Title: The Works of Robert G. Ingersoll, Vol. 6 (of 12) - Dresden Edition—Discussions
Author: Ingersoll, Robert Green, 1833-1899
Language: English
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THE WORKS OF ROBERT G. INGERSOLL

"ARGUMENTS CANNOT BE ANSWERED WITH INSULTS. KINDNESS IS STRENGTH;
ANGER BLOWS OUT THE LAMP OF THE MIND. IN THE EXAMINATION OF A GREAT AND
IMPORTANT QUESTION, EVERY ONE SHOULD BE SERENE, SLOW-PULSED AND CALM."

IN TWELVE VOLUMES VOLUME VI.

DISCUSSIONS

1900

Dresden Edition



CONTENTS.


THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION.

(1881.)

I. Col. Ingersoll's Opening Paper--Statement of the Fundamental Truths
of Christianity--Reasons for Thinking that Portions of the Old Testament
are the Product of a Barbarous People--Passages upholding
Slavery, Polygamy, War, and Religious Persecution not Evidences of
Inspiration--If the Words are not Inspired, What Is?--Commands of
Jehovah compared with the Precepts of Pagans and Stoics--Epictetus,
Cicero, Zeno, Seneca, Brahma--II. The New Testament--Why were
Four Gospels Necessary?--Salvation by Belief--The Doctrine of
the Atonement--The Jewish System Culminating in the Sacrifice of
Christ--Except for the Crucifixion of her Son, the Virgin Mary would be
among the Lost--What Christ must have Known would Follow the Acceptance
of His Teachings--The Wars of Sects, the Inquisition, the Fields of
Death--Why did he not Forbid it All?--The Little that he Revealed--The
Dogma of Eternal Punishment--Upon Love's Breast the Church has Placed
the Eternal Asp--III. The "Inspired" Writers--Why did not God furnish
Every Nation with a Bible?

II. Judge Black's Reply--His Duty that of a Policeman--The Church not
in Danger--Classes who Break out into Articulate Blasphemy--The
Sciolist--Personal Remarks about Col. Ingersoll--Chief-Justice Gibson of
Pennsylvania Quoted--We have no Jurisdiction or Capacity to Rejudge the
Justice of God--The Moral Code of the Bible--Civil Government of the
Jews--No Standard of Justice without Belief in a God--Punishments for
Blasphemy and Idolatry Defended--Wars of Conquest--Allusion to Col.
Ingersoll's War Record--Slavery among the Jews--Polygamy Discouraged by
the Mosaic Constitution--Jesus of Nazareth and the Establishment of
his Religion--Acceptance of Christianity and Adjudication upon its
Divinity--The Evangelists and their Depositions--The Fundamental Truths
of Christianity--Persecution and Triumph of the Church--Ingersoll's
Propositions Compressed and the Compressions Answered--Salvation as a
Reward of Belief--Punishment of Unbelief--The Second Birth, Atonement,
Redemption, Non-resistance, Excessive Punishment of Sinners, Christ and
Persecution, Christianity and Freedom of Thought, Sufficiency of the
Gospel, Miracles, Moral Effect of Christianity.

III. Col. Ingersoll's Rejoinder--How this Discussion Came About--Natural
Law--The Design Argument--The Right to Rejudge the Justice even of a
God--Violation of the Commandments by Jehovah--Religious Intolerance
of the Old Testament--Judge Black's Justification of Wars of
Extermination--His Defence of Slavery--Polygamy not "Discouraged" by the
Old Testament--Position of Woman under the Jewish System and under that
of the Ancients--a "Policeman's" View of God--Slavery under Jehovah
and in Egypt--The Admission that Jehovah gave no Commandment against
Polygamy--The Learned and Wise Crawl back in Cribs--Alleged Harmony of
Old and New Testaments--On the Assertion that the Spread of Christianity
Proves the Supernatural Origin of the Gospel--The Argument applicable to
All Religions--Communications from Angels ana Gods--Authenticity of
the Statements of the Evangelists--Three Important Manuscripts--Rise
of Mormonism--Ascension of Christ--The Great Public Events alleged
as Fundamental Truths of Christianity--Judge Black's System
of "Compression"--"A Metaphysical Question"--Right and
Wrong--Justice--Christianity and Freedom of Thought--Heaven and
Hell--Production of God and the Devil--Inspiration of the Bible
dependent on the Credulity of the Reader--Doubt of Miracles--The
World before Christ's Advent--Respect for the Man Christ--The Dark
Ages--Institutions of Mercy--Civil Law.

THE FIELD-INGERSOLL DISCUSSION.

(1887.)

An Open Letter to Robert G. Ingersoll--Superstitions--Basis of
Religion--Napoleon's Question about the Stars--The Idea of God--Crushing
out Hope--Atonement, Regeneration, and Future Retribution--Socrates and
Jesus--The Language of Col. Ingersoll characterized as too Sweeping--The
Sabbath--But a Step from Sneering at Religion to Sneering at Morality.

A Reply to the Rev. Henry M. Field, D. D.--Honest Differences of
Opinion--Charles Darwin--Dr. Field's Distinction between Superstition
and Religion--The Presbyterian God an Infinite Torquemada--Napoleon's
Sensitiveness to the Divine Influence--The Preference of Agassiz--The
Mysterious as an Explanation--The Certainty that God is not what he
is Thought to Be--Self-preservation the Fibre of Society--Did
the Assassination of Lincoln Illustrate the Justice of God's
Judgments?--Immortality--Hope and the Presbyterian Creed--To a Mother
at the Grave of Her Son--Theological Teaching of Forgiveness--On
Eternal Retribution--Jesus and Mohammed--Attacking the Religion of
Others--Ananias and Sapphira--The Pilgrims and Freedom to Worship--The
Orthodox Sabbath--Natural Restraints on Conduct--Religion and
Morality--The Efficacy of Prayer--Respect for Belief of Father and
Mother--The "Power behind Nature"--Survival of the Fittest--The Saddest
Fact--"Sober Second Thought."

A Last Word to Robert G. Ingersoll, by Dr. Field--God not a
Presbyterian--Why Col. Ingersoll's Attacks on Religion are Resented--God
is more Merciful than Man--Theories about the Future Life--Retribution
a Necessary Part of the Divine Law--The Case of Robinson
Crusoe--Irresistible Proof of Design--Col. Ingersoll's View of
Immortality--An Almighty Friend.

Letter to Dr. Field--The Presbyterian God--What the Presbyterians
Claim--The "Incurably Bad"--Responsibility for not seeing Things
Clearly--Good Deeds should Follow even Atheists--No Credit in
Belief--Design Argument that Devours Itself--Belief as a Foundation
of Social Order--No Consolation in Orthodox Religion--The "Almighty
Friend" and the Slave Mother--a Hindu Prayer--Calvinism--Christ not the
Supreme Benefactor of the Race.

COLONEL INGERSOLL ON CHRISTIANITY.

(1888.)

Some Remarks on his Reply to Dr. Field by the Hon. Wm. E.
Gladstone--External Triumph and Prosperity of the Church--A Truth Half
Stated--Col. Ingersoll's Tumultuous Method and lack of Reverential
Calm--Jephthah's Sacrifice--Hebrews xii Expounded--The Case of
Abraham--Darwinism and the Scriptures--Why God demands Sacrifices of
Man--Problems admitted to be Insoluble--Relation of human Genius
to Human Greatness--Shakespeare and Others--Christ and the Family
Relation--Inaccuracy of Reference in the Reply--Ananias and
Sapphira--The Idea of Immortality--Immunity of Error in Belief from
Moral Responsibility--On Dishonesty in the Formation of Opinion--A
Plausibility of the Shallowest kind--The System of Thuggism--Persecution
for Opinion's Sake--Riding an Unbroken Horse.

Col. Ingersoll to Mr. Gladstone--On the "Impaired" State of the human
Constitution--Unbelief not Due to Degeneracy--Objections to the
Scheme of Redemption--Does Man Deserve only Punishment?--"Reverential
Calm"--The Deity of the Ancient Jews--Jephthah and Abraham--Relation
between Darwinism and the Inspiration of the Scriptures--Sacrifices to
the Infinite--What is Common Sense?--An Argument that will Defend every
Superstition--The Greatness of Shakespeare--The Absolute Indissolubility
of Marriage--Is the Religion of Christ for this Age?--As to Ananias and
Sapphira--Immortality and People of Low Intellectual Development--Can
we Control our Thought?--Dishonest Opinions Cannot be Formed--Some
Compensations for Riding an "Unbroken Horse."

ROME OR REASON?

(1888.)

"The Church Its Own Witness," by Cardinal Manning--Evidence
that Christianity is of Divine Origin--The Universality of the
Church--Natural Causes not Sufficient to Account for the Catholic
Church---The World in which Christianity Arose--Birth of Christ--From
St Peter to Leo XIII.--The First Effect of Christianity--Domestic
Life's Second Visible Effect--Redemption of Woman from traditional
Degradation--Change Wrought by Christianity upon the Social, Political
and International Relations of the World--Proof that Christianity is of
Divine Origin and Presence--St. John and the Christian Fathers--Sanctity
of the Church not Affected by Human Sins.

A Reply to Cardinal Manning--I. Success not a Demonstration of either
Divine Origin or Supernatural Aid--Cardinal Manning's Argument
More Forcible in the Mouth of a Mohammedan--Why Churches Rise and
Flourish--Mormonism--Alleged Universality of the Catholic Church--Its
"inexhaustible Fruitfulness" in Good Things--The Inquisition and
Persecution--Not Invincible--Its Sword used by Spain--Its Unity not
Unbroken--The State of the World when Christianity was Established--The
Vicar of Christ--A Selection from Draper's "History of the Intellectual
Development of Europe"--Some infamous Popes--Part II. How the Pope
Speaks--Religions Older than Catholicism and having the Same Rites
and Sacraments--Is Intellectual Stagnation a Demonstration of Divine
Origin?--Integration and Disintegration--The Condition of the World 300
Years Ago--The Creed of Catholicism--The "One true God" with a Knowledge
of whom Catholicism has "filled the World"--Did the Catholic Church
overthrow Idolatry?--Marriage--Celibacy--Human Passions--The Cardinal's
Explanation of Jehovah's abandonment of the Children of Men for
four thousand Years--Catholicism tested by Paganism--Canon Law
and Convictions had Under It--Rival Popes--Importance of a Greek
"Inflection"--The Cardinal Witnesses.

IS DIVORCE WRONG?

(1889.)

Preface by the Editor of the North American Review--Introduction, by the
Rev. S. W. Dike, LL. D.--A Catholic View by Cardinal Gibbons--Divorce
as Regarded by the Episcopal Church, by Bishop, Henry C. Potter--Four
Questions Answered, by Robert G. Ingersoll.

DIVORCE.

Reply to Cardinal Gibbons--Indissolubility of Marriage a Reaction
from Polygamy--Biblical Marriage--Polygamy Simultaneous and
Successive--Marriage and Divorce in the Light of Experience--Reply
to Bishop Potter--Reply to Mr. Gladstone--Justice Bradley--Senator
Dolph--The argument Continued in Colloquial Form--Dialogue between
Cardinal Gibbons and a Maltreated Wife--She Asks the Advice of Mr.
Gladstone--The Priest who Violated his Vow--Absurdity of the Divorce
laws of Some States.

REPLY TO DR. LYMAN ABBOTT.

(1890)

Dr. Abbott's Equivocations--Crimes Punishable by Death under Mosaic
and English Law--Severity of Moses Accounted for by Dr. Abbott--The
Necessity for the Acceptance of Christianity--Christians should be
Glad to Know that the Bible is only the Work of Man and that the New
Testament Life of Christ is Untrue--All the Good Commandments, Known
to the World thousands of Years before Moses--Human Happiness of
More Consequence than the Truth about God--The Appeal to Great
Names--Gladstone not the Greatest Statesman--What the Agnostic Says--The
Magnificent Mistakes of Genesis--The Story of Joseph--Abraham as a
"self-Exile for Conscience's Sake."

REPLY TO ARCHDEACON FARRAR.

(1890.)

Revelation as an Appeal to Man's "Spirit"--What is Spirit and what is
"Spiritual Intuition"?--The Archdeacon in Conflict with St. Paul--II.
The Obligation to Believe without Evidence--III. Ignorant Credulity--IV.
A Definition of Orthodoxy--V. Fear not necessarily Cowardice--Prejudice
is Honest--The Ola has the Advantage in an Argument--St.
Augustine--Jerome--the Appeal to Charlemagne--Roger Bacon--Lord Bacon
a Defender of the Copernican System--The Difficulty of finding out
what Great Men Believed--Names Irrelevantly Cited--Bancroft on the
Hessians--Original Manuscripts of the Bible--VI. An Infinite Personality
a Contradiction in Terms--VII. A Beginningless Being--VIII. The
Cruelties of Nature not to be Harmonized with the Goodness of a
Deity--Sayings from the Indian--Origen, St. Augustine, Dante, Aquinas.

IS CORPORAL PUNISHMENT DEGRADING?

(1890.)

A Reply to the Dean of St. Paul--Growing Confidence in the Power of
Kindness--Crimes against Soldiers and Sailors--Misfortunes Punished
as Crimes--The Dean's Voice Raised in Favor of the Brutalities of the
Past--Beating of Children--Of Wives--Dictum of Solomon.



THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION; INGERSOLL'S OPENING PAPER

[Ingersoll-Black]

By Robert G. Ingersoll

In the presence of eternity the mountains are as transient as the
clouds.

A PROFOUND change has taken place in the world of thought. The pews are
trying to set themselves somewhat above the pulpit. The layman discusses
theology with the minister, and smiles. Christians excuse themselves
for belonging to the church, by denying a part of the creed. The idea
is abroad that they who know the most of nature believe the least about
theology. The sciences are regarded as infidels, and facts as scoffers.
Thousands of most excellent people avoid churches, and, with few
exceptions, only those attend prayer-meetings who wish to be alone. The
pulpit is losing because the people are growing.

Of course it is still claimed that we are a Christian people, indebted
to something called Christianity for all the progress we have made.
There is still a vast difference of opinion as to what Christianity
really is, although many warring sects have been discussing that
question, with fire and sword, through centuries of creed and crime.
Every new sect has been denounced at its birth as illegitimate, as
a something born out of orthodox wedlock, and that should have been
allowed to perish on the steps where it was found. Of the relative
merits of the various denominations, it is sufficient to say that
each claims to be right. Among the evangelical churches there is a
substantial agreement upon what they consider the fundamental truths of
the gospel. These fundamental truths, as I understand them, are:

That there is a personal God, the creator of the material universe; that
he made man of the dust, and woman from part of the man; that the man
and woman were tempted by the devil; that they were turned out of the
Garden of Eden; that, about fifteen hundred years afterward, God's
patience having been exhausted by the wickedness of mankind, he drowned
his children with the exception of eight persons; that afterward he
selected from their descendants Abraham, and through him the Jewish
people; that he gave laws to these people, and tried to govern them in
all things; that he made known his will in many ways; that he wrought a
vast number of miracles; that he inspired men to write the Bible; that,
in the fullness of time, it having been found impossible to reform
mankind, this God came upon earth as a child born of the Virgin Mary;
that he lived in Palestine; that he preached for about three years,
going from place to place, occasionally raising the dead, curing the
blind and the halt; that he was crucified--for the crime of blasphemy,
as the Jews supposed, but that, as a matter of fact, he was offered as
a sacrifice for the sins of all who might have faith in him; that he was
raised from the dead and ascended into heaven, where he now is, making
intercession for his followers; that he will forgive the sins of all who
believe on him, and that those who do not believe will be consigned to
the dungeons of eternal pain. These--it may be with the addition of the
sacraments of Baptism and the Last Supper--constitute what is generally
known as the Christian religion.

It is most cheerfully admitted that a vast number of people not only
believe these things, but hold them in exceeding reverence, and imagine
them to be of the utmost importance to mankind. They regard the Bible as
the only light that God has given for the guidance of his children; that
it is the one star in nature's sky--the foundation of all morality, of
all law, of all order, and of all individual and national progress. They
regard it as the only means we have for ascertaining the will of God,
the origin of man, and the destiny of the soul.

It is needless to inquire into the causes that have led so many people
to believe in the inspiration of the Scriptures. In my opinion, they
were and are mistaken, and the mistake has hindered, in countless ways,
the civilization of man. The Bible has been the fortress and defence of
nearly every crime. No civilized country could re-enact its laws, and in
many respects its moral code is abhorrent to every good and tender man.
It is admitted that many of its precepts are pure, that many of its laws
are wise and just, and that many of its statements are absolutely true.

Without desiring to hurt the feeling? of anybody, I propose to give
a few reasons for thinking that a few passages, at least, in the Old
Testament are the product of a barbarous people.

In all civilized countries it is not only admitted, but it is
passionately asserted, that slavery is and always was a hideous
crime; that a war of conquest is simply murder; that polygamy is the
enslavement of woman, the degradation of man, and the destruction of
home; that nothing is more infamous than the slaughter of decrepit men,
of helpless women, and of prattling babes; that captured maidens should
not be given to soldiers; that wives should not be stoned to death on
account of their religious opinions, and that the death penalty ought
not to be inflicted for a violation of the Sabbath. We know that
there was a time, in the history of almost every nation, when
slavery, polygamy, and wars of extermination were regarded as divine
institutions; when women were looked upon as beasts of burden, and when,
among some people, it was considered the duty of the husband to murder
the wife for differing with him on the subject of religion. Nations that
entertain these views to-day are regarded as savage, and, probably, with
the exception of the South Sea Islanders, the Feejees, some citizens
of Delaware, and a few tribes in Central Africa, no human beings can be
found degraded enough to agree upon these subjects with the Jehovah of
the ancient Jews. The only evidence we have, or can have, that a
nation has ceased to be savage is the fact that it has abandoned these
doctrines. To every one, except the theologian, it is perfectly easy to
account for the mistakes, atrocities, and crimes of the past, by
saying that civilization is a slow and painful growth; that the moral
perceptions are cultivated through ages of tyranny, of want, of crime,
and of heroism; that it requires centuries for man to put out the eyes
of self and hold in lofty and in equal poise the scales of justice;
that conscience is born of suffering; that mercy is the child of the
imagination--of the power to put oneself in the sufferer's place, and
that man advances only as he becomes acquainted with his surroundings,
with the mutual obligations of life, and learns to take advantage of the
forces of nature.

But the believer in the inspiration of the Bible is compelled to declare
that there was a time when slavery was right--when men could buy, and
women could sell, their babes. He is compelled to insist that there
was a time when polygamy was the highest form of virtue; when wars
of extermination were waged with the sword of mercy; when religious
toleration was a crime, and when death was the just penalty for having
expressed an honest thought. He must maintain that Jehovah is just as
bad now as he was four thousand years ago, or that he was just as
good then as he is now, but that human conditions have so changed that
slavery, polygamy, religious persecutions, and wars of conquest are now
perfectly devilish. Once they were right--once they were commanded by
God himself; now, they are prohibited. There has been such a change in
the conditions of man that, at the present time, the devil is in favor
of slavery, polygamy, religious persecution, and wars of conquest. That
is to say, the devil entertains the same opinion to-day that Jehovah
held four thousand years ago, but in the meantime Jehovah has remained
exactly the same--changeless and incapable of change.

We find that other nations beside the Jews had similar laws and ideas;
that they believed in and practiced slavery and polygamy, murdered women
and children, and exterminated their neighbors to the extent of their
power. It is not claimed that they received a revelation. It is admitted
that they had no knowledge of the true God. And yet, by a strange
coincidence, they practised the same crimes, of their own motion, that
the Jews did by the command of Jehovah. From this it would seem that man
can do wrong without a special revelation.

It will hardly be claimed, at this day, that the passages in the Bible
upholding slavery, polygamy, war and religious persecution are evidences
of the inspiration of that book. Suppose that there had been nothing
in the Old Testament upholding these crimes, would any modern Christian
suspect that it was not inspired, on account of the omission? Suppose
that there had been nothing in the Old Testament but laws in favor of
these crimes, would any intelligent Christian now contend that it was
the work of the true God? If the devil had inspired a book, will some
believer in the doctrine of inspiration tell us in what respect, on the
subjects of slavery, polygamy, war, and liberty, it would have differed
from some parts of the Old Testament? Suppose that we should now
discover a Hindu book of equal antiquity with the Old Testament,
containing a defence of slavery, polygamy, wars of extermination, and
religious persecution, would we regard it as evidence that the writers
were inspired by an infinitely wise and merciful God? As most other
nations at that time practiced these crimes, and as the Jews would have
practiced them all, even if left to themselves, one can hardly see
the necessity of any inspired commands upon these subjects. Is there a
believer in the Bible who does not wish that God, amid the thunders and
lightnings of Sinai, had distinctly said to Moses that man should not
own his fellow-man; that women should not sell their babes; that men
should be allowed to think and investigate for themselves, and that the
sword should never be unsheathed to shed the blood of honest men? Is
there a believer in the world, who would not be delighted to find that
every one of these infamous passages are interpolations, and that the
skirts of God were never reddened by the blood of maiden, wife, or babe?
Is there a believer who does not regret that God commanded a husband to
stone his wife to death for suggesting the worship of the sun or moon?
Surely, the light of experience is enough to tell us that slavery is
wrong, that polygamy is infamous, and that murder is not a virtue.
No one will now contend that it was worth God's while to impart the
information to Moses, or to Joshua, or to anybody else, that the Jewish
people might purchase slaves of the heathen, or that it was their duty
to exterminate the natives of the Holy Land. The deists have contended
that the Old Testament is too cruel and barbarous to be the work of a
wise and loving God. To this, the theologians have replied, that nature
is just as cruel; that the earthquake, the volcano, the pestilence and
storm, are just as savage as the Jewish God; and to my mind this is a
perfect answer.

Suppose that we knew that after "inspired" men had finished the Bible,
the devil got possession of it, and wrote a few passages; what part of
the sacred Scriptures would Christians now pick out as being probably
his work? Which of the following passages would naturally be selected
as having been written by the devil--"Love thy neighbor as thyself," or
"Kill all the males among the little ones, and kill every woman; but all
the women children keep alive for yourselves."?

It may be that the best way to illustrate what I have said of the Old
Testament is to compare some of the supposed teachings of Jehovah with
those of persons who never read an "inspired" line, and who lived and
died without having received the light of revelation. Nothing can be
more suggestive than a comparison of the ideas of Jehovah--the inspired
words of the one claimed to be the infinite God, as recorded in the
Bible--with those that have been expressed by men who, all admit,
received no help from heaven.

In all ages of which any record has been preserved, there have been
those who gave their ideas of justice, charity, liberty, love and law.
Now, if the Bible is really the work of God, it should contain the
grandest and sublimest truths. It should, in all respects, excel the
works of man. Within that book should be found the best and loftiest
definitions of justice; the truest conceptions of human liberty; the
clearest outlines of duty; the tenderest, the highest, and the noblest
thoughts,--not that the human mind has produced, but that the human mind
is capable of receiving. Upon every page should be found the luminous
evidence of its divine origin. Unless it contains grander and more
wonderful things than man has written, we are not only justified in
saying, but we are compelled to say, that it was written by no being
superior to man. It may be said that it is unfair to call attention
to certain bad things in the Bible, while the good are not so much as
mentioned. To this it may be replied that a divine being would not put
bad things in a book. Certainly a being of infinite intelligence,
power, and goodness could never fall below the ideal of "depraved and
barbarous" man. It will not do, after we find that the Bible upholds
what we now call crimes, to say that it is not verbally inspired. If the
words are not inspired, what is? It may be said that the thoughts are
inspired. But this would include only the thoughts expressed without
words. If ideas are inspired, they must be contained in and expressed
only by inspired words; that is to say, the arrangement of the words,
with relation to each other, must have been inspired. For the purpose of
this perfect arrangement, the writers, according to the Christian world,
were inspired. Were some sculptor inspired of God to make a statue
perfect in its every part, we would not say that the marble was
inspired, but the statue--the relation of part to part, the married
harmony of form and function. The language, the words, take the place
of the marble, and it is the arrangement of these words that Christians
claim to be inspired. If there is one uninspired word,--that is, one
word in the wrong place, or a word that ought not to be there,--to that
extent the Bible is an uninspired book. The moment it is admitted that
some words are not, in their arrangement as to other words, inspired,
then, unless with absolute certainty these words can be pointed out, a
doubt is cast on all the words the book contains. If it was worth God's
while to make a revelation to man at all, it was certainly worth his
while to see that it was correctly made. He would not have allowed the
ideas and mistakes of pretended prophets and designing priests to become
so mingled with the original text that it is impossible to tell where he
ceased and where the priests and prophets began. Neither will it do to
say that God adapted his revelation to the prejudices of mankind. Of
course it was necessary for an infinite being to adapt his revelation to
the intellectual capacity of man; but why should God confirm a barbarian
in his prejudices? Why should he fortify a heathen in his crimes? If a
revelation is of any importance whatever, it is to eradicate prejudices
from the human mind. It should be a lever with which to raise the human
race. Theologians Have exhausted their ingenuity in finding excuses
for God. It seems to me that they would be better employed in finding
excuses for men. They tell us that the Jews were so cruel and ignorant
that God was compelled to justify, or nearly to justify, many of their
crimes, in order to have any influence with them whatever. They tell us
that if he had declared slavery and polygamy to be criminal, the Jews
would have refused to receive the Ten Commandments. They insist that,
under the circumstances, God did the best he could; that his real
intention was to lead them along slowly, step by step, so that, in a few
hundred years, they would be induced to admit that it was hardly fair to
steal a babe from its mother's breast. It has always seemed reasonable
that an infinite God ought to have been able to make man grand enough to
know, even without a special revelation, that it is not altogether right
to steal the labor, or the wife, or the child, of another. When the
whole question is thoroughly examined, the world will find that Jehovah
had the prejudices, the hatreds, and superstitions of his day.

If there is anything of value, it is liberty. Liberty is the air of the
soul, the sunshine of life. Without it the world is a prison and the
universe an infinite dungeon.

If the Bible is really inspired, Jehovah commanded the Jewish people to
buy the children of the strangers that sojourned among them, and ordered
that the children thus bought should be an inheritance for the children
of the Jews, and that they should be bondmen and bondwomen forever.
Yet Epictetus, a man to whom no revelation was made, a man whose soul
followed only the light of nature, and who had never heard of the Jewish
God, was great enough to say: "Will you not remember that your servants
are by nature your brothers, the children of God? In saying that you
have bought them, you look down on the earth, and into the pit, on the
wretched law of men long since dead, but you see not the laws of the
gods."

We find that Jehovah, speaking to his chosen people, assured them that
their bondmen and their bondmaids must be "of the heathen that were
round about them." "Of them," said Jehovah, "shall ye buy bondmen
and bondmaids." And yet Cicero, a pagan, Cicero, who had never been
enlightened by reading the Old Testament, had the moral grandeur to
declare: "They who say that we should love our fellow-citizens, but not
foreigners, destroy the universal brotherhood of mankind, with which
benevolence and justice would perish forever."

If the Bible is inspired, Jehovah, God of all worlds, actually said:
"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." And yet
Zeno, founder of the Stoics, centuries before Christ was born, insisted
that no man could be the owner of another, and that the title was bad,
whether the slave had become so by conquest, or by purchase. Jehovah
ordered a Jewish general to make war, and gave, among others, this
command: "When the Lord thy God shall drive them before thee, thou shalt
smite them and utterly destroy them; thou shalt make no covenant with
them, nor show mercy unto them." And yet Epictetus, whom we have already
quoted, gave this marvelous rule for the guidance of human conduct:
"Live with thy inferiors as thou would'st have thy superiors live with
thee."

Is it possible, after all, that a being of infinite goodness and wisdom
said: "I will heap mischief upon them: I will spend mine arrows upon
them. They shall be burnt with hunger, and devoured with burning heat,
and with bitter destruction: I will also send the teeth of beasts upon
them, with the poison of serpents of the dust. The sword without, and
terror within, shall destroy both the young man and the virgin, the
suckling also, with the man of gray hairs"; while Seneca, an uninspired
Roman, said: "The wise man will not pardon any crime that ought to be
punished, but he will accomplish, in a nobler way, all that is sought
in pardoning. He will spare some and watch over some, because of their
youth, and others on account of their ignorance. His clemency will not
fall short of justice, but will fulfill it perfectly."

Can we believe that God ever said of any one: "Let his children be
fatherless and his wife a widow; let his children be continually
vagabonds, and beg; let them seek their bread also out of their desolate
places; let the extortioner catch all that he hath and let the stranger
spoil his labor; let there be none to extend mercy unto him, neither let
there be any to favor his fatherless children." If he ever said these
words, surely he had never heard this line, this strain of music, from
the Hindu: "Sweet is the lute to those who have not heard the prattle of
their own children."

Jehovah, "from the clouds and darkness of Sinai," said to the Jews:
"Thou shalt have no other Gods before me.... Thou shalt not bow down
thyself to them nor serve them; for I, the Lord thy God, am a jealous
God, visiting the iniquities of the fathers upon the children, unto the
third and fourth generation of them that hate me." Contrast this with
the words put by the Hindu into the mouth of Brahma:

"I am the same to all mankind. They who honestly serve other gods,
involuntarily worship me. I am he who partaketh of all worship, and I am
the reward of all worshipers."

Compare these passages. The first, a dungeon where crawl the things
begot of jealous slime; the other, great as the domed firmament inlaid
with suns.


II.

WAIVING the contradictory statements in the various books of the New
Testament; leaving out of the question the history of the manuscripts;
saying nothing about the errors in translation and the interpolations
made by the fathers; and admitting, for the time being, that the books
were all written at the times claimed, and by the persons whose names
they bear, the questions of inspiration, probability, and absurdity
still remain.

As a rule, where several persons testify to the same transaction, while
agreeing in the main points, they will disagree upon many minor things,
and such disagreement upon minor matters is generally considered as
evidence that the witnesses have not agreed among themselves upon the
story they should tell. These differences in statement we account for
from the facts that all did not see alike, that all did not have the
same opportunity for seeing, and that all had not equally good memories.
But when we claim that the witnesses were inspired, we must admit that
he who inspired them did know exactly what occurred, and consequently
there should be no contradiction, even in the minutest detail. The
accounts should be not only substantially, but they should be actually,
the same. It is impossible to account for any differences, or any
contradictions, except from the weaknesses of human nature, and these
weaknesses cannot be predicated of divine wisdom. Why should there
be more than one correct account of anything? Why were four gospels
necessary? One inspired record of all that happened ought to be enough.

One great objection to the Old Testament is the cruelty said to have
been commanded by God, but all the cruelties recounted in the Old
Testament ceased with death. The vengeance of Jehovah stopped at the
portal of the tomb. He never threatened to avenge himself upon the dead;
and not one word, from the first mistake in Genesis to the last curse
of Malachi, contains the slightest intimation that God will punish in
another world. It was reserved for the New Testament to make known the
frightful doctrine of eternal pain. It was the teacher of universal
benevolence who rent the veil between time and eternity, and fixed the
horrified gaze of man on the lurid gulfs of hell. Within the breast of
non-resistance was coiled the worm that never dies.

One great objection to the New Testament is that it bases salvation upon
belief. This, at least, is true of the Gospel according to John, and of
many of the Epistles. I admit that Matthew never heard of the atonement,
and died utterly ignorant of the scheme of salvation. I also admit that
Mark never dreamed that it was necessary for a man to be born again;
that he knew nothing of the mysterious doctrine of regeneration, and
that he never even suspected that it was necessary to believe anything.
In the sixteenth chapter of Mark, we are told that "He that believeth
and is baptized shall be saved, but he that believeth not shall be
damned"; but this passage has been shown to be an interpolation, and,
consequently, not a solitary word is found in the Gospel according to
Mark upon the subject of salvation by faith. The same is also true
of the Gospel of Luke. It says not one word as to the necessity of
believing on Jesus Christ, not one word as to the atonement, not one
word upon the scheme of salvation, and not the slightest hint that it is
necessary to believe anything here in order to be happy hereafter.

And I here take occasion to say, that with most of the teachings of the
Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke I most heartily agree. The miraculous
parts must, of course, be thrown aside. I admit that the necessity of
belief, the atonement, and the scheme of salvation are all set forth
in the Gospel of John,--a gospel, in my opinion, not written until long
after the others.

According to the prevailing Christian belief, the Christian religion
rests upon the doctrine of the atonement. If this doctrine is without
foundation, if it is repugnant to justice and mercy, the fabric falls.
We are told that the first man committed a crime for which all his
posterity are responsible,--in other words, that we are accountable,
and can be justly punished for a sin we never in fact committed. This
absurdity was the father of another, namely, that a man can be rewarded
for a good action done by another. God, according to the modern
theologians, made a law, with the penalty of eternal death for its
infraction. All men, they say, have broken that law. In the economy of
heaven, this law had to be vindicated. This could be done by damning the
whole human race. Through what is known as the atonement, the salvation
of a few was made possible. They insist that the law--whatever that
is--demanded the extreme penalty, that justice called for its victims,
and that even mercy ceased to plead. Under these circumstances, God, by
allowing the innocent to suffer, satisfactorily settled with the law,
and allowed a few of the guilty to escape. The law was satisfied with
this arrangement. To carry out this scheme, God was born as a babe into
this world. "He grew in stature and increased in knowledge." At the age
of thirty-three, after having lived a life filled with kindness, charity
and nobility, after having practiced every virtue, he was sacrificed as
an atonement for man. It is claimed that he actually took our place,
and bore our sins and our guilt; that in this way the justice of God was
satisfied, and that the blood of Christ was an atonement, an expiation,
for the sins of all who might believe on him.

Under the Mosaic dispensation, there was no remission of sin except
through the shedding of blood. If a man committed certain sins, he
must bring to the priest a lamb, a bullock, a goat, or a pair of
turtle-doves. The priest would lay his hands upon the animal, and the
sin of the man would be transferred. Then the animal would be killed in
the place of the real sinner, and the blood thus shed and sprinkled upon
the altar would be an atonement. In this way Jehovah was satisfied.
The greater the crime, the greater the sacrifice--the more blood, the
greater the atonement. There was always a certain ratio between the
value of the animal and the enormity of the sin. The most minute
directions were given about the killing of these animals, and about
the sprinkling of their blood. Every priest became a butcher, and every
sanctuary a slaughter-house. Nothing could be more utterly shocking to
a refined and loving soul. Nothing could have been better calculated to
harden the heart than this continual shedding of innocent blood. This
terrible system is supposed to have culminated in the sacrifice of
Christ. His blood took the place of all other. It is necessary to shed
no more. The law at last is satisfied, satiated, surfeited. The idea
that God wants blood is at the bottom of the atonement, and rests
upon the most fearful savagery. How can sin be transferred from men to
animals, and how can the shedding of the blood of animals atone for the
sins of men?

The church says that the sinner is in debt to God, and that the
obligation is discharged by the Savior. The best that can possibly be
said of such a transaction is, that the debt is transferred, not paid.
The truth is, that a sinner is in debt to the person he has injured.
If a man injures his neighbor, it is not enough for him to get the
forgiveness of God, but he must have the forgiveness of his neighbor.
If a man puts his hand in the fire and God forgives him, his hand will
smart exactly the same. You must, after all, reap what you sow. No god
can give you wheat when you sow tares, and no devil can give you tares
when you sow wheat.

There are in nature neither rewards nor punishments--there are
consequences. The life of Christ is worth its example, its moral force,
its heroism of benevolence.

To make innocence suffer is the greatest sin; how then is it possible to
make the suffering of the innocent a justification for the criminal? Why
should a man be willing to let the innocent suffer for him? Does not
the willingness show that he is utterly unworthy of the sacrifice?
Certainly, no man would be fit for heaven who would consent that an
innocent person should suffer for his sin. What would we think of a
man who would allow another to die for a crime that he himself had
committed? What would we think of a law that allowed the innocent to
take the place of the guilty? Is it possible to vindicate a just law
by inflicting punishment on the innocent? Would not that be a second
violation instead of a vindication?

If there was no general atonement until the crucifixion of Christ, what
became of the countless millions who died before that time? And it must
be remembered that the blood shed by the Jews was not for other nations.
Jehovah hated foreigners. The Gentiles were left without forgiveness
What has become of the millions who have died since, without having
heard of the atonement? What becomes of those who have heard but have
not believed? It seems to me that the doctrine of the atonement is
absurd, unjust, and immoral. Can a law be satisfied by the execution
of the wrong person? When a man commits a crime, the law demands his
punishment, not that of a substitute; and there can be no law, human
or divine, that can be satisfied by the punishment of a substitute. Can
there be a law that demands that the guilty be rewarded? And yet, to
reward the guilty is far nearer justice than to punish the innocent.

According to the orthodox theology, there would have been no heaven had
no atonement been made. All the children of men would have been cast
into hell forever. The old men bowed with grief, the smiling mothers,
the sweet babes, the loving maidens, the brave, the tender, and the
just, would have been given over to eternal pain. Man, it is claimed,
can make no atonement for himself. If he commits one sin, and with
that exception lives a life of perfect virtue, still that one sin would
remain unexpiated, unatoned, and for that one sin he would be forever
lost. To be saved by the goodness of another, to be a redeemed debtor
forever, has in it something repugnant to manhood.

We must also remember that Jehovah took special charge of the Jewish
people; and we have always been taught that he did so for the purpose
of civilizing them. If he had succeeded in civilizing the Jews, he would
have made the damnation of the entire human race a certainty; because,
if the Jews had been a civilized people when Christ appeared,--a
people whose hearts had not been hardened by the laws and teachings of
Jehovah,--they would not have crucified him, and, as a consequence,
the world would have been lost. If the Jews had believed in religious
freedom,--in the right of thought and speech,--not a human soul could
ever have been saved. If, when Christ was on his way to Calvary, some
brave, heroic soul had rescued him from the holy mob, he would not
only have been eternally damned for his pains, but would have rendered
impossible the salvation of any human being, and, except for the
crucifixion of her son, the Virgin Mary, if the church is right, would
be to-day among the lost.

In countless ways the Christian world has endeavored, for nearly two
thousand years, to explain the atonement, and every effort has ended
in an admission that it cannot be understood, and a declaration that it
must be believed. Is it not immoral to teach that man can sin, that he
can harden his heart and pollute his soul, and that, by repenting
and believing something that he does not comprehend, he can avoid the
consequences of his crimes? Has the promise and hope of forgiveness ever
prevented the commission of a sin? Should men be taught that sin gives
happiness here; that they ought to bear the evils of a virtuous life in
this world for the sake of joy in the next; that they can repent between
the last sin and the last breath; that after repentance every stain
of the soul is washed away by the innocent blood of another; that the
serpent of regret will not hiss in the ear of memory; that the saved
will not even pity the victims of their own crimes; that the goodness
of another can be transferred to them; and that sins forgiven cease to
affect the unhappy wretches sinned against?

Another objection is that a certain belief is necessary to save the
soul. It is often asserted that to believe is the only safe way. If you
wish to be safe, be honest. Nothing can be safer than that. No matter
what his belief may be, no man, even in the hour of death, can regret
having been honest. It never can be necessary to throw away your reason
to save your soul. A soul without reason is scarcely worth saving. There
is no more degrading doctrine than that of mental non-resistance. The
soul has a right to defend its castle--the brain, and he who waives that
right becomes a serf and slave. Neither can I admit that a man, by doing
me an injury, can place me under obligation to do him a service. To
render benefits for injuries is to ignore all distinctions between
actions. He who treats his friends and enemies alike has neither love
nor justice. The idea of non-resistance never occurred to a man with
power to protect himself. This doctrine was the child of weakness, born
when resistance was impossible. To allow a crime to be committed when
you can prevent it, is next to committing the crime yourself. And yet,
under the banner of non-resistance, the church has shed the blood of
millions, and in the folds of her sacred vestments have gleamed the
daggers of assassination. With her cunning hands she wove the purple for
hypocrisy, and placed the crown upon the brow of crime. For a thousand
years larceny held the scales of justice, while beggars scorned the
princely sons of toil, and ignorant fear denounced the liberty of
thought.

If Christ was in fact God, he knew all the future. Before him, like a
panorama, moved the history yet to be. He knew exactly how his words
would be interpreted. He knew what crimes, what horrors, what infamies,
would be committed in his name. He knew that the fires of persecution
would climb around the limbs of countless martyrs. He knew that brave
men would languish in dungeons, in darkness, filled with pain; that the
church would use instruments of torture, that his followers would appeal
to whip and chain. He must have seen the horizon of the future red with
the flames of the _auto da fe_. He knew all the creeds that would spring
like poison fungi from every text. He saw the sects waging war against
each other. He saw thousands of men, under the orders of priests,
building dungeons for their fellow-men. He saw them using instruments
of pain. He heard the groans, saw the faces white with agony, the tears,
the blood--heard the shrieks and sobs of all the moaning, martyred
multitudes. He knew that commentaries would be written on his words with
swords, to be read by the light of fagots. He knew that the Inquisition
would be born of teachings attributed to him. He saw all the
interpolations and falsehoods that hypocrisy would write and tell. He
knew that above these fields of death, these dungeons, these burnings,
for a thousand years would float the dripping banner of the cross. He
knew that in his name his followers would trade in human flesh, that
cradles would be robbed, and women's breasts unbabed for gold, and yet
he died with voiceless lips. Why did he fail to speak? Why did he not
tell his disciples, and through them the world, that man should not
persecute, for opinion's sake, his fellow-man? Why did he not cry, You
shall not persecute in my name; you shall not burn and torment those who
differ from you in creed? Why did he not plainly say, I am the Son of
God? Why did he not explain the doctrine of the Trinity? Why did he not
tell the manner of baptism that was pleasing to him? Why did he not say
something positive, definite, and satisfactory about another world? Why
did he not turn the tear-stained hope of heaven to the glad knowledge
of another life? Why did he go dumbly to his death, leaving the world to
misery and to doubt?

He came, they tell us, to make a revelation, and what did he reveal?
"Love thy neighbor as thyself"? That was in the Old Testament. "Love
God with all thy heart"? That was in the Old Testament. "Return good for
evil"? That was said by Buddha seven hundred years before he was born.
"Do unto others as ye would that they should do unto you"? This was the
doctrine of Lao-tsze. Did he come to give a rule of action? Zoroaster
had done this long before: "Whenever thou art in doubt as to whether
an action is good or bad, abstain from it." Did he come to teach us of
another world? The immortality of the soul had been taught by Hindus,
Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans hundreds of years before he was born. Long
before, the world had been told by Socrates that: "One who is injured
ought not to return the injury, for on no account can it be right to do
an injustice; and it is not right to return an injury, or to do evil
to any man, however much we may have suffered from him." And Cicero had
said:

"Let us not listen to those who think that we ought to be angry with
our enemies, and who believe this to be great and manly: nothing is
more praiseworthy, nothing so clearly shows a great and noble soul, as
clemency and readiness to forgive."

Is there anything nearer perfect than this from Confucius: "For benefits
return benefits; for injuries return justice without any admixture of
revenge"?

The dogma of eternal punishment rests upon passages in the New
Testament. This infamous belief subverts every idea of justice. Around
the angel of immortality the church has coiled this serpent. A finite
being can neither commit an infinite sin, nor a sin against the
infinite. A being of infinite goodness and wisdom has no right,
according to the human standard of justice, to create any being destined
to suffer eternal pain. A being of infinite wisdom would not create
a failure, and surely a man destined to everlasting agony is not a
success.

How long, according to the universal benevolence of the New Testament,
can a man be reasonably punished in the next world for failing to
believe something unreasonable in this? Can it be possible that any
punishment can endure forever? Suppose that every flake of snow that
ever fell was a figure nine, and that the first flake was multiplied by
the second, and that product by the third, and so on to the last flake.
And then suppose that this total should be multiplied by every drop of
rain that ever fell, calling each drop a figure nine; and that total by
each blade of grass that ever helped to weave a carpet for the earth,
calling each blade a figure nine; and that again by every grain of sand
on every shore, so that the grand total would make a line of nines so
long that it would require millions upon millions of years for light,
traveling at the rate of one hundred and eighty-five thousand miles per
second, to reach the end. And suppose, further, that each unit in this
almost infinite total stood for billions of ages--still that vast and
almost endless time, measured by all the years beyond, is as one flake,
one drop, one leaf, one blade, one grain, compared with all the flakes
and drops and leaves and blades and grains. Upon love's breast the
church has placed the eternal asp. And yet, in the same book in which is
taught this most infamous of doctrines, we are assured that "The Lord is
good to all, and his tender mercies are over all his works."


III.

SO FAR as we know, man is the author of all books. If a book had been
found on the earth by the first man, he might have regarded it as the
work of God; but as men were here a good while before any books were
found, and as man has produced a great many books, the probability is
that the Bible is no exception.

Most nations, at the time the Old Testament was written, believed in
slavery, polygamy, wars of extermination, and religious persecution;
and it is not wonderful that the book contained nothing contrary to such
belief. The fact that it was in exact accord with the morality of its
time proves that it was not the product of any being superior to man.
"The inspired writers" upheld or established slavery, countenanced
polygamy, commanded wars of extermination, and ordered the slaughter
of women and babes. In these respects they were precisely like the
uninspired savages by whom they were surrounded. They also taught and
commanded religious persecution as a duty, and visited the most trivial
offences with the punishment of death. In these particulars they were in
exact accord with their barbarian neighbors. They were utterly ignorant
of geology and astronomy, and knew no more of what had happened than of
what would happen; and, so far as accuracy is concerned, their history
and prophecy were about equal; in other words, they were just as
ignorant as those who lived and died in nature's night.

Does any Christian believe that if God were to write a book now, he
would uphold the crimes commanded in the Old Testament? Has Jehovah
improved? Has infinite mercy-become more merciful? Has infinite wisdom
intellectually-advanced? Will any one claim that the passages upholding
slavery have liberated mankind; that we are indebted for our modern
homes to the texts that made polygamy a virtue; or that religious
liberty found its soil, its light, and rain in the infamous verse
wherein the husband is commanded to stone to death the wife for
worshiping an unknown god?

The usual answer to these objections is that no country has ever been
civilized without the Bible.

The Jews were the only people to whom Jehovah made his will directly
known,--the only people who had the Old Testament. Other nations were
utterly neglected by their Creator. Yet, such was the effect of the Old
Testament on the Jews, that they crucified a kind, loving, and perfectly
innocent man. They could not have done much worse without a Bible. In
the crucifixion of Christ, they followed the teachings of his Father.
If, as it is now alleged by the theologians, no nation can be civilized
without a Bible, certainly God must have known the fact six thousand
years ago, as well as the theologians know it now. Why did he not
furnish every nation with a Bible?

As to the Old Testament, I insist that all the bad passages were written
by men; that those passages were not inspired. I insist that a being of
infinite goodness never commanded man to enslave his fellow-man, never
told a mother to sell her babe, never established polygamy, never
ordered one nation to exterminate another, and never told a husband to
kill his wife because she suggested the worshiping of some other God.

I also insist that the Old Testament would be a much better book with
all of these passages left out; and, whatever may be said of the rest,
the passages to which attention has been drawn can with vastly more
propriety be attributed to a devil than to a god.

Take from the New Testament all passages upholding the idea that belief
is necessary to salvation; that Christ was offered as an atonement for
the sins of the world; that the punishment of the human soul will go
on forever; that heaven is the reward of faith, and hell the penalty of
honest investigation; take from it all miraculous stories,--and I admit
that all the good passages are true. If they are true, it makes no
difference whether they are inspired or not. Inspiration is only
necessary to give authority to that which is repugnant to human reason.
Only that which never happened needs to be substantiated by miracles.
The universe is natural.

The church must cease to insist that the passages upholding the
institutions of savage men were inspired of God. The dogma of the
atonement must be abandoned. Good deeds must take the place of faith.
The savagery of eternal punishment must be renounced. Credulity is not
a virtue, and investigation is not a crime. Miracles are the children
of mendacity. Nothing can be more wonderful than the majestic, unbroken,
sublime, and eternal procession of causes and effects.

Reason must be the final arbiter. "Inspired" books attested by miracles
cannot stand against a demonstrated fact. A religion that does not
command the respect of the greatest minds will, in a little while,
excite the mockery of all. Every civilized man believes in the liberty
of thought. Is it possible that God is intolerant? Is an act infamous in
man one of the virtues of the Deity? Could there be progress in heaven
without intellectual liberty? Is the freedom of the future to exist only
in perdition? Is it not, after all, barely possible that a man acting
like Christ can be saved? Is a man to be eternally rewarded for
believing according to evidence, without evidence, or against evidence?
Are we to be saved because we are good, or because another was virtuous?
Is credulity to be winged and crowned, while honest doubt is chained and
damned?

Do not misunderstand me. My position is that the cruel passages in
the Old Testament are not inspired; that slavery, polygamy, wars of
extermination, and religious persecution always have been, are, and
forever will be, abhorred and cursed by the honest, the virtuous, and
the loving; that the innocent cannot justly suffer for the guilty,
and that vicarious vice and vicarious virtue are equally absurd; that
eternal punishment is eternal revenge; that only the natural can happen;
that miracles prove the dishonesty of the few and the credulity of the
many; and that, according to Matthew, Mark, and Luke, salvation does not
depend upon belief, nor the atonement, nor a "second birth," but that
these gospels are in exact harmony with the declaration of the great
Persian: "Taking the first footstep with the good thought, the second
with the good word, and the third with the good deed, I entered
paradise."

The dogmas of the past no longer reach the level of the highest thought,
nor satisfy the hunger of the heart. While dusty faiths, embalmed and
sepulchered in ancient texts, remain the same, the sympathies of men
enlarge; the brain no longer kills its young; the happy lips give
liberty to honest thoughts; the mental firmament expands and lifts; the
broken clouds drift by; the hideous dreams, the foul, misshapen children
of the monstrous night, dissolve and fade.

Robert G. Ingersoll.



THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION, BY JEREMIAH S. BLACK.

"Gratiano speaks of an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in
all Venice: his reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of
chaff; you shall seek all day ere you find them; and when you have them
they are not worth the search."--_Merchant of Venice_.

THE request to answer the foregoing paper comes to me, not in the form
but with the effect of a challenge, which I cannot decline without
seeming to acknowledge that the religion of the civilized world is an
absurd superstition, propagated by impostors, professed by hypocrites,
and believed only by credulous dupes.

But why should I, an unlearned and unauthorized layman, be placed in
such a predicament? The explanation is easy enough. This is no business
of the priests. Their prescribed duty is to preach the word, in the full
assurance that it will commend itself to all good and honest hearts by
its own manifest veracity and the singular purity of its precepts. They
cannot afford to turn away from their proper work, and leave willing
hearers uninstructed, while they wrangle in vain with a predetermined
opponent. They were warned to expect slander, indignity, and insult, and
these are among the evils which they must not resist.

It will be seen that I am assuming no clerical function. I am not out on
the forlorn hope of converting Mr. Ingersoll. I am no preacher exhorting
a sinner to leave the seat of the scornful and come up to the bench of
the penitents. My duty is more analogous to that of the policeman who
would silence a rude disturber of the congregation by telling him that
his clamor is false and his conduct an offence against public decency.

Nor is the Church in any danger which calls for the special vigilance
of its servants. Mr. Ingersoll thinks that the rock-founded faith
of Christendom is giving way before his assaults, but he is grossly
mistaken. The first sentence of his essay is a preposterous blunder. It
is not true that "_a profound change_ has taken place in the world of
_thought,_" unless a more rapid spread of the Gospel and a more faithful
observance of its moral principles can be called so. Its truths are
everywhere proclaimed with the power of sincere conviction, and accepted
with devout reverence by uncounted multitudes of all classes. Solemn
temples rise to its honor in the great cities; from every hill-top in
the country you see the church-spire pointing toward heaven, and on
Sunday all the paths that lead to it are crowded with worshipers. In
nearly all families, parents teach their children that Christ is God,
and his system of morality absolutely perfect. This belief lies so deep
in the popular heart that, if every written record of it were destroyed
to-day, the memory of millions could reproduce it to-morrow. Its
earnestness is proved by its works. Wherever it goes it manifests itself
in deeds of practical benevolence. It builds, not churches alone, but
almshouses, hospitals, and asylums. It shelters the poor, feeds the
hungry, visits the sick, consoles the afflicted, provides for the
fatherless, comforts the heart of the widow, instructs the ignorant,
reforms the vicious, and saves to the uttermost them that are ready to
perish. To the common observer, it does not look as if Christianity
was making itself ready to be swallowed up by Infidelity. Thus far,
at least, the promise has been kept that "the gates of hell shall not
prevail against it."

There is, to be sure, a change in the party hostile to religion--not "a
profound change," but a change entirely superficial--which consists, not
in thought, but merely in modes of expression and methods of attack. The
bad classes of society always hated the doctrine and discipline which
reproached their wickedness and frightened them by threats of punishment
in another world. Aforetime they showed their contempt of divine
authority only by their actions; but now, under new leadership, their
enmity against God breaks out into articulate blasphemy. They assemble
themselves together, they hear with passionate admiration the bold
harangue which ridicules and defies the Maker of the universe; fiercely
they rage against the Highest, and loudly they laugh, alike at the
justice that condemns, and the mercy that offers to pardon them. The
orator who relieves them by assurances of impunity, and tells them that
no supreme authority has made any law to control them, is applauded to
the echo and paid a high price for his congenial labor; he pockets their
money, and flatters himself that he is a great power, profoundly moving
"the world of thought."

There is another totally false notion expressed in the opening
paragraph, namely, that "they who know most of nature believe the least
about theology." The truth is exactly the other way. The more clearly
one sees "the grand procession of causes and effects," the more awful
his reverence becomes for the author of the "sublime and unbroken" law
which links them together. Not self-conceit and rebellious pride, but
unspeakable humility, and a deep sense of the measureless distance
between the Creator and the creature, fills the mind of him who looks
with a rational spirit upon the works of the All-wise One. The heart
of Newton repeats the solemn confession of David: "When I consider thy
heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars which thou hast
ordained; what is man that thou art mindful of him or the son of man
that thou visitest him?" At the same time, the lamentable fact must be
admitted that "a little learning is a dangerous thing" to some persons.
The sciolist with a mere smattering of physical knowledge is apt to
mistake himself for a philosopher, and swelling with his own importance,
he gives out, like Simon Magus, "that himself is some great one." His
vanity becomes inflamed more and more, until he begins to think he
knows all things. He takes every occasion to show his accomplishments by
finding fault with the works of creation* and Providence; and this is an
exercise in which he cannot long continue without learning to disbelieve
in any Being greater than himself. It was to such a person, and not
to the unpretending simpleton, that Solomon applied his often quoted
aphorism: "The fool hath said in his heart, there is no God." These are
what Paul refers to as "vain babblings and the opposition of science,
falsely so called;" but they are perfectly powerless to stop or turn
aside the great current of human thought on the subject of Christian
theology. That majestic stream, supplied from a thousand unfailing
fountains, rolls on and will roll forever.

_Labitur et labetur in omne volubilis aevum_.

Mr. Ingersoll is not, as some have estimated him, the most formidable
enemy that Christianity has encountered since the time of Julian the
Apostate. But he stands at the head of living infidels, "by merit raised
to that bad eminence." His mental organization has the peculiar defects
which fit him for such a place. He is all imagination and no discretion.
He rises sometimes into a region of wild poetry, where he can color
everything to suit himself. His motto well expresses the character of
his argumentation--"mountains are as unstable as clouds:" a fancy is
as good as a fact, and a high-sounding period is rather better than a
logical demonstration. His inordinate self-confidence makes him at once
ferocious and fearless. He was a practical politician before he "took
the stump" against Christianity, and at all times he has proved his
capacity to "split the ears of the groundlings," and make the unskillful
laugh. The article before us is the least objectionable of all his
productions. Its style is higher, and better suited to the weight of
the theme. Here the violence of his fierce invective is moderated; his
scurrility gives place to an attempt at sophistry less shocking if not
more true; and his coarse jokes are either excluded altogether, or else
veiled in the decent obscurity of general terms. Such a paper from such
a man, at a time like the present, is not wholly unworthy of a grave
contradiction.

He makes certain charges which we answer by an explicit denial, and thus
an issue is made, upon which, as a pleader would say, we "put
ourselves upon the country." He avers that a certain "something called
Christianity" is a false faith imposed on the world without evidence;
that the facts it pretends to rest on are mere inventions; that its
doctrines are pernicious; that its requirements are unreasonable,
and that its sanctions are cruel. I deny all this, and assert, on the
contrary, that its doctrines are divinely revealed; its fundamental
facts incontestably proved; its morality perfectly free from all taint
of error, and its influence most beneficent upon society in general, and
upon all individuals who accept it and make it their rule of action.

How shall this be determined? Not by what we call divine revelation, for
that would be begging the question; not by sentiment, taste, or temper,
for these are as likely to be false as true; but by inductive reasoning
from evidence, of which the value is to be measured according to those
rules of logic which enlightened and just men everywhere have adopted to
guide them in the search for truth. We can appeal only to that rational
love of justice, and that detestation of falsehood, which fair-minded
persons of good intelligence bring to the consideration of other
important subjects when it becomes their duty to decide upon them. In
short, I want a decision upon sound judicial principles.

Gibson, the great Chief-Justice of Pennsylvania, once said to certain
skeptical friends of his: "Give Christianity a common-law trial; submit
the evidence _pro_ and _con_ to an impartial jury under the direction of
a competent court, and the verdict will assuredly be in its favor." This
deliverance, coming from the most illustrious judge of his time, not at
all given to expressions of sentimental piety, and quite incapable of
speaking on any subject for mere effect, staggered the unbelief of those
who heard it. I did not know him then, except by his great reputation
for ability and integrity, but my thoughts were strongly influenced by
his authority, and I learned to set a still higher value upon all his
opinions, when, in after life, I was honored with his close and intimate
friendship.

Let Christianity have a trial on Mr. Ingersoll's indictment, and give
us a decision _secundum allegata et probata_. I will confine myself
strictly to the record; that is to say, I will meet the accusations
contained in this paper, and not those made elsewhere by him or others.

His first specification against Christianity is the belief of its
disciples "that there is a personal God, the creator of the material
universe." If God made the world it was a most stupendous miracle, and
all miracles, according to Mr. Ingersoll's idea are "the children of
mendacity." To admit the one great miracle of creation would be an
admission that other miracles are at least probable, and that would ruin
his whole case. But you cannot catch the leviathan of atheism with a
hook. The universe, he says, is natural--it came into being of its own
accord; it made its own laws at the start, and afterward improved itself
considerably by spontaneous evolution. It would be a mere waste of
time and space to enumerate the proofs which show that the universe was
created by a pre-existent and self-conscious Being, of power and wisdom
to us inconceivable. Conviction of the fact (miraculous though it
be) forces itself on every one whose mental faculties are healthy and
tolerably well balanced. The notion that all things owe their origin and
their harmonious arrangement to the fortuitous concurrence of atoms is
a kind of lunacy which very few men in these days are afflicted with. I
hope I may safely assume it as certain that all, or nearly all, who read
this page will have sense and reason enough to see for themselves that
the plan of the universe could not have been designed without a Designer
or executed without a Maker.

But Mr. Ingersoll asserts that, at all events, this material world had
not a good and beneficent creator; it is a bad, savage, cruel piece of
work, with its pestilences, storms, earthquakes, and volcanoes; and man,
with his liability to sickness, suffering, and death, is not a success,
but, on the contrary, a failure. To defend the Creator of the world
against an arraignment so foul as this would be almost as unbecoming
as to make the accusation. We have neither jurisdiction nor capacity
to rejudge the justice of God. Why man is made to fill this particular
place in the scale of creation--a little lower than the angels, yet far
above the brutes; not passionless and pure, like the former, nor mere
machines, like the latter; able to stand, yet free to fall; knowing the
right, and accountable for going wrong; gifted with reason, and impelled
by self-love to exercise the faculty--these are questions on which we
may have our speculative opinions, but knowledge is out of our reach.
Meantime, we do not discredit our mental independence by taking it for
granted that the Supreme Being has done all things well. Our ignorance
of the whole scheme makes us poor critics upon the small part that comes
within our limited perceptions. Seeming defects in the structure of
the world may be its most perfect ornament--all apparent harshness the
tenderest of mercies.

     "All discord, harmony not understood,
     All partial evil, universal good."

But worse errors are imputed to God as moral ruler of the world than
those charged against him as creator. He made man badly, but governed
him worse; if the Jehovah of the Old Testament was not merely an
imaginary being, then, according to Mr. Ingersoll, he was a prejudiced,
barbarous, criminal tyrant. We will see what ground he lays, if any, for
these outrageous assertions.

Mainly, principally, first and most important of all, is the unqualified
assertion that the "moral code" which Jehovah gave to his people "is
in many respects abhorrent to every good and tender man." Does Mr.
Ingersoll know what he is talking about? The moral code of the Bible
consists of certain immutable rules to govern the conduct of all men, at
all times and all places, in their private and personal relations with
one another. It is entirely separate and apart from the civil polity,
the religious forms, the sanitary provisions, the police regulations,
and the system of international law laid down for the special and
exclusive observance of the Jewish people. This is a distinction which
every intelligent man knows how to make. Has Mr. Ingersoll fallen into
the egregious blunder of confounding these things? or, understanding the
true sense of his words, is he rash and shameless enough to assert that
the moral code of the Bible excites the abhorrence of good men? In
fact, and in truth, this moral code, which he reviles, instead of being
abhorred, is entitled to, and has received, the profoundest respect of
all honest and sensible persons. The second table of the Decalogue is a
perfect compendium of those duties which every man owes to himself, his
family, and his neighbor. In a few simple words, which he can commit
to memory almost in a minute, it teaches him to purify his heart from
covetousness; to live decently, to injure nobody in reputation, person,
or property, and to give every one his own. By the poets, the prophets,
and the sages of Israel, these great elements are expanded into a volume
of minuter rules, so clear, so impressive, and yet so solemn and so
lofty, that no pre-existing system of philosophy can compare with it for
a moment. If this vain mortal is not blind with passion, he will see,
upon reflection, that he has attacked the Old Testament precisely where
it is most impregnable.

Dismissing his groundless charge against the moral code, we come to his
strictures on the civil government of the Jews, which he says was so bad
and unjust that the Lawgiver by whom it was established must have been
as savagely cruel as the Creator that made storms and pestilences; and
the work of both was more worthy of a devil than a God. His language
is recklessly bad, very defective in method, and altogether lacking
in precision. But, apart from the ribaldry of it, which I do not
feel myself bound to notice, I find four objections to the Jewish
constitution--not more than four--which are definite enough to admit
of an answer. These relate to the provisions of the Mosaic law on
the subjects of (1) Blasphemy and Idolatry; (2) War; (3) Slavery; (4)
Polygamy. In these respects he pronounces the Jewish system not only
unwise but criminally unjust.

Here let me call attention to the difficulty of reasoning about justice
with a man who has no acknowledged standard of right and wrong. What is
justice? That which accords with law; and the supreme law is the will of
God. But I am dealing with an adversary who does not admit that there is
a God. Then for him there is no standard at all; one thing is as right
as another, and all things are equally wrong. Without a sovereign
ruler there is no law, and where there is no law there can be no
transgression. It is the misfortune of the atheistic theory that it
makes the moral world an anarchy; it refers all ethical questions to
that confused tribunal where chaos sits as umpire and "by decision more
embroils the fray." But through the whole of this cloudy paper there
runs a vein of presumptuous egotism which says as plainly as words can
speak it that the author holds _himself_ to be the ultimate judge of
all good and evil; what he approves is right, and what he dislikes is
certainly wrong. Of course I concede nothing to a claim like that. I
will not admit that the Jewish constitution is a thing to be condemned
merely because he curses it. I appeal from his profane malediction to
the conscience of men who have a rule to judge by. Such persons will
readily see that his specific objections to the statesmanship which
established the civil government of the Hebrew people are extremely
shallow, and do not furnish the shade of an excuse for the indecency of
his general abuse.

_First_. He regards the punishments inflicted for blasphemy and idolatry
as being immoderately cruel. Considering them merely as religious
offences,--as sins against God alone,--I agree that civil laws should
notice them not at all. But sometimes they affect very injuriously
certain social rights which it is the duty of the state to protect.
Wantonly to shock the religious feelings of your neighbor is a grievous
wrong. To utter blasphemy or obscenity in the presence of a Christian
woman is hardly better than to strike her in the face. Still, neither
policy nor justice requires them to be ranked among the highest crimes
in a government constituted like ours. But things were wholly different
under the Jewish theocracy, where God was the personal head of the
state. There blasphemy was a breach of political allegiance; idolatry
was an overt act of treason; to worship the gods of the hostile heathen
was deserting to the public enemy, and giving him aid and comfort. These
are crimes which every independent community has always punished with
the utmost rigor. In our own very recent history, they were repressed at
the cost of more lives than Judea ever contained at any one time.

Mr. Ingersoll not only ignores these considerations, but he goes the
length of calling God a religious persecutor and a tyrant because he
does not encourage and reward the service and devotion paid by his
enemies to the false gods of the pagan world. He professes to believe
that all kinds of worship are equally meritorious, and should meet the
same acceptance from the true God. It is almost incredible that such
drivel as this should be uttered by anybody. But Mr. Ingersoll not only
expresses the thought plainly--he urges it with the most extravagant
figures of his florid rhetoric. He quotes the first commandment, in
which Jehovah claims for himself the exclusive worship of His people,
and cites, in contrast, the promise put in the mouth of Brahma, that
he will appropriate the worship of all gods to himself, and reward all
worshipers alike. These passages being compared, he declares the first
"a dungeon, where crawl the things begot of jealous slime;" the other,
"great as the domed firmament, inlaid with suns." Why is the living God,
whom Christians believe to be the Lord of liberty and Father of lights,
denounced as the keeper of a loathsome dungeon? Because he refuses to
encourage and reward the worship of Mammon and Moloch, of Belial and
Baal; of Bacchus, with its drunken orgies, and Venus, with its wanton
obscenities; the bestial religion which degraded the soul of Egypt and
the "dark idolatries of alienated Judah," polluted with the moral filth
of all the nations round about.

Let the reader decide whether this man, entertaining such sentiments and
opinions, is fit to be a teacher, or at all likely to lead us in the way
we should go.

_Second_. Under the constitution which God provided for the Jews, they
had, like every other nation, the war-making power. They could not have
lived a day without it. The right to exist implied the right to repel,
with all their strength, the opposing force which threatened their
destruction. It is true, also, that in the exercise of this power they
did not observe those rules of courtesy and humanity which have been
adopted in modern times by civilized belligerents. Why? Because their
enemies, being mere savages, did not understand and would not practise,
any rule whatever; and the Jews were bound _ex necessitate rei_--not
merely justified by the _lex talionis_--to do as their enemies did. In
your treatment of hostile barbarians, you not only may lawfully, but
must necessarily, adopt their mode of warfare. If they come to conquer
you, they may be conquered by you; if they give no quarter, they
are entitled to none; if the death of your whole population be their
purpose, you may defeat it by exterminating theirs. This sufficiently
answers the silly talk of atheists and semi-atheists about the warlike
wickedness of the Jews.

But Mr. Ingersoll positively, and with the emphasis of supreme and
all-sufficient authority, declares that "a war of conquest is simply
murder." He sustains this proposition by no argument founded in
principle. He puts sentiment in place of law, and denounces aggressive
fighting because it is offensive to his "tender and refined soul;" the
atrocity of it is therefore proportioned to the sensibilities of his own
heart. He proves war a desperately wicked thing by continually vaunting
his own love for small children. Babes--sweet babes--the prattle of
babes--are the subjects of his most pathetic eloquence, and his idea
of music is embodied in the commonplace expression of a Hindu, that the
lute is sweet only to those who have not heard the prattle of their own
children. All this is very amiable in him, and the more so, perhaps,
as these objects of his affection are the young ones of a race in
his opinion miscreated by an evil-working chance. But his
_philoprogenitiveness_ proves nothing against Jew or Gentile, seeing
that all have it in an equal degree, and those feel it most who make the
least parade of it. Certainly it gives him no authority to malign the
God who implanted it alike in the hearts of us all. But I admit that his
benevolence becomes peculiar and ultra when it extends to beasts as well
as babes. He is struck with horror by the sacrificial solemnities of
the Jewish religion. "The killing of those animals was," he says, "a
terrible system," a "shedding of innocent blood," "shocking to a
refined and sensitive soul." There is such a depth of tenderness in this
feeling, and such a splendor of refinement, that I give up without
a struggle to the superiority of a man who merely professes it. A
carnivorous American, full of beef and mutton, who mourns with indignant
sorrow because bulls and goats were killed in Judea three thousand
years ago, has reached the climax of sentimental goodness, and should
be permitted to dictate on all questions of peace and war. Let Grotius,
Vattel, and Pufendorf, as well as Moses and the prophets, hide their
diminished heads.

But to show how inefficacious, for all practical purposes, a mere
sentiment is when substituted for a principle, it is only necessary to
recollect that Mr. Ingersoll is himself a warrior who staid not behind
the mighty men of his tribe when they gathered themselves together for
a war of conquest. He took the lead of a regiment as eager as himself
to spoil the Philistines, "and out he went a-coloneling." How many
Amale-kites, and Hittites, and Amorites he put to the edge of the sword,
how many wives he widowed, or how many mothers he "unbabed" cannot
now be told. I do not even know how many droves of innocent oxen he
condemned to the slaughter.

But it is certain that his refined and tender soul took great pleasure
in the terror, conflagration, blood, and tears with which the war was
attended, and in all the hard oppressions which the conquered people
were made to suffer afterwards. I do not say that the war was either
better or worse for his participation and approval. But if his own
conduct (for which he professes neither penitence nor shame) was right,
it was right on grounds which make it an inexcusable outrage to call the
children of Israel savage criminals for carrying on wars of aggression
to save the life of their government. These inconsistencies are the
necessary consequence of having no rule of action and no guide for the
conscience. When a man throws away the golden metewand of the law which
God has provided, and takes the elastic cord of feeling for his measure
of righteousness, you cannot tell from day to day what he will think or
do.

_Third_. But Jehovah permitted his chosen people to hold the captives
they took in war or purchased from the heathen as servants for life.
This was slavery, and Mr. Ingersoll declares that "in all civilized
countries it is not only admitted, but it is passionately asserted, that
slavery is, and always was, a hideous crime," therefore he concludes that
Jehovah was a criminal. This would be a _non sequitur_, even if the
premises were true. But the premises are false; civilized countries have
admitted no such thing. That slavery is a crime, under all circumstances
and at all times, is a doctrine first started by the adherents of a
political faction in this country, less than forty years ago. They
denounced God and Christ for not agreeing with them, in terms very
similar to those used here by Mr. Ingersoll. But they did not constitute
the civilized world; nor were they, if the truth must be told, a very
respectable portion of it. Politically, they were successful; I need not
say by what means, or with what effect upon the morals of the country.
Doubtless Mr. Ingersoll gets a great advantage by invoking their
passions and their interests to his aid, and he knows how to use it.
I can only say that, whether American Abolitionism was right or wrong
under the circumstances in which we were placed, my faith and my reason
both assure me that the infallible God proceeded upon good grounds when
he authorized slavery in Judea. Subordination of inferiors to superiors
is the groundwork of human society. All improvement of our race, in this
world and the next, must come from obedience to some master better and
wiser than ourselves. There can be no question that, when a Jew took
a neighboring savage for his bond-servant, incorporated him into his
family, tamed him, taught him to work, and gave him a knowledge of the
true God, he conferred upon him a most beneficent boon.

_Fourth_. Polygamy is another of his objections to the Mosaic
constitution. Strange to say, it is not there. It is neither commanded
nor prohibited; it is only discouraged. If Mr. Ingersoll were a
statesman instead of a mere politician, he would see good and sufficient
reasons for the forbearance to legislate directly upon the subject. It
would be improper for me to set them forth here. He knows, probably,
that the influence of the Christian Church alone, and without the aid
of state enactments, has extirpated this bad feature of Asiatic manners
wherever its doctrines were carried. As the Christian faith prevails in
any community, in that proportion precisely marriage is consecrated
to its true purpose, and all intercourse between the sexes refined
and purified. Mr. Ingersoll got his own devotion to the principle of
monogamy--his own respect for the highest type of female character--his
own belief in the virtue of fidelity to one good wife--from the example
and precept of his Christian parents. I speak confidently, because these
are sentiments which do not grow in the heart of the natural man without
being planted. Why, then, does he throw polygamy into the face of the
religion which abhors it? Because he is nothing if not political. The
Mormons believe in polygamy, and the Mormons are unpopular. They are
guilty of having not only many wives but much property, and if a war
could be hissed up against them, its fruits might be more "gaynefull
pilladge than wee doe now conceyve of." It is a cunning maneuver, this,
of strengthening atheism by enlisting anti-Mormon rapacity against the
God of the Christians. I can only protest against the use he would make
of these and other political interests. It is not argument; it is mere
stump oratory.

I think I have repelled all of Mr. Ingersoll's accusations against the
Old Testament that are worth noticing, and I might stop here. But I will
not close upon him without letting him see, at least, some part of the
case on the other side.

I do not enumerate in detail the positive proofs which support the
authenticity of the Hebrew Bible, though they are at hand in great
abundance, because the evidence in support of the new dispensation will
establish the verity of the old--the two being so connected together
that if one is true the other cannot be false.

When Jesus of Nazareth announced himself to be Christ, the Son of God,
in Judea, many thousand persons who heard his words and saw his works
believed in his divinity without hesitation. Since the morning of the
creation, nothing has occurred so wonderful as the rapidity with which
this religion spread itself abroad. Men who were in the noon of life
when Jesus was put to death as a malefactor lived to see him worshiped
as God by organized bodies of believers in every province of the Roman
empire. In a few more years it took complete possession of the general
mind, supplanted all other religions, and wrought a radical change in
human society. It did this in the face of obstacles which, according to
every human calculation, were insurmountable. It was antagonized by all
the evil propensities, the sensual wickedness, and the vulgar crimes of
the multitude, as well as the polished vices of the luxurious classes;
and was most violently opposed even by those sentiments and habits of
thought which were esteemed virtuous, such as patriotism and military
heroism. It encountered not only the ignorance and superstition, but
the learning and philosophy, the poetry, eloquence, and art of the time.
Barbarism and civilization were alike its deadly enemies. The priesthood
of every established religion and the authority of every government were
arrayed against it. All these, combined together and roused to ferocious
hostility, were overcome, not by the enticing words of man's wisdom, but
by the simple presentation of a pure and peaceful doctrine, preached
by obscure strangers at the daily peril of their lives. Is it Mr.
Ingersoll's idea that this happened by chance, like the creation of the
world? If not, there are but two other ways to account for it; either
the evidence by which the Apostles were able to prove the supernatural
origin of the gospel was overwhelming and irresistible, or else its
propagation was provided for and carried on by the direct aid of the
Divine Being himself. Between these two, infidelity may make its own
choice.

Just here another dilemma presents its horns to our adversary. If
Christianity was a human fabrication, its authors must have been either
good men or bad. It is a moral impossibility--a mere contradiction in
terms--to say that good, honest, and true men practised a gross and
willful deception upon the world. It is equally incredible that any
combination of knaves, however base, would fraudulently concoct a
religious system to denounce themselves, and to invoke the curse of God
upon their own conduct. Men that love lies, love not such lies as that.
Is there any way out of this difficulty, except by confessing that
Christianity is what it purports to be--a divine revelation?

The acceptance of Christianity by a large portion of the generation
contemporary with its Founder and his apostles was, under the
circumstances, an adjudication as solemn and authoritative as mortal
intelligence could pronounce. The record of that judgment has come down
to us, accompanied by the depositions of the principal witnesses. In
the course of eighteen centuries many efforts have been made to open
the judgment or set it aside on the ground that the evidence was
insufficient to support it. But on every rehearing the wisdom and virtue
of mankind have re-affirmed it. And now comes Mr. Ingersoll, to try
the experiment of another bold, bitter, and fierce reargument. I will
present some of the considerations which would compel me, if I were
a judge or juror in the cause, to decide it just as it was decided
originally.

_First_. There is no good reason to doubt that the statements of the
evangelists, as we have them now, are genuine. The multiplication of
copies was a sufficient guarantee against any material alteration of the
text. Mr. Ingersoll speaks of interpolations made by the fathers of the
Church. All he knows and all he has ever heard on that subject is
that some of the innumerable transcripts contained errors which were
discovered and corrected. That simply proves the present integrity of
the documents.

_Second_. I call these statements _depositions_, because they are
entitled to that kind of credence which we give to declarations made
under oath--but in a much higher degree, for they are more than sworn
to. They were made in the immediate prospect of death. Perhaps this
would not affect the conscience of an atheist,--neither would an
oath,--but these people manifestly believed in a judgment after death,
before a God of truth, whose displeasure they feared above all things.

_Third_. The witnesses could not have been mistaken. The nature of the
facts precluded the possibility of any delusion about them. For every
averment they had "the sensible and true avouch of their own eyes" and
ears. Besides, they were plain-thinking, sober, unimaginative men, who,
unlike Mr. Ingersoll, always, under all circumstances, and especially
in the presence of eternity, recognized the difference between mountains
and clouds. It is inconceivable how any fact could be proven by evidence
more conclusive than the statement of such persons, publicly given and
steadfastly persisted in through every kind of persecution, imprisonment
and torture to the last agonies of a lingering death.

_Fourth_. Apart from these terrible tests, the more ordinary claims to
credibility are not wanting. They were men of unimpeachable character.
The most virulent enemies of the cause they spoke and died for have
never suggested a reason for doubting their personal honesty. But there
is affirmative proof that they and their fellow-disciples were held by
those who knew them in the highest estimation for truthfulness. Wherever
they made their report it was not only believed, but believed with a
faith so implicit that thousands were ready at once to seal it with
their blood.

_Fifth_. The tone and temper of their narrative impress us with a
sentiment of profound respect. It is an artless, unimpassioned, simple
story. No argument, no rhetoric, no epithets, no praises of friends, no
denunciation of enemies, no attempts at concealment. How strongly these
qualities commend the testimony of a witness to the confidence of judge
and jury is well known to all who have any experience in such matters.

_Sixth_. The statements made by the evangelists are alike upon every
important point, but are different in form and expression, some of
them including details which the others omit. These variations make it
perfectly certain that there could have been no previous concert
between the witnesses, and that each spoke independently of the
others, according to his own conscience and from his own knowledge. In
considering the testimony of several witnesses to the same transaction,
their substantial agreement upon the main facts, with circumstantial
differences in the detail, is always regarded as the great
characteristic of truth and honesty. There is no rule of evidence
more universally adopted than this--none better sustained by general
experience, or more immovably fixed in the good sense of mankind. Mr.
Ingersoll, himself, admits the rule and concedes its soundness. The
logical consequence of that admission is that we are bound to take this
evidence as incontestably true. But mark the infatuated perversity
with which he seeks to evade it. He says that when we claim that the
witnesses were inspired, the rule does not apply, because the witnesses
then speak what is known to him who inspired them, and all must speak
exactly the same, even to the minutest detail. Mr. Ingersoll's notion
of an inspired witness is that he is no witness at all, but an
irresponsible medium who unconsciously and involuntarily raps out
or writes down whatever he is prompted to say. But this is a false
assumption, not countenanced or even suggested by anything contained in
the Scriptures. The apostles and evangelists are expressly declared
to be witnesses, in the proper sense of the word, called and sent to
testify the truth according to their knowledge. If they had all told
the same story in the same way, without variation, and accounted for its
uniformity by declaring that they were inspired, and had spoken without
knowing whether their words were true or false, where would have been
their claim to credibility? But they testified what they knew; and here
comes an infidel critic impugning their testimony because the impress of
truth is stamped upon its face.

_Seventh_. It does not appear that the statements of the evangelists
were ever denied by any person who pretended to know the facts. Many
there were in that age and afterward who resisted the belief that
Jesus was the Christ, the Son of God, and only Saviour of man; but his
wonderful works, the miraculous purity of his life, the unapproachable
loftiness of his doctrines, his trial and condemnation by a judge who
pronounced him innocent, his patient suffering, his death on the
cross, and resurrection from the grave,--of these not the faintest
contradiction was attempted, if we except the false and feeble story
which the elders and chief priests bribed the guard at the tomb to put
in circulation.

_Eighth_. What we call the fundamental truths of Christianity consist
of great public events which are sufficiently established by history
without special proof. The value of mere historical evidence increases
according to the importance of the facts in question, their general
notoriety, and the magnitude of their visible consequences. Cornwallis
surrendered to Washington at Yorktown, and changed the destiny of Europe
and America. Nobody would think of calling a witness or even citing an
official report to prove it. Julius Caesar was assassinated. We do not
need to prove that fact like an ordinary murder. He was master of the
world, and his death was followed by a war with the conspirators, the
battle at Philippi, the quarrel of the victorious triumvirs, Actium, and
the permanent establishment of imperial government under Augustus. The
life and character, the death and resurrection, of Jesus are just as
visibly connected with events which even an infidel must admit to be of
equal importance. The Church rose and armed herself in righteousness for
conflict with the powers of darkness; innumerable multitudes of the best
and wisest rallied to her standard and died in her cause; her enemies
employed the coarse and vulgar machinery of human government against
her, and her professors were brutally murdered in large numbers, her
triumph was complete; the gods of Greece and Rome crumbled on their
altars; the world was revolutionized and human society was transformed.
The course of these events, and a thousand others, which reach down to
the present hour, received its first propulsion from the transcendent
fact of Christ's crucifixion. Moreover, we find the memorial monuments
of the original truth planted all along the way. The sacraments of
baptism and the supper constantly point us back to the author and
finisher of our faith. The mere historical evidence is for these reasons
much stronger than what we have for other occurrences which are regarded
as undeniable. When to this is added the cumulative evidence given
directly and positively by eye-witnesses of irreproachable character,
and wholly uncontradicted, the proof becomes so strong that the
disbelief we hear of seems like a kind of insanity.

     "It is the very error of the moon,
     Which comes more near the earth than she was wont,
     And makes men mad!"

From the facts established by this evidence, it follows irresistibly
that the Gospel has come to us from God. That silences all reasoning
about the wisdom and justice of its doctrines, since it is impossible,
even to imagine that wrong can be done or commanded by that Sovereign
Being whose will alone is the ultimate standard of all justice.

But Mr. Ingersoll is still dissatisfied. He raises objections as false,
fleeting, and baseless as clouds, and insists that they are as stable as
the mountains, whose everlasting foundations are laid by the hand of the
Almighty. I will compress his propositions into plain words printed in
_italics_, and, taking a look at his misty creations, let them roll away
and vanish into air, one after another.

_Christianity offers eternal salvation as the reward of belief alone_.
This is a misrepresentation simple and naked. No such doctrine is
propounded in the Scriptures, or in the creed of any Christian church.
On the contrary, it is distinctly taught that faith avails nothing
without repentance, reformation, and newness of life.

_The mere failure to believe it is punished in hell_. I have never known
any Christian man or woman to assert this. It is universally agreed that
children too young to understand it do not need to believe it. And this
exemption extends to adults who have never seen the evidence, or, from
weakness of intellect, are incapable of weighing it. Lunatics and idiots
are not in the least danger, and for aught I know, this category may, by
a stretch of God's mercy, include minds constitutionally sound, but with
faculties so perverted by education, habit, or passion that they are
incapable of reasoning. I sincerely hope that, upon this or some other
principle, Mr. Ingersoll may escape the hell he talks about so much. But
there is no direct promise to save him in spite of himself. The plan
of redemption contains no express covenant to pardon one who rejects
it with scorn and hatred. Our hope for him rests upon the infinite
compassion of that gracious Being who prayed on the cross for the
insulting enemies who nailed him there.

_The mystery of the second birth is incomprehensible_. Christ
established a new kingdom in the world, but not of it. Subjects were
admitted to the privileges and protection of its government by a process
equivalent to naturalization. To be born again, or regenerated is to be
naturalized. The words all mean the same thing. Does Mr. Ingersoll want
to disgrace his own intellect by pretending that he cannot see this
simple analogy?

_The doctrine of the atonement is absurd, unjust, and immoral_. The
plan of salvation, or any plan for the rescue of sinners from the legal
operation of divine justice, could have been framed only in the councils
of the Omniscient. Necessarily its heights and depths are not easily
fathomed by finite intelligence. But the greatest, ablest, wisest,
and most virtuous men that ever lived have given it their profoundest
consideration, and found it to be not only authorized by revelation,
but theoretically conformed to their best and highest conceptions of
infinite goodness. Nevertheless, here is a rash and superficial man,
without training or habits of reflection, who, upon a mere glance,
declares that it "must be abandoned," because it _seems to him_ "absurd,
unjust, and immoral." I would not abridge his freedom of thought or
speech, and the _argumentum ad verecundiam_ would be lost upon him.
Otherwise I might suggest that, when he finds all authority, human and
divine, against him, he had better speak in a tone less arrogant.

_He does not comprehend how justice and mercy can be blended together in
the plan of redemption, and therefore it cannot be true_. A thing is
not necessarily false because he does not understand it: he cannot
annihilate a principle or a fact by ignoring it. There are many truths
in heaven and earth which no man can see through; for instance, the
union of man's soul with his body, is not only an unknowable but an
unimaginable mystery. Is it therefore false that a connection does exist
between matter and spirit?

_How, he asks, can the sufferings of an innocent person satisfy justice
for the sins of the guilty?_ This raises a metaphysical question, which
it is not necessary or possible for me to discuss here. As matter of
fact, Christ died that sinners might be reconciled to God, and in that
sense he died for them; that is, to furnish them with the means of
averting divine justice, which their crimes had provoked..

_What, he again asks, would we think of a man who allowed another to die
for a crime which he himself had committed?_ I answer that a man who, by
any contrivance, causes his own offence to be visited upon the head of
an innocent person is unspeakably depraved. But are Christians guilty of
this baseness because they accept the blessings of an institution which
their great benefactor died to establish? Loyalty to the King who
has erected a most beneficent government for us at the cost of his
life--fidelity to the Master who bought us with his blood--is not the
fraudulent substitution of an innocent person in place of a criminal.

_The doctrine of non-resistance, forgiveness of injuries, reconciliation
with enemies, as taught in the New Testament, is the child of weakness,
degrading and unjust_. This is the whole substance of a long, rambling
diatribe, as incoherent as a sick man's dream. Christianity does not
forbid the necessary defense of civil society, or the proper vindication
of personal rights. But to cherish animosity, to thirst for mere
revenge, to hoard up wrongs, real or fancied, and lie in wait for the
chance of paying them back; to be impatient, unforgiving, malicious,
and cruel to all who have crossed us--these diabolical propensities
are checked and curbed by the authority and spirit of the Christian
religion, and the application of it has converted men from low savages
into refined and civilized beings.

_The punishment of sinners in eternal hell is excessive_. The future of
the soul is a subject on which we have very dark views. In our present
state, the mind takes no idea except what is conveyed to it through the
bodily senses. All our conceptions of the spiritual world are derived
from some analogy to material things, and this analogy must necessarily
be very remote, because the nature of the subjects compared is so
diverse that a close similarity cannot be even supposed. No revelation
has lifted the veil between time and eternity; but in shadowy figures we
are warned that a very marked distinction will be made between the
good and the bad in the next world. Speculative opinions concerning the
punishment of the wicked, its nature and duration, vary with the temper
and the imaginations of men. Doubtless we are many of us in error; but
how can Mr. Ingersoll enlighten us? Acknowledge ing no standard of
right and wrong in this world, he can have no theory of rewards and
punishments in the next. The deeds done in the body, whether good or
evil, are all morally alike in his eyes, and if there be in heaven a
congregation of the just, he sees no reason why the worst rogue should
not be a member of it. It is supposed, however, that man has a soul as
well as a body, and that both are subject to certain laws, which cannot
be violated without incurring the proper penalty--or consequence, if he
likes that word better.

_If Christ was God, he knew that his followers would persecute and
murder men for their opinions; yet he did not forbid it_. There is
but one way to deal with this accusation, and that is to contradict it
flatly. Nothing can be conceived more striking than the prohibition, not
only of persecution, but of all the passions which lead or incite to
it. No follower of Christ indulges in malice even to his enemy without
violating the plainest rule of his faith. He cannot love God and hate
his brother: if he says he can, St. John pronounces him a liar. The
broadest benevolence, universal philanthropy, inexhaustible charity,
are inculcated in every line of the New Testament. It is plain that
Mr. Ingersoll never read a chapter of it; otherwise he would not have
ventured upon this palpable falsification of its doctrines. Who told him
that the devilish spirit of persecution was authorized, or encouraged,
or not forbidden, by the Gospel? The person, whoever it was, who imposed
upon his trusting ignorance should be given up to the just reprobation
of his fellow-citizens.

_Christians in modern times carry on wars of detraction and slander
against one another_. The discussions of theological subjects by men who
believe in the fundamental doctrines of Christ are singularly free from
harshness and abuse. Of course I cannot speak with absolute certainty,
but I believe most confidently that there is not in all the religious
polemics of this century as much slanderous invective as can be found
in any ten lines of Mr. Ingersoll's writings. Of course I do not include
political preachers among my models of charity and forbearance. They
are a mendacious set, but Christianity is no more responsible for their
misconduct than it is for the treachery of Judas Iscariot or the wrongs
done to Paul by Alexander the coppersmith.

_But, says he, Christians have been guilty of wanton and wicked
Persecution_. It is true that some persons, professing Christianity,
have violated the fundamental principles of their faith by inflicting
violent injuries and bloody wrongs upon their fellow-men. But the
perpetrators of these outrages were in fact not Christians: they were
either hypocrites from the beginning or else base apostates--infidels or
something worse--hireling wolves, whose gospel was their maw. Not one of
them ever pretended to find a warrant for his conduct in any precept
of Christ or any doctrine of his Church. All the wrongs of this nature
which history records have been the work of politicians, aided often by
priests and ministers who were willing to deny their Lord and desert to
the enemy, for the sake of their temporal interests. Take the cases most
commonly cited and see if this be not a true account of them. The
_auto da fé_ of Spain and Portugal, the burnings at Smithfield, and the
whipping of women in Massachusetts, were the outcome of a cruel, false,
and antichristian policy. Coligny and his adherents were killed by
an order of Charles IX., at the instance of the Guises, who headed a
hostile faction, and merely for reasons of state. Louis XIV. revoked the
edict of Nantes, and banished the Waldenses under pain of confiscation
and death; but this was done on the declared ground that the victims
were not safe subjects. The brutal atrocities of Cromwell and the
outrages of the Orange lodges against the Irish Catholics were not
persecutions by religious people, but movements as purely political as
those of the Know-Nothings, Plug-Uglys, and Blood-Tubs of this country.
If the Gospel should be blamed for these acts in opposition to its
principles, why not also charge it with the cruelties of Nero, or the
present persecution of the Jesuits by the infidel republic of France?

_Christianity is opposed to freedom of thought_. The kingdom of Christ
is based upon certain principles, to which it requires the assent of
every one who would enter therein. If you are unwilling to own his
authority and conform your moral conduct to his laws, you cannot
expect that he will admit you to the privileges of his government. But
naturalization is not forced upon you if you prefer to be an alien. The
Gospel makes the strongest and tenderest appeal to the heart, reason,
and conscience of man--entreats him to take thought for his own highest
interest, and by all its moral influence provokes him to good works;
but he is not constrained by any kind of duress to leave the service or
relinquish the wages of sin. Is there anything that savors of tyranny in
this? A man of ordinary judgment will say, no. But Mr. Ingersoll thinks
it as oppressive as the refusal of Jehovah to reward the worship of
demons.

_The gospel of Christ does not satisfy the hunger of the heart_.
That depends upon what kind of a heart it is. If it hungers after
righteousness, it will surely be filled. It is probable, also, that if
it hungers for the filthy food of a godless philosophy it will get what
its appetite demands. That was an expressive phrase which Carlyle used
when he called modern infidelity "the gospel of dirt." Those who are
greedy to swallow it will doubless be supplied satisfactorily.

_Accounts of miracles are always false_. Are miracles impossible? No one
will say so who opens his eyes to the miracles of creation with which
we are surrounded on every hand. You cannot even show that they are
_a priori_ improbable. God would be likely to reveal his will to the
rational creatures who were required to obey it; he would authenticate
in some way the right of prophets and apostles to speak in his name;
supernatural power was the broad seal which he affixed to their
commission. From this it follows that the improbability of a miracle is
no greater than the original improbability of a revelation, and that is
not improbable at all. Therefore, if the miracles of the New Testament
are proved by sufficient evidence, we believe them as we believe any
other established fact. They become deniable only when it is shown that
the great miracle of making the world was never performed. Accordingly
Mr. Ingersoll abolishes creation first, and thus clears the way to his
dogmatic conclusion that _all_ miracles are "the children of mendacity."

_Christianity is pernicious in its moral effect, darkens the mind,
narrows the soul, arrests the progress of human society, and hinders
civilization_. Mr. Ingersoll, as a zealous apostle of "the gospel of
dirt," must be expected to throw a good deal of mud. But this is too
much: it injures himself instead of defiling the object of his assault.
When I answer that all we have of virtue, justice, intellectual liberty,
moral elevation, refinement, benevolence, and true wisdom came to us
from that source which he reviles as the fountain of evil, I am
not merely putting one assertion against the other; for I have
the advantage, which he has not, of speaking what every tolerably
well-informed man knows to be true. Reflect what kind of a world this
was when the disciples of Christ undertook to reform it, and compare it
with the condition in which their teachings have put it. In its mighty
metropolis, the center of its intellectual and political power, the best
men were addicted to vices so debasing that I could not even allude to
them without soiling the paper I write upon. All manner of unprincipled
wickedness was practiced in the private life of the whole population
without concealment or shame, and the magistrates were thoroughly and
universally corrupt. Benevolence in any shape was altogether unknown.
The helpless and the weak got neither justice nor mercy. There was
no relief for the poor, no succor for the sick, no refuge for the
unfortunate. In all pagandom there was not a hospital, asylum,
almshouse, or organized charity of any sort. The indifference to human
life was literally frightful. The order of a successful leader to
assassinate his opponents was always obeyed by his followers with the
utmost alacrity and pleasure. It was a special amusement of the populace
to witness the shows at which men were compelled to kill one another,
to be torn in pieces by wild beasts, or otherwise "butchered, to make a
Roman holiday." In every province paganism enacted the same cold-blooded
cruelties; oppression and robbery ruled supreme; murder went rampaging
and red over all the earth. The Church came, and her light penetrated
this moral darkness like a new sun. She covered the globe with
institutions of mercy, and thousands upon thousands of her disciples
devoted themselves exclusively to works of charity at the sacrifice
of every earthly interest. Her earliest adherents were killed without
remorse--beheaded, crucified, sawn asunder, thrown to the beasts, or
covered with pitch, piled up in great heaps, and slowly burnt to death.
But her faith was made perfect through suffering, and the law of love
rose in triumph from the ashes of her martyrs. This religion has come
down to us through the ages, attended all the way by righteousness,
justice, temperance, mercy, transparent truthfulness, exulting hope,
and white-winged charity. Never was its influence for good more plainly
perceptible than now. It has not converted, purified, and reformed all
men, for its first principle is the freedom of the human will, and there
are those who choose to reject it. But to the mass of mankind, directly
and indirectly, it has brought uncounted benefits and blessings. Abolish
it--take away the restraints which it imposes on evil passions--silence
the admonitions of its preachers--let all Christians cease their
labors of charity--blot out from history the records of its heroic
benevolence--repeal the laws it has enacted and the institutions it has
built up--let its moral principles be abandoned and all its miracles
of light be extinguished--what would we come to? I need not answer this
question: the experiment has been partially tried. The French nation
formally renounced Christianity, denied the existence of the Supreme
Being, and so satisfied the hunger of the infidel heart for a time.
What followed? Universal depravity, garments rolled in blood, fantastic
crimes unimagined before, which startled the earth with their sublime
atrocity. The American people have and ought to have no special desire
to follow that terrible example of guilt and misery.

It is impossible to discuss this subject within the limits of a review.
No doubt the effort to be short has made me obscure. If Mr. Ingersoll
thinks himself wronged, or his doctrines misconstrued, let him not lay
my fault at the door of the Church, or cast his censure on the clergy.

"_Adsum qui feci, in me convertite ferrum_."

J. S. Black.



THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION, BY ROBERT G. INGERSOLL.


III.


"Apart from moral conduct, all that man thinks himself able to do, in
order to become acceptable to God, is mere superstition and religious
folly." Kant.

"Apart from moral conduct, all that man thinks himself able to do, in
order to become acceptable to God, is mere superstition and religious
folly." Kant.


SEVERAL months ago, The North American Review asked me to write an
article, saying that it would be published if some one would furnish a
reply. I wrote the article that appeared in the August number, and by
me it was entitled "Is All of the Bible Inspired?" Not until the
article was written did I know who was expected to answer. I make this
explanation for the purpose of dissipating the impression that Mr. Black
had been challenged by me. To have struck his shield with my lance might
have given birth to the impression that I was somewhat doubtful as to
the correctness of my position. I naturally expected an answer from some
professional theologian, and was surprised to find that a reply had been
written by a "policeman," who imagined that he had answered my arguments
by simply telling me that my statements were false. It is somewhat
unfortunate that in a discussion like this any one should resort to the
slightest personal detraction. The theme is great enough to engage the
highest faculties of the human mind, and in the investigation of such a
subject vituperation is singularly and vulgarly out of place. Arguments
cannot be answered with insults. It is unfortunate that the intellectual
arena should be entered by a "policeman," who has more confidence in
concussion than discussion. Kindness is strength. Good-nature is often
mistaken for virtue, and good health sometimes passes for genius.
Anger blows out the lamp of the mind. In the examination of a great and
important question, every one should be serene, slow-pulsed, and calm.
Intelligence is not the foundation of arrogance. Insolence is not logic.
Epithets are the arguments of malice. Candor is the courage of the soul.
Leaving the objectionable portions of Mr. Black's reply, feeling that so
grand a subject should not be blown and tainted with malicious words, I
proceed to answer as best I may the arguments he has urged.

I am made to say that "the universe is natural"; that "it came into
being of its own accord"; that "it made its own laws at the start, and
afterward improved itself considerably by spontaneous evolution."

I did say that "the universe is natural," but I did not say that "it
came into being of its own accord"; neither did I say that "it made its
own laws and afterward improved itself." The universe, according to my
idea, is, always was, and forever will be. It did not "come into being,"
it is the one eternal being,--the only thing that ever did, does, or can
exist. It did not "make its own laws." We know nothing of what we
call the laws of nature except as we gather the idea of law from the
uniformity of phenomena springing from like conditions. To make myself
clear: Water always runs down-hill. The theist says that this happens
because there is behind the phenomenon an active law. As a matter
of fact, law is this side of the phenomenon. Law does not cause the
phenomenon, but the phenomenon causes the idea of law in our minds; and
this idea is produced from the fact that under like circumstances the
same phenomenon always happens. Mr. Black probably thinks that the
difference in the weight of rocks and clouds was created by law; that
parallel lines fail to unite only because it is illegal that diameter
and circumference could have been so made that it would be a greater
distance across than around a circle; that a straight line could enclose
a triangle if not prevented by law, and that a little legislation could
make it possible for two bodies to occupy the same space at the same
time. It seems to me that law cannot be the cause of phenomena, but is
an effect produced in our minds by their succession and resemblance.
To put a God back of the universe, compels us to admit that there was a
time when nothing existed except this God; that this God had lived from
eternity in an infinite vacuum, and in absolute idleness. The mind of
every thoughtful man is forced to one of these two conclusions:
either that the universe is self-existent, or that it was created by a
self-existent being. To my mind, there are far more difficulties in the
second hypothesis than in the first.

Of course, upon a question like this, nothing can be absolutely known.
We live on an atom called Earth, and what we know of the infinite is
almost infinitely limited; but, little as we know, all have an equal
right to give their honest thought. Life is a shadowy, strange,
and winding road on which we travel for a little way--a few short
steps---just from the cradle, with its lullaby of love, to the low and
quiet way-side inn, where all at last must sleep, and where the only
salutation is--Good-night.

I know as little as any one else about the "plan" of the universe; and
as to the "design," I know just as little. It will not do to say that
the universe was designed, and therefore there must be a designer. There
must first be proof that it was "designed." It will not do to say that
the universe has a "plan," and then assert that there must have been an
infinite maker. The idea that a design must have a beginning and that a
designer need not, is a simple expression of human ignorance. We find
a watch, and we say: "So curious and wonderful a thing must have had a
maker." We find the watch-maker, and we say: "So curious and wonderful
a thing as man must have had a maker." We find God, and we then say: "He
is so wonderful that he must _not_ have had a maker." In other words,
all things a little wonderful must have been created, but it is possible
for something to be so wonderful that it always existed. One would
suppose that just as the wonder increased the necessity for a creator
increased, because it is the wonder of the thing that suggests the idea
of creation. Is it possible that a designer exists from all eternity
without design? Was there no design in having an infinite designer? For
me, it is hard to see the plan or design in earthquakes and pestilences.
It is somewhat difficult to discern the design or the benevolence in so
making the world that billions of animals live only on the agonies of
others. The justice of God is not visible to me in the history of this
world. When I think of the suffering and death, of the poverty and
crime, of the cruelty and malice, of the heartlessness of this "design"
and "plan," where beak and claw and tooth tear and rend the quivering
flesh of weakness and despair, I cannot convince myself that it is the
result of infinite wisdom, benevolence, and justice.

Most Christians have seen and recognized this difficulty, and have
endeavored to avoid it by giving God an opportunity in another world
to rectify the seeming mistakes of this. Mr. Black, however, avoids the
entire question by saying: "We have neither jurisdiction nor capacity to
rejudge the justice of God." In other words, we have no right to think
upon this subject, no right to examine the questions most vitally
affecting human kind. We are simply to accept the ignorant statements of
barbarian dead. This question cannot be settled by saying that "it would
be a mere waste of time and space to enumerate the proofs which show
that the Universe was created by a preexistent and self-conscious
Being." The time and space should have been "wasted," and the proofs
should have been enumerated. These "proofs" are what the wisest and
greatest are trying to find. Logic is not satisfied with assertion.
It cares nothing for the opinions of the "great,"--nothing for the
prejudices of the many, and least of all for the superstitions of the
dead. In the world of Science, a fact is a legal tender. Assertions and
miracles are base and spurious coins. We have the right to rejudge the
justice even of a god. No one should throw away his reason--the fruit
of all experience. It is the intellectual capital of the soul, the only
light, the only guide, and without it the brain becomes the palace of an
idiot king, attended by a retinue of thieves and hypocrites.

Of course it is admitted that most of the Ten Commandments are wise and
just. In passing, it may be well enough to say, that the commandment,
"Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of
anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or
that is in the water under the earth," was the absolute death of Art,
and that not until after the destruction of Jerusalem was there a Hebrew
painter or sculptor. Surely a commandment is not inspired that drives
from the earth the living canvas and the breathing stone--leaves all
walls bare and all the niches desolate. In the tenth commandment we find
woman placed on an exact equality with other property, which, to say the
least of it, has never tended to the amelioration of her condition.

A very curious thing about these commandments is that their supposed
author violated nearly every one. From Sinai, according to the account,
he said: "Thou shalt not kill," and yet he ordered the murder of
millions; "Thou shalt not commit adultery," and yet he gave captured
maidens to gratify the lust of captors; "Thou shalt not steal," and yet
he gave to Jewish marauders the flocks and herds of others; "Thou shalt
not covet thy neighbor's house, nor his wife," and yet he allowed his
chosen people to destroy the homes of neighbors and to steal their
wives; "Honor thy father and thy mother," and yet this same God had
thousands of fathers butchered, and with the sword of war killed
children yet unborn; "Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy
neighbor," and yet he sent abroad "lying spirits" to deceive his own
prophets, and in a hundred ways paid tribute to deceit. So far as we
know, Jehovah kept only one of these commandments--he worshiped no other
god.

The religious intolerance of the Old Testament is justified upon the
ground that "blasphemy was a breach of political allegiance," that
"idolatry was an act of overt treason," and that "to worship the gods
of the hostile heathen was deserting to the public enemy, and giving him
aid and comfort." According to Mr. Black, we should all have liberty of
conscience except when directly governed by God. In that country where
God is king, liberty cannot exist. In this position, I admit that he
is upheld and fortified by the "sacred" text. Within the Old Testament
there is no such thing as religious toleration. Within that volume can
be found no mercy for an unbeliever. For all who think for themselves,
there are threatenings, curses, and anathemas. Think of an infinite
being who is so cruel, so unjust, that he will not allow one of his own
children the liberty of thought! Think of an infinite God acting as the
direct governor of a people, and yet not able to command their love!
Think of the author of all mercy imbruing his hands in the blood of
helpless men, women, and children, simply because he did not furnish
them with intelligence enough to understand his law! An earthly father
who cannot govern by affection is not fit to be a father; what,
then, shall we say of an infinite being who resorts to violence, to
pestilence, to disease, and famine, in the vain effort to obtain even
the respect of a savage? Read this passage, red from the heart of
cruelty:

"_If thy brother, the son of thy mother, or thy son, or thy daughter, or
the wife of thy bosom, or thy friend, which is as thine own soul, entice
thee secretly, saying, Let us go and serve other gods which thou hast
not known, thou nor thy fathers,... thou shalt not consent unto him, nor
hearken unto him, neither shalt thine eye pity him, neither shalt thou
spare, neither shalt thou conceal him, but thou shalt surely kill him;
thine hand shall be first upon him to put him to death, and afterwards
the hand of all the people; and thou shalt stone him with stones, that
he die_."

This is the religious liberty of the Bible. If you had lived in
Palestine, and if the wife of your bosom, dearer to you than your
own soul, had said: "I like the religion of India better than that of
Palestine," it would have been your duty to kill her.

"Your eye must not pity her, your hand must be first upon her, and
afterwards the hand of all the people." If she had said: "Let us worship
the sun--the sun that clothes the earth in garments of green--the
sun, the great fireside of the world--the sun that covers the hills and
valleys with flowers--that gave me your face, and made it possible for
me to look into the eyes of my babe--let us worship the sun," it was
your duty to kill her. You must throw the first stone, and when against
her bosom--a bosom filled with love for you--you had thrown the jagged
and cruel rock, and had seen the red stream of her life oozing from
the dumb lips of death, you could then look up and receive the
congratulations of the God whose commandment you had obeyed. Is it
possible that a being of infinite mercy ordered a husband to kill his
wife for the crime of having expressed an opinion on the subject of
religion? Has there been found upon the records of the savage world
anything more perfectly fiendish than this commandment of Jehovah? This
is justified on the ground that "blasphemy was a breach of political
allegiance, and idolatry an act of overt treason." We can understand
how a human king stands in need of the service of his people. We can
understand how the desertion of any of his soldiers weakens his army;
but were the king infinite in power, his strength would still remain the
same, and under no conceivable circumstances could the enemy triumph.

I insist that, if there is an infinitely good and wise God, he beholds
with pity the misfortunes of his children. I insist that such a God
would know the mists, the clouds, the darkness enveloping the human
mind. He would know how few stars are visible in the intellectual sky.
His pity, not his wrath, would be excited by the efforts of his
blind children, groping in the night to find the cause of things, and
endeavoring, through their tears, to see some dawn of hope. Filled with
awe by their surroundings, by fear of the unknown, he would know that
when, kneeling, they poured out their gratitude to some unseen power,
even to a visible idol, it was, in fact, intended for him. An infinitely
good being, had he the power, would answer the reasonable prayer of an
honest savage, even when addressed to wood and stone.

The atrocities of the Old Testament, the threatenings, maledictions, and
curses of the "inspired book," are defended on the ground that the Jews
had a right to treat their enemies as their enemies treated them; and
in this connection is this remarkable statement: "In your treatment
of hostile barbarians you not only may lawfully, you must necessarily,
adopt their mode of warfare. If they come to conquer you, they may be
conquered by you; if they give no quarter, they are entitled to none; if
the death of your whole population be their purpose, you may defeat it
by exterminating theirs."

For a man who is a "Christian policeman," and has taken upon himself to
defend the Christian religion; for one who follows the Master who said
that when smitten on one cheek you must turn the other, and who again
and again enforced the idea that you must overcome evil with good, it is
hardly consistent to declare that a civilized nation must of necessity
adopt the warfare of savages. Is it possible that in fighting, for
instance, the Indians of America, if they scalp our soldiers we should
scalp theirs? If they ravish, murder, and mutilate our wives, must we
treat theirs in the same manner? If they kill the babes in our cradles,
must we brain theirs? If they take our captives, bind them to the trees,
and if their squaws fill their quivering flesh with sharpened fagots and
set them on fire, that they may die clothed with flame, must our wives,
our mothers, and our daughters follow the fiendish example? Is this the
conclusion of the most enlightened Christianity? Will the pulpits of the
United States adopt the arguments of this "policeman"? Is this the last
and most beautiful blossom of the Sermon on the Mount? Is this the echo
of "Father, forgive them; they know not what they do"?

Mr. Black justifies the wars of extermination and conquest because the
American people fought for the integrity of their own country; fought to
do away with the infamous institution of slavery; fought to preserve the
jewels of liberty and justice for themselves and for their children.
Is it possible that his mind is so clouded by political and religious
prejudice, by the recollections of an unfortunate administration,
that he sees no difference between a war of extermination and one of
self-preservation? that he sees no choice between the murder of helpless
age, of weeping women and of sleeping babes, and the defence of liberty
and nationality?

The soldiers of the Republic did not wage a war of extermination. They
did not seek to enslave their fellow-men. They did not murder trembling
age. They did not sheathe their swords in women's breasts. They gave
the old men bread, and let the mothers rock their babes in peace.
They fought to save the world's great hope--to free a race and put the
humblest hut beneath the canopy of liberty and law.

Claiming neither praise nor dispraise for the part taken by me in the
Civil war, for the purposes of this argument, it is sufficient to say
that I am perfectly willing that my record, poor and barren as it is,
should be compared with his.

Never for an instant did I suppose that any respectable American citizen
could be found willing at this day to defend the institution of slavery;
and never was I more astonished than when I found Mr. Black denying that
civilized countries passionately assert that slavery is and always was
a hideous crime. I was amazed when he declared that "the doctrine that
slavery is a crime under all circumstances and at all times was first
started by the adherents of a political faction in this country less
than forty years ago." He tells us that "they denounced God and Christ
for not agreeing with them," but that "they did not constitute the
civilized world; nor were they, if the truth must be told, a very
respectable portion of it. Politically they were successful; I need not
say by what means, or with what effect upon the morals of the country."

Slavery held both branches of Congress, filled the chair of the
Executive, sat upon the Supreme Bench, had in its hands all rewards, all
offices; knelt in the pew, occupied the pulpit, stole human beings in
the name of God, robbed the trundle-bed for love of Christ; incited
mobs, led ignorance, ruled colleges, sat in the chairs of professors,
dominated the public press, closed the lips of free speech, and
polluted with its leprous hand every source and spring of power. The
abolitionists attacked this monster. They were the bravest, grandest
men of their country and their century. Denounced by thieves, hated
by hypocrites, mobbed by cowards, slandered by priests, shunned by
politicians, abhorred by the seekers of office,--these men "of whom the
world was not worthy," in spite of all opposition, in spite of poverty
and want, conquered innumerable obstacles, never faltering for one
moment, never dismayed--accepting defeat with a smile born of infinite
hope--knowing that they were right--insisted and persisted until every
chain was broken, until slave-pens became schoolhouses, and three
millions of slaves became free men, women, and children. They did not
measure with "the golden metewand of God," but with "the elastic cord of
human feeling." They were men the latchets of whose shoes no believer
in human slavery was ever worthy to unloose. And yet we are told by
this modern defender of the slavery of Jehovah that they were not even
respectable; and this slander is justified because the writer is assured
"that the infallible God proceeded upon good grounds when he authorized
slavery in Judea."

Not satisfied with having slavery in this world, Mr. Black assures us
that it will last through all eternity, and that forever and forever
inferiors must be subordinated to superiors. Who is the superior man?
According to Mr. Black, he is superior who lives upon the unpaid labor
of the inferior. With me, the superior man is the one who uses his
superiority in bettering the condition of the inferior. The superior man
is strength for the weak, eyes for the blind, brains for the simple;
he is the one who helps carry the burden that nature has put upon the
inferior. Any man who helps another to gain and retain his liberty is
superior to any infallible God who authorized slavery in Judea. For my
part, I would rather be the slave than the master. It is better to be
robbed than to be a robber. I had rather be stolen from than to be a
thief.

According to Mr. Black, there will be slavery in heaven, and fast by
the throne of God will be the auction-block, and the streets of the New
Jerusalem will be adorned with the whipping post, while the music of
the harp will be supplemented by the crack of the driver's whip. If some
good Republican would catch Mr. Black, "incorporate him into his family,
tame him, teach him to think, and give him a knowledge of the true
principles of human liberty and government, he would confer upon him a
most beneficent boon."

Slavery includes all other crimes. It is the joint product of the
kidnapper, pirate, thief, murderer, and hypocrite. It degrades labor and
corrupts leisure. To lacerate the naked back, to sell wives, to steal
babes, to breed bloodhounds, to debauch your own soul--this is slavery.
This is what Jehovah "authorized in Judea." This is what Mr. Black
believes in still. He "measures with the golden metewand of God." I
abhor slavery. With me, liberty is not merely a means--it is an end.
Without that word, all other words are empty sounds.

Mr. Black is too late with his protest against the freedom of his
fellow-man. Liberty is making the tour of the world. Russia has
emancipated her serfs; the slave trade is prosecuted only by thieves and
pirates; Spain feels upon her cheek the burning blush of shame; Brazil
with proud and happy eyes is looking for the dawn of freedom's day; the
people of the South rejoice that slavery is no more, and every good and
honest man (excepting Mr. Black), of every land and clime, hopes that
the limbs of men will never feel again the weary weight of chains.

We are informed by Mr. Black that polygamy is neither commanded nor
prohibited in the Old Testament--that it is only "discouraged." It seems
to me that a little legislation on that subject might have tended to its
"discouragement." But where is the legislation? In the moral code, which
Mr. Black assures us "consists of certain immutable rules to govern the
conduct of all men at all times and at all places in their private and
personal relations with others," not one word is found on the subject of
polygamy. There is nothing "discouraging" in the Ten Commandments, nor
in the records of any conversation Jehovah is claimed to have had with
Moses upon Sinai. The life of Abraham, the story of Jacob and Laban,
the duty of a brother to be the husband of the widow of his deceased
brother, the life of David, taken in connection with the practice of
one who is claimed to have been the wisest of men--all these things are
probably relied on to show that polygamy was at least "discouraged."
Certainly, Jehovah had time to instruct Moses as to the infamy of
polygamy. He could have spared a few moments from a description of the
patterns of tongs and basins, for a subject so important as this. A
few words in favor of the one wife and the one husband--in favor of the
virtuous and loving home--might have taken the place of instructions
as to cutting the garments of priests and fashioning candlesticks and
ouches of gold. If he had left out simply the order that rams' skins
should be dyed red, and in its place had said, "A man shall have but one
wife, and the wife but one husband," how much better would it have been.

All the languages of the world are not sufficient to express the filth
of polygamy. It makes man a beast, and woman a slave. It destroys the
fireside and makes virtue an outcast. It takes us back to the barbarism
of animals, and leaves the heart a den in which crawl and hiss the slimy
serpents of most loathsome lust. And yet Mr. Black insists that we owe
to the Bible the present elevation of woman. Where will he find in the
Old Testament the rights of wife, and mother, and daughter defined?
Even in the New Testament she is told to "learn in silence, with all
subjection;" that she "is not suffered to teach, nor to usurp any
authority over the man, but to be in silence." She is told that "the
head of every man is Christ, and the head of the woman is man, and the
head of Christ is God." In other words, there is the same difference
between the wife and husband that there is between the husband and
Christ.

The reasons given for this infamous doctrine are that "Adam was first
formed, and then Eve;" that "Adam was not deceived," but that "the woman
being deceived, was in the transgression." These childish reasons are
the only ones given by the inspired writers. We are also told that "a
man, indeed, ought to cover his head, forasmuch as he is the image and
glory of God;" but that "the woman is the glory of the man," and this is
justified from the fact, and the remarkable fact, set forth in the very
next verse--that "the man is not of the woman, but the woman of the
man." And the same gallant apostle says: "Neither was the man created
for the woman, but the woman for the man;" "Wives, submit yourselves
unto your husbands as unto the Lord; for the husband is the head of the
wife, even as Christ is the head of the church, and he is the savior of
the body. Therefore, as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the
wives be subject to their own husbands in everything." These are the
passages that have liberated woman!

According to the Old Testament, woman had to ask pardon, and had to be
purified, for the crime of having borne sons and daughters. If in this
world there is a figure of perfect purity, it is a mother holding in her
thrilled and happy arms her child. The doctrine that woman is the slave,
or serf, of man--whether it comes from heaven or from hell, from God or
a demon, from the golden streets of the New Jerusalem or from the very
Sodom of perdition--is savagery, pure and simple.

In no country in the world had women less liberty than in the Holy Land,
and no monarch held in less esteem the rights of wives and mothers than
Jehovah of the Jews. The position of woman was far better in Egypt than
in Palestine. Before the pyramids were built, the sacred songs of Isis
were sung by women, and women with pure hands had offered sacrifices to
the gods. Before Moses was born, women had sat upon the Egyptian throne.
Upon ancient tombs the husband and wife are represented as seated in
the same chair. In Persia women were priests, and in some of the oldest
civilizations "they were reverenced on earth, and worshiped afterward
as goddesses in heaven." At the advent of Christianity, in all pagan
countries women officiated at the sacred altars. They guarded the
eternal fire. They kept the sacred books. From their lips came the
oracles of fate. Under the domination of the Christian Church, woman
became the merest slave for at least a thousand years. It was claimed
that through woman the race had fallen, and that her loving kiss had
poisoned all the springs of life. Christian priests asserted that but
for her crime the world would have been an Eden still. The ancient
fathers exhausted their eloquence in the denunciation of woman, and
repeated again and again the slander of St. Paul. The condition of woman
has improved just in proportion that man has lost confidence in the
inspiration of the Bible.

For the purpose of defending the character of his infallible God, Mr.
Black is forced to defend religious intolerance, wars of extermination,
human slavery, and _almost_ polygamy. He admits that God established
slavery; that he commanded his chosen people to buy the children of the
heathen; that heathen fathers and mothers did right to sell their girls
and boys; that God ordered the Jews to wage wars of extermination and
conquest; that it was right to kill the old and young; that God forged
manacles for the human brain; that he commanded husbands to murder their
wives for suggesting the worship of the sun or moon; and that every
cruel, savage passage in the Old Testament was inspired by him. Such is
a "policeman's" view of God.

Will Mr. Black have the kindness to state a few of his objections to the
devil?

Mr. Black should have answered my arguments, instead of calling me
"blasphemous" and "scurrilous." In the discussion of these questions
I have nothing to do with the reputation of my opponent. His character
throws no light on the subject, and is to me a matter of perfect
indifference. Neither will it do for one who enters the lists as the
champion of revealed religion to say that "we have no right to rejudge
the justice of God."

Such a statement is a white flag. The warrior eludes the combat when he
cries out that it is a "metaphysical question." He deserts the field and
throws down his arms when he admits that "no revelation has lifted the
veil between time and eternity." Again I ask, why were the Jewish people
as wicked, cruel, and ignorant with a revelation from God, as other
nations were without? Why were the worshipers of false deities as brave,
as kind, and generous as those who knew the only true and living God?

How do you explain the fact that while Jehovah was waging wars of
extermination, establishing slavery, and persecuting for opinion's sake,
heathen philosophers were teaching that all men are brothers, equally
entitled to liberty and life? You insist that Jehovah believed in
slavery and yet punished the Egyptians for enslaving the Jews. Was your
God once an abolitionist? Did he at that time "denounce Christ for not
agreeing with him"? If slavery was a crime in Egypt, was it a virtue
in Palestine? Did God treat the Canaanites better than Pharaoh did
the Jews? Was it right for Jehovah to kill the children of the people
because of Pharaoh's sin? Should the peasant be punished for the king's
crime? Do you not know that the worst thing that can be said of Nero,
Caligula, and Commodus is that they resembled the Jehovah of the Jews?
Will you tell me why God failed to give his Bible to the whole world?
Why did he not give the Scriptures to the Hindu, the Greek, and Roman?
Why did he fail to enlighten the worshipers of "Mammon" and Moloch, of
Belial and Baal, of Bacchus and Venus? After all, was not Bacchus as
good as Jehovah? Is it not better to drink wine than to shed blood?
Was there anything in the worship of Venus worse than giving captured
maidens to satisfy the victor's lust? Did "Mammon" or Moloch do anything
more infamous than to establish slavery? Did they order their soldiers
to kill men, women, and children, and to save alive nothing that had
breath? Do not answer these questions by saying that "no veil has been
lifted between time and eternity," and that "we have no right to rejudge
the justice of God."

If Jehovah was in fact God, he knew the end from the beginning. He knew
that his Bible would be a breastwork behind which tyranny and hypocrisy
would crouch; that it would be quoted by tyrants; that it would be the
defence of robbers, called kings, and of hypocrites called priests. He
knew that he had taught the Jewish people but little of importance. He
knew that he found them free and left them captives. He knew that he
had never fulfilled the promises made to them. He knew that while other
nations had advanced in art and science, his chosen people were savage
still. He promised them the world, and gave them a desert. He promised
them liberty, and he made them slaves. He promised them victory, and he
gave them defeat. He said they should be kings, and he made them
serfs. He promised them universal empire, and gave them exile. When one
finishes the Old Testament, he is compelled to say: Nothing can add to
to the misery of a nation whose king is Jehovah!

And here I take occasion to thank Mr. Black for having admitted that
Jehovah gave no commandment against the practice of polygamy, that he
established slavery, waged wars of extermination, and persecuted for
opinion's sake even unto death. Most theologians endeavor to putty,
patch, and paint the wretched record of inspired crime, but Mr. Black
has been bold enough and honest enough to admit the truth. In this age
of fact and demonstration it is refreshing to find a man who believes
so thoroughly in the monstrous and miraculous, the impossible and
immoral--who still clings lovingly to the legends of the bib and
rattle--who through the bitter experiences of a wicked world has kept
the credulity of the cradle, and finds comfort and joy in thinking about
the Garden of Eden, the subtle serpent, the flood, and Babel's tower,
stopped by the jargon of a thousand tongues--who reads with happy eyes
the story of the burning brimstone storm that fell upon the cities
of the plain, and smilingly explains the transformation of the
retrospective Mrs. Lot--who laughs at Egypt's plagues and Pharaoh's
whelmed and drowning hosts--eats manna with the wandering Jews, warms
himself at the burning bush, sees Korah's company by the hungry earth
devoured, claps his wrinkled hands with glee above the heathens'
butchered babes, and longingly looks back to the patriarchal days of
concubines and slaves. How touching when the learned and wise crawl back
in cribs and ask to hear the rhymes and fables once again! How charming
in these hard and scientific times to see old age in Superstition's lap,
with eager lips upon her withered breast!

Mr. Black comes to the conclusion that the Hebrew Bible is in exact
harmony with the New Testament, and that the two are "connected
together;" and "that if one is true the other cannot be false."

If this is so, then he must admit that if one is false the other
cannot be true; and it hardly seems possible to me that there is a
right-minded, sane man, except Mr. Black, who now believes that a God of
infinite kindness and justice ever commanded one nation to exterminate
another; ever ordered his soldiers to destroy men, women, and babes;
ever established the institution of human slavery; ever regarded the
auction-block as an altar, or a bloodhound as an apostle.

Mr. Black contends (after having answered my indictment against the Old
Testament by admitting the allegations to be true) that the rapidity
with which Christianity spread "proves the supernatural origin of the
Gospel, or that it was propagated by the direct aid of the Divine Being
himself."

Let us see. In his efforts to show that the "infallible God established
slavery in Judea," he takes occasion to say that "the doctrine that
slavery is a crime under all circumstances was first started by the
adherents of a political faction in this, country less than forty years
ago;" that "they denounced God and Christ for not agreeing with them;"
but that "they did not constitute the civilized world; nor were they,
if the truth must be told, a very respectable portion of it." Let it be
remembered that this was only forty years ago; and yet, according to Mr.
Black, a few disreputable men changed the ideas of nearly fifty millions
of people, changed the Constitution of the United States, liberated
a race from slavery, clothed three millions of people with political
rights, took possession of the Government, managed its affairs for more
than twenty years, and have compelled the admiration of the civilized
world. Is it Mr. Black's idea that this happened by chance? If not, then
according to him, there are but two ways to account for it; either the
rapidity with which Republicanism spread proves its supernatural origin,
"or else its propagation was provided for and carried on by the direct
aid of the Divine Being himself." Between these two, Mr. Black may make
his choice. He will at once see that the rapid rise and spread of any
doctrine does not even tend to show that it was divinely revealed.

This argument is applicable to all religions. Mohammedans can use it as
well as Christians. Mohammed was a poor man, a driver of camels. He was
without education, without influence, and without wealth, and yet in a
few years he consolidated thousands of tribes, and made millions of
men confess that there is "one God, and Mohammed is his prophet."
His success was a thousand times greater during his life than that
of Christ. He was not crucified; he was a conqueror. "Of all men, he
exercised the greatest influence upon the human race." Never in the
world's history did a religion spread with the rapidity of his. It burst
like a storm over the fairest portions of the globe. If Mr. Black is
right in his position that rapidity is secured only by the direct aid of
the Divine Being, then Mohammed was most certainly the prophet of God.
As to wars of extermination and slavery, Mohammed agreed with Mr. Black,
and upon polygamy, with Jehovah. As to religious toleration, he was
great enough to say that "men holding to any form of faith might be
saved, provided they were virtuous." In this, he was far in advance both
of Jehovah and Mr. Black.

It will not do to take the ground that the rapid rise and spread of a
religion demonstrates its divine character. Years before Gautama
died, his religion was established, and his disciples were numbered by
millions. His doctrines were not enforced by the sword, but by an
appeal to the hopes, the fears, and the reason of mankind; and more than
one-third of the human race are to-day the followers of Gautama. His
religion has outlived all that existed in his time; and according to Dr.
Draper, "there is no other country in the world except India that
has the religion to-day it had at the birth of Jesus Christ." Gautama
believed in the equality of all men; abhorred the spirit of caste, and
proclaimed justice, mercy, and education for all.

Imagine a Mohammedan answering an infidel; would he not use the
argument of Mr Black, simply substituting Mohammed for Christ, just as
effectually as it has been used against me? There was a time when India
was the foremost nation of the world. Would not your argument, Mr.
Black, have been just as good in the mouth of a Brahmin then, as it is
in yours now? Egypt, the mysterious mother of mankind, with her pyramids
built thirty-four hundred years before Christ, was once the first in
all the earth, and gave to us our Trinity, and our symbol of the cross.
Could not a priest of Isis and Osiris have used your arguments to prove
that his religion was divine, and could he not have closed by saying:
"From the facts established by this evidence it follows irresistibly
that our religion came to us from God"? Do you not see that your
argument proves too much, and that it is equally applicable to all the
religions of the world?

Again, it is urged that "the acceptance of Christianity by a large
portion of the generation contemporary with its founder and his
apostles was, under the circumstances, an adjudication as solemn and
authoritative as mortal intelligence could pronounce." If this is true,
then "the acceptance of Buddhism by a large portion of the generation
contemporary with its founder was an adjudication as solemn and
authoritative as mortal intelligence could pronounce." The same could
be said of Mohammedanism, and, in fact, of every religion that has
ever benefited or cursed this world. This argument, when reduced to its
simplest form, is this: All that succeeds is inspired.

The old argument that if Christianity is a human fabrication its authors
must have been either good men or bad men, takes it for granted that
there are but two classes of persons--the good and the bad. There is at
least one other class--_the mistaken_, and both of the other classes may
belong to this. Thousands of most excellent people have been deceived,
and the history of the world is filled with instances where men have
honestly supposed that they had received communications from angels and
gods.

In thousands of instances these pretended communications contained the
purest and highest thoughts, together with the most important truths;
yet it will not do to say that these accounts are true; neither can they
be proved by saying that the men who claimed to be inspired were good.
What we must say is, that being good men, they were mistaken; and it is
the charitable mantle of a mistake that I throw over Mr. Black, when
I find him defending the institution of slavery. He seems to think it
utterly incredible that any "combination of knaves, however base, would
fraudulently concoct a religious system to denounce themselves, and to
invoke the curse of God upon their own conduct." How did religions
other than Christianity and Judaism arise? Were they all "concocted by
a combination of knaves"? The religion of Gautama is filled with most
beautiful and tender thoughts, with most excellent laws, and hundreds of
sentences urging mankind to deeds of love and self-denial. Was Gautama
inspired?

Does not Mr. Black know that thousands of people charged with witchcraft
actually confessed in open court their guilt? Does he not know that
they admitted that they had spoken face to face with Satan, and had sold
their souls for gold and power? Does he not know that these admissions
were made in the presence and expectation of death? Does he not know
that hundreds of judges, some of them as great as the late lamented
Gibson, believed in the existence of an impossible crime?

We are told that "there is no good reason to doubt that the statements
of the Evangelists, as we have them now, are genuine." The fact is, no
one knows who made the "statements of the Evangelists."

There are three important manuscripts upon which the Christian world
relies. "The first appeared in the catalogue of the Vatican, in 1475.
This contains the Old Testament. Of the New, it contains the four
gospels,--the Acts, the seven Catholic Epistles, nine of the Pauline
Epistles, and the Epistle to the Hebrews, as far as the fourteenth verse
of the ninth chapter,"--and nothing more. This is known as the Codex
Vatican. "The second, the Alexandrine, was presented to King Charles
the First, in 1628. It contains the Old and New Testaments, with
some exceptions; passages are wanting in Matthew, in John, and in II.
Corinthians. It also contains the Epistle of Clemens Romanus, a letter
of Athanasius, and the treatise of Eusebius on the Psalms." The last
is the Sinaitic Codex, discovered about 1850, at the Convent of St.
Catherine's, on Mount Sinai. "It contains the Old and New Testaments,
and in addition the entire Epistle of Barnabas, and a portion of the
Shepherd of Hermas--two books which, up to the beginning of the fourth
century, were looked upon by many as Scripture." In this manuscript,
or codex, the gospel of St. Mark concludes with the eighth verse of the
sixteenth chapter, leaving out the frightful passage: "Go ye into all
the world, and preach the gospel to every creature. He that believeth
and is baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be
damned."

In matters of the utmost importance these manuscripts disagree, but even
if they all agreed it would not furnish the slightest evidence of
their truth. It will not do to call the statements made in the gospels
"depositions," until it is absolutely established who made them, and the
circumstances under which they were made. Neither can we say that "they
were made in the immediate prospect of death," until we know who made
them. It is absurd to say that "the witnesses could not have been
mistaken, because the nature of the facts precluded the possibility of
any delusion about them." Can it be pretended that the witnesses could
not have been mistaken about the relation the Holy Ghost is alleged
to have sustained to Jesus Christ? Is there no possibility of delusion
about a circumstance of that kind? Did the writers of the four gospels
have "'the sensible and true avouch of their own eyes' and ears" in
that behalf? How was it possible for any one of the four Evangelists
to know that Christ was the Son of God, or that he was God? His mother
wrote nothing on the subject. Matthew says that an angel of the Lord
told Joseph in a dream, but Joseph never wrote an account of this
wonderful vision. Luke tells us that the angel had a conversation with
Mary, and that Mary told Elizabeth, but Elizabeth never wrote a word.
There is no account of Mary or Joseph or Elizabeth or the angel, having
had any conversation with Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John in which one word
was said about the miraculous origin of Jesus Christ. The persons who
knew did not write, so that the account is nothing but hearsay. Does Mr.
Black pretend that such statements would be admitted as evidence in any
court? But how do we know that the disciples of Christ wrote a word of
the gospels? How did it happen that Christ wrote nothing? How do we know
that the writers of the gospels "were men of unimpeachable character"?

All this is answered by saying "that nothing was said by the most
virulent enemies against the personal honesty of the Evangelists." How
is this known? If Christ performed the miracles recorded in the New
Testament, why would the Jews put to death a man able to raise their
dead? Why should they attempt to kill the Master of Death? How did
it happen that a man who had done so many miracles was so obscure, so
unknown, that one of his disciples had to be bribed to point him out? Is
it not strange that the ones he had cured were not his disciples? Can
we believe, upon the testimony of those about whose character we know
nothing, that Lazarus was raised from the dead? What became of Lazarus?
We never hear of him again. It seems to me that he would have been an
object of great interest. People would have said: "He is the man who was
once dead." Thousands would have inquired of him about the other world;
would have asked him where he was when he received the information that
he was wanted on the earth. His experience would have been vastly
more interesting than everything else in the New Testament. A returned
traveler from the shores of Eternity--one who had walked twice through
the valley of the shadow--would have been the most interesting of human
beings. When he came to die again, people would have said: "He is not
afraid; he has had experience; he knows what death is." But, strangely
enough, this Lazarus fades into obscurity with "the wise men of the
East," and with the dead who came out of their graves on the night of
the crucifixion. How is it known that it was claimed, during the life of
Christ, that he had wrought a miracle? And if the claim was made, how
is it known that it was not denied? Did the Jews believe that Christ was
clothed with miraculous power? Would they have dared to crucify a man
who had the power to clothe the dead with life? Is it not wonderful that
no one at the trial of Christ said one word about the miracles he had
wrought? Nothing about the sick he had healed, nor the dead he had
raised?

Is it not wonderful that Josephus, the best historian the Hebrews
produced, says nothing about the life or death of Christ; nothing about
the massacre of the infants by Herod; not one word about the wonderful
star that visited the sky at the birth of Christ; nothing about the
darkness that fell upon the world for several hours in the midst of day;
and failed entirely to mention that hundreds of graves were opened, and
that multitudes of Jews arose from the dead, and visited the Holy
City? Is it not wonderful that no historian ever mentioned any of these
prodigies? and is it not more amazing than all the rest, that Christ
himself concealed from Matthew, Mark, and Luke the dogma of the
atonement, the necessity of belief, and the mystery of the second birth?

Of course I know that two letters were said to have been written by
Pilate to Tiberius, concerning the execution of Christ, but they have
been shown to be forgeries. I also know that "various letters were
circulated attributed to Jesus Christ," and that one letter is said to
have been written by him to Abgarus, king of Edessa; but as there was
no king of Edessa at that time, this letter is admitted to have been a
forgery. I also admit that a correspondence between Seneca and St. Paul
was forged.

Here in our own country, only a few years ago, men claimed to have found
golden plates upon which was written a revelation from God. They founded
a new religion, and, according to their statement, did many miracles.
They were treated as outcasts, and their leader was murdered. These men
made their "depositions" "in the immediate prospect of death." They were
mobbed, persecuted, derided, and yet they insisted that their prophet
had miraculous power, and that he, too, could swing back the hingeless
door of death. The followers of these men have increased, in these
few years, so that now the murdered prophet has at least two hundred
thousand disciples. It will be hard to find a contradiction of these
pretended miracles, although this is an age filled with papers,
magazines, and books. As a matter of fact, the claims of Joseph Smith
were so preposterous that sensible people did not take the pains to
write and print denials. When we remember that eighteen hundred years
ago there were but few people who could write, and that a manuscript did
not become public in any modern sense, it was possible for the gospels
to have been written with all the foolish claims in reference to
miracles without exciting comment or denial. There is not, in all the
contemporaneous literature of the world, a single word about Christ
or his apostles. The paragraph in Josephus is admitted to be an
interpolation, and the letters, the account of the trial, and several
other documents forged by the zeal of the early fathers, are now
admitted to be false.

Neither will it do to say that "the statements made by the Evangelists
are alike upon every important point." If there is anything of
importance in the New Testament, from the theological standpoint, it is
the ascension of Jesus Christ. If that happened, it was a miracle great
enough to surfeit wonder. Are the statements of the inspired witnesses
alike on this important point? Let us see.

Matthew says nothing upon the subject. Either Matthew was not there, had
never heard of the ascension,--or, having heard of it, did not believe
it, or, having seen it, thought it too unimportant to record. To this
wonder of wonders Mark devotes one verse: "So then, after the Lord
had spoken unto them, he was received up into heaven, and sat on the
right-hand of God." Can we believe that this verse was written by one
who witnessed the ascension of Jesus Christ; by one who watched his
Master slowly rising through the air till distance reft him from his
tearful sight? Luke, another of the witnesses, says: "And it came to
pass, while he blessed them, he was parted from them, and carried
up into heaven." John corroborates Matthew by saying nothing on the
subject. Now, we find that the last chapter of Mark, after the eighth
verse, is an interpolation; so that Mark really says nothing about the
occurrence. Either the ascension of Christ must be given up, or it must
be admitted that the witnesses do not agree, and that three of them
never heard of that most stupendous event.

Again, if anything could have left its "form and pressure" on the
brain, it must have been the last words of Jesus Christ. The last words,
according to Matthew, are: "Go ye, therefore, and teach all nations,
baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the
Holy Ghost; teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have
commanded you: and lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the
world." The last words, according to the inspired witness known as Mark,
are: "And these signs shall follow them that believe: in my name shall
they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; they shall take
up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them;
they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover." Luke tells us
that the last words uttered by Christ, with the exception of a blessing,
were: "And behold, I send forth the promise of my Father upon you; but
tarry ye in the city of Jerusalem, until ye be endued with power from
on high." The last words, according to John, were: "Peter, seeing Him,
saith to Jesus: Lord, and what shall this man do? Jesus saith unto him,
If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? follow thou
me."

An account of the ascension is also given in the Acts of the Apostles;
and the last words of Christ, according to that inspired witness, are:
"But ye shall receive power, after that the Holy Ghost is come upon you;
and ye shall be witnesses unto me, both in Jerusalem and in all Judea,
and in Samaria, and unto the uttermost part of the earth." In this
account of the ascension we find that two men stood by the disciples in
white apparel, and asked them: "Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing
up into heaven? This same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven,
shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven."
Matthew says nothing of the two men. Mark never saw them. Luke may have
forgotten them when writing his gospel, and John may have regarded them
as optical illusions.

Luke testifies that Christ ascended on the very day of his resurrection.
John deposes that eight days after the resurrection Christ appeared to
the disciples and convinced Thomas. In the Acts we are told that
Christ remained on earth for forty days after his resurrection. These
"depositions" do not agree. Neither do Matthew and Luke agree in their
histories of the infancy of Christ. It is impossible for both to be
true. One of these "witnesses" must have been mistaken.

The most wonderful miracle recorded in the New Testament, as having been
wrought by Christ, is the resurrection of Lazarus. While all the writers
of the gospels, in many instances, record the same wonders and the
same conversations, is it not remarkable that the greatest miracle is
mentioned alone by John?

Two of the witnesses, Matthew and Luke, give the genealogy of Christ.
Matthew says that there were forty-two generations from Abraham to
Christ. Luke insists that there were forty-two from Christ to David,
while Matthew gives the number as twenty-eight. It may be said that
this is an old objection. An objection-remains young until it has been
answered. Is it not wonderful that Luke and Matthew do not agree on a
single name of Christ's ancestors for thirty-seven generations?

There is a difference of opinion among the "witnesses" as to what the
gospel of Christ is. If we take the "depositions" of Matthew, Mark, and
Luke, then the gospel of Christ amounts simply to this: That God will
forgive the forgiving, and that he will be merciful to the merciful.
According to three witnesses, Christ knew nothing of the doctrine of the
atonement; never heard of the second birth; and did not base salvation,
in whole nor in part, on belief. In the "deposition" of John, we find
that we must be born again; that we must believe on the Lord Jesus
Christ; and that an atonement was made for us. If Christ ever said these
things to, or in the hearing of, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, they forgot to
mention them.

To my mind, the failure of the evangelists to agree as tu what is
necessary for man to do in order to insure the salvation of his soul, is
a demonstration that they were not inspired.

Neither do the witnesses agree as to the last words of Christ when he
was crucified. Matthew says that he cried: "My God, my God, why hast
thou forsaken me?" Mark agrees with Matthew. Luke testifies that his
last words were: "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit." John
states that he cried: "It is finished."

Luke says that Christ said of his murderers: "Father, forgive them; for
they know not what they do." Matthew, Mark, and John do not record these
touching words. John says that Christ, on the day of his resurrection,
said to his disciples: "Whosesoever sins ye remit, they are remitted
unto them; and whosesoever sins ye retain, they are retained."

The other disciples do not record this monstrous passage. They did not
hear the abdication of God. They were not present when Christ placed
in their hands the keys of heaven and hell, and put a world beneath the
feet of priests.

It is easy to account for the differences and contradictions in these
"depositions" (and there are hundreds of them) by saying that each one
told the story as he remembered it, or as he had heard it, or that the
accounts have been changed, but it will not do to say that the witnesses
were inspired of God. We can account for these contradictions by the
infirmities of human nature; but, as I said before, the infirmities of
human nature cannot be predicated of a divine being.

Again, I ask, why should there be more than one inspired gospel? Of
what use were the other three? There can be only one true account of
anything. All other true accounts must simply be copies of that. And
I ask again, why should there have been more than one inspired
gospel? That which is the test of truth as to ordinary witnesses is a
demonstration against their inspiration. It will not do at this late day
to say that the miracles worked by Christ demonstrated his divine origin
or mission. The wonderful works he did, did not convince the people
with whom he lived. In spite of the miracles, he was crucified. He was
charged with blasphemy. "Policemen" denounced the "scurrility" of his
words, and the absurdity of his doctrines. He was no doubt told that
it was "almost a crime to utter blasphemy in the presence of a Jewish
woman;" and it may be that he was taunted for throwing away "the golden
metewand" of the "infallible God who authorized slavery in Judea," and
taking the "elastic cord of human feeling."

Christians tell us that the citizens of Mecca refused to believe on
Mohammed because he was an impostor, and that the citizens of Jerusalem
refused to believe on Jesus Christ because he was _not_ an impostor.

If Christ had wrought the miracles attributed to him--if he had cured
the maimed, the leprous, and the halt--if he had changed the night of
blindness into blessed day--if he had wrested from the fleshless hand
of avaricious death the stolen jewel of a life, and clothed again with
throbbing flesh the pulseless dust, he would have won the love and
adoration of mankind. If ever there shall stand upon this earth the king
of death, all human knees will touch the ground.

We are further informed that "what we call the fundamental truths of
Christianity consist of great public events which are sufficiently
established by history without special proof."

Of course, we admit that the Roman Empire existed; that Julius Caesar
was assassinated; and we may admit that Rome was founded by Romulus and
Remus; but will some one be kind enough to tell us how the assassination
of Caesar even tends to prove that Romulus and Remus were suckled by
a wolf? We will all admit that, in the sixth century after Christ,
Mohammed was born at Mecca; that his victorious hosts vanquished half
the Christian world; that the crescent triumphed over the cross upon a
thousand fields; that all the Christians of the earth were not able to
rescue from the hands of an impostor the empty grave of Christ. We will
all admit that the Mohammedans cultivated the arts and sciences; that
they gave us our numerals; taught us the higher mathematics; gave us our
first ideas of astronomy, and that "science was thrust into the brain of
Europe on the point of a Moorish lance;" and yet we will not admit that
Mohammed was divinely inspired, nor that he had frequent conversations
with the angel Gabriel, nor that after his death his coffin was
suspended in mid-air.

A little while ago, in the city of Chicago, a gentleman addressed a
number of Sunday-school children. In his address, he stated that some
people were wicked enough to deny the story of the deluge; that he was
a traveler; that he had been to the top of Mount Ararat, and had brought
with him a stone from that sacred locality. The children were then
invited to form in procession and walk by the pulpit, for the purpose of
seeing this wonderful stone. After they had looked at it, the lecturer
said: "Now, children, if you ever hear anybody deny the story of the
deluge, or say that the ark did not rest on Mount Ararat, you can tell
them that you know better, because you have seen with your own eyes a
stone from that very mountain."

The fact that Christ lived in Palestine does not tend to show that he
was in any way related to the Holy Ghost; nor does the existence of the
Christian religion substantiate the ascension of Jesus Christ. We all
admit that Socrates lived in Athens, but we do not admit that he had a
familiar spirit. I am satisfied that John Wesley was an Englishman, but
I hardly believe that God postponed a rain because Mr. Wesley wanted
to preach. All the natural things in the world are not sufficient to
establish the supernatural. Mr. Black reasons in this way: There was a
hydra-headed monster. We know this, because Hercules killed him. There
must have been such a woman as Proserpine, otherwise Pluto could not
have carried her away. Christ must have been divine, because the Holy
Ghost was his father. And there must have been such a being as the Holy
Ghost, because without a father Christ could not have existed. Those who
are disposed to deny everything because a part is false, reason exactly
the other way. They insist that because there was no hydra-headed
monster, Hercules did not exist. The true position, in my judgment, is
that the natural is not to be discarded because found in the company
of the miraculous, neither should the miraculous be believed because
associated with the probable. There was in all probability such a man
as Jesus Christ. He may have lived in Jerusalem. He may have been
crucified, but that he was the Son of God, or that he was raised from
the dead, and ascended bodily to heaven, has never been, and, in the
nature of things, can never be, substantiated.

Apparently tired with his efforts to answer what I really said, Mr.
Black resorted to the expedient of "compressing" my propositions and
putting them in italics. By his system of "compression" he was enabled
to squeeze out what I really said, and substitute a few sentences of his
own. I did not say that "Christianity offers eternal salvation as the
reward of belief alone," but I did say that no salvation is offered
_without_ belief. There must be a difference of opinion in the minds of
Mr. Black's witnesses on this subject. In one place we are told that
a man is "justified by faith without the deeds of the law;" and in
another, "to him that worketh not, but believeth on him that justifieth
the ungodly, his faith is counted to him for righteousness;" and the
following passages seem to show the necessity of belief:

"_He that believeth on Him is not condemned; but he that believeth not
is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of
the only begotten Son of God." "He that believeth on the Son hath
everlasting life: and he that believeth not the Son, shall not see life;
but the wrath of God abideth on him." "Jesus said unto her, I am the
resurrection and the life; he that believeth in Me, though he were dead,
yet shall he live." "And whosoever liveth and believeth in Me, shall
never die." "For the gifts and calling of God are without repentance."
"For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves;
it is the gift of God." "Not of works, lest any man should boast."
"Whosoever shall confess that Jesus is the Son of God, God dwelleth in
him, and he in God." "Whosoever believeth not shall be damned._"

I do not understand that the Christians of to-day insist that simple
belief will secure the salvation of the soul. I believe it is stated in
the Bible that "the very devils believe;" and it would seem from this
that belief is not such a meritorious thing, after all. But Christians
do insist that without belief no man can be saved; that faith is
necessary to salvation, and that there is "none other name under heaven
given among men whereby we can be saved," except that of Christ. My
doctrine is that there is only one way to be saved, and that is to act
in harmony with your surroundings--to live in accordance with the facts
of your being. A Being of infinite wisdom has no right to create a
person destined to everlasting pain. For the honest infidel, according
to the American Evangelical pulpit, there is no heaven. For the upright
atheist, there is nothing in another world but punishment. Mr. Black
admits that lunatics and idiots are in no danger of hell. This being
so, his God should have created only lunatics and idiots. Why should the
fatal gift of brain be given to any human being, if such gift renders
him liable to eternal hell? Better be a lunatic here and an angel there.
Better be an idiot in this world, if you can be a seraph in the next.

As to the doctrine of the atonement, Mr. Black has nothing to offer
except the barren statement that it is believed by the wisest and the
best. A Mohammedan, speaking in Constantinople, will say the same of the
Koran. A Brahmin, in a Hindu temple, will make the same remark, and so
will the American Indian, when he endeavors to enforce something upon
the young of his tribe. He will say: "The best, the greatest of our
tribe have believed in this." This is the argument of the cemetery, the
philosophy of epitaphs, the logic of the coffin. Who are the greatest
and wisest and most virtuous of mankind? This statement, that it has
been believed by the best, is made in connection with an admission that
it cannot be fathomed by the wisest. It is not claimed that a thing is
necessarily false because it is not understood, but I do claim that
it is not necessarily true because it cannot be comprehended. I still
insist that "the plan of redemption," as usually preached, is absurd,
unjust, and immoral.

For nearly two thousand years Judas Iscariot has been execrated by
mankind; and yet, if the doctrine of the atonement is true, upon his
treachery hung the plan of salvation. Suppose Judas had known of this
plan--known that he was selected by Christ for that very purpose, that
Christ was depending on him. And suppose that he also knew that only
by betraying Christ could he save either himself or others; what ought
Judas to have done? Are you willing to rely upon an argument that
justifies the treachery of that wretch?

I insisted upon knowing how the sufferings of an innocent man could
satisfy justice for the sins of the guilty. To this, Mr. Black replies
as follows: "This raises a metaphysical question, which it is not
necessary or possible for me to discuss here." Is this considered an
answer? Is it in this way that "my misty creations are made to roll away
and vanish into air one after another?" Is this the best that can be
done by one of the disciples of the infallible God who butchered babes
in Judea? Is it possible for a "policeman" to "silence a rude disturber"
in this way? To answer an argument, is it only necessary to say that
it "raises a metaphysical question"? Again I say: The life of Christ
is worth its example, its moral force, its heroism of benevolence. And
again I say: The effort to vindicate a law by inflicting punishment on
the innocent is a second violation instead of a vindication.

Mr. Black, under the pretence of "compressing," puts in my mouth the
following: "The doctrine of non-resistance, forgiveness of injuries,
reconciliation with enemies, as taught in the New Testament, is the
child of weakness, degrading and unjust."

This is entirely untrue. What I did say is this: "The idea of
non-resistance never occurred to a man who had the power to protect
himself. This doctrine was the child of weakness, born when resistance
was impossible." I said not one word against the forgiveness of
injuries, not one word against the reconciliation of enemies--not
one word. I believe in the reconciliation of enemies. I believe in a
reasonable forgiveness of injuries. But I do not believe in the doctrine
of non-resistance. Mr. Black proceeds to say that Christianity forbids
us "to cherish animosity, to thirst for mere revenge, to hoard up wrongs
real or fancied, and lie in wait for the chance of paying them back; to
be impatient, unforgiving, malicious, and cruel to all who have crossed
us." And yet the man who thus describes Christianity tells us that it is
not only our right, but our duty, to fight savages as savages fight us;
insists that where a nation tries to exterminate us, we have a right
to exterminate them. This same man, who tells us that "the diabolical
propensities of the human heart are checked and curbed by the spirit of
the Christian religion," and that this religion "has converted men from
low savages into refined and civilized beings," still insists that the
author of the Christian religion established slavery, waged wars of
extermination, abhorred the liberty of thought, and practiced the divine
virtues of retaliation and revenge. If it is our duty to forgive our
enemies, ought not God to forgive his? Is it possible that God will hate
his enemies when he tells us that we must love ours? The enemies of
God cannot injure him, but ours can injure us. If it is the duty of the
injured to forgive, why should the uninjured insist upon having revenge?
Why should a being who destroys nations with pestilence and famine
expect that his children will be loving and forgiving?

Mr. Black insists that without a belief in God there can be no
perception of right and wrong, and that it is impossible for an atheist
to have a conscience. Mr. Black, the Christian, the believer in God,
upholds wars of extermination. I denounce such wars as murder. He
upholds the institution of slavery. I denounce that institution as the
basest of crimes. Yet I am told that I have no knowledge of right and
wrong; that I measure with "the elastic cord of human feeling," while
the believer in slavery and wars of extermination measures with "the
golden metewand of God."

What is right and what is wrong? Everything is right that tends to the
happiness of mankind, and everything is wrong that increases the sum of
human misery. What can increase the happiness of this world more than to
do away with every form of slavery, and with all war? What can increase
the misery of mankind more than to increase wars and put chains
upon more human limbs? What is conscience? If man were incapable of
suffering, if man could not feel pain, the word "conscience" never would
have passed his lips. The man who puts himself in the place of another,
whose imagination has been cultivated to the point of feeling the
agonies suffered by another, is the man of conscience. But a man who
justifies slavery, who justifies a God when he commands the soldier
to rip open the mother and to pierce with the sword of war the child
unborn, is controlled and dominated, not by conscience, but by a cruel
and remorseless superstition.

Consequences determine the quality of an action. If consequences are
good, so is the action. If actions had no consequences, they would be
neither good nor bad. Man did not get his knowledge of the consequences
of actions from God, but from experience and reason. If man can, by
actual experiment, discover the right and wrong of actions, is it not
utterly illogical to declare that they who do not believe in God can
have no standard of right and wrong? Consequences are the standard by
which actions are judged. They are the children that testify as to the
real character of their parents. God or no God, larceny is the enemy of
industry--industry is the mother of prosperity--prosperity is a good,
and therefore larceny is an evil. God or no God, murder is a crime.
There has always been a law against larceny, because the laborer wishes
to enjoy the fruit of his toil. As long as men object to being killed,
murder will be illegal.

According to Mr. Black, the man who does not believe in a supreme being
acknowledges no standard of right and wrong in this world, and therefore
can have no theory of rewards and punishments in the next. Is it
possible that only those who believe in the God who persecuted for
opinion's sake have any standard of right and wrong? Were the greatest
men of all antiquity without this standard? In the eyes of intelligent
men of Greece and Rome, were all deeds, whether good or evil, morally
alike? Is it necessary to believe in the existence of an infinite
intelligence before you can have any standard of right and wrong? Is it
possible that a being cannot be just or virtuous unless he believes in
some being infinitely superior to himself? If this doctrine be true, how
can God be just or virtuous? Does he believe in some being superior to
himself?

It may be said that the Pagans believed in a god, and consequently had
a standard of right and wrong. But the Pagans did not believe in the
"true" God. They knew nothing of Jehovah. Of course it will not do to
believe in the wrong God. In order to know the difference between right
and wrong, you must believe in the right God--in the one who established
slavery. Can this be avoided by saying that a false god is better than
none?

The idea of justice is not the child of superstition--it was not born of
ignorance; neither was it nurtured by the passages in the Old Testament
upholding slavery, wars of extermination, and religious persecution.
Every human being necessarily has a standard of right and wrong; and
where that standard has not been polluted by superstition, man abhors
slavery, regards a war of extermination as murder, and looks upon
religious persecution as a hideous crime. If there is a God, infinite
in power and wisdom, above him, poised in eternal calm, is the figure of
Justice. At the shrine of Justice the infinite God must bow, and in her
impartial scales the actions even of Infinity must be weighed. There
is no world, no star, no heaven, no hell, in which gratitude is not a
virtue and where slavery is not a crime.

According to the logic of this "reply," all good and evil become mixed
and mingled--equally good and equally bad, unless we believe in the
existence of the infallible God who ordered husbands to kill their
wives. We do not know right from wrong now, unless we are convinced
that a being of infinite mercy waged wars of extermination four thousand
years ago. We are incapable even of charity, unless we worship the being
who ordered the husband to kill his wife for differing with him on the
subject of religion.

We know that acts are good or bad only as they effect the actors, and
others. We know that from every good act good consequences flow, and
that from every bad act there are only evil results. Every virtuous deed
is a star in the moral firmament. There is in the moral world, as in
the physical, the absolute and perfect relation of cause and effect. For
this reason, the atonement becomes an impossibility. Others may suffer
by your crime, but their suffering cannot discharge you; it simply
increases your guilt and adds to your burden. For this reason happiness
is not a reward--it is a consequence. Suffering is not a punishment--it
is a result.

It is insisted that Christianity is not opposed to freedom of thought,
but that "it is based on certain principles to which it requires the
assent of all." Is this a candid statement? Are we only required to
give our assent to certain principles in order to be saved? Are the
inspiration of the Bible, the divinity of Christ, the atonement, and the
Trinity, principles? Will it be admitted by the orthodox world that good
deeds are sufficient unto salvation--that a man can get into heaven by
living in accordance with certain principles? This is a most excellent
doctrine, but it is not Christianity. And right here, it may be well
enough to state what I mean by Christianity. The morality of the world
is not distinctively Christian. Zoroaster, Gautama, Mohammed, Confucius,
Christ, and, in fact, all founders of religions, have said to their
disciples: You must not steal; You must not murder; You must not bear
false witness; You must discharge your obligations. Christianity is the
ordinary moral code, _plus_ the miraculous origin of Jesus Christ, his
crucifixion, his resurrection, his ascension, the inspiration of the
Bible, the doctrine of the atonement, and the necessity of belief.
Buddhism is the ordinary moral code, _plus_ the miraculous illumination
of Buddha, the performance of certain ceremonies, a belief in the
transmigration of the soul, and in the final absorption of the human
by the infinite. The religion of Mohammed is the ordinary moral code,
_plus_ the belief that Mohammed was the prophet of God, total abstinence
from the use of intoxicating drinks, a harem for the faithful here and
hereafter, ablutions, prayers, alms, pilgrimages, and fasts.

The morality in Christianity has never opposed the freedom of thought.
It has never put, nor tended to put, a chain on a human mind, nor a
manacle on a human limb; but the doctrines distinctively Christian--the
necessity of believing a certain thing; the idea that eternal punishment
awaited him who failed to believe; the idea that the innocent can suffer
for the guilty--these things have opposed, and for a thousand years
substantially destroyed, the freedom of the human mind. All religions
have, with ceremony, magic, and mystery, deformed, darkened, and
corrupted the soul. Around the sturdy oaks of morality have grown and
clung the parasitic, poisonous vines of the miraculous and monstrous.

I have insisted, and I still insist, that it is impossible for a finite
man to commit a crime deserving infinite punishment; and upon this
subject Mr. Black admits that "no revelation has lifted the veil between
time and eternity;" and, consequently, neither the priest nor the
"policeman" knows anything with certainty regarding another world. He
simply insists that "in shadowy figures we are warned that a very marked
distinction will be made between the good and bad in the next world."
There is "a very marked distinction" in this; but there is this rainbow
on the darkest human cloud: The worst have hope of reform. All I insist
is, if there is another life, the basest soul that finds its way to that
dark or radiant shore will have the everlasting chance of doing right.
Nothing but the most cruel ignorance, the most heartless superstition,
the most ignorant theology, ever imagined that the few days of human
life spent here, surrounded by mists and clouds of darkness, blown over
life's sea by storms and tempests of passion, fixed for all eternity the
condition of the human race. If this doctrine be true, this life is but
a net, in which Jehovah catches souls for hell.

The idea that a certain belief is necessary to salvation unsheathed the
swords and lighted the fagots of persecution. As long as heaven is the
reward of creed instead of deed, just so long will every orthodox church
be a bastile, every member a prisoner, and every priest a turnkey.

In the estimation of good orthodox Christians, I am a criminal, because
I am trying to take from loving mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters,
husbands, wives, and lovers the consolations naturally arising from
a belief in an eternity of grief and pain. I want to tear, break, and
scatter to the winds the God that priests erected in the fields of
innocent pleasure--a God made of sticks, called creeds, and of old
clothes, called myths. I have tried to take from the coffin its horror,
from the cradle its curse, and put out the fires of revenge kindled by
the savages of the past. Is it necessary that heaven should borrow its
light from the glare of hell? Infinite punishment is infinite cruelty,
endless injustice, immortal meanness. To worship an eternal gaoler
hardens, debases, and pollutes the soul. While there is one sad and
breaking heart in the universe, no perfectly good being can be perfectly
happy. Against the heartlessness of this doctrine every grand and
generous soul should enter its solemn protest. I want no part in any
heaven where the saved, the ransomed, and redeemed drown with
merry shouts the cries and sobs of hell--in which happiness forgets
misery--where the tears of the lost increase laughter and deepen the
dimples of joy. The idea of hell was born of ignorance, brutality,
fear, cowardice, and revenge. This idea tends to show that our remote
ancestors were the lowest beasts. Only from dens, lairs, and caves--only
from mouths filled with cruel fangs--only from hearts of fear and
hatred--only from the conscience of hunger and lust--only from the
lowest and most debased, could come this most cruel, heartless, and
absurd of all dogmas.

Our ancestors knew but little of nature. They were too astonished
to investigate. They could not divest themselves of the idea that
everything happened with reference to them; that they caused storms and
earthquakes; that they brought the tempest and the whirlwind; that on
account of something they had done, or omitted to do, the lightning of
vengeance leaped from the darkened sky. They made up their minds that
at least two vast and powerful beings presided over this world; that
one was good and the other bad; that both of these beings wished to get
control of the souls of men; that they were relentless enemies, eternal
foes; that both welcomed recruits and hated deserters; that one offered
rewards in this world, and the other in the next. Man saw cruelty and
mercy in nature, because he imagined that phenomena were produced to
punish or to reward him. It was supposed that God demanded worship; that
he loved to be flattered; that he delighted in sacrifice; that nothing
made him happier than to see ignorant faith upon its knees; that above
all things he hated and despised doubters and heretics, and regarded
investigation as rebellion. Each community felt it a duty to see that
the enemies of God were converted or killed. To allow a heretic to
live in peace was to invite the wrath of God. Every public evil--every
misfortune--was accounted for by something the community had permitted
or done. When epidemics appeared, brought by ignorance and welcomed by
filth, the heretic was brought out and sacrificed to appease the anger
of God. By putting intention behind what man called good, God was
produced. By putting intention behind what man called bad, the Devil was
created. Leave this "intention" out, and gods and devils fade away. If
not a human being existed, the sun would continue to shine, and tempest
now and then would devastate the earth; the rain would fall in pleasant
showers; violets would spread their velvet bosoms to the sun, the
earthquake would devour, birds would sing and daisies bloom and roses
blush, and volcanoes fill the heavens with their lurid glare; the
procession of the seasons would not be broken, and the stars would shine
as serenely as though the world were filled with loving hearts and happy
homes. Do not imagine that the doctrine of eternal revenge belongs
to Christianity alone. Nearly all religions have had this dogma for a
corner-stone. Upon this burning foundation nearly all have built. Over
the abyss of pain rose the glittering dome of pleasure. This world was
regarded as one of trial. Here, a God of infinite wisdom experimented
with man. Between the outstretched paws of the Infinite, the
mouse--man--was allowed to play. Here, man had the opportunity of
hearing priests and kneeling in temples. Here, he could read, and hear
read, the sacred books. Here, he could have the example of the pious and
the counsels of the holy. Here, he could build churches and cathedrals.
Here, he could burn incense, fast, wear hair-cloth, deny himself all the
pleasures of life, confess to priests, construct instruments of torture,
bow before pictures and images, and persecute all who had the courage
to despise superstition, and the goodness to tell their honest thoughts.
After death, if he died out of the church, nothing could be done to make
him better. When he should come into the presence of God, nothing was
left except to damn him. Priests might convert him here, but God could
do nothing there. All of which shows how much more a priest can do for
a soul than its creator. Only here, on the earth, where the devil is
constantly active, only where his agents attack every soul, is there
the slightest hope of moral improvement. Strange! that a world cursed by
God, filled with temptations, and thick with fiends, should be the only
place where man can repent, the only place where reform is possible!

Masters frightened slaves with the threat of hell, and slaves got a
kind of shadowy revenge by whispering back the threat. The imprisoned
imagined a hell for their gaolers; the weak built this place for the
strong; the arrogant for their rivals; the vanquished for their victors;
the priest for the thinker; religion for reason; superstition for
science. All the meanness, all the revenge, all the selfishness, all
the cruelty, all the hatred, all the infamy of which the heart of man is
capable, grew, blossomed, and bore fruit in this one word--Hell. For
the nourishment of this dogma, cruelty was soil, ignorance was rain, and
fear was light.

Why did Mr. Black fail to answer what I said in relation to the doctrine
of inspiration? Did he consider that a "metaphysical question"? Let us
see what inspiration really is. A man looks at the sea, and the sea says
something to him. It makes an impression on his mind. It awakens memory,
and this impression depends upon his experience--upon his intellectual
capacity. Another looks upon the same sea. He has a different brain;
he has a different experience. The sea may speak to him of joy, to the
other of grief and tears. The sea cannot tell the same thing to any two
human beings, because no two human beings have had the same experience.
One may think of wreck and ruin, and another, while listening to the
"multitudinous laughter of the sea," may say: Every drop has visited
all the shores of earth; every one has been frozen in the vast and icy
North, has fallen in snow, has whirled in storms around the mountain
peaks, been kissed to vapor by the sun, worn the seven-hued robe of
light, fallen in pleasant rain, gurgled from springs, and laughed in
brooks while lovers wooed upon the banks. Everything in nature tells a
different story to all eyes that see and to all ears that hear. So, when
we look upon a flower, a painting, a statue, a star, or a violet, the
more we know, the more we have experienced, the more we have thought,
the more we remember, the more the statue, the star, the painting,
the violet has to tell. Nature says to me all that I am capable of
understanding--gives all that I can receive. As with star, or flower,
or sea, so with a book. A thoughtful man reads Shakespeare. What does he
get? All that he has the mind to understand. Let another read him, who
knows nothing of the drama, nothing of the impersonations of passion,
and what does he get? Almost nothing. Shakespeare has a different
story for each reader. He is a world in which each recognizes his
acquaintances. The impression that nature makes upon the mind, the
stories told by sea and star and flower, must be the natural food
of thought. Leaving out for the moment the impressions gained from
ancestors, the hereditary fears and drifts and trends--the natural food
of thought must be the impressions made upon the brain by coming in
contact through the medium of the senses with what we call the outward
world. The brain is natural; its food is natural; the result, thought,
must be natural. Of the supernatural we have no conception. Thought may
be deformed, and the thought of one may be strange to, and denominated
unnatural by, another; but it cannot be supernatural. It may be weak, it
may be insane, but it is not supernatural. Above the natural, man cannot
rise. There can be deformed ideas, as there are deformed persons.
There may be religions monstrous and misshapen, but they were naturally
produced. The world is to each man according to each man. It takes the
world as it really is and that man to make that man's world.

You may ask, And what of all this? I reply, As with everything in
nature, so with the Bible. It has a different story for each reader. Is,
then, the Bible a different book to every human being who reads it? It
is. Can God, through the Bible, make precisely the same revelation to
two persons? He cannot. Why? Because the man who reads is not inspired.
God should inspire readers as well as writers.

You may reply: God knew that his book would be understood differently by
each one, and intended that it should be understood as it is understood
by each. If this is so, then my understanding of the Bible is the
real revelation to me. If this is so, I have no right to take the
understanding of another. I must take the revelation made to me through
my understanding, and by that revelation I must stand. Suppose then,
that I read this Bible honestly, fairly, and when I get through am
compelled to say, "The book is not true." If this is the honest result,
then you are compelled to say, either that God has made no revelation to
me, or that the revelation that it is not true is the revelation made to
me, and by which I am bound. If the book and my brain are both the work
of the same infinite God, whose fault is it that the book and brain do
not agree? Either God should have written a book to fit my brain, or
should have made my brain to fit his book. The inspiration of the Bible
depends on the credulity of him who reads. There was a time when
its geology, its astronomy, its natural history, were thought to be
inspired; that time has passed. There was a time when its morality
satisfied the men who ruled the world of thought; that time has passed.

Mr. Black, continuing his process of compressing my propositions,
attributes to me the following statement: "The gospel of Christ does not
satisfy the hunger of the heart." I did not say this. What I did say
is: "The dogmas of the past no longer reach the level of the highest
thought, nor satisfy the hunger of the heart." In so far as Christ
taught any doctrine in opposition to slavery, in favor of intellectual
liberty, upholding kindness, enforcing the practice of justice and
mercy, I most cheerfully admit that his teachings should be followed.
Such teachings do not need the assistance of miracles. They are not in
the region of the supernatural. They find their evidence in the glad
response of every honest heart that superstition has not touched and
stained. The great question under discussion is, whether the immoral,
absurd, and infamous can be established by the miraculous. It cannot be
too often repeated, that truth scorns the assistance of miracle. That
which actually happens sets in motion innumerable effects, which, in
turn, become causes producing other effects. These are all "witnesses"
whose "depositions" continue. What I insist on is, that a miracle cannot
be established by human testimony. We have known people to be mistaken.
We know that all people will not tell the truth. We have never seen the
dead raised. When people assert that they have, we are forced to weigh
the probabilities, and the probabilities are on the other side. It will
not do to assert that the universe was created, and then say that such
creation was miraculous, and, therefore, all miracles are possible. We
must be sure of our premises. Who knows that the universe was created?
If it was not; if it has existed from eternity; if the present is the
necessary child of all the past, then the miraculous is the impossible.
Throw away all the miracles of the New Testament, and the good teachings
of Christ remain--all that is worth preserving will be there still. Take
from what is now known as Christianity the doctrine of the atonement,
the fearful dogma of eternal punishment, the absurd idea that a certain
belief is necessary to salvation, and with most of the remainder the
good and intelligent will most heartily agree.

Mr. Black attributes to me the following expression: "Christianity is
pernicious in its moral effect, darkens the mind, narrows the soul,
arrests the progress of human society, and hinders civilization." I said
no such thing. Strange, that he is only able to answer what I did
not say. I endeavored to show that the passages in the Old Testament
upholding slavery, polygamy, wars of extermination, and religious
intolerance had filled the world with blood and crime. I admitted
that there are many wise and good things in the Old Testament. I also
insisted that the doctrine of the atonement--that is to say, of moral
bankruptcy--the idea that a certain belief is necessary to salvation,
and the frightful dogma of eternal pain, had narrowed the soul, had
darkened the mind, and had arrested the progress of human society. Like
other religions, Christianity is a mixture of good and evil. The church
has made more orphans than it has fed. It has never built asylums enough
to hold the insane of its own making. It has shed more blood than light.

Mr. Black seems to think that miracles are the most natural things
imaginable, and wonders that anybody should be insane enough to deny the
probability of the impossible. He regards all who doubt the miraculous
origin, the resurrection and ascension of Jesus Christ, as afflicted
with some "error of the moon," and declares that their "disbelief seems
like a kind of insanity."

To ask for evidence is not generally regarded as a symptom of a brain
diseased. Delusions, illusions, phantoms, hallucinations, apparitions,
chimeras, and visions are the common property of the religious and the
insane. Persons blessed with sound minds and healthy bodies rely on
facts, not fancies--on demonstrations instead of dreams. It seems to me
that the most orthodox Christians must admit that many of the miracles
recorded in the New Testament are extremely childish. They must see that
the miraculous draught of fishes, changing water into wine, fasting for
forty days, inducing devils to leave an insane man by allowing them to
take possession of swine, walking on the water, and using a fish for a
pocket-book, are all unworthy of an infinite being, and are calculated
to provoke laughter--to feed suspicion and engender doubt.

Mr. Black takes the ground that if a man believes in the creation of the
universe--that being the most stupendous miracle of which the mind can
conceive--he has no right to deny anything. He asserts that God created
the universe; that creation was a miracle; that "God would be likely to
reveal his will to the rational creatures who were required to obey it,"
and that he would authenticate his revelation by giving his prophets and
apostles supernatural power.

After making these assertion, he triumphantly exclaims: "It therefore
follows that the improbability of a miracle is no greater than the
original improbability of a revelation, and that is not improbable at
all."

How does he know that God made the universe? How does he know what God
would be likely to do? How does he know that any revelation was made?
And how did he ascertain that any of the apostles and prophets were
entrusted with supernatural power? It will not do to prove your premises
by assertions, and then claim that your conclusions are correct, because
they agree with your premises.

If "God would be likely to reveal his will to the rational creatures
who were required to obey it," why did he reveal it only to the Jews?
According to Mr. Black, God is the only natural thing in the universe.

We should remember that ignorance is the mother of credulity; that
the early Christians believed everything but the truth, and that
they accepted Paganism, admitted the reality of all the Pagan
miracles--taking the ground that they were all forerunners of their own.
Pagan miracles were never denied by the Christian world until late in
the seventeenth century. Voltaire was the third man of note in Europe
who denied the truth of Greek and Roman mythology. "The early Christians
cited Pagan oracles predicting in detail the sufferings of Christ. They
forged prophecies, and attributed them to the heathen sibyls, and they
were accepted as genuine by the entire church."

St. Irenæus assures us that all Christians possessed the power of
working miracles; that they prophesied, cast out devils, healed the
sick, and even raised the dead. St. Epiphanius asserts that some rivers
and fountains were annually transmuted into wine, in attestation of the
miracle of Cana, adding that he himself had drunk of these fountains.
St. Augustine declares that one was told in a dream where the bones
of St. Stephen were buried, that the bones were thus discovered, and
brought to Hippo, and that they raised five dead persons to life, and
that in two years seventy miracles were performed with these relics.
Justin Martyr states that God once sent some angels to guard the human
race, that these angels fell in love with the daughters of men, and
became the fathers of innumerable devils.

For hundreds of years, miracles were about the only things that
happened. They were wrought by thousands of Christians, and testified
to by millions. The saints and martyrs, the best and greatest, were the
witnesses and workers of wonders. Even heretics, with the assistance
of the devil, could suspend the "laws of nature." Must we believe
these wonderful accounts because they were written by "good men," by
Christians, "who made their statements in the presence and expectation
of death"? The truth is that these "good men" were mistaken. They
expected the miraculous. They breathed the air of the marvelous. They
fed their minds on prodigies, and their imaginations feasted on effects
without causes. They were incapable of investigating. Doubts were
regarded as "rude disturbers of the congregation." Credulity and
sanctity walked hand in hand. Reason was danger. Belief was safety.
As the philosophy of the ancients was rendered almost worthless by the
credulity of the common people, so the proverbs of Christ, his religion
of forgiveness, his creed of kindness, were lost in the mist of miracle
and the darkness of superstition.

If Mr. Black is right, there were no virtue, justice, intellectual
liberty, moral elevation, refinement, benevolence, or true wisdom,
until Christianity was established. He asserts that when Christ came,
"benevolence, in any shape, was altogether unknown."

He insists that "the infallible God who authorized slavery in Judea"
established a government; that he was the head and king of the Jewish
people; that for this reason heresy was treason. Is it possible that God
established a government in which benevolence was unknown? How did it
happen that he established no asylums for the insane? How do you account
for the fact that your God permitted some of his children to become
insane? Why did Jehovah fail to establish hospitals and schools? Is it
reasonable to believe that a good God would assist his chosen people to
exterminate or enslave his other children? Why would your God people
a world, knowing that it would be destitute of benevolence for four
thousand years? Jehovah should have sent missionaries to the heathen.
He ought to have reformed the inhabitants of Canaan. He should have sent
teachers, not soldiers--missionaries, not murderers. A God should not
exterminate his children; he should reform them.

Mr. Black gives us a terrible picture of the condition of the world at
the coming of Christ; but did the God of Judea treat his own children,
the Gentiles, better than the Pagans treated theirs? When Rome enslaved
mankind--when with her victorious armies she sought to conquer or to
exterminate tribes and nations, she but followed the example of Jehovah.
Is it true that benevolence came with Christ, and that his coming
heralded the birth of pity in the human heart? Does not Mr. Black know
that, thousands of years before Christ was born, there were hospitals
and asylums for orphans in China? Does he not know that in Egypt, before
Moses lived, the insane were treated with kindness and wooed back to
natural thought by music's golden voice? Does he not know that in all
times, and in all countries, there have been great and loving souls who
wrought, and toiled, and suffered, and died that others might enjoy? Is
it possible that he knows nothing of the religion of Buddha--a religion
based upon equality, charity and forgiveness? Does he not know that,
centuries before the birth of the great Peasant of Palestine, another,
upon the plains of India, had taught the doctrine of forgiveness; and
that, contrary to the tyranny of Jehovah, had given birth to the sublime
declaration that all men are by nature free and equal? Does he not know
that a religion of absolute trust in God had been taught thousands of
years before Jerusalem was built--a religion based upon absolute special
providence, carrying its confidence to the extremest edge of human
thought, declaring that every evil is a blessing in disguise, and that
every step taken by mortal man, whether in the rags of poverty or the
royal robes of kings, is the step necessary to be taken by that soul in
order to reach perfection and eternal joy? But how is it possible for
a man who believes in slavery to have the slightest conception of
benevolence, justice or charity? If Mr. Black is right, even Christ
believed and taught that man could buy and sell his fellow-man. Will
the Christians of America admit this? Do they believe that Christ from
heaven's throne mocked when colored mothers, reft of babes, knelt by
empty cradles and besought his aid?

For the man Christ--for the reformer who loved his fellow-men--for the
man who believed in an Infinite Father, who would shield the innocent
and protect the just--for the martyr who expected to be rescued from the
cruel cross, and who at last, finding that his hope was dust, cried out
in the gathering gloom of death: "My God! My God! Why hast thou forsaken
me?"--for that great and suffering man, mistaken though he was, I have
the highest admiration and respect. That man did not, as I believe,
claim a miraculous origin; he did not pretend to heal the sick nor raise
the dead. He claimed simply to be a man, and taught his fellow-men
that love is stronger far than hate. His life was written by reverent
ignorance. Loving credulity belittled his career with feats of jugglery
and magic art, and priests, wishing to persecute and slay, put in his
mouth the words of hatred and revenge. The theological Christ is the
impossible union of the human and divine--man with the attributes of
God, and God with the limitations and weaknesses of man.

After giving a terrible description of the Pagan world, Mr. Black says:
"The church came, and her light penetrated the moral darkness like a new
sun; she covered the globe with institutions of mercy."

Is this true? Do we not know that when the Roman empire fell, darkness
settled on the world? Do we not know that this darkness lasted for a
thousand years, and that during all that time the church of Christ held,
with bloody hands, the sword of power? These years were the starless
midnight of our race. Art died, law was forgotten, toleration ceased
to exist, charity fled from the human breast, and justice was unknown.
Kings were tyrants, priests were pitiless, and the poor multitude were
slaves. In the name of Christ, men made instruments of torture, and the
_auto da fê_ took the place of the gladiatorial show. Liberty was in
chains, honesty in dungeons, while Christian superstition ruled mankind.
Christianity compromised with Paganism. The statues of Jupiter were used
to represent Jehovah. Isis and her babe were changed to Mary and the
infant Christ. The Trinity of Egypt became the Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost. The simplicity of the early Christians was lost in heathen rites
and Pagan pomp. The believers in the blessedness of poverty became rich,
avaricious, and grasping, and those who had said, "Sell all, and give to
the poor," became the ruthless gatherers of tithes and taxes. In a
few years the teachings of Jesus were forgotten. The gospels were
interpolated by the designing and ambitious. The church was infinitely
corrupt. Crime was crowned, and virtue scourged. The minds of men were
saturated with superstition. Miracles, apparitions, angels, and devils
had possession of the world. "The nights were filled with incubi and
succubi; devils', clad in wondrous forms, and imps in hideous shapes,
sought to tempt or fright the soldiers of the cross. The maddened
spirits of the air sent hail and storm. Sorcerers wrought sudden death,
and witches worked with spell and charm against the common weal."
In every town the stake arose. Faith carried fagots to the feet of
philosophy. Priests--not "politicians"--fed and fanned the eager flames.
The dungeon was the foundation of the cathedral.

Priests sold charms and relics to their flocks to keep away the wolves
of hell. Thousands of Christians, failing to find protection in the
church, sold their poor souls to Satan for some magic wand. Suspicion
sat in every house, families were divided, wives denounced husbands,
husbands denounced wives, and children their parents. Every calamity
then, as now, increased the power of the church. Pestilence supported
the' pulpit, and famine was the right hand of faith. Christendom was
insane.

Will Mr. Black be kind enough to state at what time "the church covered
the globe with institutions of mercy"? In his reply, he conveys the
impression that these institutions were organized in the first century,
or at least in the morning of Christianity. How many hospitals for the
sick were established by the church during a thousand years? Do we not
know that for hundreds of years the Mohammedans erected more hospitals
and asylums than the Christians? Christendom was filled with racks
and thumbscrews, with stakes and fagots, with chains and dungeons, for
centuries before a hospital was built. Priests despised doctors. Prayer
was medicine. Physicians interfered with the sale of charms and relics.
The church did not cure--it killed. It practiced surgery with the sword.
The early Christians did not build asylums for the insane. They charged
them with witchcraft, and burnt them. They built asylums, not for the
mentally diseased, but for the mentally developed. These asylums were
graves.

All the languages of the world have not words of horror enough to
paint the agonies of man when the church had power. Tiberius, Caligula,
Claudius, Nero, Domitian, and Commodus were not as cruel, false, and
base as many of the Christians Popes. Opposite the names of these
imperial criminals write John the XII., Leo the VIII., Boniface the
VII., Benedict the IX., Innocent the III., and Alexander the VI.

Was it under these pontiffs that the "church penetrated the moral
darkness like a new sun," and covered the globe with institutions of
mercy? Rome was far better when Pagan than when Catholic. It was better
to allow gladiators and criminals to fight than to burn honest men.
The greatest of the Romans denounced the cruelties of the arena. Seneca
condemned the combats even of wild beasts. He was tender enough to say
that "we should have a bond of sympathy for all sentient beings, knowing
that only the depraved and base take pleasure in the sight of blood
and suffering." Aurelius compelled the gladiators to fight with blunted
swords. Roman lawyers declared that all men are by nature free and
equal. Woman, under Pagan rule in Rome, became as free as man. Zeno,
long before the birth of Christ, taught that virtue alone establishes a
difference between men. We know that the Civil Law is the foundation
of our codes. We know that fragments of Greek and Roman art--a few
manuscripts saved from Christian destruction, some inventions and
discoveries of the Moors--were the seeds of modern civilization.
Christianity, for a thousand years, taught memory to forget and reason
to believe. Not one step was taken in advance. Over the manuscripts of
philosophers and poets, priests with their ignorant tongues thrust out,
devoutly scrawled the forgeries of faith. For a thousand years the torch
of progress was extinguished in the blood of Christ, and his disciples,
moved by ignorant zeal, by insane, cruel creeds, destroyed with flame
and sword a hundred millions of their fellow-men. They made this world
a hell. But if cathedrals had been universities--if dungeons of the
Inquisition had been laboratories--if Christians had believed in
character instead of creed--if they had taken from the Bible all the
good and thrown away the wicked and absurd--if domes of temples had been
observatories--if priests had been philosophers--if missionaries had
taught the useful arts--if astrology had been astronomy--if the black
art had been chemistry--if superstition had been science--if religion
had been humanity--it' would have been a heaven filled with love, with
liberty, and joy.

We did not get our freedom from the church. The great truth, that all
men are by nature free, was never told on Sinai's barren crags, nor by
the lonely shores of Galilee.

The Old Testament filled this world with tyranny and crime, and the New
gives us a future filled with pain for nearly all the sons of men. The
Old describes the hell of the past, and the New the hell of the future.
The Old tells us the frightful things that God has done--the New the
cruel things that he will do. These two books give us the sufferings of
the past and future--the injustice, the agony, the tears of both
worlds. If the Bible is true--if Jehovah is God--if the lot of countless
millions is to be eternal pain--better a thousand times that all the
constellations of the shoreless vast were eyeless darkness and eternal
space. Better that all that is should cease to be. Better that all the
seeds and springs of things should fail and wither from great Nature's
realm. Better that causes and effects should lose relation and become
unmeaning phrases and forgotten sounds. Better that every life should
change to breathless death, to voiceless blank, and every world to blind
oblivion and to moveless naught.

Mr. Black justifies all the crimes and horrors, excuses all the tortures
of all the Christian years, by denouncing the cruelties of the French
Revolution. Thinking people will not hasten to admit that an infinitely
good being authorized slavery in Judea, because of the atrocities of the
French Revolution. They will remember the sufferings of the Huguenots.
They will remember the massacre of St. Bartholomew. They will not forget
the countless cruelties of priest and king. They will not forget the
dungeons of the Bastile. They will know that the Revolution was an
effect, and that liberty was not the cause--that atheism was not the
cause. Behind the Revolution they will see altar and throne--sword and
fagot--palace and cathedral--king and priest--master and slave--tyrant
and hypocrite. They will see that the excesses, the cruelties, and
crimes were but the natural fruit of seeds the church had sown. But the
Revolution was not entirely evil. Upon that cloud of war, black with
the myriad miseries of a thousand years, dabbled with blood of king and
queen, of patriot and priest, there was this bow: "Beneath the flag of
France all men are free." In spite of all the blood and crime, in spite
of deeds that seem insanely base, the People placed upon a Nation's brow
these stars:--Liberty, Fraternity, Equality--grander words than ever
issued from Jehovah's lips.

Robert G. Ingersoll.



FAITH OR AGNOSTICISM.

[Ingersoll-Field.]



THE FIELD-INGERSOLL DISCUSSION.

An Open Letter to Robert G. Ingersoll.

Dear Sir: I am glad that I know you, even though some of my brethren
look upon you as a monster because of your unbelief. I shall never
forget the long evening I spent at your house in Washington; and in what
I have to say, however it may fail to convince you, I trust you
will feel that I have not shown myself unworthy of your courtesy or
confidence.

Your conversation, then and at other times, interested me greatly. I
recognized at once the elements of your power over large audiences, in
your wit and dramatic talent--personating characters and imitating tones
of voice and expressions of countenance--and your remarkable use of
language, which even in familiar talk often rose to a high degree of
eloquence. All this was a keen intellectual stimulus. I was, for the
most part, a listener; but as we talked freely of religious matters, I
protested against your unbelief as utterly without reason. Yet there
was no offence given or taken, and we parted, I trust, with a feeling of
mutual respect.

Still further, we found many points of sympathy. I do not hesitate to
say that there are many things in which I agree with you, in which I
love what you love and hate what you hate. A man's hatreds are not the
least important part of him; they are among the best indications of his
character. You love truth, and hate lying and hypocrisy--all the petty
arts and deceits of the world by which men represent themselves to be
other than they are--as well as the pride and arrogance, in which they
assume superiority over their fellow-beings. Above all, you hate every
form of injustice and oppression. Nothing moves your indignation so
much as "man's inhumanity to man," and you mutter "curses, not loud but
deep," on the whole race of tyrants and oppressors, whom you would sweep
from the face of the earth. And yet, you do not hate oppression more
than I; nor love liberty more. Nor will I admit that you have any
stronger desire for that intellectual freedom, to the attainment of
which you look forward as the last and greatest emancipation of mankind.

Nor have you a greater horror of superstition. Indeed, I might say that
you cannot have so great, for the best of all reasons, that you have not
seen so much of it; you have not stood on the banks of the Ganges, and
seen the Hindoos by tens of thousands rushing madly to throw themselves
into the sacred river, even carrying the ashes of their dead to cast
them upon the waters. It seems but yesterday that I was sitting on
the back of an elephant, looking down on this horrible scene of human
degradation. Such superstition overthrows the very foundations of
morality. In place of the natural sense of right and wrong, which is
written in men's consciences and hearts, it introduces an artificial
standard, by which the order of things is totally reversed: right is
made wrong, and wrong is made right. It makes that a virtue which is not
a virtue, and that a crime which is not a crime. Religion consists in a
round of observances that have no relation whatever to natural goodness,
but which rather exclude it by being a substitute for it. Penances
and pilgrimages take the place of justice and mercy, benevolence and
charity. Such a religion, so far from being a purifier, is the greatest
corrupter of morals; so that it is no extravagance to say of the
Hindoos, who are a gentle race, that they might be virtuous and good if
they were not so religious. But this colossal superstition weighs upon
their very existence, crushing out even natural virtue. Such a religion
is an immeasurable curse.

I hope this language is strong enough to satisfy even your own intense
hatred of superstition. You cannot loathe it more than I do. So far we
agree perfectly. But unfortunately you do not limit your crusade to
the religions of Asia, but turn the same style of argument against
the religion of Europe and America, and, indeed, against the religious
belief and worship of every country and clime. In this matter you make
no distinctions: you would sweep them all away; church and cathedral
must go with the temple and the pagoda, as alike manifestations of
human credulity, and proofs of the intellectual feebleness and folly of
mankind. While under the impression of that memorable evening at your
house, I took up some of your public addresses, and experienced a
strange revulsion of feeling. I could hardly believe my eyes as I read,
so inexpressibly was I shocked. Things which I held sacred you not only
rejected with unbelief, but sneered at with contempt. Your words were
full of a bitterness so unlike anything I had heard from your lips, that
I could not reconcile the two, till I reflected that in Robert Ingersoll
(as in the most of us) there were two men, who were not only distinct,
but contrary the one to the other--the one gentle and sweet-tempered;
the other delighting in war as his native element. Between the two, I
have a decided preference for the former. I have no dispute with the
quiet and peaceable gentleman, whose kindly spirit makes sunshine in his
home; but it is _that other man_ over yonder, who comes forth into
the arena like a gladiator, defiant and belligerent, that rouses my
antagonism. And yet I do not intend to _stand up_ even against him; but
if he will only _sit down_ and listen patiently, and answer in those
soft tones of voice which he knows so well how to use, we can have a
quiet talk, which will certainly do him no harm, while it relieves my
troubled mind.

What then is the basis of this religion which you despise? At the
foundation of every form of religious faith and worship, is the idea of
God. Here you take your stand; you do not believe in God. Of course you
do not deny absolutely the existence of a Creative Power: for that would
be to assume a knowledge which no human being can possess. How small is
the distance that we can see before us! The candle of our intelligence
throws its beams but a little way, beyond which the circle of light
is compassed by universal darkness. Upon this no one insists more than
yourself. I have heard you discourse upon the insignificance of man in
a way to put many preachers to shame. I remember your illustration from
the myriads of creatures that live on plants, from which you picked out,
to represent human insignificance, an insect too small to be seen by the
naked eye, whose world was a leaf, and whose life lasted but a single
day! Surely a creature that can only be seen with a microscope, cannot
_know_ that a Creator does not exist!

This, I must do you the justice to say, you do not affirm. All that you
can say is, that if there be no knowledge on one side, neither is there
on the other; that it is only a matter of probability; and that, judging
from such evidence as appeals to your senses and your understanding,
you do not _believe_ that there is a God. Whether this be a reasonable
conclusion or not, it is at least an intelligible state of mind.

Now I am not going to argue against what the Catholics call "invincible
ignorance"--an incapacity on account of temperament--for I hold that the
belief in God, like the belief in all spiritual things, comes to some
minds by a kind of intuition. There are natures so finely strung that
they are sensitive to influences which do not touch others. You may say
that it is mere poetical rhapsody when Shelley writes:

     "The awful shadow of some unseen power,
     Floats, though unseen, among us."

But there are natures which are not at all poetical or dreamy, only most
simple and pure, which, in moments of spiritual exaltation, are almost
_conscious_ of a Presence that is not of this world. But this, which is
a matter of experience, will have no weight with those who do not have
that experience. For the present, therefore, I would not be swayed one
particle by mere sentiment, but look at the question in the cold light
of reason alone.

The idea of God is, indeed, the grandest and most awful that can be
entertained by the human mind. Its very greatness overpowers us, so that
it seems impossible that such a Being should exist. But if it is hard
to conceive of Infinity, it is still harder to get any intelligible
explanation of the present order of things without admitting the
existence of an intelligent Creator and Upholder of all. Galileo, when
he swept the sky with his telescope, traced the finger of God in every
movement of the heavenly bodies. Napoleon, when the French savants on
the voyage to Egypt argued that there was no God, disdained any other
answer than to point upward to the stars and ask, "Who made all these?"
This is the first question, and it is the last. The farther we go, the
more we are forced to one conclusion. No man ever studied nature with a
more simple desire to know the truth than Agassiz, and yet the more he
explored, the more he was startled as he found himself constantly face
to face with the evidences of mind.

Do you say this is "a great mystery," meaning that it is something that
we do not know anything about? Of course, it is "a mystery." But do
you think to escape mystery by denying the Divine existence? You only
exchange one mystery for another. The first of all mysteries is, not
that God exists, but that _we_ exist. Here we are. How did we come here?
We go back to our ancestors; but that does not take away the difficulty;
it only removes it farther off. Once begin to climb the stairway of past
generations, and you will find that it is a Jacob's ladder, on which
you mount higher and higher until you step into the very presence of the
Almighty.

But even if we know that there is a God, what can we know of His
character? You say, "God is whatever we conceive Him to be." We frame
an image of Deity out of our consciousness--it is simply a reflection of
our own personality, cast upon the sky like the image seen in the Alps
in certain states of the atmosphere--and then fall down and worship that
which we have created, not indeed with our hands, but out of our minds.
This may be true to some extent of the gods of mythology, but not of the
God of Nature, who is as inflexible as Nature itself. You might as well
say that the laws of nature are whatever we imagine them to be. But we
do not go far before we find that, instead of being pliant to our will,
they are rigid and inexorable, and we dash ourselves against them to our
own destruction. So God does not bend to human thought any more than to
human will. The more we study Him the more we find that He is _not_ what
we imagined him to be; that He is far greater than any image of Him that
we could frame.

But, after all, you rejoin that the conception of a Supreme Being is
merely an abstract idea, of no practical importance, with no bearing
upon human life. I answer, it is of immeasurable importance. Let go the
idea of God, and you have let go the highest moral restraint. There is
no Ruler above man; he is a law unto himself--a law which is as impotent
to produce order, and to hold society together, as man is with his
little hands to hold the stars in their courses.

I know how you reason against the Divine existence from the moral
disorder of the world. The argument is one that takes strong hold of the
imagination, and may be used with tremendous effect. You set forth in
colors none too strong the injustice that prevails in the relations of
men to one another--the inequalities of society; the haughtiness of the
rich and the misery of the poor; you draw lurid pictures of the vice
and crime which run riot in the great capitals which are the centres of
civilization; and when you have wound up your audience to the highest
pitch, you ask, "How can it be that there is a just God in heaven, who
looks down upon the earth and sees all this horrible confusion, and yet
does not lift His hand to avenge the innocent or punish the guilty?"
To this I will make but one answer: Does it convince yourself? I do not
mean to imply that you are conscious of insincerity. But an orator is
sometimes carried away by his own eloquence, and states things more
strongly than he would in his cooler moments. So I venture to ask: With
all your tendency to skepticism, do you really believe that there is
no moral government of the world--no Power behind nature "making for
righteousness?" Are there no retributions in history? When Lincoln
stood on the field of Gettysburg, so lately drenched with blood,
and, reviewing the carnage of that terrible day, accepted it as the
punishment of our national sins, was it a mere theatrical flourish in
him to lift his hand to heaven, and exclaim, "Just and true are Thy
ways, Lord God Almighty!"

Having settled it to your own satisfaction that there is no God, you
proceed in the same easy way to dispose of that other belief which lies
at the foundation of all religion--the immortality of the soul. With an
air of modesty and diffidence that would carry an audience by storm, you
confess your ignorance of what, perhaps, others are better acquainted
with, when you say, "This world is all that _I_ know anything about, _so
far as I recollect_." This is very wittily put, and some may suppose
it contains an argument; but do you really mean to say that you do not
_know_ anything except what you "recollect," or what you have seen with
your eyes? Perhaps you never saw your grandparents; but have you any
more doubt of their existence than of that of your father and mother
whom you did see?

Here, as when you speak of the existence of God, you carefully avoid
any positive affirmation: you neither affirm nor deny. You are ready
for whatever may "turn up." In your jaunty style, if you find yourself
hereafter in some new and unexpected situation, you will accept it and
make the best of it, and be "as ready as the next man to enter on any
remunerative occupation!"

But while airing this pleasant fancy, you plainly regard the hope of
another life as a beggar's dream--the momentary illusion of one who,
stumbling along life's highway, sets him down by the roadside, footsore
and weary, cold and hungry, and falls asleep, and dreams of a time when
he shall have riches and plenty. Poor creature! let him dream; it helps
him to forget his misery, and may give him a little courage for his
rude awaking to the hard reality of life. But it is all a dream, which
dissolves in thin air, and floats away and disappears. This illustration
I do not take from you, but simply choose to set forth what (as I infer
from the sentences above quoted and many like expressions) may describe,
not unfairly, your state of mind. Your treatment of the subject is one
of trifling. You do not speak of it in a serious way, but lightly and
flippantly, as if it were all a matter of fancy and conjecture, and not
worthy of sober consideration.

Now, does it never occur to you that there is something very cruel in
this treatment of the belief of your fellow-creatures, on whose hope
of another life hangs all that relieves the darkness of their present
existence? To many of them life is a burden to carry, and they need all
the helps to carry it that can be found in reason, in philosophy, or in
religion. But what support does your hollow creed supply? You are a man
of warm heart, of the tenderest sympathies. Those who know you best, and
love you most, tell me that you cannot bear the sight of suffering
even in animals; that your natural sensibility is such that you find no
pleasure in sports, in hunting or fishing; to shoot a robin would make
you feel like a murderer. If you see a poor man in trouble your first
impulse is to help him. You cannot see a child in tears but you want to
take up the little fellow in your arms, and make him smile again.
And yet, with all your sensibility, you hold the most remorseless and
pitiless creed in the world--a creed in which there is not a gleam of
mercy or of hope. A mother has lost her only son. She goes to his grave
and throws herself upon it, the very picture of woe. One thought only
keeps her from despair: it is that beyond this life there is a world
where she may once more clasp her boy in her arms. What will you say to
that mother? You are silent, and your silence is a sentence of death to
her hopes. By that grave you cannot speak; for if you were to open your
lips and tell that mother what you really believe, it would be that her
son is blotted out of existence, and that she can never look upon his
face again. Thus with your iron heel do you trample down and crush the
last hope of a broken heart.

When such sorrow comes to you, you feel it as keenly as any man. With
your strong domestic attachments one cannot pass out of your little
circle without leaving a great void in your heart, and your grief is as
eloquent as it is hopeless. No sadder words ever fell from human lips
than these, spoken over the coffin of one to whom you were tenderly
attached: "Life is but a narrow vale, between the cold and barren peaks
of two eternities!" This is a doom of annihilation, which strikes a
chill to the stoutest heart. Even you must envy the faith which, as
it looks upward, sees those "peaks of two eternities," not "cold and
barren," but warm with the glow of the setting sun, which gives promise
of a happier to-morrow!

I think I hear you say, "So might it be! Would that I could believe
it!" for no one recognizes more the emptiness of life as it is. I do not
forget the tone in which you said: "Life is very sad to me; it is very
pitiful; there isn't much to it." True indeed! With your belief, or want
of belief, there is very little to it; and if this were all, it would be
a fair question whether life were worth living. In the name of humanity,
let us cling to all that is left us that can bring a ray of hope into
its darkness, and thus lighten its otherwise impenetrable gloom.

I observe that you not unfrequently entertain yourself and your
audiences by caricaturing certain doctrines of the Christian religion.
The "Atonement," as you look upon it, is simply "punishing the wrong
man"--letting the guilty escape and putting the innocent to death. This
is vindicating justice by permitting injustice. But is there not another
side to this? Does not the idea of sacrifice run through human life,
and ennoble human character? You see a mother denying herself for her
children, foregoing every comfort, enduring every hardship, till at
last, worn out by her labor and her privation, she folds her hands upon
her breast. May it not be said truly that she gives her life for the
life of her children? History is full of sacrifice, and it is the best
part of history. I will not speak of "the noble army of martyrs," but
of heroes who have died for their country or for liberty--what is it but
this element of devotion for the good of others that gives such glory
to their immortal names? How then should it be thought a thing without
reason that a Deliverer of the race should give His life for the life of
the world?

So, too, you find a subject for caricature in the doctrine of
"Regeneration." But what is regeneration but a change of character
shown in a change of life? Is that so very absurd? Have you never seen a
drunkard reformed? Have you never seen a man of impure life, who, after
running his evil course, had, like the prodigal, "come to himself"--that
is, awakened to his shame, and turning from it, come back to the path
of purity, and finally regained a true and noble manhood? Probably you
would admit this, but say that the change was the result of reflection,
and of the man's own strength of will. The doctrine of regeneration only
adds to the will of man the power of God. We believe that man is weak,
but that God is mighty; and that when man tries to raise himself, an arm
is stretched out to lift him up to a height which he could not attain
alone. Sometimes one who has led the worst life, after being plunged
into such remorse and despair that he feels as if he were enduring the
agonies of hell, turns back and takes another course: he becomes "a new
creature," whom his friends can hardly recognize as he "sits clothed and
in his right mind." The change is from darkness to light, from death
to life; and he who has known but one such case will never say that the
language is too strong which describes that man as "born again."

If you think that I pass lightly over these doctrines, not bringing out
all the meaning which they bear, I admit it. I am not writing an essay
in theology, but would only show, in passing, by your favorite method of
illustration, that the principles involved are the same with which you
are familiar in everyday life.

But the doctrine which excites your bitterest animosity is that of
Future Retribution. The prospect of another life, reaching on into an
unknown futurity, you would contemplate with composure were it not for
the dark shadow hanging over it. But to live only to suffer; to live
when asking to die; to "long for death, and not be able to find it"--is
a prospect which arouses the anger of one who would look with calmness
upon death as an eternal sleep. The doctrine loses none of its terrors
in passing through your hands; for it is one of the means by which
you work upon the feelings of your hearers. You pronounce it "the most
horrible belief that ever entered the human mind: that the Creator
should bring beings into existence to destroy them! This would make
Him the most fearful tyrant in the universe--a Moloch devouring his
own children!" I shudder when I recall the fierce energy with which
you spoke as you said, "Such a God I hate with all the intensity of my
being!"

But gently, gently, Sir! We will let this burst of fury pass before we
resume the conversation. When you are a little more tranquil, I would
modestly suggest that perhaps you are fighting a figment of your
imagination. I never heard of any Christian teacher who said that "the
Creator brought beings into the world to destroy them!" Is it not better
to moderate yourself to exact statements, especially when, with all
modifications, the subject is one to awaken a feeling the most solemn
and profound?

Now I am not going to enter into a discussion of this doctrine. I will
not quote a single text. I only ask you whether it is not a scientific
truth that _the effect of everything which is of the nature of a cause
is eternal_. Science has opened our eyes to some very strange facts
in nature. The theory of vibrations is carried by the physicists to an
alarming extent. They tell us that it is literally and mathematically
true that you cannot throw a ball in the air but it shakes the solar
system. Thus all things act upon all. What is true in space may be true
in time, and the law of physics may hold in the spiritual realm.
When the soul of man departs out of the body, being released from the
grossness of the flesh, it may enter on a life a thousand times more
intense than this: in which it will not need the dull senses as avenues
of knowledge, because the spirit itself will be all eye, all ear, all
intelligence; while memory, like an electric flash, will in an instant
bring the whole of the past into view; and the moral sense will be
quickened as never before. Here then we have all the conditions of
retribution--a world which, however shadowy it may be seem, is yet as
real as the homes and habitations and activities of our present state;
with memory trailing the deeds of a lifetime behind it, and conscience,
more inexorable than any judge, giving its solemn and final verdict.

With such conditions assumed, let us take a case which would awaken your
just indignation--that of a selfish, hardhearted, and cruel man; who
sacrifices the interests of everybody to his own; who grinds the faces
of the poor, robbing the widow and the orphan of their little all; and
who, so far from making restitution, dies with his ill-gotten gains held
fast in his clenched hand. How long must the night be to sleep away the
memory of such a hideous life? If he wakes, will not the recollection
cling to him still? Are there any waters of oblivion that can cleanse
his miserable soul? If not--if he cannot forget--surely he cannot
forgive himself for the baseness which now he has no opportunity to
repair. Here, then, is a retribution which is inseparable from his
being, which is a part of his very existence. The undying memory brings
the undying pain.

Take another case--alas! too sadly frequent. A man of pleasure betrays
a young, innocent, trusting woman by the promise of his love, and then
casts her off, leaving her to sink down, down, through every degree
of misery and shame, till she is lost in depths, which plummet never
sounded, and disappears. Is he not to suffer for this poor creature's
ruin? Can he rid himself of it by fleeing beyond "that bourne from
whence no traveler returns"? Not unless he can flee from himself: for
in the lowest depths of the under-world--a world in which the sun never
shines--that image will still pursue him. As he wanders in its gloomy
shades a pale form glides by him like an affrighted ghost. The face is
the same, beautiful even in its sorrow, but with a look upon it as of
one who has already suffered an eternity of woe. In an instant all the
past comes back again. He sees the young, unblessed mother wandering in
some lonely place, that only the heavens may witness her agony and her
despair. There he sees her holding up in her arms the babe that had no
right to be born, and calling upon God to judge her betrayer. How far
in the future must he travel to forget that look? Is there any escape
except by plunging into the gulf of annihilation?

Thus far in this paper I have taken a tone of defence. But I do not
admit that the Christian religion needs any apology,--it needs only to
be rightly understood to furnish its own complete vindication. Instead
of considering its "evidences," which is but going round the outer
walls, let us enter the gates of the temple and see what is within. Here
we find something better than "towers and bulwarks" in the character of
Him who is the Founder of our Religion, and not its Founder only but its
very core and being. Christ is Christianity. Not only is He the Great
Teacher, but the central subject of what He taught, so that the whole
stands or falls with Him.

In our first conversation, I observed that, with all your sharp
comments on things sacred, you professed great respect for the ethics
of Christianity, and for its author. "Make the Sermon on the Mount your
religion," you said, "and there I am with you." Very well! So far, so
good. And now, if you will go a little further, you may find still more
food for reflection.

All who have made a study of the character and teachings of Christ, even
those who utterly deny the supernatural, stand in awe and wonder before
the gigantic figure which is here revealed. Renan closes his "Life of
Jesus" with this as the result of his long study: "Jesus will never
be surpassed. His worship will be renewed without ceasing; his
story [légende] will draw tears from beautiful eyes without end; his
sufferings will touch the finest natures; all the ages will proclaim

THAT AMONG THE SONS OF MEN THERE HAS NOT RISEN A GREATER THAN JESUS;"

while Rousseau closes his immortal eulogy by saying, "Socrates died like
a philosopher, but Jesus Christ like a God!"

Here is an argument for Christianity to which I pray you to address
yourself. As you do not believe in miracles, and are ready to explain
everything by natural causes, I beg you to tell us how came it to pass
that a Hebrew peasant, born among the hills of Judea, had a wisdom above
that of Socrates or Plato, of Confucius or Buddha? This is the greatest
of miracles, that such a Being has lived and died on the earth.

Since this is the chief argument for Religion, does it not become
one who undertakes to destroy it to set himself first to this central
position, instead of wasting his time on mere outposts? When you next
address one of the great audiences that hang upon your words, is it
unfair to ask that you lay aside such familiar topics as Miracles or
Ghosts, or a reply to Talmage, and tell us what you think of Jesus
Christ; whether you look upon Him as an impostor, or merely as a
dreamer--a mild and harmless enthusiast; or are you ready to acknowledge
that He is entitled to rank among the great teachers of mankind?

But if you are compelled to admit the greatness of Christ, you take your
revenge on the Apostles, whom you do not hesitate to say that you "don't
think much of." In fact, you set them down in a most peremptory way
as "a poor lot." It did seem rather an unpromising "lot," that of
a boat-load of fishermen, from which to choose the apostles of a
religion--almost as unpromising as it was to take a rail-splitter to be
the head of a nation in the greatest crisis of its history! But perhaps
in both cases there was a wisdom higher than ours, that chose better
than we. It might puzzle even you to give a better definition of
religion than this of the Apostle James: "Pure religion and undefiled
before God and the Father is this: to visit the fatherless and widows
in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world," or
to find among those sages of antiquity, with whose writings you are
familiar, a more complete and perfect delineation of that which is
the essence of all goodness and virtue, than Paul's description of the
charity which "suffereth long and is kind;" or to find in the sayings of
Confucius or of Buddha anything more sublime than this aphorism of John:
"God is love, and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in
him."

And here you must allow me to make a remark, which is not intended as a
personal retort, but simply in the interest of that truth which we both
profess to seek, and to count worth more than victory. Your language is
too sweeping to indicate the careful thinker, who measures his words
and weighs them in a balance. Your lectures remind me of the pictures of
Gustave Doré, who preferred to paint on a large canvas, with figures as
gigantesque as those of Michael Angelo in his Last Judgment. The effect
is very powerful, but if he had softened his colors a little,--if there
were a few delicate touches, a mingling of light and shade, as when
twilight is stealing over the earth,--the landscape would be more true
to nature. So, believe me, your words would be more weighty if they were
not so strong. But whenever you touch upon religion you seem to lose
control of yourself, and a vindictive feeling takes possession of
you, which causes you to see things so distorted from their natural
appearance that you cannot help running into the broadest caricature.
You swing your sentences as the woodman swings his axe. Of course, this
"slashing" style is very effective before a popular audience, which does
not care for nice distinctions, or for evidence that has to be sifted
and weighed; but wants opinions off hand, and likes to have its
prejudices and hatreds echoed back in a ringing voice. This carries
the crowd, but does not convince the philosophic mind. The truth-seeker
cannot cut a road through the forest with sturdy blows; he has a hidden
path to trace, and must pick his way with slow and cautious step to find
that which is more precious than gold.

But if it were possible for you to sweep away the "evidences of
Christianity," you have not swept away Christianity itself; it still
lives, not only in tradition, but in the hearts of the people, entwined
with all that is sweetest in their domestic life, from which it must
be torn out with unsparing hand before it can be exterminated. To
begin with, you turn your back upon history. All that men have done and
suffered for the sake of religion was folly. The Pilgrims, who crossed
the sea to find freedom to worship God in the forests of the New World,
were miserable fanatics. There is no more place in the world for heroes
and martyrs. He who sacrifices his life for a faith, or an idea, is
a fool. The only practical wisdom is to have a sharp eye to the main
chance. If you keep on in this work of demolition, you will soon destroy
all our ideals. Family life withers under the cold sneer--half pity and
half scorn--with which you look down on household worship. Take from
our American firesides such scenes as that pictured in the _Cotter's
Saturday Night_, and you have taken from them their most sacred hours
and their tenderest memories.

The same destructive spirit which intrudes into our domestic as well as
our religious life, would take away the beauty of our villages as well
as the sweetness of our homes. In the weary round of a week of toil,
there comes an interval of rest; the laborer lays down his burden, and
for a few hours breathes a serener air. The Sabbath morning has come:

     "Sweet day I so cool, so calm, so bright,
     The bridal of the earth and sky."

At the appointed hour the bell rings across the valley, and sends its
echoes among the hills; and from all the roads the people come trooping
to the village church. Here they gather, old and young, rich and poor;
and as they join in the same act of worship, feel that God is the maker
of them all? Is there in our national life any influence more elevating
than this--one which tends more to bring a community together; to
promote neighborly feeling; to refine the manners of the people; to
breed true courtesy, and all that makes a Christian village different
from a cluster of Indian wigwams--a civilized community different from a
tribe of savages?

All this you would destroy: you would abolish the Sabbath, or have it
turned into a holiday; you would tear down the old church, so full of
tender associations of the living and the dead, or at least have it
"razeed," cutting off the tall spire that points upward to heaven;
and the interior you would turn into an Assembly room--a place of
entertainment, where the young people could have their merry-makings,
except perchance in the warm' Summer-time, when they could dance on the
village green! So far you would have gained your object. But would that
be a more orderly community, more refined or more truly happy?

You may think this a mere sentiment--that we care more for the
picturesque than for the true. But there is one result which is
fearfully real: the destructive creed, or no creed, which despoils
our churches and our homes, attacks society in its first principles
by taking away the support of morality. I do not believe that general
morality can be upheld without the sanctions of religion. There may
be individuals of great natural force of character, who can stand
alone--men of superior intellect and strong will. But in general human
nature is weak, and virtue is not the spontaneous growth of childish
innocence. Men do not become pure and good by instinct. Character, like
mind, has to be developed by education; and it needs all the elements
of strength which can be given it, from without as well as from within,
from the government of man and the government of God. To let go of these
restraints is a peril to public morality.

You feel strong in the strength of a robust manhood, well poised in body
and mind, and in the centre of a happy home, where loving hearts cling
to you like vines round the oak. But many to whom you speak are quite
otherwise. You address thousands of young men who have come out of
country homes, where they have been brought up in the fear of God, and
have heard the morning and evening prayer. They come into a city full of
temptations, but are restrained from evil by the thought of father and
mother, and reverence for Him who is the Father of us all--a feeling
which, though it may not have taken the form of any profession, is yet
at the bottom of their hearts, and keeps them from many a wrong and
wayward step. A young man, who is thus "guarded and defended" as by
unseen angels, some evening when he feels very lonely, is invited
to "go and hear Ingersoll," and for a couple of hours listens to your
caricatures of religion, with descriptions of the prayers and the
psalm-singing, illustrated by devout grimaces and nasal tones, which
set the house in roars of laughter, and are received with tumultuous
applause. When it is all over, and the young man finds himself again
under the flaring lamps of the city streets, he is conscious of a
change; the faith of his childhood has been rudely torn from him, and
with it "a glory has passed away from the earth;" the Bible which his
mother gave him, the morning that he came away, is "a mass of fables;"
the sentence which she wished him to hang on the wall, "Thou, God, seest
me," has lost its power, for there is no God that sees him, no moral
government, no law and no retribution. So he reasons as he walks
slowly homeward, meeting the temptations which haunt these streets at
night--temptations from which he has hitherto turned with a shudder, but
which he now meets with a diminished power of resistance. Have you done
that young man any good in taking from him what he held sacred before?
Have you not left him morally weakened? From sneering at religion, it
is but a step to sneering at morality, and then but one step more to a
vicious and profligate career. How are you going to stop this downward
tendency? When you have stripped him of former restraints, do you
leave him anything in their stead, except indeed a sense of honor,
self-respect, and self-interest?--worthy motives, no doubt, but all
too feeble to withstand the fearful temptations that assail him. Is the
chance of his resistance as good as it was before? Watch him as he goes
along that street at midnight! He passes by the places of evil resort,
of drinking and gambling--those open mouths of hell; he hears the sound
of music and dancing, and for the first time pauses to listen. How long
will it be before he will venture in?

With such dangers in his path, it is a grave responsibility to loosen
the restraints which hold such a young man to virtue. These gibes
and sneers which you utter so lightly, may have a sad echo in a lost
character and a wretched life. Many a young man has been thus taunted
until he has pushed off from the shore, under the idea of gaining his
"liberty," and ventured into the rapids, only to be carried down the
stream, and left a wreck in the whirlpool below.

You tell me that your object is to drive fear out of the world. That
is a noble ambition; if you succeed, you will be indeed a deliverer. Of
course you mean only irrational fears. You would not have men throw
off the fear of violating the laws of nature; for that would lead to
incalculable misery. You aim only at the terrors born of ignorance and
superstition. But how are you going to get rid of these? You trust to
the progress of science, which has dispelled so many fears arising from
physical phenomena, by showing that calamities ascribed to spiritual
agencies are explained by natural causes. But science can only go a
certain way, beyond which we come into the sphere of the unknown, where
all is dark as before. How can you relieve the fears of others--indeed
how can you rid yourself of fear, believing as you do that there is no
Power above which can help you in any extremity; that you are the sport
of accident, and may be dashed in pieces by the blind agency of nature?
If I believed this, I should feel that I was in the grasp of some
terrible machinery which was crushing me to atoms, with no possibility
of escape.

Not so does Religion leave man here on the earth, helpless and
hopeless--in abject terror, as he is in utter darkness as to
his fate--but opening the heaven above him, it discovers a Great
Intelligence, compassing all things, seeing the end from the beginning,
and ordering our little lives so that even the trials that we bear, as
they call out the finer elements of character, conduce to our future
happiness. God is our Father. We look up into His face with childlike
confidence, and find that "His service is perfect freedom." "Love casts
out fear." That, I beg to assure you, is the way, and the only way,
by which man can be delivered from those fears by which he is all his
lifetime subject to bondage.

In your attacks upon Religion you do violence to your own manliness.
Knowing you as I do, I feel sure that you do not realize where your
blows fall, or whom they wound, or you would not use your weapons so
freely. The faiths of men are as sacred as the most delicate manly or
womanly sentiments of love and honor. They are dear as the beloved
faces that have passed from our sight. I should think myself wanting in
respect to the memory of my father and mother if I could speak lightly
of the faith in which they lived and died. Surely this must be mere
thoughtlessness, for I cannot believe that you find pleasure in giving
pain. I have not forgotten the gentle hand that was laid upon your
shoulder, and the gentle voice which said, "Uncle Robert wouldn't hurt
a fly." And yet you bruise the tenderest sensibilities, and trample down
what is most cherished by millions of sisters and daughters and mothers,
little heeding that you are sporting with "human creatures' lives."

You are waging a hopeless war--a war in which you are certain only of
defeat. The Christian Religion began to be nearly two thousand years
before you and I were born, and it will live two thousand years after we
are dead. Why is it that it lives on and on, while nations and kingdoms
perish? Is not this "the survival of the fittest?" Contend against
it with all your wit and eloquence, you will fail, as all have failed
before you. You cannot fight against the instincts of humanity. It is as
natural for men to look up to a Higher Power as it is to look up to the
stars. Tell them that there is no God! You might as well tell them that
there is no Sun in heaven, even while on that central light and heat all
life on earth depends.

I do not presume to, think that I have convinced you, or changed your
opinion; but it is always right to appeal to a man's "sober second
thought"--to that better judgment that comes with increasing knowledge
and advancing years; and I will not give up hope that you will yet see
things more clearly, and recognize the mistake you have made in not
distinguishing Religion from Superstition--two things as far apart as
"the hither from the utmost pole." Superstition is the greatest enemy
of Religion. It is the nightmare of the mind, filling it with all
imaginable terrors--a black cloud which broods over half the world.
Against this you may well invoke the light of science to scatter its
darkness. Whoever helps to sweep it away, is a benefactor of his race.
But when this is done, and the moral atmosphere is made pure and sweet,
then you as well as we may be conscious of a new Presence coming into
the hushed and vacant air, as Religion, daughter of the skies, descends
to earth to bring peace and good will to men.

Henry M. Field.



A REPLY TO THE REV. HENRY M. FIELD, D.D.

     "Doubt is called the beacon of the wise."

My Dear Mr. Field:

I answer your letter because it is manly, candid and generous. It is not
often that a minister of the gospel of universal benevolence speaks of
an unbeliever except in terms of reproach, contempt and hatred. The meek
are often malicious. The statement in your letter, that some of your
brethren look upon me as a monster on account of my unbelief, tends
to show that those who love God are not always the friends of their
fellow-men.

Is it not strange that people who admit that they ought to be eternally
damned, that they are by nature totally depraved, and that there is no
soundness or health in them, can be so arrogantly egotistic as to look
upon others as "monsters"? And yet "some of your brethren," who regard
unbelievers as infamous, rely for salvation entirely on the goodness of
another, and expect to receive as alms an eternity of joy.

The first question that arises between us, is as to the innocence of
honest error--as to the right to express an honest thought.

You must know that perfectly honest men differ on many important
subjects. Some believe in free trade, others are the advocates of
protection. There are honest Democrats and sincere Republicans. How do
you account for these differences? Educated men, presidents of colleges,
cannot agree upon questions capable of solution--questions that the mind
can grasp, concerning which the evidence is open to all and where the
facts can be with accuracy ascertained. How do you explain this? If
such differences can exist consistently with the good faith of those
who differ, can you not conceive of honest people entertaining different
views on subjects about which nothing can be positively known?

You do not regard me as a monster. "Some of your brethren" do. How do
you account for this difference? Of course, your brethren--their hearts
having been softened by the Presbyterian God--are governed by charity
and love. They do not regard me as a monster because I have committed
an infamous crime, but simply for the reason that I have expressed my
honest thoughts.

What should I have done? I have read the Bible with great care, and
the conclusion has forced itself upon my mind not only that it is
not inspired, but that it is not true. Was it my duty to speak or act
contrary to this conclusion? Was it my duty to remain silent? If I had
been untrue to myself, if I had joined the majority,--if I had declared
the book to be the inspired word of God,--would your brethren still have
regarded me as a monster? Has religion had control of the world so long
that an honest man seems monstrous?

According to your creed--according to your Bible--the same Being who
made the mind of man, who fashioned every brain, and sowed within
those wondrous fields the seeds of every thought and deed, inspired the
Bible's every word, and gave it as a guide to all the world. Surely the
book should satisfy the brain. And yet, there are millions who do not
believe in the inspiration of the Scriptures. Some of the greatest and
best have held the claim of inspiration in contempt. No Presbyterian
ever stood higher in the realm of thought than Humboldt. He was familiar
with Nature from sands to stars, and gave his thoughts, his discoveries
and conclusions, "more precious than the tested gold," to all mankind.
Yet he not only rejected the religion of your brethren, but denied
the existence of their God. Certainly, Charles Darwin was one of the
greatest and purest of men,--as free from prejudice as the mariner's
compass,--desiring only to find amid the mists and clouds of ignorance
the star of truth. No man ever exerted a greater influence on the
intellectual world. His discoveries, carried to their legitimate
conclusion, destroy the creeds and sacred Scriptures of mankind. In the
light of "Natural Selection," "The Survival of the Fittest," and "The
Origin of Species," even the Christian religion becomes a gross and
cruel superstition. Yet Darwin was an honest, thoughtful, brave and
generous man.

Compare, I beg of you, these men, Humboldt and Darwin, with the founders
of the Presbyterian Church. Read the life of Spinoza, the loving
pantheist, and then that of John Calvin, and tell me, candidly, which,
in your opinion, was a "monster." Even your brethren do not claim that
men are to be eternally punished for having been mistaken as to the
truths of geology, astronomy, or mathematics. A man may deny the
rotundity and rotation of the earth, laugh at the attraction of
gravitation, scout the nebular hypothesis, and hold the multiplication
table in abhorrence, and yet join at last the angelic choir. I insist
upon the same freedom of thought in all departments of human knowledge.
Reason is the supreme and final test.

If God has made a revelation to man, it must have been addressed to his
reason. There is no other faculty that could even decipher the address.
I admit that reason is a small and feeble flame, a flickering torch by
stumblers carried in the starless night,--blown and flared by passion's
storm,--and yet it is the only light. Extinguish that, and nought
remains.

You draw a distinction between what you are pleased to call
"superstition" and religion. You are shocked at the Hindoo mother when
she gives her child to death at the supposed command of her God. What
do you think of Abraham, of Jephthah? What is your opinion of Jehovah
himself? Is not the sacrifice of a child to a phantom as horrible in
Palestine as in India? Why should a God demand a sacrifice from man? Why
should the infinite ask anything from the finite? Should the sun beg
of the glow-worm, and should the momentary spark excite the envy of the
source of light?

You must remember that the Hindoo mother believes that her child will be
forever blest--that it will become the especial care of the God to whom
it has been given. This is a sacrifice through a false belief on the
part of the mother. She breaks her heart for the love of her babe. But
what do you think of the Christian mother who expects to be happy in
heaven, with her child a convict in the eternal prison--a prison in
which none die, and from which none escape? What do you say of those
Christians who believe that they, in heaven, will be so filled with
ecstasy that all the loved of earth will be forgotten--that all the
sacred relations of life, and all the passions of the heart, will fade
and die, so that they will look with stony, un-replying, happy eyes upon
the miseries of the lost?

You have laid down a rule by which superstition can be distinguished
from religion. It is this: "It makes that a crime which is not a crime,
and that a virtue which is not a virtue." Let us test your religion by
this rule.

Is it a crime to investigate, to think, to reason, to observe? Is it
a crime to be governed by that which to you is evidence, and is it
infamous to express your honest thought? There is also another question:
Is credulity a virtue? Is the open mouth of ignorant wonder the only
entrance to Paradise?

According to your creed, those who believe are to be saved, and those
who do not believe are to be eternally lost. When you condemn men to
everlasting pain for unbelief--that is to say, for acting in accordance
with that which is evidence to them--do you not make that a crime which
is not a crime? And when you reward men with an eternity of joy for
simply believing that which happens to be in accord with their minds, do
you not make that a virtue which is not a virtue? In other words, do
you not bring your own religion exactly within your own definition of
superstition?

The truth is, that no one can justly be held responsible for his
thoughts. The brain thinks without asking our consent. We believe, or we
disbelieve, without an effort of the will. Belief is a result. It is the
effect of evidence upon the mind. The scales turn in spite of him who
watches. There is no opportunity of being honest or dishonest in the
formation of an opinion. The conclusion is entirely independent of
desire. We must believe, or we must doubt, in spite of what we wish.

That which must be, has the right to be.

We think in spite of ourselves. The brain thinks as the heart beats,
as the eyes see, as the blood pursues its course in the old accustomed
ways.

The question then is, not have we the right to think,--that being a
necessity,--but have we the right to express our honest thoughts? You
certainly have the right to express yours, and you have exercised that
right. Some of your brethren, who regard me as a monster, have expressed
theirs. The question now is, have I the right to express mine? In other
words, have I the right to answer your letter? To make that a crime in
me which is a virtue in you, certainly comes within your definition
of superstition. To exercise a right yourself which you deny to me is
simply the act of a tyrant. Where did you get your right to express your
honest thoughts? When, and where, and how did I lose mine?

You would not burn, you would not even imprison me, because I differ
with you on a subject about which neither of us knows anything. To you
the savagery of the Inquisition is only a proof of the depravity of man.
You are far better than your creed. You believe that even the Christian
world is outgrowing the frightful feeling that fagot, and dungeon, and
thumb-screw are legitimate arguments, calculated to convince those upon
whom they are used, that the religion of those who use them was
founded by a God of infinite compassion. You will admit that he who now
persecutes for opinion's sake is infamous. And yet, the God you worship
will, according to your creed, torture through all the endless years
the man who entertains an honest doubt. A belief in such a God is the
foundation and cause of all religious persecution. You may reply that
only the belief in a false God causes believers to be inhuman. But you
must admit that the Jews believed in the true God, and you are forced
to say that they were so malicious, so cruel, so savage, that they
crucified the only Sinless Being who ever lived. This crime was
Committed, not in spite of their religion, but in accordance with it.
They simply obeyed the command of Jehovah. And the followers of this
Sinless Being, who, for all these centuries, have denounced the cruelty
of the Jews for crucifying a man on account of his opinion, have
destroyed millions and millions of their fellow-men for differing with
them. And this same Sinless Being threatens to torture in eternal fire
countless myriads for the same offence. Beyond this, inconsistency
cannot go. At this point absurdity becomes infinite.

Your creed transfers the Inquisition to another world, making it
eternal. Your God becomes, or rather is, an infinite Torquemada, who
denies to his countless victims even the mercy of death. And this you
call "a consolation."

You insist that at the foundation of every religion is the idea of God.
According to your creed, all ideas of God, except those entertained by
those of your faith, are absolutely false. You are not called upon to
defend the Gods of the nations dead; nor the Gods of heretics. It
is your business to defend the God of the Bible--the God of the
Presbyterian Church. When in the ranks doing battle for your creed,
you must wear the uniform of your church. You dare not say that it is
sufficient to insure the salvation of a soul to believe in a god, or in
some god. According to your creed, man must believe in your God. All
the nations dead believed in gods, and all the worshipers of Zeus, and
Jupiter, and Isis, and Osiris, and Brahma prayed and sacrificed in
vain. Their petitions were not answered, and their souls were not saved.
Surely you do not claim that it is sufficient to believe in any one of
the heathen gods.

What right have you to occupy the position of the deists, and to put
forth arguments that even Christians have answered? The deist denounced
the God of the Bible because of his cruelty, and at the same time lauded
the God of Nature. The Christian replied that the God of Nature was as
cruel as the God of the Bible. This answer was complete.

I feel that you are entitled to the admission that none have been, that
none are, too ignorant, too degraded, to believe in the supernatural;
and I freely give you the advantage of this admission. Only a few--and
they among the wisest, noblest, and purest of the human race--have
regarded all gods as monstrous myths. Yet a belief in "the true God"
does not seem to make men charitable or just. For most people, theism
is the easiest solution of the universe. They are satisfied with saying
that there must be a Being who created and who governs the world. But
the universality of a belief does not tend to establish its truth. The
belief in the existence of a malignant Devil has been as universal as
the belief in a beneficent God, yet few intelligent men will say that
the universality of this belief in an infinite demon even tends to prove
his existence. In the world of thought, majorities count for nothing.
Truth has always dwelt with the few.

Man has filled the world with impossible monsters, and he has been the
sport and prey of these phantoms born of ignorance and hope and fear. To
appease the wrath of these monsters man has sacrificed his fellow-man.
He has shed the blood of wife and child; he has fasted and prayed; he
has suffered beyond the power of language to express, and yet he has
received nothing from these gods--they have heard no supplication, they
have answered no prayer.

You may reply that your God "sends his rain on the just and on the
unjust," and that this fact proves that he is merciful to all alike.
I answer, that your God sends his pestilence on the just and on the
unjust--that his earthquakes devour and his cyclones rend and wreck the
loving and the vicious, the honest and the criminal. Do not these facts
prove that your God is cruel to all alike? In other words, do they not
demonstrate the absolute impartiality of divine negligence?

Do you not believe that any honest man of average intelligence, having
absolute control of the rain, could do vastly better than is being done?
Certainly there would be no droughts or floods; the crops would not be
permitted to wither and die, while rain was being wasted in the sea. Is
it conceivable that a good man with power to control the winds would not
prevent cyclones? Would you not rather trust a wise and honest man with
the lightning?

Why should an infinitely wise and powerful God destroy the good and
preserve the vile? Why should he treat all alike here, and in another
world make an infinite difference? Why should your God allow his
worshipers, his adorers, to be destroyed by his enemies? Why should he
allow the honest, the loving, the noble, to perish at the stake? Can you
answer these questions? Does it not seem to you that your God must have
felt a touch of shame when the poor slave mother--one that had been
robbed of her babe--knelt and with clasped hands, in a voice broken with
sobs, commenced her prayer with the words "Our Father"?

It gave me pleasure to find that, notwithstanding your creed, you are
philosophical enough to say that some men are incapacitated, by reason
of temperament, for believing in the existence of God. Now, if a belief
in God is necessary to the salvation of the soul, why should God create
a soul without this capacity? Why should he create souls that he knew
would be lost? You seem to think that it is necessary to be poetical, or
dreamy, in order to be religious, and by inference, at least, you deny
certain qualities to me that you deem necessary. Do you account for the
atheism of Shelley by saying that he was not poetic, and do you quote
his lines to prove the existence of the very God whose being he so
passionately denied? Is it possible that Napoleon--one of the most
infamous of men--had a nature so finely strung that he was sensitive to
the divine influences? Are you driven to the necessity of proving the
existence of one tyrant by the words of another? Personally, I have but
little confidence in a religion that satisfied the heart of a man who,
to gratify his ambition, filled half the world with widows and orphans.
In regard to Agassiz, it is just to say that he furnished a vast amount
of testimony in favor of the truth of the theories of Charles Darwin,
and then denied the correctness of these theories--preferring the
good opinions of Harvard for a few days to the lasting applause of the
intellectual world.

I agree with you that the world is a mystery, not only, but that
everything in nature is equally mysterious, and that there is no way of
escape from the mystery of life and death. To me, the crystallization of
the snow is as mysterious as the constellations. But when you endeavor
to explain the mystery of the universe by the mystery of God, you do not
even exchange mysteries--you simply make one more.

Nothing can be mysterious enough to become an explanation.

The mystery of man cannot be explained by the mystery of God. That
mystery still asks for explanation. The mind is so that it cannot grasp
the idea of an infinite personality. That is beyond the circumference.
This being so, it is impossible that man can be convinced by any
evidence of the existence of that which he cannot in any measure
comprehend. Such evidence would be equally incomprehensible with the
incomprehensible fact sought to be established by it, and the intellect
of man can grasp neither the one nor the other.

You admit that the God of Nature--that is to say, your God--is as
inflexible as nature itself. Why should man worship the inflexible? Why
should he kneel to the unchangeable? You say that your God "does not
bend to human thought any more than to human will," and that "the more
we study him, the more we find that he is not what we imagined him to
be." So that, after all, the only thing you are really certain of in
relation to your God is, that he is not what you think he is. Is it
not almost absurd to insist that such a state of mind is necessary to
salvation, or that it is a moral restraint, or that it is the foundation
of social order?

The most religious nations have been the most immoral, the cruelest
and the most unjust. Italy was far worse under the Popes than under the
Cæsars. Was there ever a barbarian nation more savage than the Spain
of the sixteenth century? Certainly you must know that what you call
religion has produced a thousand civil wars, and has severed with the
sword all the natural ties that produce "the unity and married calm of
States." Theology is the fruitful mother of discord; order is the child
of reason. If you will candidly consider this question--if you will for
a few moments forget your preconceived opinions--you will instantly see
that the instinct of self-preservation holds society together. Religion
itself was born of this instinct. People, being ignorant, believed that
the Gods were jealous and revengeful. They peopled space with phantoms
that demanded worship and delighted in sacrifice and ceremony, phantoms
that could be flattered by praise and changed by prayer. These ignorant
people wished to preserve themselves. They supposed that they could in
this way avoid pestilence and famine, and postpone perhaps the day of
death. Do you not see that self-preservation lies at the foundation
of worship? Nations, like individuals, defend and protect themselves.
Nations, like individuals, have fears, have ideals, and live for the
accomplishment of certain ends. Men defend their property because it
is of value. Industry is the enemy of theft. Men, as a rule, desire to
live, and for that reason murder is a crime. Fraud is hateful to the
victim. The majority of mankind work and produce the necessities, the
comforts, and the luxuries of life. They wish to retain the fruits
of their labor. Government is one of the instrumentalities for the
preservation of what man deems of value. This is the foundation of
social order, and this holds society together.

Religion has been the enemy of social order, because it directs the
attention of man to another world. Religion teaches its votaries to
sacrifice this world for the sake of that other. The effect is to weaken
the ties that hold families and States together. Of what consequence is
anything in this world compared with eternal joy?

You insist that man is not capable of self-government, and that God made
the mistake of filling a world with failures--in other words, that man
must be governed not by himself, but by your God, and that your God
produces order, and establishes and preserves all the nations of the
earth. This being so, your God is responsible for the government of this
world. Does he preserve order in Russia? Is he accountable for Siberia?
Did he establish the institution of slavery? Was he the founder of the
Inquisition?

You answer all these questions by calling my attention to "the
retributions of history." What are the retributions of history? The
honest were burned at the stake; the patriotic, the generous, and
the noble were allowed to die in dungeons; whole races were enslaved;
millions of mothers were robbed of their babes. What were the
retributions of history? They who committed these crimes wore crowns,
and they who justified these infamies were adorned with the tiara.

You are mistaken when you say that Lincoln at Gettysburg said: "Just and
true are thy judgments, Lord God Almighty." Something like this occurs
in his last inaugural, in which he says,--speaking of his hope that
the war might soon be ended,--"If it shall continue until every drop of
blood drawn by the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword,
still it must be said, 'The judgments of the Lord are true and righteous
altogether.'" But admitting that you are correct in the assertion, let
me ask you one question: Could one standing over the body of Lincoln,
the blood slowly oozing from the madman's wound, have truthfully said:
"Just and true are thy judgments, Lord God Almighty"?

Do you really believe that this world is governed by an infinitely wise
and good God? Have you convinced even yourself of this? Why should God
permit the triumph of injustice? Why should the loving be tortured? Why
should the noblest be destroyed? Why should the world be filled
with misery, with ignorance, and with want? What reason have you for
believing that your God will do better in another world than he has done
and is doing in this? Will he be wiser? Will he have more power? Will he
be more merciful?

When I say "your God," of course I mean the God described in the Bible
and the Presbyterian Confession of Faith. But again I say, that in
the nature of things, there can be no evidence of the existence of an
infinite being.

An infinite being must be conditionless, and for that reason there is
nothing that a finite being can do that can by any possibility affect
the well-being of the conditionless. This being so, man can neither owe
nor discharge any debt or duty to an infinite being. The infinite
cannot want, and man can do nothing for a being who wants nothing.
A conditioned being can be made happy, or miserable, by changing
conditions, but the conditionless is absolutely independent of cause and
effect.

I do not say that a God does not exist, neither do I say that a God does
exist; but I say that I do not know--that there can be no evidence to my
mind of the existence of such a being, and that my mind is so that it
is incapable of even thinking of an infinite personality. I know that in
your creed you describe God as "without body, parts, or passions." This,
to my mind, is simply a description of an infinite vacuum. I have had
no experience with gods. This world is the only one with which I am
acquainted, and I was surprised to find in your letter the expression
that "perhaps others are better acquainted with that of which I am so
ignorant." Did you, by this, intend to say that you know anything of
any other state of existence--that you have inhabited some other
planet--that you lived before you were born, and that you recollect
something of that other world, or of that other state?

Upon the question of immortality you have done me, unintentionally,
a great injustice. With regard to that hope, I have never uttered "a
flippant or a trivial" word. I have said a thousand times, and I say
again, that the idea of immortality, that, like a sea, has ebbed and
flowed in the human heart, with its countless waves of hope and fear
beating against the shores and rocks of time and fate, was not born of
any book, nor of any creed, nor of any religion. It was born of human
affection, and it will continue to ebb and flow beneath the mists and
clouds of doubt and darkness as long as love kisses the lips of death.

I have said a thousand times, and I say again, that we do not know, we
cannot say, whether death is a wall or a door--the beginning, or end,
of a day--the spreading of pinions to soar, or the folding forever of
wings--the rise or the set of a sun, or an endless life, that brings
rapture and love to every one.

The belief in immortality is far older than Christianity. Thousands of
years before Christ was born billions of people had lived and died in
that hope. Upon countless graves had been laid in love and tears the
emblems of another life. The heaven of the New Testament was to be in
this world. The dead, after they were raised, were to live here. Not
one satisfactory word was said to have been uttered by Christ--nothing
philosophic, nothing clear, nothing that adorns, like a bow of promise,
the cloud of doubt.

According to the account in the New Testament, Christ was dead for a
period of nearly three days. After his resurrection, why did not some
one of his disciples ask him where he had been? Why did he not tell them
what world he had visited? There was the opportunity to "bring life and
immortality to light." And yet he was as silent as the grave that he had
left--speechless as the stone that angels had rolled away.

How do you account for this? Was it not infinitely cruel to leave the
world in darkness and in doubt, when one word could have filled all time
with hope and light?

The hope of immortality is the great oak round which have climbed
the poisonous vines of superstition. The vines have not supported the
oak--the oak has supported the vines. As long as men live and love and
die, this hope will blossom in the human heart.

All I have said upon this subject has been to express my hope and
confess my lack of knowledge. Neither by word nor look have I expressed
any other feeling than sympathy with those who hope to live again--for
those who bend above their dead and dream of life to come. But I have
denounced the selfishness and heartlessness of those who expect for
themselves an eternity of joy, and for the rest of mankind predict,
without a tear, a world of endless pain. Nothing can be more
contemptible than such a hope--a hope that can give satisfaction only to
the hyenas of the human race.

When I say that I do not know--when I deny the existence of perdition,
you reply that "there is something very cruel in this treatment of the
belief of my fellow-creatures."

You have had the goodness to invite me to a grave over which a mother
bends and weeps for her only son. I accept your invitation. We will
go together. Do not, I pray you, deal in splendid generalities. Be
explicit. Remember that the son for whom the loving mother weeps was not
a Christian, not a believer in the inspiration of the Bible nor in the
divinity of Jesus Christ. The mother turns to you for consolation, for
some star of hope in the midnight of her grief. What must you say? Do
not desert the Presbyterian creed. Do not forget the threatenings
of Jesus Christ. What must you say? Will you read a portion of the
Presbyterian Confession of Faith? Will you read this?

"Although the light of Nature, and the works of creation and Providence,
do so far manifest the goodness, wisdom, and power of God as to leave
man inexcusable, yet they are not sufficient to give that knowledge of
God and of his will which is necessary to salvation."

Or, will you read this?

"By the decree of God, for the manifestation of his glory, some men and
angels are predestined unto everlasting life and others foreordained
to everlasting death. These angels and men, thus predestined and
foreordained, are particularly and unchangeably designed, and their
number is so certain and definite that it cannot be either increased or
diminished."

Suppose the mother, lifting her tear-stained face, should say: "My son
was good, generous, loving and kind. He gave his life for me. Is there
no hope for him?" Would you then put this serpent in her breast?

"Men not professing the Christian religion cannot be saved in any
other way whatsoever, be they never so diligent to conform their lives
according to the light of Nature. We cannot by our best works merit
pardon of sin. There is no sin so small but that it deserves damnation.
Works done by unregenerate men, although, for the matter of that, they
may be things which God commands, and of good use both to themselves and
others, are sinful and cannot please God or make a man meet to receive
Christ or God."

And suppose the mother should then sobbingly ask: "What has become of
my son? Where is he now?" Would you still read from your Confession of
Faith, or from your Catechism--this?

"The souls of the wicked are cast into hell, where they remain in
torment and utter darkness, reserved to the judgment of the great day.
At the last day the righteous shall come into everlasting life, but the
wicked shall be cast into eternal torment and punished with everlasting
destruction. The wicked shall be cast into hell, to be punished with
unspeakable torment, both of body and soul, with the devil and his
angels forever."

If the poor mother still wept, still refused to be comforted, would you
thrust this dagger in her heart?

"At the Day of Judgment you, being caught up to Christ in the clouds,
shall be seated at his right hand and there openly acknowledged and
acquitted, and you shall join with him in the damnation of your son."

If this failed to still the beatings of her aching heart, would you
repeat these words which you say came from the loving soul of Christ?

"They who believe and are baptized shall be saved, and they who believe
not shall be damned; and these shall go away into everlasting fire
prepared for the devil and his angels."

Would you not be compelled, according to your belief, to tell this
mother that "there is but one name given under heaven and among men
whereby" the souls of men can enter the gates of Paradise? Would you not
be compelled to say: "Your son lived in a Christian land. The means of
grace were within his reach. He died not having experienced a change of
heart, and your son is forever lost. You can meet your son again only by
dying in your sins; but if you will give your heart to God you can never
clasp him to your breast again."

What could I say? Let me tell you:

"My dear madam, this reverend gentleman knows nothing of another
world. He cannot see beyond the tomb. He has simply stated to you the
superstitions of ignorance, of cruelty and fear. If there be in this
universe a God, he certainly is as good as you are. Why should he have
loved your son in life--loved him, according to this reverend gentleman,
to that degree that he gave his life for him; and why should that love
be changed to hatred the moment your son was dead?

"My dear woman, there are no punishments, there are no rewards--there
are consequences; and of one thing you may rest assured, and that is,
that every soul, no matter what sphere it may inhabit, will have the
everlasting opportunity of doing right.

"If death ends all, and if this handful of dust over which you weep
is all there is, you have this consolation: Your son is not within the
power of this reverend gentleman's God--that is something. Your son does
not suffer. Next to a life of joy is the dreamless sleep of death."

Does it not seem to you infinitely absurd to call orthodox Christianity
"a consolation"? Here in this world, where every human being is
enshrouded in cloud and mist,--where all lives are filled with
mistakes,--where no one claims to be perfect, is it "a consolation" to
say that "the smallest sin deserves eternal pain"? Is it possible for
the ingenuity of man to extract from the doctrine of hell one drop,
one ray, of "consolation"? If that doctrine be true, is not your God
an infinite criminal? Why should he have created uncounted billions
destined to suffer forever? Why did he not leave them unconscious dust?
Compared with this crime, any crime that man can by any possibility
commit is a virtue.

Think for a moment of your God,--the keeper of an infinite penitentiary
filled with immortal convicts,--your God an eternal turnkey, without
the pardoning power. In the presence of this infinite horror, you
complacently speak of the atonement,--a scheme that has not yet gathered
within its horizon a billionth part of the human race,--an atonement
with one-half the world remaining undiscovered for fifteen hundred years
after it was made.

If there could be no suffering, there could be no sin. To unjustly cause
suffering is the only possible crime. How can a God accept the suffering
of the innocent in lieu of the punishment of the guilty?

According to your theory, this infinite being, by his mere will, makes
right and wrong. This I do not admit. Right and wrong exist in the
nature of things--in the relation they bear to man, and to sentient
beings. You have already admitted that "Nature is inflexible, and that a
violated law calls for its consequences." I insist that no God can step
between an act and its natural effects. If God exists, he has nothing
to do with punishment, nothing to do with reward. From certain acts
flow certain consequences; these consequences increase or decrease the
happiness of man; and the consequences must be borne.

A man who has forfeited his life to the commonwealth may be pardoned,
but a man who has violated a condition of his own well-being cannot be
pardoned--there is no pardoning power. The laws of the State are made,
and, being made, can be changed; but the facts of the universe cannot be
changed. The relation of act to consequence cannot be altered. This is
above all power, and, consequently, there is no analogy between the laws
of the State and the facts in Nature. An infinite God could not change
the relation between the diameter and circumference of the circle.

A man having committed a crime may be pardoned, but I deny the right
of the State to punish an innocent man in the place of the pardoned--no
matter how willing the innocent man may be to suffer the punishment.
There is no law in Nature, no fact in Nature, by which the innocent can
be justly punished to the end that the guilty may go free. Let it be
understood once for all: Nature cannot pardon.

You have recognized this truth. You have asked me what is to become
of one who seduces and betrays, of the criminal with the blood of
his victim upon his hands? Without the slightest hesitation I answer,
whoever commits a crime against another must, to the utmost of his
power in this world and in another, if there be one, make full and ample
restitution, and in addition must bear the natural consequences of his
offence. No man can be perfectly happy, either in this world or in any
other, who has by his perfidy broken a loving and confiding heart.
No power can step between acts and consequences--no forgiveness, no
atonement.

But, my dear friend, you have taught for many years, if you are a
Presbyterian, or an evangelical Christian, that a man may seduce and
betray, and that the poor victim, driven to insanity, leaping from
some wharf at night where ships strain at their anchors in storm and
darkness--you have taught that this poor girl may be tormented forever
by a God of infinite compassion. This is not all that you have taught.
You have said to the seducer, to the betrayer, to the one who would not
listen to her wailing cry,--who would not even stretch forth his hand
to catch her fluttering garments,--you have said to him: "Believe in the
Lord Jesus Christ, and you shall be happy forever; you shall live in the
realm of infinite delight, from which you can, without a shadow falling
upon your face, observe the poor girl, your victim, writhing in the
agonies of hell." You have taught this. For my part, I do not see how an
angel in heaven meeting another angel whom he had robbed on the earth,
could feel entirely blissful. I go further. Any decent angel, no matter
if sitting at the right hand of God, should he see in hell one of his
victims, would leave heaven itself for the purpose of wiping one tear
from the cheek of the damned.

You seem to have forgotten your statement in the commencement of your
letter, that your God is as inflexible as Nature--that he bends not to
human thought nor to human will. You seem to have forgotten the line
which you emphasized with italics: "_The effect of everything which is
of the nature of a cause, is eternal_." In the light of this sentence,
where do you find a place for forgiveness--for your atonement? Where is
a way to escape from the effect of a cause that is eternal? Do you not
see that this sentence is a cord with which I easily tie your hands? The
scientific part of your letter destroys the theological. You have put
"new wine into old bottles," and the predicted result has followed. Will
the angels in heaven, the redeemed of earth, lose their memory? Will
not all the redeemed rascals remember their rascality? Will not all
the redeemed assassins remember the faces of the dead? Will not all the
seducers and betrayers remember her sighs, her tears, and the tones of
her voice, and will not the conscience of the redeemed be as inexorable
as the conscience of the damned?

If memory is to be forever "the warder of the brain," and if the
redeemed can never forget the sins they committed, the pain and anguish
they caused, then they can never be perfectly happy; and if the lost can
never forget the good they did, the kind actions, the loving words,
the heroic deeds; and if the memory of good deeds gives the slightest
pleasure, then the lost can never be perfectly miserable. Ought not the
memory of a good action to live as long as the memory of a bad one? So
that the undying memory of the good, in heaven, brings undying pain, and
the undying memory of those in hell brings undying pleasure. Do you not
see that if men have done good and bad, the future can have neither a
perfect heaven nor a perfect hell?

I believe in the manly doctrine that every human being must bear the
consequences of his acts, and that no man can be justly saved or damned
on account of the goodness or the wickedness of another.

If by atonement you mean the natural effect of self-sacrifice, the
effects following a noble and disinterested action; if you mean that
the life and death of Christ are worth their effect upon the human
race,--which your letter seems to show,--then there is no question
between us. If you have thrown away the old and barbarous idea that a
law had been broken, that God demanded a sacrifice, and that Christ, the
innocent, was offered up for us, and that he bore the wrath of God and
suffered in our place, then I congratulate you with all my heart.

It seems to me impossible that life should be exceedingly joyous to any
one who is acquainted with its miseries, its burdens, and its tears.
I know that as darkness follows light around the globe, so misery and
misfortune follow the sons of men. According to your creed, the future
state will be worse than this. Here, the vicious may reform; here, the
wicked may repent; here, a few gleams of sunshine may fall upon the
darkest life. But in your future state, for countless billions of the
human race, there will be no reform, no opportunity of doing right, and
no possible gleam of sunshine can ever touch their souls. Do you not
see that your future state is infinitely worse than this? You seem to
mistake the glare of hell for the light of morning.

Let us throw away the dogma of eternal retribution. Let us "cling to all
that can bring a ray of hope into the darkness of this life."

You have been kind enough to say that I find a subject for caricature
in the doctrine of regeneration. If, by regeneration, you mean
reformation,--if you mean that there comes a time in the life of a young
man when he feels the touch of responsibility, and that he leaves his
foolish or vicious ways, and concludes to act like an honest man,--if
this is what you mean by regeneration, I am a believer. But that is
not the definition of regeneration in your creed--that is not Christian
regeneration. There is some mysterious, miraculous, supernatural,
invisible agency, called, I believe, the Holy Ghost, that enters and
changes the heart of man, and this mysterious agency is like the wind,
under the control, apparently, of no one, coming and going when and
whither it listeth. It is this illogical and absurd view of regeneration
that I have attacked.

You ask me how it came to' pass that a Hebrew peasant, born among the
hills of Galilee, had a wisdom above that of Socrates or Plato, of
Confucius or Buddha, and you conclude by saying, "This is the greatest
of miracles--that such a being should live and die on the earth."

I can hardly admit your conclusion, because I remember that Christ said
nothing in favor of the family relation. As a matter of fact, his life
tended to cast discredit upon marriage. He said nothing against the
institution of slavery; nothing against the tyranny of government;
nothing of our treatment of animals; nothing about education, about
intellectual progress; nothing of art, declared no scientific truth, and
said nothing as to the rights and duties of nations.

You may reply that all this is included in "Do unto others as you would
be done by;" and "Resist not evil." More than this is necessary to
educate the human race. It is not enough to say to your child or to
your pupil, "Do right." The great question still remains: What is right?
Neither is there any wisdom in the idea of non-resistance. Force without
mercy is tyranny. Mercy without force is but a waste of tears. Take
from virtue the right of self-defence and vice becomes the master of the
world.

Let me ask you how it came to pass that an ignorant driver of camels,
a man without family, without wealth, became master of hundreds of
millions of human beings? How is it that he conquered and overran more
than half of the Christian world? How is it that on a thousand fields
the banner of the cross went down in blood, while that of the crescent
floated in triumph? How do you account for the fact that the flag of
this impostor floats to-day above the sepulchre of Christ? Was this a
miracle? Was Mohammed inspired? How do you account for Confucius, whose
name is known wherever the sky bends? Was he inspired--this man who
for many centuries has stood first, and who has been acknowledged
the superior of all men by hundreds and thousands of millions of
his fellow-men? How do you account for Buddha,--in many respects the
greatest religious teacher this world has ever known,--the broadest,
the most intellectual of them all; he who was great enough, hundreds of
years before Christ was born, to declare the universal brotherhood of
man, great enough to say that intelligence is the only lever capable of
raising mankind? How do you account for him, who has had more followers
than any other? Are you willing to say that all success is divine? How
do you account for Shakespeare, born of parents who could neither read
nor write, held in the lap of ignorance and love, nursed at the breast
of poverty--how do you account for him, by far the greatest of the human
race, the wings of whose imagination still fill the horizon of human
thought; Shakespeare, who was perfectly acquainted with the human heart,
knew all depths of sorrow, all heights of joy, and in whose mind were
the fruit of all thought, of all experience, and a prophecy of all to
be; Shakespeare, the wisdom and beauty and depth of whose words increase
with the intelligence and civilization of mankind? How do you account
for this miracle? Do you believe that any founder of any religion could
have written "Lear" or "Hamlet"? Did Greece produce a man who could
by any possibility have been the author of "Troilus and Cressida"? Was
there among all the countless millions of almighty Rome an intellect
that could have written the tragedy of "Julius Cæsar"? Is not the play
of "Antony and Cleopatra" as Egyptian as the Nile? How do you account
for this man, within whose veins there seemed to be the blood of every
race, and in whose brain there were the poetry and philosophy of a
world?

You ask me to tell my opinion of Christ. Let me say here, once for all,
that for the man Christ--for the man who, in the darkness, cried out,
"My God, why hast thou forsaken me!" --for that man I have the greatest
possible respect. And let me say, once for all, that the place where man
has died for man is holy ground. To that great and serene peasant of
Palestine I gladly pay the tribute of my admiration and my tears. He was
a reformer in his day--an infidel in his time. Back of the theological
mask, and in spite of the interpolations of the New Testament, I see a
great and genuine man.

It is hard to see how you can consistently defend the course pursued
by Christ himself. He attacked with great bitterness "the religion of
others." It did not occur to him that "there was something very cruel in
this treatment of the belief of his fellow-creatures." He denounced the
chosen people of God as a "generation of vipers." He compared them to
"whited sepulchres." How can you sustain the conduct of missionaries?
They go to other lands and attack the sacred beliefs of others. They
tell the people of India and of all heathen lands, not only that their
religion is a lie, not only that their gods are myths, but that the
ancestors of these people--their fathers and mothers who never heard
of God, of the Bible, or of Christ--are all in perdition. Is not this a
cruel treatment of the belief of a fellow-creature?

A religion that is not manly and robust enough to bear attack with
smiling fortitude is unworthy of a place in the heart or brain. A
religion that takes refuge in sentimentality, that cries out: "Do not, I
pray you, tell me any truth calculated to hurt my feelings," is fit only
for asylums.

You believe that Christ was God, that he was infinite in power. While in
Jerusalem he cured the sick, raised a few from the dead, and opened the
eyes of the blind. Did he do these things because he loved mankind, or
did he do these miracles simply to establish the fact that he was the
very Christ? If he was actuated by love, is he not as powerful now as
he was then? Why does he not open the eyes of the blind now? Why does
he not with a touch make the leper clean? If you had the power to give
sight to the blind, to cleanse the leper, and would not exercise it,
what would be thought of you? What is the difference between one who can
and will not cure, and one who causes disease?

Only the other day I saw a beautiful girl--a paralytic, and yet her
brave and cheerful spirit shone over the wreck and ruin of her body like
morning on the desert. What would I think of myself, had I the power by
a word to send the blood through all her withered limbs freighted again
with life, should I refuse?

Most theologians seem to imagine that the virtues have been produced by
and are really the children of religion.

Religion has to do with the supernatural. It defines our duties and
obligations to God. It prescribes a certain course of conduct by means
of which happiness can be attained in another world. The result here is
only an incident. The virtues are secular. They have nothing whatever to
do with the supernatural, and are of no kindred to any religion. A man
may be honest, courageous, charitable, industrious, hospitable, loving
and pure, without being religious--that is to say, without any belief
in the supernatural; and a man may be the exact opposite and at the same
time a sincere believer in the creed of any church--that is to say, in
the existence of a personal God, the inspiration of the Scriptures and
in the divinity of Jesus Christ. A man who believes in the Bible may or
may not be kind to his family, and a man who is kind and loving in his
family may or may not believe in the Bible.

In order that you may see the effect of belief in the formation of
character, it is only necessary to call your attention to the fact that
your Bible shows that the devil himself is a believer in the existence
of your God, in the inspiration of the Scriptures, and in the divinity
of Jesus Christ. He not only believes these things, but he knows them,
and yet, in spite of it all, he remains a devil still.

Few religions have been bad enough to destroy all the natural goodness
in the human heart. In the deepest midnight of superstition some natural
virtues, like stars, have been visible in the heavens. Man has committed
every crime in the name of Christianity--or at least crimes that
involved the commission of all others. Those who paid for labor with
the lash, and who made blows a legal tender, were Christians. Those who
engaged in the slave trade were believers in a personal God. One
slave ship was called "The Jehovah." Those who pursued with hounds the
fugitive led by the Northern star prayed fervently to Christ to crown
their efforts with success, and the stealers of babes, just before
falling asleep, commended their souls to the keeping of the Most High.

As you have mentioned the apostles, let me call your attention to an
incident.

You remember the story of Ananias and Sapphira. The apostles, having
nothing themselves, conceived the idea of having all things in common.
Their followers who had something were to sell what little they had, and
turn the proceeds over to these theological financiers. It seems that
Ananias and Sapphira had a piece of land. They sold it, and after
talking the matter over, not being entirely satisfied with the
collaterals, concluded to keep a little--just enough to keep them from
starvation if the good and pious bankers should abscond.

When Ananias brought the money, he was asked whether he had kept back
a part of the price. He said that he had not. Whereupon God, the
compassionate, struck him dead. As soon as the corpse was removed, the
apostles sent for his wife. They did not tell her that her husband had
been killed. They deliberately set a trap for her life. Not one of them
was good enough or noble enough to put her on her guard; they allowed
her to believe that her husband had told his story, and that she was
free to corroborate what he had said. She probably felt that they were
giving more than they could afford, and, with the instinct of woman,
wanted to keep a little. She denied that any part of the price had been
kept back. That moment the arrow of divine vengeance entered her heart.

Will you be kind enough to tell me your opinion of the apostles in the
light of this story? Certainly murder is a greater crime than mendacity.

You have been good enough, in a kind of fatherly way, to give me some
advice. You say that I ought to soften my colors, and that my words
would be more weighty if not so strong. Do you really desire that I
should add weight to my words? Do you really wish me to succeed? If the
commander of one army should send word to the general of the other that
his men were firing too high, do you think the general would be misled?
Can you conceive of his changing his orders by reason of the message?

I deny that "the Pilgrims crossed the sea to find freedom to worship
God in the forests of the new world." They came not in the interest of
freedom. It never entered their minds that other men had the same right
to worship God according to the dictates of their consciences that the
Pilgrims themselves had. The moment they had power they were ready to
whip and brand, to imprison and burn. They did not believe in religious
freedom. They had no more idea of liberty of conscience than Jehovah.

I do not say that there is no place in the world for heroes and martyrs.
On the contrary, I declare that the liberty we now have was won for us
by heroes and by martyrs, and millions of these martyrs were burned, or
flayed alive, or torn in pieces, or assassinated by the church of God.
The heroism was shown in fighting the hordes of religious superstition.

Giordano Bruno was a martyr. He was a hero. He believed in no God, in no
heaven, and in no hell, yet he perished by fire. He was offered liberty
on condition that he would recant. There was no God to please, no heaven
to expect, no hell to fear, and yet he died by fire, simply to preserve
the unstained whiteness of his soul.

For hundreds of years every man who attacked the church was a hero. The
sword of Christianity has been wet for many centuries with the blood of
the noblest. Christianity has been ready with whip and chain and fire to
banish freedom from the earth.

Neither is it true that "family life withers under the cold sneer--half
pity and half scorn--with which I look down on household worship."

Those who believe in the existence of God, and believe that they are
indebted to this divine being for the few gleams of sunshine in this
life, and who thank God for the little they have enjoyed, have my entire
respect. Never have I said one word against the spirit of thankfulness.
I understand the feeling of the man who gathers his family about him
after the storm, or after the scourge, or after long sickness, and pours
out his heart in thankfulness to the supposed God who has protected his
fireside. I understand the spirit of the savage who thanks his idol of
stone, or his fetich of wood. It is not the wisdom of the one or of the
other that I respect, it is the goodness and thankfulness that prompt
the prayer.

I believe in the family. I believe in family life; and one of my
objections to Christianity is that it divides the family. Upon this
subject I have said hundreds of times, and I say again, that the
roof-tree is sacred, from the smallest fibre that feels the soft, cool
clasp of earth, to the topmost flower that spreads its bosom to the
sun, and like a spendthrift gives its perfume to the air. The home where
virtue dwells with love is like a lily with a heart of fire, the fairest
flower in all this world.

What did Christianity in the early centuries do for the home? What have
nunneries and monasteries, and what has the glorification of celibacy
done for the family? Do you not know that Christ himself offered rewards
in this world and eternal happiness in another to those who would desert
their wives and children and follow him? What effect has that promise
had upon family life?

As a matter of fact, the family is regarded as nothing. Christianity
teaches that there is but one family, the family of Christ, and that all
other relations are as nothing compared with that. Christianity teaches
the husband to desert the wife, the wife to desert the husband, children
to desert their parents, for the miserable and selfish purpose of saving
their own little, shriveled souls.

It is far better for a man to love his fellow-men than to love God. It
is better to love wife and children than to love Christ. It is better
to serve your neighbor than to serve your God--even if God exists. The
reason is palpable. You can do nothing for God. You can do something for
wife and children. You can add to the sunshine of a life. You can plant
flowers in the pathway of another.

It is true that I am an enemy of the orthodox Sabbath. It is true that
I do not believe in giving one-seventh of our time to the service of
superstition. The whole scheme of your religion can be understood by any
intelligent man in one day. Why should he waste a seventh of his whole
life in hearing the same thoughts repeated again and again?

Nothing is more gloomy than an orthodox Sabbath. The mechanic who has
worked during the week in heat and dust, the laboring man who has barely
succeeded in keeping his soul in his body, the poor woman who has
been sewing for the rich, may go to the village church which you have
described. They answer the chimes of the bell, and what do they hear in
this village church? Is it that God is the Father of the human race; is
that all? If that were all, you never would have heard an objection from
my lips. That is not all. If all ministers said: Bear the evils of this
life; your Father in heaven counts your tears; the time will come when
pain and death and grief will be forgotten words; I should have listened
with the rest. What else does the minister say to the poor people
who have answered the chimes of your bell? He says: "The smallest sin
deserves eternal pain." "A vast majority of men are doomed to suffer
the wrath of God forever." He fills the present with fear and the future
with fire. He has heaven for the few, hell for the many. He describes a
little grass-grown path that leads to heaven, where travelers are "few
and far between," and a great highway worn with countless feet that
leads to everlasting death.

Such Sabbaths are immoral. Such ministers are the real savages. Gladly
would I abolish such a Sabbath. Gladly would I turn it into a holiday,
a day of rest and peace, a day to get acquainted with your wife and
children, a day to exchange civilities with your neighbors; and gladly
would I see the church in which such sermons are preached changed to
a place of entertainment. Gladly would I have the echoes of orthodox
sermons--the owls and bats among the rafters, the snakes in crevices
and corners--driven out by the glorious music of Wagner and Beethoven.
Gladly would I see the Sunday school where the doctrine of eternal fire
is taught, changed to a happy dance upon the village green.

Music refines. The doctrine of eternal punishment degrades. Science
civilizes. Superstition looks longingly back to savagery.

You do not believe that general morality can be upheld without the
sanctions of religion.

Christianity has sold, and continues to sell, crime on a credit. It
has taught, and it still teaches, that there is forgiveness for all. Of
course it teaches morality. It says: "Do not steal, do not murder;" but
it adds, "but if you do both, there is a way of escape: believe on
the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved." I insist that such a
religion is no restraint. It is far better to teach that there is no
forgiveness, and that every human being must bear the consequences of
his acts.

The first great step toward national reformation is the universal
acceptance of the idea that there is no escape from the consequences of
our acts. The young men who come from their country homes into a city
filled with temptations, may be restrained by the thought of father and
mother. This is a natural restraint. They may be restrained by
their knowledge of the fact that a thing is evil on account of its
consequences, and that to do wrong is always a mistake. I cannot
conceive of such a man being more liable to temptation because he has
heard one of my lectures in which I have told him that the only good
is happiness--that the only way to attain that good is by doing what he
believes to be right. I cannot imagine that his moral character will be
weakened by the statement that there is no escape from the consequences
of his acts. You seem to think that he will be instantly led
astray--that he will go off under the flaring lamps to the riot of
passion. Do you think the Bible calculated to restrain him? To prevent
this would you recommend him to read the lives of Abraham, of Isaac, and
of Jacob, and the other holy polygamists of the Old Testament? Should he
read the life of David, and of Solomon? Do you think this would enable
him to withstand temptation? Would it not be far better to fill the
young man's mind with facts so that he may know exactly the physical
consequences of such acts? Do you regard ignorance as the foundation of
virtue? Is fear the arch that supports the moral nature of man?

You seem to think that there is danger in knowledge, and that the best
chemists are most likely to poison themselves.

You say that to sneer at religion is only a step from sneering at
morality, and then only another step to that which is vicious and
profligate.

The Jews entertained the same opinion of the teachings of Christ. He
sneered at their religion. The Christians have entertained the same
opinion of every philosopher. Let me say to you again--and let me say
it once for all--that morality has nothing to do with religion. Morality
does not depend upon the supernatural. Morality does not walk with the
crutches of miracles. Morality appeals to the experience of mankind. It
cares nothing about faith, nothing about sacred books. Morality depends
upon facts, something that can be seen, something known, the product of
which can be estimated. It needs no priest, no ceremony, no mummery. It
believes in the freedom of the human mind. It asks for investigation. It
is founded upon truth. It is the enemy of all religion, because it has
to do with this world, and with this world alone.

My object is to drive fear out of the world. Fear is the jailer of
the mind. Christianity, superstition--that is to say, the
supernatural--makes every brain a prison and every soul a convict. Under
the government of a personal deity, consequences partake of the nature
of punishments and rewards.

Under the government of Nature, what you call punishments and rewards
are simply consequences. Nature does not punish. Nature does not reward.
Nature has no purpose. When the storm comes, I do not think: "This is
being done by a tyrant." When the sun shines, I do not say: "This is
being done by a friend." Liberty means freedom from personal dictation.
It does not mean escape from the relations we sustain to other facts in
Nature. I believe in the restraining influences of liberty. Temperance
walks hand in hand with freedom. To remove a chain from the body puts
an additional responsibility upon the soul. Liberty says to the man:
You injure or benefit yourself; you increase or decrease your own
well-being. It is a question of intelligence. You need not bow to
a supposed tyrant, or to infinite goodness. You are responsible to
yourself and to those you injure, and to none other.

I rid myself of fear, believing as I do that there is no power above
which can help me in any extremity, and believing as I do that there is
no power above or below that can injure me in any extremity. I do not
believe that I am the sport of accident, or that I may be dashed in
pieces by the blind agency of Nature. There is no accident, and there is
no agency. That which happens must happen. The present is the necessary
child of all the past, the mother of all the future.

Does it relieve mankind from fear to believe that there is some God who
will help them in extremity? What evidence have they on which to found
this belief? When has any God listened to the prayer of any man? The
water drowns, the cold freezes, the flood destroys, the fire burns,
the bolt of heaven falls--when and where has the prayer of man been
answered?

Is the religious world to-day willing to test the efficacy of prayer?
Only a few years ago it was tested in the United States. The Christians
of Christendom, with one accord, fell upon their knees and asked God to
spare the life of one man. You know the result. You know just as well
as I that the forces of Nature produce the good and bad alike. You know
that the forces of Nature destroy the good and bad alike. You know
that the lightning feels the same keen delight in striking to death the
honest man that it does or would in striking the assassin with his knife
lifted above the bosom of innocence.

Did God hear the prayers of the slaves? Did he hear the prayers of
imprisoned philosophers and patriots? Did he hear the prayers of
martyrs, or did he allow fiends, calling themselves his followers, to
pile the fagots round the forms of glorious men? Did he allow the flames
to devour the flesh of those whose hearts were his? Why should any man
depend on the goodness of a God who created countless millions, knowing
that they would suffer eternal grief?

The faith that you call sacred--"sacred as the most delicate manly or
womanly sentiment of love and honor"--is the faith that nearly all of
your fellow-men are to be lost. Ought an honest man to be restrained
from denouncing that faith because those who entertain it say that their
feelings are hurt? You say to me: "There is a hell. A man advocating the
opinions you advocate will go there when he dies." I answer: "There is
no hell. The Bible that teaches it is not true." And you say: "How can
you hurt my feelings?"

You seem to think that one who attacks the religion of his parents is
wanting in respect to his father and his mother.

Were the early Christians lacking in respect for their fathers and
mothers? Were the Pagans who embraced Christianity heartless sons and
daughters? What have you to say of the apostles? Did they not heap
contempt upon the religion of their fathers and mothers? Did they not
join with him who denounced their people as a "generation of vipers"?
Did they not follow one who offered a reward to those who would
desert fathers and mothers? Of course you have only to go back a few
generations in your family to find a Field who was not a Presbyterian.
After that you find a Presbyterian. Was he base enough and infamous
enough to heap contempt upon the religion of his father and mother? All
the Protestants in the time of Luther lacked in respect for the religion
of their fathers and mothers. According to your idea, Progress is a
Prodigal Son. If one is bound by the religion of his father and mother,
and his father happens to be a Presbyterian and his mother a Catholic,
what is he to do? Do you not see that your doctrine gives intellectual
freedom only to foundlings?

If by Christianity you mean the goodness, the spirit of forgiveness, the
benevolence claimed by Christians to be a part, and the principal part,
of that peculiar religion, then I do not agree with you when you say
that "Christ is Christianity and that it stands or falls with him."
You have narrowed unnecessarily the foundation of your religion. If it
should be established beyond doubt that Christ never existed, all that
is of value in Christianity would remain, and remain unimpaired.
Suppose that we should find that Euclid was a myth, the science known
as mathematics would not suffer. It makes no difference who painted
or chiseled the greatest pictures and statues, so long as we have the
pictures and statues. When he who has given the world a truth passes
from the earth, the truth is left. A truth dies only when forgotten
by the human race. Justice, love, mercy, forgiveness, honor, all the
virtues that ever blossomed in the human heart, were known and practiced
for uncounted ages before the birth of Christ.

You insist that religion does not leave man in "abject terror"--does not
leave him "in utter darkness as to his fate."

Is it possible to know who will be saved? Can you read the names
mentioned in the decrees of the Infinite? Is it possible to tell who
is to be eternally lost? Can the imagination conceive a worse fate than
your religion predicts for a majority of the race? Why should not every
human being be in "abject terror" who believes your doctrine? How many
loving and sincere women are in the asylums to-day fearing that they
have committed "the unpardonable sin"--a sin to which your God has
attached the penalty of eternal torment, and yet has failed to describe
the offence? Can tyranny go beyond this--fixing the penalty of eternal
pain for the violation of a law not written, not known, but kept in the
secrecy of infinite darkness? How much happier it is to know nothing
about it, and to believe nothing about it! How much better to have no
God!

You discover a "Great Intelligence ordering our little lives, so that
even the trials that we bear, as they call out the finer elements
of character, conduce to our future happiness." This is an old
explanation--probably as good as any. The idea is, that this world is a
school in which man becomes educated through tribulation--the muscles
of character being developed by wrestling with misfortune. If it is
necessary to live this life in order to develop character, in order to
become worthy of a better world, how do you account for the fact that
billions of the human race die in infancy, and are thus deprived of
this necessary education and development? What would you think of a
schoolmaster who should kill a large proportion of his scholars during
the first day, before they had even had the opportunity to look at "A"?

You insist that "there is a power behind Nature making for
righteousness."

If Nature is infinite, how can there be a power outside of Nature? If
you mean by "a power making for righteousness" that man, as he becomes
civilized, as he becomes intelligent, not only takes advantage of
the forces of Nature for his own benefit, but perceives more and more
clearly that if he is to be happy he must live in harmony with the
conditions of his being, in harmony with the facts by which he is
surrounded, in harmony with the relations he sustains to others and
to things; if this is what you mean, then there is "a power making for
righteousness." But if you mean that there is something supernatural
back of Nature directing events, then I insist that there can by no
possibility be any evidence of the existence of such a power.

The history of the human race shows that nations rise and fall. There
is a limit to the life of a race; so that it can be said of every
dead nation, that there was a period when it laid the foundations of
prosperity, when the combined intelligence and virtue of the people
constituted a power working for righteousness, and that there came
a time when this nation became a spendthrift, when it ceased to
accumulate, when it lived on the labors of its youth, and passed from
strength and glory to the weakness of old age, and finally fell palsied
to its tomb.

The intelligence of man guided by a sense of duty is the only power that
makes for righteousness.

You tell me that I am waging "a hopeless war," and you give as a reason
that the Christian religion began to be nearly two thousand years before
I was born, and that it will live two thousand years after I am dead.

Is this an argument? Does it tend to convince even yourself? Could not
Caiaphas, the high priest, have said substantially this to Christ? Could
he not have said: "The religion of Jehovah began to be four thousand
years before you were born, and it will live two thousand years after
you are dead"? Could not a follower of Buddha make the same illogical
remark to a missionary from Andover with the glad tidings? Could he not
say: "You are waging a hopeless war. The religion of Buddha began to be
twenty-five hundred years before you were born, and hundreds of millions
of people still worship at Great Buddha's shrine"?

Do you insist that nothing except the right can live for two thousand
years? Why is it that the Catholic Church "lives on and on, while
nations and kingdoms perish"? Do you consider that the "survival of the
fittest"?

Is it the same Christian religion now living that lived during the
Middle Ages? Is it the same Christian religion that founded the
Inquisition and invented the thumbscrew? Do you see no difference
between the religion of Calvin and Jonathan Edwards and the Christianity
of to-day? Do you really think that it is the same Christianity that
has been living all these years? Have you noticed any change in the last
generation? Do you remember when scientists endeavored to prove a theory
by a passage from the Bible, and do you now know that believers in
the Bible are exceedingly anxious to prove its truth by some fact that
science has demonstrated? Do you know that the standard has changed?
Other things are not measured by the Bible, but the Bible has to submit
to another test. It no longer owns the scales. It has to be weighed,--it
is being weighed,--it is growing lighter and lighter every day. Do you
know that only a few years ago "the glad tidings of great joy"
consisted mostly in a description of hell? Do you know that nearly every
intelligent minister is now ashamed to preach about it, or to read about
it, or to talk about it? Is there any change? Do you know that but few
ministers now believe in the "plenary inspiration" of the Bible,
that from thousands of pulpits people are now told that the creation
according to Genesis is a mistake, that it, never was as wet as the
flood, and that the miracles of the Old Testament are considered simply
as myths or mistakes?

How long will what you call Christianity endure, if it changes as
rapidly during the next century as it has during the last? What will
there be left of the supernatural?

It does not seem possible that thoughtful people can, for many years,
believe that a being of infinite wisdom is the author of the Old
Testament, that a being of infinite purity and kindness upheld polygamy
and slavery, that he ordered his chosen people to massacre their
neighbors, and that he commanded husbands and fathers to persecute wives
and daughters unto death for opinion's sake.

It does not seem within the prospect of belief that Jehovah, the cruel,
the jealous, the ignorant, and the revengeful, is the creator and
preserver of the universe.

Does it seem possible that infinite goodness would create a world in
which life feeds on life, in which everything devours and is devoured?
Can there be a sadder fact than this: Innocence is not a certain shield?

It is impossible for me to believe in the eternity of punishment. If
that doctrine be true, Jehovah is insane.

Day after day there are mournful processions of men and women, patriots
and mothers, girls whose only crime is that the word Liberty burst into
flower between their pure and loving lips, driven like beasts across
the melancholy wastes of Siberian snow. These men, these women, these
daughters, go to exile and to slavery, to a land where hope is satisfied
with death. Does it seem possible to you that an "Infinite Father" sees
all this and sits as silent as a god of stone?

And yet, according to your Presbyterian creed, according to your
inspired book, according to your Christ, there is another procession, in
which are the noblest and the best, in which you will find the wondrous
spirits of this world, the lovers of the human race, the teachers of
their fellow-men, the greatest soldiers that ever battled for the right;
and this procession of countless millions, in which you will find the
most generous and the most loving of the sons and daughters of men, is
moving on to the Siberia of God, the land of eternal exile, where agony
becomes immortal.

How can you, how can any man with brain or heart, believe this infinite
lie?

Is there not room for a better, for a higher philosophy? After all, is
it not possible that we may find that everything has been necessarily
produced, that all religions and superstitions, all mistakes and all
crimes, were simply necessities? Is it not possible that out of this
perception may come not only love and pity for others, but absolute
justification for the individual? May we not find that every soul
has, like Mazeppa, been lashed to the wild horse of passion, or like
Prometheus to the rocks of fate?

You ask me to take the "sober second thought." I beg of you to take the
first, and if you do, you will throw away the Presbyterian creed; you
will instantly perceive that he who commits the "smallest sin" no
more deserves eternal pain than he who does the smallest virtuous deed
deserves eternal bliss; you will become convinced that an infinite God
who creates billions of men knowing that they will suffer through all
the countless years is an infinite demon; you will be satisfied that
the Bible, with its philosophy and its folly, with its goodness and its
cruelty, is but the work of man, and that the supernatural does not and
cannot exist.

For you personally, I have the highest regard and the sincerest
respect, and I beg of you not to pollute the soul of childhood, not
to furrow the cheeks of mothers, by preaching a creed that should be
shrieked in a mad-house. Do not make the cradle as terrible as the
coffin. Preach, I pray you, the gospel of Intellectual Hospitality--the
liberty of thought and speech. Take from loving hearts the awful fear.
Have mercy on your fellow-men. Do not drive to madness the mothers whose
tears are falling on the pallid faces of those who died in unbelief.
Pity the erring, wayward, suffering, weeping world. Do not proclaim as
"tidings of great joy" that an Infinite Spider is weaving webs to catch
the souls of men.

Robert G. Ingersoll.



A LAST WORD TO ROBERT G. INGERSOLL

My Dear Colonel Ingersoll:

I have read your Reply to my Open Letter half a dozen times, and each
time with new appreciation of your skill as an advocate. It is written
with great ingenuity, and furnishes probably as complete an argument as
you are able to give for the faith (or want of faith) that is in you.
Doubtless you think it unanswerable, and so it will seem to those who
are predisposed to your way of thinking. To quote a homely saying of Mr.
Lincoln, in which there is as much of wisdom as of wit, "For those who
like that sort of thing, no doubt that is the sort of thing they do
like." You may answer that we, who cling to the faith of our fathers,
are equally prejudiced, and that it is for that reason that we are not
more impressed by the force of your pleading. I do not deny a strong
leaning that way, and yet our real interest is the same--to get at the
truth; and, therefore, I have tried to give due weight to whatever of
argument there is in the midst of so much eloquence; but must confess
that, in spite of all, I remain in the same obdurate frame of mind as
before. With all the candor that I can bring to bear upon the question,
I find on reviewing my Open Letter scarcely a sentence to change and
nothing to withdraw; and am quite willing to leave it as my Declaration
of Faith, to stand side by side with your Reply, for intelligent and
candid men to judge between us. I need only to add a few words in taking
leave of the subject.

You seem a little disturbed that "some of my brethren" should look upon
you as "a monster" because of your unbelief. I certainly do not approve
of such language, although they would tell me that it is the only word
which is a fit response to your ferocious attacks upon what they hold
most sacred. You are a born gladiator, and when you descend into the
arena, you strike heavy blows, which provoke blows in return. In this
very Reply you manifest a particular animosity against Presbyterians.
Is it because you were brought up in that Church, of which your father,
whom you regard with filial respect and affection, was an honored
minister? You even speak of "the Presbyterian God!" as if we assumed to
appropriate the Supreme Being, claiming to be the special objects of
His favor. Is there any ground for this imputation of narrowness? On the
contrary, when we bow our knees before our Maker, it is as the God and
Father of all mankind; and the expression you permit yourself to use,
can only be regarded as grossly offensive. Was it necessary to offer
this rudeness to the religious denomination in which you were born?

And this may explain, what you do not seem fully to understand, why it
is that you are sometimes treated to sharp epithets by the religious
press and public. You think yourself persecuted for your opinions. But
others hold the same opinions without offence. Nor is it because you
express your opinions. Nobody would deny you the same freedom which is
accorded to Huxley or Herbert Spencer. It is not because you exercise
your liberty of judgment or of speech, but because of the way in which
you attack others, holding up their faith to all manner of ridicule,
and speaking of those who profess it as if they must be either knaves or
fools. It is not in human nature not to resent such imputations on that
which, however incredible to you, is very precious to them. Hence it is
that they think you a rough antagonist; and when you shock them by
such expressions as I have quoted, you must expect some pretty strong
language in return. I do not join them in this, because I know you,
and appreciate that other side of you which is manly and kindly and
chivalrous. But while I recognize these better qualities, I must add
in all frankness that I am compelled to look upon you as a man so
embittered against religion that you cannot think of it except as
associated with cant, bigotry, and hypocrisy. In such a state of mind
it is hardly possible for you to judge fairly of the arguments for its
truth.

I believe with you, that reason was given us to be exercised, and that
when man seeks after truth, his mind should be, as you say Darwin's was,
"as free from prejudice as the mariner's compass." But if he is warped
by passion so that he cannot see things truly, then is he responsible.
It is the moral element which alone makes the responsibility. Nor do I
believe that any man will be judged in this world or the next for what
does not involve a moral wrong. Hence your appalling statement, "The God
you worship will, according to your creed, torture (!) through all the
endless years the man who entertains an honest doubt," does not produce
the effect intended, simply because I do not affirm nor believe any such
thing. I believe that, in the future world, every man will be judged
according to the deeds done in the body, and that the judgment, whatever
it may be, will be transparently just. God is more merciful than man.
He desireth not the death of the wicked. Christ forgave, where men would
condemn, and whatever be the fate of any human soul, it can never be
said that the Supreme Ruler was wanting either in justice or mercy.
This I emphasize because you dwell so much upon the subject of future
retribution, giving it an attention so constant as to be almost
exclusive. Whatever else you touch upon, you soon come back to this as
the black thunder-cloud that darkens all the horizon, casting its
mighty shadows over the life that now is and that which is to come. Your
denunciations of this "inhuman" belief are so reiterated that one would
be left to infer that there is nothing else in Religion; that it is all
wrath and terror. But this is putting a part for the whole. Religion
is a vast system, of which this is but a single feature: it is but one
doctrine of many; and indeed some whom no one will deny to be devout
Christians, do not hold it at all, or only in a modified form, while
with all their hearts they accept and profess the Religion that Christ
came to bring into the world.

Archdeacon Farrar, of Westminster Abbey, the most eloquent preacher in
the Church of England, has written a book entitled "Eternal Hope," in
which he argues from reason and the Bible, that this life is not "the
be-all and end-all" of human probation; but that in the world to come
there will be another opportunity, when countless millions, made wiser
by unhappy experience, will turn again to the paths of life; and that so
in the end the whole human race, with the exception of perhaps a few who
remain irreclaimable, will be recovered and made happy forever. Others
look upon "eternal death" as merely the extinction of being, while
immortality is the reward of pre-eminent virtue, interpreting in that
sense the words, "The wages of sin is death but the gift of God is
eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord." The latter view might
recommend itself to you as the application of "the survival of the
fittest" to another world, the worthless, the incurably bad, of the
human race being allowed to drop out of existence (an end which can
have no terrors for you, since you look upon it as the common lot of all
men,) while the good are continued in being forever. The acceptance
of either of these theories would relieve your mind of that "horror of
great darkness" which seems to come over it whenever you look forward to
retribution beyond the grave.

But while conceding all liberty to others I cannot so easily relieve
myself of this stern and rugged truth. To me moral evil in the universe
is a tremendous reality, and I do not see how to limit it within the
bounds of time. Retribution is to me a necessary part of the Divine law.
A law without a penalty for its violations is no law. But I rest the
argument for it, not on the Bible, but _on principles which you yourself
acknowledge_. You say, "There are no punishments, no rewards: there are
consequences." Very well, take the "consequences," and see where they
lead you. When a man by his vices has reduced his body to a wreck and
his mind to idiocy, you say this is the "consequence" of his vicious
life. Is it a great stretch of language to say that it is his
"punishment," and nonetheless punishment because self-inflicted? To the
poor sufferer raving in a madhouse, it matters little what it is called,
so long as he is experiencing the agonies of hell. And here your theory
of "consequences," if followed up, will lead you very far. For if
man lives after death, and keeps his personal identity, do not the
"consequences" of his past life follow him into the future? And if his
existence is immortal, are not the consequences immortal also? And what
is this but endless retribution?

But you tell me that the moral effect of retribution is destroyed by the
easy way in which a man escapes the penalty. He has but to repent, and
he is restored to the same condition before the law as if he had not
sinned. Not so do I understand it. "I believe in the forgiveness of
sins," but forgiveness does not reverse the course of nature; it does
not prevent the operation of natural law. A drunkard may repent as he is
nearing his end, but that does not undo the wrong that he has done, nor
avert the consequences. In spite of his tears, he dies in an agony of
shame and remorse. The inexorable law must be fulfilled.

And so in the future world. Even though a man be forgiven, he does not
wholly escape the evil of his past life. A retribution follows him even
within the heavenly gates; for if he does not suffer, still that bad
life has so shriveled up his moral nature as to diminish his power of
enjoyment. There are degrees of happiness, as one star differeth from
another star in glory; and he who begins wrong, will find that it is
not as well to sin and repent of it as not to sin at all. He enters the
other world in a state of spiritual infancy, and will have to begin at
the bottom and climb slowly upward.

We might go a step farther, and say that perhaps heaven itself has not
only its lights but its shadows, in the reflections that must come even
there. We read of "the book of God's remembrance," but is there not
another book of remembrance in the mind itself--a book which any man may
well fear to open and to look thereon? When that book is opened, and we
read its awful pages, shall we not all think "what might have been?" And
will those thoughts be wholly free from sadness? The drunken brute who
breaks the heart that loved him may weep bitterly, and his poor wife may
forgive him with her dying lips; but _he cannot forgive himself _, and
_never_ can he recall without grief that bowed head and that broken
heart. This preserves the element of retribution, while it does not shut
the door to forgiveness and mercy.

But we need not travel over again the round of Christian doctrines.
My faith is very simple; it revolves around two words; God and
Christ. These are the two centres, or, as an astronomer might say, the
double-star, or double-sun, of the great orbit of religious truth.

As to the first of these, you say "There can be no evidence to my mind
of the existence of such a being, and my mind is so that it is incapable
of even thinking of an infinite personality;" and you gravely put to me
this question: "Do you really believe that this world is governed by an
infinitely wise and good God? Have you convinced even yourself of this?"
Here are two questions--one as to the existence of God, and the other
as to His benevolence. I will answer both in language as plain as it is
possible for me to use.

First, Do I believe in the existence of God? I answer that it is
impossible for me not to believe it. I could not disbelieve it if I
would. You insist that belief or unbelief is not a matter of choice or
of the will, but of evidence. You say "the brain thinks as the
heart beats, as the eyes see." Then let us stand aside with all our
prepossessions, and open our eyes to what we can see.

When Robinson Crusoe in his desert island came down one day to the
seashore, and saw in the sand the print of a human foot, could he help
the instantaneous conviction that a man had been there? You might have
tried to persuade him that it was all chance,--that the sand had been
washed up by the waves or blown by the winds, and taken this form, or
that some marine insect had traced a figure like a human foot,--you
would not have moved him a particle. The imprint was there, and the
conclusion was irresistible: he did not believe--he knew that some human
being, whether friend or foe, civilized or savage, had set his foot upon
that desolate shore. So when I discover in the world (as I think I do)
mysterious footprints that are certainly not human, it is not a question
whether I shall believe or not: I cannot help believing that some Power
greater than man has set foot upon the earth.

It is a fashion among atheistic philosophers to make light of the
argument from design; but "my mind is so that it is incapable" of
resisting the conclusion to which it leads me. And (since personal
questions are in order) I beg to ask if it is possible for you to take
in your hands a watch, and believe that there was no "design" in its
construction; that it was not made to keep time, but only "happened" so;
that it is the product of some freak of nature, which brought together
its parts and set it going. Do you not know with as much positiveness as
can belong to any conviction of your mind, that it was not the work of
accident, but of design; and that if there was a design, there was a
designer? And if the watch was made to keep time, was not the eye made
to see and the ear to hear? Skeptics may fight against this argument as
much as they please, and try to evade the inevitable conclusion, and
yet it remains forever entwined in the living frame of man as well as
imbedded in the solid foundations of the globe. Wherefore I repeat, it
is not a question with me whether I will believe or not--I cannot help
believing; and I am not only surprised, but amazed, that you or
any thoughtful man can come to any other conclusion.' In wonder and
astonishment I ask, "Do you really believe" that in all the wide
universe there is no Higher Intelligence than that of the poor human
creatures that creep on this earthly ball? For myself, it is with the
pro-foundest conviction as well as the deepest reverence that I repeat
the first sentence of my faith: "I believe in God the Father Almighty."

And not the Almighty only, but the Wise and the Good. Again I ask, How
can I help believing what I see every day of my life? Every morning,
as the sun rises in the East, sending light and life over the world, I
behold a glorious image of the beneficent Creator. The exquisite beauty
of the dawn, the dewy freshness of the air, the fleecy clouds floating
in the sky--all speak of Him. And when the sun goes down, sending shafts
of light through the dense masses that would hide his setting, and
casting a glory over the earth and sky, this wondrous illumination is
to me but the reflection of Him who "spreadeth out the heavens like a
curtain; who maketh the clouds His chariot; who walketh upon the wings
of the wind."

How much more do we find the evidences of goodness in man himself:
in the power of thought; of acquiring knowledge; of penetrating the
mysteries of nature and climbing among the stars. Can a being endowed
with such transcendent gifts doubt the goodness of his Creator?

Yes, I believe with all my heart and soul in One who is not only
Infinitely Great, but Infinitely Good; who loves all the creatures He
has made; bending over them as the bow in the cloud spans the arch of
heaven, stretching from horizon to horizon; looking down upon them with
a tenderness compared to which all human love is faint and cold. "Like
as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear
Him; for He knoweth our frame, He remembereth that we are dust."

On the question of immortality you are equally "at sea." You know
nothing and believe nothing; or, rather, you know only that you do not
know, and believe that you do not believe. You confess indeed to a faint
hope, and admit a bare possibility, that there may be another life,
though you are in an uncertainty about it that is altogether bewildering
and desperate. But your mind is so poetical that you give a certain
attractiveness even to the prospect of annihilation. You strew the
sepulchre with such flowers as these:

"I have said a thousand times, and I say again, that the idea of
immortality, that like a sea has ebbed and flowed in the human heart,
with its countless waves of hope and fear beating against the shores and
rocks of time and fate, was not born of any book, nor of any creed, nor
of any religion. It was born of human affection, and it will continue to
ebb and flow beneath the mists and clouds of doubt and darkness as long
as love kisses the lips of death.

"I have said a thousand times, and I say again, that we do not know, we
cannot say, whether death is a wall or a door; the beginning or end of a
day; the spreading of pinions to soar, or the folding forever of wings;
the rise or the set of a sun, or an endless life that brings rapture and
love to every one."

Beautiful words! but inexpressibly sad! It is a silver lining to the
cloud, and yet the cloud is there, dark and impenetrable. But perhaps
we ought not to expect anything clearer and brighter from one who
recognizes no light but that of Nature.

That light is very dim. If it were all we had, we should be just where
Cicero was, and say with him, and with you, that a future life was "to
be hoped for rather than believed." But does not that very uncertainty
show the need of a something above Nature, which is furnished in Him who
"was crucified, dead and buried, and the third day rose again from the
dead?" It is the Conqueror of Death who calls to the fainthearted: "I am
the Resurrection and the Life." Since He has gone before us, lighting
up the dark passage of the grave, we need not fear to follow, resting on
the word of our Leader: "Because I live, ye shall live also."

This faith in another life is a precious inheritance, which cannot
be torn from the agonized bosom without a wrench that tears every
heartstring; and it was to this I referred as the last refuge of a poor,
suffering, despairing soul, when I asked: "Does it never occur to you
that there is something very cruel in this treatment of the belief of
your fellow-creatures, on whose hope of another life hangs all that
relieves the darkness of their present existence?" The imputation of
cruelty you repel with some warmth, saying (with a slight variation of
my language): "_When I deny the existence of perdition_, you reply that
there is something very cruel in this treatment of the belief of my
fellow-creatures." Of course, this change of words, putting perdition in
the place of immortal life and hope, was a mere inadvertence. But it
was enough to change the whole character of what I wrote. As I described
"the treatment of the belief of my fellow-creatures," I did think it
"very cruel," and I think so still.

While correcting this slight misquotation, I must remove from your mind
a misapprehension, which is so very absurd as to be absolutely comical.
In my Letter referring to your disbelief of immortality, I had said:
"With an air of modesty and diffidence that would carry an audience
by storm, you confess your ignorance of what perhaps others are better
acquainted with, when you say, 'This world is all that I know anything
about, _so far as I recollect_'" Of course "what perhaps others are
better acquainted with" was a part of what you said, or at least implied
by your manner (for you do not convey your meaning merely by words,
but by a tone of voice, by arched eyebrows, or a curled lip); and yet,
instead of taking the sentence in its plain and obvious sense, you
affect to understand it as an assumption on my part to have some private
and mysterious knowledge of another world (!), and gravely ask me, "Did
you by this intend to say that you know anything of any other state of
existence; that you have inhabited some other planet; that you lived
before you were born; and that you recollect something of that other
world or of that other state?" No, my dear Colonel! I have been a good
deal of a traveler, and have seen all parts of this world, but I have
never visited any other. In reading your sober question, if I did not
know you to be one of the brightest wits of the day, I should be tempted
to quote what Sidney Smith says of a Scotchman, that "you cannot get a
joke into his head except by a surgical operation!"

But to return to what is serious: you make light of our faith and
our hopes, because you know not the infinite solace they bring to the
troubled human heart. You sneer at the idea that religion can be a
"consolation." Indeed! Is it not a consolation to have an Almighty
Friend? Was it a light matter for the poor slave mother, who sat alone
in her cabin, having been robbed of her children, to sing in her wild,
wailing accents:

     "Nobody knows the sorrows I've seen:
     Nobody knows but Jesus?"

Would you rob her of that Unseen Friend--the only Friend she had on
earth or in heaven?

But I will do you the justice to say that your want of religious faith
comes in part from your very sensibility and tenderness of heart. You
cannot recognize an overruling Providence, because your mind is so
harassed by scenes that you witness. Why, you ask, do men suffer so? You
draw frightful pictures of the misery which exists in the world, as a
proof of the incapacity of its Ruler and Governor, and do not hesitate
to say that "any honest man of average intelligence could do vastly
better." If you could have your way, you would make everybody happy;
there should be no more poverty, and no more sickness or pain.

This is a pleasant picture to look at, and yet you must excuse me for
saying that it is rather a child's picture than that of a stalwart man.
The world is not a playground in which men are to be petted and indulged
like children: spoiled children they would soon become. It is an arena
of conflict, in which we are to develop the manhood that is in us. We
all have to take the "rough-and-tumble" of life, and are the better
for it--physically, intellectually, and morally. If there be any true
manliness within us, we come out of the struggle stronger and better;
with larger minds and kinder hearts; a broader wisdom and a gentler
charity.

Perhaps we should not differ on this point if we could agree as to the
true end of life. But here I fear the difference is irreconcilable. You
think that end is happiness: I think it is character. I do not believe
that the highest end of life upon earth is to "have a good time to get
from it the utmost amount of enjoyment;" but to be truly and greatly
GOOD; and that to that end no discipline can be too severe which leads
us "to suffer and be strong." That discipline answers its end when it
raises the spirit to the highest pitch of courage and endurance. The
splendor of virtue never appears so bright as when set against a dark
background. It was in prisons and dungeons that the martyrs showed the
greatest degree of moral heroism, the power of

     "Man's unconquerable mind."

But I know well that these illustrations do not cover the whole case.
There is another picture to be added to those of heroic struggle and
martyrdom--that of silent suffering, which makes of life one long agony,
and which often comes upon the good, so that it seems as if the best
suffered the most. And yet when you sit by a sick bed, and look into a
face whiter than the pillow on which it rests, do you not sometimes mark
how that very suffering refines the nature that bears it so meekly? This
is the Christian theory: that suffering, patiently borne, is a means
of the greatest elevation of character, and, in the end, of the highest
enjoyment. Looking at it in this light, we can understand how it should
be that "the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be
compared [or even to be named] with the glory which shall be revealed."
When the heavenly morning breaks, brighter than any dawn that blushes
"o'er the world," there will be "a restitution of all things:" the poor
will be made rich, and the most suffering the most serenely happy; as in
the vision of the Apocalypse, when it is asked "What are these which are
arrayed in white robes, and whence came they?" the answer is, "These are
they which came our of great tribulation."

In this conclusion, which is not adopted lightly, but after innumerable
struggles with doubt, after the experience and the reflection of years,
I feel "a great peace." It is the glow of sunset that gilds the approach
of evening. For (we must confess it) it is towards that you and I are
advancing. The sun has passed the meridian, and hastens to his going
down. Whatever of good this life has for us (and I am far from being one
of those who look upon it as a vale of tears) will soon be behind us. I
see the shadows creeping on; yet I welcome the twilight that will soon
darken into night, for I know that it will be a night all glorious with
stars. As I look upward, the feeling of awe is blended with a strange,
overpowering sense of the Infinite Goodness, which surrounding me like
an atmosphere:

     "And so beside the Silent Sea,
     I wait the muffled oar;
     No harm from Him can come to me
     On ocean or on shore.

     I know not where His Islands lift
     Their fronded palms in air;
     I only know I cannot drift
     Beyond His love and care."

Would that you could share with me this confidence and this hope! But
you seem to be receding farther from any kind of faith. In one of your
closing paragraphs, you give what is to you "the conclusion of the whole
matter." After repudiating religion with scorn, you ask, "Is there not
room for a better, for a higher philosophy?" and thus indicate the true
answer to be given, to which no words can do justice but your own:

"After all, is it not possible that we may find that everything has been
necessarily produced; that all religions and superstitions, all mistakes
and all crimes, were simply necessities? Is it not possible that out of
this perception may come not only love and pity for others, but absolute
justification for the individual? May we not find that every soul
has, like Mazeppa, been lashed to the wild horse of passion, or like
Prometheus to the rocks of fate?"

If this be the end of all philosophy, it is equally the end of "all
things." Not only does it make an end of us and of our hopes of
futurity, but of all that makes the present life worth living--of
all freedom, and hence of all virtue. There are no more any moral
distinctions in the world--no good and no evil, no right and no wrong;
nothing but grim necessity. With such a creed, I wonder how you can ever
stand at the bar, and argue for the conviction of a criminal. Why should
he be convicted and punished for what he could not help? Indeed he is
not a criminal, since there is no such thing as crime. He is not to
blame. Was he not "lashed to the wild horse of passion," carried away by
a power beyond his control?

What cruelty to thrust him behind iron bars! Poor fellow! he deserves
our pity. Let us hasten to relieve him from a position which must be so
painful, and make our humble apology for having presumed to punish him
for an act in which he only obeyed an impulse which he could not resist.
This will be "absolute justification for the individual." But what will
become of society, you do not tell us.

Are you aware that in this last attainment of "a better, a higher
philosophy" (which is simply absolute fatalism), you have swung round
to the side of John Calvin, and gone far beyond him? That you, who have
exhausted all the resources of the English language in denouncing
his creed as the most horrible of human beliefs--brainless, soulless,
heartless; who have held it up to scorn and derision; now hold to the
blackest Calvinism that was ever taught by man? You cannot find words
sufficient to express your horror of the doctrine of Divine decrees;
and yet here you have decrees with a vengeance--predestination and
damnation, both in one. Under such a creed, man is a thousand times
worse off than under ours: for he has absolutely no hope. You may say
that at any rate he cannot suffer forever. You do not know even that;
but at any rate _he suffers as long as he exists_. There is no God above
to show him pity, and grant him release; but as long as the ages roll,
he is "lashed to the rocks of fate," with the insatiate vulture tearing
at his heart!

In reading your glittering phrases, I seem to be losing hold of
everything, and to be sinking, sinking, till I touch the lowest
depths of an abyss; while from the blackness above me a sound like a
death-knell tolls the midnight of the soul. If I believed this I should
cry, God help us all! Or no--for there would be no God, and even this
last consolation would be denied us: for why should we offer a prayer
which can neither be heard nor answered? As well might we ask mercy from
"the rocks of fate" to which we are chained forever!

Recoiling from this Gospel of Despair, I turn to One in whose face there
is something at once human and divine--an indescribable majesty, united
with more than human tenderness and pity; One who was born among the
poor, and had not where to lay His head, and yet went about doing good;
poor, yet making many rich; who trod the world in deepest loneliness,
and yet whose presence lighted up every dwelling into which He came; who
took up little children in His arms, and blessed them; a giver of joy to
others, and yet a sufferer himself; who tasted every human sorrow, and
yet was always ready to minister to others' grief; weeping with them
that wept; coming to Bethany to comfort Mary and Martha concerning their
brother; rebuking the proud, but gentle and pitiful to the most abject
of human creatures; stopping amid the throng at the cry of a blind
beggar by the wayside; willing to be known as "the friend of sinners,"
if He might recall them into the way of peace; who did not scorn even
the fallen woman who sank at His feet, but by His gentle word, "Neither
do I condemn thee; go and sin no more," lifted her up, and set her in
the path of a virtuous womanhood; and who, when dying on the cross,
prayed: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." In this
Friend of the friendless, Comforter of the comfortless, Forgiver of the
penitent, and Guide of the erring, I find a greatness that I had not
found in any of the philosophers or teachers of the world. No voice
in all the ages thrills me like that which whispers close to my heart,
"Come unto me and I will give you rest," to which I answer: This is my
Master, and I will follow Him.

Henry M. Field.



LETTER TO DR. FIELD.

My Dear Mr. Field:

With great pleasure I have read your second letter, in which you seem to
admit that men may differ even about religion without being responsible
for that difference; that every man has the right to read the Bible for
himself, state freely the conclusion at which he arrives, and that it is
not only his privilege, but his duty to speak the truth; that Christians
can hardly be happy in heaven, while those they loved on earth are
suffering with the lost; that it is not a crime to investigate, to
think, to reason, to observe, and to be governed by evidence; that
credulity is not a virtue, and that the open mouth of ignorant wonder
is not the only entrance to Paradise; that belief is not necessary to
salvation, and that no man can justly be made to suffer eternal pain for
having expressed an intellectual conviction.

You seem to admit that no man can justly be held responsible for his
thoughts; that the brain thinks without asking our consent, and that we
believe or disbelieve without an effort of the will.

I congratulate you upon the advance that you have made. You not only
admit that we have the right to think, but that we have the right to
express our honest thoughts. You admit that the Christian world no
longer believes in the fagot, the dungeon, and the thumbscrew. Has the
Christian world outgrown its God? Has man become more merciful than his
maker? If man will not torture his fellow-man on account of a difference
of opinion, will a God of infinite love torture one of his children for
what is called the sin of unbelief? Has man outgrown the Inquisition,
and will God forever be the warden of a penitentiary? The walls of the
old dungeons have fallen, and light now visits the cell where brave
men perished in darkness. Is Jehovah to keep the cells of perdition in
repair forever, and are his children to be the eternal prisoners?

It seems hard for you to appreciate the mental condition of one who
regards all gods as substantially the same; that is to say, who thinks
of them all as myths and phantoms born of the imagination,--characters
in the religious fictions of the race. To you it probably seems strange
that a man should think far more of Jupiter than of Jehovah. Regarding
them both as creations of the mind, I choose between them, and I prefer
the God of the Greeks, on the same principle that I prefer Portia
to Iago; and yet I regard them, one and all, as children of the
imagination, as phantoms born of human fears and human hopes.

Surely nothing was further from my mind than to hurt the feelings of any
one by speaking of the Presbyterian God. I simply intended to speak of
the God of the Presbyterians. Certainly the God of the Presbyterian
is not the God of the Catholic, nor is he the God of the Mohammedan or
Hindoo. He is a special creation suited only to certain minds. These
minds have naturally come together, and they form what we call the
Presbyterian Church. As a matter of fact, no two churches can by any
possibility have precisely the same God; neither can any two human
beings conceive of precisely the same Deity. In every man's God there
is, to say the least, a part of that man. The lower the man, the lower
his conception of God. The higher the man, the grander his Deity must
be. The savage who adorns his body with a belt from which hang the
scalps of enemies slain in battle, has no conception of a loving, of
a forgiving God; his God, of necessity, must be as revengeful, as
heartless, as infamous as the God of John Calvin.

You do not exactly appreciate my feeling. I do not hate Presbyterians; I
hate Presbyterianism. I hate with all my heart the creed of that church,
and I most heartily despise the God described in the Confession of
Faith. But some of the best friends I have in the world are afflicted
with the mental malady known as Presbyterianism. They are the victims of
the consolation growing out of the belief that a vast majority of their
fellow-men are doomed to suffer eternal torment, to the end that their
Creator may be eternally glorified. I have said many times, and I say
again, that I do not despise a man because he has the rheumatism; I
despise the rheumatism because it has a man.

But I do insist that the Presbyterians have assumed to appropriate to
themselves their Supreme Being, and that they have claimed, and that
they do claim, to be the "special objects of his favor." They do claim
to be the very elect, and they do insist that God looks upon them as
the objects of his special care. They do claim that the light of Nature,
without the torch of the Presbyterian creed, is insufficient to guide
any soul to the gate of heaven. They do insist that even those who never
heard of Christ, or never heard of the God of the Presbyterians, will be
eternally lost; and they not only claim this, but that their fate will
illustrate not only the justice but the mercy of God. Not only so, but
they insist that the morality of an unbeliever is displeasing to God,
and that the love of an unconverted mother for her helpless child is
nothing less than sin.

When I meet a man who really believes the Presbyterian creed, I think of
the Laocoon. I feel as though looking upon a human being helpless in the
coils of an immense and poisonous serpent. But I congratulate you with
all my heart that you have repudiated this infamous, this savage creed;
that you now admit that reason was given us to be exercised; that God
will not torture any man for entertaining an honest doubt, and that in
the world to come "every man will be judged according to the deeds done
in the body."

Let me quote your exact language: "I believe that in the future world
every man will be judged according to the deeds done in the body." Do
you not see that you have bidden farewell to the Presbyterian Church?
In that sentence you have thrown away the atonement, you have denied the
efficacy of the blood of Jesus Christ, and you have denied the necessity
of belief. If we are to be judged by the deeds done in the body, that
is the end of the Presbyterian scheme of salvation. I sincerely
congratulate you for having repudiated the savagery of Calvinism.

It also gave me great pleasure to find that you have thrown away, with
a kind of glad shudder, that infamy of infamies, the dogma of eternal
pain. I have denounced that inhuman belief; I have denounced every creed
that had coiled within it that viper; I have denounced every man who
preached it, the book that contains it, and with all my heart the God
who threatens it; and at last I have the happiness of seeing the editor
of the New York _Evangelist_ admit that devout Christians do not believe
that lie, and quote with approbation the words of a minister of the
Church of England to the effect that all men will be finally recovered
and made happy.

Do you find this doctrine of hope in the Presbyterian creed? Is this
star, that sheds light on every grave, found in your Bible? Did Christ
have in his mind the shining truth that all the children of men will at
last be filled with joy, when he uttered these comforting words: "Depart
from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his
angels"?

Do you find in this flame the bud of hope, or the flower of promise?

You suggest that it is possible that "the incurably bad will be
annihilated," and you say that such a fate can have no terrors for me,
as I look upon annihilation as the common lot of all. Let us examine
this position. Why should a God of infinite wisdom create men and women
whom he knew would be "incurably bad"? What would you say of a mechanic
who was forced to destroy his own productions on the ground that they
were "incurably bad"? Would you say that he was an infinitely wise
mechanic? Does infinite justice annihilate the work of infinite wisdom?
Does God, like an ignorant doctor, bury his mistakes?

Besides, what right have you to say that I "look upon annihilation as
the common lot of all"? Was there any such thought in my Reply? Do you
find it in any published words of mine? Do you find anything in what I
have written tending to show that I believe in annihilation? Is it not
true that I say now, and that I have always said, that I do not know?
Does a lack of knowledge as to the fate of the human soul imply a belief
in annihilation? Does it not equally imply a belief in immortality?

You have been--at least until recently--a believer in the inspiration
of the Bible and in the truth of its every word. What do you say to the
following: "For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts;
even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other;
yea, they have all one breath; so that a man hath no pre-eminence above
a beast." You will see that the inspired writer is not satisfied with
admitting that he does not know. "As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth
away; so he that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more." Was it
not cruel for an inspired man to attack a sacred belief?

You seem surprised that I should speak of the doctrine of eternal pain
as "the black thunder-cloud that darkens all the horizon, casting its
mighty shadows over the life that now is and that which is to come."
If that doctrine be true, what else is there worthy of engaging the
attention of the human mind? It is the blackness that extinguishes
every star. It is the abyss in which every hope must perish. It leaves a
universe without justice and without mercy--a future without one ray
of light, and a present with nothing but fear. It makes heaven an
impossibility, God an infinite monster, and man an eternal victim.
Nothing can redeem a religion in which this dogma is found. Clustered
about it are all the snakes of the Furies.

But you have abandoned this infamy, and you have admitted that we are to
be judged according to the deeds done in the body. Nothing can be nearer
self-evident than the fact that a finite being cannot commit an infinite
sin; neither can a finite being do an infinitely good deed. That is to
say, no one can deserve for any act eternal pain, and no one for any
deed can deserve eternal joy. If we are to be judged by the deeds done
in the body, the old orthodox hell and heaven both become impossible.

So, too, you have recognized the great and splendid truth that sin
cannot be predicated of an intellectual conviction. This is the first
great step toward the liberty of soul. You admit that there is no
morality and no immorality in belief--that is to say, in the simple
operation of the mind in weighing evidence, in observing facts, and in
drawing conclusions. You admit that these things are without sin and
without guilt. Had all men so believed there never could have been
religious persecution--the Inquisition could not have been built, and
the idea of eternal pain never could have polluted the human heart.

You have been driven to the passions for the purpose of finding what you
are pleased to call "sin" and "responsibility" and you say, speaking of
a human being, "but if he is warped by passion so that he cannot see
things truly, then is he responsible." One would suppose that the use of
the word "cannot" is inconsistent with the idea of responsibility. What
is passion? There are certain desires, swift, thrilling, that quicken
the action of the heart--desires that fill the brain with blood, with
fire and flame--desires that bear the same relation to judgment that
storms and waves bear to the compass on a ship. Is passion necessarily
produced? Is there an adequate cause for every effect? Can you by any
possibility think of an effect without a cause, and can you by any
possibility think of an effect that is not a cause, or can you think of
a cause that is not an effect? Is not the history of real civilization
the slow and gradual emancipation of the intellect, of the judgment,
from the mastery of passion? Is not that man civilized whose reason sits
the crowned monarch of his brain--whose passions are his servants?

Who knows the strength of the temptation to another? Who knows how
little has been resisted by those who stand, how much has been resisted
by those who fall? Who knows whether the victor or the victim made the
braver and the more gallant fight? In judging of our fellow-men we
must take into consideration the circumstances of ancestry, of race,
of nationality, of employment, of opportunity, of education, and of the
thousand influences that tend to mold or mar the character of man. Such
a view is the mother of charity, and makes the God of the Presbyterians
impossible.

At last you have seen the impossibility of forgiveness. That is to say,
you perceive that after forgiveness the crime remains, and its children,
called consequences, still live. You recognize the lack of philosophy
in that doctrine. You still believe in what you call "the forgiveness
of sins," but you admit that forgiveness cannot reverse the course of
nature, and cannot prevent the operation of natural law. You also admit
that if a man lives after death, he preserves his personal identity, his
memory, and that the consequences of his actions will follow him through
all the eternal years. You admit that consequences are immortal. After
making this admission, of what use is the old idea of the forgiveness
of sins? How can the criminal be washed clean and pure in the blood of
another? In spite of this forgiveness, in spite of this blood, you have
taken the ground that consequences, like the dogs of Actæon, follow even
a Presbyterian, even one of the elect, within the heavenly gates. If you
wish to be logical, you must also admit that the consequences of good
deeds, like winged angels, follow even the atheist within the gates of
hell.

You have had the courage of your convictions, and you have said that
we are to be judged according to the deeds done in the body. By that
judgment I am willing to abide. But, whether willing or not, I must
abide, because there is no power, no God that can step between me and
the consequences of my acts. I wish no heaven that I have not earned,
no happiness to which I am not entitled. I do not wish to become an
immortal pauper; neither am I willing to extend unworthy hands for alms.

My dear Mr. Field, you have outgrown your creed--as every Presbyterian
must who grows at all. You are far better than the spirit of the Old
Testament; far better, in my judgment, even than the spirit of the New.
The creed that you have left behind, that you have repudiated, teaches
that a man may be guilty of every crime--that he may have driven his
wife to insanity, that his example may have led his children to the
penitentiary, or to the gallows, and that yet, at the eleventh hour, he
may, by what is called "repentance," be washed absolutely pure by
the blood of another and receive and wear upon his brow the laurels of
eternal peace. Not only so, but that creed has taught that this wretch
in heaven could look back on the poor earth and see the wife, whom he
swore to love and cherish, in the mad-house, surrounded by imaginary
serpents, struggling in the darkness of night, made insane by his
heartlessness--that creed has taught and teaches that he could look back
and see his children in prison cells, or on the scaffold with the noose
about their necks, and that these visions would not bring a shade of
sadness to his redeemed and happy face. It is this doctrine, it is this
dogma--so bestial, so savage as to beggar all the languages of men--that
I have denounced. All the words of hatred, loathing and contempt, found
in all the dialects and tongues of men, are not sufficient to express my
hatred, my contempt, and my loathing of this creed.

You say that it is impossible for you not to believe in the existence of
God. With this statement, I find no fault. Your mind is so that a belief
in the existence of a Supreme Being gives satisfaction and content. Of
course, you are entitled to no credit for this belief, as you ought
not to be rewarded for believing that which you cannot help believing;
neither should I be punished for failing to believe that which I cannot
believe.

You believe because you see in the world around you such an adaptation
of means to ends that you are satisfied there is design. I admit that
when Robinson Crusoe saw in the sand the print of a human foot, like and
yet unlike his own, he was justified in drawing the conclusion that
a human being had been there. The inference was drawn from his own
experience, and was within the scope of his own mind. But I do not
agree with you that he "knew" a human being had been there; he had only
sufficient evidence upon which to found a belief. He did not know the
footsteps of all animals; he could not have known that no animal except
man could have made that footprint: In order to have known that it was
the foot of man, he must have known that no other animal was capable of
making it, and he must have known that no other being had produced in
the sand the likeness of this human foot.

You see what you call evidences of intelligence in the universe, and you
draw the conclusion that there must be an infinite intelligence. Your
conclusion is far wider than your premise. Let us suppose, as Mr.
Hume supposed, that there is a pair of scales, one end of which is
in darkness, and you find that a pound weight, or a ten-pound weight,
placed upon that end of the scale in the light is raised; have you the
right to say that there is an infinite weight on the end in darkness, or
are you compelled to say only that there is weight enough on the end in
darkness to raise the weight on the end in light?

It is illogical to say, because of the existence of this earth and
of what you can see in and about it, that there must be an infinite
intelligence. You do not know that even the creation of this world,
and of all planets discovered, required an infinite power, or infinite
wisdom. I admit that it is impossible for me to look at a watch and draw
the inference that there was no design in its construction, or that
it only happened. I could not regard it as a product of some freak of
nature, neither could I imagine that its various parts were brought
together and set in motion by chance. I am not a believer in chance. But
there is a vast difference between what man has made and the materials
of which he has constructed the things he has made. You find a watch,
and you say that it exhibits, or shows design. You insist that it is so
wonderful it must have had a designer--in other words, that it is too
wonderful not to have been constructed. You then find the watchmaker,
and you say with regard to him that he too must have had a designer, for
he is more wonderful than the watch. In imagagination you go from
the watchmaker to the being you call God, and you say he designed the
watchmaker, but he himself was not designed because he is too wonderful
to have been designed. And yet in the case of the watch and of the
watchmaker, it was the wonder that suggested design, while in the case
of the maker of the watchmaker the wonder denied a designer. Do you not
see that this argument devours itself?

If wonder suggests a designer, can it go on increasing until it denies
that which it suggested?

You must remember, too, that the argument of design is applicable to
all. You are not at liberty to stop at sunrise and sunset and growing
corn and all that adds to the happiness of man; you must go further. You
must admit that an infinitely wise and merciful God designed the fangs
of serpents, the machinery by which the poison is distilled, the ducts
by which it is carried to the fang, and that the same intelligence
impressed this serpent with a desire to deposit this deadly virus in
the flesh of man. You must believe that an infinitely wise God so
constructed this world, that in the process of cooling, earthquakes
would be caused--earthquakes that devour and overwhelm cities and
states. Do you see any design in the volcano that sends its rivers of
lava over the fields and the homes of men? Do you really think that a
perfectly good being designed the invisible parasites that infest the
air, that inhabit the water, and that finally attack and destroy the
health and life of man? Do you see the same design in cancers that you
do in wheat and corn? Did God invent tumors for the brain? Was it his
ingenuity that so designed the human race that millions of people should
be born deaf and dumb, that millions should be idiotic? Did he knowingly
plant in the blood or brain the seeds of insanity? Did he cultivate
those seeds? Do you see any design in this?

Man calls that good which increases his happiness, and that evil which
gives him pain. In the olden time, back of the good he placed a God;
back of the evil a devil; but now the orthodox world is driven to admit
that the God is the author of all.

For my part, I see no goodness in the pestilence--no mercy in the bolt
that leaps from the cloud and leaves the mark of death on the breast of
a loving mother. I see no generosity in famine, no goodness in disease,
no mercy in want and agony.

And yet you say that the being who created parasites that live only
by inflicting pain--the being responsible for all the sufferings of
mankind--you say that he has "a tenderness compared to which all human
love is faint and cold." Yet according to the doctrine of the orthodox
world, this being of infinite love and tenderness so created nature
that its light misleads, and left a vast majority of the human race to
blindly grope their way to endless pain.

You insist that a knowledge of God--a belief in God--is the foundation
of social order; and yet this God of infinite tenderness has left for
thousands and thousands of years nearly all of his children without a
revelation. Why should infinite goodness leave the existence of God in
doubt? Why should he see millions in savagery destroying the lives of
each other, eating the flesh of each other, and keep his existence a
secret from man? Why did he allow the savages to depend on sunrise
and sunset and clouds? Why did he leave this great truth to a few
half-crazed prophets, or to a cruel, heartless, and ignorant church? The
sentence "There is a God".could have been imprinted on every blade of
grass, on every leaf, on every star. An infinite God has no excuse for
leaving his children in doubt and darkness.

There is still another point. You know that for thousands of ages men
worshiped wild beasts as God. You know that for countless generations
they knelt by coiled serpents, believing those serpents to be gods. Why
did the real God secrete himself and allow his poor, ignorant, savage
children to imagine that he was a beast, a serpent? Why did this God
allow mothers to sacrifice their babes? Why did he not emerge from the
darkness? Why did he not say to the poor mother, "Do not sacrifice your
babe; keep it in your arms; press it to your bosom; let it be the solace
of your declining years. I take no delight in the death of children; I
am not what you suppose me to be; I am not a beast; I am not a serpent;
I am full of love and kindness and mercy, and I want my children to be
happy in this world"? Did the God who allowed a mother to sacrifice her
babe through the mistaken idea that he, the God, demanded the sacrifice,
feel a tenderness toward that mother "compared to which all human love
is faint and cold"? Would a good father allow some of his children to
kill others of his children to please him?

There is still another question. Why should God, a being of infinite
tenderness, leave the question of immortality in doubt? How is it that
there is nothing in the Old Testament on this subject? Why is it that
he who made all the constellations did not put in his heaven the star
of hope? How do you account for the fact that you do not find in the
Old Testament, from the first mistake in Genesis, to the last curse in
Malachi, a funeral service? Is it not strange that some one in the Old
Testament did not stand by an open grave of father or mother and say:
"We shall meet again"? Was it because the divinely inspired men did not
know?

You taunt me by saying that I know no more of the immortality of the
soul than Cicero knew. I admit it. I know no more than the lowest
savage, no more than a doctor of divinity--that is to say, nothing.

Is it not, however, a curious fact that there is less belief in
the immortality of the soul in Christian countries than in heathen
lands--that the belief in immortality, in an orthodox church, is faint
and cold and speculative, compared with that belief in India, in China,
or in the Pacific Isles? Compare the belief in immortality in America,
of Christians, with that of the followers of Mohammed. Do not Christians
weep above their dead? Does a belief in immortality keep back their
tears? After all, the promises are so far away, and the dead are so
near--the echoes of words said to have been spoken more than eighteen
centuries ago are lost in the sounds of the clods that fall on the
coffin, And yet, compared with the orthodox hell, compared with the
prison-house of God, how ecstatic is the grave--the grave without a
sigh, without a tear, without a dream, without a fear. Compared with
the immortality promised by the Presbyterian creed, how beautiful
annihilation seems. To be nothing--how much better than to be a convict
forever. To be unconscious dust--how much better than to be a heartless
angel.

There is not, there never has been, there never will be, any consolation
in orthodox Christianity. It offers no consolation to any good and
loving man. I prefer the consolation of Nature, the consolation of hope,
the consolation springing from human affection. I prefer the simple
desire to live and love forever.

Of course, it would be a consolation to know that we have an "Almighty
Friend" in heaven; but an "Almighty Friend" who cares nothing for us,
who allows us to be stricken by his lightning, frozen by his winter,
starved by his famine, and at last imprisoned in his hell, is a friend I
do not care to have.

I remember "the poor slave mother who sat alone in her cabin, having
been robbed of her children;" and, my dear Mr. Field, I also remember
that the people who robbed her justified the robbery by reading passages
from the sacred Scriptures. I remember that while the mother wept, the
robbers, some of whom were Christians, read this: "Buy of the heathen
round about, and they shall be your bondmen and bondwomen forever." I
remember, too, that the robbers read: "Servants be obedient unto your
masters;" and they said, this passage is the only message from the
heart of God to the scarred back of the slave. I remember this, and I
remember, also, that the poor slave mother upon her knees in wild and
wailing accents called on the "Almighty Friend," and I remember that her
prayer was never heard, and that her sobs died in the negligent air.

You ask me whether I would "rob this poor woman of such a friend?" My
answer is this: I would give her liberty; I would break her chains. But
let me ask you, did an "Almighty Friend" see the woman he loved "with a
tenderness compared to which all human love is faint and cold," and
the woman who loved him, robbed of her children? What was the "Almighty
Friend" worth to her? She preferred her babe.

How could the "Almighty Friend" see his poor children pursued by
hounds--his children whose only crime was the love of liberty--how could
he see that, and take sides with the hounds? Do you believe that the
"Almighty Friend" then governed the world? Do you really think that he

     "Bade the slave-ship speed from coast to coast,
     Fanned by the wings of the Holy Ghost"?

Do you believe that the "Almighty Friend" saw all of the tragedies that
were enacted in the jungles of Africa--that he watched the wretched
slave-ships, saw the miseries of the middle passage, heard the blows of
all the whips, saw all the streams of blood, all the agonized faces of
women, all the tears that were shed? Do you believe that he saw and knew
all these things, and that he, the "Almighty Friend," looked coldly down
and stretched no hand to save?

You persist, however, in endeavoring to account for the miseries of the
world by taking the ground that happiness is not the end of life. You
say that "the real end of life is character, and that no discipline can
be too severe which leads us to suffer and be strong." Upon this subject
you use the following language: "If you could have your way you would
make everybody happy; there would be no more poverty, and no more
sickness or pain." And this you say, is a "child's picture, hardly
worthy of a stalwart man." Let me read you another "child's picture,"
which you will find in the twenty-first chapter of Revelation, supposed
to have been written by St. John, the Divine: "And I heard a great voice
out of heaven saying, behold the tabernacle of God is with men, and
he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself
shall be with them, and be their God; and God shall wipe away all tears
from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor
crying, neither shall there be any more pain.".

If you visited some woman living in a tenement, supporting by her poor
labor a little family--a poor woman on the edge of famine, sewing, it
may be, her eyes blinded by tears--would you tell her that "the world
is not a playground in which men are to be petted and indulged like
children."? Would you tell her that to think of a world without poverty,
without tears, without pain, is "a child's picture"? If she asked you
for a little assistance, would you refuse it on the ground that by being
helped she might lose character? Would you tell her: "God does not wish
to have you happy; happiness is a very foolish end; character is what
you want, and God has put you here with these helpless, starving babes,
and he has put this burden on your young life simply that you may suffer
and be strong. I would help you gladly, but I do not wish to defeat the
plans of your Almighty Friend"? You can reason one way, but you would
act the other.

I agree with you that work is good, that struggle is essential; that
men are made manly by contending with each other and with the forces
of nature; but there is a point beyond which struggle does not make
character; there is a point at which struggle becomes failure.

Can you conceive of an "Almighty Friend" deforming his children because
he loves them? Did he allow the innocent to languish in dungeons because
he was their friend? Did he allow the noble to perish upon the scaffold,
the great and the self-denying to be burned at the stake, because he had
the power to save? Was he restrained by love? Did this "Almighty Friend"
allow millions of his children to be enslaved to the end that the
"splendor of virtue might have a dark background"? You insist that
"suffering patiently borne, is a means of the greatest elevation of
character, and in the end of the highest enjoyment." Do you not then
see that your "Almighty Friend" has been unjust to the happy--that he is
cruel to those whom we call the fortunate--that he is indifferent to the
men who do not suffer--that he leaves all the happy and prosperous
and joyous without character, and that in the end, according to your
doctrine, they are the losers?

But, after all, there is no need of arguing this question further. There
is one fact that destroys forever your theory--and that is the fact that
millions upon millions die in infancy. Where do they get "elevation of
character"? What opportunity is given to them to "suffer and be strong"?
Let us admit that we do not know. Let us say that the mysteries of
life, of good and evil, of joy and pain, have never been explained. Is
character of no importance in heaven? How is it possible for angels,
living in "a child's picture," to "suffer and be strong"? Do you not see
that, according to your philosophy, only the damned can grow great--only
the lost can become sublime?

You do not seem to understand what I say with regard to what I call the
higher philosophy. When that philosophy is accepted, of course there
will be good in the world, there will be evil, there will still be right
and wrong. What is good? That which tends to the happiness of sentient
beings. What is evil? That which tends to the misery, or tends to lessen
the happiness of sentient beings. What is right? The best thing to
be done under the circumstances--that is to say, the thing that will
increase or preserve the happiness of man. What is wrong? That which
tends to the misery of man.

What you call liberty, choice, morality, responsibility, have nothing
whatever to do with this. There is no difference between necessity and
liberty. He who is free, acts from choice. What is the foundation of
his choice? What we really mean by liberty is freedom from personal
dictation--we do not wish to be controlled by the will of others. To us
the nature of things does not seem to be a master--Nature has no will.

Society has the right to protect itself by imprisoning those who prey
upon its interests; but it has no right to punish. It may have the right
to destroy the life of one dangerous to the community; but what has
freedom to do with this? Do you kill the poisonous serpent because
he knew better than to bite? Do you chain a wild beast because he is
morally responsible? Do you not think that the criminal deserves the
pity of the virtuous?

I was looking forward to the time when the individual might feel
justified--when the convict who had worn the garment of disgrace might
know and feel that he had acted as he must.

There is an old Hindoo prayer to which I call your attention:

     "Have mercy, God, upon the vicious;
     Thou hast already had mercy upon the just by making them just."

Is it not possible that we may find that everything has been necessarily
produced? This, of course, would end in the justification of men. Is not
that a desirable thing? Is it not possible that intelligence may at last
raise the human race to that sublime and philosophic height?

You insist, however, that this is Calvinism. I take it for granted that
you understand Calvinism--but let me tell you what it is. Calvinism
asserts that man does as he must, and that, notwithstanding this fact,
he is responsible for what he does--that is to say, for what he is
compelled to do--that is to say, for what God does with him; and that,
for doing that which he must, an infinite God, who compelled him to do
it, is justified in punishing the man in eternal fire; this, not because
the man ought to be damned, but simply for the glory of God.

Starting from the same declaration, that man does as he must, I reach
the conclusion that we shall finally perceive in this fact justification
for every individual. And yet you see no difference between my
doctrine and Calvinism. You insist that damnation and justification
are substantially the same; and yet the difference is as great as human
language can express. You call the justification of all the world "the
Gospel of Despair," and the damnation of nearly all the human race the
"Consolation of Religion."

After all, my dear friend, do you not see that when you come to speak
of that which is really good, you are compelled to describe your ideal
human being? It is the human in Christ, and only the human, that you by
any possibility can understand. You speak of one who was born among
the poor, who went about doing good, who sympathized with those who
suffered. You have described, not only one, but many millions of the
human race, Millions of others have carried light to those sitting
in darkness; millions and millions have taken children in their arms;
millions have wept that those they love might smile. No language can
express the goodness, the heroism, the patience and self-denial of the
many millions, dead and living, who have preserved in the family of man
the jewels of the heart. You have clad one being in all the virtues of
the race, in all the attributes of gentleness, patience, goodness, and
love, and yet that being, according to the New Testament, had to his
character another side. True, he said, "Come unto me and I will give
you rest;" but what did he say to those who failed to come? You pour out
your whole heart in thankfulness to this one man who suffered for the
right, while I thank not only this one, but all the rest. My heart goes
out to all the great, the self-denying and the good,--to the founders of
nations, singers of songs, builders of homes; to the inventors, to
the artists who have filled the world with beauty, to the composers of
music, to the soldiers of the right, to the makers of mirth, to honest
men, and to all the loving mothers of the race.

Compare, for one moment, all that the Savior did, all the pain and
suffering that he relieved,--compare all this with the discovery of
anæsthetics. Compare your prophets with the inventors, your Apostles
with the Keplers, the Humboldts and the Darwins.

I belong to the great church that holds the world within its starlit
aisles; that claims the great and good of every race and clime; that
finds with joy the grain of gold in every creed, and floods with light
and love the germs of good in every soul.

Most men are provincial, narrow, one sided, only partially developed. In
a new country we often see a little patch of land, a clearing in which
the pioneer has built his cabin. This little clearing is just large
enough to support a family, and the remainder of the farm is still
forest, in which snakes crawl and wild beasts occasionally crouch. It
is thus with the brain of the average man. There is a little clearing,
a little patch, just large enough to practice medicine with, or sell
goods, or practice law; or preach with, or do some kind of business,
sufficient to obtain bread and food and shelter for a family, while
all the rest of the brain is covered with primeval forest, in which
lie coiled the serpents of superstition and from which spring the wild
beasts of orthodox religion.

Neither in the interest of truth, nor for the benefit of man, is it
necessary to assert what we do not know. No cause is great enough to
demand a sacrifice of candor. The mysteries of life and death, of good
and evil, have never yet been solved.

I combat those only who, knowing nothing of the future, prophesy an
eternity of pain--those only who sow the seeds of fear in the hearts of
men--those only who poison all the springs of life, and seat a skeleton
at every feast.

Let us banish the shriveled hags of superstition; let us welcome the
beautiful daughters of truth and joy.

Robert G. Ingersoll.



CONTROVERSY ON CHRISTIANTY

[Ingersoll-Gladstone.]


COLONEL INGERSOLL ON CHRISTIANITY; SOME REMARKS ON HIS REPLY TO DR.
FIELD.

By Hon. Wm. E. Gladstone.

AS a listener from across the broad Atlantic to the clash of arms in the
combat between Colonel Ingersoll and Dr. Field on the most momentous
of all subjects, I have not the personal knowledge which assisted these
doughty champions in making reciprocal acknowledgments, as broad as
could be desired, with reference to personal character and motive. Such
acknowledgments are of high value in keeping the issue clear, if not
always of all adventitious, yet of all venomous matter. Destitute of
the experience on which to found them as original testimonies, still,
in attempting partially to criticise the remarkable Reply of Colonel
Ingersoll, I can both accept in good faith what has been said by Dr.
Field, and add that it seems to me consonant with the strain of the
pages I have set before me. Having said this, I shall allow myself the
utmost freedom in remarks, which will be addressed exclusively to the
matter, not the man.

Let me begin by making several acknowledgments of another kind, but
which I feel to be serious. The Christian Church has lived long enough
in external triumph and prosperity to expose those of whom it is
composed to all such perils of error and misfeasance, as triumph
and prosperity bring with them. Belief in divine guidance is not of
necessity belief that such guidance can never be frustrated by the
laxity, the infirmity, the perversity of man, alike in the domain of
action and in the domain of thought. Believers in the perpetuity of the
life of the Church are not tied to believing in the perpetual health
of the Church. Even the great Latin Communion, and that communion even
since the Council of the Vatican in 1870, theoretically admits, or does
not exclude, the possibility of a wide range of local and partial error
in opinion as well as conduct. Elsewhere the admission would be more
unequivocal. Of such errors in tenet, or in temper and feeling more
or less hardened into tenet, there has been a crop alike abundant and
multifarious. Each Christian party is sufficiently apt to recognize this
fact with regard to every other Christian party; and the more impartial
and reflective minds are aware that no party is exempt from mischiefs,
which lie at the root of the human constitution in its warped, impaired,
and dislocated condition. Naturally enough, these deformities help
to indispose men towards belief; and when this indisposition has been
developed into a system of negative warfare, all the faults of all the
Christian bodies, and sub-divisions of bodies, are, as it was natural
to expect they would be, carefully raked together, and become part and
parcel of the indictment against the divine scheme of redemption. I
notice these things in the mass, without particularity, which might be
invidious, for two important purposes. First, that we all, who hold by
the Gospel and the Christian Church, may learn humility and modesty, as
well as charity and indulgence, in the treatment of opponents, from
our consciousness that we all, alike by our exaggerations and our
shortcomings in belief, no less than by faults of conduct, have
contributed to bring about this condition of fashionable hostility to
religious faith: and, secondly, that we may resolutely decline to be
held bound to tenets, or to consequences of tenets, which represent not
the great Christendom of the past and present, but only some hole and
corner of its vast organization; and not the heavenly treasure, but the
rust or the canker to which that treasure has been exposed through the
incidents of its custody in earthen vessels.

I do not remember ever to have read a composition, in which the
merely local coloring of particular, and even very limited sections of
Christianity, was more systematically used as if it had been available
and legitimate argument against the whole, than in the Reply before us.
Colonel Ingersoll writes with a rare and enviable brilliancy, but also
with an impetus which he seems unable to control. Denunciation, sarcasm,
and invective, may in consequence be said to constitute the staple of
his work; and, if argument or some favorable admission here and there
peeps out for a moment, the writer soon leaves the dry and barren
heights for his favorite and more luxurious galloping grounds beneath.
Thus, when the Reply has consecrated a line (N. A. R., No. 372, p. 473)
to the pleasing contemplation of his opponent as "manly, candid, and
generous," it immediately devotes more than twelve to a declamatory
denunciation of a practice (as if it were his) altogether contrary to
generosity and to candor, and reproaches those who expect (_ibid._) "to
receive as alms an eternity of joy." I take this as a specimen of
the mode of statement which permeates the whole Reply. It is not the
statement of an untruth. The Christian receives as alms all whatsoever
he receives at all. _Qui salvandos salvas gratis_ is his song of
thankful praise. But it is the statement of one-half of a truth, which
lives only in its entirety, and of which the Reply gives us only a
mangled and bleeding _frustum_. For the gospel teaches that the faith
which saves is a living and energizing faith, and that the most precious
part of the alms which we receive lies in an ethical and spiritual
process, which partly qualifies for, but also and emphatically composes,
this conferred eternity of joy. Restore this ethical element to the
doctrine from which the Reply has rudely displaced it, and the whole
force of the assault is gone, for there is now a total absence of point
in the accusation; it conies only to this, that "mercy and judgment are
met together," and that "righteousness and peace have kissed each other"
(Ps. lxxxv. 10).

Perhaps, as we proceed, there will be supplied ampler means of judging
whether I am warranted in saying that the instance I have here given
is a normal instance of a practice so largely followed as to divest
the entire Reply of that calmness and sobriety of movement which are
essential to the just exercise of the reasoning power in subject matter
not only grave, but solemn. Pascal has supplied us, in the "Provincial
Letters," with an unique example of easy, brilliant, and fascinating
treatment of a theme both profound and complex. But where shall we find
another Pascal? And, if we had found him, he would be entitled to point
out to us that the famous work was not less close and logical than it
was witty. In this case, all attempt at continuous argument appears to
be deliberately abjured, not only as to pages, but, as may almost be
said, even as to lines. The paper, noteworthy as it is, leaves on my
mind the impression of a battle-field where every man strikes at every
man, and all is noise, hurry, and confusion. Better surely had it been,
and worthier of the great weight and elevation of the subject, if the
controversy had been waged after the pattern of those engagements where
a chosen champion on either side, in a space carefully limited and
reserved, does battle on behalf of each silent and expectant host. The
promiscuous crowds represent all the lower elements which enter
into human conflicts: the chosen champions, and the order of their
proceeding, signify the dominion of reason over force, and its just
place as the sovereign arbiter of the great questions that involve the
main destiny of man.

I will give another instance of the tumultuous method in which the
Reply conducts, not, indeed, its argument, but its case. Dr. Field had
exhibited an example of what he thought superstition, and had drawn a
distinction between superstition and religion. But to the author of
the Reply all religion is superstition, and, accordingly, he writes as
follows (p. 475): "You are shocked at the Hindoo mother, when she gives
her child to death at the supposed command of her God. What do you think
of Abraham? of Jephthah? What is your opinion of Jehovah himself?"

Taking these three appeals in the reverse order to that in which they
are written, I will briefly ask, as to the closing challenge, "What
do you think of Jehovah himself?" whether this is the tone in which
controversy ought to be carried on? Not only is the name of Jehovah
encircled in the heart of every believer with the profoundest reverence
and love, but the Christian religion teaches, through the Incarnation,
a doctrine of personal union with God so lofty that it can only be
approached in a deep, reverential calm. I do not deny that a person
who deems a given religion to be wicked may be led onward by logical
consistency to impugn in strong terms the character of the Author and
Object of that religion. But he is surely bound by the laws of social
morality and decency to consider well the terms and the manner of his
indictment. If he founds it upon allegations of fact, these allegations
should be carefully stated, so as to give his antagonists reasonable
evidence that it is truth and not temper which wrings from him a
sentence of condemnation, delivered in sobriety and sadness, and
not without a due commiseration for those, whom he is attempting to
undeceive, who think he is himself both deceived and a deceiver, but who
surely are entitled, while this question is in process of decision, to
require that He whom they adore should at least be treated with those
decent reserves which are deemed essential when a human being, say
a parent, wife, or sister, is in question. But here a contemptuous
reference to Jehovah follows, not upon a careful investigation of the
cases of Abraham and of Jephthah, but upon a mere summary citation of
them to surrender themselves, so to speak, as culprits; that is to say,
a summons to accept at once, on the authority of the Reply, the view
which the writer is pleased to take of those cases. It is true that he
assures us in another part of his paper that he has read the scriptures
with care; and I feel bound to accept this assurance, but at the same
time to add that if it had not been given I should, for one, not
have made the discovery, but might have supposed that the author had
galloped, not through, but about, the sacred volume, as a man glances
over the pages of an ordinary newspaper or novel.

Although there is no argument as to Abraham or Jephthah expressed upon
the surface, we must assume that one is intended, and it seems to be of
the following kind: "You are not entitled to reprove the Hindoo mother
who cast her child under the wheels of the car of Juggernaut, for
you approve of the conduct of Jephthah, who (probably) sacrificed his
daughter in fulfilment of a vow (Judges xi. 31) that he would make a
burnt offering of whatsoever, on his safe return, he should meet coming
forth from the doors of his dwelling." Now the whole force of this
rejoinder depends upon our supposed obligation as believers to approve
the conduct of Jephthah. It is, therefore, a very serious question
whether we are or are not so obliged. But this question the Reply does
not condescend either to argue, or even to state. It jumps to an extreme
conclusion without the decency of an intermediate step. Are not such
methods of proceeding more suited to placards at an election, than to
disquisitions on these most solemn subjects?

I am aware of no reason why any believer in Christianity should not
be free to canvass, regret, condemn the act of Jephthah. So far as the
narration which details it is concerned, there is not a word of sanction
given to it more than to the falsehood of Abraham in Egypt, or of
Jacob and Rebecca in the matter of the hunting (Gen. xx. 1-18, and Gen.
xxiii.); or to the dissembling of St. Peter in the case of the Judaizing
converts (Gai. ii. 11). I am aware of no color of approval given to
it elsewhere. But possibly the author of the Reply may have thought he
found such an approval in the famous eleventh chapter of the Epistle to
the Hebrews, where the apostle, handling his subject with a discernment
and care very different from those of the Reply, writes thus (Heb. xi.
32):

"And what shall I say more? For the time would fail me to tell of
Gideon, and of Barak, and of Samson, and of Jephthah: of David also, and
Samuel, and of the prophets."

Jephthah, then, is distinctly held up to us by a canonical writer as an
object of praise. But of praise on what account? Why should the Reply
assume that it is on account of the sacrifice of his child? The writer
of the Reply has given us no reason, and no rag of a reason, in support
of such a proposition. But this was the very thing he was bound by every
consideration to prove, upon making his indictment against the Almighty.
In my opinion, he could have one reason only for not giving a reason,
and that was that no reason could be found.

The matter, however, is so full of interest, as illustrating both the
method of the Reply and that of the Apostolic writer, that I shall enter
farther into it, and draw attention to the very remarkable structure of
this noble chapter, which is to Faith what the thirteenth of Cor. I. is
to Charity. From the first to the thirty-first verse, it commemorates
the achievements of faith in ten persons: Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham,
Sarah, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses (in greater detail than any one
else), and finally Rahab, in whom, I observe in passing, it will hardly
be pretended that she appears in this list on account of the profession
she had pursued. Then comes the rapid recital (v. 31), without any
specification of particulars whatever, of these four names: Gideon,
Barak, Samson, Jephthah. Next follows a kind of recommencement,
indicated by the word also; and the glorious acts and sufferings of the
prophets are set forth largely with a singular power and warmth, headed
by the names of David and Samuel, the rest of the sacred band being
mentioned only in the mass.

Now, it is surely very remarkable that, in the whole of this recital,
the Apostle, whose "feet were shod with the preparation of the gospel
of peace," seems with a tender instinct to avoid anything like stress
on the exploits of warriors. Of the twelve persons having a share in the
detailed expositions, David is the only warrior, and his character as
a man of war is eclipsed by his greater attributes as a prophet, or
declarer of the Divine counsels. It is yet more noteworthy that Joshua,
who had so fair a fame, but who was only a warrior, is never named in
the chapter, and we are simply told that "by faith the walls of Jericho
fell down, after they had been compassed about seven times" (Hebrews
xi. 30). But the series of four names, which are given without any
specification of their title to appear in the list, are all names
of distinguished warriors. They had all done great acts of faith
and patriotism against the enemies of Israel,--Gideon against the
Midianites, Barak against the hosts of Syria, Samson against the
Philistines, and Jephthah against the children of Ammon. Their tide to
appear in the list at all is in their acts of war, and the mode of their
treatment as men of war is in striking accordance with the analogies
of the chapter. All of them had committed errors. Gideon had again and
again demanded a sign, and had made a golden ephod, "which thing became
a snare unto Gideon and to his house" (Judges viii. 27). Barak had
refused to go up against Jabin unless Deborah would join the venture
(Judges v. 8). Samson had been in dalliance with Delilah. Last came
Jephthah, who had, as we assume, sacrificed his daughter in fulfilment
of a rash vow. No one supposes that any of the others are honored by
mention in the chapter on account of his sin or error: why should that
supposition be made in the case of Jephthah, at the cost of all the
rules of orderly interpretation?

Having now answered the challenge as to Jephthah, I proceed to the
case of Abraham. It would not be fair to shrink from touching it in
its tenderest point. That point is nowhere expressly touched by the
commendations bestowed upon Abraham in Scripture. I speak now of the
special form, of the words that are employed. He is not commended
because, being a father, he made all the preparations antecedent to
plunging the knife into his son. He is commended (as I read the text)
because, having received a glorious promise, a promise that his wife
should be a mother of nations, and that kings should be born of her
(Gen. xvii. 6), and that by his seed the blessings of redemption should
be conveyed to man, and the fulfilment of this promise depending solely
upon the life of Isaac, he was, nevertheless, willing that the chain of
these promises should be broken by the extinction of that life, because
his faith assured him that the Almighty would find the way to give
effect to His own designs (Heb. xi. 17-19). The offering of Isaac is
mentioned as a completed offering, and the intended blood-shedding, of
which I shall speak presently, is not here brought into view.

The facts, however, which we have before us, and which are treated in
Scripture with caution, are grave and startling. A father is commanded
to sacrifice his son. Before consummation, the sacrifice is interrupted.
Yet the intention of obedience had been formed, and certified by a
series of acts. It may have been qualified by a reserve of hope that God
would interpose before the final act, but of this we have no distinct
statement, and it can only stand as an allowable conjecture. It may be
conceded that the narrative does not supply us with a complete statement
of particulars. That being so, it behooves us to tread cautiously in
approaching it. Thus much, however, I think, may further be said: the
command was addressed to Abraham under conditions essentially different
from those which now determine for us the limits of moral obligation.

For the conditions, both socially and otherwise, were indeed very
different. The estimate of human life at the time was different. The
position of the father in the family was different: its members were
regarded as in some sense his property. There is every reason to suppose
that, around Abraham in "the land of Moriah," the practice of human
sacrifice as an act of religion was in vigor. But we may look more
deeply into the matter. According to the Book of Genesis, Adam and Eve
were placed under a law, not of consciously perceived right and wrong,
but of simple obedience. The tree, of which alone they were forbidden to
eat, was the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Duty lay for them
in following the command of the Most High, before and until they,
or their descendants, should become capable of appreciating it by an
ethical standard. Their condition was greatly analogous to that of the
infant, who has just reached the stage at which he can comprehend that
he is ordered to do this or that, but not the nature of the thing
so ordered. To the external standard of right and wrong, and to the
obligation it entails per se, the child is introduced by a process
gradually unfolded with the development of his nature, and the opening
out of what we term a moral sense. If we pass at once from the epoch
of Paradise to the period of the prophets, we perceive the important
progress that has been made in the education of the race. The Almighty,
in His mediate intercourse with Israel, deigns to appeal to an
independently conceived criterion, as to an arbiter between His people
and Himself. "Come, now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord"
(Isaiah i. 18). "Yet ye say the way of the Lord is not equal. Hear now,
O house of Israel, is not my way equal, are not your ways unequal?"
(Ezekiel xvii. 25). Between these two epochs how wide a space of moral
teaching has been traversed! But Abraham, so far as we may judge from
the pages of Scripture, belongs essentially to the Adamic period, far
more than to the prophetic. The notion of righteousness and sin was not
indeed hidden from him: transgression itself had opened that chapter,
and it was never to be closed: but as yet they lay wrapped up, so to
speak, in Divine command and prohibition. And what God commanded, it was
for Abraham to believe that He himself would adjust to the harmony of
His own character.

The faith of Abraham, with respect to this supreme trial, appears to
have been centered in this, that he would trust God to all extremities,
and in despite of all appearances. The command received was obviously
inconsistent with the promises which had preceded it. It was also
inconsistent with the morality acknowledged in later times, and perhaps
too definitely reflected in our minds, by an anachronism easy to
conceive, on the day of Abraham. There can be little doubt, as between
these two points of view, that the strain upon his faith was felt
mainly, to say the least, in connection with the first mentioned.
This faith is not wholly unlike the faith of Job; for Job believed, in
despite of what was to the eye of flesh an unrighteous government of
the world. If we may still trust the Authorized Version, his cry was,
"though he slay me, yet will I trust in him" (Job xiii. 15). This cry
was, however, the expression of one who did not expect to be slain; and
it may be that Abraham, when he said, "My son, God will provide Himself
a lamb for a burnt offering," not only believed explicitly that God
would do what was right, but, moreover, believed implicitly that a way
of rescue would be found for his son. I do not say that this case is
like the case of Jephthah, where the introduction of difficulty is only
gratuitous. I confine myself to these propositions. Though the law
of moral action is the same everywhere and always, it is variously
applicable to the human being, as we know from experience, in the
various stages of his development; and its first form is that of
simple obedience to a superior whom there is every ground to trust. And
further, if the few straggling rays of our knowledge in a case of this
kind rather exhibit a darkness lying around us than dispel it, we do
not even know all that was in the mind of Abraham, and are not in a
condition to pronounce upon it, and cannot, without departure from sound
reason, abandon that anchorage by which he probably held, that the law
of Nature was safe in the hands of the Author of Nature, though the
means of the reconciliation between the law and the appearances have not
been fully placed within our reach.

But the Reply is not entitled to so wide an answer as that which I
have given. In the parallel with the case of the Hindoo widow, it
sins against first principles. An established and habitual practice
of child-slaughter, in a country of an old and learned civilization,
presents to us a case totally different from the issue of a command
which was not designed to be obeyed and which belongs to a period when
the years of manhood were associated in great part with the character
that appertains to childhood.

It will already have been seen that the method of this Reply is not to
argue seriously from point to point, but to set out in masses, without
the labor of proof, crowds of imputations, which may overwhelm an
opponent like balls from a _mitrailleuse_. As the charges lightly run
over in a line or two require pages for exhibition and confutation, an
exhaustive answer to the Reply within the just limits of an article is
on this account out of the question; and the only proper course left
open seems to be to make a selection of what appears to be the favorite,
or the most formidable and telling assertions, and to deal with these in
the serious way which the grave interests of the theme, not the manner
of their presentation, may deserve.

It was an observation of Aristotle that weight attaches to the
undemonstrated propositions of those who are able to speak on any given
subject matter from experience. The Reply abounds in undemonstrated
propositions. They appear, however, to be delivered without any sense of
a necessity that either experience or reasoning are required in order
to give them a title to acceptance. Thus, for example, the system of
Mr. Darwin is hurled against Christianity as a dart which cannot but be
fatal (p. 475):

"His discoveries, carried to their legitimate conclusion, destroy the
creeds and sacred Scriptures of mankind."

This wide-sweeping proposition is imposed upon us with no exposition
of the how or the why; and the whole controversy of belief one might
suppose is to be determined, as if from St. Petersburgh, by a series of
_ukases_. It is only advanced, indeed, to decorate the introduction of
Darwin's name in support of the proposition, which I certainly should
support and not contest, that error and honesty are compatible.

On what ground, then, and for what reason, is the system of Darwin fatal
to Scriptures and to creeds? I do not enter into the question whether
it has passed from the stage of working hypothesis into that of
demonstration, but I assume, for the purposes of the argument, all that,
in this respect, the Reply can desire.

It is not possible to discover, from the random language of the Reply,
whether the scheme of Darwin is to sweep away all theism, or is to be
content with extinguishing revealed religion. If the latter is meant, I
should reply that the moral history of man, in its principal stream,
has been distinctly an evolution from the first until now; and that the
succinct though grand account of the Creation in Genesis is singularly
accordant with the same idea, but is wider than Darwinism, since it
includes in the grand progression the inanimate world as well as the
history of organisms. But, as this could not be shown without much
detail, the Reply reduces me to the necessity of following its own
unsatisfactory example in the bald form of an assertion, that there
is no colorable ground for assuming evolution and revelation to be at
variance with one another.

If, however, the meaning be that theism is swept away by Darwinism, I
observe that, as before, we have only an unreasoned dogma or dictum to
deal with, and, dealing perforce with the unknown, we are in danger of
striking at a will of the wisp. Still, I venture on remarking that the
doctrine of Evolution has acquired both praise and dispraise which
it does not deserve. It is lauded in the skeptical camp because it is
supposed to get rid of the shocking idea of what are termed sudden acts
of creation; and it is as unjustly dispraised, on the opposing side,
because it is thought to bridge over the gap between man and the
inferior animals, and to give emphasis to the relationship between them.
But long before the day either of Mr. Darwin or his grandfather, Dr.
Erasmus Darwin, this relationship had been stated, perhaps even more
emphatically by one whom, were it not that I have small title to deal
in undemonstrated assertion, I should venture to call the most cautious,
the most robust, and the most comprehensive of our philosophers.
Suppose, says Bishop Butler (Analogy, Part 2, Chap. 2), that it were
implied in the natural immortality of brutes, that they must arrive at
great attainments, and become (like us) rational and moral agents; even
this would be no difficulty, since we know not what latent powers and
capacities they may be endowed with. And if pride causes us to deem it
an indignity that our race should have proceeded by propagation from an
ascending scale of inferior organisms, why should it be a more repulsive
idea to have sprung immediately from something less than man in brain
and body, than to have been fashioned according to the expression in
Genesis (Chap. II., v. 7), "out of the dust of the ground?" There are
halls and galleries of introduction in a palace, but none in a cottage;
and this arrival of the creative work at its climax through an ever
aspiring preparatory series, rather than by transition at a step from
the inanimate mould of earth, may tend rather to magnify than to
lower the creation of man on its physical side. But if belief has
(as commonly) been premature in its alarms, has non-belief been more
reflective in its exulting anticipations, and its paeans on the assumed
disappearance of what are strangely enough termed sudden acts of
creation from the sphere of our study and contemplation?

One striking effect of the Darwinian theory of descent is, so far as I
understand, to reduce the breadth of all intermediate distinctions
in the scale of animated life. It does not bring all creatures into a
single lineage, but all diversities are to be traced back, at some point
in the scale and by stages indefinitely minute, to a common ancestry.
All is done by steps, nothing by strides, leaps, or bounds; all from
protoplasm up to Shakespeare, and, again, all from primal night and
chaos up to protoplasm. I do not ask, and am incompetent to judge,
whether this is among the things proven, but I take it so for the sake
of the argument; and I ask, first, why and whereby does this doctrine
eliminate the idea of creation? Does the new philosophy teach that if
the passage from pure reptile to pure bird is achieved by a spring (so
to speak) over a chasm, this implies and requires creation; but that
if reptile passes into bird, and rudimental into finished bird, by a
thousand slight and but just discernible modifications, each one of
these is so small that they are not entitled to a name so lofty, may be
set down to any cause or no cause, as we please? I should have supposed
it miserably unphilosophical to treat the distinction between creative
and non-creative function as a simply quantitative distinction. As
respects the subjective effect on the human mind, creation in small,
when closely regarded, awakens reason to admiring wonder, not less than
creation in great: and as regards that function itself, to me it appears
no less than ridiculous to hold that the broadly outlined and large
advances of so-called Mosaism are creation, but the refined and stealthy
onward steps of Darwinism are only manufacture, and relegate the
question of a cause into obscurity, insignificance, or oblivion.

But does not reason really require us to go farther, to turn the tables
on the adversary, and to contend that evolution, by how much it binds
more closely together the myriad ranks of the living, aye, and of all
other orders, by so much the more consolidates, enlarges, and enhances
the true argument of design, and the entire theistic position? If orders
are not mutually related, it is easier to conceive of them as sent at
haphazard into the world. We may, indeed, sufficiently, draw an argument
of design from each separate structure, but we have no further title to
build upon the position which each of them holds as towards any other.
But when the connexion between these objects has been established, and
so established that the points of transition are almost as indiscernible
as the passage from day to night, then, indeed, each preceding stage is
a prophecy of the following, each succeeding one is a memorial of the
past, and, throughout the immeasurable series, every single member of
it is a witness to all the rest. The Reply ought surely to dispose of
these, and probably many more arguments in the case, before assuming
so absolutely the rights of dictatorship, and laying it down that
Darwinism, carried to its legitimate conclusion (and I have nowhere
endeavored to cut short its career), destroys the creeds and Scriptures
of mankind. That I maybe the more definite in my challenge, I would,
with all respect, ask the author of the Reply to set about confuting the
succinct and clear argument of his countryman, Mr. Fiske, who, in the
earlier part of the small work entitled _Man's Destiny_ (Macmillan,
London, 1887) has given what seems to me an admissible and also striking
interpretation of the leading Darwinian idea in its bearings on the
theistic argument. To this very partial treatment of a great subject I
must at present confine myself; and I proceed to another of the notions,
as confident as they seem to be crude, which the Reply has drawn into
its wide-casting net (p. 475):

"Why should God demand a sacrifice from; man? Why should the Infinite
ask anything from the finite? Should the sun beg of the glow-worm, and
should the momentary spark excite the envy of the source of light?"

This is one of the cases in which happy or showy illustration is, in the
Reply before me, set to carry with a rush the position which argument
would have to approach more laboriously and more slowly. The case of the
glow-worm with the sun cannot but move a reader's pity, it seems so
very hard. But let us suppose for a moment that the glow-worm was so
constituted, and so related to the sun that an interaction between them
was a fundamental condition of its health and life; that the glowworm
must, by the law of its nature, like the moon, reflect upon the sun,
according to its strength and measure, the light which it receives,
and that only by a process involving that reflection its own store of
vitality could be upheld? It will be said that this is a very large
_petitio_ to import into the glowworm's case. Yes, but it is the very
_petitio_ which is absolutely requisite in order to make it parallel to
the case of the Christian. The argument which the Reply has to destroy
is and must be the Christian argument, and not some figure of straw,
fabricated at will. It is needless, perhaps, but it is refreshing, to
quote the noble Psalm (Ps. 1. 10, 12, 14, 15), in which this assumption
of the Reply is rebuked. "All the beasts of the forest are mine; and so
are the cattle upon a thousand hills.... If I be hungry I will not tell
thee; for the whole world is mine, and all that is therein.... Offer
unto God thanksgiving; and pay thy vows unto the Most Highest, and call
upon Me in the time of trouble; so will I hear thee, and thou shalt
praise Me." Let me try my hand at a counter-illustration. If the Infinite
is to make no demand upon the finite, by parity of reasoning the great
and strong should scarcely make them on the weak and small. Why then
should the father make demands of love, obedience, and sacrifice, from
his young child? Is there not some flavor of the sun and glow-worm here?
But every man does so make them, if he is a man of sense and feeling;
and he makes them for the sake and in the interest of the son himself,
whose nature, expanding in the warmth of affection and pious care,
requires, by an inward law, to return as well as to receive. And so God
asks of us, in order that what we give to Him may be far more our own
than it ever was before the giving, or than it could have been unless
first rendered up to Him, to become a part of what the gospel calls our
treasure in heaven.

Although the Reply is not careful to supply us with whys, it does not
hesitate to ask for them (p. 479):

"Why should an infinitely wise and powerful God destroy the good and
preserve the vile? Why should He treat all alike here, and in another
world make an infinite difference? Why should your God allow His
worshipers, His adorers, to be destroyed by His enemies? Why should He
allow the honest, the loving, the noble, to perish at the stake?"

The upholders of belief or of revelation, from Claudian down to Cardinal
Newman (see the very remarkable passage of the _Apologia pro vitâ suâ_,
pp. 376-78), cannot and do not, seek to deny that the methods of divine
government, as they are exhibited by experience, present to us many and
varied moral problems, insoluble by our understanding. Their existence
may not, and should not, be dissembled. But neither should they be
exaggerated. Now exaggeration by mere suggestion is the fault, the
glaring fault, of these queries. One who had no knowledge of mundane
affairs beyond the conception they insinuate would assume that, as a
rule, evil has the upper hand in the management of the world. Is this
the grave philosophical conclusion of a careful observer, or is it a
crude, hasty, and careless overstatement?

It is not difficult to conceive how, in times of sadness and of storm,
when the suffering soul can discern no light at any point of the
horizon, place is found for such an idea of life. It is, of course,
opposed to the Apostolic declaration that godliness hath the promise
of the life that now is (1 Tim. iv. 8), but I am not to expect such a
declaration to be accepted as current coin, even of the meanest value,
by the author of the Reply. Yet I will offer two observations founded
on experience in support of it, one taken from a limited, another from
a larger and more open sphere. John Wesley, in the full prime of his
mission, warned the converts whom he was making among English laborers
of a spiritual danger that lay far ahead. It was that, becoming godly,
they would become careful, and, becoming careful, they would become
wealthy. It was a just and sober forecast, and it represented with
truth the general rule of life, although it be a rule perplexed with
exceptions. But, if this be too narrow a sphere of observation, let
us take a wider one, the widest of all. It is comprised in the brief
statement that Christendom rules the world, and rules it, perhaps it
should be added, by the possession of a vast surplus of material as well
as moral force. Therefore the assertions carried by implication in the
queries of the Reply, which are general, are because general untrue,
although they might have been true within those prudent limitations
which the method of this Reply appears especially to eschew.

Taking, then, these challenges as they ought to have been given, I admit
that great believers, who have been also great masters of wisdom and
knowledge, are not able to explain the inequalities of adjustment
between human beings and the conditions in which they have been set down
to work out their destiny. The climax of these inequalities is perhaps
to be found in the fact that, whereas rational belief, viewed at large,
founds the Providential government of the world upon the hypothesis of
free agency, there are so many cases in which the overbearing mastery
of circumstance appears to reduce it to extinction or paralysis. Now,
in one sense, without doubt, these difficulties are matter for our
legitimate and necessary cognizance. It is a duty incumbent upon us
respectively, according to our means and opportunities, to decide for
ourselves, by the use of the faculty of reason given us, the great
questions of natural and revealed religion. They are to be decided
according to the evidence; and, if we cannot trim the evidence into a
consistent whole, then according to the balance of the evidence. We are
not entitled, either for or against belief, to set up in this province
any rule of investigation, except such as common-sense teaches us to
use in the ordinary conduct of life. As in ordinary conduct, so in
considering the basis of belief, we are bound to look at the evidence as
a whole. We have no right to demand demonstrative proofs, or the removal
of all conflicting elements, either in the one sphere or in the other.
What guides us sufficiently in matters of common practice has the very
same authority to guide us in matters of speculation; more properly,
perhaps, to be called the practice of the soul. If the evidence in the
aggregate shows the being of a moral Governor of the world, with the
same force as would suffice to establish an obligation to act in a
matter of common conduct, we are bound in duty to accept it, and have no
right to demand as a condition previous that all occasions of doubt or
question be removed out of the way. Our demands for evidence must be
limited by the general reason of the case. Does that general reason of
the case make it probable that a finite being, with a finite place in
a comprehensive scheme, devised and administered by a Being who is
infinite, would be able either to embrace within his view, or rightly to
appreciate, all the motives and the aims that may have been in the
mind of the Divine Disposer? On the contrary, a demand so unreasonable
deserves to be met with the scornful challenge of Dante (Paradise xix.
79):

     Or tu chi sei, che vuoi sedere a scranna
     Per giudicar da lungi mille miglia
     Colla veduta corta d'una spanna?

Undoubtedly a great deal here depends upon the question whether, and in
what degree, our knowledge is limited. And here the Reply seems to be
by no means in accord with Newton and with Butler. By its contempt for
authority, the Reply seems to cut off from us all knowledge that is not
at first hand; but then also it seems to assume an original and first
hand knowledge of all possible kinds of things. I will take an instance,
all the easier to deal with because it is outside the immediate sphere
of controversy. In one of those pieces of fine writing with which the
Reply abounds, it is determined _obiter_ by a backhanded stroke (N. A.
R., p. 491) that Shakespeare is "by far the greatest of the human
race." I do not feel entitled to assert that he is not; but how vast and
complex a question is here determined for us in this airy manner! Has
the writer of the Reply really weighed the force, and measured the sweep
of his own words? Whether Shakespeare has or has not the primacy of
genius over a very few other names which might be placed in competition
with his, is a question which has not yet been determined by the general
or deliberate judgment of lettered mankind. But behind it lies another
question, inexpressibly difficult, except for the Reply, to solve. That
question is, what is the relation of human genius to human greatness.
Is genius the sole constitutive element of greatness, or with what other
elements, and in what relations to them, is it combined? Is every man
great in proportion to his genius? Was Goldsmith, or was Sheridan,
or was Burns, or was Byron, or was Goethe, or was Napoleon, or
was Alcibiades, no smaller, and was Johnson, or was Howard, or was
Washington, or was Phocion, or Leonidas, no greater, than in proportion
to his genius properly so-called? How are we to find a common measure,
again, for different kinds of greatness; how weigh, for example, Dante
against Julius Caesar? And I am speaking of greatness properly so
called, not of goodness properly so called. We might seem to be dealing
with a writer whose contempt for authority in general is fully balanced,
perhaps outweighed, by his respect for one authority in particular.

The religions of the world, again, have in many cases given to many men
material for life-long study. The study of the Christian Scriptures,
to say nothing of Christian life and institutions, has been to many and
justly famous men a study "never ending, still beginning"; not, like
the world of Alexander, too limited for the powerful faculty that ranged
over it; but, on the contrary, opening height on height, and with deep
answering to deep, and with increase of fruit ever prescribing increase
of effort. But the Reply has sounded all these depths, has found them
very shallow, and is quite able to point out (p. 490) the way in which
the Saviour of the world might have been a much greater teacher than
He actually was; had He said anything, for instance, of the family
relation, had He spoken against slavery and tyranny, had He issued a
sort of _code Napoleon_ embracing education, progress, scientific truth,
and international law. This observation on the family relation seems to
me beyond even the usual measure of extravagance when we bear in mind
that, according to the Christian scheme, the Lord of heaven and earth
"was subject" (St. Luke ii. 51) to a human mother and a reputed human
father, and that He taught (according to the widest and, I believe, the
best opinion) the absolute indissolubility of marriage. I might cite
many other instances in reply. But the broader and the true answer to
the objection is, that the Gospel was promulgated to teach principles
and not a code; that it included the foundation of a society in which
those principles were to be conserved, developed, and applied; and that
down to this day there is not a moral question of all those which
the Reply does or does not enumerate, nor is there a question of duty
arising in the course of life for any of us, that is not determinable
in all its essentials by applying to it as a touchstone the principles
declared in the Gospel. Is not, then, the _hiatus_, which the Reply has
discovered in the teaching of our Lord, an imaginary _hiatus_? Nay, are
the suggested improvements of that teaching really gross deteriorations?
Where would have been the wisdom of delivering to an uninstructed
population of a particular age a codified religion, which was to serve
for all nations, all ages, all states of civilization? Why was not
room to be left for the career of human thought in finding out, and in
working out, the adaptation of Christianity to the ever varying
movement of the world? And how is it that they who will not admit that a
revelation is in place when it has in view the great and necessary work
of conflict against sin, are so free in recommending enlargements of
that Revelation for purposes, as to which no such necessity can be
pleaded?

I have known a person who, after studying the old classical or Olympian
religion for the third part of a century, at length began to hope that
he had some partial comprehension of it, some inkling of what it meant.
Woe is him that he was not conversant either with the faculties or with
the methods of the Reply, which apparently can dispose in half an hour
of any problem, dogmatic, historical, or moral: and which accordingly
takes occasion to assure us that Buddha was "in many respects the
greatest religious teacher this world has ever known, the broadest, the
most intellectual of them all" (p. 491). On this I shall only say that
an attempt to bring Buddha and Buddhism into line together is far beyond
my reach, but that every Christian, knowing in some degree what Christ
is, and what He has done for the world, can only be the more thankful if
Buddha, or Confucius, or any other teacher has in any point, and in
any measure, come near to the outskirts of His ineffable greatness and
glory.

It is my fault or my misfortune to remark, in this Reply, an inaccuracy
of reference, which would of itself suffice to render it remarkable.
Christ, we are told (pp. 492, 500), denounced the chosen people of God
as "a generation of vipers." This phrase is applied by the Baptist to
the crowd who came to seek baptism from him; but it is only applied
by our Lord to Scribes or Pharisees (Luke iii. 7, Matthew xxiii. 33,
and xii.34), who are so commonly placed by Him in contrast with the
people. The error is repeated in the mention of whited sepulchres. Take
again the version of the story of Ananias and Sapphira. We are told
(p. 494) that the Apostles conceived the idea "of having all things in
common." In the narrative there is no statement, no suggestion of
the kind; it is a pure interpolation (Acts iv. 32-7). Motives of a
reasonable prudence are stated as a mattei of fact to have influenced
the offending couple--another pure interpolation. After the catastrophe
of Ananias "the Apostles sent for his wife"--a third interpolation. I
refer only to these points as exhibitions of an habitual and dangerous
inaccuracy, and without any attempt at present to discuss the case, in
which the judgments of God are exhibited on their severer side, and in
which I cannot, like the Reply, undertake summarily to determine for
what causes the Almighty should or should not take life, or delegate the
power to take it.

Again, we have (p. 486) these words given as a quotation from the Bible:

"They who believe and are baptized shall be saved, and they who believe
not shall be damned; and these shall go away into everlasting fire,
prepared for the devil and his angels."

The second clause thus reads as if applicable to the persons mentioned
in the first; that is to say, to those who reject the tidings of the
Gospel. But instead of its being a continuous passage, the latter
section is brought out of another gospel (St. Matthew's) and another
connection; and it is really written, not of those who do not believe,
but those who refuse to perform offices of charity to their neighbor in
his need. It would be wrong to call this intentional misrepresentation;
but can it be called less than somewhat reckless negligence?

It is a more special misfortune to find a writer arguing on the same
side with his critic, and yet for the critic not to be able to
agree with him. But so it is with reference to the great subject of
immortality, as treated in the Reply.

"The idea of immortality, that, like a sea, has ebbed and flowed in the
human heart, with its countless waves of hope and fear beating against
the shores and rocks of time and fate, was not born of any book, nor of
any creed, nor of any religion. It was born of human affection; and it
will continue to ebb and flow beneath the mist and clouds of doubt and
darkness, as long as love kisses the lips of death" (p. 483).

Here we have a very interesting chapter of the history of human opinion
disposed of in the usual summary way, by a statement which, as it
appears to me, is developed out of the writer's inner consciousness.
If the belief in immortality is not connected with any revelation
or religion, but is simply the expression of a subjective want, then
plainly we may expect the expression of it to be strong and clear in
proportion to the various degrees in which faculty is developed
among the various races of mankind. But how does the matter stand
historically? The Egyptians were not a people of high intellectual
development, and yet their religious system was strictly associated
with, I might rather say founded on, the belief in immortality. The
ancient Greeks, on the other hand, were a race of astonishing, perhaps
unrivalled, intellectual capacity. But not only did they, in prehistoric
ages, derive their scheme of a future world from Egypt; we find
also that, with the lapse of time and the advance of the Hellenic
civilization, the constructive ideas of the system lost all life and
definite outline, and the most powerful mind of the Greek philosophy,
that of Aristotle, had no clear perception whatever of a personal
existence in a future state.

The favorite doctrine of the Reply is the immunity of all error in
belief from moral responsibility. In the first page (p. 473) this is
stated with reserve as the "innocence of honest error." But why such a
limitation? The Reply warms with its subject; it shows us that no
error can be otherwise than honest, inasmuch as nothing which involves
honesty, or its reverse, can, from the constitution of our nature, enter
into the formation of opinion. Here is the full blown exposition (p.
476):

"The brain thinks without asking our consent. We believe, or we
disbelieve, without an effort of the will. Belief is a result. It is the
effect of evidence upon the mind. The scales turn in spite of him who
watches. _There is no opportunity of being honesty or dishonest, in
the formation of an opinion_. The conclusion is entirely independent of
desire."

The reasoning faculty is, therefore, wholly extrinsic to our moral
nature, and no influence is or can be received or imparted between them.
I know not whether the meaning is that all the faculties of our nature
are like so many separate departments in one of the modern shops that
supply all human wants; that will, memory, imagination, affection,
passion, each has its own separate domain, and that they meet only for a
comparison of results, just to tell one another what they have severally
been doing. It is difficult to conceive, if this be so, wherein consists
the personality, or individuality or organic unity of man. It is not
difficult to see that while the Reply aims at uplifting human nature,
it in reality plunges us (p. 475) into the abyss of degradation by the
destruction of moral freedom, responsibility, and unity. For we are
justly told that "reason is the supreme and final test." Action may be
merely instinctive and habitual, or it may be consciously founded
on formulated thought; but, in the cases where it is instinctive and
habitual, it passes over, so soon as it is challenged, into the other
category, and finds a basis for itself in some form of opinion. But,
says the Reply, we have no responsibility for our opinions: we cannot
help forming them according to the evidence as it presents itself to us.
Observe, the doctrine embraces every kind of opinion, and embraces all
alike, opinion on subjects where we like or dislike, as well as upon
subjects where we merely affirm or deny in some medium absolutely
colorless. For, if a distinction be taken between the colorless and the
colored medium, between conclusions to which passion or propensity or
imagination inclines us, and conclusions to which these have nothing to
say, then the whole ground will be cut away from under the feet of the
Reply, and it will have to build again _ab initio_. Let us try this by
a test case. A father who has believed his son to have been through
life upright, suddenly finds that charges are made from various quarters
against his integrity. Or a friend, greatly dependent for the work
of his life on the co-operation of another friend, is told that that
comrade is counterworking and betraying him. I make no assumption now
as to the evidence or the result; but I ask which of them could approach
the investigation without feeling a desire to be able to acquit? And
what shall we say of the desire to condemn? Would Elizabeth have had
no leaning towards finding Mary Stuart implicated in a conspiracy? Did
English judges and juries approach with an unbiassed mind the trials for
the Popish plot? Were the opinions formed by the English Parliament on
the Treaty of Limerick formed without the intervention of the will? Did
Napoleon judge according to the evidence when he acquitted himself in
the matter of the Due d' Enghien? Does the intellect sit in a solitary
chamber, like Galileo in the palace of the Vatican, and pursue celestial
observation all untouched, while the turmoil of earthly business is
raging everywhere around? According to the Reply, it must be a mistake
to suppose that there is anywhere in the world such a thing as bias, or
prejudice, or prepossession: they are words without meaning in regard to
our judgments, for even if they could raise a clamor from without, the
intellect sits within, in an atmosphere of serenity, and, like Justice,
is deaf and blind, as well as calm.

In addition to all other faults, I hold that this philosophy, or
phantasm of philosophy, is eminently retrogressive. Human nature, in its
compound of flesh and spirit, becomes more complex with the progress of
civilization; with the steady multiplication of wants, and of means for
their supply. With complication, introspection has largely extended, and
I believe that, as observation extends its field, so far from isolating
the intelligence and making it autocratic, it tends more and more to
enhance and multiply the infinitely subtle, as well as the broader and
more palpable modes, in which the interaction of the human faculties is
carried on. Who among us has not had occasion to observe, in the course
of his experience, how largely the intellectual power of a man is
affected by the demands of life on his moral powers, and how they open
and grow, or dry up and dwindle, according to the manner in which those
demands are met.

Genius itself, however purely a conception of the intellect, is not
exempt from the strong influences of joy and suffering, love and hatred,
hope and fear, in the development of its powers. It may be that Homer,
Shakespeare, Goethe, basking upon the whole in the sunshine of life,
drew little supplementary force from its trials and agitations. But
the history of one not less wonderful than any of these, the career of
Dante, tells a different tale; and one of the latest and most searching
investigators of his history (Scartazzini, Dante Alighieri, _seine zeit,
sein leben, und seine werkes_, B. II. Ch. 5, p. 119; also pp. 438,
9. Biel, 1869) tells and shows us, how the experience of his life
co-operated with his extraordinary natural gifts and capabilities to
make him what he was. Under the three great heads of love, belief, and
patriotism, his life was a continued course of ecstatic or agonizing
trials. The strain of these trials was discipline; discipline was
experience; and experience was elevation. No reader of his greatest work
will, I believe, hold with the Reply that his thoughts, conclusions,
judgments, were simple results of an automatic process, in which the
will and affections had no share, that reasoning operations are like the
whir of a clock running down, and we can no more arrest the process
or alter the conclusion than the wheels can stop the movement or the
noise.*

     * I possess the confession of an illiterate criminal, made,
     I think, in 1834, under the following circumstances: The new
     poor law had just been passed in England, and it required
     persons needing relief to go into the workhouse as a
     condition of receiving it. In some parts of the country,
     this provision produced a profound popular panic. The man in
     question was destitute at the time. He was (I think) an old
     widower with four very young sons. He rose in the night and
     strangled them all, one after another, with a blue
     handkerchief, not from want of fatherly affection, but to
     keep them out of the workhouse. The confession of this
     peasant, simple in phrase, but intensely impassioned,
     strongly reminds me of the Ugolino of Dante, and appears to
     make some approach to its sublimity. Such, in given
     circumstances, is the effect of moral agony on mental power.

The doctrine taught in the Reply, that belief is, as a general, nay,
universal law, independent of the will, surely proves, when examined, to
be a plausibility of the shallowest kind. Even in arithmetic, if a boy,
through dislike of his employment, and consequent lack of attention,
brings out a wrong result for his sum, it can hardly be said that his
conclusion is absolutely and in all respects independent of his will.
Moving onward, point by point, toward the centre of the argument, I will
next take an illustration from mathematics. It has (I apprehend) been
demonstrated that the relation of the diameter to the circumference of
a circle is not susceptible of full numerical expression. Yet, from time
to time, treatises are published which boldly announce that they set
forth the quadrature of the circle. I do not deny that this may be
purely intellectual error; but would it not, on the other hand, be
hazardous to assert that no grain of egotism or ambition has ever
entered into the composition of any one of such treatises? I have
selected these instances as, perhaps, the most favorable that can be
found to the doctrine of the Reply. But the truth is that, if we
set aside matters of trivial import, the enormous majority of human
judgments are those into which the biassing power off likes and dislikes
more or less largely enters. I admit, indeed, that the illative faculty
works under rules upon which choice and inclination ought to exercise no
influence whatever. But even if it were granted that in fact the
faculty of discourse is exempted from all such influence within its own
province, yet we come no nearer to the mark, because that faculty has
to work upon materials supplied to it by other faculties; it draws
conclusions according to premises, and the question has to be determined
whether our conceptions set forth in those premises are or are not
influenced by moral causes. For, if they be so influenced, then in vain
will be the proof that the understanding has dealt loyally and exactly
with the materials it had to work upon; inasmuch as, although the
intellectual process be normal in itself, the operation may have been
tainted _ab initio_ by coloring and distorting influences which have
falsified the primary conceptions.

Let me now take an illustration from the extreme opposite quarter to
that which I first drew upon. The system called Thuggism, represented
in the practice of the Thugs, taught that the act, which we describe
as murder, was innocent. Was this an honest error? Was it due, in its
authors as well as in those who blindly followed them, to an automatic
process of thought, in which the will was not consulted, and which
accordingly could entail no responsibility? If it was, then it is plain
that the whole foundations, not of belief, but of social morality, are
broken up. If it was not, then the sweeping doctrine of the present
writer on the necessary blamelessness of erroneous conclusions tumbles
to the ground like a house of cards at the breath of the child who built
it.

In truth, the pages of the Reply, and the Letter which has more recently
followed it,* themselves demonstrate that what the writer has asserted
wholesale he overthrows and denies in detail.

     * North American Review for January, 1888, "Another Letter
     to Dr. Field."

"You will admit," says the Reply (p. 477), "that he who now persecutes
for opinion's sake is infamous." But why? Suppose he thinks that by
persecution he can bring a man from soul-destroying falsehood to
soul-saving truth, this opinion may reflect on his intellectual
debility: but that is his misfortune, not his fault. His brain has
thought without asking his consent; he has believed or disbelieved
without an effort of the will (p. 476). Yet the very writer, who has
thus established his title to think, is the first to hurl at him an
anathema for thinking. And again, in the Letter to Dr. Field (N. A. R.,
vol. 146, p. 33), "the dogma of eternal pain" is described as "that
infamy of infamies." I am not about to discuss the subject of future
retribution. If I were, it would be my first duty to show that this
writer has not adequately considered either the scope of his own
arguments (which in no way solve the difficulties he presents) or the
meaning of his words; and my second would be to recommend his perusal of
what Bishop Butler has suggested on this head. But I am at present on
ground altogether different. I am trying another issue. This author says
we believe or disbelieve without the action of the will, and,
consequently, belief or disbelief is not the proper subject of praise or
blame. And yet, according to the very same authority, the dogma of
eternal pain is what?--not "an error of errors," but an "infamy of
infamies;" and though to hold a negative may not be a subject of moral
reproach, yet to hold the affirmative may. Truly it may be asked, is not
this a fountain which sends forth at once sweet waters and bitter?

Once more. I will pass away from tender ground, and will endeavor to
lodge a broader appeal to the enlightened judgment of the author. Says
Odysseus in the Illiad (B. II.) [--Greek--]: and a large part of the
world, stretching this sentiment beyond its original meaning, have held
that the root of civil power is not in the community, but in its head.
In opposition to this doctrine, the American written Constitution, and
the entire American tradition, teach the right of a nation to
self-government. And these propositions, which have divided and still
divide the world, open out respectively into vast systems of
irreconcilable ideas and laws, practices and habits of mind. Will any
rational man, above all will any American, contend that these
conflicting systems have been adopted, upheld, and enforced on one side
and the other, in the daylight of pure reasoning only, and that moral,
or immoral, causes have had nothing to do with their adoption? That the
intellect has worked impartially, like a steam-engine, and that
selfishness, love of fame, love of money, love of power, envy, wrath,
and malice, or again bias, in its least noxious form, have never had
anything to do with generating the opposing movements, or the frightful
collisions in which they have resulted? If we say that they have not, we
contradict the universal judgment of mankind. If we say they have, then
mental processes are not automatic, but may be influenced by the will
and by the passions, affections, habits, fancies that sway the will; and
this writer will not have advanced a step toward proving the universal
innocence of error, until he has shown that propositions of religion are
essentially unlike almost all other propositions, and that no man ever
has been, or from the nature of the case can be, affected in their
acceptance or rejection by moral causes.*

     * The chief part of these observations were written before I
     had received the January number of the Review, with Col.
     Ingersoll's additional letter to Dr. Field. Much, of this
     letter is specially pointed at Dr. Field, who can defend
     himself, and at Calvin, whose ideas I certainly cannot
     undertake to defend all along the line. I do not see that
     the Letter adds to those, the most salient, points of the
     earlier article which I have endeavored to select for
     animadversion.

To sum up. There are many passages in these noteworthy papers, which,
taken by themselves, are calculated to command warm sympathy. Towards
the close of his final, or latest letter, the writer expresses himself
as follows (N. A. R., vol. 146, p. 46.):

"Neither in the interest of truth, nor for the benefit of man, is it
necessary to assert what we do not know. No cause is great enough to
demand a sacrifice of candor. The mysteries of life and death, of good
and evil, have never yet been solved." How good, how wise are these
words! But coming at the close of the controversy, have they not some of
the ineffectual features of a death-bed repentance? They can hardly
be said to represent in all points the rules under which the pages
preceding them have been composed; or he, who so justly says that we
ought not to assert what we do not know, could hardly have laid down
the law as we find it a few pages earlier (ibid, p. 40) when it is
pronounced that "an infinite God has no excuse for leaving his children
in doubt and darkness." Candor and upright intention are indeed every
where manifest amidst the flashing corruscations which really compose
the staple of the articles. Candor and upright intention also impose
upon a commentator the duty of formulating his animadversions. I sum
them up under two heads. Whereas we are placed in an atmosphere of
mystery, relieved only by a little sphere of light round each of us,
like a clearing in an American forest (which this writer has so well
described), and rarely can see farther than is necessary for the
direction of our own conduct from day to day, we find here, assumed by
a particular person, the character of an universal judge without appeal.
And whereas the highest self-restraint is necessary in these dark but,
therefore, all the more exciting inquiries, in order to maintain the
ever quivering balance of our faculties, this rider chooses to ride an
unbroken horse, and to throw the reins upon his neck. I have endeavored
to give a sample of the results.

W. E. Gladstone.



COL. INGERSOLL TO MR. GLADSTONE.

To The Right Honorable W. E. Gladstone, M. P.:

My Dear Sir:

At the threshold of this Reply, it gives me pleasure to say that for
your intellect and character I have the greatest respect; and let me
say further, that I shall consider your arguments, assertions, and
inferences entirely apart from your personality--apart from the exalted
position that you occupy in the estimation of the civilized world. I
gladly acknowledge the inestimable services that you have rendered, not
only to England, but to mankind. Most men are chilled and narrowed by
the snows of age; their thoughts are darkened by the approach of night.
But you, for many years, have hastened toward the light, and your mind
has been "an autumn that grew the more by reaping."

Under no circumstances could I feel justified in taking advantage of the
admissions that you have made as to the "errors" the "misfeasance" the
"infirmities and the perversity" of the Christian Church.

It is perfectly apparent that churches, being only aggregations of
people, contain the prejudice, the ignorance, the vices and the
virtues of ordinary human beings. The perfect cannot be made out of the
imperfect.

A man is not necessarily a great mathematician because he admits the
correctness of the multiplication table. The best creed may be believed
by the worst of the human race. Neither the crimes nor the virtues
of the church tend to prove or disprove the supernatural origin of
religion. The massacre of St. Bartholomew tends no more to establish the
inspiration of the Scriptures, than the bombardment of Alexandria.

But there is one thing that cannot be admitted, and that is your
statement that the constitution of man is in a "warped, impaired, and
dislocated condition," and that "these deformities indispose men to
belief." Let us examine this.

We say that a thing is "warped" that was once nearer level, flat, or
straight; that it is "impaired" when it was once nearer perfect, and
that it is "dislocated" when once it was united. Consequently, you have
said that at some time the human constitution was unwarped, unimpaired,
and with each part working in harmony with all. You seem to believe
in the degeneracy of man, and that our unfortunate race, starting at
perfection, has traveled downward through all the wasted years.

It is hardly possible that our ancestors were perfect. If history proves
anything, it establishes the fact that civilization was not first, and
savagery afterwards. Certainly the tendency of man is not now toward
barbarism. There must have been a time when language was unknown,
when lips had never formed a word. That which man knows, man must have
learned. The victories of our race have been slowly and painfully won.
It is a long distance from the gibberish of the savage to the sonnets
of Shakespeare--a long and weary road from the pipe of Pan to the great
orchestra voiced with every tone from the glad warble of a mated bird
to the hoarse thunder of the sea. The road is long that lies between the
discordant cries uttered by the barbarian over the gashed body of
his foe and the marvelous music of Wagner and Beethoven. It is hardly
possible to conceive of the years that lie between the caves in which
crouched our naked ancestors crunching the bones of wild beasts, and the
home of a civilized man with its comforts, its articles of luxury and
use,--with its works of art, with its enriched and illuminated walls.
Think of the billowed years that must have rolled between these shores.
Think of the vast distance that man has slowly groped from the dark dens
and lairs of ignorance and fear to the intellectual conquests of our
day.

Is it true that these deformities, these warped, impaired, and
dislocated constitutions indispose men to belief? Can we in this
way account for the doubts entertained by the intellectual leaders of
mankind?

It will not do, in this age and time, to account for unbelief in this
deformed and dislocated way. The exact opposite must be true. Ignorance
and credulity sustain the relation of cause and effect. Ignorance is
satisfied with assertion, with appearance. As man rises in the scale of
intelligence he demands evidence. He begins to look back of appearance.
He asks the priest for reasons. The most ignorant part of Christendom is
the most orthodox.

You have simply repeated a favorite assertion of the clergy, to the
effect that man rejects the gospel because he is naturally depraved and
hard of heart--because, owing to the sin of Adam and Eve, he has fallen
from the perfection and purity of Paradise to that "impaired" condition
in which he is satisfied with the filthy rags of reason, observation and
experience.

The truth is, that what you call unbelief is only a higher and holier
faith. Millions of men reject Christianity because of its cruelty. The
Bible was never rejected by the cruel. It has been upheld by countless
tyrants--by the dealers in human flesh--by the destroyers of nations--by
the enemies of intelligence--by the stealers of babes and the whippers
of women.

It is also true that it has been held as sacred by the good, the
self-denying, the virtuous and the loving, who clung to the sacred
volume on account of the good it contains and in spite of all its
cruelties and crimes.

You are mistaken when you say that all "the faults of all the Christian
bodies and subdivisions of bodies have been carefully raked together,"
in my Reply to Dr. Field, "and made part and parcel of the indictment
against the divine scheme of salvation."

No thoughtful man pretends that any fault of any Christian body can
be used as an argument against what you call the "divine scheme of
redemption."

I find in your Remarks the frequent charge that I am guilty of making
assertions and leaving them to stand without the assistance of argument
or fact, and it may be proper, at this particular point, to inquire how
you know that there is "a divine scheme of redemption."

My objections to this "divine scheme of redemption" are: _first_, that
there is not the slightest evidence that it is divine; _second_, that
it is not in any sense a "scheme," human or divine; and _third_, that it
cannot, by any possibility, result in the redemption of a human being.

It cannot be divine, because it has no foundation in the nature of
things, and is not in accordance with reason. It is based on the idea
that right and wrong are the expression of an arbitrary will, and not
words applied to and descriptive of acts in the light of consequences.
It rests upon the absurdity called "pardon," upon the assumption that
when a crime has been committed justice will be satisfied with the
punishment of the innocent. One person may suffer, or reap a benefit, in
consequence of the act of another, but no man can be justly punished for
the crime, or justly rewarded for the virtues, of another. A "scheme"
that punishes an innocent man for the vices of another can hardly be
called divine. Can a murderer find justification in the agonies of his
victim? There is no vicarious vice; there is no vicarious virtue. For me
it is hard to understand how a just and loving being can charge one of
his children with the vices, or credit him with the virtues, of another.

And why should we call anything a "divine scheme" that has been a
failure from the "fall of man" until the present moment? What race, what
nation, has been redeemed through the instrumentality of this "divine
scheme"? Have not the subjects of redemption been for the most part the
enemies of civilization? Has not almost every valuable book since the
invention of printing been denounced by the believers in the "divine
scheme"? Intelligence, the development of the mind, the discoveries of
science, the inventions of genius, the cultivation of the imagination
through art and music, and the practice of virtue will redeem the human
race. These are the saviors of mankind.

You admit that the "Christian churches have by their exaggerations and
shortcomings, and by their faults of conduct, contributed to bring about
a condition of hostility to religious faith."

If one wishes to know the worst that man has done, all that power guided
by cruelty can do, all the excuses that can be framed for the commission
of every crime, the infinite difference that can exist between that
which is professed and that which is practiced, the marvelous malignity
of meekness, the arrogance of humility and the savagery of what is known
as "universal love," let him read the history of the Christian Church.

Yet, I not only admit that millions of Christians have been honest in
the expression of their opinions, but that they have been among the best
and noblest of our race.

And it is further admitted that a creed should be examined apart from
the conduct of those who have assented to its truth. The church should
be judged as a whole, and its faults should be accounted for either by
the weakness of human nature, or by reason of some defect or vice in the
religion taught,--or by both.

Is there anything in the Christian religion--anything in what you are
pleased to call the "Sacred Scriptures" tending to cause the crimes and
atrocities that have been committed by the church?

It seems to be natural for man to defend himself and the ones he loves.
The father slays the man who would kill his child--he defends the body.
The Christian father burns the heretic--he defends the soul.

If "orthodox Christianity" be true, an infidel has not the right to
live. Every book in which the Bible is attacked should be burned with
its author. Why hesitate to burn a man whose constitution is "warped,
impaired and dislocated," for a few moments, when hundreds of others
will be saved from eternal flames?

In Christianity you will find the cause of persecution. The idea
that belief is essential to salvation--this ignorant and merciless
dogma--accounts for the atrocities of the church. This absurd
declaration built the dungeons, used the instruments of torture, erected
the scaffolds and lighted the fagots of a thousand years.

What, I pray you, is the "heavenly treasure" in the keeping of your
church? Is it a belief in an infinite God? That was believed thousands
of years before the serpent tempted Eve. Is it the belief in the
immortality of the soul? That is far older. Is it that man should treat
his neighbor as himself? That is more ancient. What is the treasure in
the keeping of the church? Let me tell you. It is this: That there is
but one true religion--Christianity,--and that all others are false;
that the prophets, and Christs, and priests of all others have been and
are impostors, or the victims of insanity; that the Bible is the one
inspired book--the one authentic record of the words of God; that all
men are naturally depraved and deserve to be punished with unspeakable
torments forever; that there is only one path that leads to heaven,
while countless highways lead to hell; that there is only one name under
heaven by which a human being can be saved; that we must believe in
the Lord Jesus Christ; that this life, with its few and fleeting years,
fixes the fate of man; that the few will be saved and the many forever
lost. This is "the heavenly treasure" within the keeping of your church.

And this "treasure" has been guarded by the cherubim of persecution,
whose flaming swords were wet for many centuries with the best and
bravest blood. It has been guarded by cunning, by hypocrisy, by
mendacity, by honesty, by calumniating the generous, by maligning the
good, by thumbscrews and racks, by charity and love, by robbery and
assassination, by poison and fire, by the virtues of the ignorant and
the vices of the learned, by the violence of mobs and the whirlwinds of
war, by every hope and every fear, by every cruelty and every crime, and
by all there is of the wild beast in the heart of man.

With great propriety it may be asked: In the keeping of which church is
this "heavenly treasure"? Did the Catholics have it, and was it taken
by Luther? Did Henry the VIII. seize it, and is it now in the keeping
of the Church of England? Which of the warring sects in America has this
treasure; or have we, in this country, only the "rust and cankers"? Is
it in an Episcopal Church, that refuses to associate with a colored
man for whom Christ died, and who is good enough for the society of the
angelic host?

But wherever this "heavenly treasure" has been, about it have always
hovered the Stymphalian birds of superstition, thrusting their brazen
beaks and claws deep into the flesh of honest men.

You were pleased to point out as the particular line justifying your
assertion "that denunciation, sarcasm, and invective constitute the
staple of my work," that line in which I speak of those who expect to
receive as alms an eternity of joy, and add: "I take this as a specimen
of the mode of statement which permeates the whole."

Dr. Field commenced his Open Letter by saying: "I am glad that I know
you, _even though some of my brethren look upon you as a monster,
because of your unbelief_."

In reply I simply said: "The statement in your Letter that some of your
brethren look upon me as a monster on account of my unbelief tends
to show that those who love God are not always the friends of their
fellow-men. Is it not strange that people who admit that they ought to
be eternally damned--that they are by nature depraved--that there is no
soundness or health in them, can be so arrogantly egotistic as to look
upon others as monsters? And yet some of your brethren, who regard
unbelievers as infamous, rely for salvation entirely on the goodness of
another, and expect to receive as alms an eternity of joy." Is there any
denunciation, sarcasm or invective in this?

Why should one who admits that he himself is totally depraved call
any other man, by way of reproach, a monster? Possibly, he might be
justified in addressing him as a fellow-monster.

I am not satisfied with your statement that "the Christian receives as
alms all whatsoever he receives at all." Is it true that man deserves
only punishment? Does the man who makes the world better, who works and
battles for the right, and dies for the good of his fellow-men, deserve
nothing but pain and anguish? Is happiness a gift or a consequence? Is
heaven only a well-conducted poorhouse? Are the angels in their highest
estate nothing but happy paupers? Must all the redeemed feel that they
are in heaven simply because there was a miscarriage of justice? Will
the lost be the only ones who will know that the right thing has been
done, and will they alone appreciate the "ethical elements of religion"?
Will they repeat the words that you have quoted: "Mercy and judgment are
met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other"? or will
those words be spoken by the redeemed as they joyously contemplate the
writhings of the lost?

No one will dispute "that in the discussion of important questions
calmness and sobriety are essential." But solemnity need not be carried
to the verge of mental paralysis. In the search for truth,--that
everything in nature seems to hide,--man needs the assistance of all his
faculties. All the senses should be awake. Humor should carry a torch,
Wit should give its sudden light, Candor should hold the scales, Reason,
the final arbiter, should put his royal stamp on every fact, and Memory,
with a miser's care, should keep and guard the mental gold.

The church has always despised the man of humor, hated laughter, and
encouraged the lethargy of solemnity. It is not willing that the mind
should subject its creed to every test of truth. It wishes to overawe.
It does not say, "He that hath a mind to think, let him think;" but, "He
that hath ears to hear, let him hear." The church has always abhorred
wit,--that is to say, it does not enjoy being struck by the lightning
of the soul. The foundation of wit is logic, and it has always been the
enemy of the supernatural, the solemn and absurd.

You express great regret that no one at the present day is able to
write like Pascal. You admire his wit and tenderness, and the unique,
brilliant, and fascinating manner in which he treated the profoundest
and most complex themes. Sharing in your admiration and regret, I
call your attention to what might be called one of his religious
generalizations: "Disease is the natural state of a Christian."
Certainly it cannot be said that I have ever mingled the profound and
complex in a more fascinating manner.

Another instance is given of the "tumultuous method in which I conduct,
not, indeed, my argument, but my case."

Dr. Field had drawn a distinction between superstition and religion, to
which I replied: "You are shocked at the Hindoo mother when she gives
her child to death at the supposed command of her God. What do you think
of Abraham, of Jephthah? What is your opinion of Jehovah himself?"

These simple questions seem to have excited you to an unusual degree,
and you ask in words of some severity:

"Whether this is the tone in which controversies ought be carried on?"
And you say that--"not only is the name of Jehovah encircled in the
heart of every believer with the pro-foundest reverence and love, but
that the Christian religion teaches, through the incarnation, a personal
relation with God so lofty that it can only be approached in a deep,
reverential calm." You admit that "a person who deems a given religion
to be wicked, may be led onward by logical consistency to impugn in
strong terms the character of the author and object of that religion,"
but you insist that such person is "bound by the laws of social morality
and decency to consider well the terms and meaning of his indictment."

Was there any lack of "reverential calm" in my question? I gave no
opinion, drew no indictment, but simply asked for the opinion of
another. Was that a violation of the "laws of social morality and
decency"?

It is not necessary for me to discuss this question with you. It has
been settled by Jehovah himself. You probably remember the account given
in the eighteenth chapter of I. Kings, of a contest between the prophets
of Baal and the prophets of Jehovah. There were four hundred and fifty
prophets of the false God who endeavored to induce their deity to
consume with fire from heaven the sacrifice upon his altar. According
to the account, they were greatly in earnest. They certainly appeared to
have some hope of success, but the fire did not descend.

"And it came to pass at noon, that Elijah mocked them and said 'Cry
aloud, for he is a god; either he is talking, or he is pursuing, or he
is in a journey, or peradventure, he sleepeth and must be awaked.'"

Do you consider that the proper way to attack the God of another? Did
not Elijah know that the name of Baal "was encircled in the heart of
every believer with the profoundest reverence and love"? Did he "violate
the laws of social morality and decency"?

But Jehovah and Elijah did not stop at this point. They were not
satisfied with mocking the prophets of Baal, but they brought them down
to the brook Kishon--four hundred and fifty of them--and there they
murdered every one.

Does it appear to you that on that occasion, on the banks of the brook
Kishon--"Mercy and judgment met together, and that righteousness and
peace kissed each other"?

The question arises: Has every one who reads the Old Testament the right
to express his thought as to the character of Jehovah? You will admit
that as he reads his mind will receive some impression, and that when
he finishes the "inspired volume" he will have some opinion as to the
character of Jehovah. Has he the right to express that opinion? Is the
Bible a revelation from God to man? Is it a revelation to the man who
reads it, or to the man who does not read it? If to the man who reads
it, has he the right to give to others the revelation that God has given
to him? If he comes to the conclusion at which you have arrived,--that
Jehovah is God,--has he the right to express that opinion?

If he concludes, as I have done, that Jehovah is a myth, must he refrain
from giving his honest thought? Christians do not hesitate to give their
opinion of heretics, philosophers, and infidels. They are not restrained
by the "laws of social morality and decency." They have persecuted to
the extent of their power, and their Jehovah pronounced upon unbelievers
every curse capable of being expressed in the Hebrew dialect. At this
moment, thousands of missionaries are attacking the gods of the heathen
world, and heaping contempt on the religion of others.

But as you have seen proper to defend Jehovah, let us for a moment
examine this deity of the ancient Jews.

There are several tests of character. It may be that all the virtues can
be expressed in the word "kindness," and that nearly all the vices are
gathered together in the word "cruelty."

Laughter is a test of character. When we know what a man laughs at,
we know what he really is. Does he laugh at misfortune, at poverty,
at honesty in rags, at industry without food, at the agonies of his
fellow-men? Does he laugh when he sees the convict clothed in the
garments of shame--at the criminal on the scaffold? Does he rub his
hands with glee over the embers of an enemy's home? Think of a man
capable ol laughing while looking at Marguerite in the prison cell with
her dead babe by her side. What must be the real character of a God who
laughs at the calamities of his children, mocks at their fears, their
desolation, their distress and anguish? Would an infinitely loving God
hold his ignorant children in derision? Would he pity, or mock? Save, or
destroy? Educate, or exterminate? Would he lead them with gentle hands
toward the light, or lie in wait for them like a wild beast? Think of
the echoes of Jehovah's laughter in the rayless caverns of the eternal
prison. Can a good man mock at the children of deformity? Will he deride
the misshapen? Your Jehovah deformed some of his own children, and then
held them up to scorn and hatred. These divine mistakes--these blunders
of the infinite--were not allowed to enter the temple erected in honor
of him who had dishonored them. Does a kind father mock his deformed
child? What would you think of a mother who would deride and taunt her
misshapen babe?

There is another test. How does a man use power? Is he gentle or cruel?
Does he defend the weak, succor the oppressed, or trample on the fallen?

If you will read again the twenty-eighth chapter of Deuteronomy, you
will find how Jehovah, the compassionate, whose name is enshrined in so
many hearts, threatened to use his power.

"The Lord shall smite thee with a consumption, and with a fever, and
with an inflammation, and with an extreme burning, and with the sword,
and with blasting and mildew. And thy heaven that is over thy head shall
be brass, and the earth that is under thee shall be iron. The Lord shall
make the rain of thy land powder and dust.".... "And thy carcass shall
be meat unto all fowls of the air and unto the beasts of the earth."....
"The Lord shall smite thee with madness and blindness. And thou shalt
eat of the fruit of thine own body, the flesh of thy sons and thy
daughters. The tender and delicate woman among you,... her eye shall be
evil... toward her young one and toward her children which she shall
bear; for she shall eat them."

Should it be found that these curses were in fact uttered by the God of
hell, and that the translators had made a mistake in attributing them
to Jehovah, could you say that the sentiments expressed are inconsistent
with the supposed character of the Infinite Fiend?

A nation is judged by its laws--by the punishment it inflicts. The
nation that punishes ordinary offences with death is regarded as
barbarous, and the nation that tortures before it kills is denounced as
savage.

What can you say of the government of Jehovah, in which death was the
penalty for hundreds of offences?--death for the expression of an honest
thought--death for touching with a good intention a sacred ark--death
for making hair oil--for eating shew bread--for imitating incense and
perfumery?

In the history of the world a more cruel code cannot be found. Crimes
seem to have been invented to gratify a fiendish desire to shed the
blood of men.

There is another test: How does a man treat the animals in his
power--his faithful horse--his patient ox--his loving dog?

How did Jehovah treat the animals in Egypt? Would a loving God, with
fierce hail from heaven, bruise and kill the innocent cattle for the
crimes of their owners? Would he torment, torture and destroy them for
the sins of men?

Jehovah was a God of blood. His altar was adorned with the horns of
a beast. He established a religion in which every temple was a
slaughter-house, and every priest a butcher--a religion that demanded
the death of the first-born, and delighted in the destruction of life.

There is still another test: The civilized man gives to others the
rights that he claims for himself. He believes in the liberty of thought
and expression, and abhors persecution for conscience sake.

Did Jehovah believe in the innocence of thought and the liberty of
expression? Kindness is found with true greatness. Tyranny lodges only
in the breast of the small, the narrow, the shriveled and the selfish.
Did Jehovah teach and practice generosity? Was he a believer in
religious liberty? If he was and is, in fact, God, he must have known,
even four thousand years ago, that worship must be free, and that he who
is forced upon his knees cannot, by any possibility, have the spirit of
prayer.

Let me call your attention to a few passages in the thirteenth chapter
of Deuteronomy:

"If thy brother, the son of thy mother, or thy son, or thy daughter, or
the wife of thy bosom, or thy friend, which is as thine own soul, entice
thee secretly, saying, Let us go and serve other gods,... thou shalt
not consent unto him, nor hearken unto him; neither shall thine eye pity
him, neither shalt thou spare, neither shalt thou conceal him; but thou
shalt surely kill him; thine hand shall be first upon him to put him to
death, and afterwards the hand of all the people. And thou shalt stone
him with stones, that he die."

Is it possible for you to find in the literature of this world more
awful passages than these? Did ever savagery, with strange and uncouth
marks, with awkward forms of beast and bird, pollute the dripping walls
of caves with such commands? Are these the words of infinite mercy? When
they were uttered, did "righteousness and peace kiss each other"? How
can any loving man or woman "encircle the name of Jehovah"--author of
these words--"with profoundest reverence and love"? Do I rebel because
my "constitution is warped, impaired and dislocated"? Is it because of
"total depravity" that I denounce the brutality of Jehovah? If my heart
were only good--if I loved my neighbor as myself--would I then see
infinite mercy in these hideous words? Do I lack "reverential calm"?

These frightful passages, like coiled adders, were in the hearts of
Jehovah's chosen people when they crucified "the Sinless Man."

Jehovah did not tell the husband to reason with his wife. She was to
be answered only with death. She was to be bruised and mangled to a
bleeding, shapeless mass of quivering flesh, for having breathed an
honest thought.

If there is anything of importance in this world, it is the family, the
home, the marriage of true souls, the equality of husband and wife--the
true republicanism of the heart--the real democracy of the fireside.

Let us read the sixteenth verse of the third chapter of Genesis:

"Unto the woman he said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy
conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire
shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee."

Never will I worship any being who added to the sorrows and agonies of
maternity. Never will I bow to any God who introduced slavery into every
home--who made the wife a slave and the husband a tyrant.

The Old Testament shows that Jehovah, like his creators, held women
in contempt. They were regarded as property: "Thou shalt not covet thy
neighbor's wife,--nor his ox."

Why should a pure woman worship a God who upheld polygamy? Let us finish
this subject: The institution of slavery involves all crimes. Jehovah
was a believer in slavery. This is enough. Why should any civilized man
worship him? Why should his name "be encircled with love and tenderness
in any human heart"?

He believed that man could become the property of man--that it was right
for his chosen people to deal in human flesh--to buy and sell mothers
and babes. He taught that the captives were the property of the captors
and directed his chosen people to kill, to enslave, or to pollute.

In the presence of these commandments, what becomes of the fine
saying, "Love thy neighbor as thyself"? What shall we say of a God who
established slavery, and then had the effrontery to say, "Thou shalt not
steal"?

It may be insisted that Jehovah is the Father of all--and that he
has "made of one blood all the nations of the earth." How then can we
account for the wars of extermination? Does not the commandment "Love
thy neighbor as thyself," apply to nations precisely the same as to
individuals? Nations, like individuals, become great by the practice of
virtue. How did Jehovah command his people to treat their neighbors?

He commanded his generals to destroy all, men, women and babes: "Thou
shalt save nothing alive that breatheth."

"I will make mine arrows drunk with blood, and my sword shall devour
flesh."

"That thy foot may be dipped in the blood of thine enemies, and the
tongue of thy dogs in the same."

"... I will also send the teeth of beasts upon them, with the poison of
serpents of the dust...."

"The sword without and terror within shall destroy both the young man
and the virgin, the suckling also, with the man of gray hairs."

Is it possible that these words fell from the lips of the Most Merciful?

You may reply that the inhabitants of Canaan were unfit to live--that
they were ignorant and cruel. Why did not Jehovah, the "Father of all,"
give them the Ten Commandments? Why did he leave them without a bible,
without prophets and priests? Why did he shower all the blessings of
revelation on one poor and wretched tribe, and leave the great world
in ignorance and crime--and why did he order his favorite children to
murder those whom he had neglected?

By the question I asked of Dr. Field, the intention was to show that
Jephthah, when he sacrificed his daughter to Jehovah, was as much the
slave of superstition as is the Hindoo mother when she throws her babe
into the yellow waves of the Ganges.

It seems that this savage Jephthah was in direct communication with
Jehovah at Mizpeh, and that he made a vow unto the Lord and said:

"If thou shalt without fail deliver the children of Ammon into mine
hands, then it shall be that whatsoever cometh forth of the doors of
my house to meet me, when I return in peace from the children of Ammon,
shall surely be the Lord's, and I will offer it up as a burnt offering."

In the first place, it is perfectly clear that the sacrifice intended
was a human sacrifice, from the words: "that whatsoever cometh forth
of the doors of my house to meet me." Some human being--wife,
daughter, friend, was expected to come. According to the account, his
daughter--his only daughter--his only child--came first.

If Jephthah was in communication with God, why did God allow this man
to make this vow; and why did he allow the daughter that he loved to be
first, and why did he keep silent and allow the vow to be kept, while
flames devoured the daughter's flesh?

St. Paul is not authority. He praises Samuel, the man who hewed Agag in
pieces; David, who compelled hundreds to pass under the saws and
harrows of death, and many others who shed the blood of the innocent and
helpless. Paul is an unsafe guide. He who commends the brutalities of
the past, sows the seeds of future crimes.

If "believers are not obliged to approve of the conduct of Jephthah"
are they free to condemn the conduct of Jehovah? If you will read the
account you will see that the "spirit of the Lord was upon Jephthah"
when he made the cruel vow. If Paul did not commend Jephthah for keeping
this vow, what was the act that excited his admiration? Was it because
Jephthah slew on the banks of the Jordan "forty and two thousand" of the
sons of Ephraim?

In regard to Abraham, the argument is precisely the same, except that
Jehovah is said to have interfered, and allowed an animal to be slain
instead.

One of the answers given by you is that "it may be allowed that the
narrative is not within our comprehension"; and for that reason you
say that "it behooves us to tread cautiously in approaching it." Why
cautiously?

These stories of Abraham and Jephthah have cost many an innocent life.
Only a few years ago, here in my country, a man by the name of Freeman,
believing that God demanded at least the show of obedience--believing
what he had read in the Old Testament that "without the shedding of
blood there is no remission," and so believing, touched with insanity,
sacrificed his little girl--plunged into her innocent breast the dagger,
believing it to be God's will, and thinking that if it were not God's
will his hand would be stayed.

I know of nothing more pathetic than the story of this crime told by
this man.

Nothing can be more monstrous than the conception of a God who demands
sacrifice--of a God who would ask of a father that he murder his
son--of a father that he would burn his daughter. It is far beyond my
comprehension how any man ever could have believed such an infinite,
such a cruel absurdity.

At the command of the real God--if there be one--I would not sacrifice
my child, I would not murder my wife. But as long as there are people
in the world whose minds are so that they can believe the stories of
Abraham and Jephthah, just so long there will be men who will take the
lives of the ones they love best.

You have taken the position that the conditions are different; and you
say that: "According to the book of Genesis, Adam and Eve were placed
under a law, not of consciously perceived right and wrong, but of simple
obedience. The tree of which alone they were forbidden to eat was the
tree of the knowledge of good and evil; duty lay for them in following
the command of the Most High, before and until they became capable of
appreciating it by an ethical standard. Their knowledge was but that of
an infant who has just reached the stage at which he can comprehend that
he is ordered to do this or that, but not the nature of the things so
ordered.".

If Adam and Eve could not "consciously perceive right and wrong," how
is it possible for you to say that "duty lay for them in following the
command of the Most High"? How can a person "incapable of perceiving
right and wrong" have an idea of duty? You are driven to say that Adam
and Eve had no moral sense. How under such circumstances could they have
the sense of guilt, or of obligation? And why should such persons be
punished? And why should the whole human race become tainted by the
offence of those who had no moral sense?

Do you intend to be understood as saying that Jehovah allowed his
children to enslave each other because "duty lay for them in following
the command of the Most High"? Was it for this reason that he caused
them to exterminate each other? Do you account for the severity of his
punishments by the fact that the poor creatures punished were not aware
of the enormity of the offences they had committed? What shall we say of
a God who has one of his children stoned to death for picking up sticks
on Sunday, and allows another to enslave his fellow-man? Have you
discovered any theory that will account for both of these facts?

Another word as to Abraham:--You defend his willingness to kill his son
because "the estimate of human life at the time was different"--because
"the position of the father in the family was different; its members
were regarded as in some sense his property;" and because "there is
every reason to suppose that around Abraham in the 'land of Moriah' the
practice of human sacrifice as an act of religion was in full vigor."

Let us examine these three excuses: Was Jehovah justified in putting a
low estimate on human life? Was he in earnest when he said "that whoso
sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed"? Did he pander
to the barbarian view of the worthlessness of life? If the estimate of
human life was low, what was the sacrifice worth?

Was the son the property of the father? Did Jehovah uphold this savage
view? Had the father the right to sell or kill his child?

Do you defend Jehovah and Abraham because the ignorant wretches in the
"land of Moriah," knowing nothing of the true God, cut the throats of
their babes "as an act of religion"?

Was Jehovah led away by the example of the Gods of Moriah? Do you not
see that your excuses are simply the suggestions of other crimes?

You see clearly that the Hindoo mother, when she throws her babe into
the Ganges at the command of her God, "sins against first principles";
but you excuse Abraham because he lived in the childhood of the race.
Can Jehovah be excused because of his youth? Not satisfied with your
explanation, your defences and excuses, you take the ground that when
Abraham said: "My son, God will provide a lamb for a burnt offering,"
he may have "believed implicitly that a way of rescue would be found for
his son." In other words, that Abraham did not believe that he would be
required to shed the blood of Isaac. So that, after all, the faith of
Abraham consisted in "believing implicitly" that Jehovah was not in
earnest.

You have discovered a way by which, as you think, the neck of orthodoxy
can escape the noose of Darwin, and in that connection you use this
remarkable language:

"I should reply that the moral history of man, in its principal stream,
has been distinctly an evolution from the first until now." It is hard
to see how this statement agrees with the one in the beginning of your
Remarks, in which you speak of the human constitution in its "warped,
impaired and dislocated" condition. When you wrote that line you were
certainly a theologian--a believer in the Episcopal creed--and your
mind, by mere force of habit, was at that moment contemplating man as
he is supposed to have been created--perfect in every part. At that time
you were endeavoring to account for the unbelief now in the world, and
you did this by stating that the human constitution is "warped, impaired
and dislocated"; but the moment you are brought face to face with the
great truths uttered by Darwin, you admit "that the moral history of man
has been distinctly an evolution from the first until now." Is not this
a fountain that brings forth sweet and bitter waters?

I insist, that the discoveries of Darwin do away absolutely with the
inspiration of the Scriptures--with the account of creation in Genesis,
and demonstrate not simply the falsity, not simply the wickedness, but
the foolishness of the "sacred volume." There is nothing in Darwin to
show that all has been evolved from "primal night and from chaos." There
is no evidence of "primal night." There is no proof of universal chaos.
Did your Jehovah spend an eternity in "primal night," with no companion
but chaos.

It makes no difference how long a lower form may require to reach a
higher. It makes no difference whether forms can be simply modified or
absolutely changed. These facts have not the slightest tendency to throw
the slightest light on the beginning or on the destiny of things.

I most cheerfully admit that gods have the right to create swiftly
or slowly. The reptile may become a bird in one day, or in a thousand
billion years--this fact has nothing to do with the existence or
non-existence of a first cause, but it has something to do with the
truth of the Bible, and with the existence of a personal God of infinite
power and wisdom.

Does not a gradual improvement in the thing created show a corresponding
improvement in the creator? The church demonstrated the falsity and
folly of Darwin's theories by showing that they contradicted the Mosaic
account of creation, and now the theories of Darwin having been fairly
established, the church says that the Mosaic account is true, because
it is in harmony with Darwin. Now, if it should turn out that Darwin was
mistaken, what then?

To me it is somewhat difficult to understand the mental processes of one
who really feels that "the gap between man and the inferior animals or
their relationship was stated, perhaps, even more emphatically by Bishop
Butler than by Darwin."

Butler answered deists, who objected to the cruelties of the Bible, and
yet lauded the God of Nature by showing that the God of Nature is as
cruel as the God of the Bible. That is to say, he succeeded in showing
that both Gods are bad. He had no possible conception of the splendid
generalizations of Darwin--the great truths that have revolutionized the
thought of the world.

But there was one question asked by Bishop Butler that throws a flame
of light upon the probable origin of most, if not all, religions: "Why
might not whole communities and public bodies be seized with fits of
insanity as well as individuals?"

If you are convinced that Moses and Darwin are in exact accord, will you
be good enough to tell who, in your judgment, were the parents of Adam
and Eve? Do you find in Darwin any theory that satisfactorily
accounts for the "inspired fact" that a Rib, commencing with
Monogonic Propagation--falling into halves by a contraction in the
middle--reaching, after many ages of Evolution, the Amphigonie stage,
and then, by the Survival of the Fittest, assisted by Natural Selection,
moulded and modified by Environment, became at last, the mother of the
human race?

Here is a world in which there are countless varieties of life--these
varieties in all probability related to each other--all living upon
each other--everything devouring something, and in its turn devoured by
something else--everywhere claw and beak, hoof and tooth,--everything
seeking the life of something else--every drop of water a battle-field,
every atom being for some wild beast a jungle--every place a
golgotha--and such a world is declared to be the work of the infinitely
wise and compassionate.

According to your idea, Jehovah prepared a home for his children--first
a garden in which they should be tempted and from which they should
be driven; then a world filled with briers and thorns and wild and
poisonous beasts--a world in which the air should be filled with the
enemies of human life--a world in which disease should be contagious,
and in which it was impossible to tell, except by actual experiment, the
poisonous from the nutritious. And these children were allowed to live
in dens and holes and fight their way against monstrous serpents and
crouching beasts--were allowed to live in ignorance and fear--to have
false ideas of this good and loving God--ideas so false, that they made
of him a fiend--ideas so false, that they sacrificed their wives and
babes to appease the imaginary wrath of this monster. And this God
gave to different nations different ideas of himself, knowing that in
consequence of that these nations would meet upon countless fields of
death and drain each other's veins.

Would it not have been better had the world been so that parents would
transmit only their virtues--only their perfections, physical and
mental,--allowing their diseases and their vices to perish with them?

In my reply to Dr. Field I had asked: Why should God demand a sacrifice
from man? Why should the infinite ask anything from the finite? Should
the sun beg from the glowworm, and should the momentary spark excite the
envy of the source of light?

Upon which you remark, "that if the infinite is to make no demands upon
the finite, by parity of reasoning, the great and strong should scarcely
make them on the weak and small." Can this be called reasoning? Why
should the infinite demand a sacrifice from man? In the first place, the
infinite is conditionless--the infinite cannot want--the infinite has.
A conditioned being may want; but the gratification of a want involves
a change of condition. If God be conditionless, he can have no
wants--consequently, no human being can gratify the infinite.

But you insist that "if the infinite is to make no demands upon the
finite, by parity of reasoning, the great and strong should scarcely
make them on the weak and small."

The great have wants. The strong are often in need, in peril, and the
great and strong often need the services of the small and weak. It
was the mouse that freed the lion. England is a great and powerful
nation--yet she may need the assistance of the weakest of her citizens.
The world is filled with illustrations.

The lack of logic is in this: The infinite cannot want anything; the
strong and the great may, and as a fact always do. The great and the
strong cannot help the infinite--they can help the small and the weak,
and the small and the weak can often help the great and strong.

You ask: "Why then should the father make demands of love, obedience,
and sacrifice from his young child?"

No sensible father ever demanded love from his child. Every civilized
father knows that love rises like the perfume from a flower. You cannot
command it by simple authority.

It cannot obey. A father demands obedience from a child for the good
of the child and for the good of himself. But suppose the father to be
infinite--why should the child sacrifice anything for him?

But it may be that you answer all these questions, all these
difficulties, by admitting, as you have in your Remarks, "that these
problems are insoluble by our understanding."

Why, then, do you accept them? Why do you defend that which you cannot
understand? Why does your reason volunteer as a soldier under the flag
of the incomprehensible?

I asked of Dr. Field, and I ask again, this question: Why should an
infinitely wise and powerful God destroy the good and preserve the vile?

What do I mean by this question? Simply this: The earthquake, the
lightning, the pestilence, are no respecters of persons. The vile are
not always destroyed, the good are not always saved. I asked: Why should
God treat all alike in this world, and in another make an infinite
difference? This, I suppose, is "insoluble to our understanding."

Why should Jehovah allow his worshipers, his adorers, to be destroyed by
his enemies? Can you by any possibility answer this question?

You may account for all these inconsistencies, these cruel
contradictions, as John Wesley accounted for earthquakes when he
insisted that they were produced by the wickedness of men, and that the
only way to prevent them was for everybody to believe on the Lord Jesus
Christ. And you may have some way of showing that Mr. Wesley's idea is
entirely consistent with the theories of Mr. Darwin.

You seem to think that as long as there is more goodness than evil in
the world--as long as there is more joy than sadness--we are compelled
to infer that the author of the world is infinitely good, powerful, and
wise, and that as long as a majority are out of gutters and prisons, the
"divine scheme" is a success.

According to this system of logic, if there were a few more
unfortunates--if there was just a little more evil than good--then
we would be driven to acknowledge that the world was created by an
infinitely malevolent being.

As a matter of fact, the history of the world has been such that not
only your theologians but your apostles, and not only your apostles but
your prophets, and not only your prophets but your Jehovah, have all
been forced to account for the evil, the injustice and the suffering, by
the wickedness of man, the natural depravity of the human heart and the
wiles and machinations of a malevolent being second only in power to
Jehovah himself.

Again and again you have called me to account for "mere suggestions
and assertions without proof"; and yet your remarks are filled with
assertions and mere suggestions without proof.

You admit that "great believers are not able to explain the inequalities
of adjustment between human beings and the conditions in which they have
been set down to work out their destiny."

How do you know "that they have been set down to work out their
destiny"? If that was, and is, the purpose, then the being who settled
the "destiny," and the means by which it tvas to be "worked out," is
responsible for all that happens.

And is this the end of your argument, "That you are not able to explain
the inequalities of adjustment between human beings"? Is the solution
of this problem beyond your power? Does the Bible shed no light? Is the
Christian in the presence of this question as dumb as the agnostic? When
the injustice of this world is so flagrant that you cannot harmonize
that awful fact with the wisdom and goodness of an infinite God, do you
not see that you have surrendered, or at least that you have raised
a flag of truce beneath which your adversary accepts as final your
statement that you do not know and that your imagination is not
sufficient to frame an excuse for God?

It gave me great pleasure to find that at last even you have been driven
to say that: "it is a duty incumbent upon us respectively according
to our means and opportunities, to decide by the use of the faculty of
reason given us, the great questions of natural and revealed religion."

You admit "that I am to decide for myself, by the use of my reason,"
whether the Bible is the word of God or not--whether there is any
revealed religion--and whether there be or be not an infinite being who
created and who governs this world.

You also admit that we are to decide these questions according to the
balance of the evidence.

Is this in accordance with the doctrine of Jehovah? Did Jehovah say to
the husband that if his wife became convinced, according to her means
and her opportunities, and decided according to her reason, that it was
better to worship some other God than Jehovah, then that he was to say
to her: "You are entitled to decide according to the balance of the
evidence as it seems to you"?

Have you abandoned Jehovah? Is man more just than he? Have you appealed
from him to the standard of reason? Is it possible that the leader of
the English Liberals is nearer civilized than Jehovah?

Do you know that in this sentence you demonstrate the existence of a
dawn in your mind? This sentence makes it certain that in the East of
the midnight of Episcopal superstition there is the herald of the coming
day. And if this sentence shows a dawn, what shall I say of the next:

"We are not entitled, either for or against belief, to set up in this
province any rule of investigation except such as common sense teaches
us to use in the ordinary conduct of life"?

This certainly is a morning star. Let me take this statement, let me
hold it as a torch, and by its light I beg of you to read the Bible once
again.

Is it in accordance with reason that an infinitely good and loving God
would drown a world that he had taken no means to civilize--to whom he
had given no bible, no gospel,--taught no scientific fact and in which
the seeds of art had not been sown; that he would create a world that
ought to be drowned? That a being of infinite wisdom would create a
rival, knowing that the rival would fill perdition with countless souls
destined to suffer eternal pain? Is it according to common sense that
an infinitely good God would order some of his children to kill others?
That he would command soldiers to rip open with the sword of war the
bodies of women--wreaking vengeance on babes unborn? Is it according to
reason that a good, loving, compassionate, and just God would establish
slavery among men, and that a pure God would uphold polygamy? Is it
according to common sense that he who wished to make men merciful and
loving would demand the sacrifice of animals, so that his altars would
be wet with the blood of oxen, sheep, and doves? Is it according
to reason that a good God would inflict tortures upon his ignorant
children--that he would torture animals to death--and is it in
accordance with common sense and reason that this God would create
countless billions of people knowing that they would be eternally
damned?

What is common sense? Is it the result of observation, reason and
experience, or is it the child of credulity?

There is this curious fact: The far past and the far future seem to
belong to the miraculous and the monstrous. The present, as a rule, is
the realm of common sense. If you say to a man: "Eighteen hundred years
ago the dead were raised," he will reply: "Yes, I know that." And if you
say: "A hundred thousand years from now all the dead will be raised," he
will probably reply: "I presume so." But if you tell him: "I saw a dead
man raised to-day," he will ask, "From what madhouse have you escaped?"

The moment we decide "according to reason," "according to the balance
of evidence," we are charged with "having violated the laws of social
morality and decency," and the defender of the miraculous and the
incomprehensible takes another position.

The theologian has a city of refuge to which he flies--an old breastwork
behind which he kneels--a rifle-pit into which he crawls. You have
described this city, this breastwork, this rifle-pit and also the leaf
under which the ostrich of theology thrusts its head. Let me quote:

"Our demands for evidence must be limited by the general reason of
the case. Does that general reason of the case make it probable that a
finite being, with a finite place in a comprehensive scheme devised and
administered by a being who is infinite, would be able even to embrace
within his view, or rightly to appreciate all the motives or aims that
there may have been in the mind of the divine disposer?"

And this is what you call "deciding by the use of the faculty of
reason," "according to the evidence," or at least "according to the
balance of evidence." This is a conclusion reached by a "rule of
investigation such as common sense teaches us to use in the ordinary
conduct of life." Will you have the kindness to explain what it is to
act contrary to evidence, or contrary to common sense? Can you imagine a
superstition so gross that it cannot be defended by that argument?

Nothing, it seems to me, could have been easier than for Jehovah to have
reasonably explained his scheme. You may answer that the human intellect
is not sufficient to understand the explanation. Why then do not
theologians stop explaining? Why do they feel it incumbent upon them
to explain that which they admit God would have explained had the human
mind been capable of understanding it?

How much better would it have been if Jehovah had said a few things on
these subjects. It always seemed wonderful to me that he spent several
days and nights on Mount Sinai explain* ing to Moses how he could
detect the presence of leprosy, without once thinking to give him a
prescription for its cure.

There were thousands and thousands of opportunities for this God to
withdraw from these questions the shadow and the cloud. When Jehovah out
of the whirlwind asked questions of Job, how much better it would have
been if Job had asked and Jehovah had answered.

You say that we should be governed by evidence and by common sense. Then
you tell us that the questions are beyond the reach of reason, and with
which common sense has nothing to do. If we then ask for an explanation,
you reply in the scornful challenge of Dante.

You seem to imagine that every man who gives an opinion, takes his
solemn oath that the opinion is the absolute end of all investigation on
that subject.

In my opinion, Shakespeare was, intellectually, the greatest of the
human race, and my intention was simply to express that view. It never
occurred to me that any one would suppose that I thought Shakespeare
a greater actor than Garrick, a more wonderful composer than Wagner, a
better violinist than Remenyi, or a heavier man than Daniel Lambert. It
is to be regretted that you were misled by my words and really supposed
that I intended to say that Shakespeare was a greater general than
Caesar. But, after all, your criticism has no possible bearing on the
point at issue. Is it an effort to avoid that which cannot be met?
The real question is this: If we cannot account for Christ without a
miracle, how can we account for Shakespeare? Dr. Field took the ground
that Christ himself was a miracle; that it was impossible to account for
such a being in any natural way; and, guided by common sense, guided
by the rule of investigation such as common sense teaches, I called
attention to Buddha, Mohammed, Confucius, and Shakespeare.

In another place in your Remarks, when my statement about Shakespeare
was not in your mind, you say: "All is done by steps--nothing by
strides, leaps or bounds--all from protoplasm up to Shakespeare." Why
did you end the series with Shakespeare? Did you intend to say Dante, or
Bishop Butler?

It is curious to see how much ingenuity a great man exercises when
guided by what he calls "the rule of investigation as suggested
by common sense." I pointed out some things that Christ did not
teach--among others, that he said nothing with regard to the family
relation, nothing against slavery, nothing about education, nothing as
to the rights and duties of nations, nothing as to any scientific truth.
And this is answered by saying that "I am quite able to point out the
way in which the Savior of the world might have been much greater as a
teacher than he actually was."

Is this an answer, or is it simply taking refuge behind a name? Would it
not have been better if Christ had told his disciples that they must not
persecute; that they had no right to destroy their fellow-men; that they
must not put heretics in dungeons, or destroy them with flames; that
they must not invent and use instruments of torture; that they must not
appeal to brutality, nor endeavor to sow with bloody hands the seeds
of peace? Would it not have been far better had he said: "I come not to
bring a sword, but peace"? Would not this have saved countless cruelties
and countless lives?

You seem to think that you have fully answered my objection when you say
that Christ taught the absolute indissolubility of marriage.

Why should a husband and wife be compelled to live with each other after
love is dead? Why should the wife still be bound in indissoluble chains
to a husband who is cruel, infamous, and false? Why should her life be
destroyed because of his? Why should she be chained to a criminal and an
outcast? Nothing can be more unphilosophic than this. Why fill the world
with the children of indifference and hatred?

The marriage contract is the most important, the most sacred, that human
beings can make. It will be sacredly kept by good men and by good women.
But if a loving woman--tender, noble, and true--makes this contract with
a man whom she believed to be worthy of all respect and love, and who is
found to be a cruel, worthless wretch, why should her life be lost?

Do you not know that the indissolubility of the marriage contract leads
to its violation, forms an excuse for immorality, eats out the very
heart of truth, and gives to vice that which alone belongs to love?

But in order that you may know why the objection was raised, I call your
attention to the fact that Christ offered a reward, not only in this
world but in another, to any husband who would desert his wife. And do
you know that this hideous offer caused millions to desert their wives
and children?

Theologians have the habit of using names instead of arguments--of
appealing to some man, great in some direction, to establish their
creed; but we all know that no man is great enough to be an authority,
except in that particular domain in which he won his eminence; and we
all know that great men are not great in all directions. Bacon died
a believer in the Ptolemaic system of astronomy. Tycho Brahe kept an
imbecile in his service, putting down with great care the words that
fell from the hanging lip of idiocy, and then endeavored to put them
together in a way to form prophecies. Sir Matthew Hale believed in
witchcraft not only, but in its lowest and most vulgar forms; and some
of the greatest men of antiquity examined the entrails of birds to find
the secrets of the future.

It has always seemed to me that reasons are better than names.

After taking the ground that Christ could not have been a greater
teacher than he actually was, you ask: "Where would have been the
wisdom of delivering to an uninstructed population of a particular age
a codified religion which was to serve for all nations, all ages, all
states of civilization?"

Does not this question admit that the teachings of Christ will not serve
for all nations, all ages and all states of civilization?

But let me ask: If it was necessary for Christ "to deliver to an
uninstructed population of a particular age a certain religion suited
only for that particular age," why should a civilized and scientific age
eighteen hundred years afterwards be absolutely bound by that religion?
Do you not see that your position cannot be defended, and that you have
provided no way for retreat? If the religion of Christ was for that age,
is it for this? Are you willing to admit that the Ten Commandments
are not for all time? If, then, four thousand years before Christ,
commandments were given not simply for "an uninstructed population of
a particular age, but for all time," can you give a reason why the
religion of Christ should not have been of the same character?

In the first place you say that God has revealed himself to the
world--that he has revealed a religion; and in the next place, that "he
has not revealed a perfect religion, for the reason that no room would
be left for the career of human thought."

Why did not God reveal this imperfect religion to all people instead of
to a small and insignificant tribe, a tribe without commerce and without
influence among the nations of the world? Why did he hide this imperfect
light under a bushel? If the light was necessary for one, was it not
necessary for all? And why did he drown a world to whom he had not even
given that light? According to your reasoning, would there not have been
left greater room for the career of human thought, had no revelation
been made?

You say that "you have known a person who after studying the old
classical or Olympian religion for a third part of a century, at length
began to hope that he had some partial comprehension of it--some
inkling of what is meant." You say this for the purpose of showing how
impossible it is to understand the Bible. If it is so difficult, why do
you call it a revelation? And yet, according to your creed, the man
who does not understand the revelation and believe it, or who does not
believe it, whether he understands it or not, is to reap the harvest of
everlasting pain. Ought not the revelation to be revealed?

In order to escape from the fact that Christ denounced the chosen people
of God as "a generation of vipers" and as "whited sepulchres," you take
the ground that the scribes and pharisees were not the chosen people.
Of what blood were they? It will not do to say that they were not the
people. Can you deny that Christ addressed the chosen people when he
said: "Jerusalem, which killest the prophets and stonest them that are
sent unto thee"?

You have called me to an account for what I said in regard to Ananias
and Sapphira. _First_, I am charged with having said that the apostles
conceived the idea of having all things in common, and you denounce this
as an interpolation; _second_, "that motives of prudence are stated as
a matter of fact to have influenced the offending couple"--and this
is charged as an interpolation; and, _third_, that I stated that the
apostles sent for the wife of Ananias--and this is characterized as a
pure invention.

To me it seems reasonable to suppose that the idea of having all things
in common was conceived by those who had nothing, or had the least, and
not by those who had plenty. In the last verses of the fourth chapter of
the Acts, you will find this:

"Neither was there any among them that lacked, for as many as were
possessed of lands or houses sold them, and brought the prices of the
things that were sold, and laid them down at the apostles' feet: and
distribution was made unto every man according as he had need. And
Joses, who by the apostles was surnamed Barnabas (which is, being
interpreted, the son of consolation), a Levite and of the country of
Cyprus, having land, sold it, and brought the money, and laid it at the
apostles' feet."

Now it occurred to me that the idea was in all probability suggested by
the men at whose feet the property was laid. It never entered my mind
that the idea originated with those who had land for sale. There may be
a different standard by which human nature is measured in your country,
than in mine; but if the thing had happened in the United States, I feel
absolutely positive that it would have been at the suggestion of the
apostles.

"Ananias, with Sapphira, his wife, sold a possession and kept back part
of the price, his wife also being privy to it, and brought a certain
part and laid it at the apostles' feet."

In my Letter to Dr. Field I stated--not at the time pretending to quote
from the New Testament--that Ananias and Sapphira, after talking the
matter over, not being entirely satisfied with the collaterals, probably
concluded to keep a little--just enough to keep them from starvation if
the good and pious bankers should abscond. It never occurred to me that
any man would imagine that this was a quotation, and I feel like asking
your pardon for having led you into this error. We are informed in the
Bible that "they kept back a part of the price." It occurred to me,
"judging by the rule of investigation according to common sense," that
there was a reason for this, and I could think of no reason except that
they did not care to trust the apostles with all, and that they kept
back just a little, thinking it might be useful if the rest should be
lost.

According to the account, after Peter had made a few remarks to Ananias,

"Ananias fell down and gave up the ghost;.... and the young men arose,
wound him up, and carried him out, and buried him. And it was about the
space of three hours after, when his wife, not knowing what was done,
came in."

Whereupon Peter said:

"'Tell me whether ye sold the land for so much?' And she said, 'Yea,
for so much.' Then Peter said unto her, 'How is it that ye have agreed
together to tempt the spirit of the Lord? Behold, the feet of them which
have buried thy husband are at the door, and shall carry thee out.' Then
fell she down straightway at his feet, and yielded up the ghost; and the
young men came in, and found her dead, and, carrying her forth, buried
her by her husband."

The only objection found to this is, that I inferred that the apostles
had sent for her. Sending for her was not the offence. The failure to
tell her what had happened to her husband was the offence--keeping his
fate a secret from her in order that she might be caught in the same net
that had been set for her husband by Jehovah. This was the offence.
This was the mean and cruel thing to which I objected. Have you answered
that?

Of course, I feel sure that the thing never occurred--the probability
being that Ananias and Sapphira never lived and never died. It is
probably a story invented by the early church to make the collection of
subscriptions somewhat easier.

And yet, we find a man in the nineteenth century, foremost of his
fellow-citizens in the affairs of a great nation, upholding this
barbaric view of God.

Let me beg of you to use your reason "according to the rule suggested
by common sense." Let us do what little we can to rescue the reputation,
even of a Jewish myth, from the calumnies of Ignorance and Fear.

So, again, I am charged with having given certain words as a quotation
from the Bible in which two passages are combined--"They who believe and
are baptized shall be saved, and they who believe not shall be damned.
And these shall go away into everlasting fire prepared for the devil and
his angels."

They were given as two passages. No one for a moment supposed that
they would be read together as one, and no one imagined that any one in
answering the argument would be led to believe that they were intended
as one. Neither was there in this the slightest negligence, as I was
answering a man who is perfectly familiar with the Bible. The objection
was too small to make. It is hardly large enough to answer--and had it
not been made by you it would not have been answered.

You are not satisfied with what I have said upon the subject of
immortality. What I said was this: The idea of immortality, that like a
sea has ebbed and flowed in the human heart, with its countless waves of
hope and fear beating against the shores and rocks of time and fate, was
not born of any book, nor of any creed, nor of any religion. It was born
of human affection, and it will continue to ebb and flow beneath the
mists and clouds of doubt and darkness as long as love kisses the lips
of death.

You answer this by saying that "the Egyptians were believers in
immortality, but were not a people of high intellectual development."

How such a statement tends to answer what I have said, is beyond my
powers of discernment. Is there the slightest connection between my
statement and your objection?

You make still another answer, and say that "the ancient Greeks were
a race of perhaps unparalled intellectual capacity, and that
notwithstanding that, the most powerful mind of the Greek philosophy,
that of Aristotle, had no clear conception of a personal existence in a
future state." May I be allowed to ask this simple question: Who has?

Are you urging an objection to the dogma of immortality, when you say
that a race of unparalled intellectual capacity had no confidence in
it? Is that a doctrine believed only by people who lack intellectual
capacity? I stated that the idea of immortality was born of love, You
reply, "the Egyptians believed it, but they were not intellectual." Is
not this a _non sequitur?_ The question is: Were they a loving people?

Does history show that there is a moral governor of the world? What
witnesses shall we call? The billions of slaves who were paid with
blows?--the countless mothers whose babes were sold? Have we time to
examine the Waldenses, the Covenanters of Scotland, the Catholics of
Ireland, the victims of St. Bartholomew, of the Spanish Inquisition, all
those who have died in flames? Shall we hear the story of Bruno? Shall
we ask Servetus? Shall we ask the millions slaughtered by Christian
swords in America--all the victims of ambition, of perjury, of
ignorance, of superstition and revenge, of storm and earthquake, of
famine, flood and fire?

Can all the agonies and crimes, can all the inequalities of the world
be answered by reading the "noble Psalm" in which are found the words:
"Call upon me in the day of trouble, so I will hear thee, and thou shalt
praise me"? Do you prove the truth of these fine words, this honey of
Trebizond, by the victims of religious persecution? Shall we hear the
sighs and sobs of Siberia?

Another thing. Why should you, from the page of Greek history, with the
sponge of your judgment, wipe out all names but one, and tell us that
the most powerful mind of the Greek philosophy was that of Aristotle?
How did you ascertain this fact? Is it not fair to suppose that you
merely intended to say that, according to your view, Aristotle had the
most powerful mind among all the philosophers of Greece? I should not
call attention to this, except for your criticism on a like remark of
mine as to the intellectual superiority of Shakespeare. But if you knew
the trouble I have had in finding out your meaning, from your words, you
would pardon me for calling attention to a single line from Aristotle:
"Clearness is the virtue of style."

To me Epicurus seems far greater than Aristotle, He had clearer
vision. His cheek was closer to the breast of nature, and he planted his
philosophy nearer to the bed-rock of fact. He was practical enough to
know that virtue is the means and happiness the end; that the highest
philosophy is the art of living. He was wise enough to say that nothing
is of the slightest value to man that does not increase or preserve
his wellbeing, and he was great enough to know and courageous enough
to declare that all the gods and ghosts were monstrous phantoms born of
ignorance and fear.

I still insist that human affection is the foundation of the idea of
immortality; that love was the first to speak that word, no matter
whether they who spoke it were savage or civilized, Egyptian or Greek.
But if we are immortal--if there be another world--why was it not
clearly set forth in the Old Testament? Certainly, the authors of that
book had an opportunity to learn it from the Egyptians. Why was it not
revealed by Jehovah? Why did he waste his time in giving orders for the
consecration of priests--in saying that they must have sheep's blood
put on their right ears and on their right thumbs and on their right big
toes? Could a God with any sense of humor give such directions, or watch
without huge laughter the performance of such a ceremony? In order to
see the beauty, the depth and tenderness of such a consecration, is it
essential to be in a state of "reverential calm"?

Is it not strange that Christ did not tell of another world distinctly,
clearly, without parable, and without the mist of metaphor?

The fact is that the Hindoos, the Egyptians, the Greeks, and the
Romans taught the immortality of the soul, not as a glittering guess--a
possible perhaps--but as a clear and demonstrated truth for many
centuries before the birth of Christ.

If the Old Testament proves anything, it is that death ends all. And the
New Testament, by basing immortality on the resurrection of the body,
but "keeps the word of promise to our ear and breaks it to our hope."

In my Reply to Dr. Field, I said: "The truth is, that no one can justly
be held responsible for his thoughts. The brain thinks without asking
our consent; we believe, or disbelieve, without an effort of the will.
Belief is a result. It is the effect of evidence upon the mind. The
scales turn in spite of him who watches. There is no opportunity of
being honest or dishonest in the formation of an opinion. The conclusion
is entirely independent of desire. We must believe, or we must doubt, in
spite of what we wish."

Does the brain think without our consent? Can we control our thought?
Can we tell what we are going to think tomorrow?

Can we stop thinking?

Is belief the result of that which to us is evidence, or is it a product
of the will? Can the scales in which reason weighs evidence be turned by
the will? Why then should evidence be weighed? If it all depends on the
will, what is evidence? Is there any opportunity of being dishonest in
the formation of an opinion? Must not the man who forms the opinion know
what it is? He cannot knowingly cheat himself. He cannot be deceived
with dice that he loads. He cannot play unfairly at solitaire without
knowing that he has lost the game. He cannot knowingly weigh with false
scales and believe in the correctness of the result.

You have not even attempted to answer my arguments upon these points,
but you have unconsciously avoided them. You did not attack the citadel.
In military parlance, you proceeded to "shell the woods." The noise is
precisely the same as though every shot had been directed against the
enemy's position, but the result is not. You do not seem willing to
implicitly trust the correctness of your aim. You prefer to place the
target after the shot.

The question is whether the will knowingly can change evidence, and
whether there is any opportunity of being dishonest in the formation
of an opinion. You have changed the issue. You have erased the word
formation and interpolated the word expression.

Let us suppose that a man has given an opinion, knowing that it is not
based on any fact. Can you say that he has given his opinion? The moment
a prejudice is known to be a prejudice, it disappears. Ignorance is the
soil in which prejudice must grow. Touched by a ray of light, it dies.
The judgment of man may be warped by prejudice and passion, but it
cannot be consciously warped. It is impossible for any man to be
influenced by a known prejudice, because a known prejudice cannot exist.

I am not contending that all opinions have been honestly expressed. What
I contend is that when a dishonest opinion has been expressed it is not
the opinion that was formed.

The cases suggested by you are not in point. Fathers are honestly
swayed, if really swayed, by love; and queens and judges have pretended
to be swayed by the highest motives, by the clearest evidence, in order
that they might kill rivals, reap rewards, and gratify revenge. But what
has all this to do with the fact that he who watches the scales in which
evidence is weighed knows the actual result?

Let us examine your case: If a father is _consciously_ swayed by his
love for his son, and for that reason says that his son is innocent,
then he has not expressed his opinion. If he is unconsciously swayed
and says that his son is innocent, then he has expressed his opinion. In
both instances his opinion was independent of his will; but in the first
instance he did not express his opinion. You will certainly see this
distinction between the formation and the expression of an opinion.

The same argument applies to the man who consciously has a desire to
condemn. Such a _conscious_ desire cannot affect the testimony--cannot
affect the opinion. Queen Elizabeth undoubtedly desired the death
of Mary Stuart, but this conscious desire could not have been the
foundation on which rested Elizabeth's opinion as to the guilt or
innocence of her rival. It is barely possible that Elizabeth did not
express her real opinion. Do you believe that the English judges in
the matter of the Popish Plot gave judgment in accordance with their
opinions? Are you satisfied that Napoleon expressed his real opinion
when he justified himself for the assassination of the Duc d'Enghien?

If you answer these questions in the affirmative, you admit that I am
right. If you answer in the negative, you admit that you are wrong. The
moment you admit that the opinion formed cannot be changed by expressing
a pretended opinion, your argument is turned against yourself.

It is admitted that prejudice strengthens, weakens and colors evidence;
but prejudice is honest. And when one acts knowingly against the
evidence, that is not by reason of prejudice.

According to my views of propriety, it would be unbecoming for me to
say that your argument on these questions is "a piece of plausible
shallowness." Such language might be regarded as lacking "reverential
calm," and I therefore refrain from even characterizing it as plausible.

Is it not perfectly apparent that you have changed the issue, and that
instead of showing that opinions are creatures of the will, you have
discussed the quality of actions? What have corrupt and cruel judgments
pronounced by corrupt and cruel judges to do with their real opinions?
When a judge forms one opinion and renders another he is called corrupt.
The corruption does not consist in forming his opinion, but in rendering
one that he did not form. Does a dishonest creditor, who incorrectly
adds a number of items making the aggregate too large, necessarily
change his opinion as to the relations of numbers? When an error is
known, it is not a mistake; but a conclusion reached by a mistake, or by
a prejudice, or by both, is a necessary conclusion. He who pretends to
come to a conclusion by a mistake which he knows is not a mistake, knows
that he has not expressed his real opinion.

Can any thing be more illogical than the assertion that because a boy
reaches, through negligence in adding figures, a wrong result, that
he is accountable for his opinion of the result? If he knew he was
negligent, what must his opinion of the result have been?

So with the man who boldly announces that he has discovered the
numerical expression of the relation sustained by the diameter to the
circumference of a circle. If he is honest in the announcement, then the
announcement was caused not by his will but by his ignorance. His will
cannot make the announcement true, and he could not by any possibility
have supposed that his will could affect the correctness of his
announcement. The will of one who thinks that he has invented or
discovered what is called perpetual motion, is not at fault. The man, if
honest, has been misled; if not honest, he endeavors to mislead others.
There is prejudice, and prejudice does raise a clamor, and the intellect
is affected and the judgment is darkened and the opinion is deformed;
but the prejudice is real and the clamor is sincere and the judgment is
upright and the opinion is honest.

The intellect is not always supreme. It is surrounded by clouds.
It sometimes sits in darkness. It is often misled--sometimes, in
superstitious fear, it abdicates. It is not always a white light. The
passions and prejudices are prismatic--they color thoughts. Desires
betray the judgment and cunningly mislead the will.

You seem to think that the fact of responsibility is in danger unless
it rests upon the will, and this will you regard as something without
a cause, springing into being in some mysterious way, without father or
mother, without seed or soil, or rain or light. You must admit that man
is a conditioned being--that he has wants, objects, ends, and aims, and
that these are gratified and attained only by the use of means. Do not
these wants and these objects have something to do with the will, and
does not the intellect have something to do with the means? Is not the
will a product? Independently of conditions, can it exist? Is it not
necessarily produced? Behind every wish and thought, every dream and
fancy, every fear and hope, are there not countless causes? Man
feels shame. What does this prove? He pities himself. What does this
demonstrate?

The dark continent of motive and desire has never been explored. In the
brain, that wondrous world with one inhabitant, there are recesses dim
and dark, treacherous sands and dangerous shores, where seeming sirens
tempt and fade; streams that rise in unknown lands from hidden springs,
strange seas with ebb and flow of tides, resistless billows urged by
storms of flame, profound and awful depths hidden by mist of dreams,
obscure and phantom realms where vague and fearful things are half
revealed, jungles where passion's tigers crouch, and skies of cloud and
blue where fancies fly with painted wings that dazzle and mislead; and
the poor sovereign of this pictured world is led by old desires and
ancient hates, and stained by crimes of many vanished years, and pushed
by hands that long ago were dust, until he feels like some bewildered
slave that Mockery has throned and crowned.

No one pretends that the mind of man is perfect--that it is not affected
by desires, colored by hopes, weakened by fears, deformed by ignorance
and distorted by superstition. But all this has nothing to do with the
innocence of opinion.

It may be that the Thugs were taught that murder is innocent; but
did the teachers believe what they taught? Did the pupils believe the
teachers? Did not Jehovah teach that the act that we describe as murder
was a duty? Were not his teachings practiced by Moses and Joshua and
Jephthah and Samuel and David? Were they honest? But what has all this
to do with the point at issue?

Society has the right to protect itself, even from honest murderers
and conscientious thieves. The belief of the criminal does not disarm
society; it protects itself from him as from a poisonous serpent, or
from a beast that lives on human flesh. We are under no obligation
to stand still and allow ourselves to be murdered by one who honestly
thinks that it is his duty to take our lives. And yet according to your
argument, we have no right to defend ourselves from honest Thugs. Was
Saul of Tarsus a Thug when he persecuted Christians "even unto strange
cities"? Is the Thug of India more ferocious than Torquemada, the Thug
of Spain?

If belief depends upon the will, can all men have correct opinions
who will to have them? Acts are good or bad, according to their
consequences, and not according to the intentions of the actors. Honest
opinions may be wrong, and opinions dishonestly expressed may be right.

Do you mean to say that because passion and prejudice, the reckless
"pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores of will and judgment," sway the
mind, that the opinions which you have expressed in your Remarks to me
are not your opinions? Certainly you will admit that in all probability
you have prejudices and passions, and if so, can the opinions that
you have expressed, according to your argument, be honest? My lack of
confidence in your argument gives me perfect confidence in your candor.
You may remember the philosopher who retained his reputation for
veracity, in spite of the fact that he kept saying: "There is no truth
in man."

Are only those opinions honest that are formed without any interference
of passion, affection, habit or fancy? What would the opinion of a man
without passions, affections, or fancies be worth? The alchemist gave
up his search for an universal solvent upon being asked in what kind of
vessel he expected to keep it when found.

It may be admitted that Biel "shows us how the life of Dante co-operated
with his extraordinary natural gifts and capabilities to make him what
he was," but does this tend to show that Dante changed his opinions
by an act of his will, or that he reached honest opinions by knowingly
using false weights and measures?

You must admit that the opinions, habits and religions of men depend, at
least in some degree, on race, occupation, training and capacity. Is
not every thoughtful man compelled to agree with Edgar Fawcett, in
whose brain are united the beauty of the poet and the subtlety of the
logician,

     "Who sees how vice her venom wreaks
     On the frail babe before it speaks,
     And how heredity enslaves
     With ghostly hands that reach from graves"?

Why do you hold the intellect criminally responsible for opinions, when
you admit that it is controlled by the will? And why do you hold the
will responsible, when you insist that it is swayed by the passions
and affections? But all this has nothing to do with the fact that every
opinion has been honestly formed, whether honestly expressed or not.

No one pretends that all governments have been honestly formed and
honestly administered. All vices, and some virtues are represented in
most nations. In my opinion a republic is far better than a monarchy.
The legally expressed will of the people is the only rightful sovereign.
This sovereignty, however, does not embrace the realm of thought or
opinion. In that world, each human being is a sovereign,--throned and
crowned: One is a majority. The good citizens of that realm give to
others all rights that they claim for themselves, and those who appeal
to force are the only traitors.

The existence of theological despotisms, of God-anointed kings, does
not tend to prove that a known prejudice can determine the weight of
evidence. When men were so ignorant as to suppose that God would
destroy them unless they burned heretics, they lighted the fagots in
selfdefence.

Feeling as I do that man is not responsible for his opinions, I
characterized persecution for opinion's sake as infamous. So, it is
perfectly clear to me, that it would be the infamy of infamies for an
infinite being to create vast numbers of men knowing that they would
suffer eternal pain. If an infinite God creates a man on purpose to damn
him, or creates him knowing that he will be damned, is not the crime the
same? We make mistakes and failures because we are finite; but can you
conceive of any excuse for an infinite being who creates failures? If
you had the power to change, by a wish, a statue into a human being,
and you knew that this being would die without a "change of heart" and
suffer endless pain, what would you do?

Can you think of any excuse for an earthly father, who, having wealth,
learning and leisure, leaves his own children in ignorance and darkness?
Do you believe that a God of infinite wisdom, justice and love, called
countless generations of men into being, knowing that they would be used
as fuel for the eternal fire?

Many will regret that you did not give your views upon the main
questions--the principal issues--involved, instead of calling attention,
for the most part, to the unimportant. If men were discussing the causes
and results of the Franco-Prussian war, it would hardly be worth while
for a third person to interrupt the argument for the purpose of calling
attention to a misspelled word in the terms of surrender.

If we admit that man is responsible for his opinions and his thoughts,
and that his will is perfectly free, still these admissions do not even
tend to prove the inspiration of the Bible, or the "divine scheme of
redemption."

In my judgment, the days of the supernatural are numbered. The dogma
of inspiration must be abandoned. As man advances,--as his intellect
enlarges,--as his knowledge increases,--as his ideals become nobler,
the bibles and creeds will lose their authority--the miraculous will be
classed with the impossible, and the idea of special providence will be
discarded. Thousands of religions have perished, innumerable gods have
died, and why should the religion of our time be exempt from the common
fate?

Creeds cannot remain permanent in a world in which knowledge increases.
Science and superstition cannot peaceably occupy the same brain. This is
an age of investigation, of discovery and thought. Science destroys the
dogmas that mislead the mind and waste the energies of man. It points
out the ends that can be accomplished; takes into consideration the
limits of our faculties; fixes our attention on the affairs of this
world, and erects beacons of warning on the dangerous shores. It seeks
to ascertain the conditions of health, to the end that life may be
enriched and lengthened, and it reads with a smile this passage:

"And God-wrought special miracles by the hands of Paul, so that from
his body were brought unto the sick handkerchiefs or aprons, and the
diseases departed from them, and the evil spirits went out of them."

Science is the enemy of fear and credulity. It invites investigation,
challenges the reason, stimulates inquiry, and welcomes the unbeliever.
It seeks to give food and shelter, and raiment, education and liberty to
the human race. It welcomes every fact and every truth. It has furnished
a foundation for morals, a philosophy for the guidance of man. From all
books it selects the good, and from all theories, the true. It seeks to
civilize the human race by the cultivation of the intellect and'
heart. It refines through art, music and the drama--giving voice and
expression to every noble thought. The mysterious does not excite the
feeling of worship, but the ambition to understand. It does not pray--it
works. It does not answer inquiry with the malicious cry of "blasphemy."
Its feelings are not hurt by contradiction, neither does it ask to be
protected by law from the laughter of heretics. It has taught man that
he cannot walk beyond the horizon--that the questions of origin and
destiny cannot be answered--that an infinite personality cannot be
comprehended by a finite being, and that the truth of any system
of religion based on the supernatural cannot by any possibility be
established--such a religion not being within the domain of evidence.
And, above all, it teaches that all our duties are here--that all
our obligations are to sentient beings; that intelligence, guided by
kindness, is the highest possible wisdom; and that "man believes not
what he would, but what he can."

And after all, it may be that "to ride an unbroken horse with the reins
thrown upon his neck"--as you charge me with doing--gives a greater
variety of sensations, a keener delight, and a better prospect of
winning the race than to sit solemnly astride of a dead one, in "a deep
reverential calm," with the bridle firmly in your hand.

Again assuring you of my profound respect, I remain, Sincerely yours,

Robert G. Ingersoll.



ROME OR REASON.

Col. Ingersoll and Cardinal Manning.

The Gladstone-Ingersoll Controversy.



THE CHURCH ITS OWN WITNESS, By Cardinal Manning.

THE Vatican Council, in its Decree on Faith has these words: "The
Church itself, by its marvelous propagation, its eminent sanctity, its
inexhaustible fruitfulness in all good things, its catholic unity and
invincible stability, is a vast and perpetual motive of credibility, and
an irrefragable witness of its own Divine legation."* Its Divine Founder
said: "I am the light of the world;" and, to His Apostles, He said also,
"Ye are the light of the world," and of His Church He added, "A city
seated on a hill cannot be hid." The Vatican Council says, "The Church
is its own witness." My purpose is to draw out this assertion more
fully.

     * "Const. Dogm. de Fide Catholica, c. iii.

These words affirm that the Church is self-evident, as light is to the
eye, and through sense, to the intellect. Next to the sun at noonday,
there is nothing in the world more manifest than the one visible
Universal Church. Both the faith and the infidelity of the world bear
witness to it. It is loved and hated, trusted and feared, served and
assaulted, honored and blasphemed: it is Christ or Antichrist, the
Kingdom of God or the imposture of Satan. It pervades the civilized
world. No man and no nation can ignore it, none can be indifferent to
it. Why is all this? How is its existence to be accounted for?

Let me suppose that I am an unbeliever in Christianity, and that some
friend should make me promise to examine the evidence to show that
Christianity is a Divine revelation; I should then sift and test the
evidence as strictly as if it were in a court of law, and in a cause of
life and death; my will would be in suspense: it would in no way
control the process of my intellect. If it had any inclination from the
equilibrium, it would be towards mercy and hope; but this would not
add a feather's weight to the evidence, nor sway the intellect a hair's
breadth.

After the examination has been completed, and my intellect convinced,
the evidence being sufficient to prove that Christianity is a divine
revelation, nevertheless I am not yet a Christian. All this sifting
brings me to the conclusion of a chain of reasoning; but I am not yet
a believer. The last act of reason has brought me to the brink of the
first act of faith. They are generically distinct and separable. The
acts of reason are intellectual, and jealous of the interference of the
will. The act of faith is an imperative act of the will, founded on and
justified by the process and conviction of the intellect. Hitherto I
have been a critic: henceforward, if I will, I become a disciple.

It may here be objected that no man can so far suspend the inclination
of the will when the question is, has God indeed spoken to man or no? is
the revealed law of purity, generosity, perfection, divine, or only the
poetry of imagination? Can a man be indifferent between two such sides
of the problem? Will he not desire the higher and better side to be
true? and if he desire, will he not incline to the side that he desires
to find true? Can a moral being be absolutely indifferent between two
such issues? and can two such issues be equally attractive to a moral
agent? Can it be indifferent and all the same to us whether God has
made Himself and His will known to us or not? Is there no attraction
in light, no repulsion in darkness? Does not the intrinsic and eternal
distinction of good and evil make itself felt in spite of the will?
Are we not responsible to "receive the truth in the love of it?"
Nevertheless, evidence has its own limits and quantities, and cannot be
made more or less by any act of the will. And yet, what is good or bad,
high or mean, lovely or hateful, ennobling or degrading, must attract
or repel men as they are better or worse in their moral sense; for an
equilibrium between good and evil, to God or to man, is impossible.

The last act of my reason, then, is distinct from my first act of
faith precisely in this: so long as I was uncertain I suspended the
inclination of my will, as an act of fidelity to conscience and of
loyalty to truth; but the process once complete, and the conviction once
attained, my will imperatively constrains me to believe, and I become a
disciple of a Divine revelation.

My friend next tells me that there are Christian Scriptures, and I go
through precisely the same process of critical examination and final
conviction, the last act of reasoning preceding, as before, the first
act of faith.

He then tells me that there is a Church claiming to be divinely founded,
divinely guarded, and divinely guided in its custody of Christianity and
of the Christian Scriptures.

Once more I have the same twofold process of reasoning and of believing
to go through.

There is, however, this difference in the subject-matter: Christianity
is an order of supernatural truth appealing intellectually to my reason;
the Christian Scriptures are voiceless, and need a witness. They
cannot prove their own mission, much less their own authenticity or
inspiration. But the Church is visible to the eye, audible to the ear,
self-manifesting and self-asserting: I cannot escape from it. If I go to
the east, it is there; if I go to the west, it is there also. If I stay
at home, it is before me, seated on the hill; if I turn away from it, I
am surrounded by its light. It pursues me and calls to me. I cannot deny
its existence; I cannot be indifferent to it; I must either listen to
it or willfully stop my ears; I must heed it or defy it, love it or
hate it. But my first attitude towards it is to try it with forensic
strictness, neither pronouncing it to be Christ nor Antichrist till I
have tested its origin, claim, and character. Let us take down the case
in short-hand.

1. It says that it interpenetrates all the nations of the civilized
world. In some it holds the whole nation in its unity, in others it
holds fewer; but in all it is present, visible, audible, naturalized,
and known as the one Catholic Church, a name that none can appropriate.
Though often claimed and controversially assumed, none can retain it; it
falls off. The world knows only one Catholic Church, and always restores
the name to the right owner.

2. It is not a national body, but extra-national, accused of its foreign
relations and foreign dependence. It is international, and independent
in a supernational unity.

3. In faith, divine worship, sacred ceremonial, discipline, government,
from the highest to the lowest, it is the same in every place.

4. It speaks all languages in the civilized world.

5. It is obedient to one Head, outside of all nations, except one only;
and in that nation, his headship is not national but world-wide.

6. The world-wide sympathy of the Church in all lands with its Head has
been manifested in our days, and before our eyes, by a series of public
assemblages in Rome, of which nothing like or second to it can be
found. In 1854, 350 Bishops of all nations surrounded their Head when he
defined the Immaculate Conception. In 1862, 400 Bishops assembled at the
canonization of the Martyrs of Japan. In 1867, 500 Bishops came to keep
the eighteenth centenary of St. Peter's martyrdom. In 1870, 700 Bishops
assembled in the Vatican Council. On the Feast of the Epiphany, 1870,
the Bishops of thirty nations during two whole hours made profession of
faith in their own languages, kneeling before their head. Add to this,
that in 1869, in the sacerdotal jubilee of Pius IX., Rome was filled for
months by pilgrims from all lands in Europe and beyond the sea, from the
Old World and from the New, bearing all manner of gifts and oblations
to the Head of the Universal Church. To this, again, must be added the
world-wide outcry and protest of all the Catholic unity against the
seizure and sacrilege of September, 1870, when Rome was taken by the
Italian Revolution.

7. All this came to pass not only by reason of the great love of
the Catholic world for Pius IX., but because they revered him as the
successor of St. Peter and the Vicar of Jesus Christ. For that undying
reason the same events have been reproduced in the time of Leo XIII. In
the early months of this year Rome was once more filled with pilgrims of
all nations, coming in thousands as representatives of millions in all
nations, to celebrate the sacerdotal jubilee of the Sovereign Pontiff.
The courts of the Vatican could not find room for the multitude of gifts
and offerings of every kind which were sent from all quarters of the
world.

8. These things are here said, not because of any other importance,
but because they set forth in the most visible and self-evident way the
living unity and the luminous universality of the One Catholic and Roman
Church.

9. What has thus far been said is before our eyes at this hour. It is no
appeal to history, but to a visible and palpable fact. Men may explain
it as they will; deny it, they cannot. They see the Head of the Church
year by year speaking to the nations of the world; treating with
Empires, Republics and Governments. There is no other man on earth that
can so bear himself. Neither from Canterbury nor from Constantinople can
such a voice go forth to which rulers and people listen.

This is the century of revolutions. Rome has in our time been besieged
three times; three Popes have been driven out of it, two have been shut
up in the Vatican. The city is now full of the Revolution. The whole
Church has been tormented by Falck laws, Mancini laws, and Crispi laws.
An unbeliever in Germany said some years ago, "The net is now drawn so
tight about the Church, that if it escapes this time I will believe in
it." Whether he believes, or is even alive now to believe, I cannot say.

Nothing thus far has been said as proof. The visible, palpable
facts, which are at this moment before the eyes of all men, speak for
themselves. There is one, and only one, worldwide unity of which
these things can be said. It is a fact and a phenomenon for which an
intelligible account must be rendered. If it be only a human system
built up by the intellect, will and energy of men, let the adversaries
prove it. The burden is upon them; and they will have more to do as we
go on.

Thus far we have rested upon the evidence of sense and fact. We must now
go on to history and reason.

Every religion and every religious body known to history has varied
from itself and broken up. Brahminism has given birth to Buddhism;
Mahometanism is parted into the Arabian and European Khalifates;
the Greek schism into the Russian, Constantinopolitan, and Bulgarian
autocephalous fragment; Protestaritism into its multitudinous
diversities. All have departed from their original type, and all
are continually developing new and irreconcilable, intellectual and
ritualistic, diversities and repulsions. How is it that, with all
diversities of language, civilization, race, interest, and conditions,
social and political, including persecution and warfare, the Catholic
nations are at this day, even when in warfare, in unchanged unity of
faith, communion, worship and spiritual sympathy with each other and
with their Head? This needs a rational explanation.

It may be said in answer, endless divisions have come out of the Church,
from Arius to Photius, and from Photius to Luther.

Yes, but they all came out. There is the difference. They did not remain
in the Church, corrupting the faith. They came out, and ceased to belong
to the Catholic unity, as a branch broken from a tree ceases to belong
to the tree. But the identity of the tree remains the same. A branch is
not a tree, nor a tree a branch. A tree may lose branches, but it rests
upon its root, and renews its loss. Not so the religions, so to call
them, that have broken away from unity. Not one has retained its members
or its doctrines. Once separated from the sustaining unity of the
Church, all separations lose their spiritual cohesion, and then their
intellectual identity. _Ramus procisus arescit_.

For the present it is enough to say that no human legislation, authority
or constraint can ever create internal unity of intellect and will; and
that the diversities and contradictions generated by all human systems
prove the absence of Divine authority. Variations or contradictions are
proof of the absence of a Divine mission to mankind. All natural causes
run to disintegration. Therefore, they can render no account of the
world-wide unity of the One Universal Church.

Such, then, are the facts before our eyes at this day. We will seek out
the origin of the body or system called the Catholic Church, and pass at
once to its outset eighteen hundred years ago.

I affirm, then, three things: (1) First, that no adequate account can be
given of this undeniable fact from natural causes; (2) that the history
of the Catholic Church demands causes above nature; and (3) that it has
always claimed for itself a Divine origin and Divine authority.

I. And, first, before we examine what it was and what it has done, we
will recall to mind what was the world in the midst of which it arose.

The most comprehensive and complete description of the old world, before
Christianity came in upon it, is given in the first chapter of the
Epistle to the Romans. Mankind had once the knowledge of God: that
knowledge was obscured by the passions of sense; in the darkness of the
human intellect, with the light of nature still before them, the nations
worshiped the creature--that is, by pantheism, polytheism, idolatry;
and, having lost the knowledge of God and of His perfections, they lost
the knowledge of their own nature and of its laws, even of the natural
and rational laws, which thenceforward ceased to guide, restrain, or
govern them. They became perverted and inverted with every possible
abuse, defeating the end and destroying the powers of creation. The
lights of nature were put out, and the world rushed headlong into
confusions, of which the beasts that perish were innocent. This is
analytically the history of all nations but one. A line of light still
shone from Adam to Enoch, from Enoch to Abraham, to whom the command was
given, "Walk before Me and be perfect." And it ran on from Abraham
to Caiaphas, who crucified the founder of Christianity. Through all
anthropomorphisms of thought and language this line of light still
passed inviolate and inviolable. But in the world, on either side of
that radiant stream, the whole earth was dark. The intellectual and
moral state of the Greek world may be measured in its highest excellence
in Athens; and of the Roman world in Rome. The 'state of Athens--its
private, domestic, and public morality--may be seen in Aristophanes.

The state of Rome is visible in Juvenal, and in the fourth book of St.
Augustine's "City of God." There was only one evil wanting-. The world
was not Atheist. Its polytheism was the example and the warrant of all
forms of moral abominations. Imitary quod colis plunged the nations
in crime. Their theology was their degradation; their text-book of an
elaborate corruption of intellect and will.

Christianity came in "the fullness of time." What that fullness may
mean, is one of the mysteries of times and seasons which it is not for
us to know. But one motive for the long delay of four thousand years
is not far to seek. It gave time, full and ample, for the utmost
development and consolidation of all the falsehood and evil of which the
intellect and will of man are capable. The four great empires were each
of them the concentration of a supreme effort of human power. The second
inherited from the first, the third from both, the fourth from all
three. It was, as it was foretold or described, as a beast, "exceeding
terrible; his teeth and claws were of iron; he devoured and broke in
pieces; and the rest he stamped upon with his feet." * The empire of
man over man was never so widespread, so absolute, so hardened into one
organized mass, as in Imperial Rome. The world had never seen a military
power so disciplined, irresistible, invincible; a legislation so just,
so equitable, so strong in its execution; a government so universal,
so local, so minute. It seemed to be imperishable. Rome was called
the eternal. The religions of all nations were enshrined in Dea Roma;
adopted, practiced openly, and taught. They were all _religiones
licitae_, known to the law; not tolerated only, but recognized. The
theologies of Egypt, Greece, and of the Latin world, met in an empyreum,
consecrated and guarded by the Imperial law, and administered by the
Pontifex Maximus. No fanaticism ever surpassed the religious cruelties
of Rome.. Add to all this the colluvies of false philosophies of every
land, and of every date. They both blinded and hardened the intellect
of public opinion and of private men against the invasion of anything
except contempt, and hatred of both the philosophy of sophists and of
the religion of the people. Add to all this the sensuality of the most
refined and of the grossest luxury the world had ever seen, and a moral
confusion and corruption which violated every law of nature.

     * Daniel, vii. 19.

The god of this world had built his city. From foundation to parapet,
everything that the skill and power of man could do had been done
without stint of means or limit of will. The Divine hand was stayed, or
rather, as St. Augustine says, an unsurpassed natural greatness was the
reward of certain natural virtues, degraded as they were in unnatural
abominations. Rome was the climax of the power of man without God, the
apotheosis of the human will, the direct and supreme antagonist of God
in His own world. In this the fullness of time was come. Man built all
this for himself. Certainly, man could not also build the City of God.
They are not the work of one and the same architect, who capriciously
chose to build first the city of confusion, suspending for a time his
skill and power to build some day the City of God. Such a hypothesis is
folly. Of two things, one. Disputers must choose one or the other.
Both cannot be asserted, and the assertion needs no answer--it refutes
itself. So much for the first point.

II. In the reign of Augustus, and in a remote and powerless Oriental
race, a Child was born in a stable of a poor Mother. For thirty years He
lived a hidden life; for three years He preached the Kingdom of God, and
gave laws hitherto unknown to men. He died in ignominy upon the Cross;
on the third day He rose again; and after forty days He was seen no
more. This unknown Man created the world-wide unity of intellect and
will which is visible to the eye, and audible, in all languages, to the
ear. It is in harmony with the reason and moral nature of all nations,
in all ages, to this day. What proportion is there between the cause
and the effect? What power was there in this isolated Man? What unseen
virtues went out of Him to change the world? For change the world He
did; and that not in the line or on the level of nature as men had
corrupted it, but in direct contradiction to all that was then supreme
in the world. He taught the dependence of the intellect against
its self-trust, the submission of the will against its license,
the subjugation of the passions by temperate control or by absolute
subjection against their willful indulgence. This was to reverse what
men believed to be the laws of nature: to make water climb upward and
fire to point downward. He taught mortification of the lusts of the
flesh, contempt of the lusts of the eyes, and hatred of the pride of
life. What hope was there that such a teacher should convert imperial
Rome? that such a doctrine should exorcise the fullness of human pride
and lust? Yet so it has come to pass; and how? Twelve men more obscure
than Himself, absolutely without authority or influence of this world,
preached throughout the empire and beyond it. They asserted two facts:
the one, that God had been made man; the other, that He died and
rose again. What could be more incredible? To the Jews the unity and
spirituality of God were axioms of reason and faith; to the Gentiles,
however cultured, the resurrection of the flesh was impossible. The
Divine Person Who had died and risen could not be called in evidence as
the chief witness. He could not be produced in court. Could anything be
more suspicious if credible, or less credible even if He were there to
say so? All that they could do was to say, "We knew Him for three years,
both before His death and after He rose from the dead. If you will
believe us, you will believe what we say. If you will not believe us,
we can say no more. He is not here, but in heaven. We cannot call him
down." It is true, as we read, that Peter cured a lame man at the gate
of the Temple. The Pharisees could not deny it, but they would not
believe what Peter said; they only told him to hold his tongue. And yet
thousands in one day in Jerusalem believed in the Incarnation and the
Resurrection; and when the Apostles were scattered by persecution,
wherever they went men believed their word. The most intense persecution
was from the Jews, the people of faith and of Divine traditions. In
the name of God and of religion they stoned Stephen, and sent Saul to
persecute at Damascus. More than this, they stirred up the Romans in
every place. As they had forced Pilate to crucify Jesus of Nazareth, so
they swore to slay Paul. And yet, in spite of all, the faith spread.

It is true, indeed, that the Empire of Alexander, the spread of the
Hellenistic Greek, the prevalence of Greek in Rome itself, the Roman
roads which made the Empire traversable, the Roman peace which sheltered
the preachers of the faith in the outset of their work, gave them
facilities to travel and to be understood. But these were only external
facilities, which in no way rendered more credible or more acceptable
the voice of penance and mortification, or the mysteries of the faith,
which was immutably "to the Jews a stumbling-block and to the Greeks
foolishness." It was in changeless opposition to nature as man had
marred it; but it was in absolute harmony with nature as God had made
it to His own likeness. Its power was its persuasiveness; and its
persuasiveness was in its conformity to the highest and noblest
aspirations and aims of the soul in man. The master-key so long lost
was found at last; and its conformity to the wards of the lock was its
irrefragable witness to its own mission and message.

But if it is beyond belief that Christianity in its outset made good
its foothold by merely human causes and powers, how much more does this
become incredible in every age as we come down from the first century to
the nineteenth, and from the Apostolic mission to the world-wide Church,
Catholic and Roman, at this day.

Not only did the world in the fullness of its power give to the
Christian faith no help to root or to spread itself, but it wreaked all
the fullness of its power upon it to uproot and to destroy it, Of the
first thirty Pontiffs in Rome, twenty-nine were martyred. Ten successive
persecutions, or rather one universal and continuous persecution of two
hundred years, with ten more bitter excesses of enmity in every province
of the Empire, did all that man can do to extinguish the Christian name.
The Christian name may be blotted out here and there in blood, but the
Christian faith can nowhere be slain. It is inscrutable, and beyond the
reach of man. In nothing is the blood of the martyrs more surely the
seed of the faith. Every martyrdom was a witness to the faith, and the
ten persecutions were the sealing of the work of the twelve Apostles.
The destroyer defeated himself. Christ crucified was visibly set forth
before all the nations, the world was a Calvary, and the blood of the
martyrs preached in every tongue the Passion of Jesus Christ. The world
did its worst, and ceased only for weariness and conscious defeat.

Then came the peace, and with peace the peril of the Church. The
world outside had failed; the world inside began to work. It no longer
destroyed life; it perverted the intellect, and, through intellectual
perversion, assailed the faith at its centre, The Angel of light
preached heresy. The Baptismal Creed was assailed all along the line;
Gnosticism assailed the Father-and Creator of all things; Arianism,
the God-head of the Son; Nestorianism, the unity of His person;
Monophysites, the two natures; Monothelites, the divine and human wills;
Macedonians, the person of the Holy Ghost So throughout the centuries,
from Nicæa to the Vatican, every article has been in succession
perverted by heresy and defined by the Church. But of this we shall
speak hereafter. If the human intellect could fasten its perversions
on the Chris tian faith, it would have done so long ago; and if the
Christian faith had been guarded by no more than human intellect, it
would long ago have been disintegrated, as we see in every religion
outside the unity of the one Catholic Church. There is no example in
which fragmentary Christianities have not departed from their original
type. No human system is immutable; no thing human is changeless.
The human intellect, therefore, can give no sufficient account of the
identity of the Catholic faith in all places and in all ages by any
of its own natural processes or powers. The force of this argument is
immensely increased when we trace the tradition of the faith through the
nineteen OEcumenical Councils which, with one continuous intelligence,
have guarded and unfolded the deposit of faith, defining every truth
as it has been successively assailed, in absolute harmony and unity of
progression.

What the Senate is to your great Republic, or the Parliament to our
English monarchy, such are the nineteen Councils of the Church, with
this only difference: the secular Legislatures must meet year by year
with short recesses; Councils have met on the average once in a century.
The reason of this is that the mutabilities of national life, which are
as the water-floods, need constant remedies; the stability of the Church
seldom needs new legislation. The faith needs no definition except in
rare intervals of periodical intellectual disorder. The discipline
of the Church reigns by an universal common law which seldom needs a
change, and by local laws which are provided on the spot. Nevertheless,
the legislation of the Church, the _Corpus Juris_, or _Canon Law_, is
a creation of wisdom and justice, to which no Statutes at large or
Imperial pandects can bear comparison. Human intellect has reached its
climax in jurisprudence, but the world-wide and secular legislation
of the Church has a higher character. How the Christian law corrected,
elevated, and completed the Imperial law, may be seen in a learned and
able work by an American author, far from the Catholic faith, but in the
main just and accurate in his facts and arguments--the _Gesta Christi_
of Charles Loring Brace. Water cannot rise above its source, and if the
Church by mere human wisdom corrected and perfected the Imperial law,
its source must be higher than the sources of the world. This makes a
heavy demand on our credulity.

Starting from St. Peter to Leo XIII., there have been some 258
Pontiffs claiming to be, and recognized by the whole Catholic unity as,
successors of St. Peter and Vicars of Jesus Christ. To them has been
rendered in every age not only the external obedience of outward
submission, but the internal obedience of faith. They have borne the
onset of the nations who destroyed Imperial Rome, and the tyranny of
heretical Emperors of Byzantium; and, worse than this, the alternate
despotism and patronage of the Emperors of the West, and the
substraction of obedience in the great Western schisms, when the unity
of the Church and the authority of its Head were, as men thought, gone
for ever. It was the last assault--the forlorn hope of the gates of
hell. Every art of destruction had been tried: martyrdom, heresy,
secularity, schism; at last, two, and three, and four claimants, or, as
the world says, rival Popes, were set up, that men might believe that
St. Peter had no longer a successor, and our Lord no Vicar, upon earth;
for, though all might be illegitimate, only one could be the lawful and
true Head of the Church. Was it only by the human power of man that the
unity, external and internal, which for fourteen hundred years had been
supreme, was once more restored in the Council of Constance, never to be
broken again? The succession of the English monarchy has been, indeed,
often broken, and always restored, in these thousand years. But here
is a monarchy of eighteen hundred years, powerless in worldly force or
support, claiming and receiving not only outward allegiance, but inward
unity of intellect and will. If any man tell us that these two phenomena
are on the same level of merely human causes, it is too severe a tax
upon our natural reason to believe it.

But the inadequacy of human causes to account for the universality,
unity, and immutability of the Catholic Church, will stand out more
visibly if we look at the intellectual and moral revolution which
Christianity has wrought in the world and upon mankind.

The first effect of Christianity was to fill the world with the true
knowledge of the One True God, and to destroy utterly all idols, not
by fire but by light. Before the Light of the world no false god and no
polytheism could stand. The unity and spirituality of God swept away all
theogonies and theologies of the first four thousand years. The stream
of light which descended from the beginning expanded into a radiance,
and the radiance into a flood, which illuminated all nations, as it had
been foretold, "The earth is filled with the knowledge of the Lord,
as the covering waters of the sea;" "And idols shall be utterly
destroyed."* In this true knowledge of the Divine Nature was revealed to
men their own relation to a Creator as of sons to a father. The Greeks
called the chief of the gods _Zeus Pater_, and the Latins _Jupiter_; but
neither realized the dependence and love of sonship as revealed by the
Founder of Christianity.

     * Isaias, xi. 9-11, 18.

The monotheism of the world comes down from a primeval and Divine
source. Polytheism is the corruption of men and of nations. Yet in
the multiplicity of all polytheisms, ont supreme Deity was always
recognized. The Divine unity was imperishable. Polytheism is of human
imagination: it is of men's manufacture. The deification of nature and
passions and heroes had filled the world with an elaborate and tenacious
superstition, surrounded by reverence, fear, religion, and awe.
Every perversion of what is good in man surrounded it with authority;
everything that is evil in man guarded it with jealous care. Against
this world-wide and imperious demon-ology the science of one God, all
holy and supreme, advanced with resistless force. Beelzebub is not
divided against himself; and if polytheism is not Divine, monotheism
must be. The overthrow of idolatry and demonology was the mastery of
forces that are above nature. This conclusion is enough for our present
purpose.

A second visible effect of Christianity of which nature cannot offer
any adequate cause is to be found in the domestic life of the Christian
world. In some nations the existence of marriage was not so much as
recognized. In others, if recognized, it was dishonored by profuse
concubinage. Even in Israel, the most advanced nation, the law of
divorce was permitted for the hardness of their hearts. Christianity
republished the primitive law by which marriage unites only one man and
one woman indissolubly in a perpetual contract. It raised their mutual
and perpetual contract to a sacrament. This at one blow condemned all
other relations between man and woman, all the legal gradations of
the Imperial law, and all forms and pleas of divorce. Beyond this the
spiritual legislation of the Church framed most elaborate tables of
consanguinity and affinity, prohibiting all marriages between persons in
certain degrees of kinship or relation. This law has created the purity
and peace of domestic life. Neither the Greek nor the Roman world
had any true conception of a home. The _Eoria_ or Vesta was a sacred
tradition guarded by vestals like a temple worship. It was not a law
and a power in the homes of the people. Christianity, by enlarging the
circles of prohibition within which men and women were as brothers and
sisters, has created the home with all its purities and safeguards.

Such a law of unity and indissolubility, encompassed by a multitude of
prohibitions, no mere human legislation could impose on the the passions
and will of mankind. And yet the Imperial laws gradually yielded to its
resistless pressure, and incorporated it in its world-wide legislation.
The passions and practices of four thousand years were against the
change; yet it was accomplished, and it reigns inviolate to this day,
though the relaxations of schism in the East and the laxities of the
West have revived the abuse of divorces, and have partially abolished
the wise and salutary prohibitions which guard the homes of the
faithful. These relaxations prove that all natural forces have been, and
are, hostile to the indissoluble law of Christian marriage. Certainly,
then, it was not by natural forces that the Sacrament of Matrimony and
the legislation springing from it were enacted. If these are restraints
of human liberty and license, either they do not spring from nature, or
they have had a supernatural cause whereby they exist. It was this that
redeemed woman from the traditional degradation in which the world had
held her. The condition of women in Athens and in Rome--which may be
taken as the highest points of civilization--is too well known to need
recital. Women had no rights, no property, no independence. Plato looked
upon them as State property; Aristotle as chattels; the Greeks wrote of
them as [--Greek--].

They were the prey, the sport, the slaves of man. Even in Israel, though
they were raised incomparably higher than in the Gentile world, they
were far below the dignity and authority of Christian women. Libanius,
the friend of Julian, the Apostate, said, "O ye gods of Greece, how
great are the women of the Christians!" Whence came the elevation of
womanhood? Not from the ancient civilization, for it degraded them; not
from Israel, for among the Jews the highest state of womanhood was the
marriage state. The daughter of Jepthe went into the mountains to mourn
not her death but her virginity. The marriage state in the Christian
world, though holy and good, is not the highest state. The state of
virginity unto death is the highest condition of man and woman. But this
is above the law of nature. It belongs to a higher order. And this life
of virginity, in repression of natural passion and lawful instinct, is
both above and against the tendencies of human nature. It begins in a
mortification, and ends in a mastery, over the movements and ordinary
laws of human nature. Who will ascribe this to natural causes? and, if
so, why did it not appear in the first four thousand years? And when has
it ever appeared except in a handful of vestal virgins, or in Oriental
recluses, with what reality history shows? An exception proves a rule.
No one will imagine that a life of chastity is impossible to nature; but
the restriction is a repression of nature which individuals may acquire,
but the multitude have never attained. A religion which imposes chastity
on the unmarried, and upon its priesthood, and upon the multitudes of
women in every age who devote themselves to the service of One Whom they
have never seen, is a mortification of nature in so high a degree as
to stand out as a fact and a phenomenon, of which mere natural causes
afford no adequate solution. Its existence, not in a handful out of the
millions of the world, but its prevalence and continuity in multitudes
scattered throughout the Christian world, proves the presence of a cause
higher than the laws of nature. So true is this, that jurists teach that
the three vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience are contrary to "the
policy of the law," that is, to the interests of the commonwealth, which
desires the multiplication, enrichment, and liberty of its members.

To what has been said may be added the change wrought by Christianity
upon the social, political, and international relations of the world.
The root of this ethical change, private and public, is the Christian
home. The authority of parents, the obedience of children, the love of
brotherhood, are the three active powers which have raised the society
of man above the level of the old world. Israel was head and shoulders
above the world around it; but Christendom is high above Israel. The new
Commandment of brotherly love, and the Sermon on the Mount, have wrought
a revolution, both in private and public life. From this come the laws
of justice and sympathy which bind together the nations of the Christian
world. In the old world, even the most refined races, worshiped by our
modern philosophers, held and taught that man could hold property in
man. In its chief cities there were more slaves than free men. Who has
taught the equality of men before the law, and extinguished the impious
thought that man can hold property in man? It was no philosopher: even
Aristotle taught that a slave was [--Greek--]. It was no lawgiver, for
all taught the lawfulness of slavery till Christianity denied it. The
Christian law has taught that man can lawfully sell his labor, but that
he cannot lawfully be sold, or sell himself.

The necessity of being brief, the impossibility of drawing out the
picture of the old world, its profound immoralities, its unimaginable
cruelties, compels me to argue with my right hand tied behind me. I can
do no more than point again to Mr. Brace's "Gesta Christi," or to Dr.
Dollinger's "Gentile and Jew," as witnesses to the facts which I have
stated or implied. No one who has not read such books, or mastered their
contents by original study, can judge of the force of the assertion that
Christianity has reformed the world by direct antagonism to the human
will, and by a searching and firm repression of human passion. It has
ascended the stream of human license, _contra ictum fluminis_, by a
power mightier than nature, and by laws of a higher order than the
relaxations of this world.

Before Christianity came on earth, the civilization of man by merely
natural force had culminated. It could not rise above its source; all
that it could do was done; and the civilization in every race and
empire had ended in decline and corruption. The old civilization was not
regenerated. It passed away to give place to a new. But the new had
a higher source, nobler laws and supernatural powers. The highest
excellence of men and of nations is the civilization of Christianity.
The human race has ascended into what we call Christendom, that is,
into the new creation of charity and justice among men. Christendom was
created by the worldwide Church as we see it before our eyes at this
day. Philosophers and statesmen believe it to be the work of their own
hands: they did not make it; but they have for three hundred years
been unmaking it by reformations and revolutions. These are destructive
forces. They build up nothing. It has been well said by Donoso Cortez
that "the history of civilization is the history of Christianity, the
history of Christianity is the history of the Church, the history of the
Church is the history of the Pontiffs, the greatest statesmen and rulers
that the world has ever seen."

Some years ago, a Professor of great literary reputation in England, who
was supposed even then to be, as his subsequent writings have proved, a
skeptic or non-Christian, published a well-known and very candid book,
under the title of "Ecce Homo." The writer placed himself, as it were,
outside of Christianity. He took, not the Church in the world as in
this article, but the Christian Scriptures as a historical record, to be
judged with forensic severity and absolute impartiality of mind. To the
credit of the author, he fulfilled this pledge; and his conclusion shall
here be given. After an examination of the life and character of the
Author of Christianity, he proceeded to estimate His teaching and its
effects under the following heads:

     1. The Christian Legislation.
     2. The Christian Republic.
     3. Its Universality.
     4. The Enthusiasm of Humanity.
     5. The Lord's Supper.
     6. Positive Morality.
     7. Philanthropy.
     8. Edification.
     9. Mercy.
     10. Resentment.
     11. Forgiveness.

He then draws his conclusion as follows:

"The achievement of Christ in founding by his single will and power a
structure so durable and so universal is like no other achievement which
history records. The masterpieces of the men of action are coarse and
commonplace in comparison with it, and the masterpieces of speculation
flimsy and unsubstantial. When we speak of it the commonplaces of
admiration fail us altogether. Shall we speak of the originality of
the design, of the skill displayed in the execution? All such terms are
inadequate. Originality and contriving skill operate indeed, but, as it
were, implicitly. The creative effort which produced that against which
it is said the gates of hell shall not prevail cannot be analyzed. No
architect's designs were furnished for the New Jerusalem; no committee
drew up rules for the universal commonwealth. If in the works of
nature we can trace the indications of calculation, of a struggle with
difficulties, of precaution, of ingenuity, then in Christ's work it may
be that the same indications occur. But these inferior and secondary
powers were not consciously exercised; they were implicitly present in
the manifold yet single creative act. The inconceivable work was done
in calmness; before the eyes of mea it was noiselessly accomplished,
attracting little attention. Who can describe that which unites men? Who
has entered into the formation of speech, which is the symbol of their
union? Who can describe exhaustively the origin of civil society? He who
can do these things can explain the origin of the Christian Church.
For others it must be enough to say, 'The Holy Ghost fell on those that
believed'. No man saw the building of the New Jerusalem, the workmen
crowded together, the unfinished walla and unpaved streets; no man
heard the clink of trowel and pickaxe: 'it descended out of heaven from
God.'"*

     * "Ece Homo," Conclusion, p. 329, Fifth Edition. Macmillan,
     1886.

And yet the writer is, as he was then, still outside of Christianity.

III. We come now to our third point, that Christianity has always
claimed a Divine origin and a Divine presence as the source of its
authority and powers.

To prove this by texts from the New Testament would be to transcribe the
volume; and if the evidence of the whole New Testament were put in, not
only might some men deny its weight as evidence, but we should place our
whole argument upon a false foundation. Christianity was anterior to
the New Testament and is independent of it. The Christian Scriptures
presuppose both the faith and the Church as already existing, known, and
believed. _Prior liber quam stylus_: as Tertullian argued. The Gospel
was preached before it was written. The four books were written to
those who already believed, to confirm their faith. They were written
at intervals: St. Matthew in Hebrew in the year 39, in Greek in 45. St.
Mark in 43, St. Luke in 57, St. John about 90, in different places and
for different motives. Four Gospels did not exist for sixty years, or
two generations of men. St. Peter and St. Paul knew of only three of
our four. In those sixty years the faith had spread from east to west.
Saints and Martyrs had gone up to their crown who never saw a sacred
book. The Apostolic Epistles prove the antecedent existence of the
Churches to which they were addressed. Rome and Corinth, and Galatia
and Ephesus, Philippi and Colossæ, were Churches with pastors and people
before St. Paul wrote to them. The Church had already attested and
executed its Divine legation before the New Testament existed; and when
all its books were written they were not as yet collected into a volume.
The earliest collection was about the beginning of the second century,
and in the custody of the Church in Rome. We must, therefore, seek to
know what was and is Christianity before and outside of the written
books; and we have the same evidence for the oral tradition of the faith
as we have for the New Testament itself. Both alike were in the custody
of the Church; both are delivered to us by the same witness and on the
same evidence. To reject either, is logically to reject both. Happily
men are not saved by logic, but by faith. The millions of men in
all ages have believed by inheritance of truth divinely guarded and
delivered to them. They have no need of logical analysis. They
have believed from their childhood. Neither children nor those who
_infantibus oquiparantur_ are logicians. It is the penance of the
doubter and the unbeliever to regain by toil his lost inheritance. It
is a hard penance, like the suffering of those who eternally debate on
"predestination, freewill, fate."

Between the death of St. John and the mature lifetime of St. Irenæus
fifty years elapsed. St. Polycarp was disciple of St. John. St. Irenæus
was disciple of St. Polycarp. The mind of St. John and the mind of St.
Irenæus had only one intermediate intelligence, in contact with each. It
would be an affectation of minute criticism to treat the doctrine of
St. Irenaeus as a departure from the doctrine of St. Polycarp, or the
doctrine of St. Polycarp as a departure from the doctrine of St. John.
Moreover, St. John ruled the Church at Ephesus, and St. Irenaeus was
born in Asia Minor about the year A. D. 120--that is, twenty years after
St. John's death, when the Church in Asia Minor was still full of the
light of his teaching and of the accents of his voice. Let us see how
St. Irenæus describes the faith and the Church. In his work against
Heresies, in Book iii. chap. i., he says, "We have known the way of our
salvation by those through whom the Gospel came to us; which, indeed,
they then preached, but afterwards, by the will of God, delivered to us
in Scriptures, the future foundation and pillar of our faith. It is not
lawful to say that they preached before they had perfect knowledge,
as some dare to affirm, boasting themselves to be correctors of the
Apostles. For after our Lord rose from the dead, and when they had been
clothed with the power of the Holy Ghost, Who came upon them from on
high, they were filled with all truths, and had knowledge which was
perfect." In chapter ii. he adds that, "When they are refuted out
of Scripture, they turn and accuse the Scriptures as erroneous,
unauthoritative, and of various readings, so that the truth cannot be
found by those who do not know tradition"--that is, their own. "But when
we challenge them to come to the tradition of the Apostles, which is in
custody of the succession of Presbyters in the Church, they turn against
tradition, saying that they are not only wiser than the Presbyters, but
even the Apostles, and have found the truth." "It therefore comes
to pass that they will not agree either with the Scriptures or with
tradition." (Ibid. c. iii.) "Therefore, all who desire to know the truth
ought to look to the tradition of the Apostles, which is manifest in all
the world and in all the Church. We are able to count up the Bishops who
were instituted in the Church by the Apostles, and their successors
to our day. They never taught nor knew such things as these men
madly assert." "But as it would be too long in such a book as this to
enumerate the successions of all the Churches, we point to the tradition
of the greatest, most ancient Church, known to all, founded and
constituted in Rome by the two glorious Apostles Peter and Paul, and to
the faith announced to all men, coming down to us by the succession
of Bishops, thereby confounding all those who, in any way, by
self-pleasing, or vainglory, or blindness, or an evil mind, teach
as they ought not. For with this Church, by reason of its greater
principality, it is necessary that all churches should agree; that is,
the faithful, wheresoever they be, for in that Church the tradition of
the Apostles has been preserved." No comment need be made on the
words the "greater principality," which have been perverted by every
anti-Catholic writer from the time they were written to this day. But if
any one will compare them with the words of St. Paul to the Colossians
(chap. i. 18), describing the primacy of the Head of the Church in
heaven, it will appear almost certain that the original Greek of St.
Irenæus, which is unfortunately lost, contained either [--Greek--], or
some inflection of [--Greek--] which signifies primacy. However this
may be, St. Irenæus goes on: "The blessed Apostles, having founded
and instructed the Church, gave in charge the Episcopate, for the
administration of the same, to Linus. Of this Linus, Paul, in his
Epistle to Timothy, makes mention. To him succeeded Anacletus, and
after him, in the third place from the Apostles, Clement received the
Episcopate, he who saw the Apostles themselves and conferred with them,
while as yet he had the preaching of the Apostles in his ears and the
tradition before his eyes; and not he only, but many who had been taught
by the Apostles still survived. In the time of this Clement, when no
little dissension had arisen among the brethren in Corinth, the Church
in Rome wrote very powerful letters _potentissimas litteras_ to the
Corinthians, recalling them to peace, restoring their faith, and
declaring the tradition which it had so short a time ago received from
the Apostles." These letters of St. Clement are well known, but have
lately become more valuable and complete by the discovery of fragments
published in a new edition by Light-foot. In these fragments there is
a tone of authority fully explaining the words of St. Irenæus. He then
traces the succession of the Bishops of Rome to his own day, and adds:
"This demonstration is complete to show that it is one and the same
life-giving faith which has been preserved in the Church from the
Apostles until now, and is handed on in truth." "Polycarp was not only
taught by the Apostles, and conversed with many of those who had seen
our Lord, but he also was constituted by the Apostles in Asia to be
Bishop in the Church of Smyrna. We also saw him in our early youth, for
he lived long, and when very old departed from this life most gloriously
and nobly by martyrdom. He ever taught that what he had learned from
the Apostles, and what the Church had delivered, those things only are
true." In the fourth chapter, St. Irenæus goes on to say: "Since, then,
there are such proofs (of the faith), the truth is no longer to be
sought for among others, which it is easy to receive from the Church,
forasmuch as the Apostles laid up all truth in fullness in a rich
depository, that all who will may receive from it the water of life."
"But what if the Apostles had not left us the Scriptures: ought we not
to follow the order of tradition, which they gave in charge to them to
whom they intrusted the Churches? To which order (of tradition) many
barbarous nations yield assent, who believe in Christ without paper
and ink, having salvation written by the Spirit in their hearts, and
diligently holding the ancient tradition." In the twenty-sixth chapter
of the same book he says: "Therefore, it is our duty to obey the
Presbyters who are in the Church, who have succession from the Apostles,
as we have already shown; who also with the succession of the Episcopate
have the _charisma veritatis certum_," the spiritual and certain gift of
truth.

I have quoted these passages at length, not so much as proofs of the
Catholic Faith as to show the identity of the Church at its outset with
the Church before our eyes at this hour, proving that the acorn has
grown up into its oak, or, if you will, the identity of the Church at
this hour with the Church of the Apostolic mission. These passages show
the Episcopate, its central principality, its succession, its custody of
the faith, its subsequent reception and guardianship of the Scriptures,
Its Divine tradition, and the charisma or Divine assistance by which its
perpetuity is secured in the succession of the Apostles. This is almost
verbally, after eighteen hundred years, the decree of the Vatican
Council: _Veritatis et fidei nunquam deficientis charisma_.*

     * "Const. Dogmatica Prima de Ecclesia Christi," cap. iv.

But St. Irenæus draws out in full the Church of this day. He shows the
parallel of the first creation and of the second; of the first Adam and
the Second; and of the analogy between the Incarnation or natural body,
and the Church or mystical body of Christ. He says:

Our faith "we received from the Church, and guard.... as an excellent
gift in a noble vessel, always full of youth, and making youthful the
vessel itself in which it is. For this gift of God is intrusted to the
Church, as the breath of life (_was imparted_) to the first man, so this
end, that all the members partaking of it might be quickened with life.
And thus the communication of Christ is imparted; that is, the Holy
Ghost, the earnest of incorruption, the confirmation of the faith, the
way of ascent to God. For in the Church (St. Paul says) God placed
Apostles, Prophets, Doctors, and all other operations of the Spirit, of
which none are partakers who do not come to the Church, thereby
depriving themselves of life by a perverse mind and worse deeds. For
where the Church is, there is also the Spirit of God; and where the
Spirit of God is, there is the Church, and all grace. But the Spirit is
truth. Wherefore, they who do not partake of Him (_the Spirit_), and are
not nurtured unto life at the breast of the mother (_the Church_), do
not receive of that most pure fountain which proceeds from the Body of
Christ, but dig out for themselves broken pools from the trenches of the
earth, and drink water soiled with mire, because they turn aside from
the faith of the Church lest they should be convicted, and reject the
Spirit lest they should be taught."* Again he says: "The Church,
scattered throughout the world, even unto the ends of the earth,
received from the Apostles and their disciples the faith in one God the
Father Almighty, that made the heaven and the earth, and the seas, and
all things that are in them." &c.**

     *St. Irenæus, Cont. Hezret lib. iii. cap. xxiv.

     ** Lib. i. cap. x.

He then recites the doctrines of the Holy Trinity, the Incarnation, the
Passion, Resurrection, and Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, and His
coming again to raise all men, to judge men and angels, and to give
sentence of condemnation or of life everlasting. How much soever
the language may vary from other forms, such is the substance of the
Baptismal Creed. He then adds:

"The Church having received this preaching and this faith, as we have
said before, although it be scattered abroad through the whole world,
carefully preserves it, dwelling as in one habitation, and believes
alike in these (doctrines) as though she had one soul and the same
heart: and in strict accord, as though she had one mouth, proclaims,
and teaches, and delivers onward these things. And although there may be
many diverse languages in the world, yet the power of the tradition is
one and the same. And neither do the Churches planted in Germany believe
otherwise, or otherwise deliver (the faith), nor those in Iberia, nor
among the Celtae, nor in the East, nor in Egypt, nor in Libya, nor
they that are planted in the mainland. But as the sun, which is God's
creature, in all the world is one and the same, so also the preaching of
the truth shineth everywhere, and lightened all men that are willing to
come to the knowledge of the truth. And neither will any ruler of the
Church, though he be mighty in the utterance of truth, teach otherwise
than thus (for no man is above the master), nor will he that is weak in
the same diminish from the tradition; for the faith being one and the
same, he that is able to say most of it hath nothing over, and he that
is able to say least hath no lack."*

     * St. Irenaeus, lib. i. c. x.

To St. Irenaeus, then, the Church was "the irrefragable witness of its
own legation." When did it cease so to be? It would be easy to multiply
quotations from Tertullian in A. D. 200, from St. Cyprian a. d. 250,
from St. Augustine and St. Optatus in A. d. 350, from St. Leo in a. d.
450, all of which are on the same traditional lines of faith in a divine
mission to the world and of a divine assistance in its discharge. But I
refrain from doing so because I should have to write not an article
but a folio. Any Catholic theology will give the passages which are now
before me; or one such book as the Loci Theologici of Melchior Canus
will suffice to show the continuity and identity of the tradition of
St. Irenaeus and the tradition of the Vatican Council, in which the
universal church last declared the immutable faith and its own legation
to mankind.

The world-wide testimony of the Catholic Church is a sufficient witness
to prove the coming of the Incarnate Son to redeem mankind, and to
return to His Father; it is also sufficient to prove the advent of the
Holy Ghost to abide with us for ever. The work of the Son in this world
was accomplished by the Divine acts and facts of His three-and-thirty
years of life, death, Resurrection, and Ascension. The office of the
Holy Ghost is perpetual, not only as the Illuminator and Sanctifier of
all who believe, but also as the Life and Guide of the Church. I may
quote now the words of the Founder of the Church: "It is expedient to
you that I go: for if I go not, the Paraclete will not come to you; but
if I go, I will send Him to you."* "I will ask the Father, and He shall
give you another Paraclete, that He may abide with you for ever."** "The
Spirit of Truth, Whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth Him not
nor knoweth Him; but you shall know Him, because He shall abide with you
and shall be in you."***

     * St. John, xvi. 7.

     ** Ibid, xiv. 16.

     *** St.John, xiv. 16, 17.

St. Paul in the Epistles to the Ephesians describes the Church as a body
of which the Head is in heaven, and the Author of its indefectible life
abiding in it as His temple. Therefore the words, "He that heareth you
heareth Me." This could not be if the witness of the Apostles had been
only human. A Divine guidance was attached to the office they bore. They
were, therefore, also judges of right and wrong, and teachers by Divine
guidance of the truth. But the presence and guidance of the Spirit of
Truth is as full at this day as when St. Irenæus wrote. As the Churches
then were witnesses, judges, and teachers, so is the Church at this hour
a world-wide witness, an unerring judge and teacher, divinely guided and
guarded in the truth. It is therefore not only a human and historical,
but a Divine witness. This is the chief Divine truth which the last
three hundred years have obscured. Modern Christianity believes in the
one advent of the Redeemer, but rejects the full and personal advent of
the Holy Ghost. And yet the same evidence proves both. The Christianity
of reformers, always returns to Judaism, because they reject the full,
or do not believe the personal, advent of the Holy Ghost. They deny that
there is an infallible teacher, among men; and therefore they return to
the types and shadows of the Law before the Incarnation, when the Head
was not yet incarnate, and the Body of Christ did not as yet exist.

But perhaps some one will say, "I admit your description of the Church
as it is now and as it was in the days of St. Irenæus; but the eighteen
hundred years of which you have said nothing were ages of declension,
disorder, superstition, demoralization." I will answer by a question:
was not this foretold? Was not the Church to be a field of wheat and
tares growing together till the harvest at the end of the world? There
were Cathari of old, and Puritans since, impatient at the patience
of God in bearing with the perversities and corruptions of the human
intellect and will. The Church, like its Head in heaven, is both human
and divine. "He was crucified in weakness," but no power of man could
wound His divine nature. So with the Church, which is His Body. Its
human element may corrupt and die; its divine life, sanctity, authority,
and structure cannot die; nor can the errors of human intellect fasten
upon its faith, nor the immoralities of the human will fasten upon
its sanctity. Its organization of Head and Body is of divine creation,
divinely guarded by the Holy Ghost, who quickens it by His indwelling,
and guides it by His light. It is in itself incorrupt and incorruptible
in the midst of corruption, as the light of heaven falls upon all the
decay and corruption in the world, unsullied and unalterably pure. We
are never concerned to deny or to cloak the sins of Christians or of
Catholics. They may destroy themselves, but they cannot infect the
Church from which they fall. The fall of Lucifer left no stain behind
him.

When men accuse the Church of corruption, they reveal the fact that to
them the Church is a human institution, of voluntary aggregation or of
legislative enactment. They reveal the fact that to them the Church is
not an object of Divine faith, as the Real Presence in the Sacrament of
the Altar. They do not perceive or will not believe that the articles of
the Baptismal Creed are objects of faith, divinely revealed or divinely
created. "I believe in the Holy Ghost, the Holy Catholic Church, the
Communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins," are all objects of faith
in a Divine order. They are present in human history, but the human
element which envelops them has no power to infect or to fasten upon
them. Until this is perceived there can be no true or full belief in the
advent and office of the Holy Ghost, or in the nature and sacramental
action of the Church. It is the visible means and pledge of light and
of sanctification to all who do not bar their intellect and their will
against its inward and spiritual grace. The Church is not on probation.
It is the instrument of probation to the world. As the light of
the world, it is changeless as the firmament As the source of
sanctification, it is inexhaustible as the Rivex of Life. The human and
external history of men calling themselves Christian and Catholic has
been at times as degrading and abominable as any adversary is pleased
to say. But the sanctity of the Church is no more affected by human sins
than was Baptism by the hypocrisy of Simon Magus. The Divine foundation,
and office, and mission of the Church is a part of Christianity. They
who deny it deny an article of faith; they who believe it imperfectly
are the followers of a fragmentary Christianity of modern date. Who can
be a disciple of Jesus Christ who does not believe the words? "On this
rock I will build My Church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail
against it;" "As the Father hath sent Me, I also send you;"* "I dispose
to you, as My Father hath disposed to Me, a kingdom;"** "All power in
heaven and earth is given unto Me. Go, therefore, and teach all
nations;"*** "He that heareth you heareth Me;"**** "I will be with you
always, even unto the end of the world;"(v) "When the days of Pentecost
were accomplished they were all together in one place: and suddenly
there came a sound from heaven as of a mighty wind coming, and there
appeared to them parted tongues, as it were, of fire;" "And they were
all filled with the Holy Ghost;" (vi) "It seemed good to the Holy Ghost
and to us to lay upon you no other burdens."(vii) But who denies that
the Apostles claimed a Divine mission? and who can deny that the
Catholic and Roman Church from St. Irenæus to Leo XIII. has ever and
openly claimed the same, invoking in all its supreme acts as witness,
teacher, and legislator the presence, light, and guidance of the Holy
Ghost? As the preservation of all created things is by the same creative
power produced in perpetual and universal action, so the indefectibility
of the Church and of the faith is by the perpetuity of the presence and
office of the Third Person of the Holy Trinity. Therefore, St. Augustine
calls the day of Pentecost, Natalis Spiritus Sancti.

     *St. John, xx. 21.

     ** St. Luke, xxii. 29.

     *** St. Matthew, xxviii. 18, 19.

     **** St. Luke, x. 10.

     (v) St. Matthew, xxviii. 20.

     (vii)Acts, ii. 1-5.

     (viii) Acts, xv. 28.

It is more than time that I should make an end; and to do so it will be
well to sum up the heads of our argument. The Vatican Council declares
that the world-wide Church is the irrefragable witness of its own
legation or mission to mankind.

In proof of this I have affirmed:

1. That the imperishable existence of Christianity, and the vast and
undeniable revolution that it has wrought in men and in nations, in the
moral elevation of manhood and of womanhood, and in the domestic, social
and political life of the Christian world, cannot be accounted for by
any natural causes, or by any forces that are, as philosophers say,
_intra possibilitatem natures_, within the limits of what is possible to
man.

2. That this world-wide and permanent elevation of the Christian world,
in comparison with both the old world and the modern world outside of
Christianity, demands a cause higher than the possibility of nature.

3. That the Church has always claimed a Divine origin and a Divine
office and authority in virtue of a perpetual Divine assistance. To this
even the Christian world, in all its fragments external to the Catholic
unity, bears witness. It is turned to our reproach. They rebuke us for
holding the teaching of the Church to be infallible. We take the rebuke
as a testimony of our changeless faith. It is not enough for men to say
that they refuse to believe this account of the visible and palpable
fact of the imperishable Christianity of the Catholic and Roman Church.
They must find a more reasonable, credible, and adequate account for
it. This no man has yet done. The denials are many and the solutions
are many; but they do not agree together. Their multiplicity is proof
of their human origin. The claim of the Catholic Church to a Divine
authority and to a Divine assistance is one and the same in every age,
and is identical in every place. Error is not the principle of unity,
nor truth of variations.

The Church has guarded the doctrine of the Apostles, by Divine
assistance, with unerring fidelity. The articles of the faith are to-day
the same in number as in the beginning. The explicit definition of
their implicit meaning has expanded from age to age, as the everchanging
denials and perversions of the world have demanded new definitions
of the ancient truth. The world is against all dogma, because it
is impatient of definiteness and certainty in faith. It loves open
questions and the liberty of error. The Church is dogmatic for fear of
error. Every truth defined adds to its treasure. It narrows the field
of error and enlarges the inheritance of truth. The world and the Church
are ever moving in opposite directions. As the world becomes more vague
and uncertain, the Church becomes more definite. It moves against wind
and tide, against the stress and storm of the world. There was never
a more luminous evidence of this supernatural fact than in the Vatican
Council. For eight months all that the world could say and do, like
the four winds of heaven, was directed upon it. Governments, statesmen,
diplomatists, philosophers, intriguers, mockers, and traitors did their
utmost and their worst against it. They were in dread lest the Church
should declare that by Divine assistance its Head in faith and morals
cannot err; for if this be true, man did not found it, man cannot reform
it, man cannot teach it to interpret its history or its acts. It knows
its own history, and is the supreme witness of its own legation.

I am well aware that I have been writing truisms, and repeating trite
and trivial arguments. They are trite because the feet of the faithful
for nearly nineteen hundred years have worn them in their daily life;
they are trivial because they point to the one path in which the
wayfarer, though a fool, shall not err.

Henry Edward, (Cardinal Manning), Card. Archbishop of Westminster.



ROME OR REASON: A REPLY TO CARDINAL MANNING.

     Superstition "has ears more deaf than adders to the voice of
     any true decision."

I.

CARDINAL MANNING has stated the claims of the Roman Catholic Church with
great clearness, and apparently without reserve. The age, position and
learning of this man give a certain weight to his words, apart from
their worth. He represents the oldest of the Christian churches. The
questions involved are among the most important that can engage the
human mind. No one having the slightest regard for that superb thing
known as intellectual honesty, will avoid the issues tendered, or seek
in any way to gain a victory over truth.

Without candor, discussion, in the highest sense, is impossible.
All have the same interest, whether they know it or not, in the
establishment of facts. All have the same to gain, the same to lose. He
loads the dice against himself who scores a point against the right.

Absolute honesty is to the intellectual perception what light is to the
eyes. Prejudice and passion cloud the mind. In each disputant should be
blended the advocate and judge.

In this spirit, having in view only the ascertainment of the truth, let
us examine the arguments, or rather the statements and conclusions, of
Cardinal Manning.

The proposition is that "The church itself, by its marvelous
propagation, its eminent sanctity, its inexhaustible fruitfulness in all
good things, its catholic unity and invincible stability, is a vast and
perpetual motive of credibility, and an irrefragable witness of its own
divine legation."

The reasons given as supporting this proposition are:

That the Catholic Church interpenetrates all the nations of the
civilized world; that it is extranational and independent in a
supernational unity; that it is the same in every place; that it speaks
all languages in the civilized world; that it is obedient to one head;
that as many as seven hundred bishops have knelt before the pope; that
pilgrims from all nations have brought gifts to Rome, and that all these
things set forth in the most self-evident way the unity and universality
of the Roman Church.

It is also asserted that "men see the Head of the Church year by year
speaking to the nations of the world, treating with Empires, Republics
and Governments;" that "there is no other man on earth that can so bear
himself," and that "neither from Canterbury nor from Constantinople can
such a voice go forth to which rulers and people listen."

It is also claimed that the Catholic Church has enlightened and purified
the world; that it has given us the peace and purity of domestic life;
that it has destroyed idolatry and demonology; that it gave us a body of
law from a higher source than man; that it has produced the civilization
of Christendom; that the popes were the greatest of statesmen and
rulers; that celibacy is better than marriage, and that the revolutions
and reformations of the last three hundred years have been destructive
and calamitous.

We will examine these assertions as well as some others.

No one will dispute that the Catholic Church is the best witness of its
own existence. The same is true of every thing that exists--of every
church, great and small, of every man, and of every insect.

But it is contended that the marvelous growth or propagation of the
church is evidence of its divine origin. Can it be said that success is
supernatural? All success in this world is relative. Majorities are not
necessarily right. If anything is known--if anything can be known--we
are sure that very large bodies of men have frequently been wrong. We
believe in what is called the progress of mankind. Progress, for
the most part, consists in finding new truths and getting rid of old
errors--that is to say, getting nearer and nearer in harmony with
the facts of nature, seeing with greater clearness the conditions of
well-being.

There is no nation in which a majority leads the way. In the progress of
mankind, the few have been the nearest right. There have been centuries
in which the light seemed to emanate only from a handful of men, while
the rest of the world was enveloped in darkness. Some great man leads
the way--he becomes the morning star, the prophet of a coming day.
Afterward, many millions accept his views. But there are still heights
above and beyond; there are other pioneers, and the old day, in
comparison with the new, becomes a night. So, we cannot say that success
demonstrates either divine origin or supernatural aid.

We know, if we know anything, that wisdom has often been trampled
beneath the feet of the multitude. We know that the torch of science has
been blown out by the breath of the hydra-headed. We know that the whole
intellectual heaven has been darkened again and again. The truth or
falsity of a proposition cannot be determined by ascertaining the number
of those who assert, or of those who deny.

If the marvelous propagation of the Catholic Church proves its divine
origin, what shall we say of the marvelous propagation of Mohammedanism?

Nothing can be clearer than that Christianity arose out of the ruins
of the Roman Empire--that is to say, the ruins of Paganism. And it is
equally clear that Mohammedanism arose out of the wreck and ruin of
Catholicism.

After Mohammed came upon the stage, "Christianity was forever expelled
from its most glorious seats--from Palestine, the scene of its most
sacred recollections; from Asia Minor, that of its first churches; from
Egypt, whence issued the great doctrine of Trinitarian Orthodoxy, and
from Carthage, who imposed her belief on Europe." Before that time "the
ecclesiastical chiefs of Rome, of Constantinople, and of Alexandria
were engaged in a desperate struggle for supremacy, carrying out their
purposes by weapons and in ways revolting to the conscience of man.
Bishops were concerned in assassinations, poisonings, adulteries,
blindings, riots, treasons, civil war. Patriarchs and primates were
excommunicating and anathematizing one another in their rivalries
for earthly power--bribing eunuchs with gold and courtesans and royal
females with concessions of episcopal love. Among legions of monks who
carried terror into the imperial armies and riot into the great cities
arose hideous clamors for theological dogmas, but never a voice for
intellectual liberty or the outraged rights of man.

"Under these circumstances, amid these atrocities and crimes, Mohammed
arose, and raised his own nation from Fetichism, the adoration of
the meteoric stone, and from the basest idol worship, and irrevocably
wrenched from Christianity more than half--and that by far the
best half--of her possessions, since it included the Holy Land, the
birth-place of the Christian faith, and Africa, which had imparted to
it its Latin form; and now, after a lapse of more than a thousand
years that continent, and a very large part of Asia, remain permanently
attached to the Arabian doctrine."

It may be interesting in this connection to say that the Mohammedan now
proves the divine mission of his apostle by appealing to the marvelous
propagation of the faith. If the argument is good in the mouth of a
Catholic, is it not good in the mouth of a Moslem? Let us see if it is
not better.

According to Cardinal Manning, the Catholic Church triumphed only over
the institutions of men--triumphed only over religions that had been
established by men,--by wicked and ignorant men. But Mohammed triumphed
not only over the religions of men, but over the religion of God.
This ignorant driver of camels, this poor, unknown, unlettered boy,
unassisted by God, unenlightened by supernatural means, drove the armies
of the true cross before him as the winter's storm drives withered
leaves. At his name, priests, bishops, and cardinals fled with white
faces--popes trembled, and the armies of God, fighting for the true
faith, were conquered on a thousand fields.

If the success of a church proves its divinity, and after that another
church arises and defeats the first, what does that prove?

Let us put this question in a milder form: Suppose the second church
lives and flourishes in spite of the first, what does that prove?

As a matter of fact, however, no church rises with everything against
it. Something is favorable to it, or it could not exist. If it succeeds
and grows, it is absolutely certain that the conditions are favorable.
If it spreads rapidly, it simply shows that the conditions are
exceedingly favorable, and that the forces in opposition are weak and
easily overcome.

Here, in my own country, within a few years, has arisen a new religion.
Its foundations were laid in an intelligent community, having had
the advantages of what is known as modern civilization. Yet this new
faith--founded on the grossest absurdities, as gross as we find in the
Scriptures--in spite of all opposition began to grow, and kept growing.
It was subjected to persecution, and the persecution increased its
strength. It was driven from State to State by the believers in
universal love, until it left what was called civilization, crossed the
wide plains, and took up its abode on the shores of the Great Salt
Lake. It continued to grow. Its founder, as he declared, had frequent
conversations with God, and received directions from that source.
Hundreds of miracles were performed--multitudes upon the desert were
miraculously fed--the sick were cured--the dead were raised, and the
Mormon Church continued to grow, until now, less than half a century
after the death of its founder, there are several hundred thousand
believers in the new faith.

Do you think that men enough could join this church to prove the truth
of its creed?

Joseph Smith said that he found certain golden plates that had been
buried for many generations, and upon these plates, in some unknown
language, had been engraved this new revelation, and I think he insisted
that by the use of miraculous mirrors this language was translated.
If there should be Mormon bishops in all the countries of the world,
eighteen hundred years from now, do you think a cardinal of that faith
could prove the truth of the golden plates simply by the fact that the
faith had spread and that seven hundred bishops had knelt before the
head of that church?

It seems to me that a "supernatural" religion--that is to say, a
religion that is claimed to have been divinely founded and to be
authenticated by miracles, is much easier to establish among an ignorant
people than any other--and the more ignorant the people, the easier
such a religion could be established. The reason for this is plain.
All ignorant tribes, all savage men, believe in the miraculous, in the
supernatural. The conception of uniformity, of what may be called the
eternal consistency of nature, is an idea far above their comprehension.
They are forced to think in accordance with their minds, and as a
consequence they account for all phenomena by the acts of superior
beings--that is to say, by the supernatural. In other words, that
religion having most in common with the savage, having most that was
satisfactory to his mind, or to his lack of mind, would stand the best
chance of success.

It is probably safe to say that at one time, or during one phase of the
development of man, everything was miraculous. After a time, the mind
slowly developing, certain phenomena, always happening under like
conditions, were called "natural," and none suspected any special
interference. The domain of the miraculous grew less and less--the
domain of the natural larger; that is to say, the common became the
natural, but the uncommon was still regarded as the miraculous.
The rising and setting of the sun ceased to excite the wonder of
mankind--there was no miracle about that; but an eclipse of the sun was
miraculous. Men did not then know that eclipses are periodical, that
they happen with the same certainty that the sun rises. It took many
observations through many generations to arrive at this conclusion.
Ordinary rains became "natural," floods remained "miraculous."

But it can all be summed up in this: The average man regards the common
as natural, the uncommon as supernatural. The educated man--and by that
I mean the developed man--is satisfied that all phenomena are natural,
and that the supernatural does not and can not exist.

As a rule, an individual is egotistic in the proportion that he lacks
intelligence. The same is true of nations and races. The barbarian is
egotistic enough to suppose that an Infinite Being is constantly doing
something, or failing to do something, on his account. But as man rises
in the scale of civilization, as he becomes really great, he comes to
the conclusion that nothing in Nature happens on his account--that he is
hardly great enough to disturb the motions of the planets.

Let us make an application of this: To me, the success of Mormonism
is no evidence of its truth, because it has succeeded only with the
superstitious. It has been recruited from communities brutalized by
other forms of superstition. To me, the success of Mohammed does not
tend to show that he was right--for the reason that he triumphed only
over the ignorant, over the superstitious. The same is true of the
Catholic Church. Its seeds were planted in darkness. It was accepted by
the credulous, by men incapable of reasoning upon such questions. It
did not, it has not, it can not triumph over the intellectual world. To
count its many millions does not tend to prove the truth of its creed.
On the contrary, a creed that delights the credulous gives evidence
against itself.

Questions of fact or philosophy cannot be settled simply by numbers.
There was a time when the Copernican system of astronomy had but few
supporters--the multitude being on the other side. There was a time when
the rotation of the earth was not believed by the majority.

Let us press this idea further. There was a time when Christianity was
not in the majority, anywhere. Let us suppose that the first Christian
missionary had met a prelate of the Pagan faith, and suppose this
prelate had used against the Christian missionary the Cardinal's
argument--how could the missionary have answered if the Cardinal's
argument is good?

But, after all, is the success of the Catholic Church a marvel? If this
church is of divine origin, if it has been under the especial care,
protection and guidance of an Infinite Being, is not its failure
far more wonderful than its success? For eighteen centuries it has
persecuted and preached, and the salvation of the world is still remote.
This is the result, and it may be asked whether it is worth while to try
to convert the world to Catholicism.

Are Catholics better than Protestants? Are they nearer honest, nearer
just, more charitable? Are Catholic nations better than Protestant?
Do the Catholic nations move in the van of progress? Within their
jurisdiction are life, liberty and property safer than anywhere else? Is
Spain the first nation of the world?

Let me ask another question: Are Catholics or Protestants better than
Freethinkers? Has the Catholic Church produced a greater man than
Humboldt? Has the Protestant produced a greater than Darwin? Was not
Emerson, so far as purity of life is concerned, the equal of any true
believer? Was Pius IX., or any other vicar of Christ, superior to
Abraham Lincoln?

But it is claimed that the Catholic Church is universal, and that its
universality demonstrates its divine origin.

According to the Bible, the apostles were ordered to go into all the
world and preach the gospel--yet not one of them, nor one of their
converts at any time, nor one of the vicars of God, for fifteen hundred
years afterward, knew of the existence of the Western Hemisphere. During
all that time, can it be said that the Catholic Church was universal? At
the close of the fifteenth century, there was one-half of the world in
which the Catholic faith had never been preached, and in the other half
not one person in ten had ever heard of it, and of those who had heard
of it, not one in ten believed it. Certainly the Catholic Church was not
then universal.

Is it universal now? What impression has Catholicism made upon the many
millions of China, of Japan, of India, of Africa? Can it truthfully be
said that the Catholic Church is now universal? When any church becomes
universal, it will be the only church. There cannot be two universal
churches, neither can there be one universal church and any other.

The Cardinal next tries to prove that the Catholic Church is divine,
"by its eminent sanctity and its inexhaustible fruitfulness in all good
things."

And here let me admit that there are many millions of good
Catholics--that is, of good men and women who are Catholics. It is
unnecessary to charge universal dishonesty or hypocrisy, for the reason
that this would be only a kind of personality. Many thousands of heroes
have died in defence of the faith, and millions of Catholics have killed
and been killed for the sake of their religion.

And here it may be well enough to say that martyrdom does not even tend
to prove the truth of a religion. The man who dies in flames, standing
by what he believes to be true, establishes, not the truth of what he
believes, but his sincerity.

Without calling in question the intentions of the Catholic Church, we
can ascertain whether it has been "inexhaustibly fruitful in all good
things," and whether it has been "eminent for its sanctity."

In the first place, nothing can be better than goodness. Nothing is more
sacred, or can be more sacred, than the wellbeing of man. All things
that tend to increase or preserve the happiness of the human race are
good--that is to say, they are sacred. All things that tend to the
destruction of man's well-being, that tend to his unhappiness, are bad,
no matter by whom they are taught or done.

It is perfectly certain that the Catholic Church has taught, and still
teaches, that intellectual liberty is dangerous--that it should not
be allowed. It was driven to take this position because it had taken
another. It taught, and still teaches, that a certain belief is
necessary to salvation. It has always known that investigation and
inquiry led, or might lead, to doubt; that doubt leads, or may lead,
to heresy, and that heresy leads to hell. In other words, the Catholic
Church has something more important than this world, more important than
the well-being of man here. It regards this life as an opportunity for
joining that church, for accepting that creed, and for the saving of
your soul.

If the Catholic Church is right in its premises, it is right in its
conclusion. If it is necessary to believe the Catholic creed in order
to obtain eternal joy, then, of course, nothing else in this world is,
comparatively speaking, of the slightest importance. Consequently,
the Catholic Church has been, and still is, the enemy of intellectual
freedom, of investigation, of inquiry--in other words, the enemy of
progress in secular things.

The result of this was an effort to compel all men to accept the belief
necessary to salvation. This effort naturally divided itself into
persuasion and persecution.

It will be admitted that the good man is kind, merciful, charitable,
forgiving and just. A church must be judged by the same standard. Has
the church been merciful? Has it been "fruitful in the good things"
of justice, charity and forgiveness? Can a good man, believing a good
doctrine, persecute for opinion's sake? If the church imprisons a man
for the expression of an honest opinion, is it not certain, either that
the doctrine of the church is wrong, or that the church is bad? Both
cannot be good. "Sanctity" without goodness is impossible. Thousands of
"saints" have been the most malicious of the human race. If the history
of the world proves anything, it proves that the Catholic Church was for
many centuries the most merciless institution that ever existed among
men. I cannot believe that the instruments of persecution were made and
used by the eminently good; neither can I believe that honest people
were imprisoned, tortured, and burned at the stake by a church that was
"inexhaustibly fruitful in all good things."

And let me say here that I have no Protestant prejudices against
Catholicism, and have no Catholic prejudices against Protestantism.
I regard all religions either without prejudice or with the same
prejudice. They were all, according to my belief, devised by men, and
all have for a foundation ignorance of this world and fear of the next.
All the Gods have been made by men. They are all equally powerful and
equally useless. I like some of them better than I do others, for the
same reason that I admire some characters in fiction more than I do
others. I prefer Miranda to Caliban, but have not the slightest idea
that either of them existed. So I prefer Jupiter to Jehovah, although
perfectly satisfied that both are myths. I believe myself to be in a
frame of mind to justly and fairly consider the claims of different
religions, believing as I do that all are wrong, and admitting as I do
that there is some good in all.

When one speaks of the "inexhaustible fruitfulness in all good things"
of the Catholic Church, we remember the horrors and atrocities of the
Inquisition--the rewards offered by the Roman Church for the capture and
murder of honest men. We remember the Dominican Order, the members of
which, upheld by the vicar of Christ, pursued the heretics like sleuth
hounds, through many centuries.

The church, "inexhaustible in fruitfulness in all good things," not only
imprisoned and branded and burned the living, but violated the dead. It
robbed graves, to the end that it might convict corpses of heresy--to
the end that it might take from widows their portions and from orphans
their patrimony.

We remember the millions in the darkness of dungeons--the millions who
perished by the sword--the vast multitudes destroyed in flames--those
who were flayed alive--those who were blinded--those whose tongues were
cut out--those into whose ears were poured molten lead--those whose eyes
were deprived of their lids--those who were tortured and tormented in
every way by which pain could be inflicted and human nature overcome.

And we remember, too, the exultant cry of the church over the bodies
of her victims: "Their bodies were burned here, but their souls are now
tortured in hell."

We remember that the church, by treachery, bribery, perjury, and the
commission of every possible crime, got possession and control of
Christendom, and we know the use that was made of this power--that it
was used to brutalize, degrade, stupefy, and "sanctify" the children
of men. We know also that the vicars of Christ were persecutors for
opinion's sake--that they sought to destroy the liberty of thought
through fear--that they endeavored to make every brain a bastile in
which the mind should be a convict--that they endeavored to make every
tongue a prisoner, watched by a familiar of the Inquisition--and that
they threatened punishment here, imprisonment here, burnings here, and,
in the name of their God, eternal imprisonment and eternal burnings
hereafter.

We know, too, that the Catholic Church was, during all the years of
its power, the enemy of every science. It preferred magic to medicine,
relics to remedies, priests to physicians. It thought more of
astrologers than of astronomers. It hated geologists--it persecuted
the chemist, and imprisoned the naturalist, and opposed every discovery
calculated to improve the condition of mankind.

It is impossible to forget the persecutions of the Cathari, the
Albigenses, the Waldenses, the Hussites, the Huguenots, and of every
sect that had the courage to think just a little for itself. Think of
a woman--the mother of a family--taken from her children and burned, on
account of her view as to the three natures of Jesus Christ. Think of
the Catholic Church,--an institution with a Divine Founder, presided
over by the agent of God--punishing a woman for giving a cup of cold
water to a fellow-being who had been anathematized. Think of this
church, "fruitful in all good things," launching its curse at an honest
man--not only cursing him from the crown of his head to the soles of
his feet with a fiendish particularity, but having at the same time the
impudence to call on God, and the Holy Ghost, and Jesus Christ, and the
Virgin Mary, to join in the curse; and to curse him not only here, but
forever hereafter--calling upon all the saints and upon all the redeemed
to join in a hallelujah of curses, so that earth and heaven should
reverberate with countless curses launched at a human being simply for
having expressed an honest thought.

This church, so "fruitful in all good things," invented crimes that
it might punish. This church tried men for a "suspicion of
heresy"--imprisoned them for the vice of being suspected--stripped them
of all they had on earth and allowed them to rot in dungeons, because
they were guilty of the crime of having been suspected. This was a part
of the Canon Law.

It is too late to talk about the "invincible stability" of the Catholic
Church.

It was not invincible in the seventh, in the eighth, or in the ninth
centuries. It was not invincible in Germany in Luther's day. It was not
invincible in the Low Countries. It was not invincible in Scotland, or
in England. It was not invincible in France. It is not invincible in
Italy, It is not supreme in any intellectual centre of the world. It
does not triumph in Paris, or Berlin; it is not dominant in London,
in England; neither is it triumphant in the United States. It has not
within its fold the philosophers, the statesmen, and the thinkers, who
are the leaders of the human race.

It is claimed that Catholicism "interpenetrates all the nations of the
civilized world," and that "in some it holds the whole nation in its
unity."

I suppose the Catholic Church is more powerful in Spain than in any
other nation. The history of this nation demonstrates the result of
Catholic supremacy, the result of an acknowledgment by a people that a
certain religion is too sacred to be examined.

Without attempting in an article of this character to point out the many
causes that contributed to the adoption of Catholicism by the Spanish
people, it is enough to say that Spain, of all nations, has been and is
the most thoroughly Catholic, and the most thoroughly interpenetrated
and dominated by the spirit of the Church of Rome.

Spain used the sword of the church. In the name of religion it
endeavored to conquer the Infidel world. It drove from its territory
the Moors, not because they were bad, not because they were idle and
dishonest, but because they were Infidels. It expelled the Jews,
not because they were ignorant or vicious, but because they were
unbelievers. It drove out the Moriscoes, and deliberately made outcasts
of the intelligent, the industrious, the honest and the useful, because
they were not Catholics. It leaped like a wild beast upon the Low
Countries, for the destruction of Protestantism. It covered the seas
with its fleets, to destroy the intellectual liberty of man. And
not only so--it established the Inquisition within its borders. It
imprisoned the honest, it burned the noble, and succeeded after many
years of devotion to the true faith, in destroying the industry, the
intelligence, the usefulness, the genius, the nobility and the wealth
of a nation. It became a wreck, a jest of the conquered, and excited the
pity of its former victims.

In this period of degradation, the Catholic Church held "the whole
nation in its unity."

At last Spain began to deviate from the path of the church It made a
treaty with an Infidel power. In 1782 it became humble enough, and wise
enough, to be friends with Turkey. It made treaties with Tripoli and
Algiers and the Barbary States. It had become too poor to ransom the
prisoners taken by these powers. It began to appreciate the fact that it
could neither conquer nor convert the world by the sword.

Spain has progressed in the arts and sciences, in all that tends to
enrich and ennoble a nation, in the precise proportion that she has lost
faith in the Catholic Church. This may be said of every other nation in
Christendom. Torquemada is dead; Castelar is alive. The dungeons of the
Inquisition are empty, and a little light has penetrated the clouds and
mists--not much, but a little. Spain is not yet clothed and in her
right mind. A few years ago the cholera visited Madrid and other cities.
Physicians were mobbed. Processions of saints carried the host through
the streets for the purpose of staying the plague. The streets were not
cleaned; the sewers were filled. Filth and faith, old partners, reigned
supreme. The church, "eminent for its sanctity," stood in the light and
cast its shadow on the ignorant and the prostrate. The church, in its
"inexhaustible fruitfulness in all good things," allowed its children
to perish through ignorance, and used the diseases it had produced as an
instrumentality to further enslave its votaries and its victims.

No one will deny that many of its priests exhibited heroism of the
highest order in visiting the sick and administering what are called the
consolations of religion to the dying, and in burying the dead. It is
necessary neither to deny or disparage the self-denial and goodness of
these men. But their religion did more than all other causes to produce
the very evils that called for the exhibition of self-denial and
heroism. One scientist in control of Madrid could have prevented the
plague. In such cases, cleanliness is far better than "godliness;"
science is superior to superstition; drainage much better than
divinity; therapeutics more excellent than theology. Goodness is not
enough--intelligence is necessary. Faith is not sufficient, creeds are
helpless, and prayers fruitless.

It is admitted that the Catholic Church exists in many nations; that it
is dominated, at least in a great degree, by the Bishop of Rome--that it
is international in that sense, and that in that sense it has what may
be called a "supernational unity." The same, however, is true of the
Masonic fraternity. It exists in many nations, but it is not a
national body. It is in the same sense extranational, in the same sense
international, and has in the same sense a supernational unity. So the
same may be said of other societies. This, however, does not tend to
prove that anything supernational is supernatural.

It is also admitted that in faith, worship, ceremonial, discipline and
government, the Catholic Church is substantially the same wherever
it exists. This establishes the unity, but not the divinity, of the
institution.

The church that does not allow investigation, that teaches that all
doubts are wicked, attains unity through tyranny, that is, monotony by
repression. Wherever man has had something like freedom, differences
have appeared, heresies have taken root, and the divisions have become
permanent--new sects have been born and the Catholic Church has been
weakened. The boast of unity is the confession of tyranny.

It is insisted that the unity of the church substantiates its claim to
divine origin. This is asserted over and over again, in many ways; and
yet in the Cardinal's article is found this strange mingling of boast
and confession: "Was it only by the human power of man that the unity,
external and internal, which for fourteen hundred years had been
supreme, was once more restored in the Council of Constance, never to be
broken again?"

By this it is admitted that the internal and external unity of the
Catholic Church had been broken, and that it required more than human
power to restore it. Then the boast is made that it will never be broken
again. Yet it is asserted that the internal and external unity of the
Catholic Church is the great fact that demonstrates its divine origin.

Now, if this internal and external unity was broken, and remained broken
for years, there was an interval during which the church had no internal
or external unity, and during which the evidence of divine origin
failed. The unity was broken in spite of the Divine Founder. This is
admitted by the use of the word "again." The unbroken unity of the
church is asserted, and upon this assertion is based the claim of divine
origin; it is then admitted that the unity was broken. The argument is
then shifted, and the claim is made that it required more than human
power to restore the internal and external unity of the church, and that
the restoration, not the unity, is proof of the divine origin. Is there
any contradiction beyond this?

Let us state the case in another way. Let us suppose that a man has a
sword which he claims was made by God, stating that the reason he knows
that God made the sword is that it never had been and never could be
broken. Now, if it was afterwards ascertained that it had been broken,
and the owner admitted that it had been, what would be thought of him
if he then took the ground that it had been welded, and that the welding
was the evidence that it was of divine origin?

A prophecy is then indulged in, to the effect that the internal and
external unity of the church can never be broken again. It is admitted
that it was broken--it is asserted that it was divinely restored--and
then it is declared that it is never to be broken again. No reason is
given for this prophecy; it must be born of the facts already stated.
Put in a form to be easily understood, it is this:

We know that the unity of the church can never be broken, because the
church is of divine origin.

We know that it was broken; but this does not weaken the argument,
because it was restored by God, and it has not been broken since.

Therefore, it never can be broken again.

It is stated that the Catholic Church is immutable, and that its
immutability establishes its claim to divine origin. Was it immutable
when its unity, internal and external, was broken? Was it precisely the
same after its unity was broken that it was before? Was it precisely the
same after its unity was divinely restored that it was while broken?
Was it universal while it was without unity? Which of the fragments was
universal--which was immutable?

The fact that the Catholic Church is obedient to the pope, establishes,
not the supernatural origin of the church, but the mental slavery of its
members. It establishes the fact that it is a successful organization;
that it is cunningly devised; that it destroys the mental independence,
and that whoever absolutely submits to its authority loses the jewel of
his soul.

The fact that Catholics are to a great extent obedient to the pope,
establishes nothing except the thoroughness of the organization.

How was the Roman empire formed? By what means did that Great Power
hold in bondage the then known world? How is it that a despotism is
established? How is it that the few enslave the many? How is it that
the nobility live on the labor of peasants? The answer is in one word,
Organization. The organized few triumph over the unorganized many.
The few hold the sword and the purse. The unorganized are overcome in
detail--terrorized, brutalized, robbed, conquered.

We must remember that when Christianity was established the world
was ignorant, credulous and cruel. The gospel with its idea of
forgiveness--with its heaven and hell--was suited to the barbarians
among whom it was preached. Let it be understood, once for all, that
Christ had but little to do with Christianity. The people became
convinced--being ignorant, stupid and credulous--that the church held
the keys of heaven and hell. The foundation for the most terrible mental
tyranny that has existed among men was in this way laid. The Catholic
Church enslaved to the extent of its power. It resorted to every
possible form of fraud; it perverted every good instinct of the human
heart; it rewarded every vice; it resorted to every artifice that
ingenuity could devise, to reach the highest round of power. It tortured
the accused to make them confess; it tortured witnesses to compel the
commission of perjury; it tortured children for the purpose of making
them convict their parents; it compelled men to establish their own
innocence; it imprisoned without limit; it had the malicious patience to
wait; it left the accused without trial, and left them in dungeons until
released by death. There is no crime that the Catholic Church did not
commit,--no cruelty that it did not practice,--no form of treachery that
it did not reward, and no virtue that it did not persecute. It was
the greatest and most powerful enemy of human rights. It did all that
organization, cunning, piety, self-denial, heroism, treachery, zeal and
brute force could do to enslave the children of men. It was the enemy of
intelligence, the assassin of liberty, and the destroyer of progress. It
loaded the noble with chains and the infamous with honors. In one hand
it carried the alms dish, in the other a dagger. It argued with the
sword, persuaded with poison, and convinced with the fagot.

It is impossible to see how the divine origin of a church can be
established by showing that hundreds of bishops have visited the pope.

Does the fact that millions of the faithful visit Mecca establish the
truth of the Koran? Is it a scene for congratulation when the bishops
of thirty nations kneel before a man? Is it not humiliating to know that
man is willing to kneel at the feet of man? Could a noble man demand, or
joyfully receive, the humiliation of his fellows?

As a rule, arrogance and humility go together. He who in power compels
his fellow-man to kneel, will himself kneel when weak. The tyrant is a
cringer in power; a cringer is a tyrant out of power. Great men stand
face to face. They meet on equal terms. The cardinal who kneels in the
presence of the pope, wants the bishop to kneel in his presence; and the
bishop who kneels demands that the priest shall kneel to him; and the
priest who kneels demands that they in lower orders shall kneel; and
all, from pope to the lowest--that is to say, from pope to exorcist,
from pope to the one in charge of the bones of saints--all demand that
the people, the laymen, those upon whom they live, shall kneel to them.

The man of free and noble spirit will not kneel. Courage has no knees.

Fear kneels, or falls upon its ashen face.

The Cardinal insists that the pope is the vicar of Christ, and that
all popes have been. What is a vicar of Christ? He is a substitute in
office. He stands in the place, or occupies the position in relation
to the church, in relation to the world, that Jesus Christ would occupy
were he the pope at Rome. In other words, he takes Christ's place; so
that, according to the doctrine of the Catholic Church, Jesus Christ
himself is present in the person of the pope.

We all know that a good man may employ a bad agent. A good king might
leave his realm and put in his place a tyrant and a wretch. The good
man and the good king cannot certainly know what manner of man the
agent is--what kind of person the vicar is--consequently the bad may be
chosen. But if the king appointed a bad vicar, knowing him to be bad,
knowing that he would oppress the people, knowing that he would imprison
and burn the noble and generous, what excuse can be imagined for such a
king?

Now, if the church is of divine origin, and if each pope is the vicar of
Jesus Christ, he must have been chosen by Jesus Christ; and when he was
chosen, Christ must have known exactly what his vicar would do. Can we
believe that an infinitely wise and good Being would choose immoral,
dishonest, ignorant, malicious, heartless, fiendish, and inhuman vicars?

The Cardinal admits that "the history of Christianity is the history
of the church, and that the history of the church is the history of the
Pontiffs," and he then declares that "the greatest statesmen and rulers
that the world has ever seen are the Popes of Rome."

Let me call attention to a few passages in Draper's "History of the
Intellectual Development of Europe."

"Constantine was one of the vicars of Christ. Afterwards, Stephen IV.
was chosen. The eyes of Constantine were then put out by Stephen, acting
in Christ's place. The tongue of the Bishop Theodorus was amputated
by the man who had been substituted for God. This bishop was left in a
dungeon to perish of thirst. Pope Leo III. was seized in the street and
forced into a church, where the nephews of Pope Adrian attempted to
put out his eyes and cut off his tongue. His successor, Stephen V., was
driven ignominiously from Rome. His successor, Paschal I., was accused
of blinding and murdering two ecclesiastics in the Lateran Palace.
John VIII., unable to resist the Mohammedans, was compelled to pay them
tribute.

"At this time, the Bishop of Naples was in secret alliance with the
Mohammedans, and they divided with this Catholic bishop the plunder they
collected from other Catholics. This bishop was excommunicated by the
pope; afterwards he gave him absolution because he betrayed the chief
Mohammedans, and assassinated others. There was an ecclesiastical
conspiracy to murder the pope, and some of the treasures of the church
were seized, and the gate of St. Pancrazia was opened with false keys
to admit the Saracens. Formosus, who had been engaged in these
transactions, who had been excommunicated as a conspirator for the
murder of Pope John, was himself elected pope in 891. Boniface VI.
was his successor. He had been deposed from the diaconate and from the
priesthood for his immoral and lewd life. Stephen VII. was the next
pope, and he had the dead body of Formosus taken from the grave, clothed
in papal habiliments, propped up in a chair and tried before a Council.
The corpse was found guilty, three fingers were cut off and the body
cast into the Tiber. Afterwards Stephen VII., this Vicar of Christ, was
thrown into prison and strangled.

"From 896 to 900, five popes were consecrated. Leo V., in less than two
months after he became pope, was cast into prison by Christopher, one of
his chaplains. This Christopher usurped his place, and in a little while
was expelled from Rome by Sergius III., who became pope in 905. This
pope lived in criminal intercourse with the celebrated Theodora, who
with her daughters Marozia and Theodora, both prostitutes, exercised an
extraordinary control over him. The love of Theodora was also shared by
John X. She gave him the Archbishopric of Revenna, and made him pope in
915. The daughter of Theodora overthrew this pope. She surprised him in
the Lateran Palace. His brother, Peter, was killed; the pope was thrown
into prison, where he was afterward murdered. Afterward, this Marozia,
daughter of Theodora, made her own son pope, John XI. Many affirmed that
Pope Sergius was his father, but his mother inclined to attribute him to
her husband Alberic, whose brother Guido she afterward married. Another
of her sons, Alberic, jealous of his brother John, the pope, cast him
and their mother into prison. Alberic's son was then elected pope as
John XII.

"John was nineteen years old when he became the vicar of Christ. His
reign was characterized by the most shocking immoralities, so that the
Emperor Otho I. was compelled by the German clergy to interfere. He was
tried. It appeared that John had received bribes for the consecration
of bishops; that he had ordained one who was only ten years old; that
he was charged with incest, and with so many adulteries that the Lateran
Palace had become a brothel. He put out the eyes of one ecclesiastic;
he maimed another--both dying in consequence of their injuries. He was
given to drunkenness and to gambling. He was deposed at last, and Leo
VII. elected in his stead. Subsequently he got the upper hand. He seized
his antagonists; he cut off the hand of one, the nose, the finger, and
the tongue of others. His life was eventually brought to an end by the
vengeance of a man whose wife he had seduced."

And yet, I admit that the most infamous popes, the most heartless and
fiendish bishops, friars, and priests were models of mercy, charity,
and justice when compared with the orthodox God--with the God they
worshiped. These popes, these bishops, these priests could persecute
only for a few years--they could burn only for a few moments--but their
God threatened to imprison and burn forever; and their God is as much
worse than they were, as hell is worse than the Inquisition.

"John XIII. was strangled in prison. Boniface VII. imprisoned Benedict
VII., and starved him to death. John XIV. was secretly put to death in
the dungeons of the castle of St. Angelo. The corpse of Boniface was
dragged by the populace through the streets."

It must be remembered that the popes were assassinated by
Catholics--murdered by the faithful--that one vicar of Christ strangled
another vicar of Christ, and that these men were "the greatest rulers
and the greatest statesmen of the earth."

"Pope John XVI. was seized, his eyes put out, his nose cut off, his
tongue torn from his mouth, and he was sent through the streets mounted
on an ass, with his face to the tail. Benedict IX., a boy of less than
twelve years of age, was raised to the apostolic throne. One of his
successors, Victor III., declared that the life of Benedict was so
shameful, so foul, so execrable, that he shuddered to describe it. He
ruled like a captain of banditti. The people, unable to bear longer his
adulteries, his homicides and his abominations, rose against him, and
in despair of maintaining his position, he put up the papacy to auction,
and it was bought by a presbyter named John, who became Gregory VI., in
the year of grace 1045. Well may we ask, Were these the vicegerents of
God upon earth--these, who had truly reached that goal beyond which the
last effort of human wickedness cannot pass?"

It may be sufficient to say that there is no crime that man can commit
that has not been committed by the vicars of Christ. They have inflicted
every possible torture, violated every natural right. Greater monsters
the human race has not produced.

Among the "some two hundred and fifty-eight" Vicars of Christ there were
probably some good men. This would have happened even if the intention
had been to get all bad men, for the reason that man reaches perfection
neither in good nor in evil; but if they were selected by Christ
himself, if they were selected by a church with a divine origin and
under divine guidance, then there is no way to account for the selection
of a bad one. If one hypocrite was duly elected pope--one murderer,
one strangler, one starver--this demonstrates that all the popes were
selected by men, and by men only, and that the claim of divine guidance
is born of zeal and uttered without knowledge.

But who were the vicars of Christ? How many have there been? Cardinal
Manning himself does not know. He is not sure. He says: "Starting from
St. Peter to Leo XIII., there have been some two hundred and fifty-eight
Pontiffs claiming to be recognized by the whole Catholic unity as
successors of St. Peter and Vicars of Jesus Christ." Why did he use the
word "some"? Why "claiming"? Does he not positively know? Is it possible
that the present Vicar of Christ is not certain as to the number of his
predecessors? Is he infallible in faith and fallible in fact?

Robert G. Ingersoll.


II.

     "If we live thus tamely,--
     To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet,--
     Farewell nobility."

NO ONE will deny that "the pope speaks to many people in many nations;
that he treats with empires and governments," and that "neither from
Canterbury nor from Constantinople such a voice goes forth."

How does the pope speak? What does he say?

He speaks against the liberty of man--against the progress of the human
race. He speaks to calumniate thinkers, and to warn the faithful
against the discoveries of science. He speaks for the destruction of
civilization.

Who listens? Do astronomers, geologists and scientists put the hand to
the ear fearing that an accent may be lost? Does France listen? Does
Italy hear? Is not the church weakest at its centre? Do those who
have raised Italy from the dead, and placed her again among the great
nations, pay attention? Does Great Britain care for this voice--this
moan, this groan--of the Middle Ages? Do the words of Leo XIII. impress
the intelligence of the Great Republic? Can anything be more absurd
than for the vicar of Christ to attack a demonstration of science with a
passage of Scripture, or a quotation from one of the "Fathers"?

Compare the popes with the kings and queens of England. Infinite wisdom
had but little to do with the selection of these monarchs, and yet they
were far better than any equal number of consecutive popes. This is
faint praise, even for kings and queens, but it shows that chance
succeeded in getting better rulers for England than "Infinite Wisdom"
did for the Church of Rome. Compare the popes with the presidents of the
Republic elected by the people. If Adams had murdered Washington, and
Jefferson had imprisoned Adams, and if Madison had cut out Jefferson's
tongue, and Monroe had assassinated Madison, and John Quincy Adams had
poisoned Monroe, and General Jackson had hung Adams and his Cabinet, we
might say that presidents had been as virtuous as popes. But if this
had happened, the verdict of the world would be that the people are not
capable of selecting their presidents.

But this voice from Rome is growing feebler day by day; so feeble that
the Cardinal admits that the vicar of God, and the supernatural church,
"are being tormented by Falck laws, by Mancini laws and by Crispi laws."
In other words, this representative of God, this substitute of Christ,
this church of divine origin, this supernatural institution--pervaded
by the Holy Ghost--are being "tormented" by three politicians. Is it
possible that this patriotic trinity is more powerful than the other?

It is claimed that if the Catholic Church "be only a human system, built
up by the intellect, will and energy of men, the adversaries must prove
it--that the burden is upon them."

As a general thing, institutions are natural. If this church is
supernatural, it is the one exception. The affirmative is with those who
claim that it is of divine origin. So far as we know, all governments
and all creeds are the work of man. No one believes that Rome was a
supernatural production, and yet its beginnings were as small as those
of the Catholic Church. Commencing in weakness, Rome grew, and
fought, and conquered, until it was believed that the sky bent above a
subjugated world. And yet all was natural. For every effect there was an
efficient cause.

The Catholic asserts that all other religions have been produced by
man--that Brahminism and Buddhism, the religion of Isis and Osiris, the
marvelous mythologies of Greece and Rome, were the work of the human
mind. From these religions Catholicism has borrowed. Long before
Catholicism was born, it was believed that women had borne children
whose fathers were gods. The Trinity was promulgated in Egypt centuries
before the birth of Moses. Celibacy was taught by the ancient Nazarenes
and Essenes, by the priests of Egypt and India, by mendicant monks, and
by the piously insane of many countries long before the apostles lived.
The Chinese tell us that "when there were but one man and one woman upon
the earth, the woman refused to sacrifice her virginity even to people
the globe; and the gods, honoring her purity, granted that she should
conceive beneath the gaze of her lover's eyes, and a virgin mother
became the parent of humanity."

The founders of many religions have insisted that it was the duty of man
to renounce the pleasures of sense, and millions before our era took the
vows of chastity, poverty and obedience, and most cheerfully lived upon
the labor of others.

The sacraments of baptism and confirmation are far older than the Church
of Rome. The Eucharist is pagan. Long before popes began to murder each
other, pagans ate cakes--the flesh of Ceres, and drank wine--the blood
of Bacchus. Holy water flowed in the Ganges and Nile, priests interceded
for the people, and anointed the dying.

It will not do to say that every successful religion that has taught
unnatural doctrines, unnatural practices, must of necessity have been
of divine origin. In most religions there has been a strange mingling
of the good and bad, of the merciful and cruel, of the loving and
malicious. Buddhism taught the universal brotherhood of man, insisted on
the development of the mind, and this religion was propagated not by
the sword, but by preaching, by persuasion, and by kindness--yet in
many things it was contrary to the human will, contrary to the human
passions, and contrary to good sense. Buddhism succeeded. Can we, for
this reason, say that it is a supernatural religion? Is the unnatural
the supernatural?

It is insisted that, while other churches have changed, the Catholic
Church alone has remained the same, and that this fact demonstrates its
divine origin.

Has the creed of Buddhism changed in three thousand years? Is
intellectual stagnation a demonstration of divine origin? When anything
refuses to grow, are we certain that the seed was planted by God? If the
Catholic Church is the same to-day that it has been for many centuries,
this proves that there has been no intellectual development. If men do
not differ upon religious subjects, it is because they do not think.

Differentiation is the law of growth, of progress. Every church must
gain or lose: it cannot remain the same; it must decay or grow. The fact
that the Catholic Church has not grown--that it has been petrified from
the first--does not establish divine origin; it simply establishes
the fact that it retards the progress of man. Everything in nature
changes--every atom is in motion--every star moves. Nations,
institutions and individuals have youth, manhood, old age, death. This
is and will be true of the Catholic Church. It was once weak--it grew
stronger--it reached its climax of power--it began to decay--it never
can rise again. It is confronted by the dawn of Science. In the presence
of the nineteenth century it cowers.

It is not true that "All natural causes run to disintegration."

Natural causes run to integration as well as to disintegration.
All growth is integration, and all growth is natural. All decay is
disintegration, and all decay is natural. Nature builds and nature
destroys. When the acorn grows--when the sunlight and rain fall upon it
and the oak rises--so far as the oak is concerned "all natural causes"
do not "run to disintegration." But there comes a time when the oak
has reached its limit, and then the forces of nature run towards
disintegration, and finally the old oak falls. But if the Cardinal is
right--if "all natural causes run to disintegration," then every success
must have been of divine origin, and nothing is natural but destruction.
This is Catholic science: "All natural causes run to disintegration."
What do these causes find to disintegrate? Nothing that is natural. The
fact that the thing is not disintegrated shows that it was and is of
supernatural origin. According to the Cardinal, the only business
of nature is to disintegrate the supernatural. To prevent this, the
supernatural needs the protection of the Infinite. According to this
doctrine, if anything lives and grows, it does so in spite of nature.
Growth, then, is not in accordance with, but in opposition to nature.
Every plant is supernatural--it defeats the disintegrating influences of
rain and light. The generalization of the Cardinal is half the truth. It
would be equally true to say: All natural causes run to integration. But
the whole truth is that growth and decay are equal.

The Cardinal asserts that "Christendom was created by the world-wide
church as we see it before our eyes at this day."

Philosophers and statesmen believe it to be the work of their own
hands; they did not make it, but they have for three hundred years been
unmaking it by reformations and revolutions.

The meaning of this is that Christendom was far better three hundred
years ago than now; that during these three centuries Christendom has
been going toward barbarism. It means that the supernatural church of
God has been a failure for three hundred years; that it has been unable
to withstand the attacks of philosophers and statesmen, and that it has
been helpless in the midst of "reformations and revolutions."

What was the condition of the world three hundred years ago, the period,
according to the Cardinal, in which the church reached the height of its
influence, and since which it has been unable to withstand the rising
tide of reformation and the whirlwind of revolution?

In that blessed time, Philip II. was king of Spain--he with the cramped
head and the monstrous jaw. Heretics were hunted like wild and poisonous
beasts; the Inquisition was firmly established, and priests were busy
with rack and fire. With a zeal born of the hatred of man and the love
of God, the church, with every instrument of torture, touched every
nerve in the human body.

In those happy days, the Duke of Alva was devastating the homes of
Holland; heretics were buried alive--their tongues were torn from their
mouths, their lids from their eyes; the Armada was on the sea for the
destruction of the heretics of England, and the Moriscoes--a million and
a half of industrious people--were being driven by sword and flame
from their homes. The Jews had been expelled from Spain. This Catholic
country had succeeded in driving intelligence and industry from its
territory; and this had been done with a cruelty, with a ferocity,
unequaled, in the annals of crime.

Nothing was left but ignorance, bigotry, intolerance, credulity, the
Inquisition, the seven sacraments and the seven deadly sins. And yet a
Cardinal of the nineteenth century, living in the land of Shakespeare,
regrets the change that has been wrought by the intellectual efforts, by
the discoveries, by the inventions and heroism of three hundred years.

Three hundred years ago, Charles IX., in France, son of Catherine de
Medici, in the year of grace 1572--after nearly sixteen centuries of
Catholic Christianity--after hundreds of vicars of Christ had sat in St.
Peter's chair--after the natural passions of man had been "softened" by
the creed of Rome--came the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, the result of a
conspiracy between the Vicar of Christ, Philip II., Charles IX., and his
fiendish mother. Let the Cardinal read the account of this massacre
once more, and, after reading it, imagine that he sees the gashed and
mutilated bodies of thousands of men and women, and then let him say
that he regrets the revolutions and reformations of three hundred years.

About three hundred years ago Clement VIII., Vicar of Christ, acting in
God's place, substitute of the Infinite, persecuted Giordano Bruno even
unto death. This great, this sublime man, was tried for heresy. He had
ventured to assert the rotary motion of the earth; he had hazarded the
conjecture that there were in the fields of infinite space worlds larger
and more glorious than ours. For these low and groveling thoughts, for
this contradiction of the word and vicar of God, this man was imprisoned
for many years. But his noble spirit was not broken, and finally, in the
year 1600, by the orders of the infamous vicar, he was chained to
the stake. Priests believing in the doctrine of universal
forgiveness--priests who when smitten upon one cheek turned the
other--carried with a kind of ferocious joy fagots to the feet of this
incomparable man. These disciples of "Our Lord" were made joyous as
the flames, like serpents, climbed around the body of Bruno. In a few
moments the brave thinker was dead, and the priests who had burned him
fell upon their knees and asked the infinite God to continue the blessed
work forever in hell.

There are two things that cannot exist in the same universe--an infinite
God and a martyr.

Does the Cardinal regret that kings and emperors are not now engaged in
the extermination of Protestants? Does he regret that dungeons of the
Inquisition are no longer crowded with the best and bravest? Does he
long for the fires of the _auto da fé_.?

In coming to a conclusion as to the origin of the Catholic Church--in
determining the truth of the claim of infallibility--we are not
restricted to the physical achievements of that church, or to the
history of its propagation, or to the rapidity of its growth.

This church has a creed; and if this church is of divine origin--if
its head is the vicar of Christ, and, as such, infallible in matters
of faith and morals, this creed must be true. Let us start with the
supposition that God exists, and that he is infinitely wise, powerful
and good--and this is only a supposition. Now, if the creed is foolish,
absurd and cruel, it cannot be of divine origin. We find in this creed
the following:

"Whosoever will be saved, before all things it is necessary that he hold
the Catholic faith."

It is not necessary, before all things, that he be good, honest,
merciful, charitable and just. Creed is more important than conduct. The
most important of all things is, that he hold the Catholic faith. There
were thousands of years during which it was not necessary to hold that
faith, because that faith did not exist; and yet during that time the
virtues were just as important as now, just as important as they ever
can be.

Millions of the noblest of the human race never heard of this creed.
Millions of the bravest and best have heard of it, examined, and
rejected it. Millions of the most infamous have believed it, and because
of their belief, or notwithstanding their belief, have murdered millions
of their fellows. We know that men can be, have been, and are just
as wicked with it as without it. We know that it is not necessary to
believe it to be good, loving, tender, noble and self-denying. We admit
that millions who have believed it have also been self-denying and
heroic, and that millions, by such belief, were not prevented from
torturing and destroying the helpless.

Now, if all who believed it were good, and all who rejected it were
bad, then there might be some propriety in saying that "whoever will
be saved, before all things it is necessary that he hold the Catholic
faith." But as the experience of mankind is otherwise, the declaration
becomes absurd, ignorant and cruel.

There is still another clause:

"Which faith, except every one do keep entire and inviolate, without
doubt, he shall everlastingly perish."

We now have both sides of this wonderful truth: The believer will be
saved, the unbeliever will be lost. We know that faith is not the child
or servant of the will. We know that belief is a conclusion based upon
what the mind supposes to be true. We know that it is not an act of the
will. Nothing can be more absurd than to save a man because he is not
intelligent enough to accept the truth, and nothing can be more infamous
than to damn a man because he is intelligent enough to reject the false.
It resolves itself into a question of intelligence. If the creed is
true, then a man rejects it because he lacks intelligence. Is this
a crime for which a man should everlastingly perish? If the creed is
false, then a man accepts it because he lacks intelligence. In both
cases the crime is exactly the same.

If a man is to be damned for rejecting the truth, certainly he should
not be saved for accepting the false. This one clause demonstrates
that a being of infinite wisdom and goodness did not write it. It also
demonstrates that it was the work of men who had neither wisdom nor a
sense of justice.

What is this Catholic faith that must be held? It is this:

"That we worship one God in Trinity and Trinity in Unity, neither
confounding the persons nor dividing the substance." Why should an
Infinite Being demand worship? Why should one God wish to be worshiped
as three? Why should three Gods wished to be worshiped as one? Why
should we pray to one God and think of three, or pray to three Gods
and think of one? Can this increase the happiness of the one or of the
three? Is it possible to think of one as three, or of three as one? If
you think of three as one, can you think of one as none, or of none as
one? When you think of three as one, what do you do with the other two?
You must not "confound the persons"--they must be kept separate. When
you think of one as three, how do you get the other two? You must not
"divide the substance." Is it possible to write greater contradictions
than these?

This creed demonstrates the human origin of the Catholic Church. Nothing
could be more unjust than to punish man for unbelief--for the expression
of honest thought--for having been guided by his reason--for having
acted in accordance with his best judgment.

Another claim is made, to the effect "that the Catholic Church has
filled the world with the true knowledge of the one true God, and that
it has destroyed all idols by light instead of by fire."

The Catholic Church described the true God as a being who would inflict
eternal pain on his weak and erring children; described him as a fickle,
quick-tempered, unreasonable deity, whom honesty enraged, and whom
flattery governed; one who loved to see fear upon its knees, ignorance
with closed eyes and open mouth; one who delighted in useless
self-denial, who loved to hear the sighs and sobs of suffering nuns,
as they lay prostrate on dungeon floors; one who was delighted when
the husband deserted his family and lived alone in some cave in the far
wilderness, tormented by dreams and driven to insanity by prayer and
penance, by fasting and faith.

According to the Catholic Church, the true God enjoyed the agonies of
heretics. He loved the smell of their burning flesh; he applauded with
wide palms when philosophers were flayed alive, and to him the _auto da
fé_ was a divine comedy. The shrieks of wives, the cries of babes when
fathers were being burned, gave contrast, heightened the effect and
filled his cup with joy. This true God did not know the shape of the
earth he had made, and had forgotten the orbits of the stars. "The
stream of light which descended from the beginning" was propagated by
fagot to fagot, until Christendom was filled with the devouring fires of
faith.

It may also be said that the Catholic Church filled the world with the
true knowledge of the one true Devil. It filled the air with malicious
phantoms, crowded innocent sleep with leering fiends, and gave the world
to the domination of witches and wizards, spirits and spooks, goblins
and ghosts, and butchered and burned thousands for the commission of
impossible crimes.

It is contended that: "In this true knowledge of the Divine Nature was
revealed to man their own relation to a Creator as sons to a Father."

This tender relation was revealed by the Catholics to the Pagans, the
Arians, the Cathari, the Waldenses, the Albigenses, the heretics, the
Jews, the Moriscoes, the Protestants--to the natives of the West Indies,
of Mexico, of Peru--to philosophers, patriots and thinkers. All these
victims were taught to regard the true God as a loving father, and this
lesson was taught with every instrument of torture--with brandings and
burnings, with flayings and flames. The world was filled with cruelty
and credulity, ignorance and intolerance, and the soil in which all
these horrors grew was the true knowledge of the one true God, and the
true knowledge of the one true Devil. And yet, we are compelled to say,
that the one true Devil described by the Catholic Church was not as
malevolent as the one true God.

Is it true that the Catholic Church overthrew idolatry? What is
idolatry? What shall we say of the worship of popes--of the doctrine of
the Real Presence, of divine honors paid to saints, of sacred vestments,
of holy water, of consecrated cups and plates, of images and relics, of
amulets and charms?

The Catholic Church filled the world with the spirit of idolatry. It
abandoned the idea of continuity in nature, it denied the integrity of
cause and effect. The government of the world was the composite
result of the caprice of God, the malice of Satan, the prayers of
the faithful--softened, it may be, by the charity of Chance. Yet the
Cardinal asserts, without the preface of a smile, that "Demonology was
overthrown by the church, with the assistance of forces that were
above nature;" and in the same breath gives birth to this enlightened
statement: "Beelzebub is not divided against himself." Is a belief in
Beelzebub a belief in demonology? Has the Cardinal forgotten the Council
of Nice, held in the year of grace 787, that declared the worship of
images to be lawful? Did that infallible Council, under the guidance of
the Holy Ghost, destroy idolatry?

The Cardinal takes the ground that marriage is a sacrament, and
therefore indissoluble, and he also insists that celibacy is far better
than marriage,--holier than a sacrament,--that marriage is not the
highest state, but that "the state of virginity unto death is the
highest condition of man and woman."

The highest ideal of a family is where all are equal--where love has
superseded authority--where each seeks the good of all, and where none
obey--where no religion can sunder hearts, and with which no church can
interfere.

The real marriage is based on mutual affection--the ceremony is but the
outward evidence of the inward flame. To this contract there are but two
parties. The church is an impudent intruder. Marriage is made public to
the end that the real contract may be known, so that the world can see
that the parties have been actuated by the highest and holiest motives
that find expression in the acts of human beings. The man and woman
are not joined together by God, or by the church, or by the state.
The church and state may prescribe certain ceremonies, certain
formalities--but all these are only evidence of the existence of a
sacred fact in the hearts of the wedded. The indissolubility of marriage
is a dogma that has filled the lives of millions with agony and tears.
It has given a perpetual excuse for vice and immorality. Fear has
borne children begotten by brutality. Countless women have endured the
insults, indignities and cruelties of fiendish husbands, because they
thought that it was the will of God. The contract of marriage is the
most important that human beings can make; but no contract can be
so important as to release one of the parties from the obligation of
performance; and no contract, whether made between man and woman, or
between them and God, after a failure of consideration caused by the
willful act of the man or woman, can hold and bind the innocent and
honest.

Do the believers in indissoluble marriage treat their wives better than
others? A little while ago, a woman said to a man who had raised his
hand to strike her: "Do not touch me; you have no right to beat me; I am
not your wife."

About a year ago a husband, whom God in his infinite wisdom had joined
to a loving and patient woman in the indissoluble sacrament of marriage,
becoming enraged, seized the helpless wife and tore out one of her eyes.
She forgave him. A few weeks ago he deliberately repeated this frightful
crime, leaving his victim totally blind. Would it not have been better
if man, before the poor woman was blinded, had put asunder whom God
had joined together? Thousands of husbands, who insist that marriage is
indissoluble, are the beaters of wives.

The law of the church has created neither the purity nor the peace of
domestic life. Back of all churches is human affection. Back of all
theologies is the love of the human heart. Back of all your priests and
creeds is the adoration of the one woman by the one man, and of the one
man by the one woman. Back of your faith is the fireside; back of your
folly is the family; and back of all your holy mistakes and your sacred
absurdities is the love of husband and wife, of parent and child.

It is not true that neither the Greek nor the Roman world had any true
conception of a home. The splendid story of Ulysses and Penelope, the
parting of Hector and Andromache, demonstrate that a true conception of
home existed among the Greeks. Before the establishment of Christianity,
the Roman matron commanded the admiration of the then known world. She
was free and noble. The church degraded woman--made her the property
of the husband, and trampled her beneath its brutal feet. The "fathers"
denounced woman as a perpetual temptation, as the cause of all evil. The
church worshiped a God who had upheld polygamy, and had pronounced his
curse on woman, and had declared that she should be the serf of the
husband. This church followed the teachings of St. Paul. It taught the
uncleanness of marriage, and insisted that all children were conceived
in sin. This church pretended to have been founded by one who offered a
reward in this world, and eternal joy in the next, to husbands who would
forsake their wives and children and follow him. Did this tend to the
elevation of woman? Did this detestable doctrine "create the purity and
peace of domestic life"? Is it true that a monk is purer than a good and
noble father?--that a nun is holier than a loving mother?

Is there anything deeper and stronger than a mother's love? Is there
anything purer, holier than a mother holding her dimpled babe against
her billowed breast?

The good man is useful, the best man is the most useful. Those who fill
the nights with barren prayers and holy hunger, torture themselves
for their own good and not for the benefit of others. They are
earning eternal glory for themselves--they do not fast for their
fellow-men--their selfishness is only equalled by their foolishness.
Compare the monk in his selfish cell, counting beads and saying prayers
for the purpose of saving his barren soul, with a husband and father
sitting by his fireside with wife and children. Compare the nun with the
mother and her babe.

Celibacy is the essence of vulgarity. It tries to put a stain upon
motherhood, upon marriage, upon love--that is to say, upon all that
is holiest in the human heart. Take love from the world, and there is
nothing left worth living for. The church has treated this great, this
sublime, this unspeakably holy passion, as though it polluted the heart.
They have placed the love of God above the love of woman, above the love
of man. Human love is generous and noble. The love of God is selfish,
because man does not love God for God's sake, but for his own.

Yet the Cardinal asserts "that the change wrought by Christianity in the
social, political and international relations of the world"--"that the
root of this ethical change, private and public, is the Christian home."
A moment afterward, this prelate insists that celibacy is far better
than marriage. If the world could be induced to live in accordance with
the "highest state," this generation would be the last. Why were men and
women created? Why did not the Catholic God commence' with the sinless
and sexless? The Cardinal ought to take the ground that to talk well is
good, but that to be dumb is the highest condition; that hearing is a
pleasure, but that deafness is ecstasy; and that to think, to reason, is
very well, but that to be a Catholic is far better.

Why should we desire the destruction of human passions? Take passions
from human beings and what is left? The great object should be not to
destroy passions, but to make them obedient to the intellect. To indulge
passion to the utmost is one form of intemperance--to destroy passion is
another. The reasonable gratification of passion under the domination of
the intellect is true wisdom and perfect virtue.

The goodness, the sympathy, the self-denial of the nun, of the monk, all
come from the mother-instinct, the father-instinct--all were produced by
human affection, by the love of man for woman, of woman for man. Love is
a transfiguration. It ennobles, purifies and glorifies. In true marriage
two hearts burst into flower. Two lives unite. They melt in music. Every
moment is a melody. Love is a revelation, a creation. From love
the world borrows its beauty and the heavens their glory. Justice,
self-denial, charity and pity are the children of love. Lover, wife,
mother, husband, father, child, home--these words shed light--they are
the gems of human speech. Without love all glory fades, the noble falls
from life, art dies, music loses meaning and becomes mere motions of the
air, and virtue ceases to exist.

It is asserted that this life of celibacy is above and against the
tendencies of human nature; and the Cardinal then asks: "Who will
ascribe this to natural causes, and, if so, why did it not appear in the
first four thousand years?"

If there is in a system of religion a doctrine, a dogma, or a practice
against the tendencies of human nature--if this religion succeeds,
then it is claimed by the Cardinal that such religion must be of divine
origin. Is it "against the tendencies of human nature" for a mother to
throw her child into the Ganges to please a supposed God? Yet a religion
that insisted on that sacrifice succeeded, and has, to-day, more
believers than the Catholic Church can boast.

Religions, like nations and individuals, have always gone along the line
of least resistance. Nothing has "ascended the stream of human license
by a power mightier than nature." There is no such power. There never
was, there never can be, a miracle. We know that man is a conditioned
being. We know that he is affected by a change of conditions. If he
is ignorant he is superstitious; this is natural. If his brain is
developed--if he perceives clearly that all things are naturally
produced, he ceases to be superstitious, and becomes scientific. He is
not a saint, but a savant--not a priest, but a philosopher. He does
not worship, he works; he investigates; he thinks; he takes advantage,
through intelligence, of the forces of nature. He is no longer the
victim of appearances, the dupe of his own ignorance, and the persecutor
of his fellow-men.

He then knows that it is far better to love his wife and children than
to love God. He then knows that the love of man for woman, of woman for
man, of parent for child, of child for parent, is far better, far holier
than the love of man for any phantom born of ignorance and fear.

It is illogical to take the ground that the world was cruel and ignorant
and idolatrous when the Catholic Church was established, and that
because the world is better now than then, the church is of divine
origin.

What was the world when science came? What was it in the days of
Galileo, Copernicus and Kepler? What-was it when printing was invented?
What was it when the Western World was found? Would it not be much
easier to prove that science is of divine origin?

Science does not persecute. It does not shed blood--it fills the world
with light. It cares nothing for heresy; it develops the mind, and
enables man to answer his own prayers.

Cardinal Manning takes the ground that Jehovah practically abandoned
the children of men for four thousand years, and gave them over to every
abomination. He claims that Christianity came "in the fullness of time,"
and it is then admitted that "what the fullness of time may mean is one
of the mysteries of times and seasons, that it is not for us to know."
Having declared that it is a mystery, and one that we are not to
know, the Cardinal explains it: "One motive for the long delay of four
thousand years is not far to seek--it gave time, full and ample, for the
utmost development and consolidation of all the falsehood and evil of
which the intellect and will of man are capable."

Is it possible to imagine why an infinitely good and wise being "gave
time full and ample for the utmost development and consolidation of
falsehood and evil"? Why should an infinitely wise God desire this
development and consolidation? What would be thought of a father who
should refuse to teach his son and deliberately allow him to go into
every possible excess, to the end that he might "develop all the
falsehood and evil of which his intellect and will were capable"? If a
supernatural religion is a necessity, and if without it all men simply
develop and consolidate falsehood and evil, why was not a supernatural
religion given to the first man? The Catholic Church, if this be true,
should have been founded in the Garden of Eden.

Was it not cruel to drown a world just for the want of a supernatural
religion--a religion that man, by no possibility, could furnish? Was
there "husbandry in heaven"?

But the Cardinal contradicts himself by not only admitting, but
declaring, that the world had never seen a legislation so just, so
equitable, as that of Rome.

Is it possible that a nation in which falsehood and evil had reached
their highest development was, after all, so wise, so just and so
equitable?

Was not the civil law far better than the Mosaic--more philosophical,
nearer just?

The civil law was produced without the assistance of God.

According to the Cardinal, it was produced by men in whom all the
falsehood and evil of which they were capable had been developed and
consolidated, while the cruel and ignorant Mosaic code came from the
lips of infinite wisdom and compassion.

It is declared that the history of Rome shows what man can do without
God, and I assert that the history of the Inquisition shows what man
can do when assisted by a church of divine origin, presided over, by the
infallible vicars of God.

The fact that the early Christians not only believed incredible things,
but persuaded others of their truth, is regarded by the Cardinal as a
miracle. This is only another phase of the old argument that success is
the test of divine origin. All supernatural religions have been founded
in precisely the same way. The credulity of eighteen hundred years ago
believed everything except the truth.

A religion is a growth, and is of necessity adapted in some degree to
the people among whom it grows. It is shaped and molded by the general
ignorance, the superstition and credulity of the age in which it lives.
The key is fashioned by the lock.

Every religion that has succeeded has in some way supplied the wants of
its votaries, and has to a certain extent harmonized with their hopes,
their fears, their vices, and their virtues.

If, as the Cardinal says, the religion of Christ is in absolute harmony
with nature, how can it be supernatural? The Cardinal also declares that
"the religion of Christ is in harmony with the reason and moral nature
in all nations and all ages to this day."

What becomes of the argument that Catholicism must be of divine origin
because "it has ascended the stream of human license, _contra ictum
fluminis_, by a power mightier than nature"?

If "it is in harmony with the reason and moral nature of all nations and
all ages to this day," it has gone with the stream, and not against
it. If "the religion of Christ is in harmony with the reason and moral
nature of all nations," then the men who have rejected it are unnatural,
and these men have gone against the stream. How then can it be said
that Christianity has been in changeless opposition to nature as man has
marred it? To what extent has man marred it?

In spite of the marring by man, we are told that the reason and moral
nature of all nations in all ages to this day is in harmony with the
religion of Jesus Christ.

Are we justified in saying that the Catholic Church is of divine origin
because the Pagans failed to destroy it by persecution?

We will put the Cardinal's statement in form:

Paganism failed to destroy Catholicism by persecution, therefore
Catholicism is of divine origin.

Let us make an application of this logic:

Paganism failed to destroy Catholicism by persecution; therefore,
Catholicism is of divine origin.

Catholicism failed to destroy Protestantism by persecution; therefore,
Protestantism is of divine origin.

Catholicism and Protestantism combined failed to destroy Infidelity;
therefore, Infidelity is of divine origin.

Let us make another application:

Paganism did not succeed in destroying Catholicism; therefore, Paganism
was a false religion.

Catholicism did not succeed in destroying Protestantism; therefore,
Catholicism is a false religion.

Catholicism and Protestantism combined failed to destroy Infidelity;
therefore, both Catholicism and Protestantism are false religions.

The Cardinal has another reason for believing the Catholic Church of
divine origin. He declares that the "Canon Law is a creation of wisdom
and justice to which no statutes at large or imperial pandects can bear
comparison;" "that the world-wide and secular legislation of the church
was of a higher character, and that as water cannot rise above its
source, the church could not, by mere human wisdom, have corrected and
perfected the imperial law, and therefore its source must have been
higher than the sources of the world."

When Europe was the most ignorant, the Canon Law was supreme.

As a matter of fact, the good in the Canon Law was borrowed--the bad
was, for the most part, original. In my judgment, the legislation of the
Republic of the United States is in many respects superior to that of
Rome, and yet we are greatly indebted to the Civil Law. Our legislation
is superior in many particulars to that of England, and yet we are
greatly indebted to the Common Law; but it never occurred to me that our
Statutes at Large are divinely inspired.

If the Canon Law is, in fact, the legislation of infinite wisdom, then
it should be a perfect code. Yet, the Canon Law made it a crime next to
robbery and theft to take interest for money. Without the right to take
interest the business of the whole world, would to a large extent, cease
and the prosperity of mankind end. There are railways enough in the
United States to make six tracks around the globe, and every mile was
built with borrowed money on which interest was paid or promised. In no
other way could the savings of many thousands have been brought together
and a capital great enough formed to construct works of such vast and
continental importance.

It was provided in this same wonderful Canon Law that a heretic could
not be a witness against a Catholic. The Catholic was at liberty to
rob and wrong his fellow-man, provided the fellow-man was not a fellow
Catholic, and in a court established by the vicar of Christ, the man
who had been robbed was not allowed to open his mouth. A Catholic could
enter the house of an unbeliever, of a Jew, of a heretic, of a Moor, and
before the eyes of the husband and father murder his wife and children,
and the father could not pronounce in the hearing of a judge the name of
the murderer.

The world is wiser now, and the Canon Law, given to us by infinite
wisdom, has been repealed by the common sense of man.

In this divine code it was provided that to convict a cardinal bishop,
seventy-two witnesses were required; a cardinal presbyter, forty-four;
a cardinal deacon, twenty-four; a subdeacon, acolyth, exorcist, reader,
ostiarius, seven; and in the purgation of a bishop, twelve witnesses
were invariably required; of a presbyter, seven; of a deacon, three.
These laws, in my judgment, were made, not by God, but by the clergy.

So too in this cruel code it was provided that those who gave aid,
favor, or counsel, to excommunicated persons, should be anathema, and
that those who talked with, consulted, or sat at the same table with or
gave anything in charity to the excommunicated should be anathema.

Is it possible that a being of infinite wisdom made hospitality a crime?
Did he say: "Whoso giveth a cup of cold water to the excommunicated
shall wear forever a garment of fire"? Were not the laws of the Romans
much better? Besides all this, under the Canon Law the dead could be
tried for heresy, and their estates confiscated--that is to say, their
widows and orphans robbed.

The most brutal part of the common law of England is that in relation
to the rights of women--all of which was taken from the _Corpus Juris
Canonici_, "the law that came from a higher source than man."

The only cause of absolute divorce as laid down by the pious canonists
was _propter infidelitatem_, which was when one of the parties became
Catholic, and would not live with the other who continued still an
unbeliever. Under this divine statute, a pagan wishing to be rid of
his wife had only to join the Catholic Church, provided she remained
faithful to the religion of her fathers. Under this divine law, a man
marrying a widow was declared to be a bigamist.

It would require volumes to point out the cruelties, absurdities and
inconsistencies of the Canon Law. It has been thrown away by the world.
Every civilized nation has a code of its own, and the Canon Law is
of interest only to the historian, the antiquarian, and the enemy of
theological government.

Under the Canon Law, people were convicted of being witches and wizards,
of holding intercourse with devils. Thousands perished at the stake,
having been convicted of these impossible crimes. Under the Canon Law,
there was such a crime as the suspicion of heresy. A man or woman could
be arrested, charged with being suspected, and under this Canon Law,
flowing from the intellect of infinite wisdom, the presumption was in
favor of guilt. The suspected had to prove themselves innocent. In all
civilized courts, the presumption of innocence is the shield of the
indicted, but the Canon Law took away this shield, and put in the hand
of the priest the sword of presumptive guilt.

If the real pope is the vicar of Christ, the true shepherd of the sheep,
this fact should be known not only to the vicar, but to the sheep. A
divinely founded and guarded church ought to know its own shepherd, and
yet the Catholic sheep have not always been certain who the shepherd
was.

The Council of Pisa, held in 1409, deposed two popes--rivals--Gregory
and Benedict--that is to say, deposed the actual vicar of Christ and the
pretended. This action was taken because a council, enlightened by the
Holy Ghost, could not tell the genuine from the counterfeit. The council
then elected another vicar, whose authority was afterwards denied.
Alexander V. died, and John XXIII. took his place; Gregory XII. insisted
that he was the lawful pope; John resigned, then he was deposed, and
afterward imprisoned; then Gregory XII. resigned, and Martin V. was
elected. The whole thing reads like the annals of a South American
revolution.

The Council of Constance restored, as the Cardinal declares, the unity
of the church, and brought back the consolation of the Holy Ghost.
Before this great council John Huss appeared and maintained his own
tenets. The council declared that the church was not bound to keep its
promise with a heretic. Huss was condemned and executed on the 6th
of July, 1415. His disciple, Jerome of Prague, recanted, but having
relapsed, was put to death, May 30, 1416. This cursed council shed the
blood of Huss and Jerome.

The Cardinal appeals to the author of "Ecce Homo" for the purpose of
showing that Christianity is above nature, and the following passages,
among others, are quoted:

"Who can describe that which unites men? Who has entered into the
formation of speech, which is the symbol of their union? Who can
describe exhaustively the origin of civil society? He who can do these
things can explain the origin of the Christian Church."

These passages should not have been quoted by the Cardinal. The author
of these passages simply says that the origin of the Christian Church
is no harder to find and describe than that which unites men--than that
which has entered into the formation of speech, the symbol of their
union--no harder to describe than the origin of civil society--because
he says that one who can describe these can describe the other.

Certainly none of these things are above nature. We do not need the
assistance of the Holy Ghost in these matters. We know that men are
united by common interests, common purposes, common dangers--by race,
climate and education. It is no more wonderful that people live in
families, tribes, communities and nations, than that birds, ants and
bees live in flocks and swarms.

If we know anything, we know that language is natural--that it is a
physical science. But if we take the ground occupied by the Cardinal,
then we insist that everything that cannot be accounted for by man,
is supernatural. Let me ask, by what man? What man must we take as the
standard?

Cosmas or Humboldt, St. Irenæus or Darwin? If everything that we
cannot account for is above nature, then ignorance is the test of the
supernatural. The man who is mentally honest, stops where his knowledge
stops. At that point he says that he does not know. Such a man is a
philosopher. Then the theologian steps forward, denounces the modesty
of the philosopher as blasphemy, and proceeds to tell what is beyond the
horizon of the human intellect.

Could a savage account for the telegraph, or the telephone, by natural
causes? How would he account for these wonders? He would account for
them precisely as the Cardinal accounts for the Catholic Church.

Belonging to no rival church, I have not the slightest interest in the
primacy of Leo XIII., and yet it is to be regretted that this primacy
rests upon such a narrow and insecure foundation.

The Cardinal says that "it will appear almost certain that the original
Greek of St. Irenæus, _which is unfortunately lost_, contained either
[--Greek--], or some inflection of [--Greek--], which signifies
primacy."

From this it appears that the primacy of the Bishop of Rome rests on
some "inflection" of a Greek word--and that this supposed inflection
was in a letter supposed to have been written by St. Irenæus, which has
certainly been lost. Is it possible that the vast fabric of papal power
has this, and only this, for its foundation? To this "inflection" has it
come at last?

The Cardinal's case depends upon the intelligence and veracity of his
witnesses. The Fathers of the church were utterly incapable of examining
a question of fact. They were all believers in the miraculous. The same
is true of the apostles. If St. John was the author of the Apocalypse,
he was undoubtedly insane. If Polycarp said the things attributed to him
by Catholic writers, he was certainly in the condition of his master.
What is the testimony of St. John worth in the light of the following?
"Cerinthus, the heretic, was in a bathhouse. St. John and another
Christian were about to enter. St. John cried out: 'Let us run away,
lest the house fall upon us while the enemy of truth is in it.'" Is
it possible that St. John thought that God would kill two eminent
Christians for the purpose of getting even with one heretic?

Let us see who Polycarp was. He seems to have been a prototype of the
Catholic Church, as will be seen from the following statement concerning
this Father: "When any heretical doctrine was spoken in his presence
he would stop his ears." After this, there can be no question of his
orthodoxy. It is claimed that Polycarp was a martyr--that a spear was
run through his body, and that from the wound his soul, in the shape
of a bird, flew away. The history of his death is just as true as the
history of his life.

Irenæus, another witness, took the ground that there was to be a
millennium--a thousand years of enjoyment in which celibacy would not be
the highest form of virtue. If he is called as a witness for the purpose
of establishing the divine origin of the church, and if one of his
"inflections" is the basis of papal supremacy, is the Cardinal also
willing to take his testimony as to the nature of the millennium?

All the Fathers were infinitely credulous. Every one of them believed,
not only in the miracles said to have been wrought by Christ, by the
apostles, and by other Christians, but every one of them believed in
the Pagan miracles. All of these Fathers were familiar with wonders and
impossibilities. Nothing was so common with them as to work miracles,
and on many occasions they not only cured diseases, not only reversed
the order of nature, but succeeded in raising the dead.

It is very hard, indeed, to prove what the apostles said, or what the
Fathers of the church wrote. There were many centuries filled with
forgeries--many generations in which the cunning hands of ecclesiastics
erased, obliterated or interpolated the records of the past--during
which they invented books, invented authors, and quoted from works that
never existed.

The testimony of the "Fathers" is without the slightest value.
They believed everything--they examined nothing. They received as a
waste-basket receives. Whoever accepts their testimony will exclaim with
the Cardinal: "Happily, men are not saved by logic."

Robert G. Ingersoll.



IS DIVORCE WRONG?

By Cardinal Gibbons, Bishop Henry C. Potter, and Colonel Robert G.
Ingersoll.

THE attention of the public has been particularly directed of late
to the abuses of divorce, and to the facilities afforded by
the complexities of American law, and by the looseness of its
administration, for the disruption of family ties. Therefore the _North
American Review_ has opened its pages for the thorough discussion of
the subject in its moral, social, and religious aspects, and some of the
most eminent leaders of modern thought have contributed their opinions.
The Rev. S. W. Dike, LL.D., who is a specialist on the subject of
divorce, has prepared some statistics touching the matter, and, with
the assistance of Bishop Potter, the four following questions have been
formulated as a basis for the discussion:

1. Do you believe in the principle of divorce under any circumstances?

2. Ought divorced people to be allowed to marry under any circumstances?

3. What is the effect of divorce on the integrity of the family?

4. Does the absolute prohibition of divorce where it exists contribute
to the moral purity of society?

Editor North American Review,

Introduction by the Rev. S. W. Dike, LL.D.

I AM to introduce this discussion with some facts and make a few
suggestions upon them. In the dozen years of my work at this problem I
have steadily insisted upon a broad basis of fact as the only foundation
of sound opinion. We now have a great statistical advance in the report
of the Department of labor. A few of these statistics will serve the
present purpose.

There were in the United States 9,937 divorces reported for the year
1867 and 25,535 for 1886, or a total 328,716 in the twenty years. This
increase is more than twice as great as the population, and has been
remarkably uniform throughout the period. With the exception of New
York, perhaps Delaware, and the three or four States where special
legislative reforms have been secured, the increase covers the
country and has been more than twice the gain in population. The South
apparently felt the movement later than the North and West, but its
greater rapidity there will apparently soon obliterate most existing
differences. The movement is well-nigh as universal in Europe as here.
Thirteen European countries, including Canada, had 6,540 divorces in
1876 and 10,909 in 1886--an increase of 67 per cent. In the same period
the increase with us was 72.5 per cent. But the ratios of divorce
to population are here generally three or four times greater than in
Europe. The ratios to marriage in the United States are sometimes as
high as 1 to 10, 1 to 9, or even a little more for single years. In
heathen Japan for three years they were more than 1 to 3. But divorce
there is almost wholly left to the regulation of the family, and
practically optional with the parties. It is a re-transference of the
wife by a simple writing to her own family.

1. The increase of divorce is one of several evils affecting the family.
Among these are hasty or ill-considered marriages, the decline of
marriage and the decrease of children,--too generally among classes
pecuniarily best able to maintain domestic life,--the probable increase
in some directions of marital infidelity and sexual vice, and last, but
not least, a tendency to reduce the family to a minimum of force in the
life of society. All these evils should be studied and treated in their
relations to each other. Carefully-conducted investigations alone can
establish these latter statements beyond dispute, although there can be
little doubt of their general correctness as here carefully made. And
the conclusion is forced upon us that the toleration of the increase
of divorce, touching as it does the vital bond of the family, is so far
forth a confession of our western civilization that it despairs of
all remedies for ills of the family, and is becoming willing, in great
degree, to look away from all true remedies to a dissolution of the
family by the courts in all serious cases. If this were our settled
purpose, it would look like giving up the idea of producing and
protecting a family increasingly capable of enduring to the end of its
natural existence. If the drift of things on this subject during the
present century may be taken as prophetic, our civilization moves in an
opposite direction in its treatment of the family from its course with
the individual.

2. Divorce, including these other evils related to the family, is
preeminently a social problem. It should therefore be reached by all
the forces of our great social institutions--religious, educational,
industrial, and political. Each of these should be brought to bear on it
proportionately and in cooperation with the others. But I can here take
up only one or two lines for further suggestion.

3. The causes of divorces, like those of most social evils, are
often many and intricate. The statistics for this country, when the
forty-three various statutory causes are reduced to a few classes, show
that 20 per cent, of the divorces were based on adultery, 16 on cruelty,
38 were granted for desertion, 4 for drunkenness, less than 3 for
neglect to provide, and so on. But these tell very little, except that
it is easier or more congenial to use one or another of the statutory
causes, just as the old "omnibus clause," which gave general discretion
to the courts in Connecticut, and still more in some other States, was
made to cover many cases. A special study of forty-five counties in
twelve States, however, shows that drunkenness was a direct or indirect
cause in 20.1 per cent, of 29,665 cases. That is, it could be found
either alone or in conjunction with others, directly or indirectly, in
one-fifth of the cases.

4. Laws and their administration affect divorce. New York grants
absolute divorce for only one cause, and New Jersey for two. Yet New
York has many more divorces in proportion to population, due largely to
a looser system of administration. In seventy counties of twelve States
68 per cent, of the applications are granted. The enactment of a more
stringent law is immediately followed by a decrease of divorces, from
which there is a tendency to recover. Personally, I think stricter
methods of administration, restrictions upon remarriage, proper delays
in hearing suits, and some penal inflictions for cruelty, desertion,
neglect of support, as well as for adultery, would greatly reduce
divorces, even without removing a single statutory cause. There would
be fewer unhappy families, not more. For people would then look to real
remedies instead of confessing the hopelessness of remedy by appeals to
the courts. A multitude of petty ills and many utterly wicked frauds
and other abuses would disappear. "Your present methods," said a
Nova Scotian to a man from Maine a few years ago, "are simply ways of
multiplying and magnifying domestic ills." There is much force in this.
But let us put reform of marriage laws along with these measures.

5. The evils of conflicting and diverse marriage and divorce laws are
doing immense harm. The mischief through which innocent parties are
defrauded, children rendered illegitimate, inheritance made uncertain,
and actual imprisonments for bigamy grow out of divorce and remarriage,
are well known to most. Uniformity through a national law or by
conventions of the States has been strongly urged for many years.
Uniformity is needed. But for one, I have long discouraged too early
action, because the problem is too difficult, the consequences too
serious, and the elements of it still too far out of our reach for any
really wise action at present. The government report grew immediately
out of this conviction. It will, I think, abundantly justify the
caution. For it shows that uniformity could affect at the utmost only a
small percentage of the total divorces in the United States. _Only 19.9
percent of all the divorced who were married in this country obtained
their divorces in a different State from the one in which their marriage
had taken place, in all these twenty years, 80.1 per cent, having been
divorced in the State where married_. Now, marriage on the average lasts
9.17 years before divorce occurs, which probably is nearly two-fifths
the length of a married life before its dissolution by death. From this
19.9 per cent, there must, therefore, be subtracted the large migration
of married couples for legitimate purposes, in order to get any fair
figure to express the migration for divorce. But the movement of the
native population away from the State of birth is 22 or 23 per cent.
This, however, includes all ages. For all who believe that divorce
itself is generally a great evil, the conclusion is apparently
inevitable that the question of uniformity, serious as it is, is a very
small part of the great legal problem demanding solution at our hands.
This general problem, aside from its graver features in the more
immediate sphere of sociology and religion, must evidently tax our
publicists and statesmen severely. The old temptation to meet special
evils by general legislation besets us on this subject. I think
comparative and historical study of the law of the family, (the
_Familienrecht_ of the Germans), especially if the movement of European
law be seen, points toward the need of a pretty comprehensive and
thorough examination of our specific legal problem of divorce
and marriage law in this fuller light, before much legislation is
undertaken.

Samuel W. Dike.


However much men may differ in their views of the nature and attributes
of the matrimonial contract, and in their concept of the rights and
obligations of the marriage state, no one will deny that these are grave
questions; since upon marriage rests the family, and upon the family
rest society, civilization, and the highest interests of religion and
the state. Yet, strange to say, divorce, the deadly enemy of marriage,
stalks abroad to-day bold and unblushing, a monster licensed by the laws
of Christian states to break hearts, wreck homes and ruin souls. And
passing strange is it, too, that so many, wise and far-seeing in less
weighty concerns, do not appear to see in the evergrowing power of
divorce a menace not only to the sacredness of the marriage institution,
but even to the fair social fabric reared upon matrimony as its
corner-stone.

God instituted in Paradise the marriage state and sanctified it. He
established its law of unity and declared its indissolubility. By divine
authority Adam spoke when of his wife he said: "This now is bone of my
bones, and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called woman, because she
was taken out of man. Wherefore a man shall leave father and mother, and
shall cleave to his wife: and they shall be two in one flesh."*

     * Gen., ii., 23-24.

But like other things on earth, marriage suffered in the fall; and
little by little polygamy and divorce began to assert themselves against
the law of matrimonial unity and indissolubility. Yet the ideal of the
marriage institution never faded away. It survived, not only among the
chosen people, but even among the nations of heathendom, disfigured
much, 'tis true, but with its ancient beauty never wholly destroyed.

When, in the fullness of time, Christ came to restore the things
that were perishing, he reasserted in clear and unequivocal terms the
sanctity, unity, and indissolubility of marriage. Nay, more. He gave to
this state added holiness and a dignity higher far than it had "from the
beginning." He made marriage a sacrament, made it the type of his own
never-ending union with his one spotless spouse, the church. St. Paul,
writing to the Ephesians, says: "Husbands, love your wives, as Christ
also loved the church, and delivered himself up for it, that he might
sanctify it, cleansing it by the laver of water in the word of life,
that he might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot
or wrinkle, or any such thing, but that it should be holy and without
blemish. So also ought men to love their wives as their own bodies....
For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall cleave
to his wife, and they shall be two in one flesh."*

     * Ephes., v., 25-31.

In defence of Christian marriage, the church was compelled from the
earliest days of her existence to do frequent and stern battle. But
cultured pagan, and rough barbarian, and haughty Christian lord were
met and conquered. Men were taught to master passion, and Christian
marriage, with all its rights secured and reverenced, became a ruling
power in the world.

The Council of Trent, called, in the throes of the mighty moral upheaval
of the sixteenth century, to deal with the new state of things, again
proclaimed to a believing and an unbelieving world the Catholic doctrine
of the holiness, unity, and indissolubility of marriage, and the
unlawfulness of divorce. The council declared no new dogmas: it simply
reaffirmed the common teaching of the church for centuries. But some
of the most hallowed attributes of marriage seemed to be objects of
peculiar detestation to the new teachers, and their abolition was
soon demanded. "The leaders in the changes of matrimonial law," writes
Professor Woolsey, "were the Protestant reformers themselves, and that
almost from the beginning of the movement.... The reformers, when they
discarded the sacramental view of marriage and the celibacy of the
clergy, had to make out a new doctrine of marriage and of divorce."*
The "new doctrine of marriage and of divorce," pleasing as it was to the
sensual man, was speedily learned and as speedily put in practice. The
sacredness with which Christian marriage had been hedged around began to
be more and more openly trespassed upon, and restive shoulders wearied
more and more quickly of the marriage yoke when divorce promised freedom
for newer joys.

To our own time the logical consequences of the "new doctrine" have
come. To-day "abyss calls upon abyss," change calls for change, laxity
calls for license. Divorce is now a recognized presence in high life and
low; and polygamy, the first-born of divorce, sits shameless in palace
and in hovel. Yet the teacher that feared not to speak the words of
truth in bygone ages is not silent now. In no uncertain tones, the
church proclaims to the world to-day the unchangeable law of the strict
unity and absolute indissolubility of valid and consummated Christian
marriage.

To the question then, "Can divorce from the bond of marriage ever be
allowed?" the Catholic can only answer no.

     * "Divorce and Divorce Legislation," by Theodore D. Woolsey,
     2d Ed., p. 126.

And for this no, his first and last and best reason can be but this:
"_Thus saith the Lord_."

As time goes on the wisdom of the church in absolutely forbidding
divorce from the marriage bond grows more and more plain even to the
many who deny to this prohibition a divine and authoritative sanction.
And nowhere is this more true than in our own country. Yet our
experience of the evils of divorce is but the experience of every people
that has cherished this monster.

Let us take but a hasty view of the consequences of divorce in ancient
times. Turn only to pagan Greece and Rome, two peoples that practised
divorce most extensively. In both we find divorce weakening their
primitive virtue and making their latter corruption more corrupt. Among
the Greeks morality declined as material civilization advanced. Divorce
grew easy and common, and purity and peace were banished from the family
circle. Among the Romans divorce was not common until the latter days of
the Republic. Then the flood-gates of immorality were opened, and, with
divorce made easy, came rushing in corruption of morals among both sexes
and in every walk of life. "Passion, interest, or caprice," Gibbon, the
historian, tells us, "suggested daily motives for the dissolution
of marriage; a word, a sign, a message, a letter, the mandate of a
freedman, declared the separation; the most tender of human connections
was degraded to a transient society of profit or pleasure."* Each
succeeding generation witnessed moral corruption more general, moral
degradation more profound; men and women were no longer ashamed of
licentiousness; until at length the nation that became mighty because
built on a pure family fell when its corner-stone crumbled away in
rottenness.

     * "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empiré," Milman's Ed., Vol.
     III., p. 236.

Heedless of the lessons taught by history, modern nations, too, have
made trial of divorce. In Europe, wherever the new gospel of marriage
and divorce has had! notable influence, divorce has been legalized; and
in due proportion to the extent of that influence causes for divorce
have been multiplied, the bond of marriage more and more recklessly
broken, and the obligations of that sacred state more and more
shamelessly disregarded. In our own country the divorce evil has grown
more rapidly than our growth and strengthened more rapidly than our
strength. Mr. Carroll D. Wright, in a special report on the statistics
of marriage and divorce made to Congress in February, 1889, places the
number of divorces in the United States in 1867 at 9,937, and the number
in 1886 at 25,535. These figures show an increase of the divorce evil
much out of proportion to our increase in population. The knowledge that
divorces can easily be procured encourages hasty marriages and
equally hasty preparations. Legislators and judges in some States
are encouraging inventive genius in the art of finding new causes for
divorce. Frequently the most trivial and even ridiculous pretexts are
recognized as sufficient for the rupture of the marriage bond; and
in some States divorce can be obtained "without publicity," and even
without the knowledge of the defendant--in such cases generally an
innocent wife. Crime has sometimes been committed for the very purpose
of bringing about a divorce, and cases are not rare in which plots have
been laid to blacken the reputation of a virtuous spouse in order
to obtain legal freedom for new nuptials. Sometimes, too, there is a
collusion between the married parties to obtain divorce. One of them
trumps up charges; the other does not oppose the suit; and judgment is
entered for the plaintiff. Every daily newspaper tells us of divorces
applied for or granted, and the public sense of decency is constantly
being shocked by the disgusting recital of of divorce-court scandals.

We are filled with righteous indignation at Mormonism; we brand it as
a national disgrace, and justly demand its suppression. Why? Because,
forsooth, the Mormons are polygamists. Do we forget that there are
two species of polygamy--simultaneous and successive? Mormons practise
without legal recognition the first species; while among us the second
species is indulged in, and with the sanction of law, by thousands in
whose nostrils Mormonism is a stench and an abomination. The Christian
press and pulpit of the land denounce the Mormons as "an adulterous
generation," but too often deal very tenderly with Christian
polygamists. Why? Is Christian polygamy less odious in the eyes of God
than Mormon polygamy? Among us, *tis true, the one is looked upon as
more respectable than the other. Yet we know that the Mormons as a
class, care for their wives and children; while Christian polygamists
but too often leave wretched wives to starve, slave, or sin, and
leave miserable children a public charge. "O divorced and much-married
Christian," says the polygamous dweller by Salt Lake, "pluck first the
beam from thy own eye, and then shalt thou see to pluck the mote from
the eye of thy much-married, but undivorced, Mormon brother." It follows
logically from the Catholic doctrine of the unity and indissolubility
of marriage, and the consequent prohibition of divorce from the marital
bond, that no one, even though divorced _a vinculo_ by the civil power,
can be allowed by the church to take another consort during the lifetime
of the true wife or husband, and such connection the church can but hold
as sinful. It is written: "Whosoever shall put away his wife and marry
another committeth adultery against her. And if the wife shall put away
her husband, and be married to another, she committeth adultery."*

     * Mark, x., ii, 12.

Of course, I am well aware that upon the words of our Saviour as found
in St. Matthew, Chap. xix., 9, many base the right of divorce from the
marriage bond for adultery, with permission to remarry. But, as is
well known, the Catholic Church, upon the concurrent testimony of the
Evangelists Mark* and Luke,** and upon the teaching of St. Paul,***
interprets our Lord's words quoted by St. Matthew as simply permitting,
on account of adultery, divorce from bed and board, with no right to
either party to marry another.

But even if divorce _a vinculo_ were not forbidden by divine law, how
inadequate a remedy would it be for the evils for which so many deem it
a panacea. "Divorce _a vinculo_," as Dr. Brownson truly says, "logically
involves divorce _ad libitum."_*** Now, what reason is there to suppose
that parties divorced and remated will be happier in the new connection
than in the old? As a matter of fact, many persons have been divorced
a number of times. Sometimes, too, it happens that, after a period of
separation, divorced parties repent of their folly, reunite, and are
again divorced. Indeed, experience clearly proves that unhappiness
among married people frequently does not arise so much from "mutual
incompatibility" as from causes inherent in one or both of the
parties--causes that would be likely to make a new union as wretched
as the old one. There is wisdom in the pithy saying of-a recent writer:
"Much ill comes, not because men and women are married, but because they
are fools."***

     * Mark, x., n, 12. Luke, xvi., 18. J I. Cor.,vii., 10, 11.

     ** Essay on "The Family--Christian and Pagan."

     *** Prof. David Swing in Chicago Journal.

There are some who think that the absolute prohibition of divorce does
not contribute to the purity of society, and are therefore of opinion
that divorce with liberty to remarry does good in this regard. He who
believes the matrimonial bond indissoluble, divorce a vinculo evil, and
the connection resulting from it criminal, can only say: "Evil should
not be done that good may come." But, after all, would even passing good
come from this greater freedom? In a few exceptional cases--Yes: in
the vast majority of cases--No. The trying of divorce as a safeguard of
purity is an old experiment, and an unsuccessful one. In Rome adulteries
increased as divorces were multiplied. After speaking of the facility
and frequency of divorce among the Romans, Gibbon adds:

"A specious theory is confuted by this free and perfect experiment,
which demonstrates that the liberty of divorce does not contribute
to happiness and virtue. The facility of separation would destroy
all mutual confidence, and inflame every trifling dispute. The minute
difference between a husband and a stranger, which might so easily be
removed, might still more easily be forgotten."*

How _apropos_ in this connection are the words of Professor Woolsey:

"Nothing is more startling than to pass from the first part of the
eighteenth to this latter part of the nineteenth century, and to observe
how law has changed and opinion has altered in regard to marriage, the
great foundation of society, and to divorce; and how, almost pari passu,
various offences against chastity, such as concubinage, prostitution,
illegitimate births, abortion, disinclination to family life, have
increased also--not, indeed, at the same pace everywhere, or all of them
equally in all countries, yet have decidedly increased on the whole."!

Surely in few parts of the wide world is the truth of these strong words
more evident than in those parts of our own country where loose divorce
laws have long prevailed.

It should be noted that, while never allowing the dissolution of the
marriage bond, the Catholic Church has always permitted, for grave
causes and under certain conditions, a temporary or permanent
"separation from bed and board."

     * "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," Milman's Ed., Vol.
     III., p. 236.

     ** "Divorce and Divorce Legislation," 2d Ed., p. 274.

The causes which, _positis ponendis_, justify such separation may be
briefly given thus: mutual consent, adultery, and grave peril of soul or
body.

It may be said that there are persons so unhappily mated and so
constituted that for them no relief can come save from divorce _a
vinculo_, with permission to remarry. I shall not linger here to point
out to such the need of seeking from a higher than earthly power the
grace to suffer and be strong. But for those whose reasoning on this
subject is of the earth, earthy, I shall add some words of practical
worldly wisdom from eminent jurists. In a note to his edition of
Blackstone's "Commentaries," Mr. John Taylor Coleridge says:

"It is no less truly than beautifully said by Sir W. Scott, in the case
of Evans v. Evans, that 'though in particular cases the repugnance
of the law to dissolve the obligation of matrimonial cohabitation may
operate with great severity upon individuals, yet it must be carefully
remembered that the general happiness of the married life is secured
by its indissolubility.' When people understand that they must live
together, except for a few reasons known to the law, they learn to
soften by mutual accommodation that yoke which they know they cannot
shake off: they become good husbands and good wives from the necessity
of remaining husbands and wives: for necessity is a powerful master in
teaching the duties which it imposes. If it were once understood that
upon mutual disgust married persons might be legally separated, many
couples who now pass through the world with mutual comfort, with
attention to their common offspring, and to the moral order of civil
society, might have been at this moment living in a state of mutual
unkindness, in a state of estrangement from their common offspring, and
in a state of the most licentious and unrestrained immorality. In this
case, as in many other cases, the happiness of some individuals must be
sacrificed to the greater and more general good."

The facility and frequency of divorce, and its lamentable consequences,
are nowadays calling much attention to measures of "divorce reform."
"How can divorce reform be best secured?" it may be asked. Believing,
as I do, that divorce is evil, I also believe that its "reformation"
and its death must be simultaneous. It should cease to be. Divorce as we
know it began when marriage was removed from the domain of the church:
divorce shall cease when the old order shall be restored. Will this ever
come to pass? Perhaps so--after many days. Meanwhile, something might
be done, something should be done, to lessen the evils of divorce. Our
present divorce legislation must be presumed to be such as the majority
of the people wish it. A first step, therefore, in the way of "divorce
reform" should be the creation of a more healthy public sentiment on
this question. Then will follow measures that will do good in proportion
to their stringency. A few practical suggestions as to the salient
features of remedial divorce legislation may not be out of place.
Persons seeking at the hands of the civil law relief in matrimonial
troubles should have the right to ask for divorce _a vinculo_, or
simple separation _a mensâ et thoro_, as they may elect. The number
of legally-recognized grounds for divorce should be lessened, and
"noiseless" divorces forbidden. "Rapid-transit" facilities for passing
through divorce courts should be cut off, and divorce "agencies" should
be suppressed. The plaintiff in a divorce case should be a _bona fide_
resident of the judicial district in which his petition is filed, and in
every divorce case the legal representatives of the State should appear
for the defendant, and, by all means, the right of remarriage after
divorce should be restricted. If divorce cannot be legislated out of
existence, let, at least, its power for evil be diminished.

James Cardinal Gibbons.


I am asked certain questions with regard to the attitude of the
Episcopal Church towards the matter of divorce. In undertaking to answer
them, it is to be remembered that there is a considerable variety of
opinion which is held in more or less precise conformity with doctrinal
or canonical declarations of the church. With these variations this
paper, except in so far as it may briefly indicate them, is not
concerned. Nor is it an expression of individual opinion. That is not
what has been asked for or attempted.

The doctrine and law of the Protestant Episcopal Church on the subject
of divorce is contained in canon 13, title II., of the "Digest of the
Canons," 1887. That, canon has been to a certain extent interpreted by
Episcopal judgments under section IV. The "public opinion" of the
clergy or laity can only be ascertained in the usual way; especially
by examining their published treatises, letters, etc., and perhaps most
satisfactorily by the reports of discussion in the diocesan and general
conventions on the subject of divorce. Among members of the Protestant
Episcopal Church divorce is excessively rare, cases of uncertainty in
the application of the canon, are much more rare, and the practice of
the clergy is almost perfectly uniform. There is, however, by no means
the same uniformity in their opinions either as to divorce or marriage.

As divorce is necessarily a mere accident of marriage, and as divorce is
impossible without a precedent marriage, much practical difficulty might
arise, and much difference of opinion does arise, from the fact that the
Protestant Episcopal Church has nowhere defined marriage. Negatively,
it is explicitly affirmed (Article XXV.) that "matrimony is not to
be counted for a sacrament of the Gospel." This might seem to reduce
matrimony to a civil contract. And accordingly the first rubric in
the _Form of Solemnization of Matrimony_ directs, on the ground of
differences of laws in the various States, that "the minister is left
to the direction of those laws in everything that regards the civil
contract between the parties." Laws determining what persons shall be
capable of contracting would seem to be included in "everything that
regards the civil contract;" and unquestionably the laws of most of
the States render all persons legally divorced capable of at once
contracting a new marriage. Both the first section of canon 13 and the
_Form of Solemnization_, affirm that, "if any persons be joined together
otherwise than as God's word doth allow, their marriage is not
lawful." But it is nowhere excepting as to divorce, declared _what the
impediments are_. The Protestant Episcopal Church has never, by canon
or express legislation, published, for instance, a table of prohibited
degrees.

On the matter of divorce, however, canon 13, title II., supersedes, for
the members of the Protestant Episcopal Church, both a part of the civil
law relating to the persons capable of contracting marriage, and also
all private judgment as to the teaching of "the Word of God" on that
subject. No minister is allowed, as a rule, to solemnize the marriage of
any man or woman who has a divorced husband or wife still living. But
if the person seeking to be married is the innocent party in the divorce
for adultery, that person, whether man or woman, may be married by
a minister of the church. With the above exception, the clergy are
forbidden to administer the sacraments to any divorced and remarried
person without the express permission of the bishop, unless that person
be "penitent" and "in imminent danger of death." Any doubts "as to the
facts of any case under section II. of this canon" must be referred to
the bishop. Of course, where there is no reasonable doubt the minister
may proceed. It may be added that the sacraments are to be refused also
to persons who may be reasonably supposed to have contracted marriage
"otherwise," in any respect, "than as the Word of God and the discipline
of this Church doth allow." These impediments are nowhere defined; and
accordingly it has happened that a man who had married a deceased wife's
sister and the woman he had married were, by the private judgment of
a priest, refused the holy communion. The civil courts do not seem
inclined to protect the clergy from consequences of interference with
the civil law. In Southbridge, Mass., a few weeks ago, a man who
had been denounced from the altar for marrying again after a divorce
obtained a judgment for $1,720 damages. The law of the church would
seem to be that, even though a legal divorce may have been obtained,
remarriage is absolutely forbidden, excepting to the innocent party,
whether man or woman, in a divorce for adultery. The penalty for breach
of this law might involve, for the officiating clergyman, deposition
from the ministry; for the offending man or woman, exclusion from the
sacraments, which, in the judgment of a very large number of the clergy,
involves everlasting damnation.

It is obvious, then, that the Protestant Episcopal Church allows the
complete validity of a divorce _a vinculo_ in the case of adultery, and
the right of remarriage to the innocent party. But that church has
not determined in what manner either the grounds of the divorce or the
"innocence" of either party is to be ascertained. The canon does not
require a clergyman to demand, nor can the church enable him to secure,
the production of a copy of the record or decree of the court of law
by which a divorce is granted, nor would such decree indicate the
"innocence" of one party, though it might prove the guilt of the other.

The effect of divorce upon the integrity of the family is too obvious to
require stating. As the father and mother are the heads of the family,
their separation must inevitably destroy the common family life. On the
other hand, it is often contended that the destruction has been already
completed, and that a divorce is only the legal recognition of what has
already taken place; "the integrity of the family" can scarcely remain
when either a father or mother, or both, are living in violation of the
law on which that integrity rests. The question may be asked whether the
absolute prohibition of divorce would contribute to the moral purity of
society. It is difficult to answer such a question, because anything
on the subject must be comparatively worthless until verified by
experience. It is quite certain that the prohibition of divorce never
prevents illicit sexual connections, as was abundantly proved when
divorce in England was put within the reach of persons who were not able
to afford the expense of a special act of Parliament. It is, indeed,
so palpable a fact that any amount of evidence or argument is wholly
superfluous.

The law of the Protestant Episcopal Church is by no means identical with
the opinion of either the clergy or the laity. In the judgment of many,
the existing law is far too lax, or, at least, the whole doctrine
of marriage is far too inadequately dealt with in the authoritative
teaching of the church. The opinion of this school finds, perhaps,
its most adequate expression in the report of a committee of the last
General Convention forming Appendix XIII. of the "Journal" of that
convention. It is, substantially, that the Mosaic law of marriage is
still binding upon the church, unless directly abrogated by Christ
himself; that it was abrogated by him only so far that all divorce was
forbidden by him, excepting for the cause of fornication; that a woman
might not claim divorce for any reason whatever; that the marriage of a
divorced person until the death of the other party is wholly forbidden;
that marriage is not merely a civil contract, but a spiritual and
supernatural union, requiring for its mutual obligation a supernatural,
divine grace; that such grace is only imparted in the sacrament of
matrimony, which is a true sacrament and does actually confer grace;
that marriage is wholly within the jurisdiction of the church, though
the State may determine such rules and guarantees as may secure
publicity and sufficient evidence of a marriage, etc.; that severe
penalties should be inflicted by the State, on the demand of the church,
for the suppression of all offences against the seventh commandment and
sundry other parts of the Mosaic legislation, especially in relation to
"prohibited degrees."

There is another school, equally earnest and sincere in its zeal for
the integrity of the family and sexual purity, which would nevertheless
repudiate much the greater part of the above assumption. This school, if
one may so venture to combine scattered opinions, argues substantially
as follows: The type of all Mosaic legislation was circumcision; that
rite was of universal obligation and divine authority. St. Paul so
regarded it. The abrogation of the law requiring circumcision was,
therefore, the abrogation of the whole of the Mosaic legislation. The
"burden of proof," therefore, rests upon those who affirm the present
obligation of what formed a part of the Mosaic law; and they must show
that it has been reenacted by Christ and his Apostles or forms some part
of some other and independent system of law or morals still in force.
Christ's words about divorce are not to be construed as a positive law,
but as expressing the ideal of marriage, and corresponding to his words
about eunuchs, which not everybody "can receive." So far as Christ's
words seem to indicate an inequality as to divorce between man and
woman, they are explained by the authoritative and inspired assertion of
St. Paul: "In Christ Jesus there is neither male nor female." A divine
law is equally authoritative by whomsoever declared--whether by the Son
Incarnate or by the Holy Ghost speaking through inspired Apostles. If,
then, a divine law was ever capable of suspension or modification, it
may still be capable of such suspension or modification in corresponding
circumstances. The circumstances which justified a modification of the
original divine law of marriage do still exist in many conditions of
society and even of individual life. The Protestant Episcopal Church
cannot, alone, speak with such authority on disputed passages of
Scripture as to justify her ministers in direct disobedience to the
civil authority, which is also "ordained of God." The exegesis of the
early church was closely connected with theories about matter, and
about the inferiority of women and of married life, which are no longer
believed.

Of course this is a very brief statement. As a matter of fact the actual
effect of the doctrine and discipline of the Protestant Episcopal Church
on marriage and divorce is that divorce among her members is excessively
rare; that it is regarded with extreme aversion; and that the public
opinion of the church maintains the law as it now is, but could not be
trusted to execute laws more stringent. A member of the committee of the
General Convention whose report has been already referred to closes that
report with the following protest:

"The undersigned finds himself unable to concur in so much of the
[proposed] canon as forbids the holy communion to a truly pious and
godly woman who has been compelled by long years of suffering from
a drunken and brutal husband to obtain a divorce, and has regularly
married some suitable person according to the established laws of the
land. And also from so much of the [proposed] canon as may seem to
forbid marriage with a deceased wife's sister."

The final action on these points, which has already been stated,
indicates that the proposed report thus referred to was, in one
particular at least, in advance of the sentiment of the church as
expressed in her General Convention.

Henry C. Potter.


_Question (1.) Do you believe in the principle of divorce under any
circumstances?_

The world for the most part is ruled by the tomb, and the living are
tyrannized over by the dead. Old ideas, long after the conditions under
which they were produced have passed away, often persist in surviving.
Many are disposed to worship the ancient--to follow the old paths,
without inquiring where they lead, and without knowing exactly where
they wish to go themselves.

Opinions on the subject of divorce have been, for the most part,
inherited from the early Christians. They have come to us through
theological and priestly channels. The early Christians believed that
the world was about to be destroyed, or that it was to be purified by
fire; that all the wicked were to perish, and that the good were to
be caught up in the air to meet their Lord--to remain there, in all
probability, until the earth was prepared as a habitation for the
blessed. With this thought or belief in their minds, the things of this
world were of comparatively no importance. The man who built larger
barns in which to store his grain was regarded as a foolish farmer, who
had forgotten, in his greed for gain, the value of his own soul.
They regarded prosperous people as the children of Mammon, and the
unfortunate, the wretched and diseased, as the favorites of God. They
discouraged all worldly pursuits, except the soliciting of alms. There
was no time to marry or to be given in marriage; no time to build homes
and have families. All their thoughts were centred upon the heaven
they expected to inherit. Business, love, all secular things, fell into
disrepute.

Nothing is said in the Testament about the families of the apostles;
nothing of family life, of the sacredness of home; nothing about the
necessity of education, the improvement and development of the mind.
These things were forgotten, for the reason that nothing, in the
presence of the expected event, was considered of any importance, except
to be ready when the Son of Man should come. Such was the feeling, that
rewards were offered by Christ himself to those who would desert their
wives and children. Human love was spoken of with contempt. "Let the
dead bury their dead. What is that to thee? Follow thou me." They not
only believed these things, but acted in accordance with them; and, as a
consequence, all the relations of life were denied or avoided, and their
obligations disregarded. Marriage was discouraged. It was regarded as
only one degree above open and unbridled vice, and was allowed only
in consideration of human weakness. It was thought far better not to
marry--that it was something grander for a man to love God than to
love woman. The exceedingly godly, the really spiritual, believed in
celibacy, and held the opposite sex in a kind of pious abhorrence. And
yet, with that inconsistency so characteristic of theologians, marriage
was held to be a sacrament. The priest said to the man who married:
"Remember that you are caught for life. This door opens but once. Before
this den of matrimony the tracks are all one way." This was in the
nature of a punishment for having married. The theologian felt that the
contract of marriage, if not contrary to God's command, was at least
contrary to his advice, and that the married ought to suffer in some
way, as a matter of justice. The fact that there could be no divorce,
that a mistake could not be corrected, was held up as a warning. At
every wedding feast this skeleton stretched its fleshless finger towards
bride and groom.

Nearly all intelligent people have given up the idea that the world is
about to come to an end. They do not now believe that prosperity is a
certain sign of wickedness, or that poverty and wretchedness are sure
certificates of virtue. They are hardly convinced that Dives should have
been sent to hell simply for being rich, or that Lazarus was entitled
to eternal joy on account of his poverty. We now know that prosperous
people may be good, and that unfortunate people may be bad. We have
reached the conclusion that the practice of virtue tends in the
direction of prosperity, and that a violation of the conditions of
well-being brings, with absolute certainty, wretchedness and misfortune.

There was a time when it was believed that the sin of an individual
was visited upon the tribe, the community, or the nation to which he
belonged. It was then thought that if a man or woman had made a vow
to God, and had failed to keep the vow, God might punish the entire
community; therefore it was the business of the community to see to it
that the vow was kept. That idea has been abandoned. As we progress, the
rights of the individual are perceived, and we are now beginning dimly
to discern that there are no rights higher than the rights of the
individual. There was a time when nearly all believed in the reforming
power of punishment--in the beneficence of brute force. But the world is
changing. It was at one time thought that the Inquisition was the savior
of society; that the persecution of the philosopher was requisite to the
preservation of the state, and that, no matter what happened, the state
should be preserved. We have now more light. And standing upon this
luminous point that we call the present, let me answer your questions.

Marriage is the most important, the most sacred, contract that
human beings can make. No matter whether we call it a contract, or a
sacrament, or both, it remains precisely the same. And no matter whether
this contract is entered into in the presence of magistrate or priest,
it is exactly the same. A true marriage is a natural concord and
agreement of souls, a harmony in which discord is not even imagined;
it is a mingling so perfect that only one seems to exist; all other
considerations are lost; the present seems to be eternal. In this
supreme moment there is no shadow--or the shadow is as luminous as
light. And when two beings thus love, thus unite, this is the true
marriage of soul and soul. That which is said before the altar, or
minister, or magistrate, or in the presence of witnesses, is only the
outward evidence of that which has already happened within; it simply
testifies to a union that has already taken place--to the uniting of two
mornings of hope to reach the night together. Each has found the ideal;
the man has found the one woman of all the world--the impersonation of
affection, purity, passion, love, beauty, and grace; and the woman has
found the one man of all the world, her ideal, and all that she knows of
romance, of art, courage, heroism, honesty, is realized in him. The
idea of contract is lost. Duty and obligation are instantly changed into
desire and joy, and two lives, like uniting streams, flow on as one.
Nothing can add to the sacredness of this marriage, to the obligation
and duty of each to each. There is nothing in the ceremony except the
desire on the part of the man and woman that the whole world should know
that they are really married and that their souls have been united.

Every marriage, for a thousand reasons, should be public, should be
recorded, should be known; but, above all, to the end that the purity of
the union should appear. These ceremonies are not only for the good and
for the protection of the married, but also for the protection of their
children, and of society as well. But, after all, the marriage remains
a contract of the highest possible character--a contract in which each
gives and receives a heart.

The question then arises, Should this marriage, under any circumstances,
be dissolved? It is easy to understand the position taken by the various
churches; but back of theological opinions is the question of contract.

In this contract of marriage, the man agrees to protect and cherish his
wife. Suppose that he refuses to protect; that he abuses, assaults, and
tramples upon the woman he wed. What is her redress? Is she under
any obligation to him? He has violated the contract. He has failed to
protect, and, in addition, he has assaulted her like a wild beast. Is
she under any obligation to him? Is she bound by the contract he has
broken? If so, what is the consideration for this obligation? Must she
live with him for his sake? or, if she leaves him to preserve her life,
must she remain his wife for his sake? No intelligent man will answer
these questions in the affirmative.

If, then, she is not bound to remain his wife for the husband's sake,
is she bound to remain his wife because the marriage was a sacrament? Is
there any obligation on the part of the wife to remain with the brutal
husband for the sake of God? Can her conduct affect in any way the
happiness of an infinite being? Is it possible for a human being to
increase or diminish the well-being of the Infinite?

The next question is as to the right of society in this matter. It must
be admitted that the peace of society will be promoted by the separation
of such people. Certainly society cannot insist upon a wife remaining
with a husband who bruises and mangles her flesh. Even married women
have a right to personal security. They do not lose, either by contract
or sacrament, the right of self-preservation; this they share in common,
to say the least of it, with the lowest living creatures.

This will probably be admitted by most of the enemies of divorce; but
they will insist that while the wife has the right to flee from
her husband's roof and seek protection of kindred or friends, the
marriage--the sacrament--must remain unbroken. Is it to the interest of
society that those who despise each other should live together? Ought
the world to be peopled by the children of hatred or disgust, the
children of lust and loathing, or by the welcome babes of mutual love?
Is it possible that an infinitely wise and compassionate God insists
that a helpless woman shall remain the wife of a cruel wretch? Can
this add to the joy of Paradise, or tend to keep one harp in tune? Can
anything be more infamous than for a government to compel a woman to
remain the wife of a man she hates--of one whom she justly holds in
abhorrence? Does any decent man wish the assistance of a constable,
a sheriff, a judge, or a church, to keep his wife in his house? Is it
possible to conceive of a more contemptible human being than a man who
would appeal to force in such a case? It may be said that the woman is
free to go, and that the courts will protect her from the brutality of
the man who promised to be her protector; but where shall the woman go?
She may have no friends; or they may be poor; her kindred may be
dead. Has she no right to build another home? Must this woman, full of
kindness, affection, health, be tied and chained to this living corpse?
Is there no future for her? Must she be an outcast forever--deceived and
betrayed for her whole life? Can she never sit by her own hearth, with
the arms of her children about her neck, and with a husband who loves
and protects her? Is she to become a social pariah, and is this for the
benefit of society?--or is it for the sake of the wretch who destroyed
her life?

The ground has been taken that woman would lose her dignity if marriage
could be annulled. Is it necessary to lose your liberty in order to
retain your moral character--in order to be pure and womanly? Must a
woman, in order to retain her virtue, become a slave, a serf, with a
beast for a master, or with society for a master, or with a phantom for
a master?

If an infinite being is one of the parties to the contract, is it not
the duty of this being to see to it that the contract is carried out?
What consideration does the infinite being give? What consideration does
he receive? If a wife owes no duty to her husband because the husband
has violated the contract, and has even assaulted her life, is it
possible for her to feel toward him any real thrill of affection? If she
does not, what is there left of marriage? What part of this contract or
sacrament remains in living force? She can not sustain the relation of
wife, because she abhors him; she cannot remain under the same roof, for
fear that she may be killed. They sustain, then, only the relations
of hunter and hunted--of tyrant and victim. Is it desirable that this
relation should last through life, and that it should be rendered sacred
by the ceremony of a church?

Again I ask, Is it desirable to have families raised under such
circumstances? Are we in need of children born of such parents? Can the
virtue of others be preserved only by this destruction of happiness, by
this perpetual imprisonment?

A marriage without love is bad enough, and a marriage for wealth or
position is low enough; but what shall we say of a marriage where the
parties actually abhor each other? Is there any morality in this?
any virtue in this? Is there virtue in retaining the name of wife, or
husband, without the real and true relation? Will any good man say, will
any good woman declare, that a true, loving woman should be compelled
to be the mother of children whose father she detests? Is there a good
woman in the world who would not shrink from this herself; and is there
a woman so heartless and so immoral that she would force another to bear
that from which she would shudderingly and shriekingly shrink?

Marriages are made by men and women; not by society; not by the state;
not by the church; not by supernatural beings. By this time we should
know that nothing is moral that does not tend to the well-being of
sentient beings; that nothing is virtuous the result of which is not
good. We know now, if we know anything, that all the reasons for doing
right, and all the reasons against doing wrong, are here in this world.
We should have imagination enough to put ourselves in the place of
another. Let a man suppose himself a helpless woman beaten by a brutal
husband--would he advocate divorces then?

Few people have an adequate idea of the sufferings of women and
children, of the number of wives who tremble when they hear the
footsteps of a returning husband, of the number of children who hide
when they hear the voice of a father. Few people know the number of
blows that fall on the flesh of the helpless every day, and few know
the nights of terror passed by mothers who hold babes to their breasts.
Compared with these, all the hardships of poverty borne by those who
love each other are as nothing. Men and women truly married bear the
sufferings and misfortunes of poverty together. They console each
other. In the darkest night they see the radiance of a star, and their
affection gives to the heart of each perpetual sunshine.

The good home is the unit of the good government. The hearthstone is
the corner-stone of civilization. Society is not interested in the
preservation of hateful homes, of homes where husbands and wives are
selfish, cold, and cruel. It is not to the interest of society that good
women should be enslaved, that they should live in fear, or that they
should become mothers by husbands whom they hate. Homes should be filled
with kind and generous fathers, with true and loving mothers; and when
they are so filled, the world will be civilized. Intelligence will rock
the cradle; justice will sit in the courts; wisdom in the legislative
halls; and above all and over all, like the dome of heaven, will be the
spirit of liberty.

Although marriage is the most important and the most sacred contract
that human beings can make, still when that contract has been violated,
courts should have the power to declare it null and void upon such
conditions as may be just.

As a rule, the woman dowers the husband with her youth, her beauty, her
love--with all she has; and from this contract certainly the husband
should never be released, unless the wife has broken the conditions of
that contract. Divorces should be granted publicly, precisely as the
marriage should be solemnized. Every marriage should be known, and
there should be witnesses, to the end that the character of the contract
entered into should be understood; the record should be open and public.
And the same is true of divorces. The conditions should be determined,
the property should be divided by a court of equity, and the custody of
the children given under regulations prescribed.

Men and women are not virtuous by law. Law does not of itself create
virtue, nor is it the foundation or fountain of love. Law should protect
virtue, and law should protect the wife, if she has kept her contract,
and the husband, if he has fulfilled his. But the death of love is the
end of marriage. Love is natural. Back of all ceremony burns and will
forever burn the sacred flame. There has been no time in the world's
history when that torch was extinguished. In all ages, in all climes,
among all people, there has been true, pure, and unselfish love. Long
before a ceremony was thought of, long before a priest existed, there
were true and perfect marriages. Back of public opinion is natural
modesty, the affections of the heart; and in spite of all law, there is
and forever will be the realm of choice. Wherever love is, it is pure;
and everywhere, and at all times, the ceremony of marriage testifies to
that which has happened within the temple of the human heart.


_Question (2). Ought divorced people to be allowed to marry under any
circumstances?_

This depends upon whether marriage is a crime. If it is not a crime, why
should any penalty be attached? Can any one conceive of any reason why
a woman obtaining a divorce, without fault on her part, should be
compelled as a punishment to remain forever single? Why should she be
punished for the dishonesty or brutality of another? Why should a man
who faithfully kept his contract of marriage, and who was deserted by an
unfaithful wife, be punished for the benefit of society? Why should he
be doomed to live without a home?

There is still another view. We must remember that human passions are
the same after as before divorce. To prevent remarriage is to give
excuse for vice.


_Question (3). What is the effect of divorce upon the integrity of the
family?_

The real marriage is back of the ceremony, and the real divorce is
back of the decree. When love is dead, when husband and wife abhor each
other, they are divorced. The decree records in a judicial way what has
really taken place, just as the ceremony of marriage attests a contract
already made.

The true family is the result of the true marriage, and the institution
of the family should above all things be preserved. What becomes of the
sacredness of the home, if the law compels those who abhor each other to
sit at the same hearth? This lowers the standard, and changes the happy
haven of home into the prison-cell. If we wish to preserve the integrity
of the family, we must preserve the democracy of the fireside, the
republicanism of the home, the absolute and perfect equality of husband
and wife. There must be no exhibition of force, no spectre of fear. The
mother must not remain through an order of court, or the command of a
priest, or by virtue of the tyranny of society; she must sit in absolute
freedom, the queen of herself, the sovereign of her own soul and of
her own body. Real homes can never be preserved through force, through
slavery, or superstition. Nothing can be more sacred than a home, no
altar purer than the hearth.

_Question (4). Does the absolute prohibition of divorce where it exists
contribute to the moral purity of society?_

We must define our terms. What is moral purity? The intelligent of
this world seek the well-being of themselves and others. They know that
happiness is the only good; and this they strive to attain. To live in
accordance with the conditions of well-being is moral in the highest
sense. To use the best instrumentalities to attain the highest ends is
our highest conception of the moral. In other words, morality is the
melody of the perfection of conduct. A man is not moral because he
is obedient through fear or ignorance. Morality lives in the realm
of perceived obligation, and where a being acts in accordance with
perceived obligation, that being is moral. Morality is not the child of
slavery. Ignorance is not the corner-stone of virtue.

The first duty of a human being is to himself. He must see to it that
he does not become a burden upon others. To be self-respecting, he must
endeavor to be self-sustaining. If by his industry and intelligence he
accumulates a margin, then he is under obligation to do with that margin
all the good he can. He who lives to the ideal does the best he can. In
true marriage men and women give not only their bodies, but their souls.
This is the ideal marriage; this is moral. They who give their bodies,
but not their souls, are not married, whatever the ceremony may be; this
is immoral.

If this be true, upon what principle can a woman continue to sustain the
relation of wife after love is dead? Is there some other consideration
that can take the place of genuine affection? Can she be bribed with
money, or a home, or position, or by public opinion, and still remain a
virtuous woman? Is it for the good of society that virtue should be thus
crucified between church and state? Can it be said that this contributes
to the moral purity of the human race?

Is there a higher standard of virtue in countries where divorce is
prohibited than in those where it is granted? Where husbands and wives
who have ceased to love cannot be divorced, there are mistresses and
lovers.

The sacramental view of marriage is the shield of vice. The world looks
at the wife who has been abused, who has been driven from the home of
her husband, and the world pities; and when this wife is loved by some
other man, the world excuses. So, too, the husband who cannot live in
peace, who leaves his home, is pitied and excused.

Is it possible to conceive of anything more immoral than for a husband
to insist on living with a wife who has no love for him? Is not this a
perpetual crime? Is the wife to lose her personality? Has she no right
of choice? Is her modesty the property of another? Is the man she hates
the lord of her desire? Has she no right to guard the jewels of her
soul? Is there a depth below this? And is this the foundation of
morality? this the corner-stone of society? this the arch that supports
the dome of civilization? Is this pathetic sacrifice on the one hand,
this sacrilege on the other, pleasing in the sight of heaven?

To me, the tenderest word in our language, the most pathetic fact within
our knowledge, is maternity. Around this sacred word cluster the joys
and sorrows, the agonies and ecstasies, of the human race. The mother
walks in the shadow of death that she may give another life. Upon
the altar of love she puts her own life in pawn. When the world is
civilized, no wife will become a mother against her will. Man will then
know that to enslave another is to imprison himself.

Robert G. Ingersoll.



DIVORCE.

A LITTLE while ago the North American Review propounded the following
questions:

1. Do you believe in the principle of divorce under any circumstances?

2. Ought divorced people to be allowed to marry, under any
circumstances?

3. What is the effect of divorce on the integrity of the family?

4. Does the absolute prohibition of divorce, where it exists, contribute
to the moral purity of society?

These questions were answered in the November number of the Review,
1889, by Cardinal Gibbons, Bishop Henry C. Potter and myself. In
the December number, the same questions were again answered by W. E.
Gladstone, Justice Bradley and Senator Dolph. In the following month
Mary A. Livermore, Amelia E. Barr, Rose Terry Cooke, Elizabeth Stuart
Phelps and Jennie June gave their opinions upon the subject of divorce;
and in the February number of this year, Margaret Lee and the Rev.
Phillip S. Moxom contributed articles upon this subject.

I propose to review these articles, and, first, let me say a few words
in answer to Cardinal Gibbons.


REPLY TO CARDINAL GIBBONS.

The indissolubility of marriage was a reaction from polygamy. Man
naturally rushes from one extreme to the other. The Cardinal informs us
that "God instituted in Paradise the marriage state, and sanctified it;"
that "he established its law of unity and declared its indissolubility."
The Cardinal, however, accounts for polygamy and divorce by saying that,
"marriage suffered in the fall."

If it be true that God instituted marriage in the Garden of Eden, and
declared its unity and indissolubility, how do you account for the fact
that this same God afterwards upheld polygamy? How is it that he forgot
to say anything on the subject when he gave the Ten Commandments to
Moses? How does it happen that in these commandments he puts women on an
equality with other property--"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife,
or thy neighbor's ox, or anything that is thy neighbor's"? How did it
happen that Jacob, who was in direct communication with God, married,
not his deceased wife's sister, but both sisters, while both were
living? Is there any way of accounting for the fact that God upheld
concubinage?

Neither is it true that "Christ reasserted in clear and unequivocal
terms, the sanctity, unity, and indissolubility of marriage." Neither is
it true that "Christ gave to this state an added holiness and a dignity
higher far than it had 'from the beginning.'" If God declared the
unity and indissolubility of marriage in the Garden of Eden, how was it
possible for Christ to have "added a holiness and dignity to marriage
higher far than it had from the beginning"? How did Christ make marriage
a sacrament? There is nothing on that subject in the new Testament;
besides, Christ did apparently allow divorce, for one cause at least.
He is reported to have said: "Whosoever putteth away his wife, save for
fornication, causeth her to commit adultery."

The Cardinal answers the question, "Can divorce from the bonds of
marriage ever be allowed?" with an emphatic theological "NO," and as a
reason for this "no," says, "Thus saith the Lord."

It is true that we regard Mormonism as a national disgrace, and that
we so regard it because the Mormons are polygamists. At the same time,
intelligent people admit that polygamy is no worse in Utah, than it was
in Palestine--no worse under Joseph Smith, than under Jehovah--that
it has been and must be forever the same, in all countries and in all
times. The Cardinal takes the ground that "there are two species of
polygamy--simultaneous and successive," and yet he seems to regard
both species with equal horror. If a wife dies and the husband marries
another woman, is not that successive polygamy?

The Cardinal takes the ground that while no dissolution of the marriage
bond should be allowed, yet for grave causes a temporary or permanent
separation from bed and board may be obtained, and these causes he
enumerates as "mutual consent, adultery, and grave peril of soul or
body." To those, however, not satisfied with this doctrine, and who are
"so unhappily mated and so constituted that for them no relief can come
save from absolute divorce," the Cardinal says, in a very sympathetic
way, that he "Will not linger here to point out to such the need of
seeking from a higher than earthly power, the grace to suffer and be
strong."

At the foundation and upon the very threshold of this inquiry, one thing
ought to be settled, and that is this: Are we to answer these questions
in the light of human experience; are we to answer them from the
standpoint of what is better here, in this world, for men and
women--what is better for society here and now--or are we to ask: What
is the will of God? And in order to find out what is this will of God,
are we to ask the church, or are we to read what are called "the sacred
writings" for ourselves? In other words, are these questions to be
settled by theological and ecclesiastical authority, or by the common
sense of mankind? No one, in my judgment, should marry for the sake of
God, and no one should be divorced for the sake of God, and no man and
woman should live together as husband and wife, for the sake of God.
God being an infinite being, cannot be rendered unhappy by any action of
man, neither can his well-being be increased; consequently, the will of
God has nothing whatever to do with this matter. The real question then
must be: What is best for man?

Only the other day, a husband sought out his wife and with his own hand
covered her face with sulphuric acid, and in a moment afterward she was
blind. A Cardinal of the Catholic Church tells this woman, sitting in
darkness, that it is her duty to "suffer and be strong"; that she must
still remain the wife of this wretch; that to break the bond that binds
them together, would be an act of sacrilege. So, too, two years ago, a
husband deserted his wife in Germany. He came to this country. She was
poor. She had two children--one a babe. Holding one in her arm, and
leading the other by the hand, she walked hundreds of miles to the shore
of the sea. Overcome by fatigue, she was taken sick, and for months
remained in a hospital. Having recovered, she went to work, and finally
got enough money to pay her passage to New York. She came to this city,
bringing her children with her. Upon her arrival, she commenced a
search for her husband. One day overcome by exertion, she fainted in the
street. Persons took pity upon her and carried her upstairs into a room.
By a strange coincidence, a few moments afterward her husband entered.
She recognized him. He fell upon her like a wild beast, and threw
her down the stairs. She was taken up from the pavement bleeding, and
carried to a hospital.

The Cardinal says to this woman: Remain the wife of this man; it will be
very pleasing to God; "suffer and be strong." But I say to this woman:
Apply to some Court; get a decree of absolute divorce; cling to your
children, and if at any time hereafter some good and honest man offers
you his hand and heart, and you can love him, accept him and build
another home, to the end that you may sit by your own fireside, in your
old age, with your children about you.

It is not true that the indissolubility of marriage preserves the virtue
of mankind. The fact is exactly the opposite. If the Cardinal wishes to
know why there are more divorces now than there were fifty or a hundred
years ago, let me tell him: Women are far more intelligent--some of
them are no longer the slaves either of husbands, or priests. They are
beginning to think for themselves. They can see no good reason why
they should sacrifice their lives to please Popes or Gods. They are
no longer deceived by theological prophecies. They are not willing to
suffer here, with the hope of being happy beyond the clouds--they want
their happiness now.


REPLY TO BISHOP POTTER.

Bishop Potter does not agree with the Cardinal, yet they both study
substantially the same bible--both have been set apart for the purpose
of revealing the revelation. They are the persons whose duty it is to
enlighten the common people. Cardinal Gibbons knows that he represents
the only true church, and Bishop Potter is just as sure that he occupies
that position. What is the ordinary man to do?

The Cardinal states, without the slightest hesitation, that "Christ made
marriage a sacrament--made it the type of his own never-ending union
with his one sinless spouse, the church." The Bishop does not agree
with the Cardinal. He says: "Christ's words about divorce are not to be
construed as a positive law, but as expressing the ideal of marriage,
and corresponding to his words about eunuchs, which not everybody can
receive." Ought not the augurs to agree among themselves? What is a man
who has only been born once, to do?

The Cardinal says explicitly that marriage is a sacrament, and the
Bishop cites Article xxv., that "matrimony is not to be accounted for
a sacrament of the gospel," and then admits that "this might seem to
reduce matrimony to a civil contract." For the purpose of bolstering up
that view, he says, "The first rubric in the Form of Solemnization of
Matrimony declares that the minister is left to the direction of those
laws in every thing that regards a civil contract between the parties.'"
He admits that "no minister is allowed, _as a rule_, to solemnize the
marriage of any man or woman who has a divorced husband or wife still
living." As a matter of fact, we know that hundreds of Episcopalians do
marry where a wife or a husband is still living, and they are not turned
out of the Episcopal Church for this offence. The Bishop admits that the
church can do very little on the subject, but seems to gather a little
consolation from the fact, that "the penalty for breach of this law
might involve, for the officiating clergyman, deposition from the
ministry--for the offending man or woman exclusion from the sacraments,
which, in the judgment of a very large number of the clergy, involves
everlasting damnation."

The Cardinal is perfectly satisfied that the prohibition of divorce is
the foundation of morality, and the Bishop is equally certain that "the
prohibition of divorce never prevents illicit sexual connections."

The Bishop also gives us the report of a committee of the last General
Convention, forming Appendix xiii of the Journal. This report, according
to the Bishop, is to the effect "that the Mosaic law of marriage is
still binding upon the church unless directly abrogated by Christ
himself, that it-was abrogated by him only so far that all divorce was
forbidden by him excepting for the cause of fornication; that a woman
might not claim divorce for any reason whatever; that the marriage of a
divorced person until the death of the other party, is wholly forbidden;
that marriage is not merely a civil contract but a spiritual and
supernatural union, requiring for its mutual obligations a supernatural
divine grace, and that such grace is only imparted in the sacrament of
matrimony."

The most beautiful thing about this report is, that a woman might not
claim divorce for any reason whatever. I must admit that the report is
in exact accordance with the words of Jesus Christ. On the other hand,
the Bishop, not to leave us entirely without hope, says that "there is
in his church another school, equally earnest and sincere in its zeal
for the integrity of the family, which would nevertheless repudiate the
greater part of the above report."

There is one thing, however, that I was exceedingly glad to see, and
that is, that according to the Bishop the ideas of the early church are
closely connected with theories about matter, and about the inferiority
of woman, and about married life, which are no longer believed. The
Bishop has, with great clearness, stated several sides of this question;
but I must say, that after reading the Cardinal and the Bishop, the
earnest theological seeker after truth would find himself, to say the
least of it, in some doubt.

As a matter of fact, who cares what the Old Testament says upon this
subject? Are we to be bound forever by the ancient barbarians?

Mr. Gladstone takes the ground, first, "that marriage is essentially a
contract for life, and only expires when life itself expires"; second,
"that Christian marriage involves a vow before God"; third, "that no
authority has been given to the Christian Church to cancel such a vow";
fourth, "that it lies beyond the province of tie civil legislature,
which, from the necessity of things, has a veto within the limits of
reason, upon the making of it, but has no competency to annul it when
once made"; fifth, "that according to the laws of just interpretation,
remarriage is forbidden by the text of Holy Scripture"; and sixth, "that
while divorce of any kind impairs the integrity of the family, divorce
with remarriage destroys it root and branch; that the parental and the
conjugal relations are joined together by the hand of the Almighty
no less than the persons united by the marriage tie, to one another."
_First_. Undoubtedly, a real marriage was never entered into unless the
parties expected to live together as long as they lived. It does not
enter into the imagination of the real lover that the time is coming
when he is to desert the being he adores, neither does it enter into the
imagination of his wife, or of the girl about to become a wife. But how
and in what way, does a Christian marriage involve a vow before God?
Is God a party to the contract? If yes, he ought to see to it that the
contract is carried out. If there are three parties--the man, the woman,
and God--each one should be bound to do something, and what is God
bound to do? Is he to hold the man to his contract, when the woman has
violated hers? Is it his business to hold the woman to the contract,
when the man has violated his? And what right has he to have anything
to say on the subject, unless he has agreed to do something by reason of
this vow? Otherwise, it would be simply a _nudum pactum_--a vow without
consideration.

Mr. Gladstone informs us that no authority has been given to the
Christian Church to cancel such a vow. If he means by that, that God has
not given any such authority to the Christian Church, I most cheerfully
admit it.*

     * Note.--This abrupt termination, together with the
     unfinished replies to Justice Bradley and Senator Dolph,
     which follow, shows that the author must have been
     interrupted in his work, and on next taking it up concluded
     that the colloquial and concrete form would better serve his
     turn than the more formal and didactic style above employed.
     He thereupon dictated his reply to the Gibbon and Gladstone
     arguments in the following form which will be regarded as a
     most interesting instance of the author's wonderful
     versatility of style.

     This unfinished matter was found among Col. Ingersoll's
     manuscripts, and is given as transcribed from the
     stenographic notes of Mr. I. N. Baker, his secretary,
     without revision by the author.


JUSTICE BRADLEY.

Cardinal Gibbons, Bishop Potter, and Mr. Gladstone represent the
theological side--that is to say, the impracticable, the supernatural,
the unnatural. After reading their opinions, it is refreshing to read
those of Justice Bradley. It is like coming out of the tomb into the
fresh air.

Speaking of the law, whether regarded as divine or human or both,
Justice Bradley says: "I know no other law on the subject but the moral
law, which does not consist of arbitrary enactments and decrees, but
is adapted to our condition as human beings. This is so, whether it
is conceived of as the will of an all-wise creator, or as the voice of
humanity speaking from its experience, its necessities and its higher
instincts. And that law surely does not demand that the injured party
to the marriage bond should be forever tied to one who disregards
and violates every obligation that it imposes--to one with whom it is
impossible to cohabit--to one whose touch is contamination. Nor does
it demand that such injured party, if legally free, should be forever
debarred from forming other ties through which the lost hopes of
happiness for life may be restored. It is not reason, and it can not
be law--divine, or moral--that unfaithfulness, or willful and obstinate
desertion, or persistent cruelty of the stronger party, should afford no
ground for relief.......If no redress be legalized, the law itself will
be set at defiance, and greater injury to soul and body will result from
clandestine methods of relief."

Surely, this is good, wholesome, practical common sense.


SENATOR DOLPH.

Senator Dolph strikes a strong blow, and takes the foundation from under
the idiotic idea of legal separation without divorce. He says: "As there
should be no partial divorce, which leaves the parties in the condition
aptly described by an eminent jurist as 'a wife without a husband and
a husband without a wife,' so, as a matter of public expediency, and
in the interest of public morals, whenever and however the marriage
is dissolved, both parties should be left free to remarry." Again:
"Prohibition of remarriage is likely to injure society more than the
remarriage of the guilty party;" and the Senator says, with great force:
"Divorce for proper causes, free from fraud and collusion, conserves the
moral integrity of the family."

In answering the question as to whether absolute prohibition of divorce
tends to morality or immorality, the Senator cites the case of South
Carolina. In that State, divorces were prohibited, and in consequence
of this prohibition, the proportion of his property which a married man
might give to his concubine was regulated by law.


THE ARGUMENT CONTINUED, IN COLLOQUIAL FORM.

Those who have written on the subject of divorce seem to be divided into
two classes--the supernaturalists and the naturalists. The first class
rely on tradition, inspired books, the opinions of theologians as
expressed in creeds, and the decisions of ecclesiastical tribunals. The
second class take into account the nature of human beings, their own
experience, and the facts of life, as they know them. The first class
live for another world; the second, for this--the one in which we live.

The theological theorists regard men and women as depraved, in
consequence of what they are pleased to call "the fall of man," while
the men and women of common sense know that the race has slowly and
painfully progressed through countless years of suffering and toil. The
priests insist that marriage is a sacrament; the philosopher, that it is
a contract.

The question as to the propriety of granting divorces cannot now be
settled by quoting passages of Scripture, or by appealing to creeds,
or by citing the acts of legislatures or the decisions of courts. With
intelligent millions, the Scriptures are no longer considered as of the
slightest authority. They pay no more regard to the Bible than to the
Koran, the Zend-Avestas, or the Popol Vuh--neither do they care for the
various creeds that were formulated by barbarian ancestors, nor for the
laws and decisions based upon the savagery of the past.

In the olden times when religions were manufactured--when priest-craft
and lunacy governed the world--the women were not consulted. They were
regarded and treated as serfs and menials--looked upon as a species of
property to be bought and sold like the other domestic animals. This
view or estimation of woman was undoubtedly in the mind of the author of
the Ten Commandments when he said: "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's
wife,--nor his ox."

Such, however, has been the advance of woman in all departments of
knowledge--such advance having been made in spite of the efforts of the
church to keep her the slave of faith--that the obligations, rights
and remedies growing out of the contract of marriage and its violation,
cannot be finally determined without her consent and approbation.
Legislators and priests must consult with wives and mothers. They must
become acquainted with their wants and desires--with their profound
aversions* their pure hatreds, their loving self-denials, and, above
all, with the religion of the body that moulds and dominates their
lives.

We have learned to suspect the truth of the old, because it is old, and
for that reason was born in the days of slavery and darkness--because
the probability is that the parents of the old were ignorance
and superstition. We are beginning to be wise enough to take into
consideration the circumstances of our own time--the theories and
aspirations of the present--the changed conditions of the world--the
discoveries and inventions that have modified or completely changed
the standards of the greatest of the human race. We are on the eve of
discovering that nothing should be done for the sake of gods, but all
for the good of man--nothing for another world--everything for this.

All the theories must be tested by experience, by facts. The moment a
supernatural theory comes in contact with a natural fact, it falls to
chaos. Let us test all these theories about marriage and divorce--all
this sacramental, indissoluble imbecility, with a real case--with a fact
in life.

A few years ago a man and woman fell in love and were married in a
German village. The woman had a little money and this was squandered by
the husband. When the money was gone, the husband deserted his wife and
two little children, leaving them to live as best they might. She had
honestly given her hand and heart, and believed that if she could only
see him once more--if he could again look into her eyes--he would
come back to her. The husband had fled to America. The wife lived four
hundred miles from the sea. Taking her two little children with her, she
traveled on foot the entire distance. For eight weeks she journeyed, and
when she reached the sea--tired, hungry, worn out, she fell unconscious
in the street. She was taken to the hospital, and for many weeks fought
for life upon the shore of death. At last she recovered, and sailed for
New York. She was enabled to get just enough money to buy a steerage
ticket.

A few days ago, while wandering in the streets of New York in search of
her husband, she sank unconscious to the sidewalk. She was taken into
the home of another. In a little while her husband entered. He caught
sight of his wife. She ran toward him, threw her arms about his neck,
and cried: "At last I have found you!" "With an oath, he threw her to
the floor; he bruised her flesh with his feet and fists; he dragged her
into the hall, and threw her into the street."

Let us suppose that this poor wife sought out Cardinal Gibbons and the
Right Honorable William E. Gladstone, for the purpose of asking their
advice. Let us imagine the conversation:

_The Wife_. My dear Cardinal, I was married four years ago. I loved
my husband and I was sure that he loved me. Two babes were born. He
deserted me without cause. He left me in poverty and want. Feeling that
he had been overcome by some delusion--tempted by something more than
he could bear, and dreaming that if I could look upon his face again he
would return, I followed-him on foot. I walked, with my children in my
arms, four hundred miles. I crossed the sea. I found him at last--and
instead of giving me again his love, he fell upon me like a wild beast.
He bruised and blackened my flesh. He threw me from him, and for my
proffered love I received curses and blows. Another man, touched by
the evidence of my devotion, made my acquaintance--came to my
relief--supplied my wants--gave me and my children comfort, and then
offered me his hand and heart, in marriage. My dear Cardinal, I told
him that I was a married woman, and he told me that I should obtain a
divorce, and so I have come to ask your counsel.

_The Cardinal_. My dear woman, God instituted in Paradise the marriage
state and sanctified it, and he established its law of unity and
declared its indissolubility.

_The Wife_. But, Mr. Cardinal, if it be true that "God instituted
marriage in the Garden of Eden, and declared its unity and
indissolubility," how do you account for the fact that this same God
afterward upheld polygamy? How is it that he forgot to say anything on
the subject when he gave the Ten Commandments to Moses?

_The Cardinal_. You must remember that the institution of marriage
suffered in the fall of man.

_The Wife_. How does that throw any light upon my case? That was long
ago. Surely, I was not represented at that time, and is it right that I
should be punished for what was done by others in the very beginning of
the world?

_The Cardinal._ Christ reasserted in clear and unequivocal terms, the
sanctity, unity and indissolubility of marriage, and Christ gave to this
state an added holiness, and a dignity higher far than it had from the
beginning.

_The Wife_. How did it happen that Jacob, while in direct communication
with God, married, not his deceased wife's sister, but both sisters
while both were living? And how, my dear Cardinal, do you account for
the fact that God upheld concubinage?

_The Cardinal._ Marriage is a sacrament. You seem to ask me whether
divorce from the bond of marriage can ever be allowed? I answer with an
emphatic theological No; and as a reason for this No, I say, Thus saith
the Lord. To allow a divorce and to permit the divorced parties, or
either of them, to remarry, is one species of polygamy. There are two
kinds--the simultaneous and the successive.

_The Wife_. But why did God allow simultaneous polygamy in Palestine?
Was it any better in Palestine then than it is in Utah now? If a wife
dies, and the husband marries another wife, is not that successive
polygamy?

_The Cardinal_. Curiosity leads to the commission of deadly sins.
We should be satisfied with a Thus saith the Lord, and you should be
satisfied with a Thus saith the Cardinal. If you have the right to
inquire--to ask questions--then you take upon yourself the right of
deciding after the questions have been answered. This is the end of
authority. This undermines the cathedral. You must remember the words of
our Lord: "What God hath joined together, let not man put asunder."

_The Wife_. Do you really think that God joined us together? Did he at
the time know what kind of man he was joining to me? Did he then know
that he was a wretch, an ingrate, a kind of wild beast? Did he then know
that this husband would desert me--leave me with two babes in my arms,
without raiment and without food? Did God put his seal upon this bond
of marriage, upon this sacrament, and it was well-pleasing in his sight
that my life should be sacrificed, and does he leave me now to crawl
toward death, in poverty and tears?

_The Cardinal_. My dear woman, I will not linger here to point out to
you the need of seeking from a higher than an earthly power the grace to
suffer and be strong.

_The Wife_. Mr. Cardinal, am I under any obligation to God? Will it
increase the happiness of the infinite for me to remain homeless
and husbandless? Another offers to make me his wife and to give me a
home,--to take care of my children and to fill my heart with joy. If I
accept, will the act lessen the felicity or ecstasy of heaven? Will it
add to the grief of God? Will it in any way affect his well-being?

_The Cardinal._ Nothing that we can do can effect the well-being of God.
He is infinitely above his children.

_The Wife_. Then why should he insist upon the sacrifice of my life? Mr.
Cardinal, you do not seem to sympathize with me. You do not understand
the pangs I feel. You are too far away from my heart, and your words
of consolation do not heal the bruise; they leave me as I now leave
you--without hope. I will ask the advice of the Right Honorable William
E. Gladstone.

_The Wife_. Mr. Gladstone, you know my story, and so I ask that you will
give me the benefit of your knowledge, of your advice.

_Mr. Gladstone_. My dear woman, marriage is essentially a contract for
life, and only expires when life itself expires. I say this because
Christian marriage involves a vow before God, and no authority has been
given to the Christian Church to cancel such a vow.

_The Wife_. Do you consider that God was one of the contracting parties
in my marriage? Must all vows made to God be kept? Suppose the vow was
made in ignorance, in excitement--must it be absolutely fulfilled? Will
it make any difference to God whether it is kept or not? Does not an
infinite God know the circumstances under which every vow is made? Will
he not take into consideration the imperfections, the ignorance, the
temptations and the passions of his children? Will God hold a poor girl
to the bitter dregs of a mistaken bargain? Have I not suffered enough?
Is it necessary that my heart should break? Did not God know at the time
the vow was made that it ought not to have been made? If he feels toward
me as a father should, why did he give no warning? Why did he accept
the vow? Why did he allow a contract to be made giving only to death the
annulling power? Is death more merciful than God?

_Mr. Gladstone_. All vows that are made to God must be kept. Do you not
remember that Jephthah agreed to sacrifice the first one who came out of
his house to meet him, and that he fulfilled the vow, although in doing
so, he murdered his own daughter. God makes no allowance for ignorance,
for temptation, for passion--nothing. Besides, my dear woman, to
cancel the contract of marriage lies beyond the province of the civil
legislature; it has no competency to annul the contract of marriage when
once made.

_The Wife_. The man who has rescued me from the tyranny of my
husband--the man who wishes to build me a home and to make my life worth
living, wishes to make with me a contract of marriage. This will give my
babes a home.

_Mr. Gladstone_. My dear madam, while divorce of any kind impairs the
integrity of the family, divorce with remarriage destroys it root and
branch.

_The Wife_. The integrity of my family is already destroyed. My husband
deserted his home--left us in the very depths of want. I have in my
arms two helpless babes. I love my children, and I love the man who has
offered to give them and myself another fireside. Can you say that this
is only destruction? The destruction has already occurred. A remarriage
gives a home to me and mine.

_Mr. Gladstone._ But, my dear mistaken woman, the parental and the
conjugal relations are joined together by the hand of the Almighty.

_The Wife._ Do you believe that the Almighty was cruel enough, in my
case, to join the parental and the conjugal relations, to the end that
they should endure as long as I can bear the sorrow? If there were three
parties to my marriage, my husband, myself, and God, should each be
bound by the contract to do something? What did God bind himself to
do? If nothing, why should he interfere? If nothing, my vow to him
was without consideration. You are as cruel and unsympathetic, Mr.
Gladstone, as the Cardinal. You have not the imagination to put yourself
in my place.

_Mr. Gladstone._ My dear madam, we must be governed by the law of
Christ, and there must be no remarriage. The husband and wife must
remain husband and wife until a separation is caused by death.

_The Wife._ If Christ was such a believer in the sacredness of the
marriage relation, why did he offer rewards not only in this world, but
in the next, to husbands who would desert their wives and follow him?

_Mr. Gladstone._ It is not for us to inquire. God's ways are not our
ways.

_The Wife._ Nature is better than you. A mother's love is higher and
deeper than your philosophy. I will follow the instincts of my heart. I
will provide a home for my babes, and for myself. I will be freed from
the infamous man who betrayed me. I will become the wife of another--of
one who loves me--and after having filled his life with joy, I hope to
die in his arms, surrounded by my children.


A few months ago, a priest made a confession--he could carry his secret
no longer. He admitted that he was married--that he was the father of
two children--that he had violated his priestly vows. He was unfrocked
and cast out. After a time he came back and asked to be restored into
the bosom of the church, giving as his reason that he had abandoned his
wife and babes. This throws a flood of light on the theological view of
marriage.

I know of nothing equal to this, except the story of the Sandwich Island
chief who was converted by the missionaries, and wished to join the
church. On cross-examination, it turned out that he had twelve wives,
and he was informed that a polygamist could not be a Christian. The next
year he presented himself again for the purpose of joining the church,
and stated that he was not a polygamist--that he had only one wife. When
the missionaries asked him what he had done with the other eleven he
replied: "I ate them."

The indissoluble marriage was a reaction from polygamy. The church has
always pretended that it was governed by the will of God, and that for
all its dogmas it had a "thus saith the Lord." Reason and experience
were branded as false guides. The priests insisted that they were in
direct communication with the Infinite--that they spoke by the authority
of God, and that the duty of the people was to obey without question and
to submit with at least the appearance of gladness.

We now know that no such communication exists--that priests spoke
without authority, and that the duty of the people was and is to examine
for themselves. We now know that no one knows what the will of God
is, or whether or not such a being exists. We now know that nature has
furnished all the light there is, and that the inspired books are like
all books, and that their value depends on the truth, the beauty, and
the wisdom they contain. We also know that it is now impossible to
substantiate the supernatural. Judging from experience--reasoning from
known facts--we can safely say that society has no right to demand the
sacrifice of an innocent individual.

Society has no right, under the plea of self-preservation, to compel
women to remain the wives of men who have violated the contract of
marriage, and who have become objects of contempt and loathing to
their wives. It is not to the best interest of society to maintain such
firesides--such homes.

The time has not arrived, in my judgment, for the Congress of the United
States, under an amendment to the Constitution, to pass a general
law applicable to all the States, fixing the terms and conditions of
divorce. The States of the Union are not equally enlightened. Some are
far more conservative than others. Let us wait until a majority of the
States have abandoned the theological theories upon this subject.

Upon this question light comes from the West, where men have recently
laid the foundations of States, and where the people are not manacled
and burdened with old constitutions and statutes and decisions, and
where with a large majority the tendency is to correct the mistakes of
their ancestors.

Let the States in their own way solve this question, and the time will
come when the people will be ready to enact sensible and reasonable
laws touching this important subject, and then the Constitution can be
amended and the whole subject controlled by Federal law.

The law, as it now exists in many of the States, is to the last degree
absurd and cruel. In some States the husband can obtain a divorce on the
ground that the wife has been guilty of adultery, but the wife cannot
secure a divorce from the husband simply for the reason that he has been
guilty of the same offence. So, in most of the States where divorce
is granted on account of desertion for a certain number of years, the
husband can return on the last day of the time fixed, and the poor wife
who has been left in want is obliged to receive the wretch with open
arms. In some States nothing is considered cruelty that does not
endanger life or limb or health. The whole question is in great
confusion, but after all there are some States where the law is
reasonable, and the consequence is, that hundreds and thousands of
suffering wives are released from a bondage worse than death.

The idea that marriage is something more than a contract is at the
bottom of all the legal and judicial absurdities that surround this
subject. The moment that it is regarded from a purely secular standpoint
the infamous laws will disappear. We shall then take into consideration
the real rights and obligations of the parties to the contract of
marriage. We shall have some respect for the sacred feelings of
mothers--for the purity of woman--the freedom of the fireside--the real
democracy of the hearthstone and, above all, for love, the purest, the
profoundest and the holiest of all passions.

We shall no longer listen to priests who regard celibacy as a higher
state than marriage, nor to those statesmen who look upon a barbarous
code as the foundation of all law.

As long as men imagine that they have property in wives; that women can
be owned, body and mind; that it is the duty of wives to obey; that the
husband is the master, the source of authority--that his will is law,
and that he can call on legislators and courts to protect his
superior rights, that to enforce obedience the power of the State is
pledged--just so long will millions of husbands be arrogant, tyrannical
and cruel.

No gentleman will be content to have a slave for the mother of his
children. Force has no place in the world of love. It is impossible to
control likes and dislikes by law. No one ever did and no one ever can
love on compulsion. Courts can not obtain jurisdiction of the heart.

The tides and currents of the soul care nothing for the creeds.
People who make rules for the conduct of others generally break them
themselves. It is so easy to bear with fortitude the misfortunes of
others.

Every child should be well-born--well fathered and mothered. Society has
as great an interest in children as in parents. The innocent should not
be compelled by law to suffer for the crimes of the guilty. Wretched and
weeping wives are not essential to the welfare of States and Nations.

The church cries now "whom God hath joined together let not man put
asunder"; but when the people are really civilized the State will say:
"whom Nature hath put asunder let not man bind and manacle together."

Robert G. Ingersoll.


ANSWER TO LYMAN ABBOTT.

     * This unfinished article was written as a reply to the Rev.
     Lyman Abbott's article entitled, "Flaws in Ingersollism,"
     which was printed in the April number of the North American
     Review for 1890.

IN your Open Letter to me, published in this Review, you attack what
you supposed to be my position, and ask several questions to which
you demand answers; but in the same letter, you state that you wish no
controversy with me. Is it possible that you wrote the letter to prevent
a controversy? Do you attack only those with whom you wish to live in
peace, and do you ask questions, coupled with a request that they remain
unanswered?

In addition to this, you have taken pains to publish in your own paper,
that it was no part of your design in the article in the _North American
Review_, to point out errors in my statements, and that this design
was distinctly disavowed in the opening paragraph of your article. You
further say, that your simple object was to answer the question "What is
Christianity?" May I be permitted to ask why you addressed the letter to
me, and why do you now pretend that, although you did address a letter
to me, I was not in your mind, and that you had no intention of pointing
out any flaws in my doctrines or theories? Can you afford to occupy this
position?

You also stated in your own paper, _The Christian Union_, that the title
of your article had been changed by the editor of the _Review_, without
your knowledge or consent; leaving it to be inferred that the title
given to the article by you was perfectly consistent with your
statement, that it was no part of your design in the article in the
_North American Review_, to point out errors in my (Ingersoll's)
statements; and that your simple object was to answer the question, What
is Christianity? And yet, the title which you gave your own article was
as follows: "To Robert G. Ingersoll: A Reply."

First. We are told that only twelve crimes were punished by
death: idolatry, witchcraft, blasphemy, fraudulent prophesying,
Sabbath-breaking, rebellion against parents, resistance to judicial
officers, murder, homicide by negligence, adultery, incestuous
marriages, and kidnapping. We are then told that as late as the year
1600 there were 263 crimes capital in England.

Does not the world know that all the crimes or offences punishable
by death in England could be divided in the same way? For instance,
treason. This covered a multitude of offences, all punishable by death.
Larceny covered another multitude. Perjury--trespass, covered many
others. There might still be made a smaller division, and one who had
made up his mind to define the Criminal Code of England might have said
that there was only one offence punishable by death--wrong-doing.

The facts with regard to the Criminal Code of England are, that up to
the reign of George I. there were 167 offences punishable by death.
Between the accession of George I. and termination of the reign of
George III., there were added 56 new crimes to which capital punishment
was attached. So that when George IV. became king, there were 223
offences capital in England.

John Bright, commenting upon this subject, says:

"During all these years, so far as this question goes, our Government
was becoming more cruel and more barbarous, and we do not find, and
have not found, that in the great Church of England, with its fifteen
or twenty thousand ministers, and with its more than score of Bishops
in the House of Lords, there ever was a voice raised, or an organization
formed, in favor of a more merciful code, or in condemnation of the
enormous cruelties which our law was continually inflicting. Was not
Voltaire justified in saying that the English were the only people who
murdered by law?"

As a matter of fact, taking into consideration the situation of the
people, the number of subjects covered by law, there were far more
offences capital in the days of Moses, than in the reign of George IV.
Is it possible that a minister, a theologian of the nineteenth century,
imagines that he has substantiated the divine origin of the Old
Testament by endeavoring to show that the government of God was not
quite as bad as that of England?

Mr. Abbott also informs us that the reason Moses killed so many was,
that banishment from the camp during the wandering in the Wilderness was
a punishment worse than death. If so, the poor wretches should at least
have been given their choice. Few, in my judgment, would have chosen
death, because the history shows that a large majority were continually
clamoring to be led back to Egypt. It required all the cunning and power
of God to keep the fugitives from returning in a body. Many were killed
by Jehovah, simply because they wished to leave the camp--because
they longed passionately for banishment, and thought with joy of the
flesh-pots of Egypt, preferring the slavery of Pharaoh to the liberty
of Jehovah. The memory of leeks and onions was enough to set their faces
toward the Nile.

Second. I am charged with saying that the Christian missionaries 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." Mr. Abbott denies
the truth of this statement.

Let me ask him, If the religion of Jesus Christ is preached clearly and
distinctly to a heathen, and the heathen understands it, and rejects it
deliberately, unequivocally, and finally, can he be saved?

This question is capable of a direct answer. The reverend gentleman now
admits that an acceptance of Christianity is not essential to salvation.
If the acceptance of Christianity is not essential to the salvation of
the heathen who has heard Christianity preached--knows what its claims
are, and the evidences that support those claims, is the acceptance of
Christianity essential to the salvation of an adult intelligent citizen
of the United States? Will the reverend gentleman tell us, and without
circumlocution, whether the acceptance of Christianity is necessary to
the salvation of anybody? If he says that it is, then he admits that I
was right in my statement concerning what is said to the heathen. If he
says that it is not, then I ask him, What do you do with the following
passages of Scripture: "There is none other name given under heaven or
among men whereby we must be saved."

"Go ye into all the world and preach the Gospel to every creature, and
whosoever believeth, and is baptized, shall be saved; and whosoever
believeth not shall be damned"?

I am delighted to know that millions of Pagans will be found to have
entered into eternal life without any knowledge of Christ or his
religion.

Another question naturally arises: If a heathen can hear and reject
the Gospel, and yet be saved, what will become of the heathen who never
heard of the Gospel? Are they all to be saved? If all who never heard
are to be saved, is it not dangerous to hear?--Is it not cruel to
preach? Why not stop preaching and let the entire world become heathen,
so that after this, no soul may be lost?

Third. You say that I desire to deprive mankind of their faith in
God, in Christ and in the Bible. I do not, and have not, endeavored to
destroy the faith of any man in a good, in a just, in a merciful God, or
in a reasonable, natural, human Christ, or in any truth that the Bible
may contain. I have endeavored--and with some degree of success--to
destroy the faith of man in the Jehovah of the Jews, and in the idea
that Christ was in fact the God of this universe. I have also endeavored
to show that there are many things in the Bible ignorant and cruel--that
the book was produced by barbarians and by savages, and that its
influence on the world has been bad.

And I do believe that life and property will be safer, that liberty will
be surer, that homes will be sweeter, and life will be more joyous, and
death less terrible, if the myth called Jehovah can be destroyed from
the human mind.

It seems to me that the heart of the Christian ought to burst into an
efflorescence of joy when he becomes satisfied that the Bible is only
the work of man; that there is no such place as perdition--that there
are no eternal flames--that men's souls are not to suffer everlasting
pain--that it is all insanity and ignorance and fear and horror. I
should think that every good and tender soul would be delighted to know
that there is no Christ who can say to any human being--to any father,
mother, or child--"Depart ye cursed into everlasting fire prepared for
the devil and his angels." I do believe that he will be far happier when
the Psalms of David are sung no more, and that he will be far better
when no one could sing the 109th Psalm without shuddering and horror.
These Psalms for the most part breathe the spirit of hatred, of revenge,
and of everything fiendish in the human heart. There are some good
lines, some lofty aspirations--these should be preserved; and to the
extent that they do give voice to the higher and holier emotions, they
should be preserved.

So I believe the world will be happier when the life of Christ, as it is
written now in the New Testament, is no longer believed.

Some of the Ten Commandments will fall into oblivion, and the world will
be far happier when they do. Most of these commandments are universal.
They were not discovered by Jehovah--they were not original with him.

"Thou shalt not kill," is as old as life. And for this reason a large
majority of people in all countries have objected to being murdered.
"Thou shalt not steal," is as old as industry. There never has been a
human being who was willing to work through the sun and rain and heat of
summer, simply for the purpose that some one who had lived in idleness
might steal the result of his labor. Consequently, in all countries
where it has been necessary to work, larceny has been a crime. "Thou
shalt not lie," is as old as speech. Men have desired, as a rule, to
know the truth; and truth goes with courage and candor. "Thou shalt not
commit adultery," is as old as love. "Honor thy father and thy mother,"
is as old as the family relation.

All these commandments were known among all peoples thousands and
thousands of years before Moses was born. The new one, "Thou shalt
worship no other Gods but me," is a bad commandment--because that God
was not worthy of worship. "Thou shalt make no graven image,"--a bad
commandment. It was the death of art. "Thou shalt do no work on the
Sabbath-day,"--a bad commandment; the object of that being, that
one-seventh of the time should be given to the worship of a monster,
making a priesthood necessary, and consequently burdening industry with
the idle and useless.

If Professor Clifford felt lonely at the loss of such a companion as
Jehovah, it is impossible for me to sympathize with his feelings. No one
wishes to destroy the hope of another life--no one wishes to blot out
any good that is, or that is hoped for, or the hope of which gives
consolation to the world. Neither do I agree with this gentleman when
he says, "Let us have the truth, cost what it may." I say: Let us have
happiness--well-being. The truth upon these matters is of but little
importance compared with the happiness of mankind. Whether there is, or
is not, a God, is absolutely unimportant, compared with the well-being
of the race. Whether the Bible is, or is not, inspired, is not of as
much consequence as human happiness.

Of course, if the Old and New Testaments are true, then human happiness
becomes impossible, either in this world, or in the world to come--that
is, impossible to all people who really believe that these books are
true. It is often necessary to know the truth, in order to prepare
ourselves to bear consequences; but in the metaphysical world, truth is
of no possible importance except as it affects human happiness.

If there be a God, he certainly will hold us to no stricter
responsibility about metaphysical truth than about scientific truth.
It ought to be just as dangerous to make a mistake in Geology as in
Theology--in Astronomy as in the question of the Atonement.

I am not endeavoring to overthrow any faith in God, but the faith in a
bad God. And in order to accomplish this, I have endeavored to show that
the question of whether an Infinite God exists, or not, is beyond the
power of the human mind. Anything is better than to believe in the God
of the Bible.

Fourth. Mr. Abbott, like the rest, appeals to names instead of to
arguments. He appeals to Socrates, and yet he does not agree with
Socrates. He appeals to Goethe, and yet Goethe was far from a Christian.
He appeals to Isaac Newton and to Mr. Gladstone--and after mentioning
these names, says, that on his side is this faith of the wisest, the
best, the noblest of mankind.

Was Socrates after all greater than Epicurus--had he a subtler mind--was
he any nobler in his life? Was Isaac Newton so much greater than
Humboldt--than Charles Darwin, who has revolutionized the thought of
the civilized world? Did he do the one-hundredth part of the good for
mankind that was done by Voltaire--was he as great a metaphysician as
Spinoza?

But why should we appeal to names?

In a contest between Protestantism and Catholicism are you willing
to abide by the tests of names? In a contest between Christianity and
Paganism, in the first century, would you have considered the question
settled by names? Had Christianity then produced the equals of the great
Greeks and Romans? The new can always be overwhelmed with names that
were in favor of the old. Sir Isaac Newton, in his day, could have been
overwhelmed by the names of the great who had preceded him. Christ was
overwhelmed by this same method--Moses and the Prophets were appealed
to as against this Peasant of Palestine. This is the argument of
the cemetery--this is leaving the open field, and crawling behind
gravestones.

Newton was understood to be, all his life, a believer in the Trinity;
but he dared not say what his real thought was. After his death there
was found among his papers an argument that he published against the
divinity of Christ. This had been published in Holland, because he was
afraid to have it published in England. How do we really know what the
great men of whom you speak believed, or believe?

I do not agree with you when you say that Gladstone is the greatest
statesman. He will not, in my judgment, for one moment compare with
Thomas Jefferson--with Alexander Hamilton--or, to come down to later
times, with Gambetta; and he is immeasurably below such a man as Abraham
Lincoln. Lincoln was not a believer. Gambetta was an atheist.

And yet, these names prove nothing. Instead of citing a name, and saying
that this great man--Sir Isaac Newton, for instance--believed in our
doctrine, it is far better to give the reasons that Sir Isaac Newton had
for his belief.

Nearly all organizations are filled with snobbishness. Each church has
a list of great names, and the members feel in duty bound to stand by
their great men.

Why is idolatry the worst of sins? Is it not far better to worship a God
of stone than a God who threatens to punish in eternal flames the most
of his children? If you simply mean by idolatry a false conception of
God, you must admit that no finite mind can have a true conception
of God--and you must admit that no two men can have the same false
conception of God, and that, as a consequence, no two men can worship
identically the same Deity. Consequently they are all idolaters.

I do not think idolatry the worst of sins. Cruelty is the worst of
sins. It is far better to worship a false God, than to injure your
neighbor--far better to bow before a monstrosity of stone, than to
enslave your fellow-men.

Fifth. I am glad that you admit that a bad God is worse than no God.
If so, the atheist is far better than the believer in Jehovah, and far
better than the believer in the divinity of Jesus Christ--because I am
perfectly satisfied that none but a bad God would threaten to say to any
human soul, "Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the
devil and his angels." So that, before any Christian can be better than
an atheist, he must reform his God.

The agnostic does not simply say, "I do not know." He goes another step,
and he says, with great emphasis, that you do not know. He insists that
you are trading on the ignorance of others, and on the fear of others.
He is not satisfied with saying that you do not know,--he demonstrates
that you do not know, and he drives you from the field of fact--he
drives you from the realm of reason--he drives you from the light, into
the darkness of conjecture--into the world of dreams and shadows, and he
compels you to say, at last, that your faith has no foundation in fact.

You say that religion tells us that "life is a battle with
temptation--the result is eternal life to the victors."

But what of the victims? Did your God create these victims, knowing
that they would be victims? Did he deliberately change the clay into
the man--into a being with wants, surrounded by difficulties and
temptations--and did he deliberately surround this being with
temptations that he knew he could not withstand, with obstacles that he
knew he could not overcome, and whom he knew at last would fall a victim
upon the field of death? Is there no hope for this victim? No remedy for
this mistake of your God? Is he to remain a victim forever? Is it not
better to have no God than such a God? Could the condition of this
victim be rendered worse by the death of God?

Sixth. Of course I agree with you when you say that character is worth
more than condition--that life is worth more than place. But I do not
agree with you when you say that being--that simple existence--is better
than happiness. If a man is not happy, it is far better not to be. I
utterly dissent from your philosophy of life. From my standpoint, I
do not understand you when you talk about self-denial. I can imagine a
being of such character, that certain things he would do for the one
he loved, would by others be regarded as acts of self-denial, but they
could not be so regarded by him. In these acts of so-called selfdenial,
he would find his highest joy.

This pretence that to do right is to carry a cross, has done an immense
amount of injury to the world. Only those who do wrong carry a cross. To
do wrong is the only possible self-denial.

The pulpit has always been saying that, although the virtuous and good,
the kind, the tender, and the loving, may have a very bad time here,
yet they will have their reward in heaven--having denied themselves the
pleasures of sin, the ecstasies of crime, they will be made happy in
a world hereafter; but that the wicked, who have enjoyed larceny, and
rascality in all its forms, will be punished hereafter.

All this rests upon the idea that man should sacrifice himself, not
for his fellow-men, but for God--that he should do something for
the Almighty--that he should go hungry to increase the happiness of
heaven--that he should make a journey to Our Lady of Loretto, with dried
peas in his shoes; that he should refuse to eat meat on Friday; that he
should say so many prayers before retiring to rest; that he should
do something that he hated to do, in order that he might win the
approbation of the heavenly powers. For my part, I think it much better
to feed the hungry, than to starve yourself.

You ask me, What is Christianity? You then proceed to partially answer
your own question, and you pick out what you consider the best, and call
that Christianity. But you have given only one side, and that side not
all of it good. Why did you not give the other side of Christianity--the
side that talks of eternal flames, of the worm that dieth not--the side
that denounces the investigator and the thinker--the side that promises
an eternal reward for credulity--the side that tells men to take no
thought for the morrow but to trust absolutely in a Divine Providence?

"Within thirty years after the crucifixion of Jesus, faith in his
resurrection had become the inspiration of the church." I ask you, Was
there a resurrection?

What advance has been made in what you are pleased to call the doctrine
of the brotherhood of man, through the instrumentality of the church?
Was there as much dread of God among the Pagans as there has been among
Christians?

I do not believe that the church is a conservator of civilization. It
sells crime on credit. I do not believe it is an educator of good will.
It has caused more war than all other causes. Neither is it a school of
a nobler reverence and faith. The church has not turned the minds of
men toward principles of justice, mercy and truth--it has destroyed the
foundation of justice. It does not minister comfort at the coffin--it
fills the mourners with fear. It has never preached a gospel of "Peace
on Earth"--it has never preached "Good Will toward men."

For my part, I do not agree with you when you say that: "The most
stalwart anti-Romanists can hardly question that with the Roman Catholic
Church abolished by instantaneous decree, its priests banished and its
churches closed, the disaster to American communities would be simply
awful in its proportions, if not irretrievable in its results."

I may agree with you in this, that the most stalwart anti-Romanists
would not wish to have the Roman Catholic Church abolished by tyranny,
and its priests banished, and its churches closed. But if the abolition
of that church could be produced by the development of the human mind;
and if its priests, instead of being banished, should become good and
useful citizens, and were in favor of absolute liberty of mind, then
I say that there would be no disaster, but a very wide and great and
splendid blessing. The church has been the Centaur--not Theseus; the
church has not been Hercules, but the serpent.

So I believe that there is something far nobler than loyalty to any
particular man. Loyalty to the truth as we perceive it--loyalty to our
duty as we know it--loyalty to the ideals of our brain and heart--is,
to my mind, far greater and far nobler than loyalty to the life of
any particular man or God. There is a kind of slavery--a kind of
abdication--for any man to take any other man as his absolute pattern
and to hold him up as the perfection of all life, and to feel that it
is his duty to grovel in the dust in his presence. It is better to feel
that the springs of action are within yourself--that you are poised upon
your own feet--and that you look at the world with your own eyes, and
follow the path that reason shows.

I do not believe that the world could be re-organized upon the simple
but radical principles of the Sermon on the Mount. Neither do I believe
that this sermon was ever delivered by one man. It has in it many
fragments that I imagine were dropped from many mouths. It lacks
coherence--it lacks form. Some of the sayings are beautiful, sublime and
tender; and others seem to be weak, contradictory and childish.

Seventh. I do not say that I do not know whether this faith is true, or
not. I say distinctly and clearly, that I know it is not true. I admit
that I do not know whether there is any infinite personality or
not, because I do not know that my mind is an absolute standard. But
according to my mind, there is no such personality; and according to
my mind, it is an infinite absurdity to suppose that there is such an
infinite personality. But I do know something of human nature; I do know
a little of the history of mankind; and I know enough to know that what
is known as the Christian faith, is not true. I am perfectly satisfied,
beyond all doubt and beyond all per-adventure, that all miracles are
falsehoods. I know as well as I know that I live--that others live--that
what you call your faith, is not true.

I am glad, however, that you admit that the miracles of the Old
Testament, or the inspiration of the Old Testament, are not essentials.
I draw my conclusion from what you say: "I have not in this paper
discussed the miracles, or the inspiration of the Old Testament; partly
because those topics, in my opinion, occupy a subordinate position in
Christian faith, and I wish to consider only essentials." At the same
time, you tell us that, "On historical evidence, and after a careful
study of the arguments on both sides, I regard as historical the events
narrated in the four Gospels, ordinarily regarded as miracles." At the
same time, you say that you fully agree with me that the order of nature
has never been violated or interrupted. In other words, you must believe
that all these so-called miracles were actually in accordance with the
laws, or facts rather, in nature.

Eighth. You wonder that I could write the following: "To me there is
nothing of any particular value in the Pentateuch. There is not, so
far as I know, a line in the Book of Genesis calculated to make a human
being better." You then call my attention to "The magnificent Psalm of
Praise to the Creator with which Genesis opens; to the beautiful legend
of the first sin and its fateful consequences; the inspiring story of
Abraham--the first selfexile for conscience sake; the romantic story
of Joseph the Peasant boy becoming a Prince," which you say "would have
attraction for any one if he could have found a charm in, for example,
the Legends of the Round Table."

The "magnificent Psalm of Praise to the Creator with which Genesis
opens" is filled with magnificent mistakes, and is utterly absurd.
"The beautiful legend of the first sin and its fateful consequences"
is probably the most contemptible story that was ever written, and the
treatment of the first pair by Jehovah is unparalleled in the cruelty of
despotic governments. According to this infamous account, God cursed the
mothers of the world, and added to the agonies of maternity. Not only
so, but he made woman a slave, and man something, if possible, meaner--a
master.

I must confess that I have very little admiration for Abraham. (Give
reasons.)

So far as Joseph is concerned, let me give you the history of
Joseph,--how he conspired with Pharaoh to enslave the people of Egypt.

You seem to be astonished that I am not in love with the character of
Joseph, as pictured in the Bible. Let me tell you who Joseph was.

It seems, from the account, that Pharaoh had a dream. None of his wise
men could give its meaning. He applied to Joseph, and Joseph, having
been enlightened by Jehovah, gave the meaning of the dream to Pharaoh.
He told the king that there would be in Egypt seven years of great
plenty, and after these seven years of great plenty, there would be
seven years of famine, and that the famine would consume the land.
Thereupon Joseph gave to Pharaoh some advice. First, he was to take up a
fifth part of the land of Egypt, in the seven plenteous years--he was to
gather all the food of those good years, and lay up corn, and he was to
keep this food in the cities. This food was to be a store to the land
against the seven years of famine. And thereupon Pharaoh said unto
Joseph, "Forasmuch as God hath showed thee all this, there is none
so discreet and wise as thou art: thou shalt be over my house, and
according unto thy word shall all my people be ruled: only in the throne
will I be greater than thou. And Pharaoh said unto Joseph, See I have
set thee over all the land of Egypt."

We are further informed by the holy writer, that in the seven plenteous
years the earth brought forth by handfuls, and that Joseph gathered up
all the food of the seven years, which were in the land of Egypt, and
laid up the food in the cities, and that he gathered corn as the sand of
the sea. This was done through the seven plenteous years. Then commenced
the years of dearth. Then the people of Egypt became hungry, and they
cried to Pharaoh for bread, and Pharaoh said unto all the Egyptians, Go
unto Joseph. The famine was over all the face of the earth, and Joseph
opened the storehouses, and sold unto the Egyptians, and the famine
waxed sore in the land of Egypt. There was no bread in the land, and
Egypt fainted by reason of the famine. And Joseph gathered up all the
money that was found in the land of Egypt, by the sale of corn, and
brought the money to Pharaoh's house. After a time the money failed in
the land of Egypt, and the Egyptians came unto Joseph and said, "Give
us bread; why should we die in thy presence? for the money faileth." And
Joseph said, "Give your cattle, and I will give you for your cattle."
And they brought their cattle unto Joseph, and he gave them bread in
exchange for horses and flocks and herds, and he fed them with bread for
all their cattle for that year. When the year was ended, they came unto
him the second year, and said, "Our money is spent, our cattle are gone,
naught is left but our bodies and our lands." And they said to Joseph,
"Buy us, and our land, for bread, and we and our land will be servants
unto Pharaoh; and give us seed that we may live and not die, that the
land be not desolate." And Joseph bought all the land of Egypt for
Pharaoh; for the Egyptians sold every man his field, because the famine
prevailed over them. So the land became Pharaoh's. Then Joseph said to
the people, "I have bought you this day, and your land; lo, here is
seed for you, and ye shall sow the land." And thereupon the people said,
"Thou hast saved our lives; we will be Pharaoh's servants." "And Joseph
made it a law over the land of Egypt unto this day, that Pharaoh should
have the fifth part, _except the land of the priests only, which became
not Pharaoh's_."

Yet I am asked, by a minister of the nineteenth century, whether it is
possible that I do not admire the character of Joseph. This man received
information from God--and gave that information to Pharaoh, to the end
that he might impoverish and enslave a nation. This man, by means of
intelligence received from Jehovah, took from the people what they had,
and compelled them at last to sell themselves, their wives and their
children, and to become in fact bondmen forever. Yet I am asked by the
successor of Henry Ward Beecher, if I do not admire the infamous wretch
who was guilty of the greatest crime recorded in the literature of the
world.

So, it is difficult for me to understand why you speak of Abraham as "a
self-exile for conscience sake." If the king of England had told one of
his favorites that if he would go to North America he would give him
a territory hundreds of miles square, and would defend him in its
possession, and that he there might build up an empire, and the favorite
believed the king, and went, would you call him "a self-exile for
conscience sake"?

According to the story in the Bible, the Lord promised Abraham that if
he would leave his country and kindred, he would make of him a great
nation, would bless him, and make his name great, that he would bless
them that blessed Abraham, and that he would curse him whom Abraham
cursed; and further, that in him all the families of the earth should
be blest. If this is true, would you call Abraham "a self-exile for
conscience sake"? If Abraham had only known that the Lord was not to
keep his promise, he probably would have remained where he was--the fact
being, that every promise made by the Lord to Abraham, was broken.

Do you think that Abraham was "a self-exile for conscience sake" when he
told Sarah, his wife, to say that she was his sister--in consequence of
which she was taken into Pharaoh's house, and by reason of which Pharaoh
made presents of sheep and oxen and man servants and maid servants to
Abraham? What would you call such a proceeding now? What would you think
of a man who was willing that his wife should become the mistress of the
king, provided the king would make him presents?

Was it for conscience sake that the same subterfuge was adopted again,
when Abraham said to Abimelech, the King of Gerar, She is my sister--in
consequence of which Abimelech sent for Sarah and took her?

Mr. Ingersoll having been called to Montana, as counsel in a long and
important law suit, never finished this article.


ANSWER TO ARCHDEACON FARRAR.

     * This fragment (found among Col. Ingersoll's papers) is a
     mere outline of a contemplated answer to Archdeacon Farrar's
     article in the North American Review, May, 1810, entitled:
     "A Few Words on Col. Ingersoll."

ARCHDEACON FARRAR, in the opening of his article, in a burst of
confidence, takes occasion to let the world know how perfectly angelic
he intends to be. He publicly proclaims that he can criticise the
arguments of one with whom he disagrees, without resorting to invective,
or becoming discourteous. Does he call attention to this because most
theologians are hateful and ungentlemanly? Is it a rare thing for the
pious to be candid? Why should an Archdeacon be cruel, or even ill-bred?
Yet, in the very beginning, the Archdeacon in effect says: Behold, I
show you a mystery--a Christian who can write about an infidel, without
invective and without brutality. Is it then so difficult for those who
love their enemies to keep within the bounds of decency when speaking of
unbelievers who have never injured them?

As a matter of fact, I was somewhat surprised when I read the
proclamation to the effect that the writer was not to use invective,
and was to be guilty of no discourtesy; but on reading the article, and
finding that he had failed to keep his promise, I was not surprised.

It is an old habit with theologians to beat the living with the bones of
the dead. The arguments that cannot be answered provoke epithet.


ARCHDEACON FARRAR criticises several of my statements: _The same rules
or laws of probability must govern in religious questions as in others_.

This apparently self-evident statement seems to excite almost the ire of
this Archdeacon, and for the purpose of showing that it is not true,
he states, first, that "the first postulate of revelation is that it
appeals to man's spirit;" second, that "the spirit is a sphere of being
which transcends the spheres of the senses and the understanding;"
third, that "if a man denies the existence of a spiritual intuition,
he is like a blind man criticising colors, or a deaf man criticising
harmonies;" fourth, that "revelation must be judged by its own
criteria;" and fifth, that "St. Paul draws a marked distinction between
the spirit of the world and the spirit which is of God," and that the
same Saint said that "the natural man receiveth not the things of the
spirit of God, for they are foolishness unto him, and he cannot know
them, because they are spiritually discerned." Let us answer these
objections in their order.

1. "The first postulate of revelation is that it appeals to man's
spirit." What does the Archdeacon mean by "spirit"? A man says that he
has received a revelation from God, and he wishes to convince another
man that he has received a revelation--how does he proceed? Does he
appeal to the man's reason? Will he tell him the circumstances under
which he received the revelation? Will he tell him why he is convinced
that it was from God? Will the Archdeacon be kind enough to tell how the
spirit can be approached passing by the reason, the understanding,
the judgment and the intellect? If the Archdeacon replies that the
revelation itself will bear the evidence within itself, what then, I
ask, does he mean by the word "evidence"? Evidence about what? Is it
such evidence as satisfies the intelligence, convinces the reason, and
is it in conformity with the known facts of the mind?

It may be said by the Archdeacon that anything that satisfies what he
is pleased to call the spirit, that furnishes what it seems by nature to
require, is of supernatural origin. We hear music, and this music seems
to satisfy the desire for harmony--still, no one argues, from that
fact, that music is of supernatural origin. It may satisfy a want in the
brain--a want unknown until the music was heard--and yet we all agree
in saying that music has been naturally produced, and no one claims that
Beethoven, or Wagner, was inspired.

The same may be said of things that satisfy the palate--of statues, of
paintings, that reveal to him who looks, the existence of that of
which before that time he had not even dreamed. Why is it that we love
color--that we are pleased with harmonies, or with a succession of
sounds rising and falling at measured intervals? No one would answer
this question by saying that sculptors and painters and musicians were
inspired; neither would they say that the first postulate of art is that
it appeals to man's spirit, and for that reason the rules or laws of
probability have nothing to do with the question of art.

2. That "the spirit is a sphere of being which transcends the spheres of
the senses and the understanding." Let us imagine a man without senses.
He cannot feel, see, hear, taste, or smell. What is he? Would it be
possible for him to have an idea? Would such a man have a spirit to
which revelation could appeal, or would there be locked in the dungeon
of his brain a spirit, that is to say, a "sphere of being which
transcends the spheres of the senses and the understanding"? Admit that
in the person supposed, the machinery of life goes on--what is he more
than an inanimate machine?

3. That "if a man denies the very existence of a spiritual intuition,
he is like a blind man criticising colors, or a deaf man criticising
harmonies." What do you mean by "spiritual intuition"? When did this
"spiritual intuition" become the property of man--before, or after,
birth? Is it of supernatural, or miraculous, origin, and is it possible
that this "spiritual intuition" is independent of the man? Is it based
upon experience? Was it in any way born of the senses, or of the effect
of nature upon the brain--that is to say, of things seen, or heard, or
touched? Is a "spiritual intuition" an entity? If man can exist without
the "spiritual intuition," do you insist that the "spiritual intuition"
can exist without the man?

You may remember that Mr. Locke frequently remarked: "Define your
terms." It is to be regretted that in the hurry of writing your article,
you forgot to give an explanation of "spiritual intuition."

I will also take the liberty of asking you how a blind man could
criticise colors, and how a deaf man could criticise harmonies. Possibly
you may imagine that "spiritual intuition" can take cognizance of
colors, as well as of harmonies. Let me ask: Why cannot a blind man
criticise colors? Let me answer: For the same reason that Archdeacon
Farrar can tell us nothing about an infinite personality.

4. That "revelation must be judged by its own criteria." Suppose the
Bible had taught that selfishness, larceny and murder were virtues;
would you deny its inspiration? Would not your denial be based upon
a conclusion that had been reached by your reason that no intelligent
being could have been its author--that no good being could, by any
possibility, uphold the commission of such crimes? In that case would
you be guided by "spiritual intuition," or by your reason?

When we examine the claims of a history--as, for instance, a history
of England, or of America, are we to decide according to "spiritual
intuition," or in accordance with the laws or rules of probability?
Is there a different standard for a history written in Hebrew, several
thousand years ago, and one written in English in the nineteenth
century? If a history should now be written in England, in which the
most miraculous and impossible things should be related as facts, and
if I should deny these alleged facts, would you consider that the author
had overcome my denial by saying, "history must be judged by its own
criteria"?

5. That "the natural man receiveth not the things of the spirit of God,
for they are foolishness unto him, and he cannot know them, because they
are spiritually discerned." The Archdeacon admits that the natural man
cannot know the things of the spirit, because they are not naturally,
but spiritually, discerned. On the next page we are told, that "the
truths which Agnostics repudiate have been, and are, acknowledged by
all except a fraction of the human race." It goes without saying that
a large majority of the human race are natural; consequently, the
statement of the Archdeacon contradicts the statement of St. Paul.
The Archdeacon insists that all except a fraction of the human race
acknowledge the truths which Agnostics repudiate, and they must
acknowledge them because they are by them spiritually discerned; and
yet, St. Paul says that this is impossible, and insists that "the
natural man cannot know the things of the spirit of God, because they
are spiritually discerned."

There is only one way to harmonize the statement of the Archdeacon and
the Saint, and that is, by saying that nearly all of the human race
are unnatural, and that only a small fraction are natural, and that the
small fraction of men who are natural, are Agnostics, and only those who
accept what the Archdeacon calls "truths" are unnatural to such a degree
that they can discern spiritual things.

Upon this subject, the last things to which the Archdeacon appeals, are
the very things that he, at first, utterly repudiated. He asks, "Are we
contemptuously to reject the witness of innumerable multitudes of the
good and wise, that--with a spiritual reality more convincing to them
than the material evidences which converted the apostles,"--they have
seen, and heard, and their hands have handled the "Word of Life"? Thus
at last the Archdeacon appeals to the evidences of the senses.


II.

THE Archdeacon then proceeds to attack the following statement: _There
is no subject, and can be none, concerning which any human being is
under any obligation to believe without evidence_.

One would suppose that it would be impossible to formulate an objection
to this statement. What is or is not evidence, depends upon the mind
to which it is presented. There is no possible "insinuation" in this
statement, one way or the other. There is nothing sinister in it, any
more than there would be in the statement that twice five are ten. How
did it happen to occur to the Archdeacon that when I spoke of believing
without evidence, I referred to all people who believe in the existence
of a God, and that I intended to say "that one-third of the world's
inhabitants had embraced the faith of Christians without evidence"?

Certain things may convince one mind and utterly fail to convince
others. Undoubtedly the persons who have believed in the dogmas of
Christianity have had what was sufficient evidence for them. All I said
was, that "there is no subject, and can be none, concerning which any
human being is under any obligation to believe without evidence." Does
the Archdeacon insist that there is an obligation resting on any human
mind to believe without evidence? Is he willing to go a step further and
say that there is an obligation resting upon the minds of men to believe
contrary to evidence? If one is under obligation to believe without
evidence, it is just as reasonable to say that he is under obligation to
believe in spite of evidence. What does the word "evidence" mean? A man
in whose honesty I have great confidence, tells me that he saw a dead
man raised to life. I do not believe him. Why? His statement is not
evidence to my mind. Why? Because it contradicts all of my experience,
and, as I believe, the experience of the intelligent world.

No one pretends that "one-third of the world's inhabitants have
embraced the faith of Christians without evidence"--that is, that all
Christians have embraced the faith without evidence. In the olden time,
when hundreds of thousands of men were given their choice between being
murdered and baptized, they generally accepted baptism--probably they
accepted Christianity without critically examining the evidence.

Is it historically absurd that millions of people have believed in
systems of religion without evidence? Thousands of millions have
believed that Mohammed was a prophet of God. And not only so, but have
believed in his miraculous power. Did they believe without evidence? Is
it historically absurd to say that Mohammedanism is based upon mistake?
What shall we say of the followers of Buddha, who far outnumber the
followers of Christ? Have they believed without evidence? And is it
historically absurd to say that our ancestors of a few hundred years ago
were as credulous as the disciples of Buddha? Is it not true that the
same gentlemen who believed thoroughly in all the miracles of the
New Testament also believed the world to be flat, and were perfectly
satisfied that the sun made its daily journey around the earth? Did they
have any evidence? Is it historically absurd to say that they believed
without evidence?


III.

_Neither is there any intelligent being who can by any possibility be
flattered by the exercise of ignorant credulity._

THE Archdeacon asks what I "gain by stigmatizing as ignorant credulity
that inspired, inspiring, invincible conviction--the formative principle
of noble efforts and self-sacrificing lives, which at this moment, as
during all the long millenniums of the past, has been held not only
by the ignorant and the credulous, but by those whom all the ages have
regarded as the ablest, the wisest, the most learned and the most gifted
of mankind?"

Does the Archdeacon deny that credulity is ignorant? In this connection,
what does the word "credulity" mean? It means that condition or state of
the mind in which the impossible, or the absurd, is accepted as true.
Is not such credulity ignorant? Do we speak of wise credulity--of
intelligent credulity? We may say theological credulity, or Christian
credulity, but certainly not intelligent credulity. Is the flattery of
the ignorant and credulous--the flattery being based upon that which
ignorance and credulity have accepted--acceptable to any intelligent
being? Is it possible that we can flatter God by pretending to believe,
or by believing, that which is repugnant to reason, that which upon
examination is seen to be absurd? The Archdeacon admits that God cannot
possibly be so flattered. If, then, he agrees with my statement, why
endeavor to controvert it?


IV.

The man who without prejudice reads and understands the Old and New
Testaments will cease to be an orthodox Christian.

THE Archdeacon says that he cannot pretend to imagine what my definition
of an orthodox Christian is. I will use his own language to express my
definition. "By an orthodox Christian I mean one who believes what is
commonly called the Apostles' Creed. I also believe that the essential
doctrines of the church must be judged by her universal formulae, not by
the opinions of this or that theologian, however eminent, or even of
any number of theologians, unless the church has stamped them with the
sanction of her formal and distinct acceptance."

This is the language of the Archdeacon himself, and I accept it as a
definition of orthodoxy. With this definition in mind, I say that
the man who without prejudice reads and understands the Old and New
Testaments will cease to be an orthodox Christian. By "prejudice,"
I mean the tendencies and trends given to his mind by heredity, by
education, by the facts and circumstances entering into the life of man.
We know how children are poisoned in the cradle, how they are deformed
in the Sunday School, how they are misled by the pulpit. And we know how
numberless interests unite and conspire to prevent the individual soul
from examining for itself. We know that nearly all rewards are in the
hands of Superstition--that she holds the sweet wreath, and that her
hands lead the applause of what is called the civilized world. We know
how many men give up their mental independence for the sake of pelf
and power. We know the influence of mothers and fathers--of Church and
State--of Faith and Fashion. All these influences produce in honest
minds what may be known as prejudice,--in other minds, what may be known
as hypocrisy.

It is hardly worth my while to speak of the merits of students of Holy
Writ "who," the Archdeacon was polite enough to say, "know ten thousand
times more of the Scriptures" than I do. This, to say the least of
it, is a gratuitous assertion, and one that does not tend to throw the
slightest ray of light on any matter in controversy. Neither is it true
that it was my "point" to say that all people are prejudiced, merely
because they believe in God; it was my point to say that no man can read
the miracles of the Old Testament, without prejudice, and believe
them; it was my point to say that no man can read many of the cruel
and barbarous laws said to have been given by God himself, and yet
believe,--unless he was prejudiced,--that these laws were divinely
given.

Neither do I believe that there is now beneath the cope of heaven an
intelligent man, without prejudice, who believes in the inspiration of
the Bible.


V.

The intelligent man who investigates the religion of any country,
without fear and without prejudice, will not and cannot be a believer.

IN answering this statement the Archdeacon says: "_Argal_, every
believer in any religion is either an incompetent idiot, or coward--with
a dash of prejudice."

I hardly know what the gentleman means by an "incompetent idiot," as I
know of no competent ones. It was not my intention to say that believers
in religion are idiots or cowards. I did not mean, by using the word
"fear," to say that persons actuated by fear are cowards. That was not
in my mind. By "fear," I intended to convey that fear commonly called
awe, or superstition,--that is to say, fear of the supernatural,--fear
of the gods--fear of punishment in another world--fear of some Supreme
Being; not fear of some other man--not the fear that is branded with
cowardice. And, of course, the Archdeacon perfectly understood my
meaning; but it was necessary to give another meaning in order to make
the appearance of an answer possible.

By "prejudice," I mean that state of mind that accepts the false for the
true. All prejudice is honest. And the probability is, that all men are
more or less prejudiced on some subject. But on that account I do not
call them "incompetent idiots, or cowards, with a dash of prejudice." I
have no doubt that the Archdeacon himself believes that all Mahommedans
are prejudiced, and that they are actuated more or less by fear,
inculcated by their parents and by society at large. Neither have I any
doubt that he regards all Catholics as prejudiced, and believes that
they are governed more or less by fear. It is no answer to what I have
said for the Archdeacon to say that "others have studied every form
of religion with infinitely greater power than I have done." This is a
personality that has nothing to do with the subject in hand. It is
no argument to repeat a list of names. It is an old trick of the
theologians to use names instead of arguments--to appeal to persons
instead of principles--to rest their case upon the views of kings and
nobles and others who pretend eminence in some department of human
learning or ignorance, rather than on human knowledge.

This is the argument of the old against the new, and on this appeal the
old must of necessity have the advantage. When some man announces the
discovery of a new truth, or of some great fact contrary to the opinions
of the learned, it is easy to overwhelm him with names. There is but one
name on his side--that is to say, his own. All others who are living,
and the dead, are on the other side. And if this argument is good, it
ought to have ended all progress many thousands of years ago. If this
argument is conclusive, the first man would have had freedom of opinion;
the second man would have stood an equal chance; but if the third man
differed from the other two, he would have been gone. Yet this is the
argument of the church. They say to every man who advances something
new: Are you greater than the dead? The man who is right is generally
modest. Men in the wrong, as a rule, are arrogant; and arrogance is
generally in the majority.

The Archdeacon appeals to certain names to show that I am wrong. In
order for this argument to be good--that is to say, to be honest--he
should agree with all the opinions of the men whose names he gives. He
shows, or endeavors to show, that I am wrong, because I do not agree
with St. Augustine. Does the Archdeacon agree with St. Augustine? Does
he now believe that the bones of a saint were taken to Hippo--that being
in the diocese of St. Augustine--and that five corpses, having been
touched with these bones, were raised to life? Does he believe that a
demoniac, on being touched with one of these bones, was relieved of a
multitude of devils, and that these devils then and there testified to
the genuineness of the bones, not only, but told the hearers that the
doctrine of the Trinity was true? Does the Archdeacon agree with St.
Augustine that over seventy miracles were performed with these bones,
and that in a neighboring town many hundreds of miracles were performed?
Does he agree with St. Augustine in his estimate of women--placing them
on a par with beasts?

I admit that St. Augustine had great influence with the people of his
day--but what people? I admit also that he was the founder of the first
begging brotherhood--that he organized mendicancy--and that he most
cheerfully lived on the labor of others.

If St. Augustine lived now he would be the inmate of an asylum. This
same St. Augustine believed that the fire of hell was material--that the
body itself having influenced the soul to sin, would be burned forever,
and that God by a perpetual miracle would save the body from being
annihilated and devoured in those eternal flames.

Let me ask the Archdeacon a question: Do you agree with St. Augustine?
If you do not, do you claim to be a greater man? Is "your mole-hill
higher than his Dhawalagiri"? Are you looking down upon him from the
altitude of your own inferiority?

Precisely the same could be said of St. Jerome. The Archdeacon appeals
to Charlemagne, one of the great generals of the world--a man who in his
time shed rivers of blood, and who on one occasion massacred over four
thousand helpless prisoners--a Christian gentleman who had, I think,
about nine wives, and was the supposed father of some twenty children.
'This same Charlemagne had laws against polygamy, and yet practiced
it himself. Are we under the same obligation to share his vices as
his views? It is wonderful how the church has always appealed to the
so-called great--how it has endeavored to get certificates from kings
and queens, from successful soldiers and statesmen, to the truth of the
Bible and the moral character of Christ! How the saints have crawled in
the dust before the slayers of mankind! Think of proving the religion of
love and forgiveness by Charlemagne and Napoleon!

An appeal is also made to Roger Bacon. Yet this man attained all his
eminence by going contrary to the opinions and teachings of the church.
In his time, it was matter of congratulation that you knew nothing of
secular things. He was a student of Nature, an investigator, and by the
very construction of his mind was opposed to the methods of Catholicism.

Copernicus was an astronomer, but he certainly did not get his astronomy
from the church, nor from General Joshua, nor from the story of the
Jewish king for whose benefit the sun was turned back in heaven ten
degrees.

Neither did Kepler find his three laws in the Sermon on the Mount, nor
were they the utterances of Jehovah on Mount Sinai. He did not make his
discoveries because he was a Christian; but in spite of that fact.

As to Lord Bacon, let me ask, are you willing to accept his ideas? If
not, why do you quote his name? Am I bound by the opinions of Bacon in
matters of religion, and not in matters of science? Bacon denied the
Coperni-can system, and died a believer in the Ptolemaic--died believing
that the earth is stationary and that the sun and stars move around it
as a center. Do you agree with Bacon? If not, do you pretend that your
mind is greater? Would it be fair for a believer in Bacon to denounce
you as an egotist and charge you with "obstreperousness" because you
merely suggested that Mr. Bacon was a little off in his astronomical
opinions? Do you not see that you have furnished the cord for me to tie
your hands behind you?

I do not know how you ascertained that Shakespeare was what you call a
believer. Substantially all that we know of Shakespeare is found in what
we know as his "works" All else can be read in one minute. May I ask,
how you know that Shakespeare was a believer? Do you prove it by the
words he put in the mouths of his characters? If so, you can prove that
he was anything, nothing, and everything. Have you literary bread to eat
that I know not of? Whether Dante was, or was not, a Christian, I am
not prepared to say. I have always admired him for one thing: he had the
courage to see a pope in hell.

Probably you are not prepared to agree with Milton--especially in his
opinion that marriage had better be by contract, for a limited time. And
if you disagree with Milton on this point, do you thereby pretend to say
that you could have written a better poem than Paradise Lost?

So Newton is supposed to have been a Trinitarian. And yet it is said
that, after his death, there was found an article, which had been
published by him in Holland, against the dogma of the Trinity.

After all, it is quite difficult to find out what the great men have
believed. They have been actuated by so many unknown motives; they
have wished for place; they have desired to be Archdeacons, Bishops,
Cardinals, Popes; their material interests have sometimes interfered
with the expression of their thoughts. Most of the men to whom you have
alluded lived at a time when the world was controlled by what may be
called a Christian mob--when the expression of an honest thought would
have cost the life of the one who expressed it--when the followers of
Christ were ready with sword and fagot to exterminate philosophy and
liberty from the world.

Is it possible that we are under any obligation to believe the Mosaic
account of the Garden of Eden, or of the talking serpent, because
"Whewell had an encyclopaedic range of knowledge"? Must we believe that
Joshua stopped the sun, because Faraday was "the most eminent man of
science of his day"? Shall we believe the story of the fiery furnace,
because "Mr. Spottiswoode was president of the Royal Society"--had
"rare mathematical genius"--so rare that he was actually "buried in
Westminster Abbey"? Shall we believe that Jonah spent three days and
nights in the inside of a whale because "Professor Clark Maxwell's death
was mourned by all"?

Are we under any obligation to believe that an infinite God sent two she
bears to tear forty children in pieces because they laughed at a prophet
without hair? Must we believe this because "Sir Gabriel Stokes is the
living president of the Royal Society, and a Churchman" besides? Are we
bound to believe that Daniel spent one of the happiest evenings of his
life in the lion's den, because "Sir William Dawson of Canada, two years
ago, presided over the British Association"? And must we believe in the
ten plagues of Egypt, including the lice, because "Professor Max
Müller made an eloquent plea in Westminster Abbey in favor of Christian
missions"? Possibly he wanted missionaries to visit heathen lands so
that they could see the difference for themselves between theory and
practice, in what is known as the Christian religion.

Must we believe the miracles of the New Testament--the casting out of
devils--because "Lord Tennyson and Mr. Browning stand far above all
other poets of this generation in England," or because "Longfellow,
Holmes, and Lowell and Whittier" occupy the same position in America?
Must we admit that devils entered into swine because "Bancroft and
Parkman are the leading prose writers of America"--which I take this
occasion to deny?

It is to be hoped that some time the Archdeacon will read that portion
of Mr. Bancroft's history in which he gives the account of how
the soldiers, commonly called Hessians, were raised by the British
Government during the American Revolution.

These poor wretches were sold at so much apiece. For every one that was
killed, so much was paid, and for every one that was wounded a certain
amount was given. Mr. Bancroft tells us that God was not satisfied with
this business, and although he did not interfere in any way to save the
poor soldiers, he did visit the petty tyrants who made the bargains with
his wrath. I remember that as a punishment to one of these, his wife was
induced to leave him; another one died a good many years afterwards; and
several of them had exceedingly bad luck.

After reading this philosophic dissertation on the dealings of
Providence, I doubt if the Archdeacon will still remain of the opinion
that Mr. Bancroft is one of the leading prose writers of America. If the
Archdeacon will read a few of the sermons of Theodore Parker, and essays
of Ralph Waldo Emerson, if he will read the life of Voltaire by James
Parton, he may change his opinion as to the great prose writers of
America.

My argument against miracles is answered by reference to "Dr. Lightfoot,
a man of such immense learning that he became the equal of his successor
Dr. Westcott." And when I say that there are errors and imperfections
in the Bible, I am told that Dr. Westcott "investigated the Christian
religion and its earliest documents _au fond_, and was an orthodox
believer." Of course the Archdeacon knows that no one now knows who
wrote one of the books of the Bible. He knows that no one now lives who
ever saw one of the original manuscripts, and that no one now lives
who ever saw anybody who had seen anybody who had seen an original
manuscript.


VI.

Is it possible for the human mind to conceive of an infinite
personality?

THE Archdeacon says that it is, and yet in the same article he quotes
the following from Job: "Canst thou by searching find out God?" "It is
as high as Heaven; what canst thou do? deeper than Hell; what canst thou
know?" And immediately after making these quotations, the Archdeacon
takes the ground of the agnostic, and says, "with the wise ancient
Rabbis, we learn to say, _I do not know_."

It is impossible for me to say what any other human being cannot
conceive; but I am absolutely certain that my mind cannot conceive of an
infinite personality--of an infinite Ego.

Man is conscious of his individuality. Man has wants. A multitude
of things in nature seems to work against him; and others seem to be
favorable to him. There is conflict between him and nature.

If man had no wants--if there were no conflict between him and any other
being, or any other thing, he could not say "I"--that is to say, he
could not be conscious of personality.

Now, it seems to me that an infinite personality is a contradiction in
terms, says "I."


VII.

THE same line of argument applies to the next statement that
is criticised by the Archdeacon: _Can the human mind conceive a
beginningless being?_

We know that there is such a thing as matter, but we do not know that
there is a beginningless being. We say, or some say, that matter is
eternal, because the human mind cannot conceive of its commencing. Now,
if we knew of the existence of an Infinite Being, we could not conceive
of his commencing. But we know of no such being. We do know of the
existence of matter; and my mind is so, that I cannot conceive of that
matter having been created by a beginningless being. I do not say that
there is not a beginningless being, but I do not believe there is, and
it is beyond my power to conceive of such a being.

The Archdeacon also says that "space is quite as impossible to conceive
as God." But nobody pretends to love space--no one gives intention and
will to space--no one, so far as I know, builds altars or temples to
space. Now, if God is as inconceivable as space, why should we pray to
God?

The Archdeacon, however, after quoting Sir William Hamilton as to the
inconceivability of space as absolute or infinite, takes occasion to say
that "space is an entity." May I be permitted to ask how he knows that
space is an entity? As a matter of fact, the conception of infinite
space is a necessity of the mind, the same as eternity is a necessity of
the mind.


VIII.

THE next sentence or statement to which the Archdeacon objects is as
follows:

_He who cannot harmonize the cruelties of the Bible with the goodness of
Jehovah, cannot harmonize the cruelties of Nature with the goodness or
wisdom of a supposed Deity. He will find it impossible to account for
pestilence and famine, for earthquake and storm, for slavery, and for
the triumph of the strong over the weak._

One objection that he urges to this statement is that St. Paul had made
a stronger one in the same direction. The Archdeacon however insists
that "a world without a contingency, or an agony, could have had no hero
and no saint," and that "science enables us to demonstrate that much of
the apparent misery and anguish is transitory and even phantasmal;
that many of the seeming forces of destruction are overruled to ends of
beneficence; that most of man's disease and anguish is due to his own
sin and folly and wilfulness."

I will not say that these things have been said before, but I will say
that they have been answered before. The idea that the world is a school
in which character is formed and in which men are educated is very old.
If, however, the world is a school, and there is trouble and misfortune,
and the object is to create character--that is to say, to produce heroes
and saints--then the question arises, what becomes of those who die
in infancy? They are left without the means of education. Are they
to remain forever without character? Or is there some other world of
suffering and sorrow?

Is it possible to form character in heaven? How did the angels become
good? How do you account for the justice of God? Did he attain character
through struggle and suffering?

What would you say of a school teacher who should kill one-third of
the children on the morning of the first day? And what can you say of
God,--if this world is a school,--who allows a large per cent, of his
children to die in infancy--consequently without education--therefore,
without character?

If the world is the result of infinite wisdom and goodness, why is the
Christian Church engaged in endeavoring to make it better; or, rather,
in an effort to change it? Why not leave it as an infinite God made it?

Is it true that most of man's diseases are due to his own sin and folly
and wilfulness? Is it not true that no matter how good men are they must
die, and will they not die of diseases? Is it true that the wickedness
of man has created the microbe? Is it possible that the sinfulness of
man created the countless enemies of human life that lurk in air and
water and food? Certainly the wickedness of man has had very little
influence on tornadoes, earthquakes and floods. Is it true that "the
signature of beauty with which God has stamped the visible world--alike
in the sky and on the earth--alike in the majestic phenomena of
an intelligent creation and in its humblest and most microscopic
production--is a perpetual proof that God is a God of love"?

Let us see. The scientists tell us that there is a little microscopic
animal, one who is very particular about his food--so particular,
that he prefers to all other things the optic nerve, and after he has
succeeded in destroying that nerve and covering the eye with the mask of
blindness, he has intelligence enough to bore his way through the bones
of the nose in search of the other optic nerve. Is it not somewhat
difficult to discover "the signature of beauty with which God has
stamped" this animal? For my part, I see but little beauty in poisonous
serpents, in man-eating sharks, in crocodiles, in alligators. It would
be impossible for me to gaze with admiration upon a cancer. Think, for a
moment, of a God ingenious enough and good enough to feed a cancer with
the quivering flesh of a human being, and to give for the sustenance of
that cancer the life of a mother.

It is well enough to speak of "the myriad voices of nature in their
mirth and sweetness," and it is also well enough to think of the other
side. The singing birds have a few notes of love--the rest are all of
warning and of fear. Nature, apparently with infinite care, produces
a living thing, and at the same time is just as diligently at work
creating another living thing to devour the first, and at the same time
a third to devour the second, and so on around the great circle of life
and death, of agony and joy--tooth and claw, fang and tusk, hunger and
rapine, massacre and murder, violence and vengeance and vice everywhere
and through all time. [Here the manuscript ends, with the following
notes.]


SAYINGS FROM THE INDIAN.

"The rain seems hardest when the wigwam leaks."

"When the tracks get too large and too numerous, the wise Indian says
that he is hunting something else."

"A little crook in the arrow makes a great miss."

"A great chief counts scalps, not hairs."

"You cannot strengthen the bow by poisoning the arrows."

"No one saves water in a flood."


ORIGEN.

Origen considered that the punishment of the wicked consisted in
separation from God. There was too much pity in his heart to believe in
the flames of hell. But he was condemned as heretical by the Council of
Carthage, A. D., 398, and afterwards by other councils.


ST. AUGUSTINE.

St. Augustine censures Origen for his merciful view, and says: "The
church, not without reason, condemned him for this error." He also held
that hell was in the centre of the earth, and that God supplied the
centre with perpetual fire by a miracle.


DANTE.

Dante is a wonderful mixture of melancholy and malice, of religion and
revenge, and he represents himself as so pitiless that when he found his
political opponents in hell, he struck their faces and pulled the hair
of the tormented.


AQUINAS.

Aquinas believed the same. He was the loving gentleman who believed in
the undying worm.



IS CORPORAL PUNISHMENT DEGRADING?

     * This unfinished and unrevised article was found among Col.
     Ingersoll's papers, and is here reproduced without change.--
     It is a reply to the Dean of St Paul's Contribution to the
     North American Review for Dec., 1891, entitled: "Is Corporal
     Punishment Degrading?"

THE Dean of St. Paul protests against the kindness of parents, guardians
and teachers toward children, wards and pupils. He believes in the
gospel of ferule and whips, and has perfect faith in the efficacy of
flogging in homes and schools. He longs for the return of the good old
days when fathers were severe, and children affectionate and obedient.

In America, for many years, even wife-beating has been somewhat
unpopular, and the flogging of children has been considered cruel
and unmanly. Wives with bruised and swollen faces, and children with
lacerated backs, have excited pity for themselves rather than admiration
for savage husbands and brutal fathers. It is also true that the church
has far less power here than in England, and it may be that those who
wander from the orthodox fold grow merciful and respect the rights even
of the weakest.

But whatever the cause may be, the fact is that we, citizens of the
Republic, feel that certain domestic brutalities are the children of
monarchies and despotisms; that they were produced by superstition,
ignorance, and savagery; and that they are not in accord with the free
and superb spirit that founded and preserves the Great Republic.

Of late years, confidence in the power of kindness has greatly
increased, and there is a wide-spread suspicion that cruelty and
violence are not the instrumentalities of civilization.

Physicians no longer regard corporal punishment as a sure cure even for
insanity--and it is generally admitted that the lash irritates rather
than soothes the victim of melancholia.

Civilized men now insist that criminals cannot always be reformed even
by the most ingenious instruments of torture. It is known that some
convicts repay the smallest acts of kindness with the sincerest
gratitude. Some of the best people go so far as to say that kindness
is the sunshine in which the virtues grow. We know that for many ages
governments tried to make men virtuous with dungeon and fagot and
scaffold; that they tried to cure even disease of the mind with
brandings and maimings and lashes on the naked flesh of men and
women--and that kings endeavored to sow the seeds of patriotism--to
plant and nurture them in the hearts of their subjects--with whip and
chain.

In England, only a few years ago, there were hundreds of brave
soldiers and daring sailors whose breasts were covered with honorable
scars--witnesses of wounds received at Trafalgar and Balaklava--while on
the backs of these same soldiers and sailors were the marks of
English whips. These shameless cruelties were committed in the name of
discipline, and were upheld by officers, statesmen and clergymen. The
same is true of nearly all civilized nations. These crimes have been
excused for the reason that our ancestors were, at that time, in fact,
barbarians--that they had no idea of justice, no comprehension of
liberty, no conception of the rights of men, women, and children.

At that time the church was, in most countries, equal to, or superior
to, the state, and was a firm believer in the civilizing influences of
cruelty and torture.

According to the creeds of that day, God intended to torture the wicked
forever, and the church, according to its power, did all that it could
in the same direction. Learning their rights and duties from priests,
fathers not only beat their children, but their wives. In those days
most homes were penitentiaries, in which wives and children were
the convicts and of which husbands and fathers were the wardens and
turnkeys. The king imitated his supposed God, and imprisoned, flogged,
branded, beheaded and burned his enemies, and the husbands and fathers
imitated the king, and guardians and teachers imitated them.

Yet in spite of all the beatings and burnings, the whippings and
hangings, the world was not reformed. Crimes increased, the cheeks
of wives were furrowed with tears, the faces of children white with
fear--fear of their own fathers; pity was almost driven from the heart
of man and found refuge, for the most part, in the breasts of women,
children, and dogs.

In those days, misfortunes were punished as crimes. Honest debtors were
locked in loathsome dungeons, and trivial offences were punished with
death. Worse than all that, thousands of men and women were destroyed,
not because they were vicious, but because they were virtuous, honest
and noble. Extremes beget obstructions. The victims at last became too
numerous, and the result did not seem to justify the means. The good,
the few, protested against the savagery of kings and fathers.

Nothing seems clearer to me than that the world has been gradually
growing better for many years. Men have a clearer conception of rights
and obligations--a higher philosophy--a far nobler ideal. Even kings
admit that they should have some regard for the well-being of their
subjects. Nations and individuals are slowly outgrowing the savagery of
revenge, the desire to kill, and it is generally admitted that criminals
should neither be imprisoned nor tortured for the gratification of the
public. At last we are beginning to know that revenge is a mistake--that
cruelty not only hardens the victim, but makes a criminal of him who
inflicts it, and that mercy guided by intelligence is the highest form
of justice.

The tendency of the world is toward kindness. The religious creeds
are being changed or questioned, because they shock the heart of the
present. All civilized churches, all humane Christians, have given up
the dogma of eternal pain. This infamous doctrine has for many centuries
polluted the imagination and hardened the heart. This coiled viper no
longer inhabits the breast of a civilized man.

In all civilized countries slavery has been abolished, the honest debtor
released, and all are allowed the liberty of speech.

Long ago flogging was abolished in our army and navy and all cruel and
unusual punishments prohibited by law. In many parts of the Republic the
whip has been banished from the public schools, the flogger of children
is held in abhorrence, and the wife-beater is regarded as a cowardly
criminal. The gospel of kindness is not only preached, but practiced.
Such has been the result of this advance of civilization--of this growth
of kindness--of this bursting into blossom of the flower called pity, in
the heart--that we treat our horses (thanks to Henry Bergh) better than
our ancestors did their slaves, their servants or their tenants. The
gentlemen of to-day show more affection for their dogs than most of the
kings of England exhibited toward their wives. The great tide is toward
mercy; the savage creeds are being changed; heartless laws have been
repealed; shackles have been broken; torture abolished, and the keepers
of prisons are no longer allowed to bruise and scar the flesh of
convicts. The insane are treated with kindness--asylums are in the
midst of beautiful grounds, the rooms are filled with flowers, and the
wandering mind is called back by the golden voice of music.

In the midst of these tendencies--of these accomplishments--in the
general harmony between the minds of men, acting together, to the end
that the world may be governed by kindness through education and the
blessed agencies of reformation and prevention, the Dean of St. Paul
raises his voice in favor of the methods and brutalities of the past.

The reverend gentleman takes the ground that the effect of flogging on
the flogged is not degrading; that the effect of corporal punishment is
ennobling; that it tends to make boys manly by ennobling and teaching
them to bear bodily pain with fortitude. To be flogged develops
character, self-reliance, courage, contempt of pain and the highest
heroism. The Dean therefore takes the ground that parents should flog
their children, guardians their wards, and teachers their pupils.

If the Dean is wrong he goes too far, and if he is right he does not go
far enough. He does not advocate the flogging of children who obey their
parents, or of pupils who violate no rule. It follows then that such
children are in great danger of growing up unmanly, without the courage
and fortitude to bear bodily pain. If flogging is really a blessing it
should not be withheld from the good and lavished on the unworthy. The
Dean should have the courage of his convictions. The teacher should not
make a pretext of the misconduct of the pupil to do him a great service.
He should not be guilty of calling a benefit a punishment He should not
deceive the children under his care and develop their better natures
under false pretences. But what is to become of the boys and girls who
"behave themselves," who attend to their studies, and comply with the
rules? They lose the benefits conferred on those who defy their parents
and teachers, reach maturity without character, and so remain withered
and worthless.

The Dean not only defends his position by an appeal to the Bible, the
history of nations, but to his personal experience. In order to show the
good effects of brutality and the bad consequences of kindness, he gives
two instances that came under his observation. The first is that of
an intelligent father who treated his sons with great kindness and
yet these sons neglected their affectionate father in his old age. The
second instance is that of a mother who beat her daughter. The wretched
child, it seems, was sent out to gather sticks from the hedges, and
when she brought home a large stick, the mother suspected that she had
obtained it wrongfully and thereupon proceeded to beat the child. And
yet the Dean tells us that this abused daughter treated the hyena mother
with the greatest kindness, and loved her as no other daughter ever
loved a mother. In order to make this case strong and convincing the
Dean states that this mother was a most excellent Christian.

From these two instances the Dean infers, and by these two instances
proves, that kindness breeds bad sons, and that flogging makes
affectionate daughters. The Dean says to the Christian mother: "If
you wish to be loved by your daughter, you must beat her." And to the
Christian father he says: "If you want to be neglected in your old age
by your sons, you will treat them with kindness." The Dean does not
follow his logic to the end. Let me give him two instances that support
his theory.

A good man married a handsome woman. He was old, rich, kind and
indulgent. He allowed his wife to have her own way. He never uttered a
cross or cruel word. He never thought of beating her. And yet, as the
Dean would say, in consequence of his kindness, she poisoned him, got
his money and married another man.

In this city, not long ago, a man, a foreigner, beat his wife according
to his habit. On this particular occasion the punishment was excessive.
He beat her until she became unconscious; she was taken to a hospital
and the physician said that she could not live. The husband was brought
to the hospital and preparations were made to take her dying statement.
After being told that she was dying, she was asked if her husband had
beaten her. Her face was so bruised and swollen that the lids of her
eyes had to be lifted in order that she might see the wretch who had
killed her. She beckoned him to her side--threw her arms about his
neck--drew his face to hers--kissed him, and said: "He is not the man.
He did not do it"--then--died.

According to the philosophy of the Dean, these instances show that
kindness causes crime, and that wife-beating cultivates in the highest
degree the affectional nature of woman.

The Dean, if consistent, is a believer in slavery, because the lash
judiciously applied brings out the finer feelings of the heart.
Slaves have been known to die for their masters, while under similar
circumstances hired men have sought safety in flight.

We all know of many instances where the abused, the maligned, and the
tortured have returned good for evil--and many instances where
the loved, the honored, and the trusted have turned against their
benefactors, and yet we know that cruelty and torture are not superior
to love and kindness. Yet, the Dean tries to show that severity is the
real mother of affection, and that kindness breeds monsters. If kindness
and affection on the part of parents demoralize children, will not
kindness and affection on the part of children demoralize the parents?

When the children are young and weak, the parents who are strong beat
the children in order that they may be affectionate. Now, when the
children get strong and the parents are old and weak, ought not the
children to beat them, so that they too may become kind and loving?

If you want an affectionate son, beat him. If you desire a loving wife,
beat her.

This is really the advice of the Dean of St Paul. To me it is one of the
most pathetic facts in nature that wives and children love husbands and
fathers who are utterly unworthy. It is enough to sadden a life to
think of the affection that has been lavished upon the brutal, of the
countless pearls that Love has thrown to swine.

The Dean, quoting from Hooker, insists that "the voice of man is as
the sentence of God himself,"--in other words, that the general voice,
practice and opinion of the human race are true.

And yet, cannibalism, slavery, polygamy, the worship of snakes and
stones, the sacrifice of babes, have during vast periods of time been
practiced and upheld by an overwhelming majority of mankind. Whether the
"general voice" can be depended on depends much on the time, the epoch,
during which the "general voice" was uttered. There was a time when the
"general voice" was in accord with the appetite of man; when all nations
were cannibals and lived on each other, and yet it can hardly be said
that this voice and appetite were in exact accord with divine goodness.
It is hardly safe to depend on the "general voice" of savages, no matter
how numerous they may have been. Like most people who defend the cruel
and absurd, the Dean appeals to the Bible as the supreme authority in
the moral world,--and yet if the English Parliament should re-enact the
Mosaic Code every member voting in the affirmative would be subjected
to personal violence, and an effort to enforce that code would produce a
revolution that could end only in the destruction of the government.

The morality of the Old Testament is not always of the purest; when
Jehovah tried to induce Pharaoh to let the Hebrews go, he never took the
ground that slavery was wrong. He did not seek to convince by argument,
to soften by pity, or to persuade by kindness. He depended on miracles
and plagues. He killed helpless babes and the innocent beasts of the
fields. No wonder the Dean appeals to the Bible to justify the beating
of children. So, too, we are told that "all sensible persons, Christian
and otherwise, will admit that there are in every child born into the
world tendencies to evil that need rooting out."

The Dean undoubtedly believes in the creed of the established church,
and yet he does not hesitate to say that a God of infinite goodness and
intelligence never created a child--never allowed one to be born into
the world without planting in its little heart "tendencies to evil that
need rooting out."

So, Solomon is quoted to the effect "that he that spareth his rod hateth
his son." To me it has always been a matter of amazement why civilized
people, living in the century of Darwin and Humboldt, should quote as
authority the words of Solomon, a murderer, an ingrate, an idolater, and
a polygamist--a man so steeped and sodden in ignorance that he really
believed he could be happy with seven hundred wives and three hundred
concubines. The Dean seems to regret that flogging is no longer
practiced in the British navy, and quotes with great cheerfulness a
passage from Deuteronomy to prove that forty lashes on the naked back
will meet with the approval of God. He insists that St. Paul endured
corporal punishment without the feeling of degradation not only, but
that he remembered his sufferings with a sense of satisfaction. Does the
Dean think that the satisfaction of St. Paul justified the wretches who
beat and stoned him? Leaving the Hebrews, the Dean calls the Greeks as
witnesses to establish the beneficence of flogging. They resorted to
corporal punishment in their schools, says the Dean and then naively
remarks "that Plutarch was opposed to this."

The Dean admits that in Rome it was found necessary to limit by law the
punishment that a father might inflict upon his children, and yet he
seems to regret that the legislature interfered. The Dean observes that
"Quintillian severely censured corporal punishment" and then accounts
for the weakness and folly of the censure, by saying that "Quintillian
wrote in the days when the glories of Rome were departed." And then adds
these curiously savage words: "It is worthy of remark that no children
treated their parents with greater tenderness and reverence than did
those of Rome in the days when the father possessed the unlimited power
of punishment."

Not quite satisfied with the strength of his case although sustained by
Moses and Solomon, St. Paul and several schoolmasters, he proceeds
to show that God is thoroughly on his side, not only in theory, but in
practice; "whom the Lord loveth lie chasteneth, and scourgeth every sou
whom he receiveth.".

The Dean asks this question: "Which custom, kindness or severity, does
experience show to be the less dangerous?" And he answers from a new
heart: "I fear that I must unhesitatingly give the palm to severity."

"I have found that there have been more reverence and affection,
more willingness to make sacrifices for parents, more pleasure in
contributing to their pleasure or happiness in that life where the
tendency has been to a severe method of treatment."

Is it possible that any good mail exists who is willing to gain the
affection of his children in that way? How could such a man beat and
bruise the flesh of his babes, knowing that they would give him in
return obedience and love; that they would fill the evening of his
days--the leafless winter of his life--with perfect peace?

Think of being fed and clothed by children you had whipped--whose
flesh you had scarred! Think of feeling in the hour of death upon your
withered lips, your withered cheeks, the kisses and the tears of one
whom, you had beaten--upon whose flesh were still the marks of your
lash!

The whip degrades; a severe father teaches his children to dissemble;
their love is pretence, and their obedience a species of self-defence.
Fear is the father of lies.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Works of Robert G. Ingersoll, Vol. 6 (of 12) - Dresden Edition—Discussions" ***

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