7. "For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can
carry nothing out.
8. "And having food and raiment let us be therewith content."--_I Tim.,
vi._
This was intended to make a slave satisfied to hear the clanking of his
chains. This is the reason he should never try to better his condition.
He should be contented simply with the right to work for nothing. If
he only had food and raiment, and a thief to work for, he should be
contented. He should solace himself with the apostolic reflection, that
as he brought nothing into the world, he could carry nothing out, and
that when dead he would be as happily situated as his master.
In order to show you what the inspired writer meant by the word
_servant_, I will read from the 21st chapter of Exodus, verses 20 and
21:
"And if a man smite his servant, or his maid, with a rod, and he die
under his hand; he shall be surely punished.
"Notwithstanding, if he continue a day or two, he shall not be punished:
for he _is_ his money."
Yet, notwithstanding these passages the _Christian Advocate_ says, "the
Bible is the Magna Charta of our liberty."
After reading that, I was not surprised by the following in the same
paper:
"We regret to record that Ingersoll is on a low plane of infidelity and
atheism, not less offensive to good morals than have been the teachings
of infidelity during the last century. France has been cursed with such
teachings for a hundred years, and because of it, to-day her citizens
are incapable of self-government."
What was the condition of France a century ago? Were they capable of
self-government then? For fourteen hundred years the common people of
France had suffered. For fourteen hundred years they had been robbed
by the altar and by the throne. They had been the prey of priests and
nobles. All were exempt from taxation, except the common people. The
cup of their suffering was full, and the French people arose in fury and
frenzy, and tore the drapery from the altars of God, and filled the air
with the dust of thrones.
Surely, the slavery of fourteen centuries had not been produced by the
teachings of Voltaire. I stood only a little while ago at the place
where once stood the Bastile. In my imagination I saw that prison
standing as it stood of yore. I could see it attacked by the populace.
I could see their stormy faces and hear their cries. And I saw that
ancient fortification of tyranny go down forever. And now where once
stood the Bastile stands the Column of July. Upon its summit is a
magnificent statue of Liberty, holding in one hand a banner, in the
other a broken chain, and upon its shining forehead is the star of
progress. There it stands where once stood the Bastile. And France is
as much superior to what it was when Voltaire was born, as that statue,
surmounting the Column of July, is more beautiful than the Bastile that
stood there once with its cells of darkness, and its dungeons of horror.
And yet we are now told that the French people have rendered themselves
incapable of government, simply because they have listened to the voice
of progress. There are magnificent men in France. From that country have
come to the human race some of the grandest and holiest messages the ear
of man has ever heard. The French people have given to history some
of the most touching acts of self-sacrifice ever performed beneath the
amazed stars.
For my part, I admire the French people. I cannot forget the Rue San
Antoine, nor the red cap of liberty. I can never cease to remember that
the tricolor was held aloft in Paris, while Europe was in chains, and
while liberty, with a bleeding breast, was in the Inquisition of Spain.
And yet we are now told by a religious paper, that France is not capable
of self-government. I suppose it was capable of self-government under
the old regime, at the time of the massacre of St. Bartholomew. I
suppose it was capable of self-government when women were seen yoked
with cattle pulling plows. I suppose it was capable of self-government
when all who labored were in a condition of slavery.
In the old times, even among the priests, there were some good, some
sincere and most excellent men. I have read somewhere of a sermon
preached by one of these in the Cathedral of Notre Dame. This old
priest, among other things, said that the soul of a beggar was as dear
to God as the soul of the richest of his people, and that Jesus Christ
died as much for a beggar as for a prince. One French peasant, rough
with labor, cried out: "I propose three cheers for Jesus Christ." I like
such things. I like to hear of them. I like to repeat them. Paris has
been a kind of volcano, and has made the heavens lurid with its lava
of hatred, but it has also contributed more than any other city to the
intellectual development of man. France has produced some infamous
men, among others John Calvin, but for one Calvin, she has produced a
thousand benefactors of the human race.
The moment the French people rise above the superstitions of the church,
they will be in the highest sense capable of self-government. The moment
France succeeds in releasing herself from the coils of Catholicism--from
the shadows of superstition--from the foolish forms and mummeries of the
church--from the intellectual tyranny of a thousand years--she will not
only be capable of self-government, but will govern herself. Let the
priests be usefully employed. We want no overseers of the mind; no
slave-drivers for the soul. We cannot afford to pay hypocrites for
depriving us of liberty. It is a waste of money to pay priests to
frighten our children, and paralyze the intellect of women.