*A reply to the Western Watchman, published in the St. Louis
Globe Democrat, Sept. 1, 1892.
_Question_. Have you read an article in the _Western Watchman_, entitled
"Suicide of Judge Normile"? If so, what is your opinion of it?
_Answer._ I have read the article, and I think the spirit in which it
is written is in exact accord with the creed, with the belief, that
prompted it.
In this article the writer speaks not only of Judge Normile, but of
Henry D'Arcy, and begins by saying that a Catholic community had been
shocked, but that as a matter of fact the Catholics had no right "to
feel special concern in the life or death of either," for the reason,
"that both had ceased to be Catholics, and had lived as infidels and
scoffers."
According to the Catholic creed all infidels and scoffers are on
the direct road to eternal pain; and yet, if the _Watchman_ is to be
believed, Catholics have no right to have special concern for the fate
of such people, even after their death.
The church has always proclaimed that it was seeking the lost--that
it was trying in every way to convert the infidels and save the
scoffers--that it cared less for the ninety-nine sheep safe in the fold
than for the one that had strayed. We have been told that God so loved
infidels and scoffers, that he came to this poor world and gave his life
that they might be saved. But now we are told by the _Western Watchman_
that the church, said to have been founded by Christ, has no right to
feel any special concern about the fate of infidels and scoffers.
Possibly the _Watchman_ only refers to the infidels and scoffers who
were once Catholics.
If the New Testament is true, St. Peter was at one time a Christian;
that is to say, a good Catholic, and yet he fell from grace and not only
denied his Master, but went to the extent of swearing that he did not
know him; that he never had made his acquaintance. And yet, this same
Peter was taken back and became the rock on which the Catholic Church is
supposed to rest.
Are the Catholics of St. Louis following the example of Christ, when
they publicly declare that they care nothing for the fate of one who
left the church and who died in his sins?
The _Watchman_, in order to show that it was simply doing its duty, and
was not actuated by hatred or malice, assures us as follows: "A warm
personal friendship existed between D'Arcy and Normile and the managers
of this paper." What would the _Watchman_ have said if these men had
been the personal enemies of the managers of that paper? Two warm
personal friends, once Catholics, had gone to hell; but the managers
of the _Watchman_, "warm personal friends" of the dead, had no right to
feel any special concern about these friends in the flames of perdition.
One would think that pity had changed to piety.
Another wonderful statement is that "both of these men determined to go
to hell, if there was a hell, and to forego the joys of heaven, if there
was a heaven."
Admitting that heaven and hell exist, that heaven is a good place, and
that hell, to say the least, is, and eternally will be, unpleasant, why
should any sane man unalterably determine to go to hell? It is hard to
think of any reason, unless he was afraid of meeting those Catholics in
heaven who had been his "warm personal friends" in this world. The truth
is that no one wishes to be unhappy in this or any other country. The
truth is that Henry D'Arcy and Judge Normile both became convinced that
the Catholic Church is of human origin, that its creed is not true, that
it is the enemy of progress, and the foe of freedom. It may be that
they were in part led to these conclusions by the conduct of their "warm
personal friends."
It is claimed that these men, Henry D'Arcy and Judge Normile "studied"
to convince themselves "that there was no God, that they went back to
Paganism and lived among the ancients," and "that they soon revelled
in the grossness of Paganism." If they went back to Paganism, they
certainly found plenty of gods. The Pagans filled heaven and earth with
deities. The Catholics have only three, while the Pagans had hundreds.
And yet there were some very good Pagans. By associating with Socrates
and Plato one would not necessarily become a groveling wretch. Zeno was
not altogether abominable. He would compare favorably, at least, with
the average pope. Aristotle was not entirely despicable, although wrong,
it may be, in many things. Epicurus was temperate, frugal and serene. He
perceived the beauty of use, and celebrated the marriage of virtue and
joy. He did not teach his disciples to revel in grossness, although his
maligners have made this charge. Cicero was a Pagan, and yet he uttered
some very sublime and generous sentiments. Among other things, he said
this: "When we say that we should love Romans, but not foreigners, we
destroy the bond of universal brotherhood and drive from our hearts
charity and justice."
Suppose a Pagan had written about "two warm personal friends" of his,
who had joined the Catholic Church, and suppose he had said this:
"Although our two warm personal friends have both died by their own
hands, and although both have gone to the lowest hell, and are now
suffering inconceivable agonies, we have no right to feel any special
concern about them or about their sufferings; and, to speak frankly, we
care nothing for their agonies, nothing for their tears, and we mention
them only to keep other Pagans from joining that blasphemous and
ignorant church. Both of our friends were raised as Pagans, both were
educated in our holy religion, and both had read the works of our
greatest and wisest authors, and yet they fell into apostasy, and
studied day and night, in season and out of season, to convince
themselves that a young carpenter of Palestine was in fact, Jupiter,
whom we call Stator, the creator, the sustainer and governor of all."
It is probable that the editor of the _Watchman_ was perfectly
conscientious in his attack on the dead. Nothing but a sense of
religious duty could induce any man to attack the character of a "warm
personal friend," and to say that although the friend was in hell, he
felt no special concern as to his fate.
The _Watchman_ seems to think that it is hardly probable or possible
that a sane Catholic should become an infidel. People of every religion
feel substantially in this way. It is probable that the Mohammedan is
of the opinion that no sane believer in the religion of Islam could
possibly become a Catholic. Probably there are no sane Mohammedans. I do
not know.
Now, it seems to me, that when a sane Catholic reads the history of
his church, of the Inquisition, of centuries of flame and sword, of
philosophers and thinkers tortured, flayed and burned by the "Bride of
God," and of all the cruelties of Christian years, he may reasonably
come to the conclusion that the Church of Rome is not the best possible
church in this, the best possible of all worlds.
It would hardly impeach his sanity if, after reading the history of
superstition, he should denounce the Hierarchy, from priest to pope. The
truth is, the real opinions of all men are perfectly honest no matter
whether they are for or against the Catholic creed. All intelligent
people are intellectually hospitable. Every man who knows something of
the operations of his own mind is absolutely certain that his wish has
not, to his knowledge, influenced his judgment. He may admit that his
wish has influenced his speech, but he must certainly know that it has
not affected his judgment.
In other words, a man cannot cheat himself in a game of solitaire and
really believe that he has won the game. No matter what the appearance
of the cards may be, he knows whether the game was lost or won. So, men
may say that their judgment is a certain way, and they may so affirm in
accordance with their wish, but neither the wish, nor the declaration
can affect the real judgment. So, a man must know whether he believes a
certain creed or not, or, at least, what the real state of his mind
is. When a man tells me that he believes in the supernatural, in the
miraculous, and in the inspiration of the Scriptures, I take it for
granted that he is telling the truth, although it seems impossible to me
that the man could reach that conclusion. When another tells me that he
does not know whether there is a Supreme Being or not, but that he does
not believe in the supernatural, and is perfectly satisfied that the
Scriptures are for the most part false and barbarous, I implicitly
believe every word he says.
I admit cheerfully that there are many millions of men and women who
believe what to me seems impossible and infinitely absurd; and,
undoubtedly, what I believe seems to them equally impossible.
Let us give to others the liberty which we claim for ourselves.
The _Watchman_ seems to think that unbelief, especially when coupled
with what they call "the sins of the flesh," is the lowest possible
depth, and tells us that "robbers may be devout," "murderers penitent,"
and "drunkards reverential."
In some of these statements the _Watchman_ is probably correct. There
have been "devout robbers." There have been gentlemen of the highway,
agents of the road, who carried sacred images, who bowed, at holy
shrines for the purpose of securing success. For many centuries the
devout Catholics robbed the Jews. The devout Ferdinand and Isabella
were great robbers. A great many popes have indulged in this theological
pastime, not to speak of the rank and file. Yes, the _Watchman_ is
right. There is nothing in robbery that necessarily interferes with
devotion.
There have been penitent murderers, and most murderers, unless impelled
by a religious sense of duty to God, have been penitent. David, with
dying breath, advised his son to murder the old friends of his father.
He certainly was not penitent. Undoubtedly Torquemada murdered without
remorse, and Calvin burned his "warm personal friend" to gain the
applause of God. Philip the Second was a murderer, not penitent, because
he deemed it his duty. The same may be said of the Duke of Alva, and of
thousands of others.
Robert Burns was not, according to his own account, strictly virtuous,
and yet I like him better than I do those who planned and carried into
bloody execution the massacre of St. Bartholomew.
Undoubtedly murderers have been penitent. A man in California cut the
throat of a woman, although she begged for mercy, saying at the same
time that she was not prepared to die. He cared nothing for her prayers.
He was tried, convicted and sentenced to death. He made a motion for
a new trial. This was denied. He appealed to the governor, but the
executive refused to interfere. Then he became penitent and experienced
religion. On the scaffold he remarked that he was going to heaven; that
his only regret was that he would not meet the woman he had murdered,
as she was not a Christian when she died. Undoubtedly murderers can be
penitent.
An old Spaniard was dying. He sent for a priest to administer the last
sacraments of the church. The priest told him that he must forgive all
his enemies. "I have no enemies," said the dying man, "I killed the last
one three weeks ago." Undoubtedly murderers can be penitent.
So, I admit that drunkards have been pious and reverential, and I might
add, honest and generous.
Some good Catholics and some good Protestants have enjoyed a hospitable
glass, and there have been priests who used the blood of the grape for
other than a sacramental purpose. Even Luther, a good Catholic in his
day, a reformer, a Doctor of Divinity, gave to the world this couplet:
"Who loves not woman, wine and song,
Will live a fool his whole life long."
The _Watchman_, in effect, says that a devout robber is better than an
infidel; that a penitent murderer is superior to a freethinker, in the
sight of God.
Another curious thing in this article is that after sending both men to
hell, the _Watchman_ says: "As to their moral habits we know nothing."
It may then be taken for granted, if these "warm personal friends" knew
nothing against the dead, that their lives were, at least, what the
church calls moral. We know, if we know anything, that there is no
necessary connection between what is called religion and morality.
Certainly there were millions of moral people, those who loved mercy
and dealt honestly, before the Catholic Church existed. The virtues were
well known, and practiced, before a triple crown surrounded the cunning
brain of an Italian Vicar of God, and before the flames of the _Auto da
fe_ delighted the hearts of a Christian mob. Thousands of people died
for the right, before the wrong organized the infallible church.
But why should any man deem it his duty or feel it a pleasure to say
harsh and cruel things of the dead? Why pierce the brow of death with
the thorns of hatred? Suppose the editor of the _Watchman_ had died, and
Judge Normile had been the survivor, would the infidel and scoffer have
attacked the unreplying dead?
Henry D'Arcy I did not know; but Judge Normile was my friend and I
was his. Although we met but a few times, he excited my admiration and
respect. He impressed me as being an exceedingly intelligent man, well
informed on many subjects, of varied reading, possessed of a clear and
logical mind, a poetic temperament, enjoying the beautiful things in
literature and art, and the noble things in life. He gave his opinions
freely, but without the least arrogance, and seemed perfectly willing
that others should enjoy the privilege of differing with him. He was, so
far as I could perceive, a gentleman, tender of the feelings of others,
free and manly in his bearing, "of most excellent fancy," and a most
charming and agreeable companion.
According, however, to the _Watchman_, such a man is far below a "devout
robber" or a "penitent murderer." Is it possible that an assassin like
Ravillac is far better than a philosopher like Voltaire; and that all
the Catholic robbers and murderers who retain their faith, give greater
delight to God than the Humboldts, Haeckels and Darwins who have filled
the world with intellectual light?
Possibly the Catholic Church is mistaken. Possibly the _Watchman_ is in
error, and possibly there may be for the erring, even in another world,
some asylum besides hell.
Judge Normile died by his own hand. Certainly he was not afraid of
the future. He was not appalled by death. He died by his own hand. Can
anything be more pitiful--more terrible? How can a man in the flowing
tide and noon of life destroy himself? What storms there must have
been within the brain; what tempests must have raved and wrecked; what
lightnings blinded and revealed; what hurrying clouds obscured and hid
the stars; what monstrous shapes emerged from gloom; what darkness fell
upon the day; what visions filled the night; how the light failed; how
paths were lost; how highways disappeared; how chasms yawned; until one
thought--the thought of death--swift, compassionate and endless--became
the insane monarch of the mind.
Standing by the prostrate form of one who thus found death, it is far
better to pity than to revile--to kiss the clay than curse the man.
The editor of the _Watchman_ has done himself injustice. He has not
injured the dead, but the living.
I am an infidel--an unbeliever--and yet I hope that all the children of
men may find peace and joy. No matter how they leave this world, from
altar or from scaffold, crowned with virtue or stained with crime, I
hope that good may come to all.
R. G. Ingersoll.