only be distinguished by the most powerful microscope, and
we can then imagine these atoms being divided and subdivided again
and again and again; but it is impossible for us to conceive of the
annihilation of the least possible imaginable fragment of the least
atom of which we can think. Consequently the mind can imagine neither
creation nor destruction. From this point it is very easy to reach the
generalization that the indestructible could not have been created.
These questions, however, will be answered by each individual according
to the structure of his mind, according to his experience, according
to his habits of thought, and according to his intelligence or his
ignorance, his prejudice or his genius.
Probably a very large majority of mankind believe in the existence of
supernatural beings, and a majority of what are known as the civilized
nations, in an infinite personality. In the realm of thought majorities
do not determine. Each brain is a kingdom, each mind is a sovereign.
The universality of a belief does not even tend to prove its truth. A
large majority of mankind have believed in what is known as God, and an
equally large majority have as implicitly believed in what is known as
the Devil. These beings have been inferred from phenomena. They were
produced for the most part by ignorance, by fear, and by selfishness.
Man in all ages has endeavored to account for the mysteries of life and
death, of substance, of force, for the ebb and flow of things, for earth
and star. The savage, dwelling in his cave, subsisting on roots
and reptiles, or on beasts that could be slain with club and stone,
surrounded by countless objects of terror, standing by rivers, so far as
he knew, without source or end, by seas with but one shore, the prey of
beasts mightier than himself, of diseases strange and fierce, trembling
at the voice of thunder, blinded by the lightning, feeling the earth
shake beneath him, seeing the sky lurid with the volcano's glare,--fell
prostrate and begged for the protection of the Unknown.
In the long night of savagery, in the midst of pestilence and famine,
through the long and dreary winters, crouched in dens of darkness,
the seeds of superstition were sown in the brain of man. The savage
believed, and thoroughly believed, that everything happened in reference
to him; that he by his actions could excite the anger, or by his worship
placate the wrath, of the Unseen. He resorted to flattery and prayer. To
the best of his ability he put in stone, or rudely carved in wood, his
idea of this god. For this idol he built a hut, a hovel, and at last a
cathedral. Before these images he bowed, and at these shrines, whereon
he lavished his wealth, he sought protection for himself and for
the ones he loved. The few took advantage of the ignorant many. They
pretended to have received messages from the Unknown. They stood between
the helpless multitude and the gods. They were the carriers of flags of
truce. At the court of heaven they presented the cause of man, and upon
the labor of the deceived they lived.
The Christian of to-day wonders at the savage who bowed before his idol;
and yet it must be confessed that the god of stone answered prayer and
protected his worshipers precisely as the Christian's God answers prayer
and protects his worshipers to-day.
My mind is so that it is forced to the conclusion that substance is
eternal; that the universe was without beginning and will be without
end; that it is the one eternal existence; that relations are transient
and evanescent; that organisms are produced and vanish; that forms
change,--but that the substance of things is from eternity to eternity.
It may be that planets are born and die, that constellations will fade
from the infinite spaces, that countless suns will be quenched,--but the
substance will remain.
The questions of origin and destiny seem to be beyond the powers of the
human mind.
Heredity is on the side of superstition. All our ignorance pleads
for the old. In most men there is a feeling that their ancestors were
exceedingly good and brave and wise, and that in all things pertaining
to religion their conclusions should be followed. They believe that
their fathers and mothers were of the best, and that that which
satisfied them should satisfy their children. With a feeling of
reverence they say that the religion of their mother is good enough
and pure enough and reasonable enough for them. In this way the love of
parents and the reverence for ancestors have unconsciously bribed the
reason and put out, or rendered exceedingly dim, the eyes of the mind.
There is a kind of longing in the heart of the old to live and die where
their parents lived and died--a tendency to go back to the homes of
their youth. Around the old oak of manhood grow and cling these vines.
Yet it will hardly do to say that the religion of my mother is good
enough for me, any more than to say the geology or the astronomy or
the philosophy of my mother is good enough for me. Every human being is
entitled to the best he can obtain; and if there has been the slightest
improvement on the religion of the mother, the son is entitled to that
improvement, and he should not deprive himself of that advantage by
the mistaken idea that he owes it to his mother to perpetuate, in a
reverential way, her ignorant mistakes.
If we are to follow the religion of our fathers and mothers, our fathers
and mothers should have followed the religion of theirs. Had this been
done, there could have been no improvement in the world of thought. The
first religion would have been the last, and the child would have died
as ignorant as the mother. Progress would have been impossible, and on
the graves of ancestors would have been sacrificed the intelligence of
mankind.
We know, too, that there has been the religion of the tribe, of the
community, and of the nation, and that there has been a feeling that
it was the duty of every member of the tribe or community, and of every
citizen of the nation, to insist upon it that the religion of that
tribe, of that community, of that nation, was better than that of any
other. We know that all the prejudices against other religions, and
all the egotism of nation and tribe, were in favor of the local
superstition. Each citizen was patriotic enough to denounce the
religions of other nations and to stand firmly by his own. And there
is this peculiarity about man: he can see the absurdities of other
religions while blinded to those of his own. The Christian can see
clearly enough that Mohammed was an impostor. He is sure of it, because
the people of Mecca who were acquainted with him declared that he was
no prophet; and this declaration is received by Christians as a
demonstration that Mohammed was not inspired. Yet these same Christians
admit that the people of Jerusalem who were acquainted with Christ
rejected him; and this rejection they take as proof positive that Christ
was the Son of God.
The average man adopts the religion of his country, or, rather, the
religion of his country adopts him. He is dominated by the egotism of
race, the arrogance of nation, and the prejudice called patriotism. He
does not reason--he feels. He does not investigate--he believes. To him
the religions of other nations are absurd and infamous, and their gods
monsters of ignorance and cruelty. In every country this average man is
taught, first, that there is a supreme being; second, that he has made
known his will; third, that he will reward the true believer; fourth,
that he will punish the unbeliever, the scoffer, and the blasphemer;
fifth, that certain ceremonies are pleasing to this god; sixth, that
he has established a church; and seventh, that priests are his
representatives on earth. And the average man has no difficulty in
determining that the God of his nation is the true God; that the will of
this true God is contained in the sacred scriptures of his nation;
that he is one of the true believers, and that the people of other
nations--that is, believing other religions--are scoffers; that the only
true church is the one to which he belongs; and that the priests of his
country are the only ones who have had or ever will have the slightest
influence with this true God. All these absurdities to the average man
seem self-evident propositions; and so he holds all other creeds in
scorn, and congratulates himself that he is a favorite of the one true
God.
If the average Christian had been born in Turkey, he would have been a
Mohammedan; and if the average Mohammedan had been born in New England
and educated at Andover, he would have regarded the damnation of the
heathen as the "tidings of great joy."
Nations have eccentricities, peculiarities, and hallucinations, and
these find expression in their laws, customs, ceremonies, morals, and
religions. And these are in great part determined by soil, climate, and
the countless circumstances that mould and dominate the lives and
habits of insects, individuals, and nations. The average man believes
implicitly in the religion of his country, because he knows nothing of
any other and has no desire to know. It fits him because he has been
deformed to fit it, and he regards this fact of fit as an evidence of
its inspired truth.
Has a man the right to examine, to investigate, the religion of his own
country--the religion of his father and mother? Christians admit that
the citizens of all countries not Christian have not only this right,
but that it is their solemn duty. Thousands of missionaries are sent to
heathen countries to persuade the believers in other religions not only
to examine their superstitions, but to renounce them, and to adopt
those of the missionaries. It is the duty of a heathen to disregard the
religion of his country and to hold in contempt the creed of his father
and of his mother. If the citizens of heathen nations have the right
to examine the foundations of their religion, it would seem that the
citizens of Christian nations have the same right. Christians, however,
go further than this; they say to the heathen: You must examine your
religion, and not only so, but you must reject it; and, unless you do
reject it, and, in addition to such rejection, adopt ours, you will be
eternally damned. Then these same Christians say to the inhabitants of
a Christian country: You must not examine; you must not investigate; but
whether you examine or not, you must believe, or you will be eternally
damned.
If there be one true religion, how is it possible to ascertain which
of all the religions the true one is? There is but one way. We must
impartially examine the claims of all. The right to examine involves the
necessity to accept or reject. Understand me, not the right to accept
or reject, but the necessity. From this conclusion there is no possible
escape. If, then, we have the right to examine, we have the right to
tell the conclusion reached. Christians have examined other religions
somewhat, and they have expressed their opinion with the utmost
freedom--that is to say, they have denounced them all as false and
fraudulent; have called their gods idols and myths, and their priests
impostors.
The Christian does not deem it worth while to read the Koran. Probably
not one Christian in a thousand ever saw a copy of that book. And yet
all Christians are perfectly satisfied that the Koran is the work of an
impostor, No Presbyterian thinks it is worth his while to examine the
religious systems of India; he knows that the Brahmins are mistaken, and
that all their miracles are falsehoods. No Methodist cares to read the
life of Buddha, and no Baptist will waste his time studying the ethics
of Confucius. Christians of every sort and kind take it for granted that
there is only one true religion, and that all except Christianity are
absolutely without foundation. The Christian world believes that all
the prayers of India are unanswered; that all the sacrifices upon the
countless altars of Egypt, of Greece, and of Rome were without effect.
They believe that all these mighty nations worshiped their gods in vain;
that their priests were deceivers or deceived; that their ceremonies
were wicked or meaningless; that their temples were built by ignorance
and fraud, and that no God heard their songs of praise, their cries of
despair, their words of thankfulness; that on account of their religion
no pestilence was stayed; that the earthquake and volcano, the flood
and storm went on their ways of death--while the real God looked on and
laughed at their calamities and mocked at their fears.
We find now that the prosperity of nations has depended, not upon their
religion, not upon the goodness or providence of some god, but on soil
and climate and commerce, upon the ingenuity, industry, and courage
of the people, upon the development of the mind, on the spread of
education, on the liberty of thought and action; and that in this
mighty panorama of national life, reason has built and superstition has
destroyed.
Being satisfied that all believe precisely as they must, and that
religions have been naturally produced, I have neither praise nor blame
for any man. Good men have had bad creeds, and bad men have had good
ones. Some of the noblest of the human race have fought and died for the
wrong. The brain of man has been the trysting-place of contradictions.
Passion often masters reason, and "the state of man, like to a little
kingdom, suffers then the nature of an insurrection."
In the discussion of theological or religious questions, we have almost
passed the personal phase, and we are now weighing arguments instead of
exchanging epithets and curses. They who really seek for truth must be
the best of friends. Each knows that his desire can never take the place
of fact, and that, next to finding truth, the greatest honor must be won
in honest search.
We see that many ships are driven in many ways by the same wind. So
men, reading the same book, write many creeds and lay out many roads to
heaven. To the best of my ability, I have examined the religions of many
countries and the creeds of many sects. They are much alike, and the
testimony by which they are substantiated is of such a character that to
those who believe is promised an eternal reward. In all the sacred books
there are some truths, some rays of light, some words of love and
hope. The face of savagery is sometimes softened by a smile--the human
triumphs, and the heart breaks into song. But in these books are also
found the words of fear and hate, and from their pages crawl serpents
that coil and hiss in all the paths of men.
For my part, I prefer the books that inspiration has not claimed. Such
is the nature of my brain that Shakespeare gives me greater joy than all
the prophets of the ancient world. There are thoughts that satisfy the
hunger of the mind. I am convinced that Humboldt knew more of geology
than the author of Genesis; that Darwin was a greater naturalist than he
who told the story of the flood; that Laplace was better acquainted with
the habits of the sun and moon than Joshua could have been, and that
Haeckel, Huxley, and Tyndall know more about the earth and stars, about
the history of man, the philosophy of life--more that is of use, ten
thousand times--than all the writers of the sacred books.
I believe in the religion of reason--the gospel of this world; in the
development of the mind, in the accumulation of intellectual wealth, to
the end that man may free himself from superstitious fear, to the end
that he may take advantage of the forces of nature to feed and clothe
the world.
Let us be honest with ourselves. In the presence of countless mysteries;
standing beneath the boundless heaven sown thick with constellations;
knowing that each grain of sand, each leaf, each blade of grass, asks
of every mind the answer-less question; knowing that the simplest thing
defies solution; feeling that we deal with the superficial and the
relative, and that we are forever eluded by the real, the absolute,--let
us admit the limitations of our minds, and let us have the courage and
the candor to say: We do not know.
North American Review, December, 1889.