I dare flatter myself, Madam, that I have clearly demonstrated to you,
that the Christian religion, far from being the support of sovereign
authority, is its greatest enemy; and of having plainly convinced you,
that its ministers are, by the very nature of their functions, the
rivals of kings, and adversaries the most to be feared by all who value
or exercise temporal power. In a word, I think I have persuaded you,
that society might, without damage, dispense with the services they
render, or at least dispense with paying for them so extravagantly.
Let us now examine the advantages which this religion procures to
individuals, who are most strongly convinced of its pretended truths,
and who conform the most rigidly to its precepts. Let us see if it is
calculated to render its disciples more contented, more happy, and more
virtuous than they would be without the burden of its ministers.
To decide the question, it is sufficient to look around us, and to
consider the effects that religion produces on minds really penetrated
with its pre* tended truths. We shall generally find in those who the
most sincerely profess and the most exactly practise them, a joyless
and melancholy disposition, which announces no contentment, nor
that interior peace of which they speak so incessantly, without ever
exhibiting any undoubted manifestations of it.
Whoever is in the enjoyment of peace within, shows some exterior
marks of it; but the internal satisfaction of devotees is commonly
so concealed, that we may well suspect it of being nothing but a mere
chimera. Their interior peace, which they allege gives them a good
conscience, is visible to others only by a bilious and petulant
humor, that is not usually much applauded by those who come under
its influence. If, however, there are occasionally some devotees who
actually display the serene countenance of satisfaction and enjoyment,
it is because the dismal ideas of religion are rendered inoperative by
a happy temperament; or that such persons have not fully become
impregnated with their system of faith, whose legitimate effect is to
plunge its devotees into terrible inquietudes and sombre chagrins.
Thus, Madam, we are brought back to the contradictory discourses of
those priests who, after having caused terror by their desolating
dogmas, attempt to reassure us by vague hopes, and exhort us to place
confidence in a God whom they have themselves so repulsively delineated.
It is idle for them to tell us the yoke of Jesus Christ is light. It is
insupportable to those who consider it properly. It is only light for
those who bear it without reflection, or for those who assume it
in order to impose it upon others, without intending to suffer its
annoyances themselves.
Suffer me, Madam, to refer you to yourself. Were you happy, contented,
or gay, when you made me the depository of the secret inquietudes
inflicted upon you by prejudices, and which had commenced taking that
fatal empire over your mind which I have endeavored to destroy? Was not
your soul involved in woe in spite of your judgment? Were you not taking
measures to wither all your happiness? In favor of religion, were you
not ready to renounce the world, and disregard all you owe to society?
If I was afflicted, I was not surprised. The Christian religion
inevitably destroys the happiness and repose of those who are subjected
by it; alarms and terrors are the objects of its pleasures; it cannot
make those happy who fully receive it It would certainly have plunged
you into distress. All your faculties would have been injured, and your
too susceptible imagination would have been carried to such dangerous
extremes, that many others would have grieved at the result A gentle
and beneficent spirit, like yours, could never receive peace from
Christianity. The evils of religion are sure, while its consolations are
contradictory and vague. They cannot give that temper and tranquillity
to the mind which is necessary to enable men to labor for their own
happiness and that of others.
In effect, as I have already observed, it is very difficult for an
individual to occupy himself with the happiness of another when he is
himself miserable. The devotee, who imposes penances on his own head,
who is suspicious of every thing, who is full of self-reproaches, and
who is heated by visionary meditation, by fasting and seclusion, must
naturally be irritated against all those who do not believe it their
duty to make such absurd sacrifices. He can scarcely avoid being enraged
at those audacious persons who neglect practices or duties that are
claimed as the exactions of God. He will desire to be with those only
who view things as he does himself; he will keep himself apart from all
others, and will end by hating them. He believes himself obliged to make
a loud and public parade of his mode of thinking, and he signalizes his
zeal even at the risk of appearing ridiculous. If he showed indulgence,
he would doubtless fear he should render himself an accomplice in a
neglect of his God. He would reprehend such sinners, and it would be
with acrimony, because his own soul was filled with it. In fine, if
zealous, he would always be under the dominion of anger, and would only
be indulgent in proportion as he was not bigoted.
Religious devotion tends to arouse fierce sentiments, that sooner or
later manifest themselves in a manner disagreeable for others. The
mystical devotees clearly illustrate this. They are vexed with the
world, and it could not exist if the extravagances required by religion
were altogether carried out. The world cannot be united to Jesus Christ.
God demands our entire heart, and nothing is allowed to remain for his
weak creatures. To produce the little zeal for heaven which Christians
have, it is requisite to torment them, and thus lead them to the
practice of those marvellous virtues in which they imagine is placed
all their safety. A strange religion, which, practised in all its rigor,
would drag society to ruin! The sincere devotee proposes impossible
attainments, of which human nature is not capable; and as, in spite of
all his endeavors, he is unable to succeed in their acquisition, he is
always discontented with himself. He regards himself as the object of
God's anger; he reproaches himself with all that he does; he suffers
remorse for all the pleasures he experiences, and fears that they may
occasion a fall from grace.
For his greater security, he often avoids society which may at any
moment turn him from his pretended duties, excite him to sin, and render
him the witness or accomplice of what is offensive to zealots. In fine,
if the devotee is very zealous, he cannot prevent himself from avoiding
or detesting beings, who, according to his gloomy notions of religion,
are perpetually occupied in irritating God. On the other hand, you know,
Madam, that it is chagrin and melancholy that lead to devotion. It is
usually not till the world abandons and displeases men that they have
recourse to heaven; it is in the arms of religion that the ambitious
seek to console themselves for their disgraces and disappointed
projects; dissolute and loose women turn devotees when the world
discards them, and they offer to God hearts wasted, and charms that are
no longer in repute. The ruin of their attractions admonishes them that
their empire is no longer of this world; filled with vexation, consumed
with chagrin, and irritated against a society where they were deprived
of enacting an agreeable part, they yield themselves up to devotion, and
distinguish themselves by religious follies, after having run the race
of fashionable vices, and been engaged in worldly scandals. With rancor
in their hearts, they offer a gloomy adoration to a God who indemnifies
them most miserably for their ascetic worship. In a word, it is passion,
affliction, and despair to which most conversions must be attributed;
and they are persons of such character who deliver themselves to the
priests, and these mental aberrations and physical afflictions are
the marvellous strokes of grace of which God makes use to lead men to
himself.
It is not, then, surprising if we see persons subject to this devotion
most commonly ruled by sorrow and passion. These mental moods are
perpetually aggravated by religion, which is exactly calculated to
imbitter more and more the souls thus filled with vexations. The
conversation of a spiritual director is a weak consolation for the loss
of a lover; the remote and flattering hopes of another world rarely
make up for the realities of this; nor do the fictitious occupations of
religion suffice to satisfy souls accustomed to intrigues, dissipation,
and scandalous pleasures.
Thus, Madam, we see that the effects of these brilliant conversions,
so well adapted to give pleasure to the Omnipotent and to his court,
present nothing advantageous for the inhabitants of this lower world. If
the changes produced by grace do not render those more happy upon whom
they are operated, they cannot cause much admiration on the part of
those who witness them. Indeed, what advantages does society reap from
the greater part of conversions? Do the persons so touched by grace
become better? Do they make amends for the evil they have done, or are
they heartily and generously engaged in doing good to those by whom
they are surrounded? A mistress, for example, who has been arrogant and
proud,--does conversion render her humble and gentle? Does the unjust
and cruel man recompense those to whom he has done evil? Does the robber
return to society the property of which he has plundered it? Does the
dissipated and licentious woman repair by her vigilant cares the wrongs
that her disorders and dissipations have occasioned? No, far from
it These persons so touched and converted by God ordinarily content
themselves with praying, fasting, religious offerings, frequenting
churches, clamoring in favor of their priests, intriguing to sustain
a sect, decrying all who disagree with their particular spiritual
director, and exhibiting an ardent and ridiculous zeal for questions
that they do not understand. In this manner they imagine they get
absolution from God, and give indemnification to men; but society gains
nothing from their miraculous conversion. On the other hand, devotion
often exalts, infuriates, and strengthens the passions which formerly
animated the converts. It turns these passions to new objects, and
religion justifies the intolerant and cruel excesses into which they
rush for the interest of their sect. It is thus that an ambitious
personage becomes a proud and turbulent fanatic, and believes himself
justified by his zeal; it is thus that a disgraced courtier cabals
in the name of heaven against his own enemies; and it is thus that a
malignant and vindictive man, under the pretext of avenging God, seeks
the means of avenging himself. Thus, also, it happens that a woman, to
indemnify herself for having quitted rouge, considers she has the right
to outrage with her acrid humor a husband whom she had previously, in a
different manner, outraged many times. She piously denounces those who
allow themselves the indulgence of the most innocent pleasures; in
the belief of manifesting religions earnestness, she exhales downright
passion, envy, jealousy, and spite; and in lending herself warmly to
the interests of heaven she shows an excess of ignorance, insanity, and
credulity.
But is it necessary, Madam, to insist upon this? You live in a country
where you see many devotees, and few virtuous people among them. If you
will but slightly examine the matter, you will find that among these
persons so persuaded of their religion, so convinced of its importance
and utility, who speak incessantly of its consolations, its sweets, and
its virtues,--you will find that among these persons there are very few
who are tendered happier, and yet fewer who are rendered better. Are
they vividly penetrated with the sentiments of their afflicting and
terrible religion? You will find them atrabilious, disobliging, and
fierce. Are they more lightly affected by their creed? You will then
find them less bigoted, more beneficent, social, and kind. The religion
of the court, as you know, is a continual mixture of devotion and
pleas-ore, a circle of the exercises of piety and dissipation, of
momentary fervor and continuous irregularities. This religion connects
Jesus Christ with the pomps of Satan. We there see sumptuous display,
pride, ambition, intrigue, vengeance, envy, and libertinism all
amalgamated with a religion whose _maxims_ are austere. Pious casuists,
interested for the great, approve this alliance, and give the lie to
their own religion in order to derive advantage from circumstances and
from the passions and vices of men. If these court divines were too
rigid, they would affright their fashionable disciples seeking to reach
heaven on "flowery beds of ease," and who embrace religion with the
understanding that they are to be allowed no inconsiderable latitude.
This is doubtless the reason why Jansenism, which wished to renew
the austere principles of primitive Christianity, obtained no general
influence at the Parisian court. The monkish precepts of early
Christianity could only suit men of the temper of those who first
embraced it They were adapted for persons who were abject, bilious, and
discontented, who, deprived of luxury, power, and honors, became the
enemies of grandeurs from which they were excluded. The devotees had the
art of making a merit of their aversion and disdain for what they could
not obtain.
Nevertheless, a Christian, in consonance with his principles, should
"take no thought for the morrow;" should have no individual possessions;
should flee from the world and its pomps; should give his coat to the
thief who stole his cloak; and, if smitten on one cheek, should turn
the other, to the aggressor. It is upon Stoicism that religious
fanatics built their gloomy philosophy. The so-called perfections which
Christianity proposes place man in a perpetual war with himself, and
must render him miserable. The true Christian is an enemy both of
himself and the human race, and for his own consistency should live
secluded in darkness, like an owl. His religion renders him essentially
unsocial, and as useless to himself as he is disagreeable to others.
What advantage can society receive from a man who trembles without
cessation, who is in a state of superstitious penance, who prays, and
who indulges in solitude? Or what better is the devotee who flies from
the world and deprives himself even of innocent pleasures, in the fear
that God might damn him for participation in them?
What results, from these maxims of a moral fanaticism? It happens that
laws so atrocious and cruel are enacted, that bigots alone are willing
to execute them. Yes, Madam, blameless as you know my whole life to have
been, consonant to integrity and honesty as you know my conduct to be,
and free as I have ever been from intolerance, my existence would be
endangered were these letters I am now writing to you to appear in
print, or even be circulated in manuscript with my name attached to them
as author. Yes, Christians have made laws, now dominant here in France,
which would tie me to the stake, consume my body with fire, bore my
tongue with a red hot iron, deprive me of sepulture, strip my family
of my property, and for no other cause than for my opinions concerning
Christianity and the Bible. Such is the horrid cruelty engendered by
Christianity. It has sometimes been called in question whether a society
of atheists could exist; but we might with more propriety ask if a
society of fierce, impracticable, visionary, and fanatical Christians,
in all the plenitude of their ridiculous system, could long subsist.*
What would become of a nation all of whose inhabitants wished to attain
perfection by delivering themselves over to fanatical contemplation, to
ascetical penance, to monkish prayers, and to that state of things set
forth in the Acts of the Apostles? What would be the condition of a
nation where no one took any "thought for the morrow"?--where all were
occupied solely with heaven, and all totally neglected whatever
related to this transitory and passing life?--where all made a merit
of celibacy, according to the precepts of St. Paul?--and where, in
consequence of constant occupation in the ceremonials of piety, no one
had leisure to devote to the well-being of men in their worldly and
temporal concerns? It is evident that such a society could only exist in
the Thebaid, and even there only for a limited time, as it must soon be
annihilated. If some enthusiasts exhibit examples of this sort, we know
that convents and nunneries are supported by that portion of society
which they do not enclose. But who would provide for a country that
abandoned every thing else, for the purpose of heavenly contemplations?
* Upon this topic consult what Bayle says, Continuation des
Pensees diverses sur la Comete, Sections 124,125, tome iv.,
Rousseau de Geneve, in his Contrai Social, 1. 4, ch 8. See
also the Lettres ecrites de la Montague, letter first, pp.
45 to 54, edit. 8vo. The author discusses the same matter,
and confirms his opinions hy new reasonings, which
particularly deserve perusal.--Note of the Editor, (Naigeon)
We may therefore legitimately conclude that the Christian religion
is not fitted for this world; that it is not calculated to insure the
happiness either of societies or individuals; that the precepts and
counsels of its God are impracticable, and more adapted to discourage
the human race, and to plunge men into despair and apathy, than to
render them happy, active, and virtuous. A Christian is compelled to
make an abstraction of the maxims of his religion if he wishes to live
in the world; he is no longer a Christian when he devotes his cares to
his earthly good; and, in a word, a real Christian is a man of another
world, and is not adapted for this.
Thus we see that Christians, to humanize themselves, are constantly
obliged to depart from their supernatural and divine speculations. Their
passions are not repressed, but on the contrary are often thus rendered
more fierce and more calculated to disturb society. Masked under the
veil of religion, they generally produce more terrible effects. It
is then that ambition, vengeance, cruelty, anger, calumny, envy, and
persecution, covered by the deceptive name of zeal, cause the greatest
ravages, range without bounds, and even delude those who are transported
by these dangerous passions. Religion does not annihilate these violent
agitations of the mind in the hearts of its devotees, but often excites
and justifies them; and experience proves that the most rigid Christians
are very far from being the best of men, and that they have no right to
reproach the incredulous either concerning the pretended consequences
of their principles, or for the passions which are falsely alleged to
spring from unbelief.
Indeed, the charity of the peaceful ministers of religion and of their
pious adherents does not prevent their blackening their adversaries with
a view of rendering them odious, and of drawing down upon their heads
the malevolence of a superstitious community, and the persecution of
tyrannical and oppressive laws; their zeal for God's glory permits them
to employ indifferently all kinds of weapons; and calumny, especially,
furnishes them always a most powerful aid. According to them, there are
no irregularities of the heart which are not produced by incredulity;
to renounce religion, say they, is to give a free course to unbridled
passions, and he who does not believe surely indicates a corrupt heart,
depraved manners, and frightful libertinism. In a word, they declare
that every man who refuses to admit their reveries or their marvellous
morality, has no motives to do good, and very powerful ones to commit
evil.
It is thus that our charitable divines caricature and misrepresent the
opponents of their supremacy, and describe them as dangerous brigands,
whom society, for its own interest, ought to proscribe and destroy. It
results from these imputations that those who renounce prejudices and
consult reason are considered the most unreasonable of men; that they
who condemn religion on account of the crimes it has produced upon the
earth, and for which it has served as an eternal pretext, are regarded
as bad citizens; that they who complain of the troubles that turbulent
priests have so often excited, are set down as perturbators of the
repose of nations; and that they who are shocked at the contemplation of
the inhuman and unjust persecutions which have been excited by priestly
ambition and rascality, are men who have no idea of justice, and in
whose bosoms the sentiments of humanity are necessarily stifled. They
who despise the false and deceitful motives by which, to the present
time, it has been vainly attempted through the other world to make men
virtuous, equitable, and beneficent, are denounced as having no real
motives to practise the virtues necessary for their well-being _here_.
In fine, the priests scandalize those who wish to destroy sacerdotal
tyranny, and impostures dangerous alike to nations and people, as
enemies of the state so dangerous that the laws ought to punish them.
But I believe, Madam, that you are now thoroughly convinced that the
true friends of the human race and of governments cannot also be the
friends of religion and of priests. Whatever may be the motives or
the passions which determine men to incredulity, whatever may be the
principles which flow from it, they cannot be so pernicious as those
which emanate directly and necessarily from a religion so absurd and
so atrocious as Christianity. Incredulity does not claim extraordinary
privileges as flowing from a partial God; it pretends to no right of
despotism over men's consciences; it has no pretexts for doing violence
to the minds of mankind; and it does not hate and persecute for a
difference of opinion. In a word, the incredulous, have not an infinity
of motives, interests, and pretexts to injure, with which the zealous
partisans of religion are abundantly provided.
The unbeliever in Christianity, who reflects, perceives that without
going out of this world there are pressing and real motives which
invite to virtuous conduct; he feels the interest that he has in
self-preservation, and of avoiding whatever is calculated to injure
another; he sees himself united by physical and reciprocal wants with
men who would despise him if he had vices, who would detest him if he
was guilty of any action contrary to justice and virtue, and who would
punish him if he committed any crimes, or if he outraged the laws. The
idea of decency and order, the desire of meriting the approbation of
his fellow-citizens, and the fear of being subjected to blame and
punishment, are sufficient to govern the actions of every rational man.
If, however, a citizen is in a sort of delirium, all the credulity in
the world will not be able to restrain him. If he is powerful enough
to have no fear of men on this earth, he will not regard the divine law
more than the hatred and the disdain of the judges he has constantly
before his eyes.
But the priests may perhaps tell us that the fear of an avenging God
at least serves to repress a great number of latent crimes that would
appear but for the influence of religion. Is it true, however, that
religion itself prevents these latent crimes? Are not Christian nations
full of knaves of all kinds, who secretly plot the ruin of their
fellow-beings? Do not the most ostensibly credulous persons indulge in
an infinity of vices for which they would blush if they were by chance
brought to light? A man who is the most persuaded that God sees all his
actions frequently does not blush to commit deeds in secret from which
he would refrain if beheld by the meanest of human beings.
What, then, avails the powerful check on the passions which religion is
said to interpose? If we could place any reliance on what is said by our
priests, it would appear that neither public nor secret crimes could
be committed in countries where their instructions are received; the
priests would appear like a brotherhood of angels, and every religious
man to be without faults. But men forget their religious speculations
when they are under the dominion of violent passions, when they are
bound by the ties of habit, or when they are blinded by great interests.
Under such circumstances they do not reason. Whether a man is virtuous
or vicious depends on temperament, habit, and education. An unbeliever
may have strong passions, and may reason very justly on the subject of
religion, and very erroneously in regard to his conduct. The religious
dupe is u poor metaphysician, and if he also acts badly he is both
imbecile and wicked.
It is true the priests deny that unbelievers ever reason correctly,
and pretend they must always be in the wrong to prefer natural sense
to their authority. But in this decision they occupy the place of both
judges and parties, and the verdict should be rendered by disinterested
persons. In the mean time the priests themselves seem to doubt the
soundness of their own allegations; they call the secular arm to the
aid of their arguments; they marshal on their side fines, imprisonment,
confiscation of goods, boring and branding with hot irons, and death at
the stake, at this time in France, and in other and in most countries
of Christendom; they use the scourge to drive men into paradise; they
enlighten men by the blaze of the fagot; they inculcate faith by furious
and bloody strokes of the sword; and they have the baseness to stand in
dread of men who cannot announce themselves or openly promulgate their
opinions without running the risk of punishment, and even death. This
conduct does not manifest that the priests are strongly persuaded of
the power of their arguments. If our clerical theologians acted in
good faith, would they not rejoice to open a free course to thorough
discussion? Would they not be gratified to allow doubters to propose
difficulties, the solution of which, if Christianity is so plain and
clear, would serve to render it more firm and solid? They find it
answers their ends better to use their adversaries as the Mexicans do
their slaves, whom they shackle before attacking, and then kill for
daring to defend themselves.
It is very probable unbelievers may be found whose conduct is blamable,
and this is because they in this respect follow the same line of
reasoning as the devotee. The most fanatical partisans of religion are
forced to confess that among their adherents a small number of the elect
only are rendered virtuous. By what right, then, do they exact that
incredulity, which pretends to nothing supernatural, should produce
effects which, according to their own admissions, their pretended divine
religion fails to accomplish? If all believers were invariably good men,
the cause of religion would be provided with an adamantine bulwark, and
especially if unbelievers were persons without morality or virtue. But
whatever the priests may aver, the unbelievers are more virtuous than
the devotees. A happy temperament, a judicious education, the desire of
living a peaceable life, the dislike to attract hatred or blame, and the
habit of fulfilling the moral duties, always furnish motives to abstain
from vice and to practise virtue more powerful and more true than
those presented by religion. Besides, the incredulous person has not an
infinity of resources which Christianity bestows upon its superstitious
followers. The Christian can at any time expiate his crimes by
confession and penance, and can thus reconcile himself with God, and
give repose to his conscience; the unbeliever, on the other hand, who
has perpetrated a wrong, can reconcile himself neither with society,
which he has outraged, nor with himself, whom he is compelled to hate.
If he expects no reward in another life, he has no interest but to merit
the homage that in all enlightened countries is rendered to virtue, to
probity, and to a conduct constantly honest; he has no inducement but to
avoid the penalties and the disdain that society decrees against those
who trouble its well-being, and who refuse to contribute to its welfare.
It appears evident that every man who consults his understanding should
be more reasonable than one who only consults his imagination. It is
evident that he who consults his own nature and that of the beings who
surround him, ought to have truer ideas of good and evil, of justice and
injustice, and of honesty and dishonesty, that he who, to regulate his
conduct, consults only the records of a concealed God, whom his priests
picture as wicked, unjust, changeable, contradicting himself, and who
has sometimes ordered actions the most contrary to morality and to all
the ideas that we have of virtue. It is evident that he who regulates
his conduct upon sacerdotal molality will only follow the caprice
and passions of the priests, and will be a very dangerous man, while
believing himself very virtuous. In fine, it is evident that while
conforming himself to the precepts and counsels of religion, a man may
be extremely pious without possessing the shadow of a virtue. Experience
has proved that it is quite possible to adhere to all the unintelligible
dogmas of the priests, to observe most scrupulously all the forms, and
ceremonies, and services they recommend, and orally to profess all the
Christian virtues, without having any of the qualities necessary to his
own happiness, and to that of the beings with whom he lives. The saints,
indeed, who are proposed to us as models, were useless members of
society. We see them to have been either gloomy fanatics, who sacrificed
themselves to the desolating ideas of their religion, or excited
fanatics, who, under pretext of serving religion, have perpetually
disturbed the repose of nations, or enthusiastic theologians, who from
their own dreams have deduced systems exactly calculated to infuriate
the brains of their adherents. A saint, when he is tranquil, proposes
nothing whose accomplishment will benefit mankind, and only aims to keep
himself safe and secluded in his retreat. A saint, when he is active,
only appears to promulgate reveries dangerous to the world, and to
uphold the interests of the church, that he confounds with the interest
of God.
In a word, Madam, I cannot too often repeat it, every system of religion
appears to be designed for the utility of the priests; the morality of
Christianity has in view only the interests of the priesthood; all the
virtues that it teaches have solely for an object the church, and its
ministers; and these ends are always to subject the people, to draw a
profit from their toil, and to inspire them with a blind Credulity. We
ought, therefore, to practise morality and virtue without entering into
these conspiracies. If the priests disapprove of those who do not agree
with them, and refuse to award any probity to the thinkers who reject
their injurious and useless notions, society, which needs for its own
sustenance real and human virtues, will not adopt the sentiments nor
espouse the quarrels of these men, visibly leagued together against it.
If the ministers of religion require their dogmas, their mysteries,
and their fanatical virtues to support their usurped empire, the civil
government has a need of reasonable virtues, of an evident, and above
all, of a pacific morality, in order, to exercise its legitimate rights.
In fine, the individuals, who compose every society, demand a morality
which will render them happy in _this_ world, without embarrassing
themselves with what only pretends to secure their felicity in an
imaginary sphere, of which they have no ideas except those received from
the priests themselves.
The priests have had the art to unite their religious system with some
moral tenets which are really good. This renders their mysteries more
sacred, and lends authority to their ambiguous dogmas. By the aid of
this artifice, they have given currency to the opinion that without
religion there can be neither morality nor virtue. I hope, Madam, in
my next letter, to complete the exposure of this prejudice, and to
demonstrate, to whoever will reflect, how uncertain, abstract, and
deceitful are the notions which religion has inspired. I shall clearly
show, that they have often infected philosophers themselves; that up to
the present time, they have retarded the progress of morality; and that
they have transformed a science the most certain, plain, and sensible to
every thinking man, into a system at once doubtful and enigmatical, and
full of difficulties. I am, Madam, &c.