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 assertions.
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
want one fact. 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 mouldy wonders and your
stale miracles. We want a this year's fact We ask only one. Give us one
fact for charity. Your miracles are too ancient The witnesses have been
dead for nearly two thousand years. Their reputation 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,
Meshech, 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 all 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
some little sense--admits, not only, that she cannot perform a miracle,
but insists that the 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 the material world are
subjected to immutable laws; are produced and reproduced in the same
invariable succession, and manifest only the blind force of a 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 has 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 man for providence or chance. 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 reply: 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 peoples, 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 and
sacrifice, 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 a 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 her 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 towards 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 an 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 rules necessarily obeyed by infinite caprice.
From a philosophical point of view, science is knowledge of the laws
of life; of the conditions 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 effort Why should man
endeavor to thwart the designs of God? Which of your by taking thought,
can add one cubit to his stature? 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. As
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 babes; martyrs have chanted triumphant songs in the midst of flame;
priests have gorged themselves with blood; nuns have forsworn the
ecstacies 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 babes; beautiful girls have been given to slimy serpents; whole races
of men doomed to centuries of slavery, and 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, 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
infinitely accomplished and scientific architect?
Does not an improvement in the things created, show a corresponding
improvement in the creator?