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Title: The System of Nature, or, the Laws of the Moral and Physical World. Volume 2

Author: baron d' Paul Henri Thiry Holbach

Release date: September 1, 2005 [eBook #8910]
                Most recently updated: June 8, 2013

Language: English

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THE SYSTEM OF NATURE;

or,

_THE LAWS_ of the MORAL AND PHYSICAL WORLD.



TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL FRENCH OF M. DE MIRABAUD



VOL. II.





PRODUCTION NOTES: First published in French in 1770 under the pseudonym
of Mirabaud. This e-book based on a facsimile reprint of an English
translation originally published 1820-21. This e-text covers the second
of the original two volumes.





CONTENTS


      PART II.  Of the Divinity.--Proofs of his existence.--
      Of his attributes.--Of his influence over the happiness of man.


CHAP. I. The origin of man's ideas upon the Divinity.

CHAP. II. Of mythology.--Of theology

CHAP. III. Of the confused and contradictory ideas of theology.

CHAP. IV. Examination of the proofs of the existence of the Divinity, as
given by Clarke.

CHAP. V. Examination of the proofs offered by Descartes, Malebranche,
Newton, &c.

CHAP. VI. Of Pantheism; or of the natural ideas of the Divinity.

CHAP. VII. Of Theism--Of the System of Optimism--Of Final Causes

CHAP. VIII. Examination of the Advantages which result from Man's
Notions on the Divinity;--of their Influence upon Morals;--upon
Politics;--upon Science;--upon the Happiness of Nations, and that of
individuals.

CHAP. IX. Theological Notions cannot be the Basis of
Morality.--Comparison between Theological Ethics and Natural
Morality--Theology prejudicial to the Human Mind.

CHAP. X. Man can form no Conclusion from the Ideas which are offered him
of the Divinity.--Of their want of just Inference.--Of the Inutility of
his Conduct.

CHAP. XI Defence of the Sentiments contained in this Work.--Of
Impiety.--Do there exist Atheists?

CHAP. XII. Is what is termed Atheism, compatible with Morality?

CHAP. XIII. Of the motives which lead to what is falsely called
Atheism.--Can this System be dangerous?--Can it be embraced by the
Illiterate?

CHAP. XIV. A summary of the Code of Nature.


A Brief Sketch of the Life and Writings of M. de Mirabaud





MIRABAUD'S SYSTEM OF NATURE

Translated from the Original BY SAMUEL WILKINSON





     PART II.

     ON THE DIVINITY:--PROOFS OF HIS EXISTENCE:--OF HIS ATTRIBUTES:
     OF HIS INFLUENCE OVER THE HAPPINESS OF MAN.



CHAP. I.

_The Origin of Man's Ideas upon the Divinity._


If man possessed the courage, if he had the requisite industry to recur
to the source of those opinions which are most deeply engraven on his
brain; if he rendered to himself a faithful account of the reasons which
make him hold these opinions as sacred; if he coolly examined the basis
of his hopes, the foundation of his fears, he would find that it very
frequently happens, those objects, or those ideas which move him most
powerfully, either have no real existence, or are words devoid of
meaning, which terror has conjured up to explain some sudden disaster;
that they are often phantoms engendered by a disordered imagination,
modified by ignorance; the effect of an ardent mind distracted by
contending passions, which prevent him from either reasoning justly, or
consulting experience in his judgment; that this mind often labours with
a precipitancy that throws his intellectual faculties into confusion;
that bewilders his ideas; that consequently he gives a substance and a
form to chimeras, to airy nothings, which he afterwards idolizes from
sloth, reverences from prejudice.

A sensible being placed in a nature where every part is in motion, has
various feelings, in consequence of either the agreeable or disagreeable
effects which he is obliged to experience from this continued action and
re-action; in consequence he either finds himself happy or miserable;
according to the quality of the sensations excited in him, he will love
or fear, seek after or fly from, the real or supposed causes of such
marked effects operated on his machine. But if he is ignorant of nature,
if he is destitute of experience, he will frequently deceive himself as
to these causes; for want of either capability or inclination to recur
back to them, he will neither have a true knowledge of their energy, nor
a clear idea of their mode of acting: thus until reiterated experience
shall have formed his ideas, until the mirror of truth shall have shewn
him the judgment he ought to make, he will be involved in trouble, a
prey to incertitude, a victim to credulity.

Man is a being who brings with him nothing into the world save an
aptitude to feeling in a manner more or less lively according to his
individual organization: he has no innate knowledge of any of the causes
that act upon him: by degrees his faculty of feeling discovers to him
their various qualities; he learns to judge of them; time familiarizes
him with their properties; he attaches ideas to them, according to
the manner in which they have affected him; these ideas are correct or
otherwise, in a ratio to the soundness of his organic structure:
his judgment is faulty or not, as these organs are either well or
ill-constituted; in proportion as they are competent to afford him sure
and reiterated experience.

The first moments of man are marked by his wants; that is to say, the
first impulse he receives is to conserve his existence; this he would
not be able to maintain without the concurrence of many analogous
causes: these wants in a sensible being, manifest themselves by a
general languor, a sinking, a confusion in his machine, which gives him
the consciousness of a painful sensation: this derangement subsists, is
even augmented, until the cause suitable to remove it re-establishes
the harmony so necessary to the existence of the human frame. Want,
therefore, is the first evil man experiences; nevertheless it is
requisite to the maintenance of his existence. Was it not for this
derangement of his body, which obliges him to furnish its remedy, he
would not be warned of the necessity of preserving the existence he has
received. Without wants man would be an insensible machine, similar to
a vegetable; like that he would be incapable of preserving himself;
he would not be competent to using the means required to conserve his
being. To his wants are to be ascribed his passions; his desires;
the exercise of his corporeal functions; the play of his intellectual
faculties: they are his wants that oblige him to think; that determine
his will, that induce him to act; it is to satisfy them or rather to
put an end to the painful sensations excited by their presence, that
according to his capacity, to the natural sensibility of his soul,
to the energies which are peculiar to himself, he gives play to his
faculties, exerts the activity of his bodily strength, or displays the
extensive powers of his mind. His wants being perpetual, he is obliged
to labour without relaxation, to procure objects competent to satisfy
them. In a word, it is owing to his multiplied wants that man's energy
is kept in a state of continual activity: as soon as he ceases to
have wants, he falls into inaction--becomes listless--declines into
apathy--sinks into a languor that is incommodious to his feelings or
prejudicial to his existence: this lethargic state of weariness lasts
until new wants, by giving him fresh activity, rouse his dormant
faculties--throw off his stupor--re-animate his vigour, and destroy the
sluggishness to which he had become a prey.

From hence it will be obvious that evil is necessary to man; without it
he would neither be in a condition to know that which injures him; to
avoid its presence; or to seek his own welfare: without this stimulus,
he would differ in nothing from insensible, unorganized beings: if those
evanescent evils which he calls _wants_, did not oblige him to call
forth his faculties, to set his energies in motion, to cull experience,
to compare objects, to discriminate them, to separate those which have
the capabilities to injure him, from those which possess the means
to benefit him, he would be insensible to happiness--inadequate to
enjoyment. In short, _without evil man would be ignorant of good_; he
would be continually exposed to perish like the leaf on a tree. He would
resemble an infant, who, destitute of experience, runs the risque of
meeting his destruction at every step he takes, unguarded by his nurse.
What the nurse is to the child, experience is to the adult; when either
are wanting, these children of different lustres generally go astray:
frequently encounter disaster. Without evil he would be unable to judge
of any thing; he would have no preference; his will would be without
volition, he would be destitute of passions; desire would find no place
in his heart; he would not revolt at the most disgusting objects; he
would not strive to put them away; he would neither have stimuli
to love, nor motives to fear any thing; he would be an insensible
automaton; he would no longer be a man.

If no evil had existed in this world, man would never have dreamt of
those numerous divinities, to whom he has rendered such various modes
of worship. If nature had permitted him easily to satisfy all his
regenerating wants, if she had given him none but agreeable sensations,
his days would have uninterruptedly rolled on in one perpetual
uniformity; he would never have discovered his own nakedness; he would
never have had motives to search after the unknown causes of things--to
meditate in pain. Therefore man, always contented, would only have
occupied himself with satisfying his wants; with enjoying the present,
with feeling the influence of objects, that would unceasingly warn him
of his existence in a mode that he must necessarily approve; nothing
would alarm his heart; every thing would be analogous to his existence:
he would neither know fear, experience distrust, nor have inquietude
for the future: these feelings can only be the consequence of some
troublesome sensation, which must have anteriorly affected him, or which
by disturbing the harmony of his machine, has interrupted the course of
his happiness; which has shewn him he is naked.

Independent of those wants which in man renew themselves every instant;
which he frequently finds it impossible to satisfy; every individual
experiences a multiplicity of evils--he suffers from the inclemency
of the seasons--he pines in penury--he is infected with plague--he
is scourged by war--he is the victim of famine--he is afflicted with
disease--he is the sport of a thousand accidents, &c. This is the reason
why all men are fearful; why the whole human race are diffident. The
knowledge he has of pain alarms him upon all unknown causes, that is to
say, upon all those of which he has not yet experienced the effect; this
experience made with precipitation, or if it be preferred, by instinct,
places him on his guard against all those objects from the operation of
which he is ignorant what consequences may result to himself.

His inquietude is in proportion; his fears keep pace with the extent of
the disorder which these objects produce in him; they are measured by
their rarity, that is to say, by the inexperience he has of them; by the
natural sensibility of the soul; and by the ardour of his imagination.
The wore ignorant man is, the less experience he has, the more he is
susceptible of fear; solitude, the obscurity of a forest, silence, and
the darkness of night, desolate ruins, the roaring of the wind, sudden,
confused noises, are objects of terror to all who are unaccustomed to
these things. The uninformed man is a child whom every thing astonishes;
who trembles at every thing he encounters: his alarms disappear, his
fears diminish, his mind becomes calm, in proportion as experience
familiarizes him, more or less, with natural effects; his fears cease
entirely, as soon as he understands, or believes he understands, the
causes that act; or when he knows how to avoid their effects. But if he
cannot penetrate the causes which disturb him, if he cannot discover the
agents by whom he suffers, if he cannot find to what account to place
the confusion he experiences, his inquietude augments; his fears
redouble; his imagination leads him astray; it exaggerates his evil;
paints in a disorderly manner these unknown objects of his terror;
magnifies their powers; then making an analogy between them and those
terrific objects, with whom he is already acquainted, he suggests
to himself the means he usually takes to mitigate their anger; to
conciliate their kindness; he employs similar measures to soften the
anger, to disarm the power, to avert the effects of the concealed cause
which gives birth to his inquietudes, which fills him with anxiety,
which alarms his fears. It is thus his weakness, aided by ignorance,
renders him superstitious.

There are very few men, even in our own day, who have sufficiently
studied nature, who are fully apprised of physical causes, or with the
effects they must necessarily produce. This ignorance, without doubt,
was much greater in the more remote ages of the world, when the human
mind, yet in its infancy, had not collected that experience, taken that
expansion, made those strides towards improvement, which distinguishes
the present from the past. Savages dispersed, erratic, thinly scattered
up and down, knew the course of nature either very imperfectly or not
at all; society alone perfects human knowledge: it requires not only
multiplied but combined efforts to unravel the secrets of nature. This
granted, all natural causes were mysteries to our wandering ancestors;
the entire of nature was an enigma to them; all its phenomena was
marvellous, every event inspired terror to beings who were destitute
of experience; almost every thing, they saw must have appeared to them
strange, unusual, contrary to their idea of the order of things.

It cannot then furnish matter for surprise, if we behold men in the
present day trembling at the sight of those objects which have formerly
filled their fathers with dismay. _Eclipse, comets, meteors_, were, in
ancient days, subjects of alarm to all the people of the earth: these
effects, so natural in the eyes of the sound philosopher, who has by
degrees fathomed their true causes, have yet the right, possess the
power, to alarm the most numerous, to excite the fears of the least
instructed part of modern nations. The people of the present day, as
well as their ignorant ancestors, find something marvellous, believe
there is a supernatural agency in all those objects to which their eyes
are unaccustomed; they consider all those unknown causes as wonderful,
that act with a force of which their mind has no idea it is possible
the known agents are capable. The ignorant see wonders _prodigies,
miracles_, in all those striking effects of which they are unable to
render themselves a satisfactory account; all the causes which produce
them they think _supernatural_; this, however, really implies nothing
more than that they are not familiar to them, or that they have not
hitherto witnessed natural agents, whose energy was equal to the
production of effects so rare, so astonishing, as those with which their
sight has been appalled.

Besides the ordinary phenomena to which nations were witnesses without
being competent to unravel the causes, they have in times very remote
from ours, experienced calamities, whether general or local, which
filled them with the most cruel inquietude; which plunged them into an
abyss of consternation. The traditions of all people, the annals of all
nations, recal, even at this day, melancholy events, physical disasters,
dreadful catastrophes, which had the effect of spreading universal
terror among our forefathers, But when history should be silent on these
stupendous revolutions, would not our own reflection on what passes
under our eyes be sufficient to convince us, that all parts of our globe
have been, and following the course of things, will necessarily be
again violently agitated, overturned, changed, overflowed, in a state of
conflagration? Vast continents have been inundated, seas breaking their
limits have usurped the dominion of the earth; at length retiring,
these waters have left striking, proofs of their presence, by the marine
vestiges of shells, skeletons of sea fish, &c. which the attentive
observer meets with at every step, in the bowels of those fertile
countries we now inhabit--subterraneous fires have opened to themselves
the most frightful volcanoes, whose craters frequently issue destruction
on every side. In short, the elements unloosed, have at various times,
disputed among themselves the empire of our globe; this exhibits
evidence of the fact, by those vast heaps of wreck, those stupendous
ruins spread over its surface. What, then, must have been the fears of
mankind, who in those countries believed he beheld the entire of nature
armed against his peace, menacing with destruction his very abode? What
must have been the inquietude of a people taken thus unprovided, who
fancied they saw nature cruelly labouring to their annihilation? Who
beheld a world ready to be dashed into atoms; who witnessed the earth
suddenly rent asunder; whose yawning chasm was the grave of large
cities, whole provinces, entire nations? What ideas must mortals, thus
overwhelmed with terror, form to themselves of the irresistible cause
that could produce such extended effects? Without doubt they did not
attribute these wide spreading calamities to nature; neither did they
conceive they were mere physical causes; they could not suspect she was
the author, the accomplice of the confusion she herself experienced;
they did not see that these tremendous revolutions, these overpowering
disorders, were the necessary result of her immutable laws; that they
contributed to the general order by which she subsists; that, in point
of fact, there was nothing more surprising in the inundation of large
portions of the earth, in the swallowing up an entire nation, in a
volcanic conflagration spreading destruction over whole provinces, than
there is in a stone falling to the earth, or the death of a fly; that
each equally has its spring in the necessity of things.

It was under these astounding circumstances, that nations, bathed in
the most bitter tears, perplexed with the most frightful visions,
electrified with terror, not believing there existed on this mundane
ball, causes sufficiently powerful to operate the gigantic phenomena
that filled their minds with dismay, carried their streaming eyes
towards heaven, where their tremulous fears led them to suppose these
unknown agents, whose unprovoked enmity destroyed, their earthly
felicity, could alone reside.

It was in the lap of ignorance, in the season of alarm, in the bosom of
calamity, that mankind ever formed his first notions of the _Divinity_.
From hence it is obvious that his ideas on this subject are to be
suspected, that his notions are in a great measure false, that they are
always afflicting. Indeed, upon whatever part of our sphere we cast
our eyes, whether it be upon the frozen climates of the north, upon the
parching regions of the south, or under the more temperate zones, we
every where behold the people when assailed by misfortunes, have either
made to themselves national gods, or else have adopted those which have
been given them by their conquerors; before these beings, either
of their own creation or adoption, they have tremblingly prostrated
themselves in the hour of calamity, soliciting relief; have ignorantly
attributed to blocks of stone, or to men like themselves, those natural
effects which were above their comprehension; the inhabitants of many
nations, not contented with the national gods, made each to himself
one or more gods, which he supposed presided exclusively over his own
household, from whom he supposed he derived his own peculiar happiness,
to whom he attributed all his domestic misfortunes. The idea of these
powerful agents, these supposed distributors of good and evil, was
always associated with that of terror; their name was never pronounced
without recalling to man's wind either his own particular calamities or
those of his fathers. In many places man trembles at this day, because
his progenitors have trembled for thousands of years past. The thought
of his gods always awakened in man the most afflicting ideas. If he
recurred to the source of his actual fears, to the commencement of those
melancholy impressions that stamp themselves in his mind when their
name is announced, he would find it in the conflagrations, in the
revolutions, in those extended disasters, that have at various times
destroyed large portions of the human race; that overwhelmed with dismay
those miserable beings who escaped the destruction of the earth; these
in transmitting to posterity, the tradition of such afflicting events,
have also transmitted to him their fears; have delivered down to their
successors, those gloomy ideas which their bewildered imaginations,
coupled with their barbarous ignorance of natural causes, had formed to
them of the anger of their irritated gods, to which their alarm falsely
attributed these sweeping disasters.

If the gods of nations had their birth in the bosom of alarm, it was
again in that of despair that each individual formed the unknown power
that he made exclusively for himself. Ignorant of physical causes,
unpractised in their mode of action, unaccustomed to their effects,
whenever he experienced any serious misfortune, whenever he was
afflicted with any grievous sensation, he was at a loss how to account
for it; he therefore attributed it to his household gods, to whom he
made an immediate supplication for assistance, or rather for forbearance
of further affliction: this disposition in man has been finely
pourtrayed by Aesop in his fable of "the Waggoner and Hercules." The
motion which in despight of himself was excited in his machine, his
diseases, his troubles, his passions, his inquietude, the painful
alterations his frame underwent, without his being able to fathom the
true causes; at length death, of which the aspect in so formidable to a
being strongly attached to existence, were effects he looked upon either
as supernatural, or else he conceived they were repugnant to his actual
nature; he attributed them to some mighty cause, which maugre all his
efforts, disposed of him at each, moment. Thus palsied with alarm,
benumbed with terror, he pensively meditated upon his sorrows; agitated
with fear, he sought for means to avert the calamities that threatened
him with destruction; his imagination, thus rendered desperate by
his endurance of evils which he found inevitable, formed to him
those phantoms which he called gods; before whom he trembled from a
consciousness of his own weakness; thus disposed, he endeavoured by
prostration, by sacrifices, by prayers, to disarm the anger of these
imaginary beings to which his trepidation had given birth; whom he
ignorantly imagined to be the cause of his misery, whom his fancy
painted to him as endowed with the power of alleviating his sufferings:
it was thus in the extremity of his grief, in the exacerbation of his
mind, weighed down with misfortune, that unhappy man fashioned
those chimeras which filled him with the most gloomy ideas, which he
transmitted to his posterity, as the surest means of avoiding the evils
to which he had been himself subjected.

Man never judges of those objects of which he is ignorant, but through
the medium of those which come within his knowledge: thus man, taking
himself for the model, ascribed will, intelligence, design, projects,
passions; in a word, qualities analogous to his own, to all those
unknown causes of which he experienced the action. As soon as a visible
or supposed cause affects him in an agreeable manner, or in a mode
favourable to his existence, he concludes it to be good, to be well
intentioned towards him: on the contrary, he judges all those to be bad
in their nature, evilly disposed, to have the intention of injuring him,
which cause him any painful sensations. He attributes views, plans,
a system of conduct like his own, to every thing which to his limited
ideas appears of itself to produce connected effects; to act with
regularity; to constantly operate in the same manner; that uniformly
produces the same sensations in his own person. According to these
notions, which he always borrows from himself, from his own peculiar
mode of action, he either loves or fears those objects which have
affected him; he in consequence approaches them with confidence or
timidity; seeks after them or flies from them in proportion as the
feelings they have excited are either pleasant or painful. Having
travelled thus far, he presently addresses them; he invokes their aid;
prays to them for succour; conjures them to cease his afflictions;
to forbear tormenting him; as he finds himself sensible to presents,
pleased with submission, he tries to win them to his interests by
humiliation, by sacrifices; he exercises towards them the hospitality
he himself loves; he gives them an asylum; he builds them a dwelling;
he furnishes them with costly raiment; he makes their altars smoke with
delicious food; he proffers to their acceptance the earliest flowers of
spring; the finest fruits of autumn; the rich grain of summer; in short
he sets before them all those things which he thinks will please them
the most, because he himself places the highest value on them. These
dispositions enable us to account for the formation of tutelary gods,
of lares, of larvae, which every man makes to himself in savage and
unpolished nations. Thus we perceive that weak superstitious mortals,
ignorant of truth, devoid of experience, regard as the arbiters of their
fate, as the dispensers of good and evil, animals, stones, unformed
inanimate substances, which the effort of their heated imaginations
transform into gods, whom they invest with intelligence, whom they
clothe with desires, to whom they give volition.

Another disposition which serves to deceive the savage man, which will
equally deceive those whom reason shall not enlighten on these subjects,
is his attachment to omens; or the fortuitous concurrence of certain
effects, with causes which have not produced them; the co-existence
of these effects with certain causes, which have not the slightest
connection with them, has frequently led astray very intelligent beings;
nations who considered themselves very enlightened; who have either been
disinclined or unable to disentangle the one from the other: thus the
savage attributes bounty or the will to render him service, to any
object whether animate or inanimate, such as a stone of a certain form,
a rock, a mountain, a tree, a serpent, an owl, &c. if every time he
encounters these objects in a certain position, it should so happen that
he is more than ordinarily successful in hunting, that he should take an
unusual quantity of fish, that he should be victorious in war, or that
he should compass any enterprize whatever that he may at that moment
undertake: the same savage will be quite as gratuitous in attaching
malice, wickedness, the determination to injure him, to either the same
object in a different position, or any others in a given posture, which
way have met his eyes on those days when he shall have suffered some
grievous accident, have been very unsuccessful in his undertakings,
unfortunate in the chace, disappointed in his draught of fish: incapable
of reasoning he connects these effects with causes, that reflection
would convince him have nothing in common with each other; that are
entirely due to physical causes, to necessary circumstances, over which
neither himself nor his omens have the least controul: nevertheless he
finds it much easier to attribute them to these imaginary causes; he
therefore _deifies_ them; looks upon them as either his guardian angels,
or else as his most inveterate enemies. Having invested them with
supernatural powers, he becomes anxious to explain to himself their mode
of action; his self-love prevents his seeking elsewhere for the model:
thus he assigns them all those motives that actuate himself; he endows
them with passions; he gives them design--intelligence--will--imagines
they can either injure him or benefit him, as he may render them
propitious or otherwise to his views: he ends with worshipping them;
with paying them divine honours; he appoints them priests; or at least
always consults them before he undertakes any object of moment: such
is their influence, that if they put on the evil position, he will lay
aside the most important undertaking. The savage in this is never more
than an infant, that is angry with the object that displeases him; just
like the dog who gnaws the stone by which he has been wounded, without
recurring to the hand by which it was thrown.

Such is the foundation of man's faith, in either happy or unhappy omens:
devoid of experience, unaccustomed to reason with precision, fearing
to call in the evidence of truth, he looks upon them either as gods
themselves, or else as warnings given him by his other gods, to whom
he attributes the faculties of sagacity and foresight, of which he is
himself miserably deficient. Ignorance, when involved in disaster, when
immersed in trouble, believes a stone, a reptile, a bird, much better
instructed than himself. The slender observation of the ignorant only
serves to render him more superstitious; he sees certain birds announce
by their flight, by their cries, certain changes in the weather, such as
cold, heat, rain, storms; he beholds at certain periods, vapours arise
from the bottom of some particular caverns? there needs nothing further
to impress upon him the belief, that these beings possess the knowledge
of future events; enjoy the gifts of prophecy: he looks upon them as
supernatural agents, employed by his gods: it is thus he becomes the
dupe to his own credulity.

If by degrees the truth flashing occasionally on his mind, experience
and reflection arrive at undeceiving him, with respect to the power,
the intelligence, the virtues actually residing in these objects; he at
least supposes them put in activity by some secret, some hidden cause;
that they are the instruments, employed by some invisible agent, who
is either friendly or inimical to his welfare. To this concealed
agent, therefore, he addresses himself; pays him his vows; emplores
his assistance; deprecates his wrath; seeks to propitiate him to his
interests; is willing to soften his anger; for this purpose he employs
the same means, of which he avails himself, either to appease or gain
over the beings of his own species.

Societies in their origin, seeing themselves frequently afflicted
by nature, supposed either the elements, or the concealed powers who
regulated them, possessed a will, views, wants, desires, similar to
their own. From hence, the sacrifices imagined to nourish them; the
libations poured out to them; the steams, the incense to gratify their
olfactory nerves. Their superstition led them to believe these elements
or their irritated movers were to be appeased like irritated man, by
prayers, by humiliation, by presents. Their imagination was ransacked
to discover the presents that would be most acceptable in their eyes;
to ascertain the oblations that would be most agreeable, the sacrifices
that would most surely propitiate their kindness: as these did not make
known their inclinations, man differed with his fellow on those most
suitable; each followed his own disposition; or rather each offered what
was most estimable in his own eyes; hence arose differences never to be
reconciled the bitterest animosities; the most unconquerable aversions;
the most, destructive jealousies! Thus some brought the fruits of the
earth, others offered sheaves of corn: some strewed flowers over their
fanes; some decorated them with the most costly jewels; some served them
with meats; others sacrificed lambs, heifers, bulls; at length such
was their delirium, such the wildness of their imaginations, that they
stained their altars with human gore, made oblations of young children
immolated virgins, to appease the anger of these supposed deities.

The old men, as having the most experience, were usually charged with
the conduct of these peace-offerings, from whence, the name PRIEST;
[Greek letters], _presbos_, in the Greek meaning an old man. These
accompanied them with ceremonies, instituted rites, used precautions by
consulting omens; adopted formalities, retraced to their fellow citizens
the notions transmitted to them by their forefathers; collected the
observations made by their ancestors; repeated the fables they had
received; added commentaries of their own; subjoined supplications
to the idols at whose shrine they were sacrificing. It is thus
the sacerdotal order was established; thus that public worship was
established; by degrees each community formed a body of tenets to be
observed by the citizens; these were transmitted from race to race;
held sacred out of reverence for their fathers; at length it was deemed
sacrilege to doubt these pandects in any one particular; even the
errors, that had crept into them with time, were beheld with reverential
awe; he that ventured to reason upon them, was looked upon as an enemy
to the commonwealth; as one whose impiety drew down upon them the
vengeance of these adored beings, to which alone imagination had given
birth; not contented with adopting the rituals, with following the
ceremonies invented by themselves, one community waged war against
another, to oblige it to receive their particular creeds; which the old
men who regulated them, declared would infallibly win them the favor of
their tutelary deities: thus very often to conciliate their favor, the
victorious party immolated on the altars of their gods, the bodies of
their unhappy captives; frequently they carried their savage barbarity
the length of exterminating whole nations, who happened to worship gods
different from their own: thus it frequently happened, that the friends
of the serpent, when victorious, covered his altars with the mangled
carcases of the worshippers of the stone, whom the fortune of war had
placed in their hands: such were the unformed, the precarious elements
of which rude nations every where availed themselves to compose
their superstitions: they were always a system of conduct invented by
imagination: conceived in ignorance, organized in misfortune, to render
the unknown powers, to whom they believed nature was submitted, either
favorable to their views, or to, induce them to cease those afflictions,
which natural causes, for the wisest purposes, were continually heaping
upon them; thus some irascible, at the same time placable being, was
always chosen for the basis of the adopted superstition; it was upon
these puerile tenets, upon these absurd notions, that the old men or the
priests rested their doctrines; founded their rights; established their
authority: it was to render these fanciful beings friendly to the race
of man, that they erected, temples, raised altars, loaded them with
wealth; in short, it was from such rude foundations, that arose the
magnificent structure of superstition; under which man trembled for
thousands of years: which governed the condition of society, which
determined the actions of the people, gave the tone to the character,
deluged the earth with blood, for such a long series of ages. But
although these superstitions were originally invented by savages, they
still have the power of regulating the fate of many civilized
nations, who are not less tenacious of their chimeras, than their rude
progenitors. These systems, so ruinous in their principles, have been
variously modified by the human mind, of which it is the essence, to
labour incessantly on unknown objects; it always, commences by attaching
to these, a very first-rate importance, which it afterwards never dares
coolly to examine.

Such was the course of man's imagination, in the successive ideas which
he either formed to himself, or which he received from his fathers, upon
the divinity. The first theology of man was grounded on fear, modelled
by ignorance: either afflicted or benefitted by the elements, he adored
these elements themselves; by a parity of reasoning, if reasoning it can
be called, he extended his reverence to every material, coarse object;
he afterwards rendered his homage to the agents he supposed presiding
over these elements; to powerful genii; to inferior genii; to heroes;
to men endowed with either great or striking qualities. Time, aided by
reflection, with here and there a slight corruscation of truth, induced
him in some places to relinquish his original ideas; he believed
he simplified the thing by lessening the number of his gods, but he
achieved nothing by this towards attaining to the truth; in recurring
from cause to cause man finished by losing sight of every thing; in this
obscurity, in this dark abyss, his mind still laboured, he formed
new chimeras, he made new gods, or rather he formed a very complex
machinery; still, as before, whenever he could not account for any
phenomenon that struck his sight, he was unwilling to ascribe it to
physical causes; and the name of his Divinity, whatever that might
happen to be, was always brought in to supply his own ignorance of
natural causes.

If a faithful account was rendered of man's ideas upon the Divinity, he
would be obliged to acknowledge, that for the most part the word _Gods_
has been used to express the concealed, remote, unknown causes of the
effects he witnessed; that he applies this term when the spring of
natural, the source of known causes ceases to be visible: as soon as he
loses the thread of these causes, or as soon as his mind can no longer
follow the chain, he solves the difficulty, terminates his research, by
ascribing it to his gods; thus giving a vague definition to an unknown
cause, at which either his idleness, or his limited knowledge, obliges
him to stop. When, therefore, he ascribes to his gods the production
of some phenomenon, the novelty or the extent of which strikes him with
wonder, but of which his ignorance precludes him from unravelling the
true cause, or which he believes the natural powers with which he is
acquainted are inadequate to bring forth; does he, in fact, do any thing
more than substitute for the darkness of his own mind, a sound to which
he has been accustomed to listen with reverential awe? Ignorance may be
said to be the inheritance of the generality of men; these attribute to
their gods not only those uncommon effects that burst upon their senses
with an astounding force, but also the most simple events, the causes
of which are the most easy to be known to whoever shall be willing to
meditate upon them. In short, man has always respected those unknown
causes, those surprising effects which his ignorance prevented him from
fathoming.

But does this afford us one single, correct idea of the _Divinity_? Can
it be possible we are acting rationally, thus eternally to make him
the agent of our stupidity, of our sloth, of our want of information on
natural causes? Do we, in fact, pay any kind of adoration to this being,
by thus bringing him forth on every trifling occasion, to solve the
difficulties ignorance throws in our way? Of whatever nature this great
cause of causes may be, it is evident to the slightest reflection that
he has been sedulous to conceal himself from our view; that he has
rendered it impossible for us to have the least acquaintance with
him, except through the medium of nature, which he has unquestionably
rendered competent to every thing: this is the rich banquet spread
before man; he is invited to partake, with a welcome he has no right to
dispute; to enjoy therefore is to obey; to be happy is to render that
worship which must make him most acceptable; _to be happy himself is
to make others happy; to make others happy is to be virtuous; to be
virtuous he must revere truth: to know what truth is, he must examine
with caution, scrutinize with severity, every opinion he adopts:_ this
granted, is it at all consistent with the majesty of the Divinity, is it
not insulting to such a being to clothe him with our wayward passions;
to ascribe to him designs similar to our narrow view of things; to
give him our filthy desires; to suppose he can be guided by our finite
conceptions; to bring him on a level with frail humanity, by investing
him with our qualities, however much we may exaggerate them; to indulge
an opinion that he can either act or think as we do; to imagine he can
in any manner resemble such a feeble play-thing, as is the greatest, the
most distinguished man? No! it is to degrade him in the eye of reason;
to violate every regard for truth; to set moral decency at defiance; to
fall back into the depth of cimmerian darkness. Let man therefore sit
down cheerfully to the feast; let him contentedly partake of what he
finds; but let him not worry the Divinity with his useless prayers, with
his shallow-sighted requests, to solicit at his hands that which, if
granted, would in all probability be the most injurious for himself;
these supplications are, in fact, at once to say, that with our limited
experience, with our slender knowledge, we better understand what is
suitable to our condition, what is convenient to our welfare, than the
mighty _Cause of all causes_ who has left us in the hands of nature:
it is to be presumptuous in the highest degree of presumption; it is
impiously to endeavour to lift up a veil which it is evidently forbidden
man to touch; that even his most strenuous efforts attempt in vain.

It remains, then, to inquire, if man can reasonably flatter himself with
obtaining a perfect knowledge of the power of nature; of the properties
of the beings she contains; of the effects which may result from their
various combinations? Do we know why the magnet attracts iron? Are
we better acquainted with the cause of polar attraction? Are we in a
condition to explain the phenomena of light, electricity, elasticity?
Do we understand the mechanism by which that modification of our brain,
which we tall volition, puts our arm or our legs into motion? Can we
render to ourselves an account of the manner in which our eyes behold
objects, in which our ears receive sounds, in which our mind conceives
ideas? All we know upon these subjects is, that they are so. If then
we are incapable of accounting for the most ordinary phenomena, which
nature daily exhibits to us, by what chain of reasoning do we refuse to
her the power of producing other effects equally incomprehensible to
us? Shall we be more instructed, when every time we behold an effect of
which we are not in a capacity to develope the cause, we may idly say,
this effect is produced by the power, by the will of God? Undoubtedly it
is the great _Cause of causes_ must have produced every thing; but is
it not lessening the true dignity of the Divinity, to introduce him as
interfering in every operation of nature; nay, in every action of so
insignificant a creature as man? As a mere agent executing his own
eternal, immutable laws; when experience, when reflection, when the
evidence of all we contemplate, warrants the idea, that this ineffable
being has rendered nature competent to every effect, by giving her those
irrevocable laws, that eternal, unchangeable system, according to which
all the beings she contains must eternally act? Is it not more worthy
the exalted mind of the GREAT PARENT OF PARENTS, _ens entium_, more
consistent with truth, to suppose that his wisdom in giving these
immutable, these eternal laws to the macrocosm, foresaw every thing that
could possibly be requisite for the happiness of the beings contained in
it; that therefore he left it to the invariable operation of a system,
which never can produce any effect that is not the best possible that
circumstances however viewed will admit: that consequently the natural
activity of the human mind, which is itself the result of this eternal
action, was purposely given to man, that he might endeavour to
fathom, that he might strive to unravel, that he might seek out the
concatenation of these laws, in order to furnish remedies against the
evils produced by ignorance. How many discoveries in the great science
of natural philosophy has mankind progressively made, which the ignorant
prejudices of our forefathers on their first announcement considered
as impious, as displeasing to the Divinity, as heretical profanations,
which could only be expiated by the sacrifice of the enquiring
individuals; to whose labour their posterity owes such an infinity of
gratitude? Even in modern days we have seen a SOCRATES destroyed, a
GALLILEO condemned, whilst multitudes of other benefactors to mankind
have been held in contempt by their uninformed cotemporaries, for those
very researches into nature which the present generation hold in the
highest veneration. _Whenever ignorant priests are permitted to guide
the opinions of nations, science can make but a very slender progress:_
natural discoveries will be always held inimical to the interest of
bigotted superstitious men. It may, to the minds of infatuated mortals,
to the shallow comprehension of prejudiced beings, appear very pious to
reply on every occasion our gods do this, our gods do that; but to the
contemplative philosopher, to the man of reason, to the real adorers of
the great _Cause of causes_, it will never be convincing, that a sound,
a mere word, can attach the reason of things; can have more than a fixed
sense; can suffice to explain problems. The word GOD is for the most
part used to denote the impenetrable cause of those effects which
astonish mankind; which man is not competent to explain. But is not this
wilful idleness? Is it not inconsistent with our nature? Is it not being
truly impious, to sit down with those fine faculties we have received,
and give the answer of a child to every thing we do not understand; or
rather which our own sloth, or our own want of industry has prevented us
from knowing? Ought we not rather to redouble our efforts to penetrate
the cause of those phenomena which strike our mind? Is not this, in
fact, the duty we owe to the great, the universal Parent? When we have
given this answer, what have we said? nothing but what every one knows.
Could the great _Cause of causes_ make the whole, without also making
its part? But does it of necessity follow that he executes every
trifling operation, when he has so noble an agent as his own nature,
whose laws he has rendered unchangeable, whose scale of operations can
never deviate from the eternal routine he has marked out for her and all
the beings she embraces? Whose secrets, if sought out, contain the true
balsam of life--the sovereign remedy for all the diseases of man.

When we shall be ingenuous with ourselves, we shall be obliged to
agree that it was uniformly the ignorance in which our ancestors were
involved, their want of knowledge of natural causes, their unenlightened
ideas on the powers of nature, which gave birth to the gods they
worshipped; that it is, again, the impossibility which the greater
part of mankind find to withdraw, themselves out of this ignorance, the
difficulty they consequently find to form to themselves simple ideas
of the formation of things, the labour that is required to discover the
true sources of those events, which they either admire or fear, that
makes them believe these ideas are necessary to enable them to render an
account of those phenomena, to which their own sluggishness renders them
incompetent to recur. Here, without doubt, is the reason they treat all
those as irrational who do not see the necessity of admitting an unknown
agent, or some secret energy, which for want of being acquainted with
Nature, they have placed out of herself.

The phenomena of nature necessarily breed various sentiments in man:
some he thinks favorable to him, some prejudicial, while the whole
is only what it can be. Some excite his love, his admiration, his
gratitude; others fill him with trouble, cause aversion, drive him to
despair. According to the various sensations he experiences, he either
loves or fears the causes to which he attributes the effects,
which produce in him these different passions: these sentiments
are commensurate with the effects he experiences; his admiration is
enhanced, his fears are augmented, in the same ratio as the phenomena
which strikes his senses are more or less extensive, more or less
irresistible or interesting to him. Man necessarily makes himself the
centre of nature; indeed he can only judge of things, as he is himself
affected by them; he can only love that which he thinks favorable to
his being; he hates, he fears every thing which causes him to suffer:
in short, as we have seen in the former volume, he calls confusion every
thing that deranges the economy of his machine; he believes all is in
order, as soon as he experiences nothing but what is suitable to his
peculiar mode of existence. By a necessary consequence of these ideas,
man firmly believes that the entire of nature was made for him alone;
that it was only himself which she had in view in all her works; or
rather that the powerful cause to which this nature was subordinate, had
only for object man and his convenience, in all the stupendous effects
which are produced in the universe.

If there existed on this earth other thinking beings besides man,
they would fall exactly into similar prejudices with himself; it is
a sentiment founded upon that predilection which each individual
necessarily has for himself; a predilection that will subsist until
reason, aided by experience, in pointing out the truth, shall have
rectified his errors.

Thus, whenever man is contented, whenever every thing is in order with
respect to himself, he either admires or loves the causes to which he
believes he is indebted for his welfare; when he becomes discontented
with his mode of existence, he either fears or hates the cause which
he supposes has produced these afflicting effects. But his welfare
confounds itself with his existence; it ceases to make itself felt when
it has become habitual, when it has been of long continuance; he then
thinks it is inherrent to his essence; he concludes from it that he is
formed to be always happy; he finds it natural that every thing should
concur to the maintenance of his being. It is by no means the same when
he experiences a mode of existence that is displeasing to himself: the
man who suffers is quite astonished at the change which his taken place
in his machine; he judges it to be contrary to the entire of nature,
because it is incommodious to his own particular nature; he, imagines
those events by which he is wounded, to be contrary to the order of
things; he believes that nature is deranged every time she does not
procure for him that mode of feeling which is suitable to his ideas: he
concludes from these suppositions that nature, or rather that the agent
who moves her; is irritated against him.

It is thus that man, almost insensible to good, feels evil in a very
lively manner; the first he believes natural, the other he thinks
opposed to nature. He is either ignorant, or forgets, that he
constitutes part of a whole, formed by the assemblage of substances, of
which some are analogous, others heterogeneous; that the various beings
of which nature is composed, are endowed with a variety of properties,
by virtue of which they act diversely on the bodies who find themselves
within the sphere of their action; that some have an aptitude to
attraction, whilst it is of the essence of others to repel; that even
those bodies that attract at one distance, repel at another; that
the peculiar attractions and repulsions of the particles of bodies
perpetually oppose, invariably counteract the general ones of the masses
of matter: he does not perceive that these beings, as destitute of
goodness, as devoid of malice, act only according to their respective
essences; follow the laws their properties impose upon them; without
being in capacity to act otherwise than they do. It is, therefore, for
want of being acquainted with these things, that he looks upon the great
Author of nature, the great _Cause of causes_, as the immediate cause of
those evils to which he is submitted; that he judges erroneously when he
imagines that the Divinity is exasperated against him.

The fact is, man believes that his welfare is a debt due to him from
nature; that when he suffers evil she does him an injustice; fully
persuaded that this nature was made solely for himself, he cannot
conceive she would make him, who is her lord paramount, suffer, if she
was not moved thereto by a power who is inimical to his happiness;
who has reasons with which he is unacquainted for afflicting, who has
motives which he wishes to discover, for punishing him. From hence it
will be obvious, that evil, much more than good, is the true motive of
those researches which man has made concerning the Divinity--of those
ideas which he has formed to himself--of the conduct he has held towards
him. The admiration of the works of nature, or the acknowledgement of
its goodness, seem never alone to have determined the human species to
recur painfully by thought to the source of these things; familiarized
at once with all those effects which are favourable to his existence, he
does not by any means give himself the same trouble to seek the causes,
that he does to discover those which disquiet him, or by which he is
afflicted. Thus, in reflecting upon the Divinity, it was generally
upon the cause of his evils that man meditated; his meditations were
fruitless, because the evil he experiences, as well as the good he
partakes, are equally necessary effects of natural causes, to which
his mind ought rather to have bent its force, than to have invented
fictitious causes of which he never could form to himself any but
false ideas; seeing that he always borrowed them, from his own peculiar
mariner of existing, acting, and feeling. Obstinately refusing to see
any thing, but himself, he never became acquainted with that universal
nature of which he constitutes such a very feeble part.

The slightest reflection, however, would have been sufficient to
undeceive him on these erroneous ideas. Everything tends to prove that
good and evil are modes of existence that depend upon causes by which a
man is moved; that a sensible being is obliged to experience them. In
a nature composed of a multitude of beings infinitely varied, the
shock occasioned by the collision of discordant matter must necessarily
disturb the order, derange the mode of existence of those beings who
have no analogy with them: these act in every thing they do after
certain laws, which are in themselves immutable; the good or evil,
therefore, which man experiences, are necessary consequences of the
qualities inherent to the beings, within whose sphere of action he is
found. Our birth, which we call a benefit, is an effect as necessary as
our death, which we contemplate as an injustice of fate: it is of the
nature of all analogous beings to unite themselves to form a whole: it
is of the nature of all compound beings to be destroyed, or to dissolve
themselves; some maintain their union for a longer period than others;
some disperse very quickly, as the ephemeron; some endure for ages, as
the planets; every being in dissolving itself gives birth to new beings;
these are destroyed in their turn; to execute the eternal, the immutable
laws of a nature that only exists by the continual changes that all
its parts undergo. Thus nature cannot be accused of malice, since every
thing that takes place in it is necessary--is produced by an invariable
system, to which every other being, as well as herself, is eternally
subjected. The same igneous matter that in man is the principle of
life, frequently becomes the principle of his destruction, either by the
conflagration of a city, the explosion of a volcano, or his mad passion
for war. The aqueous fluid that circulates through his machine, so
essentially necessary to his actual existence, frequently becomes too
abundant, and terminates him by suffocation; is the cause of those
inundations which sometimes swallow up both the earth and its
inhabitants. The air, without which he is not able to respire, is the
cause of those hurricanes, of those tempests, which frequently render
useless the labour of mortals. These elements are obliged to burst their
bonds, when they are combined in a certain manner; their necessary but
fatal consequences are those ravages, those contagions, those famines,
those diseases, those various scourges, against which man, with
streaming eyes and violent emotions, vainly implores the aid of those
powers who are deaf to his cries: his prayers are never granted; but
the same necessity which afflicted him, the same immutable laws which
overwhelmed him with trouble, replaces things in the order he finds
suitable to his species: a relative order of things which was, is, and
always will be the only standard of his judgment.

Man, however, made no such simple reflections: he either did not or
would not perceive that every thing in nature acted by invariable
laws; he continued stedfast in contemplating the good of which he was
partaker, as a favor; in considering the evil he experienced, as a sign
of anger in this nature, which he supposed to be animated by the same
passions as himself or at least that it was governed by secret agents,
who acted after his own manner, who obliged it to execute their will,
that was sometimes favourable, sometimes inimical to the human species.
It was to these supposed agents, with whom in the sunshine of his
prosperity he was but little occupied, that in the bosom of his calamity
he addressed his prayers; he thanked them, however, for their favours,
fearing lest their ingratitude might farther provoke their fury: thus
when assailed by disaster, when afflicted with disease, he invoked them
with fervor: he required them to change in his favor the mode of acting
which was the very essence of beings; he was willing that to make the
slightest evil he experienced cease, that the eternal chain of things
might be broken; and the unerring, undeviating course of nature might he
arrested.

It was upon such ridiculous pretensions, that were founded those
supplications, those fervent prayers, which mortals, almost always
discontented with their fate, never in accord in their respective
desires, addressed to their gods. They were unceasingly upon their knees
before the altars, were ever prostrate before the power of the beings,
whom they judged had the right of commanding nature; who they supposed
to have sufficient energy to divert her course; who they considered to
possess the means to make her subservient to their particular views;
thus each hoped by presents, by humiliation, to induce them to oblige
this nature, to satisfy the discordant desires of their race. The sick
man, expiring in his bed, asks that the humours accumulated in his body
should in an instant lose those properties which renders them injurious
to his existence; that by an act of their puissance, his gods should
renew or recreate the springs of a machine worn out by infirmities. The
cultivator of a low swampy country, makes complaint of the abundance of
rain with which his fields are inundated; whilst the inhabitant of
the hill, raises his thanks for the favors he receives, solicits a
continuance of that which causes the despair of his neighbour. In this,
each is willing to have a god for himself, and asks according to his
momentary caprices, to his fluctuating wants, that the invariable
essence of things, should be continually changed in his favour.

From this it must be obvious, that man every moment asks a _miracle_ to
be wrought in his support. It is not, therefore, at all surprising that
he displayed such ready credulity, that he adopted with such facility
the relation of the marvellous deeds which were universally announced to
him as the acts of the power, or the effects of the benevolence, of
the various gods which presided over the nations of the earth: these
wonderful tales, which were offered to his acceptance, as the most
indubitable proofs of the empire of these gods over nature, which man
always found deaf to his entreaties, were readily accredited by him; in
the expectation, that if he could gain them over to his interest, this
nature, which he found so sullen, so little disposed to lend herself to
his views, would then be controuled in his own favor.

By a necessary consequence of these ideas, nature was despoiled of all
power; she was contemplated only as a passive instrument, who acted at
the will, under the influence of the numerous, all-powerful agents to
whom the various superstitions had rendered her subordinate. It was thus
for want of contemplating nature under her true point of view, that man
has mistaken her entirely, that he believed her incapable of producing
any thing by herself; that he ascribed the honor of all those
productions, whether advantageous or disadvantageous to the human
species, to fictitious powers, whom he always clothed with his own
peculiar dispositions, only he aggrandized their force. In short, it
was upon the ruins of nature, that man erected the imaginary colossus of
superstition, that he reared the _altars of a Jupiter, the temples of an
Apollo_.

If the ignorance of nature gave birth to such a variety of gods, the
knowledge of this nature is calculated to destroy them. As soon as man
becomes enlightened, his powers augment, his resources increase in a
ratio with his knowledge; the sciences, the protecting arts, industrious
application, furnish him assistance; experience encourages his progress,
truth procures for him the means of resisting the efforts of many
causes, which cease to alarm him as soon as he obtains a correct
knowledge of them. In a word, his terrors dissipate in proportion as his
mind becomes enlightened, because his trepidation is ever commensurate
with his ignorance, and furnishes this great lesson, that _man,
instructed by truth, ceases to be superstitious_.





CHAP. II.

_Of Mythology, and Theology_.


The elements of nature were, as we have shewn, the first divinities
of man; he has generally commenced with adoring material beings; each
individual, as we have already said, as may be still seen in savage
nations, made to himself a particular god, of some physical object,
which he supposed to be the cause of those events, in which he was
himself interested; he never wandered to seek out of visible nature,
the source either of what happened to himself, or of those phenomena to
which he was a witness. As he every where saw only material effects, he
attributed them to causes of the same genus; incapable in his infancy
of those profound reveries, of those subtle speculations, which are
the fruit of time, the result of leisure, he did not imagine any cause
distinguished from the objects that met his sight, nor of any essence
totally different from every thing he beheld.

The observation of nature was the first study of those who had leisure
to meditate: they could not avoid being struck with the phenomena of the
visible world. The rising and setting of the sun, the periodical return
of the seasons, the variations of the atmosphere, the fertility and
sterility of the earth, the advantages of irrigation, the damage caused
by floods, the useful effects of fire, the terrible consequences
of conflagration, were proper and suitable objects to occupy their
thoughts. It was natural for them to believe that those beings they saw
move of themselves, acted by their own peculiar energies; according as
their influence over the inhabitants of the earth was either favorable
or otherwise, they concluded them to have either the power to injure
them, or the disposition to confer benefits. Those who first acquired
the knowledge of gaining an ascendancy over man, then savage, wandering,
unpolished, or dispersed in woods, with but little attachment to the
soil, of which he had not yet learned to reap the advantage, were always
more practised observers--individuals more instructed in the ways of
nature, than the people, or rather the scattered hordes, whom they found
ignorant and destitute of experience: their superior knowledge placed
them in a capacity to render these services--to discover to them useful
inventions, which attracted the confidence of the unhappy beings to
whom they came to offer an assisting hand; savages who were naked,
half famished, exposed to the injuries of the weather, obnoxious to the
attacks of ferocious beasts, dispersed in caverns, scattered in forests,
occupied with hunting, painfully labouring to procure themselves a very
precarious subsistence, had not sufficient leisure to make discoveries
calculated to facilitate their labour, or to render it less incessant.
These discoveries are generally the fruit of society: isolated beings,
detached families, hardly ever make any discoveries--scarcely ever think
of making any. The savage is a being who lives in a perpetual state of
infancy, who never reaches maturity unless some one comes to draw him
out of his misery. At first repulsive, unsociable, intractable, he by
degrees familiarizes himself with those who render him service; once
gained by their kindness, he readily lends them his confidence; in the
end he goes the length of sacrificing to them his liberty.

It was commonly from the bosom of civilized nations that have issued
those personages who have carried sociability, agriculture, art, laws,
gods, superstition, forms of worship, to those families or hordes as yet
scattered; who united them either to the body of some other nations,
or formed them into new nations, of which they themselves became the
leaders, sometimes the king, frequently the high priest, and often their
god. These softened their manners--gathered them together--taught
them to reap the advantages of their own powers--to render each other
reciprocal assistance--to satisfy their wants with greater facility. In
thus rendering their existence more comfortable, thus augmenting
their happiness, they attracted their love; obtained their veneration,
acquired the right of prescribing opinions to them, made them adopt
such as they had either invented themselves, or else drawn up in the
civilized countries from whence they came. History points out to us the
most famous legislators as men, who, enriched with useful knowledge they
had gleaned in the bosom of polished nations, carried to savages without
industry, needing assistance, those arts, of which, until then, these
rude people were ignorant: such were the Bacchus's, the Orpheus's, the
Triptolemus's, the Numa's, the Zamolixis's; in short, all those who
first gave to nations their gods--their worship--the rudiments of
agriculture, of science, of superstition, of jurisprudence, of religion,
&c.

It will perhaps be enquired, If those nations which at the present day
we see assembled, were all originally dispersed? We reply, that this
dispersion may have been produced at various times, by those terrible
revolutions, of which it has before been remarked our globe has more
than once been the theatre; in times so remote, that history has not
been able to transmit us the detail. Perhaps the approach of more than
one comet may have produced on our earth several universal ravages,
which have at each time annihilated the greater portion of the human
species.

These hypotheses will unquestionably appear bold to those who have not
sufficiently meditated on nature, but to the philosophic enquirer they
are by no means inconsistent. There may not only have been one general
deluge, but even a great number since the existence of our planet; this
globe itself may have been a new production in nature; it may not always
have occupied the place it does at present. Whatever idea may be adopted
on this subject, if it is very certain that, independent of those
exterior causes, which are competent to totally change its face, as the
impulse of a comet may do, this globe contains within itself, a cause
adequate to alter it entirely, since, besides the diurnal and sensible
motion of the earth, it has one extremely slow, almost imperceptible, by
which every thing must eventually be changed in it: this is the motion
from whence depends the _precession_ of the _equinoctial points_,
observed by _Hipparchus_ and other mathematicians, now well understood
by astronomers; by this motion, the earth must at the end of several
thousand years change totally: this motion will at length cause
the ocean to occupy that space which at present forms the lands or
continents. From this it will be obvious that our globe, as well as all
the beings in nature, has a continual disposition to change. This motion
was known to the ancients, and was what gave rise to what they called
their great year, which the Egyptians fixed at thirty-six thousand five
hundred and twenty-five years: the Sabines at thirty-six thousand four
hundred and twenty-five, whilst others have extended it to one hundred
thousand, some even to seven hundred and fifty-three thousand years.
Again, to those general revolutions which our planet has at different
times experienced, way he added those that have been partial, such as
inundations of the sea, earthquakes, subterraneous conflagrations, which
have sometimes had the effect of dispersing particular nations, and
to make them forget all those sciences with which they were, before
acquainted. It is also probable that the first volcanic fires, having
had no previous vent, were more central, and greater in quantity, before
they burst the crust of earth; as the sea washed the whole, it must
have rapidly sunk down into every opening, where, falling on the boiling
lava, it was instantly expanded into steam, producing irresistible
explosion: whence it is reasonable to conclude, that the primaeval
earthquakes wore more widely extended, and of much greater force, than
those which occur in our days. Other vapours may be produced by intense
heat, possessing a much greater elasticity, from substances that
evaporate, such as mercury, diamonds, &c.; the expansive force of these
vapours would be much greater than the steam of water, even at red hot
heat consequently they, way have had sufficient energy to raise islands,
continents, or even to have detached the moon from the earth; if the
moon, as has been supposed by some philosophers, was thrown out of the
great cavity which now contains the South Sea; the immense quantity of
water flowing in from the original ocean, and which then covered the
earth, would much contribute to leave the continents and islands, which
might be raised at the same time, above the surface of the water. In
later days we have accounts of huge stones falling, from the firmament,
which may have been thrown by explosion from some distant earthquake,
without having been impelled with a force sufficient to cause them to
circulate round the earth, and thus produce numerous small moons or
satellites.

Those who were able to escape from the ruin of the world, filled
with consternation, plunged in misery, were but little conditioned to
preserve to their posterity a knowledge, effaced by those misfortunes,
of which they had been both the victims and the witnesses: overwhelmed
with dismay, trembling with fear, they were not able to hand down the
history of their frightful adventures, except by obscure traditions;
much less to transmit to us the opinions, the systems, the arts, the
sciences, anterior to these petrifying revolutions of our sphere. There
have been perhaps men upon the earth from all eternity; but at different
periods they may have been nearly annihilated, together with their
monuments, their sciences, and their arts; those who outlived these
periodical revolutions, each time formed a new race of men, who by dint
of time, labour, and experience, have by degrees withdrawn from
oblivion the inventions of the primitive races. It is, perhaps, to these
periodical revolutions of the human species, that is to be ascribed the
profound ignorance in which we see man yet plunged, upon those objects
that are the most interesting to him. This is, perhaps, the true source
of the imperfection of his knowledge--of the vices of his political
institutions--of the defect in his religion--of the growth of
superstition, over which terror has always presided; here, in all
probability, is the cause of that puerile inexperience, of those jejune
prejudices, which almost every where keep man in a state of infancy, and
which render him so little capable of either listening to reason or
of consulting truth. To judge by the slowness of his progress, by
the feebleness of his advance, in a number of respects, we should be
inclined to say, the human race has either just quitted its cradle, or
that he was never destined to attain the age of virility--to corroborate
his reason.

However it may be with these conjectures, whether the human race may
always have existed upon the earth, whether it may have been a recent
production of nature, whether the larger animals we now behold were
originally derived from the smallest microscopic ones, who have
increased in bulk with the progression of time, or whether, as the
Egyptian philosophers thought, mankind were originally hermaphrodites,
who like the _aphis_ produced the sexual distinction after some
generations, which was also the opinion of Plato, and seems to have
been that of Moses, who was educated amongst these Egyptians, as may be
gathered from the 27th and 28th verses of the first chapter of GENESIS:
"So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he
him; male and female created he them--And GOD blessed them, and GOD
said unto them, be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and
subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl
of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth:" it
is not therefore presuming too much to suppose, as the Egyptians were
a nation very fond of explaining their opinions by hieroglyphics,
that that part which describes Eve as taken out of Adam's rib, was an
hieroglyphic emblem: showing that mankind was in the primitive state of
both sexes, united, who was afterwards divided into males and females.
However, I say, this may be, it is extremely easy to recur to the origin
of many existing nations: we shall find them always in the savage state;
that is, to say, dispersed; composed of families detached from each
other; of wandering, hordes; these were collected together, approximated
at the voice of some missionary or legislator, from whom they
received great benefits, who gave them gods, opinions, and laws. These
personages, of whom the people newly congregated readily acknowledged
the superiority, fixed the national gods, leaving to each individual,
those which he had formed to himself, according to his own peculiar
ideas, or else substituting others brought from those regions, from
whence they themselves had emigrated.

The better to imprint their lessons on the minds of their new subjects,
these men became the guides, the priests, the sovereigns, the masters
of these infant societies; they formed discourses by which they spoke to
the imagination of their willing auditors. POETRY seem best adapted to
strike the mind of these rude people, to engrave on their memory those
ideas with which they were willing to imbue them: its images, its
fictions, its numbers, its rhyme its harmony, all conspired to please
their fancy, to render permanent the impressions it made: thus, the
entire of nature, as well as all its parts, was personified, by its
beautiful allegories: at its soothing voice, trees, stones, rocks,
earth, air, fire, water, by imagination took intelligence, held
conversation with man, and with themselves; the elements were deified by
its songs, every thing was figuratively detailed in harmonious lays.
The sky, which according to the then philosophy, was an arched concave,
spreading over the earth, which was supposed to be a level plain; (for
the doctrine of _antipodes_ is of rather modern date) was itself made
a god; was considered a more suitable residence, as making a greater
distinction for these imaginary deities than the earth on which man
himself resided. Thus the firmament was filled with deities.

Time, under the name of Saturn, was pictured as the son of heaven;
or Coelus by earth, called Terra, or Thea; he was represented as
an inexorable divinity--naturally artful, who devoured his own
children--who revenged the anger of his mother upon his father; for
which purpose she armed him with a scythe, formed of metals drawn from
her own bowels, with which he struck Coelus, in the act of uniting
himself to Thea, and so mutilated him, that he was ever after
incapacitated to increase the number of his children: he was said to
have divided the throne with Janus king of Italy, his reign seems to
have been so mild, so beneficent, that it was called the _golden
age_; human victims were sacrificed on his altars, until abolished by
Hercules, who substituted small images of clay. Festivals in honor of
this god, called Saturnalia, were instituted long antecedent to the
foundation of Rome they were celebrated about the middle of December,
either on the 16th, 17th, or 18th; they lasted in latter times
several days, originally but one. Universal liberty prevailed at the
celebration, slaves were permitted to ridicule their masters--to speak
freely on every subject--no criminals were executed--war never declared;
the priests made their human offerings with their heads uncovered; a
circumstance peculiar to the Saturnalia, not adopted at other festivals.

The igneous matter, the etherial electric fluid, that invisible fire
which vivifies nature, that penetrates all beings, that fertilizes the
earth, which is the great principle of motion, the source of heat, was
deified under the name of Jupiter: his combination with every being in
nature was expressed by his metamorphoses--by the frequent adulteries
imputed to him. He was armed with thunder, to indicate he produced
meteors, to typify the electric fluid that is called lightning. He
married the winds, which were designated under the name of Juno,
therefore called the Goddess of the Winds, their nuptials were
celebrated with great solemnity; all the gods, the entire brute
creation, the whole of mankind attended, except one young woman named
Chelone, who laughed at the ceremonies, for which impiety she was
changed by Mercury into a tortoise, and condemned to perpetual silence.
He was the most powerful of all the gods, and considered as the king and
father both of gods and men: his worship was very extended, performed
with greater solemnity, than that of any other god. Upon his altars
smoked goats, sheep, and white bulls, in which he is said to have
particularly delighted; the oak was rendered sacred to him, because
he taught mankind to live upon acorns; he had many oracles where his
precepts were delivered, the most celebrated of these were at Dodona and
Ammon in Lybia; he was supposed to be invisible to the inhabitants of
the earth; the Lacedemonians erected his statue with four heads, thereby
indicating, that he listened readily to the solicitations of every
quarter of the earth. Minerva is represented as having no mother, but to
have come completely armed from his brains, when his head was opened by
Vulcan; by which it is meant to infer that wisdom is the result of
this ethereal fluid. Thus, following the same fictions, the sun, that
beneficent star which has such a marked influence over the earth, became
an Osiris, a Belus, a Mithras, an Adonis, an Apollo. Nature, rendered
sorrowful by his periodical absence, was an Isis, an Astarte, a Venus,
a Cybele. Astarte had a magnificent temple at Hieropolis served by three
hundred priests, who were always employed in offering sacrifices. The
priests of Cybele, called Corybantes, also Galli, were not admitted to
their sacred functions without previous mutilation. In the celebration
of their festivals these priests used all kinds of indecent expressions,
beat drums, cymbals, and behaved just like madmen: his worship extended
all over Phrygia, and was established in Greece under the name of
_Eleusinian mysteries_. In short, every thing was personified: the sea
was under the empire of Neptune; fire was adored by the Egyptians under
the name of Serapis; by the Persians, under that of Ormus or Oromaze;
and by the Romans, under that of Vesta and Vulcan.

Such was the origin of mythology: it may be said to be the daughter of
natural philosophy, embellished by poetry; only destined to describe
nature and its parts. If antiquity is consulted, it will be perceived
without much trouble, that these famous sages, those legislators, those
priests, those conquerors, who were the instructors of infant nations,
themselves adored active nature, or the great whole considered
relatively to its different operations or qualities; that this was what
they caused the ignorant savages whom they had gathered together to
adore. It was the great whole they deified; it was its various parts
which they made their inferior gods; it was from the necessity of her
laws they made fate. The Greeks called it Nature, a divinity who had
a thousand names. Varro says, "I believe that God is the soul of the
universe, and that the universe is God." Cicero says "that in the
mysteries of Samothracia, of Lemnos, of Eleusis, it was nature much more
than the gods, they explained to the initiated." Pliny says, "we must
believe that the world, or that which is contained under the vast
extent of the heavens, is the Divinity; even eternal, infinite, without
beginning or end." It was these different modes of considering nature
that gave birth to Polytheism, to idolatry. Allegory masqued its mode
of action: it was at length parts of this great whole, that idolatry
represented by statues and symbols.

To complete the proofs of what has been said; to shew distinctly that it
was the great whole, the universe, the nature of things, which was the
real object of the worship of Pagan antiquity, hardly any thing can be
more decisive than the beginning of the hymn of Orpheus addressed to the
god Pan.

"O Pan! I invoke thee, O powerful god! O universal nature! the heavens,
the sea, the earth, who nourish all, and the eternal fire, because these
are thy members, O all powerful Pan," &c. Nothing can be more suitable
to confirm these ideas, than the ingenious explanation which is given
of the fable of Pan, as well as of the figure under which he is
represented. It is said, "Pan, according to the signification of his
name, is the emblem by which the ancients have designated the great
assemblage of things or beings: he represents the universe; and, in the
mind of the wisest philosophers of antiquity, he passed for the greatest
and most ancient of the gods. The features under which he is delineated
form the portrait of nature, and of the savage state in which she was
found in the beginning. The spotted skin of the leopard, which
serves him for a mantle, imagined the heavens filled with stars and
constellations. His person was compounded of parts, some of which were
suitable to a reasonable animal, that is to say, to man; and others to
the animal destitute of reason, such as the goat. It is thus," says
he, "that the universe is composed of an intelligence that governs the
whole, and of the prolific, fruitful elements of fire, water, earth,
air. Pan, loved to drink and to follow the nymphs; this announces the
occasion nature has for humidity in all her productions, and that this
god, like nature, is strongly inclined to propagation. According to the
Egyptians, and the most ancient Grecian philosophers, Pan had neither
father nor mother; he came out of Demogorgon at the same moment with
the Destinies, his fatal sisters; a fine method of expressing that the
universe was the work of an unknown power, and that it was formed after
the invariable relations, the eternal laws of necessity; but his most
significant symbol, that most suitable to express the harmony of the
universe, is his mysterious pipe, composed of seven unequal tubes, but
calculated to produce the nicest, the most perfect concord. The orbs
which compose the seven planets of our solar system, are of different
diameters; being bodies of unequal mass, they describe their revolutions
round the sun in various periods; nevertheless it is from the order of
their motion that results the harmony of the spheres," &c.

Here then is the great macrocosm, the mighty whole, the assemblage of
things adored and deified by the philosophers of antiquity; whilst the
uninformed stopped at the emblem under which this nature was depicted;
at the symbols under which its various parts, its numerous functions
were personified; his narrow mind, his barbarous ignorance, never
permitted him to mount higher; they alone were deemed worthy of being,
initiated into the mysteries, who knew the realities masqued under these
emblems. Indeed, it is not to be doubted for an instant, that the wisest
among the Pagans adored nature; which ethnic theology designated under
a great variety of nomenclature, under an immense number of different
emblems. Apuleius, although a decided Platonist, accustomed to the
mysterious, unintelligible notions of his master, calls "Nature the
parent of all; the mother of the elements, the first offspring of the
world;" again, "the mother of the stars, the parent of the seasons, and
the governess of the whole world."--She was worshipped by many under the
appellation of the _mother of the gods_. Indeed, the first institutors
of nations, and their immediate successors in authority, only spoke to
the people by fables, allegories, enigmas, of which they reserved
to themselves the right of giving an explanation: this, in fact,
constituted the mysteries of the various worship paid to the Pagan
divinities. This mysterious tone they considered necessary, whether it
was to mask their own ignorance, or whether it was to preserve their
power over the uninformed, who for the most part only respect that which
is above their comprehension. Their explications were generally dictated
either by interest, or by a delirious imagination, frequently by
imposture; thus from age to age, they did no more than render nature and
its parts, which they had originally depicted, more unknown, until they
completely lost sight of the primitive ideas; these were replaced by a
multitude of fictitious personages, under whose features this nature had
primarily been represented to them. The people, either unaccustomed to
think, or deeply steeped in ignorance, adored these personages, without
penetrating into the true sense of the emblematical fables recounted to
them. These ideal beings, with material figures, in whom they believed
there resided a mysterious virtue, a divine power, were the objects of
their worship, the source of their fears, the fountain of their
hopes. The wonderful, the incredible actions ascribed to these fancied
divinities, were an inexhaustible fund of admiration, which gave
perpetual play to the fancy; which delighted not only the people of
those days, but even the children of latter ages. Thus were transmitted
from age to age, those marvellous accounts, which, although necessary to
the existence of the power usurped by the ministers of these gods, did,
in fact, nothing more than confirm the blindness of the ignorant: these
never supposed that it was nature, its various operations, its numerous
component parts--that it was the passions of man and his diverse
faculties that lay buried under an heap of allegories; they did not
perceive that the passions and faculties of human nature were used as
emblems, because man was ignorant of the true cause of the phenomena
he beheld. As strong passions seemed to hurry man along, in despite
of himself, they either attributed these passions to a god, or deified
them; frequently they did both: it was thus love became a deity; that
eloquence, poetry, industry, were transformed into gods, under the names
of Hermes, Mercury, Apollo; the stings of conscience were called the
Furies: the people, bowed down in stupid ignorance, had no eyes but
for these emblematical persons, under which nature was masked: they
attributed to their influence the good, to their displeasure the evil,
which they experienced: they entered into every kind of folly, into
the most delirious acts of madness, to render them propitious to their
views; thus, for want of being acquainted with the reality of things,
their worship frequently degenerated into the most cruel extravagance,
into the most ridiculous folly.

Thus it is obvious, that every thing proves nature and its various
parts to have every where been the first divinities of man.
Natural philosophers studied these deities, either superficially or
profoundly,--explained some of their properties, detailed some of their
modes of action. Poets painted them to the imagination of mortals,
either in the most fascinating colours, or under the most
hideous deformities; embodied them--furnished them with reasoning
faculties--recounted their exploits--recorded their will. The statuary
executed sometimes with the most enrapturing art, the ideas of the
poets,--gave substance to their shadows--form to their airy nothings.
The priest decorated these united works with a thousand marvellous
qualities--with the most terrible passions--with the most inconceivable
attributes; gave them, "a local habitation and a name." The people
adored them; prostrated themselves before these gods, who were neither
susceptible of love or hatred, goodness, or malice; they became
persecuting, malevolent, cruel, unjust, in order to render themselves
acceptable to powers generally described to them under the most odious
features.

By dint of reasoning upon these emblems, by meditating upon nature,
thus decorated, or rather disfigured, subsequent speculators no longer
recollected the source from whence their predecessors had drawn their
gods, nor the fantastic ornaments with which they had embellished
them. Natural philosophers and poets were transformed by leisure into
metaphysicians and theologians; tired with contemplating what they could
have understood, they believed they had made an important discovery
by subtilly distinguishing nature from herself--from her own peculiar
energies--from her faculty of action. By degrees they made an
incomprehensible being of this energy, which as before they personified,
this they called the mover of nature, divided it into two, one congenial
to man's happiness, the other inimical to his welfare; these they
deified in the same manner as they had before done nature with her
various parts. These abstract, metaphysical beings, became the
sole object of their thoughts; were the subject of their continual
contemplation; they looked upon them as realities of the highest
importance: thus nature quite disappeared; she was despoiled of her
rights; she was considered as nothing more than an unwieldy mass,
destitute of power; devoid of energy, as an heap of ignoble matter
purely passive: who, incapable of acting by herself, was not competent
to any of the operations they beheld, without the direct, the immediate
agency of the moving powers they had associated with her: which they had
made the fulcrum necessary to the action of the lever. They either did
not or would not perceive, that the _great Cause of causes, ens entium,
Parent of parents_, had, in unravelling chaotic matter, with a wisdom
for which man can never be sufficiently grateful, with a sagacity
which he can never sufficiently admire, foreseen every thing that could
contribute not only to his own individual happiness, but also to that of
all the beings in nature; that he had given this nature immutable laws,
according to which she is for ever regulated; after which she is obliged
invariably to act; that he has described for her an eternal course, from
which it is not permitted her to deviate, even for an instant; that she
is therefore, rendered competent to the production of every phenomena,
not only that he beholds, but of an infinity that he has never yet
contemplated; that she needs not any exterior energy for this purpose,
having received her powers from a hand far superior to any the feeble
weak imagination of man is able to form; that when this nature appears
to afflict him, it is only from the contraction of his own views, from
the narrowness of his own ideas, that he judges; that, in fact, what he
considers the evils of nature, are the greatest possible benefits he
can receive, if he was but in a condition to be acquainted with previous
causes, with subsequent effects. That the evils resulting to him from
his own vices, have equally their remedies in this nature, which it
is his duty to study; which if he does he will find, that the same
omnipotent goodness, who gave her irrefragable laws, also planted in her
bosom, balsams for all his maladies, whether physical or moral: but that
it is not given him to know what this great, this universal cause
is, for purposes of which he ought not to dispute the wisdom, when he
contemplates the mighty wonders that surround him.

Thus man ever preferred an unknown power, to that of which he was
enabled to have some knowledge, if he had only deigned to consult
his experience; but he presently ceases to respect that which he
understands; to estimate those objects which are familiar to him: he
figures to himself something marvellous in every thing he does not
comprehend; his mind, above all, labours to seize upon that which
appears to escape his consideration; in default of experience, he no
longer consults any thing, but his imagination, which feeds him
with chimeras. In consequence, those speculators who have subtilly
distinguished nature from her own powers, have successively laboured
to clothe the powers thus separated with, a thousand incomprehensible
qualities: as they did not see this power, which is only a mode, they
made it a spirit--an intelligence--an incorporeal being; that is to say,
of a substance totally different from every thing of which we have a
knowledge. They never perceived that all their inventions, that all the
words which they imagined, only served to mask their real ignorance;
that all their pretended science was limited to saying, in what manner
nature acted, by a thousand subterfuges which they themselves found
it impossible to comprehend. Man always deceives himself for want of
studying nature; he leads himself astray, every time he is disposed to
go out of it; he is always quickly necessitated to return; he is even
in error when he substitutes words which he does not himself understand,
for things which he would much better comprehend if he was willing to
look at them without prejudice.

Can a theologian ingenuously believe himself more enlightened, for
having substituted the vague words spirit, incorporeal substance, &c. to
the more intelligible terms nature, matter, mobility, necessity? However
this may be, these obscure words once imagined, it was necessary to
attach ideas to them; in doing this, he has not been able to draw them
from any other source than the beings of this despised nature, which are
ever the only beings of which he is enabled to have any knowledge. Man,
consequently, drew them up in himself; his own soul served for the model
of the universal soul, of which indeed according to some it only formed
a portion; his own mind was the standard of the mind that regulated
nature; his own passions, his own desires, were the prototypes of those
by which he actuated this being; his own intelligence was that from
which he formed that of the mover of nature; that which was suitable
to himself, he called the order of nature; this pretended order was the
scale by which he measured the wisdom of this being; in short, those
qualities which he calls perfections in himself, were the archetypes
in miniature, of the perfections of the being, he thus gratuitously
supposed to be the agent, who operated the phenomena of nature. It
was thus, that in despite of all their efforts, the theologians
were, perhaps always will be, true Anthropomorphites. A sect of this
denomination appeared in 359, in Egypt, they held the doctrine that
their god had a bodily shape. Indeed it is very difficult, if not
impossible to prevent man from making himself the sole model of his
divinity. Montaigne says "man is not able to be other than he is, nor
imagine but after his capacity; let him take what pains he may, he will
never have a knowledge of any soul but his own." Xenophanes said, "if
the ox or the elephant understood either sculpture or painting, they
would not fail to represent the divinity under their own peculiar figure
that in this, they would have as much reason as Polyclitus or Phidias,
who gave him the human form." It was said to a very celebrated man that
"God made man after his own image;" "man has returned the compliment,"
replied the philosopher. Indeed, man generally sees in his God, nothing
but a man. Let him subtilize as he will, let him extend his own powers
as he may, let him swell his own perfections to the utmost, he will have
done nothing more than make a gigantic, exaggerated man, whom he will
render illusory by dint of heaping together incompatible qualities. He
will never see in such a god, but a being of the human species, in whom
he will strive to aggrandize the proportions, until he has formed a
being totally inconceivable. It is according to these dispositions that
he attributes intelligence, wisdom, goodness, justice, science, power,
to his divinity, because he is himself intelligent; because he has the
idea of wisdom in some beings of his own species; because he loves to
find in them ideas favourable to himself: because he esteems those
who display equity; because he has a knowledge, which he holds more
extensive in some individuals than himself; in short, because he enjoys
certain faculties which depend on his own organization. He presently
extends or exaggerates all these qualities in forming his god; the sight
of the phenomena of nature, which he feels he is himself incapable
of either producing or imitating, obliges him to make this difference
between the being he pourtrays and himself; but he knows not at what
point to stop; he fears lest he should deceive himself, if he should see
any limits to the qualities he assigns, the word infinite, therefore, is
the abstract, the vague term which he uses to characterize them. He says
that his power is infinite, which signifies that when he beholds those
stupendous effects which nature produces, he has no conception at what
point his power can rest; that his goodness, his wisdom, his knowledge
are infinite: this announces that he is ignorant how far these
perfections ma be carried in a being whose power so much surpasses
his own; that he is of infinite duration, because he is not capable
of conceiving he could have had a beginning or can ever cease to be;
because of this he considers a defect in those transitory beings of
whom he beholds the dissolution, whom he sees are subjected to death. He
presumes the cause of those effects to which he is a witness, of those
striking phenomena that assail his sight, is immutable, permanent, not
subjected to change, like all the evanescent beings whom he knows are
submitted to dissolution, to destruction, to change of form. This mover
of nature being always invisible to man, his mode of action being,
impenetrable, he believes that, like his soul or the concealed principle
which animates his own body, which he calls spiritual, a spirit, is the
moving power of the universe; in consequence he makes a spirit the
soul, the life, the principle of motion in nature. Thus when by dint of
subtilizing, he has arrived at believing the principle by which his body
is moved is a spiritual, immaterial substance, he makes the spirit of
the universe immaterial in like manner: he makes it immense, although
without extent; immoveable, although capable of moving nature:
immutable, although he supposes him to be the author of all the changes,
operated in the universe.

The idea of the unity of God, which cost Socrates his life, because the
Athenians considered those Atheists who believed but in one, was the
tardy fruit of human meditation. Plato himself did not dare to
break entirely the doctrine of _Polytheism_; he preserved Venus, an
all-powerful Jupiter, and a Pallas, who was the goddess of the country.
The sight of those opposite, frequently contradictory effects, which man
saw take place in the world, had a tendency to persuade him there must
be a number of distinct powers or causes independent of each other. He
was unable to conceive that the various phenomena he beheld, sprung from
a single, from an unique cause; he therefore admitted many causes or
gods, acting upon different principles; some of which he considered
friendly, others as inimical to his race. Such is the origin of that
doctrine, so ancient, so universal, which supposed two principles in
nature, or two powers of opposite interests, who were perpetually at war
with each other; by the assistance of which he explained, that constant
mixture of good and evil, that blending of prosperity with misfortune,
in a word, those eternal vicissitudes to which in this world the human
being, is subjected. This is the source of those combats which all
antiquity has supposed to exist between good and wicked gods, between an
Osiris and a Typhoeus; between an Orosmadis and an Arimanis; between a
Jupiter and the Titanes; in these rencounters man for his own peculiar
interest always gave the palm of victory to the beneficent deity; this,
according to all the traditions handed down, ever remained in possession
of the field of battle; it was so far right, as it is evidently for the
benefit of mankind that the good should prevail over the wicked.

When, however, man acknowledged only one God, he generally supposed the
different departments of nature were confided to powers subordinate to
his supreme orders, under whom the sovereign of the gods discharged
his care in the administration of the world. These subaltern gods were
prodigiously multiplied; each man, each town, each country, had
their local, their tutelary gods; every event, whether fortunate or
unfortunate, had a divine cause; was the consequence of a sovereign
decree; each natural effect, every operation of nature, each passion,
depended upon a divinity, which a theological imagination, disposed
to see gods every where, mistaking nature, either embellished or
disfigured. Poetry tuned its harmonious lays, on these occasions,
exaggerated the details, animated its pictures; credulous ignorance
received the portraits with eagerness--heard the doctrines with
submission.

Such is the origin of Polytheism: indeed the Greek word _Theos_, [Greek
letters], is derived from _Theaomai_, [Greek letters], which implies
to contemplate, or take a view of secret or hidden things. Such are the
foundations, such the titles of the hierarchy, which man established
between himself and his gods, because he generally believed he was
incapable of the exalted privilege of immediately addressing himself
to the incomprehensible Being whom he had acknowledged for the only
sovereign of nature, without even having any distinct idea on the
subject: such is the true genealogy of those inferior gods whom the
uninformed place as, a proportional means between themselves and the
first of all other causes. In consequence, among the Greeks and the
Romans, we see the deities divided into two classes, the one were called
great gods, because the whole world were nearly in accord in deifying
the most striking parts of nature, such as the sun, fire; the sea, time,
&c. these formed a kind of aristocratic order, who were distinguished
from the minor gods, or from the multitude of ethnic divinities, who
were entirely local; that is to say, were reverenced only in particular
countries, or by individuals; as in Rome, where every citizen had
his familiar spirit, called lares; and household god, called penates.
Nevertheless, the first rank of these Pagan divinities, like the latter,
were submitted to Fate, that is, to destiny, which obviously is nothing
more than nature acting by immutable, rigorous, necessary laws; this
destiny was looked upon as the god of gods; it is evident, that this
was nothing more than necessity personified; that therefore it was a
weakness in the heathens to fatigue with their sacrifices, to solicit
with their prayers, those divinities whom they themselves believed were
submitted to the decrees of an inexorable destiny, of which it was never
possible for them to alter the mandates. _But man_, generally, _ceases
to reason, whenever his theological notions are either brought into
question, or are the subject of his inquiry_.

What has been already said, serves to show the common source of that
multitude of intermediate powers, subordinate to the gods, but superior
to man, with which he filled the universe: they were venerated under
the names of nymphs, demi-gods, angels, daemons, good and evil genii,
spirits, heroes, saints, &c. Among the Romans they were called _Dei
medioxumi_, intermediate angels; they were looked upon as intercessors,
as mediators, as powers whom it was necessary to reverence, in order
either to obtain their favour, appease their anger, or divert their
malignant intentions; these constitute different classes of intermediate
divinities, who became either the foundation of their hopes, the object
of their fears, the means of consolation, or the source of dread to
those very mortals who only invented them when they found it
impossible to form to themselves distinct, perspicuous ideas of the
incomprehensible Being who governed the world in chief; or when they
despaired of being able to hold communication with him directly.

Meditation and reflection diminished the number of those deities
which composed the ethnic polytheism: some who gave the subject more
consideration than others, reduced the whole to one all-powerful
Jupiter; but still they painted this being in the most hideous
colours, gave him the most revolting features, because they were still
obstinately bent on making man, his action and his passions, the model:
this folly led them into continual perplexities, because it heaped
together contradictory, incompatible, extravagant qualities; it was
quite natural it should do so: the limited views, the superficial
knowledge, the irregular desires of frail, feeble mortals, were but
little calculated to typify the mind of the real Divinity; of that great
_Cause of causes_, that _Parent of parents_, from whom every thing must
have emanated. Although they persuaded themselves it was sinning to give
him rivals, yet they described him as a jealous monarch who could not
bear a division of empire; thus taking the vanity of earthly princes for
their emblem, as if it was possible such a being could have a competitor
like a terrestrial monarch. Not having contemplated the immutable laws
with which he has invested nature, to which every thing it contains is
subjected, which are the result of the most perfect wisdom, they were
puzzled to account for the contrariety of those effects which their
weak minds led them to suppose as evils; seeing that sometimes those who
fulfilled in the most faithful manner their duties in this life, were
involved in the same ruin with the boldest, the most inconsiderate
violaters: thus in making him the immediate agent, instead of the first
author, the executive instead of the formative power, they caused him
to appear capricious, as unreasonably vindictive against his creatures,
when they ought to have known that his wisdom was unlimited, his
kindness without bounds, when he infused into nature that power which
produces these apparently contradictory effects; which, although they
seem injurious to man's interests, are, if he was but capacitated
to judge fairly, the most beneficial advantages that he can possibly
derive. Thus they made the Divinity appear improvident, by continually
employing him to destroy the work of his own hands: they, in fact, taxed
him with impotence, by the perpetual non-performance of those projects
of which their own imbecillity, their own erring judgment, had vainly
supposed him to be the contriver.

To solve these difficulties, man created enemies to the Divinity, who
although subordinate to the supreme God, were nevertheless competent
to disturb his empire, to frustrate his views. Can any thing be worse
conceived, can any thing be more truly derogatory to the great _Parent
of parents_, than thus to make him resemble a king, who is surrounded
with adversaries, willing to dispute with him his diadem? Such, however,
is the origin of the _Fable of the Titanes_, or of the _rebellious
angels_, whose presumption caused them to be plunged into the abyss
of misery--who were changed into _demons_, or into evil genii: these
according to their mythology, had no other functions, than to render
abortive the projects of the Divinity; to seduce, to raise to rebellion,
those who were his subjects. Miserable invention, feeble subterfuge,
for the vices of mankind, although decorated with all the beauty of
language. Can then sublimity of versification, the harmony of numbers,
reconcile man to the idea that the puny offspring of natural causes is
adequate for a single instant to dispute the commands, to thwart the
desires, to render nugatory the decrees of a Being whose wisdom is of
the most polished perfection; whose goodness is boundless; whose power
must be more capacious than the human mind can possibly conceive?

In consequence of this _Fable of the Titanes_, the monarch of nature was
represented as perpetually in a scuffle with the enemies he had himself
created; as unwilling totally to subdue those with whom these fabulists
have described him as dividing his authority--partaking his supreme
power. This again was borrowed from the conduct of earthly monarchs,
who, when they find a potent enemy, make a treaty with him; but this was
quite unnecessary for the great _Cause of causes_; and only shows that
man is utterly incapable of forming any other ideas than those which he
derives from the situation of those of his own race, or of the beings
by whom he is surrounded. According to this fable the subjects of the
universal Monarch were never properly submitted to his authority; like
an earthly king, he was in a continual state of hostility, and punished
those who had the misfortune to enter into the conspiracies of the
enemies of his glory: seeing that human legislators put forth laws,
issued decrees, they established similar institutions for the Divinity;
established oracles; his ministers pretended, through these mysterious
mediums, to convey to the people his heavenly mandates, to unveil his
concealed intentions: the ignorant multitude received these without
examination, they did not perceive that it was man, and not the
Divinity, who thus spoke to them; they did not feel that it must be
impossible for weak creatures to act contrary to the will of God.

The _Fable of the Titanes, or rebellious angels_, is extremely ancient;
very generally diffused over the world; it serves for the foundation
of the theology of the Brachmins of Hindostan: according to these, all
living bodies are animated by _fallen angels_, who under these forms
expiate their rebellion. These contradictory notions were the basis of
nearly all the superstitions of the world; by these means they imagined
they accounted for the origin of evil--demonstrated the cause why the
human species experience misery. In short, the conduct of the most
arbitrary tyrants of the earth was but too frequently brought forth, too
often acted upon, in forming the character of the Divinity, held forth
to the worship of man: their imperfect jurisprudence was the source from
whence they drew that which they ascribed to their god. Pagan theology
was remarkable for displaying in the character of their divinities the
most dissolute vices; for making them vindictive; for causing them to
punish with extreme rigour those, crimes which the oracles predicted; to
doom to the most lasting torments those who sinned without knowing their
transgression; to hurl vengeance on those who were ignorant of their
obscure will, delivered in language which set comprehension at defiance;
unless it was by the priest who both made and fulminated it. It was upon
these unreasonable notions, that the theologians founded the worship
which man ought to render to the Divinity. Do not then let us be at all
surprised if the superstitious man was in a state of continual alarm:
if he experienced trances--if his mind was ever in the most tormenting
dread; the idea of his gods recalled to him unceasingly, that of a
pitiless tyrant who sported with the miseries of his subjects; who,
without being conscious of their own wrong, might at each moment incur
his displeasure: he could not avoid feeling that although they had
formed the universe entirely for man, yet justice did not regulate the
actions of these powerful beings, or rather those of the priests; but he
also believed that their elevated rank placed them infinitely above the
human species, that therefore they might afflict him at their pleasure.

It is then for want of considering good and evil as equally necessary;
it is for want of attributing them to their true causes, that man has
created to himself fictitious powers, malicious divinities, respecting
whom it is found so difficult to undeceive him. Nevertheless, in
contemplating nature, he would have been able to have perceived, that
_physical evil_ is a necessary consequence of the peculiar properties of
some beings; he would have acknowledged that plague, contagion,
disease, are due to physical causes under particular circumstances;
to combinations, which, although extremely natural, are fatal to his
species; he would have sought--in the bosom of nature herself the
remedies suitable to diminish these evils, or to have caused the
cessation of those effects under which he suffered: he would have
seen in like manner that _moral evil_ was the necessary consequence
of defective institutions; that it was not to the Divinity, but to the
injustice of his fellows he ought to ascribe those wars, that
poverty, those famines, those reverses of fortune, those multitudinous
calamities, those vices, those crimes, under which he so frequently
groans. Thus to rid himself of these evils he would not have uselessly
extended his trembling hands towards shadows incapable of relieving him;
towards beings who were not the authors of his sorrows; he would have
sought remedies for these misfortunes in a more rational
administration of justice--in more equitable laws--in more I reasonable
institutions--in a greater degree of benevolence towards his fellow
man--in a more punctual performance of his own duties.

As these gods were generally depicted to man as implacable to his
frailties as they denounced nothing but the most dreadful punishments
against those who involuntarily offended, it is not at all surprising
that the sentiment of fear prevailed over that of love: the gloomy
ideas presented to his mind were calculated to make him tremble, without
making him better; an attention to this truth will serve to explain the
foundation of that fantastical, irrational, frequently cruel worship,
which was paid to these divinities; he often committed the most cruel
extravagancies against his own person, the most hideous crimes against
the person of others, under the idea that in so doing, he disarmed the
anger, appeased the justice, recalled the clemency, deserved the mercy
of his gods.

In general, the superstitious systems of man, his human and other
sacrifices, his prayers, his ceremonies, his customs; have had only for
their object either to divert the fury of his gods, whom he believed he
had offended; to render them propitious to his own selfish views; or
to excite in them that good disposition towards himself, which his own
perverse mode of thinking made him imagine they bestowed exclusively on
others: on the other hand, the efforts, the subtilties of theology, have
seldom had any other end, than to reconcile in the divinities it has
pourtrayed, those discordant ideas which its own dogmas has raised in
the minds of mortals. From what has preceded, it may fairly be concluded
that ethnic theology undermined itself by its own inconsistencies;
that the art of composing chimeras may therefore with great justice be
defined to be that of combining those qualities which are impossible to
be reconciled with each other.





CHAP. III.

_Of the confused and contradictory Ideas of Theology._


Every thing that has been said, proves pretty clearly, that, in despite
of all his efforts, man has never been able to prevent himself from
drawing together from his own peculiar nature, the qualities he has
assigned to the Being who governs the universe. The contradictions
necessarily resulting from the incompatible assemblage of these human
qualities, which cannot become suitable to the same subject, seeing
that the existence of one destroys the existence of the other, have
been shewn:--the theologians themselves have felt the insurmountable
difficulties which their divinities presented to reason: they were
so substantive, that as they felt the impossibility of withdrawing
themselves out of the dilemma, they endeavoured to prevent man
from reasoning, by throwing his mind into confusion--by continually
augmenting the perplexity of those ideas, already so discordant, which
they offered him of the gods. By these means they enveloped them in
mystery, covered them with dense clouds, rendered them inaccessible to
mankind: thus they themselves became the interpreters, the masters of
explaining, according either to their fancy or their interest, the ways
of those enigmatical beings they made him adore. For this purpose they
exaggerated them more and more--neither time nor space, nor the
entire of nature could contain their immensity--every thing became an
impenetrable mystery. Although man has originally borrowed from himself
the traits, the colours, the primitive lineaments of which he composed
his gods; although he has made them jealous, powerful, vindictive
monarchs, yet his theology, by force of dreaming, entirely lost sight
of human nature. In order to render his divinities still more different
from their creatures, it assigned them, over and above the usual
qualities of man, properties so marvellous, so uncommon, so far removed
from every thing of which his mind could form a conception, that he lost
sight of them himself. From thence he persuaded himself these qualities
were divine, because he could no longer comprehend them; he believed
them worthy of his gods, because no man could figure to himself any one
distinct idea of them. Thus theology obtained the point of persuading
man he must believe that which he could not conceive; that he must
receive with submission improbable systems; that he must adopt, with
pious deference, conjectures contrary to his reason; that this reason
itself was the most agreeable sacrifice he could make on the altars of
his gods, who were unwilling he should use the gift they had bestowed
upon him. In short, it had made mortals implicitly believe that they
were not formed to comprehend the thing of all others the most important
to themselves. Thus it is evident that superstition founded its basis
upon the absurd principle that man is obliged to accredit firmly that
which he is in the most complete impossibility of comprehending. On
the other hand, man persuaded himself that the gigantic, the truly
incomprehensible attributes which were assigned to these celestial
monarchs, placed between them and their slaves a distance so immense,
that these could not be by any means offended with the comparison; that
these distinctions rendered them still greater; made them more powerful,
more marvellous, more inaccessible to observation. Man always entertains
the idea, that what he is not in a condition to conceive, is much more
noble, much wore respectable, than that which he has the capacity
to comprehend. The more a thing is removed from his reach, the more
valuable it always appears.

These prejudices in man for the marvellous, appear to have been the
source that gave birth to those wonderful, unintelligible qualities with
which superstition clothed these divinities. The invincible ignorance
of the human mind, whose fears reduced him to despair, engendered those
obscure, vague notions, with which mythology decorated its gods. He
believed he could never displease them, provided he rendered them
incommensurable; impossible to be compared with any thing, of which he
had a knowledge; either with that which was most sublime, or that which
possessed the greatest magnitude, From hence the multitude of negative
attributes with which ingenious dreamers have successively embellished
their phantoms, to the end that they might more surely form a being
distinguished from all others, or which possessed nothing in common with
that which the human mind had the faculty of being acquainted with: they
did not perceive that after all their endeavours, it was nothing wore
than exaggerated human qualities, which they thus heaped together, with
no more skill than a painter would display who should delineate all the
members of the body of the same size, taking a giant for dimension.

The theological attributes with which metaphysicians decorated these
divinities, were in fact nothing but pure negations of the qualities
found in man, or in those beings of which he has a knowledge; by these
attributes their gods were supposed exempted from every thing which they
considered weakness or imperfection in him, or in the beings by whom he
is surrounded: they called every quality infinite, which has been
shewn is only to affirm, that unlike man, or the beings with whom he
is acquainted, it is not circumscribed by the limits of space; this,
however, is what he can never in any manner comprehend, because he is
himself finite. Hobbes in his _Leviathan_, says, "whatsoever we imagine
is finite. Therefore there is no idea, or conception of any thing
we call infinite. No man can have in his mind an image of infinite
magnitude, nor conceive infinite swiftness, infinite time, infinite
force, or infinite power. When we say any thing is infinite, we signify
only, that we are not able to conceive the ends and bound of the thing
named, having no conception of the thing, but of our own inability."
Sherlock says, "the word infinite is only a negation, which signifies
that which has neither end, nor limits, nor extent, and, consequently,
that which has no positive and determinate nature, and is therefore
nothing;" he adds, "that nothing but custom has caused this word to
be adopted, which without that, would appear devoid of sense, and a
contradiction."

When it is said these gods are eternal, it signifies they have not had,
like man or like every thing that exists, a beginning, and that they
will never have an end: to say they are immutable, is to say, that
unlike himself or every thing which he sees, they are not subject to
change: to say they are immaterial, is to advance, that their substance
or essence is of a nature not conceivable by himself, but which must
from that very circumstance be totally different from every thing of
which he has cognizance.

It is from the confused collection of these negative qualities, that has
resulted the theological gods; those metaphysical wholes of which it
is impossible for man to form to himself any correct idea. In
these abstract beings every thing is infinity,--immensity,--
spirituality,--omniscience,--order,--wisdom,--intelligence,--
omnipotence. In combining these vague terms, or these modifications, the
ethnic priests believed they formed something, they extended these
qualities by thought, and they imagined they made gods, whilst they only
composed chimeras. They imagined that these perfections or these
qualities must be suitable to their gods, because they were not suitable
to any thing of which they had a knowledge; they believed that
incomprehensible beings must have inconceivable qualities. These were
the materials of which theology availed itself to compose those
inexplicable shadows before which they commanded the human race to bend
the knee.

Nevertheless, experience soon proved that beings so vague, so impossible
to be conceived, so incapable of definition, so far removed from every
thing of which man could have any knowledge, were but little calculated
to fix his restless views; his mind requires to be arrested by qualities
which he is capacitated to ascertain; of which he is in a condition to
form a judgment. Thus after it had subtilized these metaphysical gods,
after it had rendered them so different in idea, from every thing that
acts upon the senses, theology found itself under the necessity of
again assimilating them to man, from whom it had so far removed them: it
therefore again made them human by the moral qualities which it assigned
them; it felt that without this it would not be able to persuade mankind
there could possibly exist any relation between him and such vague,
ethereal, fugitive, incommensurable beings; that it would never be
competent to secure for them his adoration.

It began to perceive that these marvellous gods were only calculated
to exercise the imagination of some few thinkers, whose minds were
accustomed to labour upon chimerical subjects, or to take words for
realities; in short it found, that for the greater number of the
material children of the earth it was necessary to have gods more
analogous to themselves, more sensible, more known to them. In
consequence these divinities were re-clothed with human qualities;
theology never felt the incompatibility of these qualities with beings
it had made essentially different from man, who consequently could
neither have his properties, nor be modified like himself. It did not
see that gods who were immaterial, destitute of corporeal organs, were
neither able to think nor to act as material beings, whose peculiar
organizations render them susceptible of the qualities, the feelings
the will, the virtues, that are found in them. The necessity it felt to
assimilate the gods to their worshippers, to make an affinity
between them, made it pass over without consideration these palpable
contradictions--this want of keeping in their portrait: thus ethnic
theology obstinately continued to unite those incompatible qualities,
that discrepancy of character, which the human mind attempted in vain
either to conceive or to reconcile: according to it, pure spirits were
the movers of the material world; immense beings were enabled to occupy
space, without however excluding nature; immutable deities were the
causes of those continual changes operated in the world: omnipotent
beings did not prevent those evils which were displeasing to them;
the sources of order submitted to confusion: in short, the wonderful
properties of these theological beings every moment contradicted
themselves.

There is not less discrepancy, less incompatibility, less discordance
in the human perfections, less contradiction in the moral qualities
attributed to them, to the end that man might be enabled to form to
himself some idea of these beings. These were all said to be _eminently_
possessed by the gods, although they every moment contradicted each
other: by this means they formed a kind of patch-work character,
heterogeneous beings, discrepant phenomena, entirely inconceivable to
man, because nature had never constructed any thing like them, whereby
he was enabled to form a judgment. Man was assured they were eminently
good--that it was visible in all their actions. Now goodness is a known
quality, recognizable in some beings of the human species; this is,
above every other, a property he is desirous to find in all those upon
whom he is in a state of dependence; but he is unable to bestow the
title of good on any among his fellows, except their actions produce on
him those effects which he approves--that he finds in unison with his
existence--in conformity with his own peculiar modes of thinking. It was
evident, according to this reasoning, these ethnic gods did not impress
him with this idea; they were said to be equally the authors of his
pleasures, as of his pains, which were to be either secured or averted
by sacrifices: thus when man suffered by contagion, when he was the
victim of shipwreck, when his country was desolated by war, when he saw
whole nations devoured by rapacious earthquakes, when he was a prey to
the keenest sorrows, he at least was unable to conceive the bounty of
those beings. How could he perceive the beautiful order which they had
introduced into the world, while he groaned under such a multitude of
calamities? How was he able to discern the beneficence of men whom he
beheld sporting as it were with his species? How could he conceive the
consistency of those who destroyed that which he was assured they had
taken such pains to establish, solely for his own peculiar happiness?
But had his mind been properly enlightened, had he been taught to know,
that nature, acting by unerring laws, produces all the phenomena he
beholds as a necessary consequence of her primitive impulse--that
like the rest of nature he was himself subjected to the general
operation--that no peculiar exemption had been made in his behalf--that
sacrifices were useless--that the great _Parent of parents_, equally
mindful of all his creatures, had set in action with the most consummate
wisdom an invariable system, the apparent, casual evils of which were
ever counterbalanced by the resulting good; that without repining, it
was his duty, his interest, to submit; at the same time to examine with
sedulity, to search with earnestness, into the recesses of this nature
for remedies to the sorrows he endured. If he had been thus instructed,
we should never behold him arraigning either the kindness, the wisdom,
or the consistency of the gods; he would neither have ascribed his
sufferings to the malicious interference of inferior deities, so
derogatory to the divine majesty of the _Great Cause of causes_, nor
would he have taxed with either inconsistency or unkindness, that nature
which cannot act otherwise than she does. Perhaps of all the ideas that
can be infused into the mind of man, none is more really subversive of
his true happiness, none more incompatible with the reality of things,
than that which persuades him he is himself a privileged being, the king
of a nature where every thing is submitted to laws, the extent of which
his finite mind cannot possibly conceive. Even admitting it should
ultimately turn out to be a fact, he has yet no one positive evidence
to justify the assumption; experience, which after all must always prove
the best criterion for his judgment, daily proves, that in every thing
he is subjected, like every other part of nature, to those invariable
decrees from which nothing that he beholds is exempted.

Feeble monarch! of whom a grain of sand, some atoms of bile, some
misplaced humours, destroy at once the existence and the reign: yet thou
pretendest every thing was made for thee! Thou desirest that the entire
of nature should be thy domain, and thou canst not even defend thyself
from the slightest of her shocks! Thou makest to thyself a god for
thyself alone; thou supposest that he unceasingly occupieth himself only
for thy peculiar happiness; thou imaginest every thing was made solely
for thy pleasure; and, following up thy presumptuous ideas, thou hast
the audacity to call nature good or bad as thy weak intellect inclines:
thou darest to think that the kindness exhibited towards thee, in common
with other beings, is contradicted by the evil genii thy fancy has
created! Dost thou not see that those beasts which thou supposest
submitted to thine empire, frequently devour thy fellow-creatures;
that fire consumeth them; that the ocean swalloweth them up; that those
elements of which thou sometimes admirest the order, which sometimes
thou accusest of confusion, frequently sweep them off the face of the
earth; dost thou not see that all this is necessarily what it must be;
that thou art not in any manner consulted in any of this phenomena?
Indeed, according to thine own ideas, if thou wast to examine them with
care, dost thou not admit that thy gods are the universal cause of all;
that they maintain the whole by the destruction of its parts. Are they
not then according to thyself, the gods of nature--of the ocean--of
rivers--of mountains--of the earth, in which they occupiest, so very
small a space--of all those other globes that thou seest roll in
the regions of space--of those orbs that revolve round the sun that
enlighteneth thee?--Cease, then, obstinately to persist in beholding
nothing but thy sickly self in nature; do not flatter thyself that the
human race, which reneweth itself, which disappeareth like the leaves
on the trees, can absorb all the care, can ingross all the tenderness
of that universal being, who, according to thyself, properly understood,
ruleth the destiny of all things. Submit thyself in silence to mandates
which thy unavailing prayers; can never change; to a wisdom which
thy imbecility cannot fathom; to the unerring shafts of a fate, which
nothing but thine own vanity, aided by thy perverse ignorance, could
ever question, being the best possible good that can befall thee! which
if thou couldst alter, thou wouldst with thy defective judgment render
worse! What is the human race compared to the earth? What is this earth
compared to the sun? What is our sun compared to those myriads of suns
which at immense distances occupy the regions of space? not for the
purpose of diverting thy weak eyes; not with a view to excite thy stupid
admiration, as thou vainly imaginest; since multitudes of them are
placed out of the range of thy visual organs: but to occupy the place
which necessity hath assigned them. Mortal, feeble and vain! restore
thyself to thy proper sphere; acknowledge every where the effect
of necessity; recognize in thy benefits, behold in thy sorrows, the
different modes of action of those various beings endowed with such a
variety of properties, which surround thee; of which the macrocosm is
the assemblage; and do not any longer suppose that this nature, much
less its great cause, can possess such incompatible qualities as would
be the result of human views or of visionary ideas, which have no
existence but in thyself.

As long as theologians shall continue obstinately bent to make man the
model of their gods; as long ask they shall pertinaciously undertake to
explain the nature of these gods, which they will never be able to
do, but after human ideas, although they may associate the most
heterogeneous properties, the most discrepant functions; so long, I say,
experience will contradict at every moment the beneficent views they,
attach to their divinities; it will be in vain that they call them
good: man, reasoning thus, will never be able to find good but in those
objects which impel him in a manner favourable to his actual mode
of existence; he always finds confusion in that which fills him with
grievous sensations; he calls evil every thing that painfully affects
him, even cursorily; those beings that produce in him two modes of
feeling, so very opposite to each other, he will naturally conclude are
sometimes favourable, sometimes unfavourable to him; at least, if he
will not allow that they act necessarily, consequently are neither one
nor the other, he will say that a world where he experiences so much
evil cannot be submitted to men who are perfectly good; on the other
hand, he will also assume that a world in which man receives so many
benefits, cannot be governed by those who are without kindness. Thus
he is obliged to admit of two principles equally powerful, who are
in hostility with each other; or rather, he must agree that the same
persons are alternately kind and unkind; this after all is nothing more
than avowing they cannot be otherwise than they are; in this case it
would be useless to sacrifice to them--to make solicitation; seeing
it would be nothing but _destiny_--the necessity of things submitted
invariable rules.

In order to justify these beings, constructed upon mortal principles,
from injustice, in consequence of the evils the human species
experience, the theologian is reduced to the necessity of calling them
punishments inflicted for the transgressions of man. But then these
general calamities include all men. Some, at least, may be supposed not
to have offended. Thus he involves contradictions he finds it difficult
to reconcile; to effectuate this he makes his _anthropomorphites_
immaterial--incorporeal; that is, he says they are the negation of every
thing of which he has a knowledge; consequently, beings who can have no
relation with corporeal beings: and this avails him no better, as
will be evident by reasoning on the subject. To offend any one, is to
diminish the sum of his happiness; it is to afflict him, to deprive
him of something, to make him experience a painful sensation. How is it
possible man can operate on such beings; how can the physical actions
of a material substance have any influence over an immaterial substance,
devoid of parts, having no point of contact. How can a corporeal being
make an incorporeal being experience incommodious sensations? On the
other hand, _justice_, according to the only ideas man can ever form of
it, supposes, a permanent disposition to render to each what is due
to him; the theologian will not admit that the beings he has jumbled
together owe any thing to man; he insists that the benefits they bestow
are all the gratuitous effects of their own goodness; that they have
the right to dispose of the work of their hands according to their
own pleasure; to plunge it if they please into the abyss of misery; in
short, that their volition is the only guide of their conduct. It is
easy to see, that according to man's idea of justice, this does not
even contain the shadow of it; that it is, in fact, the mode of action
adopted by what he calls the most frightful tyrants. How then can he
be induced to call men just who act after this manner? Indeed, while
he sees innocence suffering, virtue in tears, crime triumphant, vice
recompensed, and at the same time, is told the beings whom theology has
invented are the authors, he will never be able to acknowledge them
to have _justice_. But he will find no such contradictory qualities in
nature, where every thing is the result of immutable laws: he will at
once perceive that these transient evils produce more permanent good;
that they are necessary to the conservation of the whole, or else result
from modifications of matter, which it is competent for him to change,
by altering his own mode of action; a lesson that nature herself teaches
him when he is willing to receive her instructions. But to form gods
with human passions, is to make them appear unjust; to say that such
beings chastise their friends for their own I good, is at once to
upset all the ideas he has either of kindness or unkindness: thus
the incompatible human qualities ascribed to these beings, do in fact
destroy their existence. If it be insisted they have the knowledge and
power of man, only that they are more extended, then it becomes a very
natural reply, to say, since they know every thing, they ought at least
to restrain mischief; because this would be the observation of man upon
the action of his fellows;--if it be urged these qualities are similar
to the same qualities possessed by man, then it may be fairly asked in
what do they differ? To this, if any answer be given, be what it may, it
will still be only changing the language: it will be invariably another
method of expressing the same thing; seeing that man with all his
ingenuity, will never be able to describe properties but after himself
or those of the beings by whom he is surrounded.

Where is the man filled with kindness, endowed with humanity, who does
not desire with all his heart to render his fellow creatures happy? If
these beings, as the theologians assert, really have man's qualities
augmented, would they not, by the same reasoning, exercise their
infinite power to render them all happy? Nevertheless, in despite of
these theologists, we scarcely find any one who is perfectly satisfied
with his condition on earth: for one mortal that enjoys, we behold
a thousand who suffer; for one rich man who lives in the midst of
abundance, there are thousands of poor who want common necessaries:
whole nations groan in indigence, to satisfy the passions of some
avaricious princes, of some few nobles, who are not thereby rendered
more contented--who do not acknowledge themselves more fortunate on
that account. In short, under the dominion of these beings, the earth
is drenched with the tears of the miserable. What must be the inference
from all this? That they are either negligent of, or incompetent to, his
happiness. But the mythologists will tell you coolly, that the judgments
of his gods are impenetrable! How do we understand this term? Not to be
taught--not to be informed--impervious--not to be pierced: in this case
it would be an unreasonable question to inquire by what authority do you
reason upon them? How do you become acquainted with these impenetrable
mysteries? Upon what foundation do you attribute virtues which you
cannot penetrate? What idea do you form to yourself of a justice that
never resembles that of man? Or is it a truth that you yourself are not
a man, but one of those impenetrable beings whom you say you represent?

To withdraw themselves from this, they will affirm that the justice of
these idols are tempered with mercy, with compassion, with goodness:
these again are human qualities: what, therefore, shall we understand by
them? What idea do we attach to mercy? Is it not a derogation from the
severe rules of an exact, a rigorous justice, which causes a
remission of some part of a merited punishment? Here hinges the great
incompatibility, the incongruity of those qualities, especially when
augmented by the word _omni_; which shews how little suitable human
properties are to the formation of divinities. In a prince, clemency is
either a violation of justice, or the exemption from a too severe law:
nevertheless, man approves of clemency in a sovereign, when its too
great facility does not become prejudicial to society; he esteems it,
because it announces humanity, mildness, a compassionate, noble soul;
qualities he prefers in his governors to rigour, cruelty, inflexibility:
besides, human laws are defective; they are frequently too severe; they
are not competent to foresee all the circumstances of every case: the
punishments they decree are not always commensurate with the offence:
he therefore does not always think them just: but he feels very well,
he understands distinctly, that when the sovereign extends his mercy, he
relaxes from his justice--that if mercy he merited, the punishment ought
not to take place--that then its exercise is no longer clemency, but
justice: thus he feels, that in his fellow creatures these two qualities
cannot exist at the same moment. How then is he to form his judgment of
beings who are represented to possess both in the extremest degree? Is
it not, in fact, announcing these beings to be men like ourselves, who
act with our imperfections on an enlarged scale?

They then say, well, but in the next world these idols will reward you
for all the evils you suffer in this: this, indeed, is something to
look to, if it could be contemplated alone; unmixed with all they have
formerly asserted: if we could also find that there was an unison of
thinking on this point--if there was a reasonable comprehensible view of
it held forth: but alas! here again human pleasures, human feelings, are
the basis on which these rewards are rested; only they are promised in a
way we cannot comprehend them; houris, or females who are to remain for
ever virgins, notwithstanding the knowledge of man, are so opposed to
all human comprehension, so opposite to all experience, are such mystic
assertions, that the human mind cannot possibly embrace an idea of
them: besides this is only promised by one class of these beings; others
affirm it will be altogether different: in short, the number of modes
in which this hereafter reward is promised to him, obliges man to ask
himself one plain question, Which is the real history of these blissful
abodes? At this question he staggers--he seeks for advice: each assures
him that the other is in error--that his peculiar mode is that which
will really have place; that to believe the other is a crime. How is
he to judge now? Take what course he will, he runs the chance of being
wrong; he has no standard whereby to measure the correctness of these
contradictory assurances; his mind is held suspended; he feels the
impossibility of the whole being right; he knows not that which he ought
to elect! Again, they have positively asserted these beings owe nothing
to man: how then is he to expect in a future life, a more real happiness
than he enjoys in the present? This they parry, by assuring him it
is founded upon their promises, contained in their revealed oracles.
Granted: but is he quite certain these oracles have emanated from
themselves? If they are so different in their detail, may there not
be reasonable ground for suspecting some of them are not authentic? If
there is, which are the spurious, which are the genuine? By what rule
is he to guide himself in the choice; how, with his frail methods
of judging, is he to scrutinize oracles delivered by such powerful
beings--to discriminate the true from the false? The ministers of each
will give you an infallible method, one that, is according to their
own asseveration, cannot err; that is, by an implicit belief in the
particular doctrine each promulgates.

Thus will be perceived the multitude of contradictions, the extravagant
hypotheses which these human attributes, with which theology clothes its
divinities, must necessarily produce. Beings embracing at one time so
many discordant qualities will always be undefinable--can only present a
train of ideas calculated to displace each other; they will consequently
ever remain beings of the imagination. These beings, say their
ministers, created the heavens, the earth, the creatures who inhabit
it, to manifest their own peculiar glory; they have neither rivals, nor
equals in nature; nothing which can be compared with them. Glory
is, again, a human passion: it is in man the desire of giving his
fellow-creatures an high opinion of him; this, passion is laudable when
it stimulates him to undertake great projects--when it determines him to
perform useful actions--but it is very frequently a weakness attached
to his nature; it is nothing more than a desire to be distinguished from
those beings with whom he compares himself, without exciting him to one
noble, one generous act. It is easy to perceive that beings who are so
much elevated above men, cannot be actuated by such a defective passion.
They say these beings are jealous of their prerogatives. Jealousy is
another human passion, not always of the most respectable kind: but it
is rather difficult to conceive the existence of jealousy with profound
wisdom, unlimited power, and the perfection of justice. Thus the
theologians by dint of heaping quality on quality, aggrandizing each as
is added, seem to have reduced themselves to the situation of a painter,
who spreading all his colours upon his canvas together, after thus
blending them into an unique mass, loses sight of the whole in the
composition.

They will, nevertheless, reply to these difficulties, that goodness,
wisdom, justice, are in these beings qualities so pre-eminent, so
distinct, have so little affinity with these same qualities in man, that
they are totally dissimilar--have not the least relation. Admit this
to be the case, How then can he form to himself any idea of these
perfections, seeing they are totally unlike those with which he is
acquainted? They surely cannot mean to insinuate that they are the
reverse of every thing he understands; because that would, in effect,
bring them to a precise point which would not need any explanation;
it is therefore a matter of certainty this cannot be the case: then if
these qualities, when exercised by the beings they have described, are
only human actions so obscured, so hidden, as not to be recognizable by
man, How can weak mortals pretend to announce them, to have a knowledge
of them, to explain them to others? Does then theology impart to the
mind the ineffable boon of enabling it to conceive that which no man is
competent to understand? Does it procure for its agents the marvellous
faculty of having distinct ideas of beings composed of so many
contradictory properties? Does it, in fact, make the theologian himself
one of these incomprehensible beings.

They will impose silence, by saying the oracles have spoken; that
through these mystical means they have made themselves known to mortals.
The next question would naturally be, When, where, or to whom have
these oracles spoken? Where are these oracles? An hundred voices raise
themselves in the same moment; hands of Briaraeus are immediately
stretched forth to shew them in a number of discordant collections,
which each maintains, with an equal degree of vehemence, is the true
code--the only doctrine man ought to believe: he runs them over, finds
they scarcely agree in any one particular; but that in all the heaviest
penalties are denounced against those who doubt the smallest part of
any one of them. These beings of consummate wisdom are made to speak an
obscure, irrational language; some of them, although their goodness
is proclaimed, have been cruel and sanguinary; others, although their
justice is held forth, have been partial, unjust, capricious; some, who
are represented as all merciful, destine to the most hideous punishments
the unhappy victims to their wrath: examine any one of them more
closely, he will find that they have never in any two countries held
literally the same language: that although they are said to have spoken
in many places, that they have always spoken variously: What is the
necessary result? The human mind, incapable of reconciling such manifest
contradictions, unable to obtain from their ministers any corroborative
evidence, that is not disputed by the others, falls into the strangest
perplexity; is involved in doubts, entangled in a labyrinth to which no
clue is to be found.

Thus the relations, which are supposed to exist between man and these
theological idols, can only be founded on the moral qualities of these
beings: if these are not known to him, if he cannot in any manner
comprehend them, they cannot by any ingenuity of argument serve him for
models. In order that they may be imitated, it is needful that these
qualities were cognizable by the being who is to imitate them. How
can he imitate that goodness, that justice, that mercy, which does not
resemble either his own, or any thing he can conceive? If these beings
partake in nothing of that which forms man--if the properties they
do possess, although different, are not within the reach of his
comprehension--if, he cannot embrace the most distant idea of them,
which the theologian assures him he cannot, How is it possible he
can set about imitating them? How follow a conduct suitable to please
them--to render himself acceptable in their sight? What can in effect
be the motive of that worship, of that homage, of that obedience, which
these beings are said to exact--which he is informed he should offer
at their altars, if he does not establish it upon their goodness--their
veracity--their justice: in short, upon qualities which he is competent
to understand? How can he have clear, distinct ideas of those qualities,
if they are no longer of the same nature as those which he has learned
to reverence in the beings of his own species?

To this they will reply, because none of them ever admit the least doubt
of the rectitude of their own individual creed, that there can be no
proportion between these idols and mortals, who are the work of their
hands; that it is not permitted to the clay to demand of the potter who
has formed it, "why ye have fashioned me thus;"--but if there can be
no common measure between the workman and his work--if there can be
no analogy between them, because the one is immaterial, the other
corporeal, How do they reciprocally act upon each other? How can the
gross organs of the one, comprehend the subtile quality of the other?
Reasoning in the only way he is capable, and it surely will never be
seriously argued that he is not to reason, will he not perceive that
the earthen vase could only have received the form which it pleased the
potter to give; that if it is formed badly, if it is rendered inadequate
to the use for which it was designed, the vase is not in this instance
to be blamed; the potter certainly has the power to break it; the vase
cannot prevent him; it will neither have motives nor means to soften his
anger; it will be obliged to submit to its destiny; but he will not
be able to prevent his mind from thinking the potter harsh in thus
punishing the vase, rather than by forming it anew, by giving it another
figure, render it competent to the purposes he intended.

According to these notions the relations between man and these
theological beings have no existence, they owe nothing to him, are
dispensed from shewing him either goodness or justice; that man, on
the contrary, owes them every thing: but contradictions appear at every
step. If these have promised by their oracles any thing to man, it is
rather difficult for him to believe, that what is so solemnly promised
does not belong to him if he fulfils the condition of the promise.
The difference a theologian may choose to find in these relations will
hardly be convincing to a reasonable mind. The duties of man towards
these beings can, according to their own shewing, have no other
foundation than the happiness he expects from them: thus the relation
has a reciprocity, it is founded upon their goodness, upon their
justice, it demands obedience on his part, a conduct suitable to the
benefits he receives. Thus, in whatever manner the theological system
is viewed, it destroys itself. Will theology never feel that the more
it endeavours to exaggerate the human qualities, the less it exalts the
beings it pictures; the more incomprehensible it renders them, the more
it contributes to swell its own ocean of contradictions; that to take
human passions, mortal faculties at all, is perhaps the worst means it
can pursue to form a perfect being; but that if it must persist in this
method, then the further they remove them from man, the more they debase
him, the more they weaken the relations subsisting between them: that
in thus aggregating human properties, it should carefully abstain from
associating in these pictures those qualities which man finds detestable
in his fellows. Thus, despotism in man is looked upon as an unjust,
unreasonable power; if it introduces such a quality into its portraits,
it cannot rationally suppose them suitable to cultivate the esteem, to
attract the voluntary homage of the human race: if, however, the canvas
be examined, we shall frequently be struck, with perceiving this the
leading feature; we shall equally find a want of keeping through the
whole; that shadows are introduced, where lights ought to prevail; that
the colouring is incongruous--the design without harmony.

The discrepancy of conduct which theology imputes to these idols, is not
less remarkable than the contrariety of qualities it ascribes to
them, or the inconsistency of the passions with which it invests them;
sometimes, according to this, they are the friends to reason, desirous
of the happiness of society; sometimes they are inimical to virtue;
interdict the use of reason; flattered with seeing society disturbed,
they sometimes afflict man without his being able to guess the cause of
their displeasure; sometimes they are favourable to mankind--at others,
indisposed towards the human species: sometimes they are represented as
permitting crimes for the pleasure of punishing them--at others, they
exert all their power to arrest crime in its birth; sometimes they elect
a small number to receive eternal happiness, predestinating the rest to
perpetual misery--to everlasting torments; at others, they throw open
the gates of mercy to all who choose to enter them; sometimes they are
pourtrayed as destroying the universe--at others, as establishing the
most beautiful order in the planet we inhabit; sometimes they are held
forth as countenancing deception--at others, as having the highest
reverence for truth--as holding deceit in abomination. This, again, is
the necessary result of the human faculties, the mortal passions, the
frail qualities of which they compose the beings they hold forth to the
admiration, to the worship, to the homage of the world.

Perhaps the most fatal consequences have arisen from founding the moral
character of these divinities upon that of man. Those who first had the
confidence to tell man that in these matters it was not permitted him
to consult his reason, that the interests of society demanded its
sacrifice, evidently proposed to themselves to make him the sport of
their own wantonness--to make him the blind instrument of their own
unworthiness. It is from this radical error that has sprung all those
extravagances which the various superstitions have introduced upon
the earth: from hence has flowed that sacred fury which has frequently
deluged it with blood: here is the cause of those inhuman persecutions
which have so often desolated nations: in short, all those horrid
tragedies which have been acted on the vast theatre of the world, by
command of the different ministers of the various systems, whose gods
they have said ordained these shocking spectacles.

The theologians themselves have thus been the means, of calumniating
the gods they pretended to serve, under the pretext of exalting their
name--of covering them with glory; in this they may have been said to be
true atheists, since they seem only to have been anxious to destroy the
idols they themselves had raised, by the actions they have attributed
to them--which has debased them in the eye of reason--rendered their
existence more than doubtful to the man of humanity. Indeed, it would
require more than human credulity to accredit the assertion that these
beings ever could order the atrocities committed in their name. Every
time they have been willing to disturb the harmony of mankind--whenever
they have been desirous to render him unsociable, they have cried out
that their gods ordained that he should be so. Thus they render mortals
uncertain, make the ethical system fluctuate by founding it upon
changeable, capricious idols, whom they represent much more frequently
cruel and unjust, than filled with bounty and benevolence.

However it may be, admitting if they will for a moment that their idols
possess all the human virtues in an infinite degree of perfection, we
shall quickly be obliged to acknowledge that they cannot connect them
with those metaphysical, theological, negative attributes, of which we
have already spoken. If these beings are spirits that are immaterial,
how can they be able to act like man, who is a corporeal being? Pure
spirits, according to the only idea man can form of them, having no
organs, no parts, cannot see any thing; can neither hear our prayers,
attend to our solicitations, nor have compassion for our miseries.
They cannot be immutable, if their dispositions can suffer change: they
cannot be infinite, if the totality of nature, without being them, can
exist conjointly with them: they cannot be omnipotent, if they either
permit or do not prevent evil: they cannot be omnipresent, if they are
not every where: they must therefore be in the evil as well as in the
good. Thus in whatever manner they are contemplated, under whatever
point of view they are considered, the human qualities which are
assigned to them, necessarily destroy each other; neither can these
same properties in any possible manner combine themselves with the
supernatural attributes given to them by theology.

With respect to the revealed will of these idols, by means of
their oracles, far from being a proof of their good will, of their
commisseration for man, it would rather seem evidence of their ill-will.
It supposes them capable of leaving mankind for a considerable season
unacquainted with truths highly important to their interests; these
oracles communicated to a small number of chosen men, are indicative of
partiality, of predilections, that are but little compatible with the
common Father of the human race. These oracles were ill imagined,
since they tend to injure the immutability ascribed to these idols, by
supposing that they permitted man to be ignorant at one time of their
will, whilst at another time they were willing he should be instructed
on the subject. Moreover, these oracles frequently predicted offences
for which afterwards severe punishments were inflicted on those who did
no more than fulfil them. This, according to the reasoning of man, would
be unjust. The ambiguous language in which they were delivered, the
almost impossibility of comprehending them, the inexplicable mysteries
they contained, seemed to render them doubtful; at least they are
not consistent with the ideas man is capable of forming of infinite
perfection: but the fact clearly is, they were thus rendered capable of
application to the contingency of events--could be made to suit
almost any circumstances: this would render it not a very improbable
conjecture, that these oracles were solely delivered by the priests
themselves. It these were tried by the only test of which he has any
knowledge--HIS REASON, it would naturally occur to the mind of man, that
mystery could never, on any occasion, be used in the promulgation of
substantive decrees meant to operate on the obedience, to actuate the
moral conduct of man: it is quite usual with most legislators to
render their laws as explicit as possible, to adapt them to the meanest
understanding; in short, it would be reckoned want of good faith in a
government, to throw a thick, mysterious veil over the announcement of
that conduct which it wished its citizens to adopt; they would be apt
to think such a procedure was either meant to cover its own peculiar
ignorance, or else to entrap them into a snare; at best, it would be
considered as furnishing a never-failing source of dispute, which a wise
government would endeavour to avoid.

It will thus be obvious, that the ideas which theology has at various
times, under various systems, held forth to man, have for the most part
been confused, discordant, incompatible, and have had a general tendency
to disturb the repose of mankind. The obscure notions, the vague
speculations of these multiplied creeds, would be matter of great
indifference, if man was not taught to hold them as highly important
to his welfare--if he did not draw from them conclusions pernicious to
himself--if he did not learn from these theologians that he must sharpen
his asperity against those who do not contemplate them in the same point
of view with himself: as he perhaps, then, will never have a common
standard, a fixed rule, a regular graduated scale, whereby to form
his judgment on these points--as all efforts of the imagination must
necessarily assume divers shapes, undergo a variety of modifications,
which can never be assimilated to each other, it was little likely that
mankind would at all times be able to understand each other on this
subject; much less that they would be in accord in the opinions they
should adopt. From hence that diversity of superstitions which in
all ages have given rise to the most irrational disputes; which
have engendered the most sanguinary wars; which have caused the most
barbarous massacres; which have divided man from his fellow by the most
rancorous animosities, that will perhaps never be healed; because he has
been impelled to consider the peculiar tenets he adopted, not only as
immediately essential to his individual welfare, but also as intimately
connected with the happiness, closely interwoven with the tranquillity
of the nation of which he was a citizen. That such contrariety of
sentiment, such discrepancy of opinion should exist, is not in the least
surprising; it is, in fact, the natural result of those physical causes
to which, as long as he exists, he is at all times submitted. The man
of a heated imagination cannot accommodate himself to the god of a
phlegmatic, tranquil being: the infirm, bilious, discontented, angry
mortal, cannot view him under the same aspect as he who enjoys a sounder
constitution,--as the individual of a gay turn, who enjoys the
blessing of content, who wishes to live in peace. An equitable, kind,
compassionate, tender-hearted man, will not delineate to himself
the same portrait of his god, as the man who is of an harsh, unjust,
inflexible, wicked character. Each individual will modify his god after
his own peculiar manner of existing, after his own mode of thinking,
according to his particular mode of feeling. A wise, honest, rational
man will always figure to himself his god as humane and just.

Nevertheless, as fear usually presided at the formation of those idols
man set up for the object of his worship; as the ideas of these beings
were generally associated with that of terror as the recollections
of sufferings, which he attributed to them, often made him tremble;
frequently awakened in his mind the most afflicting, reminiscence; as
it sometimes filled him with inquietude, sometimes inflamed his
imagination, sometimes overwhelmed him with dismay, the experience of
all ages proves, that these vague idols became the most important of all
considerations--was the affair which most seriously occupied the human
race: that they every where spread consternation--produced the most
frightful ravages, by the delirious inebriation resulting from the
opinions with which they intoxicated the mind. Indeed, it is extremely
difficult to prevent habitual fear, which of all human passions is the
most incommodious, from becoming a dangerous leaven; which in the long
run will sour, exasperate, and give malignancy to the most moderate
temperament.

If a misanthrope, in hatred of his race, had formed the project
of throwing man into the greatest perplexity,--if a tyrant, in the
plenitude of his unruly desire to punish, had sought out the most
efficacious means; could either the one or the other have imagined that
which was so well calculated to gratify their revenge, as thus to occupy
him unceasingly with objects not only unknown to him, but which no
two of them should ever see with precisely the same eyes; which
notwithstanding they should be obliged to contemplate as the centre of
all their thoughts--as the only model of their conduct--as the end of
all their actions--as the subject of all their research--as a thing of
more importance to them than life itself; upon which all their present
felicity, all their future happiness, must necessarily depend? Could the
gods themselves, in their solicitude to punish the impious Prometheus,
for having stolen fire from the sun, have imagined a more certain method
of executing their wishes? Was not Pandora's box, though stuffed with
evils, trifling when compared with this? That at least left hope, to the
unfortunate Epimetheus; this effectually cut it off.

If man was subjected to an absolute monarch, to a sultan who should keep
himself secluded from his subjects; who followed no rule but his own
desires; who did not feel himself bound by any duty; who could for ever
punish the offences committed against him; whose fury it was easy
to provoke; who was irritated even by the ideas, the thoughts of his
subjects; whose displeasure might be incurred without even their own
knowledge; the name of such a sovereign would assuredly be sufficient to
carry trouble, to spread terror, to diffuse consternation into the very
souls of those who should hear it pronounced; his idea would haunt them
every where--would unceasingly afflict them--would plunge them into
despair. What tortures would not their mind endure to discover this
formidable being, to ascertain the secret of pleasing him! What labour
would not their imagination bestow, to discover what mode of conduct
might be able to disarm his anger! What fears would assail them, lest
they might not have justly hit upon the means of assuaging his wrath!
What disputes would they not enter into upon the nature, the qualities
of a ruler, equally unknown to them all! What a variety of means would
not be adopted, to find favour in his eyes; to avert his chastisement!

Such is the history of the effects superstition has produced upon the
earth. Man has always been panic-struck, because the systems adopted
never enable him to form any correct opinion, any fixed ideas, upon
a subject so material to his happiness; because every thing conspired
either to give his ideas a fallacious turn, or else to keep his mind in
the most profound ignorance; when he was willing to set himself
right, when he was sedulous to examine the path which conducted to his
felicity, when he was desirous of probing opinions so consequential to
his peace, involving so much mystery, yet combining both his hopes
and his fears, he was forbidden to employ the only proper method,--HIS
REASON, guided by his experience; he was assured this would be an
offence the most indelible. If he asked, Wherefore his reason had then
been given him, since he was not to use it in matters of such high
behest? he was answered, those were mysteries of which none but the
initiated could be informed; that it sufficed for him to know, that
the reason which he seemed so highly to prize, which he held in so
much esteem, was his most dangerous enemy--his most inveterate, most
determined foe. Where can be the propriety of such an argument? Can it
really be that reason is dangerous? If so, the Turks are justified in
their predilection for madmen: but to proceed, he is told that he must
believe in the gods, not question the mission of their priests; in
short, that he had nothing to do with the laws they imposed, but to
obey them: when he then required that these laws might at least be
made comprehensible to him; that he might be placed in a capacity
to understand them; the old answer was returned, that they were
_mysteries_; he must not inquire into them. But where is the necessity
for mystery in points of such vast importance? He might, indeed,
from time to time consult these oracles, when he was able to make the
sacrifices demanded; he would then receive precepts for his conduct:
these were always, however, given in such vague, indeterminate terms,
that he had scarcely the chance of acting right. At different times the
same oracles delivered different opinions: thus he had nothing, steady;
nothing permanent, whereby to guide his steps; like a blind man left to
himself in the streets, he was obliged to grope his way at the peril of
his existence. This will serve to shew the urgent necessity there is
for truth to throw its radiant lustre on systems big with so much
importance; that are so calculated to corroborate the animosities,
to confirm the bitterness of soul, between those whom nature intended
should always act as brothers.

By the magical charms with which these idols were surrounded, the human
species has remained either as if it was benumbed, in a state of stupid
apathy, or else he has become furious with fanaticism: sometimes,
desponding with fear, man cringed like a slave who bends under the
scourge of an inexorable master, always ready to strike him; he trembled
under a yoke made too ponderous for his strength: he lived in continual
dread of a vengeance he was unceasingly striving to appease, without
ever knowing when he had succeeded: as he was always bathed in tears,
continually enveloped in misery--as he was never permitted to lose sight
of his fears--as he was continually exhorted to nourish his alarm, he
could neither labour for his own happiness nor contribute to that of
others; nothing could exhilirate him; he became the enemy of himself,
the persecutor of his fellow-creatures, because his felicity here below
was interdicted; he passed his time in heaving the most bitter sighs;
his reason being forbidden him, he fell into either a state of infancy
or delirium, which submitted him to authority; he was destined to this
servitude from the hour he quitted his mother's womb, until that in
which he was returned to his kindred dust; tyrannical opinion bound him
fast in her massive fetters; a prey to the terrors with which he was
inspired, he appeared to have come upon the earth for no other purpose
than to dream--with no other desire than to groan--with no other motives
than to sigh; his only view seemed to be to injure himself; to deprive
himself of every rational pleasure, to embitter his own existence; to
disturb the felicity of others. Thus, abject, slothful, irrational, he
frequently became wicked, under the idea of doing honour to his gods;
because they instilled into his mind that it was his duty to avenge
their cause, to sustain their honour, to propagate their worship.

Mortals were prostrate from race to race, before vain idols to which
fear had given birth in the bosom of ignorance, during the calamities of
the earth; they tremblingly adored phantoms which credulity had placed
in the recesses of their own brain, where they found a sanctuary which
time only served to strengthen; nothing could undeceive them; nothing
was competent to make them feel, it was themselves they adored--that
they bent the knee before their own work--that they terrified themselves
with the extravagant pictures they had themselves delineated; they
obstinately persisted in prostrating themselves, in perplexing
themselves, in trembling; they even made a crime of endeavouring to
dissipate their fears; they mistook the production of their own folly;
their conduct resembled that of children, who having disfigured their
own features, become afraid of themselves when a mirror reflects the
extravagance they have committed. These notions so afflicting for
themselves, so grievous to others, have their epoch from the calamities
of man; they will continue, perhaps augment, until their mind,
enlightened by discarded reason, illumined by truth, shall set in
their true colours these various systems; until reflection guided by
experience, shall attach no more importance to them, than is consistent
with the happiness of society; until man, bursting the chains of
superstition--recalling to mind the great end of his existence--taking
a rational view of that which surrounds him, shall no longer refuse to
contemplate nature under her true character; shall no longer persist in
refusing to acknowledge she contains within herself the cause of that
wonderful phenomena which strikes on the dazzled optics of man: until
thoroughly persuaded of the weakness of their claim to the homage of
mankind, he shall make one pious, simultaneous, mighty effort, and
_overthrow the altars of Moloch and his priests_.





CHAP. IV.

_Examination of the Proofs of the Existence of the Divinity, as given by
CLARKE._


The unanimity of man in acknowledging the Divinity, is commonly looked
upon as the strongest proof of his existence. There is not, it is said,
any people on the earth who have not some ideas, whether true or false,
of an all-powerful agent who governs the world. The rudest savages
as well as the most polished nations, are equally obliged to recur
by thought to the first cause of every thing that exists; thus it
is affirmed, the cry of Nature herself ought to convince us of the
existence of the Godhead, of which she has taken pains to engrave the
notion in the minds of men: they therefore conclude, that the idea of
God is innate.

Perhaps there is nothing of which man should be more sedulously careful
than permitting a promiscuous assemblage of right with wrong--of
suffering false conclusions to be drawn from true propositions;
this will not improbably be found to be pretty much the case in this
instance; the existence of the great _Cause of causes_, the _Parent of
parents_, does not, I think, admit of any doubt in the mind of any
one who has reasoned: but, if this existence did not rest upon better
foundations than the unanimity of man on this subject, I am fearful
it would not be placed upon so solid a rock as those who make this
asseveration may imagine: the fact is, man is not generally agreed upon
this point; if he was, superstition could have no existence; the idea
of God cannot be _innate_, because, independent of the proofs offered on
every side of the almost impossibility of innate ideas, one simple fact
will set such an opinion for ever at rest, except with those who are
obstinately determined not to be convinced by even their own arguments:
if this idea was innate, it must be every where the same; seeing that
that which is antecedent to man's being, cannot have experienced the
modifications of his existence, which are posterior. Even if it were
waived, that the same idea should be expected from all mankind, but
that only every nation should have their ideas alike on this subject,
experience will not warrant the assertion, since nothing can be better
established than that the idea is not uniform even in the same town;
now this would be an insuperable quality in an innate idea. It not
unfrequently happens, that in the endeavour to prove too much, that
which stood firm before the attempt, is weakened; thus a bad advocate
frequently injures a good cause, although he may not be able to overturn
the rights on which it is rested. It would, therefore, perhaps, come
nearer to the point if it was said, "that the natural curiosity of
mankind have in all ages, and in all nations, led him to seek after the
primary cause of the phenomena he beholds; that owing to the variations
of his climate, to the difference of his organization, the greater
or less calamity he has experienced, the variety of his intellectual
faculties, and the circumstances under which he has been placed, man
has had the most opposite, contradictory, extravagant notions of the
Divinity, but that he has uniformly been in accord in acknowledging both
the existence, and the wisdom of his work--NATURE."

If disengaged from prejudice, we analyze this proof, we shall see that
the universal consent of man, so diffused over the earth, actually
proves little more than that he has been in all countries exposed to
frightful revolutions, experienced disasters, been sensible to sorrows
of which he has mistaken the physical causes; that those events to which
he has been either the victim or the witness, have called forth his
admiration or excited his fear; that for want of being acquainted with
the powers of nature, for want of understanding her laws, for want of
comprehending her infinite resources, for want of knowing the effects
she must necessarily produce under given circumstances, he has believed
these phenomena were due to some secret agent of which he has had vague
ideas--to beings whom he has supposed conducted themselves after his own
manner; who were operated upon by similar motives with himself.

The consent then of man in acknowledging a variety of gods, proves
nothing, except that in the bosom of ignorance he has either admired
the phenomena of nature, or trembled under their influence; that his
imagination was disturbed by what he beheld or suffered; that he has
sought in vain to relieve his perplexity, upon the unknown cause of
the phenomena he witnessed, which frequently obliged him to quake with
terror: the imagination of the human race has laboured variously upon
these causes, which have almost always been incomprehensible to him;
although every thing confessed his ignorance, his inability to define
these causes, yet he maintained that he was assured of their existence;
when pressed, he spoke of a spirit, (a word to which it was impossible
to attach any determinate idea) which taught nothing but the sloth,
which evidenced nothing but the stupidity of those who pronounced it.

It ought, however, not to excite any surprise that man is incapable of
forming any substantive ideas, save of those things which act, or which
have heretofore acted upon his senses; it is very evident that the
only objects competent to move his organs are material,--that none but
physical beings can furnish him with ideas,--a truth which has been
rendered sufficiently clear in the commencement of this work, not to
need any further proof. It will suffice therefore to say that the idea
of God is not an innate, but an acquired notion; that it is the very
nature of this notion to vary from age to age; to differ in one country
from another; to be viewed variously by individuals. What do I say?
It is, in fact, an idea hardly ever constant in the same mortal. This
diversity, this fluctuation, this change, stamps it with the true
character of an acquired opinion. On the other hand, the strongest proof
that can be adduced that these ideas are founded in error, is, that man
by degrees has arrived at perfectioning all the sciences which have any
known objects for their basis, whilst the science of theology has not
advanced; it is almost every where at the same point; men seem equally
undecided on this subject; those who have most occupied themselves with
it, have effected but little; they seem, indeed, rather to have rendered
the primitive ideas man formed to himself on this head more obscure,--to
have involved in greater mystery all his original opinions.

As soon as it is asked of man, what are the gods before whom he
prostrates himself, forthwith his sentiments are divided. In order that
his opinions should be in accord, it would be requisite that uniform
ideas, analogous sensations, unvaried perceptions, should every where
have given birth to his notions upon this subject: but this would
suppose organs perfectly similar, modified by sensations which have
a perfect affinity: this is what could not happen: because man,
essentially different by his temperament, who is found under
circumstances completely dissimilar, must necessarily have a great
diversity of ideas upon objects which each individual contemplates so
variously. Agreed in some general points, each made himself a god after
his own manner; he feared him, he served him, after his own mode. Thus
the god of one man, or of one nation, was hardly ever that of another
man, or of another nation. The god of a savage, unpolished people, is
commonly some material object, upon which the mind has exercised itself
but little; this god appears very ridiculous in the eyes of a more
polished community, whose minds have laboured more intensely upon the
subject. A spiritual god, whose adorers despise the worship paid by the
savage to a coarse, material object, is the subtle production of the
brain of thinkers, who, lolling in the lap of polished society quite at
their leisure, have deeply meditated, have long occupied themselves
with the subject. The theological god, although for the most part
incomprehensible, is the last effort of the human imagination; it is to
the god of the savage, what an inhabitant of the city of Sybaris, where
effiminacy and luxury reigned, where pomp and pageantry had reached
their climax, clothed with a curiously embroidered purple habit of silk,
was to a man either quite naked, or simply covered with the skin of
a beast perhaps newly slain. It is only in civilized societies, that
leisure affords the opportunity of dreaming--that ease procures the
facility of reasoning; in these associations, idle speculators meditate,
dispute, form metaphysics: the faculty of thought is almost void in the
savage, who is occupied either with hunting, with fishing, or with
the means of procuring a very precarious subsistence by dint of almost
incessant labour. The generality of men, however, have not more elevated
notions of the divinity, have not analyzed him more than the savage. A
spiritual, immaterial God, is formed only to occupy the leisure of some
subtle men, who have no occasion to labour for a subsistence. Theology,
although a science so much vaunted, considered so important to the
interests of man, is only useful to those who live at the expense of
others; or of those who arrogate to themselves the privilege of thinking
for all those who labour. This science becomes, in some polished
societies, who are not on that account more enlightened, a branch of
commerce extremely advantageous to its professors; equally unprofitable
to the citizens; above all when these have the folly to take a very
decided interest in their unintelligible system--in their discordant
opinions.

What an infinite distance between an unformed stone, an animal, a star,
a statue, and the abstracted Deity, which theology hath clothed with
attributes under which it loses sight of him itself! The savage without
doubt deceives himself in the object to which he addresses his vows;
like a child he is smitten with the first object that strikes his
sight--that operates upon him in a lively manner; like the infant, his
fears are alarmed by that from which he conceives he has either
received an injury or suffered disgrace; still his ideas are fixed by a
substantive being, by an object which he can examine by his senses. The
Laplander who adores a rock,--the negro who prostrates himself before
a monstrous serpent, at least see the objects they adore. The idolater
falls upon his knees before a statue, in which he believes there resides
some concealed virtue, some powerful quality, which he judges may be
either useful or prejudicial to himself; but that subtle reasoner,
called a metaphysician, who in consequence of his unintelligible
science, believes he has a right to laugh at the savage, to deride the
Laplander, to scoff at the negro, to ridicule the idolater, doth
not perceive that he is himself prostrate before a being of his own
imagination, of which it is impossible he should form to himself any
correct idea, unless, like the savage, he re-enters into visible nature,
to clothe him with qualities capable of being brought within the range
of his comprehension.

For the most part the notions on the Divinity, which obtain credit even
at the present day, are nothing more than a general terror diversely
acquired, variously modified in the mind of nations, which do not
tend to prove any thing, save that they have received them from their
trembling, ignorant ancestors. These gods have been successively
altered, decorated, subtilized, by those thinkers, those legislators,
those priests, who have meditated deeply upon them; who have prescribed
systems of worship to the uninformed; who have availed themselves
of their existing prejudices, to submit them to their yoke; who have
obtained a dominion over their mind, by seizing on their credulity,--by
making them participate in their errors,--by working on their fears;
these dispositions will always be a necessary consequence of man's
ignorance, when steeped in the sorrows of his heart.

If it be true, as asserted, that the earth has never witnessed any
nation so unsociable, so savage, to be without some form of religious
worship--who did not adore some god--but little will result from it
respecting the Divinity. The word GOD, will rarely be found to designate
more than the unknown cause of those effects which man has either
admired or dreaded. Thus, this notion so generally diffused, upon which
so much stress is laid; will prove little more than that man in all
generations has been ignorant of natural causes,--that he has been
incompetent, from some cause or other, to account for those phenomena
which either excited his surprise or roused his fears. If at the present
day a people cannot be found destitute of some kind of worship, entirely
without superstition, who do not acknowledge a God, who have not adopted
a theology more or less subtle, it is because the uninformed ancestors
of these people have all endured misfortunes--have been alarmed by
terrifying effects, which they have attributed to unknown causes--have
beheld strange sights, which they have ascribed to powerful agents,
whose existence they could not fathom; the details of which, together
with their own bewildered notions, they have handed down to their
posterity who have not given them any kind of examination.

It will readily be allowed, that the universality of an opinion by
no means proves its truth. Do we not see a great number of ignorant
prejudices, a multitude of barbarous errors, even at the present day,
receive the almost universal sanction of the human race? Are not nearly
all the inhabitants of the earth imbued with the idea of magic--in the
habit of acknowledging occult powers--given to divination--believers in
enchantment--the slaves to omens--supporters of witchcraft--thoroughly
persuaded of the existence of ghosts? If some of the most enlightened
persons are cured of these follies, they still find very zealous
partizans in the greater number of mankind, who accredit them with the
firmest confidence. It would not, however, be concluded by men of sound
sense, in many instances not by the theologian himself, that therefore
these chimeras actually have existence, although sanctioned with the
credence of the multitude. Before Copernicus, there was no one who did
not believe that the earth was stationary, that the sun described his
annual revolution round it. Was, however, this universal consent of
man upon a principle of astronomical science, which endured for so many
thousand years, less an error on that account? Yet to have doubted the
truth of such a generally-diffused opinion, one that had received
the sanction of so many learned men--that was clothed with the sacred
vestments of so many ages of credulity--that had been adopted by Moses,
acknowledged by Solomon, accredited by the Persian magi--that Elijah
himself had not refuted--that had obtained the fiat of the most
respectable universities, the most enlightened legislators, the wisest
kings, the most eloquent ministers; in short, a principle that embraced
all the stability that could be derived from the universal consent of
all ranks: to have doubted, I say, of this, would at one period have
been held as the highest degree of profanation, as the most presumptuous
scepticism, as an impious blasphemy, that would have threatened the very
existence of that unhappy country from whose unfortunate bosom such a
venomous, sacrilegious mortal could have arisen. It is well known what
opinion was entertained of Gallileo for maintaining the existence of the
antipodes. Pope Gregory excommunicated as atheists all those who gave it
credit. Thus each man has his God: But do all these gods exist? In reply
it will be said, somewhat triumphantly, each man hath his ideas of the
sun, do all these suns exist? However narrow may be the pass by which
superstition imagines it has thus guarded its favourite hypothesis,
nothing will perhaps be more easy than the answer: the existence of the
sun is a fact verified by the daily use of the senses; all the world see
the sun; no one bath ever said there is no sun; nearly all mankind have
acknowledged it to be both luminous and hot: however various may be the
opinions of man, upon this luminary, no one has ever yet pretended there
was more than one attached to our planetary system. But we may
perhaps be told, there is a wide difference between that which can be
contemplated by the visual organs, which can be understood by the sense
of feeling, and that which does not come under the cognizance of any
part of the organic structure of man. We must confess theology here
has the advantage; that we are unable to follow it through its devious
sinuosities; amidst its meandering labyrinths: but then it is the
advantage of those who see sounds, over those who only hear them; of
those who hear colours, over those who only see them; of the professors
of a science, where every thing is built upon laws inverted from those
common to the globe we inhabit; over those common understandings, who
cannot be sensible to any thing that does not give an impulse to some of
their organs.

If man, therefore, had the courage to throw aside his prejudices, which
every thing conspires to render as durable as himself--if divested
of fear he would examine coolly--if guided by reason he would
dispassionately view the nature of things, the evidence adduced
in support of any given doctrine; he would, at least, be under
the necessity to acknowledge, that the idea of the Divinity is not
innate--that it is not anterior to his existence--that it is
the production of time, acquired by communication with his own
species--that, consequently, there was a period when it did not actually
exist in him: he would see clearly, that he holds it by tradition from
those who reared him: that these themselves received it from their
ancestors: that thus tracing it up, it will be found to have been
derived in the last resort, from ignorant savages, who were our first
fathers. The history of the world will shew that crafty legislators,
ambitious tyrants, blood-stained conquerors, have availed themselves of
the ignorance, the fears, the credulity of his progenitors, to turn
to their own profit an idea to which they rarely attached any other
substantive meaning than that of submitting them to the yoke of their
own domination.

Without doubt there have been mortals who have dreamed they have seen
the Divinity. Mahomet, I believe, boasted he had a long conversation
with the Deity, who promulgated to him the system of the Mussulmans. But
are there not thousands, even of the theologians, who will exhaust their
breath, and fatigue their lungs with vociferating this man was a liar;
whose object was to take advantage of the simplicity, to profit by the
enthusiasm, to impose on the credulity of the Arabs; who promulgated
for truths, the crazy reveries of his own distempered imagination?
Nevertheless, is it not a truth, that this doctrine of the crafty Arab,
is at this day the creed of millions, transmitted to them by their
ancestors, rendered sacred by time, read to them in their mosques,
adorned with all the ceremonies of superstitious worship; of which the
inhabitants of a vast portion of the earth do not permit themselves for
an instant to doubt the veracity; who, on the contrary, hold those who
do not accredit it as dogs, as infidels, as beings of an inferior rank,
of meaner capacities than themselves? Indeed that man, even if he were
a theologian, would not experience the most gentle treatment from the
infuriated Mahometan, who should to his face venture to dispute the
divine mission of his prophet. Thus the ancestors of the Turk have
transmitted to their posterity, those ideas of the Divinity which they
manifestly received from those who deceived them; whose impositions,
modified from age to age, subtilized by the priests, clothed with
the reverential awe inspired by fear, have by degrees acquired that
solidity, received that corroboration, attained that veteran stability,
which is the natural result of public sanction, backed by theological
parade.

The word God is, perhaps, among the first that vibrate on the ear of
man; it is reiterated to him incessantly; he is taught to lisp it
with respect; to listen to it with fear; to bend the knee when it is
reverberated: by dint of repetition, by listening to the fables of
antiquity, by hearing it pronounced by all ranks and persuasions, he
seriously believes all men bring the idea with them into the world; he
thus confounds a mechanical habit with instinct; whilst it is for want
of being able to recal to himself the first circumstances under which
his imagination was awakened by this name; for want of recollecting all
the recitals made to him during the course of his infancy; for want of
accurately defining what was instilled into him by his education; in
short, because his memory does not furnish him with the succession of
causes that have engraven it on his brain, that he believes this idea
is really inherent to his being; innate in all his species. Iamblicus,
indeed, who was a Pythagorean philosopher not in the highest repute
with the learned world, although one of those visionary priests in some
estimation with theologians, (at least if we may venture to judge by the
unlimited draughts they have made on the bank of his doctrines) who
was unquestionably a favourite with the emperor Julian, says, "that
anteriorly to all use of reason, the notion of the gods is inspired
by nature, and that we have even a sort of feeling of the Divinity,
preferable to the knowledge of him." It is, however, uniformly by habit,
that man admires, that he fears a being, whose name he has attended to
from his earliest infancy. As soon as he hears it uttered, he without
reflection mechanically associates it with those ideas with which
his imagination has been filled by the recitals of others; with those
sensations which he has been instructed to accompany it. Thus, if for a
season man would be ingenuous with himself, he would concede that in
the greater number of his race, the ideas of the gods, and of those
attributes with which they are clothed, have their foundation,
take their rise in, are the fruit of the opinions of his fathers,
traditionally infused into him by education--confirmed by
habit--corroborated by example--enforced by authority. That it very
rarely happens he examines these ideas; that they are for the most part
adopted by inexperience, propagated by tuition, rendered sacred by time,
inviolable from respect to his progenitors, reverenced as forming part
of those institutions he has most learned to value. He thinks he has
always had them, because he has had them from his infancy; he
considers them indubitable, because he is never permitted to question
them--because he never has the intrepidity to examine their basis.

If it had been the destiny of a Brachman, or a Mussulman, to have drawn
his first breath on the shores of Africa, he would adore, with as much
simplicity, with as much fervour, the serpent reverenced by the Negroes,
as he does the God his own metaphysicians have offered to his reverence.
He would be equally indignant if any one should presumptuously dispute
the divinity of this reptile, which he would have learned to venerate
from the moment he quitted the womb of his mother, as the most zealous,
enthusiastic fakir, when the marvellous wonders of his prophet should
be brought into question; or as the most subtile theologian when
the inquiry turned upon the incongruous qualities with which he has
decorated his gods. Nevertheless, if this serpent god of the Negro
should be contested, they could not at least dispute his existence.
Simple as may be the mind of this dark son of nature, uncommon as may
be the qualities with which he has clothed his reptile, he still may be
evidenced by all who choose to exercise their organs of sight; not so
with the theologian; he absolutely questions the existence of every
other god but that which he himself has formed; which is questioned in
its turn by his brother metaphysician. They are by no means disposed to
admit the proofs offered by each other. Descartes, Paschal, and Doctor
Samuel Clarke himself, have been accused of atheism by the theologians
of their time. Subsequent reasoners have made use of their proofs, and
even given them as extremely valid. Doctor Bowman published a work, in
which he pretends all the proofs hitherto brought forward are crazy and
fragile: he of course substitutes his own; which in their turn have been
the subject of animadversion. Thus it would appear these theologians are
not more in accord with themselves than they are with Turks or Pagans.
They cannot even agree as to their proofs of existence: from age to
age new champions arise, new evidence is adduced, the old discarded, or
treated with contempt; profound philosophers, subtle metaphysicians, are
continually attacking each other for their ignorance on a point of the
very first importance. Amidst this variety of discussion, it is very
difficult for simple winds, for those who steadily search after truth,
who only wish to understand what they believe, to find a point upon
which they can fix with reliance--a standard round which they may rally
without fear of danger--a common measure that way serve them for a
beacon to avoid the quicksands of delusion--the sophistry of polemics.

Men of very great genius have successively miscarried in their
demonstrations; have been held to have betrayed their cause by the
weakness of the arguments by which they have supported it; by the manner
in which they have attempted to establish their positions. Thus many
of them, when they believed they had surmounted a difficulty, had the
mortification to find they had only given birth to an hundred others.
They seem, indeed, not to be in a capacity to understand each other,
or to agree among themselves, when they reason upon the nature and
qualities of beings created by such a variety of imaginations, which
each contemplates diversely, upon which the natural self-love of each
disputant induces him to reject with vehement indignation every thing
that does not fall in with his own peculiar mode of thinking--that does
not quadrate either with his superstition or his ignorance, or sometimes
with both.

The opponents of Clarke charge him with begging the question in his work
on _The Being and Attributes of God_. They say he has pretended to prove
this existence _a priori_, which they deem impossible, seeing there is
nothing anterior to the first of causes; that therefore it can only
be proved _a posteriori_, that is to say, by its effects. Law, in his
_Inquiry into the Ideas of Space, Time, Immensity, &c_. has attacked him
very triumphantly, for this manner of proof, which is stated to be so
very repugnant to the school-men. His arguments have been treated with
no more ceremony by Thomas D'Aquinas, John Scott, and others of the
schools. At the present day I believe he is held in more respect--that
his authority outweighs that of all his antagonists together. Be that as
it may, those who have followed him have done nothing more than either
repeat his ideas, or present his evidence under a new form. Tillotson
argues at great length, but it would be rather difficult to understand
which side of the question he adopts on this momentous subject; whether
he is a Necessitarian, or among the opposers of Fatalism. Speaking of
man, he says, "he is liable to many evils and miseries, which he can
neither prevent or redress; he is full of wants, which he cannot
supply, and compassed about with infirmities which he cannot remove, and
obnoxious to dangers which he can never sufficiently provide against: he
is apt to grieve for what he cannot help, and eagerly to desire what he
is never able to obtain." If the proofs of Clarke, who has drawn them up
in twelve propositions, are examined with attention, I think they may be
fairly shielded from the reproach with which they have been loaded;
it does not appear that he has proved his positions _a priori,_ but _a
posteriori,_ according to rule. It seems clear, however, that he has
mistaken the proof of the existence of the effects, for the proof of the
existence of the cause: but here he seems to have more reason than his
critics, who in their eagerness to prove that Clarke has not conformed
to the rules of the schools, would entirely overlook the best, the
surest foundation whereon to rest the existence of the _Great Cause of
causes,_ that _Parent of Parents_, whose wisdom shines so manifestly
in nature, of which Clarke's work may be said to be such a masterly
evidence. We shall follow, step by step, the different propositions
in which this learned divine developes the received opinions upon
the Divinity; which, when applied to nature, will be found to be so
accurate, so correct, as to leave no further room to doubt either the
existence or the wisdom of her great author, thus proved through her own
existence. Dr. Clarke sets out with saying:

"_1st. Something has existed from all eternity_."

This proposition is evident--hath no occasion for proofs. Matter has
existed from all eternity, its forms alone are evanescent; matter is the
great engine used by nature to produce all her phenomena, or rather it
is nature herself. We have some idea of matter, sufficient to warrant
the conclusion that this has always existed. First, that which exists,
supposes existence essential to its being. That which cannot, annihilate
itself, exists necessarily; it is impossible to conceive that that which
cannot cease to exist, or that which cannot annihilate itself, could
ever have had a beginning. If matter cannot be annihilated, it could
not commence to be. Thus we say to Dr. Clarke, that it is matter, it is
nature, acting by her own peculiar energy, of which no particle is ever
in an absolute state of rest, which hath always existed. The various
material bodies which this nature contains often change their form,
their combination, their properties, their mode of action: but their
principles or elements are indestructible--have never been able to
commence. What this great scholar actually understands, when he makes
the assertion "that an eternal duration is now actually past," is not
quite so clear; yet he affirms, "that not to believe it would be a real
and express contradiction." We may, however, safely admit his argument,
"that when once any proposition is clearly demonstrated to, be true,
it ought not to disturb us that there be perhaps some perplexing
difficulties on the other side, which merely for want of adequate ideas
of the manner of the existence of the things demonstrated, are not
easily to be cleared."

_2nd, "There has existed from eternity some one unchangeable and
independent Being."_

We may fairly inquire what is this Being? Is it independent of its own
peculiar essence, or of those properties which constitute it such as
it is? We shall further inquire, if this Being, whatever it may be,
can make the other beings which it produces, or which it moves, act
otherwise than they do, according to the properties which it has given
them? And in this case we shall ask, if this Being, such as it way be
supposed to be, does not act necessarily; if it is not obliged to employ
indispensible means to fulfil its designs, to arrive at the end which it
either has, or may be supposed to have in view? Then we shall say, that
nature is obliged to act after her essence; that every thing which takes
place in her is necessary; but that she is independent of her forms.

A man is said to be independent, when he is determined in his actions
only by the general causes which are accustomed to move him; he is
equally said to be dependent on another, when he cannot act but in
consequence of the determination which this last gives him. A body is
dependent on another body when it owes to it its existence, and its mode
of action. A being existing from eternity cannot owe his existence to
any other being; he cannot then be dependent upon him, except he owes
his action to him; but it is evident that an eternal or self-existent
Being contains in his own nature every thing that is necessary for him
to act: then, matter being eternal, is necessarily independent in the
sense we have explained; of course it hath no occasion for a mover upon
which it ought to depend.

This eternal Being is also immutable, if by this attribute be understood
that he cannot change his nature; but if it be intended to infer by it
that he cannot change his mode of action or existence, it is without
doubt deceiving themselves, since even in supposing an immaterial being,
they would be obliged to acknowledge in him different modes of being,
different volitions, different ways of acting; particularly if he was
not supposed totally deprived of action, in which case he would be
perfectly useless. Indeed it follows of course that to change his mode
of action he must necessarily change his manner of being. From hence it
will be obvious, that the theologians, in making their gods immutable,
render them immoveable, consequently they cannot act. An immutable
being, could evidently neither have successive volition, nor produce
successive action; if this being hath created matter, or given birth to
the universe, there must have been a time in which he was willing that
this matter, this universe, should exist; and this time must have been
preceded by another time, in which he was willing that it might not yet
exist. If God be the author of all things, as well as of the motion and
of the combinations of matter, he is unceasingly occupied in producing
and destroying; in consequence, he cannot be called immutable, touching
his mode of existing. The material world always maintains itself by
motion, and the continual change of its parts; the sum of the beings who
compose it, or of the elements which act in it, is invariably the same;
in this sense the immutability of the universe is much more easy of
comprehension, much more demonstrable than that of an other being to
whom, they would attribute all the effects, all the mutations which take
place. Nature is not more to be accused of mutability, on account of the
succession of its forms, than the eternal Being is by the theologians,
by the diversity of his decrees. Here we shall be able to perceive that,
supposing the laws by which nature acts to be immutable, it does not
require tiny of these logical distinctions to account for the changes
that take place: the mutation which results, is, on the contrary, a
striking proof of the immutability of the system which produces them;
and completely brings mature under the range of this second proposition
as stated by Dr. Clarke.

_3dly, "That unchangeable and independent Being which has existed
from eternity without any eternal cause of its existence, must be
self-existent, that is, necessarily existing."_

This proposition is merely a repetition of the first; we reply to it
by inquiring, Why matter, which is indestructible, should not be
self-existent? It is evident that a being who had no beginning, must be
self-existent; if he had existed by another, he would have commenced to
be; consequently he would not be eternal.

_4thly, "What the substance or essence of that Being which is
self-existent, or necessarily existing, is, we have no idea; neither is
it at all possible for us to comprehend it."_

Dr. Clarke would perhaps have spoken more correctly if he had said
his essence is impossible to be known: nevertheless, we shall readily
concede that the essence of matter is incomprehensible, or at least that
we conceive it very feebly by the manner in which we are affected by it;
but without this we should be less able to conceive the Divinity,
who would then be impervious on any side. Thus it must necessarily be
concluded, that it is folly to argue upon it, since it is by matter
alone we can have any knowledge of him; that is to say, by which we can
assure ourselves of his existence,--by which we can at all guess at his
qualities. In short we must conclude, that every thing related of the
Divinity, either proves him material, or else proves the impossibility
in which the human mind will always find itself, of conceiving any being
different from matter; without extent, yet omnipresent; immaterial,
yet acting upon matter; spiritual, yet producing matter; immutable, yet
putting every thing in activity, &c.

Indeed it must be allowed that the incomprehensibility of the Divinity
does not distinguish him from matter; this will not be more easy
of comprehension when we shall associate it with a being much less
comprehensible than itself; we have some slender knowledge of it through
some of its parts. We do not certainly know the essence of any being,
if by that word we are to understand that which constitutes its peculiar
nature. We only know matter by the sensations, the perceptions, the
ideas which it furnishes; it is according to these that we judge it
to be either favorable or unfavourable, following the particular
disposition of our organs. But when a being does not act upon any part
of our organic structure, it does not exist for us; we cannot, without
exhibiting folly, without betraying our ignorance, without falling into
obscurity, either speak of its nature, or assign its qualities; our
senses are the only channel by which we could have formed the slightest
idea of it; these not having received any impulse, we are, in point of
fact, unacquainted with its existence. The incomprehensibility of the
Divinity ought to convince man that it is a point at which he is bound
to stop; indeed he is placed in a state of utter incapacity to proceed:
this, however, would not suit with those speculators who are willing to
reason upon him continually, to shew the depth of their learning,--to
persuade the uninformed they understand that which is incomprehensible
to all men; by which they expect to be able to submit him to their own
views. Nevertheless, if the Divinity be incomprehensible, It would not
be straining a point beyond its tension, to conclude that a priest, or
metaphysician, did not comprehend him better than other men: it is not,
perhaps, either the wisest or the surest way to become acquainted with
him, to represent him to ourselves, by the imagination of a theologian.

_5thly, "Though the substance, or essence of the self-existent Being, is
in itself absolutely incomprehensible to us, yet many of the essential
attributes of his nature are strictly demonstrable, as well as his
existence. Thus, in the first place, the self-existent Being must of
necessity be eternal."_

This proposition differs in nothing from the first, except Dr. Clarke
does not here understand that as the self-existent Being had no
beginning, he can have no end. However this may be, we must ever
inquire, Why this should not be matter? We shall further observe,
that matter not being capable of annihilation, exists necessarily,
consequently will never cease to exist; that the human mind has no means
of conceiving how matter should originate from that which is not itself
matter: is it not obvious, that matter is necessary; that there is
nothing, except its powers, its arrangement, its combinations, which are
contingent or evanescent? The general motion is necessary, but the
given motion is not so; only during the season that the particular
combinations subsist, of which this motion is the consequence, or
the effect: we may be competent to change the direction, to either
accelerate or retard, to suspend or arrest, a particular motion, but the
general motion can never possibly be annihilated. Man, in dying, ceases
to live; that is to say, he no longer either walks, thinks, or acts in
the mode which is peculiar to human organization: but the matter which
composed his body, the matter which formed his mind, does not cease to
move on that account: it simply becomes susceptible of another species
of motion.

_6thly, "The self-existent Being must of necessity be infinite and
omnipresent."_

The word infinite presents only a negative idea--which excludes all
bounds: it is evident that a being who exists necessarily, who is
independent, cannot be limited by any thing which is out of himself;
he must consequently be his own limits; in this sense we may say he is
infinite.

Touching what is said of his omnipresence, it is equally evident that
if there be nothing exterior to this being, either there is no place in
which he must not be present, or that there will be only himself and the
vacuum. This granted, I shall inquire if matter exists; if it does
not at least occupy a portion of space? In this case, matter, or the
universe, must exclude every other being who is not matter, from that
place which the material beings occupy in space. In asking whether the
gods of the theologians be by chance the abstract being which they call
the vacuum or space, they will reply, no! They will further insist, that
their gods, who are not matter, penetrate that which is matter. But it
must be obvious, that to penetrate matter, it is necessary to have some
correspondence with matter, consequently to have extent; now to have
extent, is to have one of the properties of matter. If the Divinity
penetrates matter, then he is material; by a necessary deduction he is
inseparable from matter; then if he is omnipresent, he will be in every
thing. This the theologian will not allow: he will say it is a mystery;
by which I shall understand that he is himself ignorant how to account
for his own positions; this will not be the case with making nature act
after immutable laws; she will of necessity be every where, in my body,
in my arm, in every other material being, because matter composes them
all. The Divinity who has given this invariable system, will without
any incongruous reasoning, without any subterfuge, be also present every
where, inasmuch as the laws he has prescribed will unchangeably act
through the whole; this does not seem inconsistent with reason to
suppose.

_7th, "The Self-existent Being must of necessity be but one."_

If there he nothing exterior to a being who exists necessarily, it must
follow that he is unique. It will be obvious that this proposition is
the same with the preceding one; at least, if they are not willing to
deny the existence of the material world.

_8th, "The self-existent and original Cause of all things, must be an
intelligent being."_

Here Dr. Clarke most unquestionably assigneth a human quality:
intelligence is a faculty appertaining to organized or animated beings,
of which we have no knowledge out of these beings. To have intelligence,
it is necessary to think; to think, it is requisite to have ideas; to
have ideas, supposes senses; when senses exist they are material; when
they are material, they cannot be a pure spirit, in the language of the
theologian.

The necessary Being who comprehends, who contains, who produces animated
beings, contains, includes, and produceth intelligence. But has the
great whole a peculiar intelligence, which moveth it, which maketh
it act, which determineth it in the mode that intelligence moves and
determines animated bodies; or rather, is not this intelligence the
consequence of immutable laws, a certain modification resulting from
certain combinations of matter, which exists under one form of these
combinations, but is wanting under another form? This is assuredly what
nothing is competent absolutely, and demonstrably to prove. Man having
placed himself in the first rank in the universe, has been desirous to
judge of every thing after what he saw within himself, because he
hath pretended that in order to be perfect it was necessary to be
like himself. Here is the source of all his erroneous reasoning upon
nature--the foundation of his ideas upon his gods. He has therefore
concluded, perhaps not with the most polished wisdom, that it would be
indecorous in himself, injurious to the Divinity, not to invest him with
a quality which is found estimable in man--which he prizes highly--to
which he attaches the idea of perfection--which he considers as a
manifest proof of superiority. He sees his fellow-creature is offended
when he is thought to lack intelligence; he therefore judges it to be
the same with the Divinity. He denies this quality to nature, because
he considers her a mass of ignoble matter, incapable of self-action;
although she contains and produces intelligent beings. But this is
rather a personification of an abstract quality, than an attribute of
the Deity, with whose perfections, with whose mode of existence, he
cannot by any possible means become acquainted according to the fifth
proposition of Dr. Clarke himself. It is in the earth that is engendered
those living animals called worms; yet we do not say the earth is a
living creature. The bread which man eats, the wine that he drinks, are
not themselves thinking substances; yet they nourish, sustain, and cause
those beings to think, who are susceptible of this modification of
their existence. It is likewise in nature, that is formed intelligent,
feeling, thinking beings; yet it cannot be rationally said, that nature
feels, thinks, and is intelligent after the manner of these beings, who
nevertheless spring out of her bosom.

How! cries the metaphysician, the subtilizing philosopher, what! refuse
to the Divinity, those qualities we discover in his creatures? Must,
then, the work be more perfect than the workman? Shall God, who made the
eye, not himself see? Shall God, who formed the ear, not himself hear!
This at a superficial view appears insuperable: but are the questioners,
however triumphantly they may make the inquiry, themselves aware of the
length this would carry them, even if their queries were answered with
the most unqualified affirmative? Have they sufficiently reflected
on the tendency of this mode of reasoning? If this be admitted as a
postulatum, are they prepared to follow it in all its extent? Suppose
their argument granted, what is to be done with all those other
qualities upon which man does not set so high a value? Are they also
to be ascribed to the Divinity, because we do not refuse him qualities
possessed by his creatures? By a parity of reasoning we should attach
faculties that would be degrading to the Divinity. Thus it ever happens
with those who travel out of the limits of their own knowledge; they
involve themselves in perpetual contradictions which they can never
reconcile; which only serve to prove that in arguing upon points, on
which universal ignorance prevails, the result is constantly that all
the deductions made from such unsteady principles, must of necessity be
at war with each other, in hostility with themselves. Thus, although
we cannot help feeling the profound wisdom, that must have dictated the
system we see act with such uniformity, with such constancy, with
such astonishing power, we cannot form the most slender idea of the
particular nature of that wisdom; because if we were for an instant to
assimilate it to our own, weak and feeble as it is, we should from that
instant be in a state of contradiction; seeing we could not then
avoid considering the evil we witness, the sorrow we experience, as a
dereliction of this wisdom, which at least proves one great truth, _that
we are utterly incapable of forming an idea of the Divinity_. But in
contemplating things as our own experience warrants in whatever we do
understand, in considering nature as acting by unchangeable laws, we
find good and evil necessarily existing, without at all involving the
wisdom of the great _Cause of causes_; who thus has no need to remedy
that, which the further progress of the eternal system will regulate of
itself, or which industry and patient research on our parts will enable
us to discover the means of futurely avoiding.

_9th, "The self-existent and original Cause of all things, is not a
necessary agent, but a being endued with liberty and choice._"

Man is called free, when he finds within himself motives that determine
him to action, or when his will meets no obstacle to the performance of
that to which his motives have determined him. The necessary Being of
which question is here made, doth he find no obstacles to the execution
of the projects which are attributed to him? Is he willing, adopting
their own hypothesis, that evil should be committed, or can he not
prevent it? In this latter case he is not free; if his will does meet
with obstacles, if he is willing to permit evil; then he suffers man
to restrain his liberty, by deranging his projects; if he has not these
projects, then they are themselves in error who ascribe them to him.
How will the metaphysicians draw themselves out of this perplexing
intricacy?

The further a theologian goes, whilst considering his gods as
possessed of human qualities, as acting by mortal motives, the more he
flounders--the greater the mass of contradiction he heaps together:
thus if it be asked of him, can God reward crime, punish virtue, he will
immediately answer, no! In this answer he will have truth: but then this
truth, and the freedom which is ascribed to him, cannot, according to
human ideas, exist together; because if this being cannot love vice,
cannot hate virtue, and it is evident he cannot, he is in fact not more
free than man himself. Again, God is said to have made a covenant with
his creatures; now it is the very essence of a covenant to restrict
choice; and that being must be considered a necessary agent who is
under the necessity of fulfilling any given act. As it is impossible to
suppose the Divinity can act irrationally, it must be conceded that as
he made these laws, he is himself obliged to follow them: because if he
was not, as we must again suppose he does nothing without a good reason,
he would thereby imply, that the mode of action he adopted would be
wiser; which would again involve a contradiction. The theologians
fearing, without doubt, to restrain the liberty of the Divinity, have
supposed it was necessary that he should not be bound by his own laws,
in which they have shewn somewhat more ignorance of their subject than
they imagined.

_10th, "The self-existent Being, the supreme Cause of all things, must
of necessity have infinite power."_

As nature is adequate to produce every thing we see--as she contains
the whole united power of the universe, her power has consequently no
limits: the being who conferred this power cannot have less. But if the
ideas of the theologians were adopted, this power would not appear
quite so unlimited; since, according to them, man is a free agent,
consequently has the means of acting contrary to this power, which at
once sets a boundary to it. An equitable monarch is perhaps nothing
less than he is a free agent; when he believes himself bound to act
conformably to the laws, which he has sworn to observe, or which he
cannot violate without wounding his justice. The theologian is a man who
may be very fairly estimated neuter; because he destroys with one hand
what he establishes with the other.

_11th, "The Supreme Cause and Author of all things, must of necessity be
infinitely wise."_

As nature produces all things by certain immutable laws, it will require
no great difficulty to allow that she may be infinitely wise: indeed,
whatever side of the argument may be taken, this fact will result as
a necessary consequence. It will hardly admit of a question that all
things are produced by nature: if, therefore, we do not allow her wisdom
to be first rate, it would be an insult to the Divinity, who gave her
her system. If the theologian himself is to take the lead, he also
admits that nature operates under the immediate auspices of his gods;
whatever she does, must then, according to his own shewing, be executed
with the most polished wisdom. But the theologian is not satisfied with
going thus far: he will insist, not only that he knows what these
things are, but also that he knows the end they have in view: this,
unfortunately, is the rock he splits upon. According to his own
admission, the ways of God are impenetrable to man. If we grant his
position, what is the result? Why, that it is at random he speaks. If
these ways are impenetrable, by what means did he acquire his knowledge
of them? How did he discover the end proposed by the Deity? If they
are not impenetrable, they then can be equally known to other men as
to himself. The theologian would be puzzled to shew he has any more
privileges in nature than his fellow mortals. Again, if he has asserted
these things to be impenetrable, when they are not so, he is then in the
situation that he has himself placed Mahomet: he is no longer worthy of
being attended to, because he has swerved from veracity. It certainly is
not very consistent with the sublime idea of the Divinity that he should
be clothed with that weak, vain passion of man, called glory: the being
who had the faculty of producing such a system as it operated in nature,
could hardly be supposed to have such a frivolous passion as we know
this to be in our fellows: and as we can never reason but after what
we do know, it would appear nothing can be more inconsistent than thus
continually heaping together our own feeble, inconsistent views, and
then supposing the great _Cause of causes_ acts by such futile rules.

_12th, "The supreme Cause and Author of all things must of necessity be
a being of infinite goodness, justice, and truth, and all other moral
perfections, such as become the supreme governor and judge of the
world."_

We must again repeat that these are human qualities drawn from the model
of man himself; they only suppose a being of the human species, who
should be divested of what we call imperfections: this is certainly
the highest point of view in which our finite minds are capable of
contemplating the Divinity: but as this being has neither species nor
cause, consequently no fellow creatures, he must necessarily be of
an order so different to man, that human faculties can in no wise
be appropriately assigned to him. The idea of perfection, as man
understands it, is an abstract, metaphysical, negative idea, of which
he has no archetype whereby to form a judgment: he would call that a
perfect being, who, similar to himself, was wanting in those qualities
which he finds prejudicial to him; but such a being would after all be
no wore than a man. It is always relatively to himself, to his own mode
of feeling and of thinking, that a thing is either perfect or imperfect;
it is according to this, that in his eyes a thing is more or less useful
or prejudicial; agreeable or disagreeable. Justice includes all moral
perfections. One of the most prominent features of justice, in the
ideas of man, is the equity of the relations subsisting between beings,
founded upon their mutual wants. According to the theologian, his gods
owe nothing to man. How then does he measure out his ideas of justice?
For a monarch to say he owed nothing to his subjects, would be
considered, even by this theologian himself, as rank injustice;
because he would expect the fulfilment of duties on their part, without
exercising those which devolved upon himself. Duties, according to
the only idea man can form of them, must be reciprocal. It is rather
stretching the human capabilities, to understand the relations between
a pure spirit and material beings--between finity and infinity--between
eternal beings and those which are transitory: thus it is, that
metaphysics hold forth an inconceivable being by the very attributes
with which they clothe him; for either he has these attributes, or
he has them not: whether he has them or has them not, man can only
understand them after his own powers of comprehension. If he does at
all understand them, he cannot have the slightest idea of justice
unaccompanied by duties, which are the very basis, the superstructure,
the pillars upon which this virtue rests. Whether we are to view it as
self-love or ignorance in the theologian, that he thus dresses up his
gods after himself, it certainly was not the happiest effort of his
imagination to work by an inverse rule: for, according to himself,
the qualities he describes are all the negation of what he calls them.
Doctor Clarke himself stumbles a little upon these points; he insists
upon free agency, and uses this extraordinary method to support his
argument; he says, "God is, by necessity, a free agent: and he can no
more possibly cease to be so, than he can cease to exist. He must of
necessity, every moment choose to act, or choose to forbear acting;
because two contradictories cannot possibly be true at once. Man also
is by necessity, not in the nature of things, but through God's
appointment, a free agent. And it is no otherwise in his power to cease
to be such, than by depriving himself of life." Will Doctor Clarke
permit us to put one simple question: If to be obligated to do a
certain given thing, is to be free, what is it to be coerced? Or if two
contradictories cannot be true at once, by what rule of logic are we
to measure the idea of that freedom which arises out of necessity.
Supposing necessity to be what Dr. Johnson, (using Milton as his
authority) says it is, "compulsion," "fatality," would it be considered
a man was less restrained in his actions because he was only compelled
to do what was right? The restraint would undoubtedly he beneficial to
him, but it would not therefore render him more a free agent. If the
Divinity cannot love wickedness, cannot hate goodness, (and surely
the theologians themselves will not pretend he can,) then the power of
choice has no existence as far as these two things are concerned; and
this upon Clarke's own principle, because two contradictories cannot be
true at once. Nothing could, I think, appear a greater contradiction,
than the idea that the _Great Cause of causes_ could by any possibility
love vice: if such a monstrous principle could for a moment have
existence, there would be an end of all the foundations of religion.

The Doctor is very little happier in reasoning upon _immateriality_.
He says, by way of illustrating his argument, "that it is possible to
infinite power to create an immaterial cogitative substance, endued
with a power of beginning motion, and with a liberty of will or choice."
Again, "that immaterial substances are not impossible; or, that a
substance immaterial is not a contradictory notion. Now, whoever asserts
that it is contradictory, must affirm that whatever is not matter is
nothing; and that, to say any thing exists which is not matter, is
saying that there exists something which is nothing, which in other
words is plainly this,--that whatever we have not an idea of, is
nothing, and impossible to be." It could, I am apt to believe, never
have entered into any reasonable mind that a thing was impossible
because he could have no idea of it:--many things, on the contrary, are
possible, of which we have not the most slender notion: but it does
not, I presume, flow consecutively out of this admission, that therefore
every thing is, which is not impossible. Doctor Clarke then, rather begs
the question on this occasion. In the schools it is never considered
requisite to prove a negative; indeed, this is ranked by logicians
amongst those things impossible to be, but it is considered of
the highest importance to soundness of argument, to establish the
affirmative by the most conclusive reasoning. Taking this for granted,
we will apply the doctor's own reasoning. He says, "Nothing is that of
which every thing, can truly be affirmed. So that the idea of nothing,
if I may so speak, is absolutely the negative of all ideas; the idea,
therefore, either of a finite or infinite nothing is a contradiction
in terms." To affirm, of a thing with truth, it must be necessary to be
acquainted with that thing. To have ideas, as we have already proved, it
is necessary to have perceptions; to have perceptions, it is requisite
to have sensations; to have sensations, requires organs. An idea cannot
be, and not be, at the same moment: the idea of substance, it will
scarcely be denied, is that of a thing solid, real, according to Dryden;
capable of supporting accidents, according to Watts; something of which
we can say that it is, according to Davies; body, corporeal nature,
according to Newton; the idea of immaterial, according to Hooker, is
incorporeal. How then am I to understand immaterial substance? Is it
not, according to these definitions, that which cannot couple together?
If a thing be immaterial, it cannot be a substance; if a substance, it
cannot be immaterial: those I apprehend will not have many ideas, who do
not see this is a complete negative of all ideas. If, therefore, on the
outset, the doctor cannot find words, by which he can convey the idea of
that of which he is so desirous to prove the existence, by what chain of
reasoning does he flatter himself that he is to be understood? He will
endeavour to draw out of this dilemma, by assuring as there are things
which we can neither see nor touch, but which do not the less exist on
that account. Granted: but from thence we can neither reason upon
them, nor assign them qualities; we must at least either feel them or
something like them, before we can have any idea of them: this, however,
would not prove they were not substances, nor that substances can be
immaterial. A thing may with great possibility exist of which we have no
knowledge, and yet be material; but I maintain until we have a knowledge
of it, it exists not for us, any more than colours exist for a man born
blind; the man who has sight knows they do exist, can describe them to
his dark neighbour; from this description the blind man may form some
idea of them by analogy with what he himself already knows; or, perhaps,
having a finer tact than his neighbour, he may be enabled to distinguish
them by their surfaces; it would, therefore, be bad reasoning in the
man born blind, to deny the existence of colours; because although these
colours may have no relation with the senses in the absence of sight,
they have with those who have it in their power to see and to know
them: this blind man, however, would-appear a little ridiculous if he
undertook to define them with all their gradations of shade; with all
their variations under different masses of light. Again, if those who
were competent to discriminate these modifications of matter called
colours, were to define them to this blind man, as those modifications
of matter called sound, would the blind man be able to have any
conception of them? It certainly would not be wise in him to aver, that
such a thing as colorific sound had no existence, was impossible; but
at least he would be very justifiable in saying, they appeared
contradictions, because he had some ideas of sound which did not at
all aid him in forming those of colour; he would not, perhaps, be very
inconclusive if he suspected the competency of his informer to the
definition attempted, from his inability to convey to him in any
distinct, understood terms, his own ideas of colours. The theologian is
a blind man, who would explain to others who are also blind, the shades
and colours of a portrait whose original he has not even stumbled upon
in the dark. There is nothing incongruous in supposing that every thing
which has existence is matter; but it requires the complete inversion of
all our ideas, to conceive that which is immaterial; because, in point
of fact, this would be a quality of which "nothing can with truth be
affirmed."

It is, indeed true, that Plato, who was a great creator of chimeras,
says, "those who admit nothing but what they can see and feel, are
stupid ignorant beings, who refuse to admit the reality of the existence
of invisible things." With all due deference to such an authority, we
may still venture to ask, is there then no difference, no shade, no
gradation, between an admission of possibilities and the proof of
realities. Theology would then be the only science in which it is
permitted to conclude that a thing is, as soon as it is possible to be.
Will the assertion of either Clarke or Plato stand absolutely in place
of all evidence? Would they themselves permit such to be convincing if
used against them? The theologians evidently hold this Platonic, this
dogmatical language; they have dreamed the dreams of their master;
perhaps if they were examined a little, they would be found nothing
more than the result of those obscure notions, those unintelligible
metaphysics, adopted by the Egyptian, Chaldean, and Assyrian priests,
among whom Plato drew up his philosophy. If, however, philosophy means
that which we are led to suppose it does, by the great John Locke, it is
"a system by which natural effects are explained." Taken in this sense
we shall be under the necessity of agreeing, that the Platonic doctrines
in no wise merit this distinction, seeing he has only drawn the human
mind from the contemplation of visible nature, to plunge it into the
unfathomable depths of invisibility--of intangibility--of suppositious
speculation, where it can find little other food except chimeras or
conjecture. Such a philosophy is rather fantastical, yet it would seem
we are required to subscribe to its positions without being allowed
to compare them with reason, to examine them through the medium of
experience, to try the gold by the action of fire: thus we have in
abundance the terms spirits, incorporeal substances, invisible powers,
supernatural effects, innate ideas, mysterious virtues, possessed by
demons, &c. &c. which render our senses entirely useless, which put
to flight every thing like experience; while we are gravely told that
"nothing is that, of which no thing can truly be affirmed." Whoever may
be willing to take the trouble of reading the works of Plato and his
disciples, such as Proclus, Iamblicus, Plotinus, and others, will not
fail to find in them almost every doctrine, every metaphysical
subject of the theologian; in fact, the theurgy of many of the modern
superstitions, which for the most part seems to be little more than a
slight variation of that adopted by the ethnic priests. Dreamers have
not had that variety in their follies, that has generally been imagined.
That some of these things should be extensively admitted, by no means
affords proof of their existence. Nothing appears more facile than to
make mankind admit the greatest absurdities, under the imposing name
of mysteries; after having imbued him from his infancy with maxims
calculated to hoodwink his reason--to lead him astray--to prevent him
from examining that which he is told he must believe. Of this there
cannot well exist a more decisive proof than the great extent of
country, the millions of human beings who faithfully and without
examination have adopted the idle dreams, the rank absurdities, of that
arch impostor Mahomet. However this may be, we shall be obliged again
to reply to Plato, and to those of his followers who impose upon us the
necessity of believing that which we cannot comprehend, that, in order
to know that a thing exists, it is at least necessary to have some idea
of it; that this idea can only come to us by the medium of our senses;
that consequently every thing of which our senses do not give us a
knowledge, is in fact nothing for us; and can only rest upon our faith;
upon that admission which is pretty generally, even by the theologian
himself, considered as rather a sandy foundation whereon to erect the
altar of truth: that if there be an absurdity in not accrediting the
existence of that which we do not know, there is no less extravagance in
assigning it qualities; in reasoning upon its properties; in clothing
it with faculties, which may or may not be suitable to its mode of
existence; in substituting idols of our own creation; in combining
incompatible attributes, which will neither bear the test of experience
nor the scrutiny of reason; and then endeavouring to make the whole pass
current by dint of the word infinite, which we will now examine.

Infinite, according to Dennis, means "boundless, unlimited." Doctor
Clarke thus describes it:--he says, "The self-existent being must be a
most simple, unchangeable incorruptible being; without parts, figure,
motion, divisibility, or any other such properties as we find in matter.
For all these things do plainly and necessarily imply finiteness in
their very notion, and are utterly inconsistent with complete infinity."
Ingenuously, is it possible for man to form any true notion of such a
quality? The theologians themselves acknowledge he cannot. Further, the
Doctor allows, "That as to the particular manner of his being infinite,
or every where present, in opposition to the manner of created things
being present in such or such finite places, this is as impossible for
our finite understandings to comprehend or explain, as it is for us to
form an adequate idea of infinity." What is this, then, but that which
no man can explain or comprehend? If it cannot be comprehended, it
cannot be detailed; if it cannot be detailed, it is precisely "that of
which nothing can with truth be affirmed;" and this is Dr. Clarke's own
explanation of nothing. Indeed, is not the human mind obliged by its
very nature to join limited quantities to other quantities, which it can
only conceive as limited, in order to form to itself a sort of confused
idea of something beyond its own grasp, without ever reaching the point
of infinity, which eludes every attempt at definition? Then it would
appear that it is an abstraction, a mere negation of limitation.

Our learned adversary seems to think it strange that the existence of
incorporeal, immaterial substances, the essence of which we are not
able to comprehend, should not be generally accredited. To enforce
this belief, he says, "There is not so mean and contemptible a plant
or animal, that does not confound the most enlarged understanding, upon
earth: nay, even the simplest and plainest of all inanimate beings
have their essence or substance hidden from us in the deepest and most
impenetrable obscurity."

We shall reply to him,

_First_, That the idea of an immaterial substance; or being without
extent, is only an absence of ideas, a negation of extent, as we have
already shewn; that when we are told a being is not matter, they speak
to us of that which is not, and do not teach us that which is; because
by insisting that a being is such, that it cannot act upon any of our
senses, they, in fact, inform us that we have no means of assuring
ourselves whether such being exists or not.

_Secondly_, We shall avow without the least hesitation, that men of the
greatest genius, of the most indefatigable research, are not acquainted
with the essence of stones, plants, animals, nor with the secret springs
which constitute some, which make others vegetate or act: but then at
least we either feel them or see them; our senses have a knowledge of
them in some respects; we can perceive some of their effects; we have
something whereby to judge of them, either accurately or inaccurately;
we can conceive that which is matter, however varied, however subtle,
however minute, by analogy with other matter; but our senses cannot
compass that which is immaterial on any side; we cannot by any possible
means understand it; we have no means whatever of ascertaining its
existence; consequently we cannot even form an idea of it; such a being
is to us an occult principle, or rather a being which imagination has
composed, by deducting from it every known quality. If we are ignorant
of the intimate combination of the most material beings, we at least
discover, with the aid of experience, some of their relations with
ourselves: we have a knowledge of their surface, their extent, their
form, their colour, their softness, their density; by the impressions
they make on our senses, we are capable of discriminating them--of
comparing them--of judging of them in some manner--of seeing them--of
either avoiding or courting them, according to the different modes in
which we are affected by them; we cannot apply any of these tests to
immaterial beings; to spirits; neither can those men who are unceasingly
talking to mankind of these inconceivable things.

_Thirdly_, We have a consciousness of certain modifications in
ourselves, which we call sentiment, thought, will, passions: for want
of being acquainted with our own peculiar essence; for want of precisely
understanding the energy of our own particular organization, we
attribute these effects to a concealed cause, distinguished from
ourselves; which the theologians call a spiritual cause, inasmuch as
it appears to act differently from our body. Nevertheless, reflection,
experience, every thing by which we are enabled to form any kind of
judgment, proves that material effects can only emanate from material
causes. We see nothing in the universe but physical, material effects,
these can only be produced by analogous causes; it is, then certainly
more rational to attribute them to nature herself, of which we may know
something, if we will but deign to meditate her with attention, rather
than to spiritual causes, of which we must for ever remain ignorant, let
us study them as long as we please.

If incomprehensibility be not a sufficient reason for absolutely denying
the possibility of immateriality, it certainly is not of a cogency
to establish its existence; we shall always be less in a capacity
to comprehend a spiritual cause, than one that is material; because
materiality is a known quality; spirituality is an occult, an unknown
quality; or rather it is a mode of speech of which we avail ourselves
to throw a veil over our own ignorance. We are repeatedly told that our
senses only bring us acquainted with the external of things; that our
limited ideas are not capable of conceiving immaterial beings: we agree
frankly to this position; but then our senses do not even shew us the
external of these immaterial substances, Which the theologians will
nevertheless attempt to define to us; upon which they unceasingly
dispute among themselves; upon which even until this day they are not
in perfect unison with each other. The great John Locke in his familiar
letters, says, "I greatly esteem all those who faithfully defend their
opinions; but there are so few persons who, according to the manner they
do defend them, appear fully convinced of the opinions they profess,
that I am tempted to believe there are more sceptics in the world than
are generally imagined."

Abady, one of the most strenuous supporters of immaterialism, says, "The
question is not what incorporeity is, but whether it be." To settle this
disputable point, it were necessary to have some data whereon to form
our judgment; but how assure ourselves of the existence of that, of
which we shall never be competent to have a knowledge? If we are not
told what this is; if some tangible evidence be not offered to the human
mind; how shall we feel ourselves capacitated to judge whether or not
its existence be even possible? How form an estimate of that picture
whose colours elude our sight, whose design we cannot perceive, whose
features have no means of becoming familiar to our mind, whose very
canvas refuses itself to our all research, of which the artist himself
can afford no other idea, no other description, but that it is, although
he himself can neither shew us how or where! We have seen the ruinous
foundations upon which men have hitherto erected this fanciful idea of
immateriality; we have examined the proofs which they have offered,
if proofs they can be called, in support of their hypothesis; we have
sifted the evidence they have been willing to have accredited, in
order to establish their position; we have pointed out the numberless
contradictions that result from their want of union on this subject,
from the irreconcileable qualities with which they clothe their
imaginary system. What conclusion, then, ought fairly, rationally,
consistently, to be drawn from the whole? Can we, or can we not admit
their argument to be conclusive, such as ought to be received by beings
who think themselves sane? Will it allow any other inference than that
it has no existence; that immateriality is a quality hitherto unproved;
the idea of which the mind of man has no means of compassing? Still they
will insist, "there are no contradictions between the qualities which
they attribute to these immaterial substances; but there is a difference
between the understanding of man and the nature of these substances."
This granted, are they nearer the point at which they labour? What
standard is it necessary man should possess, to enable him to judge
of these substances? Can they shew the test that will lead to an
acquaintance with them? Are not those who have thus given loose to their
imagination, who have given birth to this system, themselves men? Does
not the disproportion, of which they speak with such amazing confidence,
attach to themselves as well as to others? If it needs an infinite
mind to comprehend infinity--to form an idea of incorporeity--can the
theologian himself boast he is in a capacity to understand it? To what
purpose then is it they speak of these things to others? Why do they
attempt descriptions of that which they allow to be indescribable? Man,
who will never be an infinite being, will never be able to conceive
infinity; if, then, he has hitherto been incompetent to this perfection
of knowledge, can he reasonably flatter himself he will ever obtain it;
can he hope under any circumstances to conquer that which according to
the shewing of all is unconquerable?

Nevertheless it is pretended, that it is absolutely necessary to know
these substances: but how prove the necessity of having a knowledge of
that which is impossible to be known? We are then told that good sense
and reason are sufficient to convince us of its existence: this is
taking new ground, when the old has been found untenable: for we are
also told that reason is a treacherous guide; one that frequently leads
us astray; that in religious matters it ought not to prevail: at least
then they ought to shew us the precise time when we must resume this
reason. Shall we consult it again, when the question is, whether what
they relate is probable; whether the discordant qualities which they
unite are consistently combined; whether their own arguments have all
that solidity which they would themselves wish them to possess? But we
have strangely mistaken them if they are willing that we should recur to
it upon these points; they will instead, insist we ought blindly to
be directed by that which they vouchsafe to inform us; that the most
certain road to happiness is to submit in all things to that which they
have thought proper to decide on the nature of things, of which they
avow their own ignorance, when they assert them to be beyond the reach
of mortals. Thus it would appear that when we should consent to accredit
these mysteries, it would never arise of our own knowledge; seeing this
can no otherwise obtain but by the effect of demonstrable evidence;
it would never arise from any intimate conviction of our minds; but it
would be entirely on the word of the theologian himself, that we should
ground our faith; that we should yield our belief. If these things are
to the human species what colours are to the man born blind, they have
at least no existence with relation to ourselves. It will avail the
blind man nothing to tell him these colours have no less existence,
because he cannot see them. But what shall we say of that portrait whose
colours the blind man attempts to explain, whose features he is willing
we should receive upon his authority, whose proportions are to be taken
from his description, merely because we know he cannot behold them?

The Doctor, although unwilling to relinquish his subject, removes none
of the difficulty when he asks, "Are our five senses, by an absolute
necessity in the nature of the thing, all and the only possible ways of
perception? And is it impossible and contradictory there should be any
being in the universe, indued with ways of perception different from
these that are the result of our present composition? Or are these
things, on the contrary, purely arbitrary; and the same power that gave
us these, may have given others to other beings, and might, if he
had pleased have given to us others in this present state?" It seems
perfectly unnecessary to the true point of the argument to reason upon
what can or cannot be done: I therefore reply, that the fact is, we have
but five senses: by the aid of these man is not competent to form any
idea whatever of immateriality; but he is also in as absolute a state of
ignorance, upon what might be his capabilities of conception, if he had
more senses. It is rather acknowledging a weakness in his evidence,
on the part of the Doctor, to be thus obliged to rest it upon the
supposition of what might be the case, if man was a being different to
what he is; in other words, that they would be convincing to mankind
if the human race were not human beings. Therefore to demand what the
Divinity could have done in such a case, is to suppose the thing
in question, seeing we cannot form an idea how far the power of
the Divinity extends: but we may be reasonably allowed to use the
theological argument in elucidation; these men very gravely insist,
upon what authority must be best known to themselves, "that God cannot
communicate to his works that perfection which he himself possesses;"
at the same moment they do not fail to announce his omnipotence. Will
it require any capacity, more than is the common lot of a child, to
comprehend the absurd contradiction of the two assertions? As beings
possessing but five senses, we must then, of necessity, regulate our
judgment by the information they are capable of affording us: we cannot,
by any possibility, have a knowledge of those, which confer the capacity
to comprehend beings, of an order entirely distinguished from that
in which we occupy a place. We are ignorant of the mode in which even
plants vegetate, how then be acquainted with that which has no affinity
with ourselves? A man born blind, has only the use of four senses; he
has not the right, however, of assuming it as a fact, there does not
exist an extra sense for others; but he may very reasonably, and with
great truth aver, that he has no idea of the effects which would be
produced in him, by the sense which he lacks: notwithstanding, if this
blind man was surrounded by other men, whose birth had also left
them devoid or sight, might he not without any very unwarrantable
presumption, be authorized to inquire of them by what right, upon what
authority, they spoke to him of a sense they did not themselves
possess; how they were enabled to reason, to detail the minutiae of that
sensation upon which their own peculiar experience taught them nothing?

In short, we can again reply to Dr. Clarke, and to the theologians, that
following up their own systems, the supposition is impossible, and ought
not to be made, seeing that the Divinity, who according to their own
shewing, made man, was not willing that he should have more than five
senses; in other words, that he should be nothing but what he actually
is; they all found the existence of these immaterial substances upon
the necessity of a power that has the faculty to give a commencement to
motion. But if matter has always existed, of which there does not seem
to exist a doubt, it has always had motion, which is as essential to it
as its extent, and flows from its primitive properties. Indeed the human
mind, with its five senses, is not more competent to comprehend matter
devoid of motion, than it is to understand the peculiar quality of
immateriality: motion therefore exists only in and by matter; mobility
is a consequence of its existence; not that the great whole can occupy
other parts of space than it actually does; the impossibility of
that needs no argument, but all its parts can change their respective
situations--do continually change them; it is from thence results the
preservation, the life of nature, which is always as a whole immutable:
but in supposing, as is done every day, that matter is inert, that is to
say, incapable of producing any thing by itself, without the assistance
of a moving power, which sets it in motion, are we by any means enabled
to conceive that material nature receives this activity from an agent,
who partakes in nothing of material substance? Can man really figure to
himself, even in idea, that that which has no one property of matter,
can create matter, draw it from its own peculiar source, arrange
it, penetrate it, give it play, guide its course? Is it not, on the
contrary, more rational to the mind, more consistent with truth, more
congenial to experience, to suppose that the being who made matter is
himself material: is there the smallest necessity to suppose otherwise?
Can it make man either better or worse, that he should consider the
whole that exists as material? Will it in any manner make him a worse
subject to his sovereign; a worse father to his children; a more unkind
husband; a more faithless friend?

Motion, then, is co-eternal with matter: from all eternity the particles
of the universe have acted and reacted upon each other, by virtue
of their respective energies; of their peculiar essences; of their
primitive elements; of their various combinations. These particles must
have combined in consequence of their affinity; they must have been
either attracted or repelled by their respective relations with each
other; in virtue of these various essences, they must have gravitated
one upon the other; united when they were analagous; separated when that
analogy was dissolved, by the approach of heterogeneous matter; they
must have received their forms, undergone a change of figure, by the
continual collision of bodies. In a material world the acting powers
must be material: in a whole every part of which is essentially in
motion, there is no occasion for a power distinguished from itself;
the whole must be in perpetual motion by its own peculiar energy. The
general motion, as we have elsewhere proved, has its birth from the
individual motion, which beings ever active must uninterruptedly
communicate to each other. Thus every cause produces its effect; this
effect in its turn becomes a cause, which in like manner produces an
effect; this constitutes the eternal chain of things, which although
perpetually changing in its detail, suffers no change in its whole.

Theology, after all, has seldom done more than personify this eternal
series of motion; the principle of mobility inherent to matter: it has
clothed this principle with human qualities, by which it has rendered it
unintelligible: in applying these properties, they have taken no means
of understanding how far they were suitable or not: in their eagerness
to make them assimilate, they have extended them beyond their own
conception; they have heaped them together without any judgment;
and they have been surprised when these qualities, contradictory in
themselves, did not enable them satisfactorily to account for all the
phenomena they beheld; from thence they have wrangled; accused each
other of imbecility; yet infuriated themselves against whoever had the
temerity to question that which they did not themselves understand; in
short, they have acted like a man who should insist that all other men
should have precisely the same vision that he himself had dreamed.

Be this as it may, the greater portion of what either Dr. Clarke or
the theologians tell us, becomes, in some respects, sufficiently
intelligible as soon as applied to nature--to matter: it is eternal,
that is to say, it cannot have had a commencement, it never will have
an end; it is infinite, that is to say, we have no conception of its
limits. Nevertheless, human qualities, which must be always borrowed
from ourselves, and with others we have a very slender acquaintance,
cannot be well suitable to the entire of nature; seeing that these
qualities are in themselves modes of being, or modes which appertain
only to particular beings: not to the great whole which contains them.

Thus, to resume the answers which have been given to Dr. Clarke, we
shall say: _First_, we can conceive that matter has existed from all
eternity, seeing that we cannot conceive it to have been capable of
beginning. _Secondly_, that matter is independent, seeing there is
nothing exterior to itself; that it is immutable, seeing it cannot
change its nature, although it is unceasingly changing its form and its
combinations. _Thirdly_, that matter is self-existent, since not being
able to conceive it can be annihilated, we cannot possibly conceive
it can have commenced to exist. _Fourthly_, that we do not know the
essence, or the true nature of matter, although we have a knowledge of
some of its properties; of some of its qualities: according to the
mode in which they act upon us. _Fifthly_, that matter not having had a
beginning, will never have an end, although its numerous combinations,
its various forms, have necessarily a commencement and a period.
_Sixthly_, that if all that exists, or every thing our mind can conceive
is matter, this matter is infinite; that is to say, cannot be limited by
any thing; that it is omnipresent, seeing there is no place exterior
to itself, indeed, if there was a place exterior to it, that would be a
vacuum. _Seventhly_, that nature is unique, although its elements or
its parts may be varied to infinity, indued with properties extremely
opposite; with qualities essentially different. _Eighthly_, that matter,
arranged, modified, and combined in a certain mode, produces in some
beings what we call intelligence, which is one of its modes of being,
not one of its essential properties, _Ninthly_, that matter is not a
free agent, since it cannot act otherwise than it does, in virtue of the
laws of its nature, or of its existence; that consequently, heavy bodies
must necessarily fall; light bodies by the same necessity rise; fire
must burn; man must experience good and evil, according to the quality
of the beings whose action he experiences. _Tenthly_, that the power
or the energy of matter, has no other bounds than those which are
prescribed by its own existence. _Eleventhly_, that wisdom, justice,
goodness, &c. are qualities peculiar to matter combined and modified,
as it is found in some beings of the human species; that the idea of
perfection is an abstract, negative, metaphysical idea, or mode of
considering objects, which supposes nothing real to be exterior to
itself. _Twelfthly_, that matter is the principle of motion, which it
contains within itself: since matter alone is capable of either giving
or receiving motion: this is what cannot be conceived of immateriality
or simple beings destitute of parts, devoid of extent, without mass,
having no ponderosity, which consequently cannot either move itself or
other bodies.





CHAP. V.

_Examination of the Proofs offered by DESCARTES, MALEBRANCHE, NEWTON,
&c_.


If the evidence of Clarke did not prove satisfactory--if the theologians
of his day disputed the manner in which he handled his subject--if they
were disposed to think he had not established his argument upon
proper foundations, it did not seem probable that either the system of
Descartes, the sublime reveries of Malebranche, or the more methodical
mode adopted by Newton, were at all likely to meet with a better
reception; the same objections will lie against them all, that they have
not demonstrated the existence of their immaterial substances; although
they have incessantly spoken of them, as if they were things of which
they had the most intimate knowledge. Unfortunately this is a rock which
the most sublime geniuses have not been competent to avoid: the most
enlightened men have done little more than stammer upon a subject which
they have all concurred in considering of the highest importance; which
they unceasingly hold forth as the most necessary for man to know;
without at the same time considering he is not in a condition to
occupy himself with objects inaccessible to his senses--which his mind,
consequently, can never grasp--which his utmost research cannot bring
into that tangible shape by which alone he can be enabled to form a
judgment.

To the end that we may be convinced of that want of solidity which the
greatest men have not known how to give to the proofs they have
offered, but which they have successively imagined has established their
positions, let us briefly examine what the most celebrated philosophers,
what the most subtile metaphysicians have said. For this purpose we will
begin with Descartes, the restorer of philosophy among the moderns, to
whose sublime errors we are indebted for the effulgent truths of the
Newtonian system. This great man himself tells us, "All the strength of
argument which I have hitherto used to prove the existence of immaterial
substances, consists in this, that I acknowledge it would not be
possible, my nature was such as it is, that is to say, that I should
have in me the idea of immateriality, if this incorporeity did not truly
exist; this same immateriality, of which the idea is in me, possesses
all those high perfections of which our mind can have some slight idea,
without however being able to comprehend them." In another place he
says, "We must necessarily conclude from this alone, that because I
exist, and have the idea of immateriality, that is to say, of a most
perfect being, the existence is therefore most evidently demonstrated."
There are not, perhaps, many except Descartes himself, to whom this
would appear quite so conclusive; who would be impressed with the
conviction which he seems to imagine is so very substantive.

_First_, We shall reply to Descartes, it is not a warrantable deduction,
that because we have an idea of a thing, we must therefore conclude it
exists; to give validity to such a mode of reasoning would be productive
of the greatest mischief; would, in fact, tend to subvert all human
institutions. Our imagination presents us with the idea of a sphinx, or
of an hippogriff, besides a thousand other fantastical beings; are we,
on that authority, to insist that these things really exist? Is the
mere circumstance of our having an idea of various parts of nature,
discrepantly jumbled together, without any other evidence as to the
assemblage, a sufficient warrantry for calling upon mankind to accredit
the existence of such heterogeneous masses? If a philosopher of the most
consummate experience, of the greatest celebrity, one who enjoyed the
confidence of mankind above every other, was to detail the faculties
and perfections of these visionary beings, although he should hold them
forth as the perfection of all natural combinations, would, I say, any
reasonable being lend himself to the asseveration?

_Secondly_, It is obvious that the mere circumstance of existence,
does not prove the absolute existence of any thing anterior to itself;
although in man, as well as the other beings of nature, it is evidence
that something has existed before him. If this argument was to be
admitted, are they aware how far it, would carry them? To maintain
that the existence of one being demonstrably proves the existence of
an anterior being, would be, in fact, denying that any thing was
self-existent. The fallacy of such a position is too glaring to need
refutation.

_Thirdly_, It is not possible he should have a distinct, positive idea
of immateriality, of which be, as well as the theologian, labours to
prove the existence. It is impossible for man, for a material being, to
form to himself a correct idea, or indeed any idea, of incorporeity; of
a substance without extent, acting upon nature, which is corporeal;
a truth which it may not be presuming too much to say we have already
sufficiently proved.

_Fourthly_, It is equally impossible for man to have any clear, decided
idea of perfection, of infinity, of immensity, and other theological
attributes. To Descartes we must therefore reply as we have done to Dr.
Clarke on his twelfth proposition.

Thus nothing can well be less conclusive than the proofs upon which
Descartes rests the existence of immateriality. He gives it thought
and intelligence, but how conceive these qualities without a subject to
which they may adhere? He pretends that we cannot conceive it but "as a
power which applies itself successively to the parts of the universe."
Again, he says, "that an immaterial substance cannot be said to have
extent, but as we say of fire contained in a piece of iron, which has not,
properly speaking, any other extension than that of the iron itself."
According to these notions we shall be justified in taxing him with
having announced in a very clear, in a most unequivocal manner,
that this is nature herself: this indeed is a pure Spinosism; it was
decidedly on the principles of Descartes that Spinosa drew up his
system; in fact it flows out of it consecutively.

We might, therefore, with great reason, accuse Descartes of atheism,
seeing that he very effectually destroys the feeble proofs he adduces
in support of his own hypothesis; we have solid foundation for insisting
that his system overturns the idea of the creation, because if from
the modification we subtract the subject, the modification itself
disappears: and if, according to the Cartesians, this immateriality is
nothing without nature, they are complete Spinosians, with another name.
If incorporeity is the motive-power of this nature, it no longer exists
independently; it, in fact, exists no longer than the subject to which
it is inherent subsists. Thus no longer existing independently, it will
exist only while the nature which it moves shall endure; without
matter, without a subject to move, to preserve, what is to become of it,
according to this doctrine, or rather according to this elucidation of a
system which is in itself untenable?

It will be obvious from this, that Descartes, far from establishing on
a rocky foundation the existence of this immateriality, totally destroys
his own system. The same thing will necessarily happen to all those who
reason upon his principles; they will always finish by confuting him,
and by contradicting themselves. The same want of just inference, the
same discrepancy, will obtrude themselves in the principles of the
celebrated Father Malebranche; which, if considered with the slightest
attention, appear to conduct directly to Spinosism; in fact, can any
thing be more in unison with the language of Spinosa himself, than to
say, as does Malebranche, "that the universe is only an emanation from
God; that we see every thing in God, that every thing we see is only
God; that God alone does every thing that is done; that all the action,
with every operation that takes place in nature, is God himself; in a
word, that God is every being and the only being." Is not this formally
asserting that nature herself is God? Moreover, at the same time
Malebranche assures us we see every thing in God, he pretends that it is
not yet clearly demonstrated that matter and bodies have existence; that
faith alone teaches us these mysteries, of which, without it, we should
not have any knowledge whatever. In reply, it might be a very fair
question, how the existence of the being who created matter can be
demonstrated, if the existence of this matter itself be yet a problem?
He himself acknowledges "that we can have no distinct demonstration of
the existence of any other being than of that which is necessary;" he
further adds, "that if it be closely examined, it will be seen, that it
is not even possible to know with certitude, if God be or be not truly
the creator of a material, of a sensible world." According to these
notions, it is evident, that, following up the system of Malebranche,
man has only his faith to guarantee the existence of the world; yet
faith itself supposes its existence; if it be not, however, certain that
it does exist, and the Bishop of Cloyne, Dr. Berkeley, has also held
this in doubt, how shall we be persuaded that we must believe the
oracles which have been delivered to a visionary world?

On the other hand, these notions of Malebranche completely overturns all
the theological doctrines of free agency. How can the liberty of man's
action be reconciled with the idea that it is the Divinity who is the
immediate mover of nature; who actually gives impulse to matter and
bodies, without whose immediate interference nothing takes place; who
pre-determines his creatures to every thing they do? How can it be
pretended, if this doctrine is to be accredited, that human souls have
the faculty of forming thoughts--have the power of volition--are in
a condition to move themselves--have the capacity to modify their
existence? If it be supposed with the theologians, that the conservation
of the creatures in the universe is a continued creation, must it not
appear, that being thus perpetually recreated, they are enabled to
commit evil? It will then be a self-evident fact, that, admitting the
system of Malebranche, God does every thing, and that his creatures
are no more than passive instruments in his hands. Under this idea they
could not be answerable for their sins, because they would have no means
of avoiding them. Under this notion they could neither have merit or
demerit; they would be like a sharp instrument in their own hands, which
whether it was applied to a good or to an evil purpose, it would
attach to themselves, not to the instrument: this would annihilate
all religion: it is thus that theology is continually occupied with
committing suicide.

Let us now see, if the immortal Newton, the great luminary of science,
the champion of astronomical truth, will afford us clearer notions, more
distinct ideas, more certain evidence of the existence of immaterial
substances. This great man, whose comprehensive genius unravelled
nature, whose capacious mind developed her laws, seems to have
bewildered himself, the instant he lost sight of them. A slave to the
prejudices of his infancy, he had not the courage to hold the lamp
of his own enlightened understanding to the agent theology has so
gratuitously associated with nature; he has not been able to allow
that her own peculiar powers were adequate to the production of that
beautiful phenomena, he has with such masterly talents so luminously
explained. In short, the sublime Newton himself becomes an infant when
he quits physics, when he lays aside demonstration, to lose himself in
the devious sinuosities, in the inextricable labyrinths, in the delusive
regions of theology. This is the manner in which he speaks of the
Divinity:

"This God," says he, "governs all, not as the soul of the world, but
as the lord and sovereign of all things. It is in consequence of
his sovereignty that he is called the Lord God, [Greek letters],
_pantokrator_, the universal emperor. Indeed the word God is relative
and relates itself with slaves; the Deity is the dominion or the
sovereignty of God, not over his own body, as those think who look upon
God as the soul of the world, but over slaves."

From this it will be seen that Newton, as well as the theologians, makes
the Divinity a pure spirit, who presides over the universe as a monarch,
as a lord paramount; that is to say, what man defines in earthly
governors, despot, absolute princes, powerful monarchs, whose
governments have no model but their own will, who exercise an unlimited
power over their subjects, transformed into slaves; whom they usually
compel to feel in a very grievous manner the weight of their authority.
But according to the ideas of Newton, the world has not existed from
eternity, the staves of God have been formed in the course of time; from
this it would be a just inference, that before the creation of the world
the god of Newton was a sovereign without subjects. Let us see if this
truly great philosopher is more in unison with himself in the subsequent
ideas which he delivers on this subject.

"The supreme God," he says, "is an eternal, infinite, and absolutely
perfect being; but however perfect a being may be, if he has no
sovereignty he is not the supreme God. The word God signifies Lord,
but every lord is not god; it is the sovereignty of the spiritual Being
which constitutes God; it is the true sovereignty which constitutes the
true God; it is the supreme sovereignty which constitutes the supreme
God; it is a false sovereignty which constitutes a false god. From true
sovereignty, it follows, that the true God is living, intelligent,
and powerful; and from his other perfections, it follows, that he is
supremely or sovereignly perfect. He is eternal, infinite, omniscient;
that is to say, he exists from eternity, and will never have an end; he
governs all, and he knows every thing that is done, or that can be done.
He is neither eternity nor infinity, but he is eternal and infinite; he
is not space or duration, but he exists and is present." The term here
used is _adest_, which appears to have been placed there to avoid saying
that God is contained in space.

In all this unintelligible series, nothing is to be found but incredible
efforts to reconcile the theological attributes, the abstract with the
human qualities, which have been ascribed to the Divinity; we see in
it negative qualities, which can no longer be suitable to man, given,
however, to the Sovereign of nature, whom he has supposed a king.
However it may be, this picture always supposes the Supreme God to have
occasion for subjects to establish his sovereignty. It makes God stand
in need of man for the exercise of his empire; without these, according
to the text, he would not be a king; he could have had no empire when
there was nothing: but if this description of Newton was just, if it
really represented the Divinity, we might be very fairly permitted to
ask, Does not this Spiritual King exercise his spiritual empire in vain,
upon refractory beings, who do not at all times do that which he is
willing they should; who are continually struggling against his power;
who spread disorder in his states? This Spiritual Monarch, who is master
of the minds, of the souls, of the wills, of the passions of his slaves,
does he leave them the freedom of revolting against him? This infinite
Monarch, who fills every thing with his immensity, who governs all, does
he also govern the man who sins; does he direct his actions; is he
in him when he offends his God? The devil, the false god, the evil
principle, hath he not, according to this, a more extensive empire than
the true God, whose projects, if we are to believe the theologians, he
is unceasingly overturning? In earthly governments the true sovereign
is generally considered to be him whose power in a state influences the
greater number of his subjects. If, then, we could suppose him to be
omnipresent, that is, present in all places, should we not say he was
the sad witness to all the outrages committed against his authority,
and we should not entertain a very exalted opinion of his power if he
permitted them to continue. This, it is true, would be arguing upon a
monarch of this world, still it would be the language held by observers.

Is the spirituality of the Divinity well supported by those who say he
fills all space, who from that instant give him extent, ascribe to him
volume, make him correspond with the various points of space? This is
the very reverse of an immaterial substance.

"God is one," continues Newton, "and he is the same for ever, and every
where, not only by his virtue alone, or by his energy, but also by his
substance." But how are we to conceive that a being who is in continual
activity, who produces all the changes which beings undergo, can always
be himself the same? What is to be understood by either this virtue or
this energy? These are relative terms, which do not present any clear,
distinct idea to our mind, except as they apply to man: what are we,
however, to understand by the divine substance? If this substance be
spiritual, that is, devoid of extent, how can there exist in it any
parts? How can it give impulse to matter, how set it in motion? How can
it even be conceived by mortals?

Nevertheless Newton informs us, "that all things are contained in him,
and are moved in him, but without reciprocity of action: God experiences
nothing by the motion of bodies; these experience no resistance whatever
by his omnipresence." It would here appear that he clothes the Divinity
with that which bears the character of vacuum--of nothing; without
that, it would be almost impossible not to have a reciprocal action
or relation between these substances, which are either penetrated or
encompassed on all sides. It must be obvious, that in this instance our
scientific author does not distinctly understand himself.

He proceeds, "It is an incontestible truth, that God exists necessarily,
and the same necessity obliges to exist always and every where: from
whence it follows, that he is in every thing similar to itself; he is
all eyes, all ears, all brains, all arms, all feeling, all intelligence,
all action; but in a mode by no means human, by no means corporeal, and
which is totally unknown to us. In the same manner as a blind man has
no idea of colours, it is that we have no idea of the mode in which
God feels and understands." The necessary existence of the Divinity
is precisely the thing in question; it is this existence that it was
needful to have verified by proofs as clear, by evidence as distinct, by
demonstration as strong, as gravitation and attraction. One would have
hardly thought it possible the expansive capabilities of Newton
would not have compassed it. But oh, unrivalled genius! so mighty,
so powerful, so colossal, while yet you was a geometrician; so
insignificant, so weak, so inconsistent; when you became a theologian;
that is to say, when you reasoned upon that which can neither be
calculated, nor submitted to experience; how could you think of speaking
to us on a subject which, by your own confession is to you just what a
picture is to a man born blind? Wherefore quit nature, which had already
explained to you so much? Why seek in imaginary spaces those causes,
those powers, that energy, which she would have distinctly pointed
out to you, had you been willing to have consulted her with your usual
sagacity? The gigantic, the intelligent Newton, suffers himself to be
hoodwinked--to be blinded by prejudice; he has not courage to look a
question fairly in the face, when that question involves notions which
habit has rendered sacred to him; he turns his eyes from truth, he casts
behind him his experience, he lulls to sleep his reason, when it becomes
necessary to probe opinions full of contradictions, yet fraught with the
best interests of humanity.

Let us, however, continue to examine how far the most transcendent
genius is capable of leading himself astray, when once he abandons
experience, when once he chains up his reason, when once he suffers
himself to be guided by his imagination.

"God," continues the father of modern philosophy, "is totally destitute
of body and of corporeal figure; here is the reason why he cannot be
either seen, touched, or understood; and ought not to be adored under
any corporeal form." What idea, however, can be formed of a being who
is resembled by nothing of which we have any knowledge? What are the
relations that can be supposed to exist between such very dissimilar
beings? When man renders this being his adoration, does he not, in fact,
in despite of himself, make him a being similar to his own species; does
he not suppose that, like himself, he is sensible to homage--to be won
by presents--gained by flattery; in short, he is treated like a king
of the earth, who exacts the respect, demands the fealty, requires the
obedience of all who are submitted to him. Newton adds, "we have ideas
of his attributes, but we do not know that it is any one substance; we
only see the figures and the colours of bodies; we only hear sounds; we
only touch the exterior surfaces; we only scent odours; we only taste
flavours: no one of our senses, no one of our reflections, can shew us
the intimate nature of substances: we have still less ideas of God."

If we have an idea of the attributes of God, it is only because we
clothe him with those which belong to ourselves; which we never do more
than aggrandize, which we only augment or exaggerate; we then mistake
them for those qualities with which we were at first acquainted. If in
all those substances which are pervious to our senses, we only know them
by the effects they produce on us, after which we assign them qualities,
at least these qualities are something tangible, they give birth to
clear and distinct ideas. This superficial knowledge, however slender
it may be, with which our senses furnish us, is the only one we can
possibly have; constituted as we are, we find ourselves under the
necessity of resting contented with it, and we discover that it is
sufficient for our wants; but we have not even the most superficial idea
of immateriality, or a substance distinguished from all those with which
we have the slightest acquaintance. Nevertheless, we hear men hourly
reasoning upon it, disputing about its properties, advancing its
faculties, as if they had the most demonstrable evidence of the fact;
tearing each other in pieces, because the one does not readily admit
what the other asserts, upon a subject which no man is competent to
understand.

Our author goes on "We only have a knowledge of God by his attributes,
by his properties, by the excellent and wise arrangement which he
has given to all things, and by their FINAL CAUSES: we admire him
in consequence of his perfections." I repeat, that we have no real
knowledge of the Divinity; that we borrow his attributes from ourselves;
but it is evident these cannot be suitable to the Universal Being, who
neither can have the same nature nor the same properties as particular
beings; it is nevertheless after ourselves that we assign him
intelligence, wisdom, perfection, in subtracting from them what we call
defects. As to the order, or the arrangement of the universe, man finds
it excellent, esteems it the perfection of wisdom, as long as it is
favorable to his species; or when the causes which are co-existent with
himself do not disturb his own peculiar existence; otherwise he is apt
to complain of confusion, and final causes vanish: he then attributes to
an immutable God, motives equally borrowed from his own peculiar mode
of action, for deranging the beautiful order he so much admires in the
universe. Thus it is always in himself, that is, in his own individual
mode of feeling, that he draws up the ideas of the order, the wisdom,
the excellence, the perfection which he ascribes to the Deity; whilst
the good as well as the evil which take place in the world, are
the necessary consequence of the essence of things; of the general,
immutable laws of nature; in short, of the gravitation, of the repulsion
of matter; of those unchangeable laws of motion, which Newton himself
has so ably thrown into light; but which he has by a strange fatuity
forborne to apply when the question was concerning the cause of these
phenomena, which prejudice has refused to the capabilities of nature. He
goes on, "We revere, and we adore God, on account of his sovereignty:
we worship him like his slaves; a God destitute of sovereignty, of
providence, and of final causes, would be no more than nature and
destiny." It is true that superstition enjoins man to adore its gods
like ignorant slaves, who tremble under a master whom they know not; he
certainly prays to them on all occasions, sometimes requesting nothing
less than an entire change in the essence of things, to gratify
his capricious desires, and it is perhaps well for him they are not
competent to grant his request: in the origin, as we have shewn, these
gods were nothing more than nature acting by necessary laws, clothed
under a variety of fables; or necessity personified under a multitude of
names. However this may be, we do not believe that true religion,
that sterling worship which renders man grateful, whilst it exalts the
majesty of the Divinity, requires any such meanness from man that
he should act like a slave; he is rather expected to sit down to the
banquet prepared for him, with all the dignity of an invited guest;
under the cheering consciousness of a welcome that is never accorded
to slaves; nothing is required at his hands, but that he should conduct
himself temperately in the banquetting-house; that he should be grateful
for the good cheer he receives; that he should have virtue; (which we
have already sufficiently explained is to render himself useful, by
making others happy); that he should not by pertinaciously setting up
whimsical opinions, and insisting on their adoption by his neighbour,
disturb the harmony of the feast; that he should be sufficiently
intelligent to know when he is really felicitous, and not seek to put
down the gaiety of his fellow guests; but that he should rise from
the board satisfied with himself, contented with others; in short, to
comprise the whole in a trite axiom of one of the Greek philosophers, he
should learn the invaluable secret, "to _bear_ and _forbear_."

But to proceed. Newton tells us, "that from a physical and blind
necessity, which should preside every where, and be always the same,
there could not emanate any variety in the beings; the diversity which
we behold, could only have its origin in the ideas and in the will of a
being which exists necessarily;" but wherefore should not this diversity
spring out of natural causes, from matter acting upon matter; the action
of which either attracts and combines various yet analogous elements, or
else separates beings by the intervention of those substances which have
not a disposition to unite? Is not bread the result of the combination
of flour, yeast and water? As for the blind necessity, as it is
elsewhere said, we must acknowledge it is that of which we are ignorant,
either of its properties or its energies; of which being blind ourselves
we have no knowledge of its mode of action. Philosophers explain all the
phenomena that occur by the properties of matter; and though they feel
the want of a more intimate acquaintance with natural causes, they do
not therefore the less believe them deducible from these properties or
these causes. Are, therefore, the philosophers atheists, because they
do not reply, it is God who is the author of these effects? Is the
industrious workman, who makes gunpowder, to be challenged as an
atheist, because he says the terrible effects of this destructive
material, which inspired the native Americans with such awe, which
raised in their winds such wonder, are to be ascribed to the junction of
the apparently harmless substances of nitre, charcoal and sulpher, set
in activity by the accession of trivial scintillations, produced from
the collision of steel with flint, merely because some bigoted _Priest
of the Sun_, who is ignorant of the composition, chooses to think it is
not possible such a striking phenomenon could be the work of any thing
short of the secret agents, whom he has himself appointed to govern the
world?

"It is allegorically said that God sees, hears, speaks, smiles, loves,
hates, desires, gives, receives, rejoices, grows angry, fights, makes,
or fashions, &c. because all that is said of God, is borrowed from the
conduct of man, by an imperfect analogy." Man has not been able to act
otherwise, for want of being acquainted with nature and her eternal
course: whenever he has imagined a peculiar energy which he has not been
able to fathom, he has given it the name of God; and he has then made
him act upon the self-same principles, as he himself would adopt,
according to which he would act if he was the master. It is from this
proneness to _Theanthropy_, that has flowed all those absurd, and
frequently dangerous ideas, upon which are founded the superstitions of
the world; who all adore in their gods either natural causes of which
they are ignorant, or else powerful mortals of whose malice they stand
in awe. The sequel will shew the fatal effects that have resulted
to mankind from the absurd ideas they have very frequently formed to
themselves of the Divinity; that nothing could be more degrading to
him, more injurious to themselves, than the idea of comparing him to
an absolute sovereign, to a despot, to a tyrant. For the present let
us continue to examine the proofs offered in support of their various
systems.

It is unceasingly repeated that the regular action, the invariable
order, which reigns in the universe, the benefits heaped upon mortals,
announce a wisdom, an intelligence, a goodness, which we cannot refuse
to acknowledge, in the cause which produces these marvellous effects. To
this we must reply, that it is unquestionably true that not only these
things, but all the phenomena he beholds, indicate the existence of
something gifted very superiorly to erring man; the great question,
however, is one that perhaps will never be solved, what is this being?
Is this question answered by heaping together the estimable qualities
of man? Speaking with relation to ourselves, which is all that the
theologian really does, although in such numerous regions he pretends
to do a great deal more, we can apply the terms goodness, wisdom,
intelligence, the best with which we are acquainted, to this being for
the want of having those that may be appropriate; but I maintain, this
does not, in point of fact, afford us one single idea of the _Great
Cause of causes_; we admire his works; and knowing that what we approve
highly in our own species, we attribute to their being wise, we say the
Divinity displays wisdom. So far it is well; but this, after all, is a
human quality. If we consult experience, we shall presently be convinced
that our wisdom does not bear the least affinity to the actions
attributed to the Divinity. To get at this a little closer, we must
endeavour to find out what we do not call wisdom in man; this will help
us to form an estimate, how very incompetent we are to describe the
qualities of a being that differs so very materially from ourselves.
We most certainly should not call him a wise man, who having built a
beautiful residence, should himself set it on fire; and thus destroy
what he had laboured so much to bring to perfection: yet this happens
every day in nature, without its being in any manner a warrantry for
us to charge her with folly. If therefore we were to form our judgments
after our own puny ideas of wisdom, what should we say? Why, in point
of fact, just what the man does, who, thinking he has had too much rain,
implores fine weather? Which, properly translated, is neither more nor
less than giving the Divinity to understand he best knows what is proper
for himself. The just, the only fair inference to be drawn from this,
is, that we positively know nothing about the matter; that those who
pretend they do, would, if it was upon any other subject, he suspected
of having an unsound mind. We do not mean to insist that we are in the
right, but we mean to aver that the object of this work is not so much
either to build up new systems, or to put down old ones, as by shewing
man the inconclusiveness of his reasonings upon matters not accessible
to his comprehension--to induce him to be more tolerant to his
neighbour--to invite him to be less rancorous against those who do not
see with his eyes--to hold forth to him motives for forbearance, against
those whose system of faith may not exactly harmonize with his own--to
render him less ferocious in support of opinions, which, if he will
but discard his prejudices, he may find not so solidly bottomed as he
imagines. All we know is scarcely more than that the motion we witness
in the universe is the necessary consequence of the laws of matter; that
the uniformity of this motion is evidence of their immutability; that it
is not too much to say it cannot cease to act in the manner it does, as
long as the same causes operate, governed by the same circumstances.
We evidently see that motion, however regular in our mind, that order,
however beautiful to our admiring optics, yields to what we term
disorder, to that which we designate frightful confusion, as soon as new
causes, not analogous to the preceding, either disturb or suspend
their action. We further know that a better knowledge of nature,
the consequence of time, the result of patient, laborious, physical
researches, with the comparison of facts and the application of
experience, has enabled man in many instances to divert from himself the
evil effects of inevitable causes, which anterior to these discoveries
overwhelmed his unhappy progenitors with ruin. How far these salutary
developements are to be carried by industry, what may be achieved by
honesty, what light is to be gathered from the recession of prejudice,
the wisest among men is not competent to decide. Certain it is, that
phenomena which for ages were supposed to denounce the anger of the
Deity against mankind, are now well understood to be common effects of
natural causes.

Order, as we have elsewhere shewn, is only the effects which result
to ourselves from a series of motion; there cannot be any disorder
relatively to the great whole; in which all that takes place is
necessary; in which every thing is determined by laws which nothing can
change. The order of nature may be damaged or destroyed relatively to
ourselves, but it is never contradicted relatively to herself, since she
cannot act otherwise than she does: if we attribute to her the evils we
sustain, we are equally obliged to acknowledge we owe to her the good we
experience.

It in said, that animals furnish a convincing proof of the powerful
cause of their existence; that the admirable harmony of their parts, the
mutual assistance they lend each other, the regularity with which
they fulfill their functions, the preservation of these parts, the
conservation of such complicated wholes, announce a workman who unites
wisdom with power; in short, whole tracts of anatomy and botany have
been copied to prove nothing more than that these things exist, for of
the power that produced them there cannot remain a doubt. We shall never
learn more from these erudite tracts, save that there exists in nature
certain elements with an aptitude to attraction; a disposition to unite,
suitable to form wholes, to induce combinations capable of producing
very striking effects. To be surprised that the brain, the heart, the
arteries, the veins, the eyes, the ears of an animal, act as we see
them--that the roots of plants attract juices, or that trees produce
fruit, is to be surprised that a tree, a plant, or an animal exists at
all. These beings would not exist, or would no longer be that which we
know they are, if they ceased to act as they do: this is what happens
when they die. If the formation, the combination, the modes of action,
variously possessed by these beings, if their conservation for a season,
followed by their destruction or dissolution, prove any thing, it is the
immutability of those laws which operate in nature: we cannot doubt
the power of nature; she produces all the animals we behold, by the
combination, of matter, continually in motion; the harmony that subsists
between the component parts of these beings, is a consequence of the
necessary laws of their nature, and of that which results from their
combination. As soon as this accord ceases, the animal is necessarily
destroyed: from this we must conclude that every mutation in nature
is necessary; is only a consequence of its laws; that it could not be
otherwise than it is, under the circumstances in which it is placed.

Man, who looks upon himself as the _chef d'oeuvre_, furnishes more than
any other production a proof of the immutability of the laws of nature:
in this sensible, intelligent, thinking being, whose vanity leads him
to believe himself the sole object of the divine predilection, who forms
his God after his own peculiar model, we see only a more inconstant,
a more brittle machine; one more subject to be deranged by its
extreme complication, than the grosser beings: beasts destitute of our
knowledge, plants that vegetate, stones devoid of feeling, are in many
respects beings more highly favored than man: they are at least exempted
from the sorrows of the mind--from the torments of reflection--from that
devouring, chagrin to which he is so frequently a prey. Who is he who
would not be a plant or a stone, every time reminiscence forces upon his
imagination the irreparable loss of a beloved object? Would it not
be better to be an inanimate mass, than a restless, turbulent,
superstitious being, who does nothing but tremble under the imaginary
displeasure of beings of his own creation; who to support his own gloomy
opinions, immolates his fellow creatures at the shrine of his idol; who
ravages the country, and deluges the earth with the blood of those who
happen to differ from him on a speculative point of an unintelligible
creed? Beings destitute of life, bereft of feeling, without memory, not
having the faculties of thought, at least are not afflicted by the idea
of either the past, the present, or the future; they do not at any rate
believe themselves in danger of becoming eternally unhappy, because they
way have reasoned badly; or because they happened to be born in a land
where truth has never yet shed its refulgent beams on the darkened mind
of perplexed mortals.

Let it not then be said that we cannot have an idea of a work, without
also having an idea of the workman, as distinguished from his work: the
savage, when he first beheld the terrible operation of gunpowder,
did not form the most distant idea that it was the work of a man like
himself. Nature is not to be contemplated as a work of this kind; she is
self-existent. In her bosom every thing is produced: she is an immense
elaboratory, provided with materials, who makes the instruments of which
she avails herself in her operations. All her works are the effects of
her own energies; of those agents which she herself produces; of those
immutable laws by which she sets every thing in activity. Eternal,
indestructible elements, ever in motion, combine themselves variously,
and thus give birth to all beings, to all the phenomena which fill the
weak eyes of erring mortals with wonder and dismay; to all the effects,
whether good or bad, of which man experiences the influence; to all the
vicissitudes he undergoes, from the moment of his birth until that of
his death; to order and to confusion, which he never discriminates but
by the various modes in which he is affected: in short, to all those
miraculous spectacles with which he occupies his meditation--upon which
he exercises his reason--which frequently spread consternation over the
surface of the earth. These elements need nothing when circumstances
favour their junction, save their own peculiar properties, whether
individual or united, with the motion that is essential to them, to
produce all those phenomena which powerfully striking the senses of
mankind, either fill him with admiration, or stagger him with alarm.

But supposing for a moment that it was impossible to conceive the work,
without also conceiving the workman, who watches over his work, where
must we place this workman? Shall it be interior or exterior to his
production? Is he matter and motion, or is he only space or the vacuum?
In all these cases either he would be nothing, or he would be contained
in nature: as nature contains only matter and motion, it must be
concluded that the agent who moves it is material; that he is corporeal;
if this agent be exterior to nature, then we can no longer form any
idea of the place which he occupieth: neither can we better conceive an
immaterial being; nor the mode in which a spirit without extent can
act upon matter from which it is separated. These unknown spaces, which
imagination has placed beyond the visible world, can have no existence
for a being, who with difficulty sees down to his feet; he cannot paint
to his mind any image of the power which inhabit them; but if he is
compelled to form some kind of a picture, he must combine at random the
fantastical colours which he is ever obliged to draw from the world he
inhabits: in this case he will really do no more than reproduce in idea,
part or parcels of that which he has actually seen; he will form a whole
which perhaps has no existence in nature, but which it will be in vain
he strives to distinguish from her; to place out of her bosom. When he
shall be ingenuous with himself, When he shall be no longer willing to
delude others, he will be obliged to acknowledge, that the portrait he
has painted, although in its combination it resembles nothing in the
universe, is nevertheless in all its constituent members an exact
delineation of that which nature presents to our view. Hobbes in his
_Leviathan_ says, "The universe, the whole mass of things, is corporeal,
that is to say, body; and hath the dimensions of magnitude, namely,
length, breadth, and depth: also every part of body is likewise body,
and hath the like dimensions; and consequently every part of the
universe is body; and that which is not body, is no part of the
universe; and because the universe is all, that which is no part of it
is nothing; and consequently no where: nor does it follow from hence,
that spirits are nothing, for they have dimensions, and are therefore
really bodies; though that name in common speech be given to such bodies
only as are visible, or palpable, that is, that have some degree of
opacity: but for spirits they call them incorporeal; which is a name
of more honour, and may therefore with more piety be attributed to God
himself, in whom we consider not what attribute expresseth best his
nature, which is incomprehensible; but what best expresseth our desire
to honour him."

It will be insisted that if a statue or a watch were shewn to a savage,
who had never before seen either, he would not be able to prevent
himself from acknowledging that these things were the works of some
intelligent agent of greater ability, possessing more industry than
himself: it will be concluded from thence, that we are in like manner
obliged to acknowledge that the universe, that man, that the various
phenomena, are the works of an agent, whose intelligence is more
comprehensive, whose power far surpasses our own. Granted: who has ever
doubted it? the proposition is self-evident; it cannot admit of even a
cavil. Nevertheless we reply, in the _first place_, that it is not to
be doubted that nature is extremely powerful; diligently industrious:
we admire her activity every time we are surprised by the extent, every
time we contemplate the variety, every time we behold those complicated
effects which are displayed in her works; or whenever we take the pains
to meditate upon them: nevertheless, she is not really more industrious
in one of her works than she is in another; she is not fathomed with
more ease in those we call her most contemptible productions, than she
is in her most sublime efforts: we no more understand how she has been
capable of producing a stone or a metal, than the means by which she
organized a head like that of the illustrious Newton. We call that
man industrious who can accomplish things which we cannot; nature is
competent to every thing: as soon therefore as a thing exists, it is a
proof she has been capable of producing it: but it is never more than
relatively to ourselves that we judge beings to be industrious: we
then compare them to ourselves; and as we enjoy a quality which we call
intelligence, by the assistance of which we accomplish things, by which
we display our diligence, we naturally conclude from it, that those
works which most astonish us, do not belong to her, but are to be
ascribed to an intelligent being like ourselves, but in whom we make the
intelligence commensurate with the astonishment these phenomena excite
in us; that is to say, in other words, to our own peculiar ignorance,
and the weakness incident to our nature.

In the _second place_, we must observe, that the savage, to whom either
the statue or the watch is brought, will or will not have ideas of human
industry: if he has ideas of it, he will feel that this watch or
this statue, way be the work of a being of his own species, enjoying
faculties of which he is himself deficient: if he has no idea of it, if
he has no comprehension of the resources of human art, when he beholds
the spontaneous motion of the watch, he will be impressed with the
belief that it is an animal, which cannot be the work of man. Multiplied
experience confirms this mode of thinking which is ascribed to the
savage. The Peruvians mistook the Spaniards for gods, because they made
use of gunpowder, rode on horseback, and came in vessels which sailed
quite alone. The inhabitants of the island of Tenian being ignorant
of fire before the arrival of Europeans, the first time they saw it,
conceived it to be an animal who devoured the wood. Thus it is, that the
savage, in the same manner as many great and learned men, who believe
themselves much more acute, will attribute the strange effects that
strike his organs, to a genius or to a spirit; that is to say, to an
unknown power; to whom he will ascribe capabilities of which he believes
the beings of his own species are entirely destitute: by this he will
prove nothing, except that he is himself ignorant of what man is capable
of producing. It is thus that a raw unpolished people raise their eyes
to heaven, every time they witness some unusual phenomenon. It is thus
that the people denominate all those strange effects, with the natural
causes of which they are ignorant, miraculous, supernatural, divine; but
these are not by reasonable persons therefore considered proofs of what
they assert: as the multitude are generally unacquainted with the cause
of any thing, every object becomes a miracle in their eyes; at least
they imagine God is the immediate cause of the good they enjoy--of the
evil they suffer. In short, it is thus that the theologians themselves
solve every difficulty that starts in their road; they ascribe to God
all those phenomena, of the causes of which either they are themselves
ignorant, or else unwilling that man should be acquainted with the
source.

In the _third place_, the savage, in opening the watch, and examining
its parts, will perhaps feel, that this machinery announces a work which
can only be the result of human labour. He will perhaps perceive, that
they very obviously differ from the immediate productions of nature,
whom he has not observed to produce wheels made of polished metal. He
will further notice, perhaps, that these parts when separated, no longer
act as they did when they were combined; that the motion he so much
admired, ceases when their union is broken. After these observations, he
will attribute the watch to the ingenuity of man; that is to say, to
a being like himself, of whom he has some ideas, but whom he
judges capable to construct machines to which he is himself utterly
incompetent. In short, he will ascribe the honour of his watch to a
being known to him in some respects, provided with faculties very far
superior to his own; but he will be at an immense distance from the
belief, that this material work, whose ingenuity pleases him so much,
can be the effect of an immaterial cause; or of an agent destitute of
organs, without extent; whose action upon material beings cannot be
within, the sphere of his comprehension. Nevertheless, man, when he
cannot embrace the causes of things, does not scruple to insist that
they are impossible to be the production of nature, although he is
entirely ignorant how far the powers of this nature extend; to what
her capabilities are equal. In viewing the world, we must acknowledge
material causes for many of those phenomena which take place in it;
those who study nature are continually adding fresh discoveries to
this list of physical causes; science, as she enriches the intellectual
stores of human enjoyment, every day throws a broader light on the
energies of nature, which _prejudice_, aided by its almost inseparable
companion, _ignorance_, would for ever bind down in the fetters of
impotence.

Let us not, however, be told, that pursuing this hypothesis, we
attribute every thing to a blind cause--to the fortuitous concurrence
of atoms--to chance. Those only are called blind causes of which we know
not either the combination, the laws, or the power. Those effects are
called fortuitous, with whose causes man is unacquainted; to which his
experience affords him no clue; which his ignorance prevents him from
foreseeing. All those effects, of which he does not see the necessary
connection with their causes, he attributes to chance. Nature is not a
blind cause; she never acts by chance; nothing that she does would
ever be considered fortuitous, by him who should understand her mode of
action--who had a knowledge of her resources--who was intelligent in her
ways. Every thing that she produces is strictly necessary--is never more
than a consequence of her eternal, immutable laws; all is connected in
her by invisible bonds; every effect we witness flows necessarily from
its cause, whether we are in a condition to fathom it, or whether we are
obliged to let it remain hidden from our view. It is very possible there
should be ignorance on our part; but the words spirit, intelligence,
will not remedy this ignorance; they will rather redouble it, by
arresting our research; by preventing us from conquering those
impediments which obstruct us in probing the natural causes of the
effects, with which our visual faculties bring us acquainted.

This may serve for an answer to the clamour of those who raise perpetual
objections to the partizans of nature, by unceasingly accusing them with
attributing every thing to chance. Chance is a word devoid of sense,
which furnishes no substantive idea; at least it indicates only the
ignorance of its employers. Nevertheless, we are triumphantly told, it
is reiterated continually, that a regular work cannot be ascribed to the
concurrence of chance. Never, we are informed, will it be possible to
arrive at the formation of a poem such as the Iliad, by means of letters
thrown together promiscuously or combined at random. We agree to it
without hesitation; but, ingenuously, are the letters which compose a
poem thrown with the hand in the manner of dice? It would avail as much
to say, we could not pronounce a discourse with the feet. It is nature,
who combines according to necessary laws, under given circumstances, a
head organized in a mode suitable to bring forth a poem: it is nature
who assembles the elements, which furnish man with a brain competent to
give birth to such a work: it is nature, who, through the medium of the
imagination, by means of the passions, in consequence of the temperament
which she bestows upon man, capacitates him to produce such a
masterpiece of fancy; such a never-fading effort of the mind: it is his
brain modified in a certain manner, crowded with ideas, decorated with
images, made fruitful by circumstances, that alone can become the matrix
in which a poem can be conceived--in which the matter of it can be
digested: this is the only womb whose activity could usher to an
admiring world, the sublime stanzas which develope the story of the
unfortunate Priam, and immortalize their author. A head organized like
that of Homer, furnished with the same vigour, glowing with the same
vivid imagination, enriched with the same erudition, placed under the
same circumstances, would necessarily, and not by chance, produce the
poem of the Iliad; at least, unless it be denied that causes similar in
every thing must produce effects perfectly identical. We should without
doubt be surprised, if there were in a dice-box a hundred thousand dice,
to see a hundred thousand sixes follow in succession; but if these dice
were all cogged or loaded, our surprise would cease: the particles of
matter may be compared to cogged dice, that is to say, always producing
certain determinate effects under certain given circumstances; these
particles being essentially varied in themselves, countless in their
combinations, they are cogged in myriads of different modes. The head
of Homer, or of Virgil, was no more than an assemblage of particles,
possessing peculiar properties; or if they will, of dice cogged by
nature; that is to say, of beings so combined, of matter so wrought, as
to produce the beautiful poems of the Iliad or the Aeneid. As much may
be said of all other productions: indeed, what are men themselves but
cogged dice--machines into which nature has infused the bias requisite
to produce effects of a certain description? A man of genius produces a
good work, in the same manner as a tree of a good species, placed in
a prolific soil, cultivated with care, grafted with judgment, produces
excellent fruit.

Then is it not either knavery or puerility, to talk of composing a
work by scattering letters with the hand; by promiscuously mingling
characters; or gathering together by chance, that which can only result
from a human brain, with a peculiar organization, modified after a
certain manner? The principle of human generation does not develope
itself by chance; it cannot be nourished with effect, expanded into
life, but in the womb of a woman: a confused heap of characters, a
jumble of symbols, is nothing more than an assemblage of signs, whose
proper arrangement is adequate to paint human ideas; but in order that
these ideas may be correctly delineated, it is previously requisite that
they should have been conceived, combined, nourished, connected,
and developed in the brain of a poet; where circumstances make them
fructify, mature them, and bring them forth in perfection, by reason of
the fecundity, generated by the genial warmth and the peculiar energy
of the matrix, in which these intellectual seeds shall have been placed.
Ideas in combining, expanding, connecting, and associating themselves,
form a whole, like all the other bodies of nature: this whole affords
us pleasure, becomes a source of enjoyment, when it gives birth to
agreeable sensations in the mind; when it offers to our examination
pictures calculated to move us in a lively manner. It is thus that the
history of the Trojan war, as digested in the head of Homer, ushered
into the world with all the fascinating harmony of numbers peculiar to
himself, has the power of giving a pleasurable impulse to heads, who by
their analogy with that of this incomparable Grecian, are in a capacity
to feel its beauties.

From this it will be obvious, that nothing can be produced by chance;
that no effect can exist without an adequate cause for its existence;
that the one must ever be commensurate with the other. All the works of
nature grow out of the uniform action of invariable laws, whether our
mind can with facility follow the concatenation of the successive causes
which operate; or whether, as in her more complicated productions,
we find ourselves in the impossibility of distinguishing the various
springs which she sets in motion to give birth to her phenomena. To
nature, the difficulty is not more to produce a great poet, capable of
writing an admirable poem, than to form a glittering stone or a shining
metal which gravitates towards a centre. The mode she adopts to give
birth to these various beings, is equally unknown to us, when we have
not meditated upon it; frequently the most sedulous attention, the most
patient investigation affords us no information; sometimes, however,
the unwearied industry of the philosopher is rewarded, by throwing into
light the most mysterious operations. Thus the keen penetration of a
Newton, aided by uncommon diligence, developed the starry system,
which, for so many thousand years, had eluded the research of all the
astronomers by whom he was preceded. Thus the sagacity of a Harvey
giving vigour to his application, brought out of the obscurity in which
for almost countless centuries it had been buried, the true course
pursued by the sanguinary fluid, when circulating through the veins and
arteries of man, giving activity to his machine, diffusing life
through his system, and enabling him to perform those actions which
so frequently strike an astonished world with wonder and regret. Thus
Gallileo, by a quickness of perception, a depth of reasoning peculiar to
himself, held up to an admiring world, the actual form and situation of
the planet we inhabit; which until then had escaped the observation of
the most profound geniuses--the most subtle metaphysicians--the
whole host of priests; which when first promulgated was considered
so extraordinary, so contradictory to all the then received opinions,
either sacred or profane, that he was ranked as an atheist, as an
impious blasphemer, to hold communion with whom, would secure to the
communers a place in the regions of everlasting torment; in short, it
was held an heresy of such an indelible dye, that notwithstanding the
infallibility of his sacred function, Pope Gregory, who then filled the
papal chair, excommunicated all those who had the temerity to accredit
so abominable a doctrine.

Man is born by the necessary concurrence of those elements suitable to
his construction; he increases in bulk, corroborates his system, expands
his powers, in the same manner as a plant or a stone; which as well
as himself, are augmented in their volume, invigorated in their
capabilities, by the addition of homogeneous matter, that exists within
the sphere of their attraction. Man feels, thinks, receives ideas,
acts after a certain manner, that is to say, according to his organic
structure, which is peculiar to himself; that renders him susceptible of
modifications, of which the stone and the plant are utterly incapable.
On the other hand, the organization of these beings is of a nature
to enable them to receive other modifications, which man is not more
capacitated to experience, than the stone or the plant are those which
constitute him what he is. In consequence of this peculiar arrangement,
the man of genius produces works of merit; the plant when it is healthy
yields delicious fruits the stone when it is placed in a suitable matrix
possesses a glittering brilliance which dazzles the eyes of mortals;
each in their sphere of action both surprise and delight us; because we
feel that they excite in us sensations, that harmonize with what we call
order; in consequence of the pleasure they infuse, by the rarity, by the
magnitude, and by the variety of the effects which they occasion us
to experience. Nevertheless, that which is found most admirable in the
productions of nature, that which is most esteemed in the actions of
man, most highly valued in animals, most sought after in vegetation,
most in request among fossils, is never more than the natural effects
of the different particles of matter, diversely arranged, variously
combined, submitted to numerous modifications; from matter thus united
result organs, brains, temperament, taste, talents, all the multifarious
properties, all the multitudinous qualities, which discriminate the
beings whose multiplied activity make up the sum of what is designated
animated nature.

Nature then produces nothing but what is necessary; it is not by
fortuitous combinations, by chance throws, that she exhibits to our
view the beings we behold; all her throws are sure, all the causes
she employs have infallibly their effects. Whenever she gives birth to
extraordinary, marvellous, rare beings, it is, that the requisite order
of things the concurrence of the necessary productive causes, happens
but seldom. As soon as those beings exist, they are to be ascribed to
nature, equally with the most familiar of her productions; to nature
every thing is equally possible, equally facile, when she assembles
together the instruments or the causes necessary to act. Thus it seems
presumption in man to set limits to the powers of nature, which he so
very imperfectly understands. The combinations, or if they will, the
throws that she makes in an eternity of existence, can easily produce
all the beings that have existed: her eternal march must necessarily
bring forth, again and again, the most astonishing circumstances; the
most rare occurrences; those most calculated to rouse the wonder, to
elicit the admiration of beings, who are only in a condition to give
them a momentary consideration; who can get nothing more than a glimpse,
without ever having either the leisure or the means to search into
causes, which lie hid from their weak eyes, in the depths of Cimmerian
obscurity. Countless throws during eternity, with elements and
combinations varied almost to infinity, quite with relation to man,
suffice to produce every thing of which he has a knowledge, with
multitudes of other effects, of which he will never have the least
conception.

Thus, we cannot too often repeat to the metaphysicians, to the
supporters of immateriality, to the inconsistent theologians, who
commonly ascribe to their adversaries the most ridiculous opinions, in
order to obtain an easy, short-lived triumph in the prejudiced eyes
of the multitude; or in the stagnant minds of those who never examine
deeply; that chance is nothing but a word, as well as many other words,
imagined solely to cover the ignorance of those to whom the course of
nature is inexplicable--to shield the idleness of others who are too
slothful to seek into the properties of acting causes. It is not chance
that has produced the universe, it is self-existent; nature exists
necessarily from all eternity: she is omnipotent because every thing
is produced by her energies; she is omnipresent, because she fills
all space; she is omniscient, because every thing can only be what
it actually is; she is immovable, because as a whole she cannot be
displaced; she is immutable, because her essence cannot change, although
her forms may vary; she is infinite, because she cannot have any bounds;
she is all perfect, because she contains every thing: in short, she has
all the abstract qualities of the metaphysician, all the moral faculties
of the theologian, without involving any contradiction, since that which
is the assemblage of all, must of necessity contain the properties of
all.

However concealed may be her ways, the existence of nature is
indubitable; her mode of action is in some respects known to us.
Experience amply demonstrates we might, if we were more industrious,
become better acquainted with her secrets; but with an immaterial
substance, with a pure spirit, the mind of man can never become
familiar: he has no means by which he can picture to himself this
incomprehensible, this inconceivable quality: in despite therefore of
the roundness of assertion adopted by the theologian, notwithstanding
all the subtilties of the metaphysician, it will always be for man,
while he remains such as he now is, in the language of Doctor Samuel
Clarke, that, _of which nothing can with truth be affirmed_.





CHAP. VI.

_Of Pantheism; or of the Natural Ideas of the Divinity._


The false principle that matter is not self-existent; that by its nature
it is in an impossibility to move itself; consequently incompetent to
the production of those striking phenomena which arrest our wondering
eyes in the wide expanse of the universe; it will be obvious, to all who
seriously attend to what has preceded, is the origin of the proofs
upon which theology rests the existence of immateriality. After these
suppositions, as gratuitous as they are erroneous, the fallacy of which
we have exposed elsewhere, it has been believed that matter did not
always exist, but that its existence, as well as its motion, is a
production of time; due to a cause distinguished from itself; to an
unknown agent to whom it is subordinate. As man finds in his own species
a quality which he calls intelligence, which presides over all his
actions, by the aid of which he arrives at the end he proposes to
himself; he has clothed this invisible agent with this quality, which
he has extended beyond the limits of his own conception: he magnified it
thus, because, having made him the author of effects of which he found
himself incapable, he did not conceive it possible that the intelligence
he himself possessed, unless it was prodigiously amplified, would
be sufficient to account for those productions, to which his erring
judgment led him to conclude the natural energy of physical causes were
not adequate.

As this agent was invisible, as his mode of action was inconceivable, he
made him a spirit, a word that really means nothing more than that he
is ignorant of his essence, or that he acts like the breath of which
he cannot trace the motion. Thus, in speaking of spirituality, he
designated an occult quality, which he deemed suitable to a concealed
being, whose mode of action was always imperceptible to the senses. It
would appear, however, that originally the word spirit was not meant to
designate immateriality; but a matter of a more subtile nature than
that which acted coarsely on the organs: still of a nature capable
of penetrating the grosser matter--of communicating to it
motion--of instilling into it active life--of giving birth to those
combinations--of imparting to them those modifications, which his
organic structure rendered him competent to discover. Such was, as
has been shewn, that all-powerful Jupiter, who in the theology of the
ancients, was originally destined to represent the etherial, subtile
matter that penetrates, vivifies, and gives activity to all the bodies
of which nature is the common assemblage.

It would be grossly deceiving ourselves to believe that the idea of
spirituality, such as the subtilty of dreaming metaphysicians present it
in these days, was that which offered itself to our forefathers in the
early stages of the human mind. This immateriality, which excludes all
analogy with any thing but itself--which bears no resemblance to any
thing of which man is capacitated to have a knowledge, was, as we have
already observed, the slow, the tardy fruit of his imagination, after
he had quitted experience, and renounced his reason. Men reared in
luxurious leisure, unceasingly meditating, without the assistance
of those natural helps with which attentive observation would
have furnished them, by degrees arrived at the formation of this
incomprehensible quality, which is so fugitive, that although man has
been compelled to reverence it, to accredit it against all the evidence
of his senses, they have never yet been enabled to give any other
explanation of its nature, than by using a term to which it is
impossible to attach any intelligible idea. Seraphis said, with tears
in his eyes, "that in making him adopt the opinion of spirituality, they
had deprived him of his God." Many fathers of the church have given a
human form to the Divinity, and treated all those as heretics who made
him spiritual. Thus by dint of reasoning, by force of subtilizing, the
word spirit no longer presents any one image upon which the mind can fix
itself; when they are desirous to speak of it, it becomes impossible
to understand them, seeing that each visionary paints it after his own
manner; and in the portrait he forms, consults only his own temperament,
follows nothing but his own imagination, adopts nothing but his own
peculiar reveries; the only point in which they are at all in unison, is
in assigning to it inconceivable qualities, which they naturally
enough believe are best suited to the incomprehensible beings they have
delineated: from the incompatible heap of these qualities, generally
resulted a whole, whose existence they thus rendered impossible. In
short, this word, which has occupied the research of so many learned and
intelligent men; which is considered of such importance to mankind, has
been, in consequence of theological reveries, always fluctuating:
these never bearing the least resemblance to each other, it has become
destitute of any fixed sense, a mere sound, to which each who echoes it
affixes his own peculiar ideas, which are never in harmony with those of
his neighbour; which indeed are not even steady in himself, but like
the camelion, assume the colour of every differing circumstance. This
unintelligible word has been substituted for the more intelligible
one of matter; man, when clothed with power, has entertained the most
rancorous antipathies, pursued the most barbarous persecutions, against
those who have not been enabled to contemplate this changeable idea
under the same point of view with himself.

There have, however, been men who had sufficient courage to resist this
torrent of opinion--to oppose themselves to this delirium; who have
believed, that the object which was announced as the most important
for mortals, as the sole object worthy of their thoughts, demanded an
attentive examination; who apprehended that if experience could be of
any utility, if judgment could afford any advantage, if reason was of
any use whatever, it must, most unquestionably be, to consider this
quality so opposed to every thing in nature, which was said to regulate
all the beings which she contains. These quickly saw they could not
subscribe to the general opinion of the uninformed, who never examine
any thing, who take every thing upon the credit of others; much less was
it consistent with sound sense to agree with their guides, who, either
deceivers or deceived, forbade others to submit it to the scrutiny of
reason; who were themselves frequently in an utter incapacity to pass it
under such an ordeal. Thus some thinkers, disgusted with the obscure
and contradictory notions which others had through habit mechanically
attached to this incomprehensible property, had the temerity to shake
off the yoke which had been imposed upon them from their infancy:
calling reason to their aid against those terrors with which they
alarmed the ignorant, revolting at the hideous descriptions under which
they attempted to defend their hypothesis, they had the intrepidity to
tear the veil of delusion; to rend asunder the barriers of imposture;
they considered with calm resolution, this formidable prejudice,
contemplated with a serene eye this unsupported opinion, examined with
cool deliberation this fluctuating notion, which had become the object
of all the hopes, the source of all the fears, the spring of all the
quarrels which distracted the mind, and disturbed the harmony of blind,
confiding mortals.

The result of these inquiries has uniformly been, a conviction that no
rational proof has ever been adduced in support of this hypothesis;
that from the nature of the thing itself, none can be offered; that
an incorporeity is inconceivable to corporeal beings; that these only
behold nature acting after invariable laws, in which every thing is
material; that all the phenomena of which the world is the theatre,
spring out of natural causes; that man as well as all the other beings
is the work or this nature, is only an instrument in her hand, obliged
to accomplish the eternal decrees of an imperious necessity.

Whatever efforts the philosopher makes to penetrate the secrets of
nature, he never finds more, as we have many times repeated, than
matter; various in itself, diversely modified in consequence of the
motion it undergoes. Its whole, as well as its parts, displays only
necessary causes producing necessary effects, which flow necessarily
one out of the other: of which the mind, aided by experience, is more
or less competent to discover the concatenation. In virtue of their
specific properties, all the beings that come under our review,
gravitate towards a centre--attract analogous matter--repel that which
is unsuitable to combination--mutually receive and give impulse--acquire
qualities--undergo modifications which maintain them in existence for a
season--are born and dissolved by the operation of an inexorable
decree, that obliges every thing, we behold to pass into a new mode of
existence. It is to these continued vicissitudes that are to be
ascribed all the phenomena, whether trivial or of magnitude; ordinary
or extraordinary; known or unknown; simple or complicated; which are
operated in the universe. It is by these mutations alone that we have
any knowledge of nature: she is only mysterious to those who contemplate
her through the veil of prejudice: her course is always simple to those
who look at her without prepossession.

To attribute the effects to which we are witnesses, to nature, to
matter, variously combined with the motion that is inherent to it, is
to give them an intelligible and known cause; to attempt to penetrate
deeper, is to plunge ourselves into imaginary regions, where we find
only a chaos of obscurities--where we are lost in an unfathomable abyss
of incertitude. Let us then be content with contemplating nature, who,
being self-existent, must in her essence possess motion; which cannot
be conceived without properties, from which result perpetual action
and re-action; or those continual efforts which give birth to such a
numerous train of circumstances; in which a single molecule cannot be
found, that does not necessarily occupy the place assigned to it, by
immutable and necessary laws--that is for an instant in an absolute
state of repose. What necessity can there exist to seek out of matter
for a power to give it play, since its motion flows as necessarily out
of its existence as its bulk, its form, its gravity, &c. since nature in
inaction would no longer be nature?

If it be demanded, How can we figure to ourselves, that matter by its
own peculiar energy can produce all the effects we witness? I shall
reply, that if by matter it is obstinately determined to understand
nothing but a dead, inert mass, destitute of every property, incapable
of moving itself, we shall no longer have a single idea of matter; we
shall no longer be able to account for any thing. As soon, however,
as it exists, it must have properties; as soon as it has properties,
without which it could not exist, it must act by virtue of those
properties; since it is only by its action we can have a knowledge of
its existence, be conscious of its properties. It is evident that if
by matter be understood that which it is not, or if its existence
be denied, those phenomena which strike our visual organs cannot be
attributed to it. But if by nature be understood (that which she really
is), an heap of existing matter, possessing various properties, we shall
be obliged to acknowledge that nature must be competent to move herself;
by the diversity of her motion, must have the capability, independent
of foreign aid, to produce the effects we behold; we shall find that
nothing can be made from nothing; that nothing is made by chance; that
the mode of action of every particle of matter, however minute, is
necessarily determined by its own peculiar, or by its individual
properties.

We have elsewhere said, that that which cannot be annihilated--that
which in its nature is indestructible--cannot have been inchoate, cannot
have had a beginning to its existence, but exists necessarily from all
eternity; contains within itself a sufficient cause for its own peculiar
existence. It becomes then perfectly useless to seek out of nature a
cause for her action which is in some respects known to us; with which
indefatigable research may, judging of the future by the past, render us
more familiar. As we know some of the general properties of matter;
as we can discover some of its qualities, wherefore should we seek its
motion in an unintelligible cause, of which we are not in a condition to
become acquainted with any one of its properties? Can we conceive that
immateriality could ever draw matter from its own source? Impossible; it
is not within the grasp of human intellect. If creation is an eduction
from nothing, there must have been a time when matter had not existence;
there must consequently be a time when it will cease to be: this latter
is acknowledged by many theologians themselves to be impossible. Do
those who are continually talking of this mysterious act of omnipotence,
by which a mass of matter has been, all at once, substituted to nothing,
perfectly understand what they tell us? Is there a man on earth who
conceives that a being devoid of extent can exist, become the cause of
the existence of beings who have extent--act upon matter--draw it
from his own peculiar essence--set it in motion? In truth, the more we
consider theology, the more we must be convinced that it has invented
words destitute of sense; substituted sounds to intelligible realities.

For want of consulting experience, for want or studying nature, for
want of examining the material world, we have plunged ourselves into an
intellectual vacuum, which we have peopled with chimeras, We have not
stooped to consider matter, to study its different periods, to follow it
through its numerous, changes. We have either ridiculously or knavishly
confounded dissolution, decomposition, the separation of the elementary
particles of bodies, with their radical destruction; we have been
unwilling to see that the elements are indestructible; although the
forms are fleeting, and depend upon transitory combination. We have
not distinguished the change of figure, the alteration of position, the
mutation of texture, to which matter is liable, from its annihilation,
which is impossible; we have falsely concluded, that matter Was not a
necessary being--that it commenced to exist--that this existence was
derived from that which possessed nothing in common with itself--that
that which was not substance, could give birth to that which is. Thus an
unintelligible name has been substituted for matter, which furnishes us
with true ideas of nature; of which at each instant we experience the
influence, of which we undergo the action, of which we feel the power,
and of which we should have a much better knowledge, if our abstract
opinions did not continually fasten a bandage over our eyes.

Indeed the most simple notions of philosophy shew us, that, although
bodies change and disappear, nothing is however lost in nature; the
various produce of the decomposition of a body serves for elements,
supplies materials, forms the basis, lays the foundation for accretions,
contributes to the maintenance of other bodies. The whole of nature
subsists, and is conserved only by the circulation, the transmigration,
the exchange, the perpetual displacement of insensible atoms--the
continual mutation of the sensible combinations of matter. It is by
this palingenesia, this regeneration, that the great whole, the mighty
macrocosm subsists; who, like the Saturn of the ancients, is perpetually
occupied with devouring her own children.

It will not then be inconsistent with observation, repugnant to reason,
contrary to good sense, to acknowledge that matter is self-existent;
that it acts by an energy peculiar to itself; that it will never be
annihilated. Let us then say, that matter is eternal; that nature has
been, is, and ever will be occupied with producing and destroying;
with doing and undoing; with combining and separating; in short, with
following a system of laws resulting from its necessary existence. For
every thing that she doth, she needs only to combine the elements of
matter; these, essentially diverse, necessarily either attract or repel
each other; come into collision, from whence results either their
union or dissolution; by the same laws that one approximates, the other
recedes from their respective spheres of action. It is thus that she
brings forth plants, fossils, animals, men; thus she gives existence
to organized, sensible, thinking beings, as well as to those who are
destitute of either feeling or thought. All these act for the season of
their respective duration, according to immutable laws, determined by
their various properties; arising out of their configuration; depending
on their masses; resulting from their ponderosity, &c. Here is the true
origin of every thing which is presented to our view; this indicates
the mode by which nature, according to her own peculiar powers, is in
a state to produce all those astonishing effects which assail our
wondering eyes; all that phenomena to which mankind is the witness; as
well as all the bodies who act diversely upon the organs with which
he is furnished, of which he can only judge according to the manner in
which these organs are affected. He says they are good, when they are
analogous to his own mode of existence--when they contribute to the
maintenance of the harmony of his machine: he says they are bad, when
they disturb this harmony. It is thus he ascribes views, ideas, designs,
to the being he supposes to be the power by which nature is moved;
although all the experience we are able to collect, unequivocally
proves, that she acts after an invariable, eternal code of laws.

Nature is destitute of those views which actuate man; she acts
necessarily, because she exists: her system is immutable, and founded
upon the essence of things. It is the essence of the seed of the
male, composed of primitive elements, which serve for the basis of an
organized being, to unite itself with that of the female; to fructify
it; to produce, by this combination, a new organized being; who, feeble
in his origin, not having yet acquired a sufficient quantity of material
particles to give him consistence, corroborates himself by degrees;
strengthens himself by the daily accretion of analogous matter; is
nourished by the modifications appropriate to his existence: matured
by the continuation of circumstances calculated to give vigour to
his frame; thus he lives, thinks, acts, engenders in his turn other
organized beings similar to himself. By a consequence of his temperament
and of physical laws, this generation does not take place, except when
the circumstances necessary to its production find themselves united.
Thus this procreation is not operated by chance; the animal does not
fructify, but with an animal of his own species, because this is the
only one analogous to himself, who unites the qualities, who combines
the circumstances, suitable to produce a being resembling himself;
without this he would not produce any thing, or he would only give
birth to a being who would be denominated a monster, because it would be
dissimilar to himself. It is of the essence of the grain of plants, to
be impregnated by the pollen or seed of the stygma of the flower; in
this state of copulation they in consequence develope themselves in
the bowels of the earth; expand by the aid of water; shoot forth by
the accession of heat; attract analogous particles to corroborate their
system: thus by degrees they form a plant, a shrub, a tree, susceptible
of that life, filled with that motion, capable of that action which
is suitable to vegetable existence. It is of the essence of particular
particles of earth, homogeneous in their nature, when separated by
circumstances, attenuated by water, elaborated by heat, to unite
themselves in the bosom of mountains, with other atoms which are
analogous; to form by their aggregation, according to their various
affinities, those bodies possessing more or less solidity; having more
or less purity, which are called diamonds, chrystals, stones, metals,
minerals. It is of the essence of exhalations raised by the heat of
the atmosphere, to combine, to collect themselves, to dash against each
other, and either by their union or their collision to produce meteors,
to generate thunder. It is of the essence of some inflammable matter
to gather itself together, to ferment in the caverns of the earth, to
increase its active force by augmenting its heat, and then explode,
by the accession of other matter suitable to the operation, with that
tremendous force which we call earthquakes; by which mountains are
destroyed; cities overturned; the inhabitants of the plains thrown into
a state of consternation; these full of alarm, unused to meditate on
natural effects, unconscious of the extent of physical powers, stretch
forth their hands in dismay, heave the most desponding sighs, utter
aloud their complaints, and earnestly implore a cessation of those
evils, which nature, acting by necessary laws, obliges them to
experience as necessarily as she does those benefits by which she fills
them with the most extravagant joy. In short, it is of the essence of
certain climates to produce men so organized, whose temperament is so
modified, that they become either extremely useful or very prejudicial
to their species, in the same manner as it is the property of certain
portions of the land, to bring forth either delicious fruits or
dangerous poisons.

In all this nature acts necessarily; she pursues an undeviating course,
which we are bound to consider the perfection of wisdom; because she
exists necessarily, has her modes of action determined by certain,
invariable laws, which themselves flow out of the constituent properties
of the various beings she contains, and those circumstances, which the
eternal motion she is in must necessarily bring about. It is ourselves
who have a necessary aim, which is our own conservation; it is by this
that we regulate all the ideas we form to ourselves of the causes acting
in nature; it is according to this standard we judge of every thing
we see or feel. Animated ourselves, existing after a certain manner,
possessing a soul endowed with rare and peculiar qualities, we, like the
savage, ascribe a soul and animated life to every thing that acts upon
us. Thinking and intelligent ourselves, we give these, faculties to
those beings whom we suppose to be more powerful than mortals; but as we
see the generality of matter incapable of modifying itself, we suppose
it must receive its impulse from some concealed agent, some external
cause, which our imagination pictures as similar to ourselves.
Necessarily attracted by that which is advantageous to us, repelling by
an equal necessity that which is prejudicial to our manner of existence;
we cease to reflect that our modes of feeling are due to our peculiar
organization, modified by physical causes: in this state, either of
inattention or ignorance, we mistake the natural results of our own
peculiar structure, for instruments employed by a being whom we clothe
with our own passions--whom we suppose actuated by our own views--who,
possessing our ideas, embraces a mode of thinking and acting similar to
ourselves.

If after this it be asked, What is the end of nature? We shall reply
that on this head we are ignorant; that it is more than probable no man
will ever fathom the secret; but we shall also say, it is evidently to
exist, to act, to conserve her whole. If then it be demanded, Wherefore
she exists? We shall again reply, of this we know nothing at present,
possibly never shall; but we shall also say, she exists necessarily,
that her operations, her motion, her phenomena, are the necessary
consequences of her necessary existence. There necessarily exists
something; this is nature or the universe, this nature necessarily acts
as she does. If it be wished to substitute any other word for nature,
the question will still remain as it did, as to the cause of her
existence; the end she has in view. It is not by changing of terms that
a geometrician can solve problems; one word will throw no more light
on a subject than another, unless that word carries a certain degree
of conviction in the ideas which it generates. As long as we speak of
matter, if we cannot develope all its properties, we shall at least have
fixed, determinate ideas; something tangible, of which we have a slight
knowledge, that we can submit to the examination of our senses: but
from the moment we begin to talk of immateriality, of incorporeity,
from thence our ideas become confused; we are lost in a labyrinth of
conjecture--we have no one means of seizing the subject on any
side--we are, after the most elaborate arguments, after the most subtle
reasoning, obliged to acknowledge we cannot form the most slender
opinion respecting it, that has any thing substantive for its support.
In short, that it is precisely that thing "of which every thing may be
denied, but of which nothing can with truth be affirmed." Let us clothe
this incomprehensible being with whatever qualities we may, it will be
always in ourselves we seek the model; they will be our own faculties
that we delineate, our own passions that we describe. In like manner
man, as long as he is ignorant, will always conjecture that it is for
himself alone the universe was formed; not withstanding, he has nothing
more to do, than to open his eyes in order to be undeceived. He will
then see, that he undergoes a common destiny, equally partakes with all
other beings of the benefits, shares with them without exception the
evils of life; like them he is submitted to an imperious necessity,
inexorable in its decrees; which is itself nothing more than the sum
total of those laws which nature herself is obliged to follow.

Thus every thing proves that nature, or matter, exists necessarily; that
it cannot in any moment swerve from those laws imposed upon it by its
existence. If it cannot be annihilated, it cannot have been inchoate.
The theologian himself agrees that it requires a miracle to annihilate
an atom. But is it possible to derogate from the necessary laws of
existence? Can that which exists necessarily, act but according to the
laws peculiar to itself? Miracle is another word invented to shield our
own sloth, to cover our own ignorance; it is that by which we wish to
designate those rare occurrences, those solitary effects of natural
causes, whose infrequency do not afford us means of diving into their
springs. It is only saying by another expression, that an unknown cause
hath by modes which we cannot trace, produced an uncommon effect which
we did not expect, which therefore appears strange to us. This granted,
the intervention of words, far from removing the ignorance in which we
found ourselves with respect to the power and capabilities of nature,
only serves to augment it, to give it more durability. The creation
of matter becomes to our mind as incomprehensible, and appears as
impossible as its annihilation.

Let us then conclude that all those words which do not present to the
mind any determinate idea, ought to be banished the language of those
who are desirous of speaking so as to be understood; that abstract
terms, invented by ignorance, are only calculated to satisfy men
destitute of experience; who are too slothful to study nature, too timid
to search into her ways; that they are suitable only to content those
enthusiasts, whose curious imagination pleases itself with making
fruitless endeavours to spring beyond the visible world; who occupy
themselves with chimeras of their own creation: in short, that these
words are useful only to those whose sole profession it is to feed the
ears of the uninformed with pompous sounds, that are not comprehended
by themselves--upon the sense of which they are in a state of perpetual
hostility with each other--upon the true meaning of which they have
never yet been able to come to a common agreement; which each sees after
his own peculiar manner of contemplating objects, in which there never
was, nor probably never will be, the least harmony of feeling.

Man is a material being; he cannot consequently have any ideas, but of
that which like himself is material; that is to say, of that which is
in a capacity to act upon his organs, which has some qualities analogous
with his own. In despite of himself, he always assigns material
properties to his gods; the impossibility he finds in compassing them,
has made him suppose them to be spiritual; distinguished from the
material world. Indeed he, must be content, either not to understand
himself, or he must have material ideas of the Divinity; the human mind
may torture itself as long as it pleases, it will never, after all its
efforts, be enabled to comprehend, that material effects can emanate
from immaterial causes; or that such causes can have any relation with
material beings. Here is the reason why man, as we have seen, believes
himself obliged to give to his gods, these morals which he so much so
highly esteems, in those beings of his race, who are fortunate enough
to possess them: he forgets that a being who is spiritual, adopting the
theological hypothesis, cannot from thence either have his organization,
or his ideas; that it cannot think in his mode, nor act after his
manner; that consequently it cannot possess what he calls intelligence,
wisdom, goodness, anger, justice, &c. as he himself understands those
terms. Thus, in truth, the moral qualities with which he has clothed
the Divinity, supposes him material, and the most abstract
theological notions, are, after all, founded upon a direct, undeniable
_Anthropomorphism_.

In despite of all their subtilties, the theologians cannot do otherwise;
like all the beings of the human species, they have a knowledge of
matter alone: they have no real idea of a pure spirit. When they speak
of the intelligence, of the wisdom, of the designs of their gods, they
are always those of men which they describe, that they obstinately
persist in giving to beings, of which, according to their own shewing,
to the evidence they themselves adduce, their essence does not render
them susceptible; who if they had those qualities with which they clothe
them, would from that very moment cease to be incorporeal; would be in
the truest sense of the word, substantive matter. How shall we reconcile
the assertion, that beings who have not occasion for any thing--who are
sufficient to them selves--whose projects must be executed as soon as
they are formed; can have volition, passions, desires? How shall we
attribute anger to beings without either blood or bile? How can we
conceive an omnipotent being (whose wisdom we admire in the striking
order he has himself established in the universe,) can permit that this
beautiful arrangement should be continually disturbed, either by the
elements in discord, or by the crimes of human beings? In short, this
being cannot have any one of the human qualities, which always depend
upon the peculiar organization of man--upon his wants--upon his
institutions, which are themselves always relative to the society
in which he lives. The theologian vainly strives to aggrandize, to
exaggerate in idea, to carry to perfection by dint of abstraction, the
moral qualities of man; they are unsuitable to the Divinity; in vain it
is asserted they are in him of a different nature from what they are
in his creatures; that they are perfect; infinite; supreme; eminent; in
holding this language, they no longer understand themselves; they can
have no one idea of the qualities they are describing, seeing that
man can never have a conception of them, but inasmuch as they bear an
analogy to the same qualities in himself.

It is thus that by force of metaphysical subtilty, mortals have no
longer any fixed, any determinate idea of the beings to which they have
given birth. But little contented with understanding physical causes,
with contemplating active nature; weary of examining matter, which
experience proves is competent to the production of every thing, man
has been desirous to despoil it of the energy which it is its essence
to possess, in order to invest it in a pure spirit; in an immaterial
substance; which he is under the necessity of re-making a material
being, whenever he has an inclination either to form an idea of it to
himself, or make it understood by others. In assembling the parts
of man, which he does no more than enlarge, which he swells out to
infinity, he believes he forms an immaterial being, who, for that
reason, acquires the capability of performing all those phenomena, with
the true causes of which he is ignorant; nevertheless those operations
of which he does comprehend the spring, he as sedulously denies to be
due to the powers of this being; time, therefore, according to these
ideas, as he advances the progress of science, as he further developes
the secrets of nature, is continually diminishing the number of actions
ascribed to this being--is constantly circumscribing his sphere of
action. It is upon the model of the human soul that he forms the soul
of nature, or that secret agent from which she receives impulse. After
having made himself double, he makes nature in like manner twofold, and
then he supposes she is vivified by an intelligence, which he borrows
from himself, Placed in an impossibility of becoming acquainted with
this agent, as well as with that which he has gratuitously distinguished
from his own body; he has invented the word spiritual to cover up
his ignorance; which is only in other words avowing it is a substance
entirely unknown to him. From that moment, however, he has no ideas
whatever of what he himself has done; because he first clothes it with
all the qualities he esteems in his fellows, and then destroys them by
an assurance, that they in no wise resemble the qualities he has been
so anxious to bestow. To remedy this inconvenience, he concludes this
spiritual substance much more noble than matter; that its prodigious
subtilty, which he calls simplicity, but which is only the effect
of metaphysical abstraction, secures it from decomposition, from
dissolution, from all those revolutions, to which material bodies, as
produced by nature, are evidently exposed.

It is thus, that man always prefers the marvellous to the simple; the
unintelligible to the intelligible; that which he cannot comprehend, to
that which is within the range of his understanding; he despises those
objects which are familiar to him; he estimates those alone with which
he is incapable of having any intercourse: that of which he has only
confused vague ideas, he concludes must contain something important for
him to know--must have something supernatural in its construction.
In short, he needs mystery to move his imagination--to exercise his
mind--to feed his curiosity; which never labours harder, than when it is
occupied with enigmas impossible to be guessed at; which from that very
circumstance, he judges to be extremely worthy of his research.
This, without doubt, is the reason he looks upon matter, which he
has continually under his eyes, which he sees perpetually in action,
eternally changing its form, as a contemptible thing--as a contingent
being, that does not exist necessarily; consequently, that cannot exist
independently: this is the reason why he has imagined a spirit, which he
will never be able to conceive; which on that account he declares to be
superior to matter; which he roundly asserts to be anterior to nature,
and the only self-existent being. The human wind found food in these
mystical ideas, they unceasingly occupied it; the imagination had play,
it embellished them after its own manner: ignorance fed itself with the
fables to which these mysteries gave rise; habit identified them with
the existence of man himself: when each could ask the other concerning
these ideas, without any one being in a capacity to return a direct
answer, he felt himself gratified, he immediately concluded that the
general impossibility of reply stamped them with the wondrous faculty
of immediately interesting his welfare; of involving his most prominent
interests, more than all the things put together, with which he had
any possible means of becoming intimately acquainted. Thus they became
necessary to his happiness; he believed he fell into a vacuum without
them; he became the decided enemy to all those who endeavoured to lead
him back to nature, which he had learned to despise; to consider only as
an impotent mass, an heap of inert matter, not possessing any energy
but what it received from causes exterior to itself; as a contemptible
assemblage of fragile combinations, whose forms were continually subject
to perish.

In distinguishing nature from her mover, man has fallen into the same
absurdity as when he separated his soul from his body; life from the
living being; the faculty of thought from the thinking being: deceived
on his own peculiar nature, having taken up an erroneous opinion upon
the energy of his own organs, he has in like manner been deceived upon
the organization of the universe; he has distinguished nature from
herself; the life of nature from living nature; the action of nature
from active nature. It was this soul of the world--this energy of
nature--this principle of activity, which man first personified, then
separated by abstraction; sometimes decorated with imaginary attributes;
sometimes with qualities borrowed from his own peculiar essence. Such
were the aerial materials of which man availed himself to construct the
incomprehensible, immaterial substances, which have filled the world
with disputes--which have divided man from his fellow--which to this day
he has never been able to define, even to his own satisfaction. His own
soul was the model. Deceived upon the nature of this, he never had any
just ideas of the Divinity, who was, in his mind, nothing more than a
copy exaggerated or disfigured to that degree, as to make him mistake
the prototype upon which it had been originally formed.

If, because man has distinguished himself from his own existence, it has
been impossible for him ever to form to himself any true idea of his
own nature; it is also because he has distinguished nature from herself,
that both herself and her ways have been mistaken. Man has ceased to
study nature, that he might, recur by thought to a substance which
possesses nothing in common with her; this substance he has made the
mover of nature, without which she would not be capable of any thing; to
whom every thing that takes place in her system, must be attributed;
the conduct of this being has appeared mysterious, has been held up as
marvellous, because he seemed to be a continual contradiction: when if
man had but recurred to the immutability of the laws of nature, to the
invariable system she pursues, all would have appeared intelligible;
every thing would have been reconciled; the apparent contrariety
would have vanished. By thus taking a wrong view of things, wisdom and
intelligence appeared to be opposed by confusion and disorder; goodness
to be rendered nugatory by evil; while all is only just what it must
inevitably be, under the given circumstances. In consequence of these
erroneous opinions, in the place of applying himself to the study of
nature, to discover the method of obtaining her favors, or to seek the
means of throwing aside his misfortunes; in the room of consulting his
experience; in lieu of labouring usefully to his own happiness; he has
been only occupied with expecting these things by channels through
which they do not flow; he has been disputing upon objects be never can
understand, while he has totally neglected that which was within the
compass of his own powers; which he might have rendered propitious to
his views, by a more industrious application of his own talent; by a
patient investigation, for the purpose of drawing at the fountain of
truth, the limpid balsam that alone can heal the sorrows or his heart.

Nothing could be well more prejudicial to his race, than this
extravagant theory; which, as we shall prove, has become the source of
innumerable evils. Man has been for thousands of years trembling before
idols of his own creation--bowing down before them with the most servile
homage--occupied with disarming their wrath--sedulously employed in
propitiating their kindness, without ever advancing a single step on
the road he so much desires to travel. He will perhaps continue the same
course for centuries to come, unless by some unlooked for exertion on
his part, he shall happen to discard the prejudices which blind him; to
lay aside his enthusiasm for the marvellous; to quit his fondness for
the enigmatical; rally round the standard of his reason: unless, taking
experience for his guide, he march undauntedly forward under the banner
of truth, and put to the rout that host of unintelligible jargon, under
the cumbrous load of which he has lost sight of his own happiness;
which has but too frequently prevented him from seeking the only means
adequate either to satisfy his wants, or to ameliorate the evils which
he is necessarily obliged to experience.

Let us then re-conduct bewildered mortals to the altar of nature; let us
endeavour to destroy that delusion which the ignorance of man, aided by
a disordered imagination, has induced him to elevate to her throne; let
us strive to dissipate that heavy mist which obscures to him the paths
of truth; let us seek to banish from his mind those visionary ideas
which prevent him from giving activity to his experience; let us teach
him if possible not to seek out of nature herself, the causes of the
phenomena he admires--to rest satisfied that she contains remedies for
all his evils--that she has manifold benefits in store for those, who,
rallying their industry, are willingly patiently to investigate her
laws--that she rarely withholds her secrets from the researches of those
who diligently labour to unravel them. Let us assure him that reason
alone can render him happy; that reason is nothing more than the science
of nature, applied to the conduct of man in society; that this reason
teaches that every thing is necessary; that his pleasures as well as
his sorrows are the effects of nature, who in all her works follows only
laws which nothing can make her revoke; that his interest demands he
should learn to support with equanimity of mind, all those evils
which natural means do not enable him to put aside. In short, let us
unceasingly repeat to him, it is in rendering his fellow creature happy,
that he will himself arrive at a felicity he will in vain expect from
others, when his own conduct refuses it to him.

Nature is self-existent; she will always exist; she produces every
thing; contains within herself the cause of every thing; her motion is a
necessary consequence of her existence; without motion we could form
no conception of nature; under this collective name we designate the
assemblage of matter acting by virtue of its peculiar energies. Every
thing proves to us, that it is not out of nature man ought to seek the
Divinity. If we have only an incomplete knowledge of nature and her
ways--if we have only superficial, imperfect ideas of matter, how shall
we be able to flatter ourselves with understanding or having any certain
notions of immateriality, of beings so much more fugitive, so much more
difficult to compass, even by thought, than the material elements;
so much more shy of access than either the constituent principles of
bodies, their primitive properties, their various modes of acting, or
their different manner of existing? If we cannot recur to first causes,
let its content ourselves with second causes, with those effects which
we can submit to experience, let us collect the facts with which we have
an acquaintance; they will enable us to judge of what we do not know:
let us at least confine ourselves to the feeble glimmerings of truth
with which our senses furnish us, since we do not possess means whereby
to acquire broader masses of light.

Do not let us mistake for real sciences, those which have no other
basis than our imagination; we shall find that such can at most be but
visionary: let us cling close to nature which we see, which we feel,
of which we experience the action; of which at least we understand the
general laws. If we are ignorant of her detail, if we cannot fathom the
secret principles she employs in her most complicated productions,
we are at least certain she acts in a permanent, uniform, analogous,
necessary manner. Let us then observe this nature; let us watch her
movements; but never let us endeavour to quit the routine she prescribes
for the beings of our species: if we do, we shall not only be obliged to
return, but we shall also infallibly be punished with numberless errors,
which will darken our mind, estrange us from reason; the necessary
consequence will be countless sorrows, which we may otherwise avoid.
Let us consider we are sensible parts of a whole, in which the forms are
only produced to be destroyed; in which combinations are ushered into
life, that they may again quit it, after having subsisted for a longer
or a shorter season. Let us look upon nature as an immense elaboratory
which contains every thing necessary for her action; who lacks nothing
requisite for the production of all the phenomena she displays to our
sight. Let us acknowledge her power to be inherent in her essence; amply
commensurate to her eternal march; fully adequate to the happiness of
all the beings she contains. Let us consider her as a whole, who can
only maintain herself by what we call the discord of the elements; that
she exists by the continual dissolution and re-union of her parts; that
from this springs the universal harmony; that from this the general
stability has its birth. Let us then re-establish omnipotent nature, so
long mistaken by man, in her legitimate rights. Let us place her on that
adamantine throne, which it is for the felicity of the human race she
should occupy. Let us surround her with those ministers who can never
deceive, who can never forfeit our confidence--_Justice and Practical
Knowledge_. Let us listen to her eternal voice; she neither speaks
ambiguously, nor in an unintelligible language; she may be easily
comprehended by the people of all nations; because _Reason_ is her
faithful interpreter. She offers nothing to our contemplation but
immutable truths. Let us then for ever impose silence on that enthusiasm
which leads us astray; let us put to the blush that imposture which
would riot on our credulity; let us discard that gloomy superstition,
which has drawn us aside from the only worship suitable to intelligent
beings. Above all, never let us forget that the temple of happiness can
only be reached through the groves of virtue, which surround it on every
side; that the paths which lead to these beautiful walks can only be
entered by the road of experience, the portals of which are alone opened
to those who apply to them the key of truth: this key is of very simple
structure, has no complicated intricacy of wards, and is easily formed
on the anvil of social intercourse, merely by _not doing unto others
that which you would not wish they should do unto you._





CHAP. VII.

_Of Theism.--Of the System of Optimism.--Of final Causes_.


Very few men have either the courage or the industry to examine
opinions, which every one is in agreement to acknowledge; there is
scarcely any one who ventures to doubt their truth, even when no solid
arguments have been adduced in their support. The natural supineness
of man readily receives them without examination upon the authority
of others--communicates them to his successors in the season of their
infancy; thus is transmitted from race to race, notions which once
having obtained the sanction of time, are contemplated as clothed with
a sacred character, although perhaps to an unprejudiced mind, who should
be bent on searching into their foundation, no proofs will appear, that
they ever were verified. It is thus with immateriality: it has passed
current from father to son for many ages, without these having done any
thing more than habitually consign to their brain those obscure ideas
which were at first attached to it, which it is evident, from the
admission even of its advocates, can never be removed, to admit others
of a more enlightened nature. Indeed how can it possibly be, that light
can be thrown upon an incomprehensible subject: each therefore modifies
it after his own manner; each gives it that colouring that most
harmonizes with his own peculiar existence; each contemplates it under
that perspective which is the issue of his own particular vision: this
from the nature of things cannot be the same in every individual: there
must then of necessity be a great contrariety in the opinions resulting.
It is thus also that each man forms to himself a God in particular,
after his own peculiar temperament--according to his own natural
dispositions: the individual circumstances under which he is found, the
warmth of his imagination, the prejudices he has received, the mode in
which he is at different times affected, have all their influence in the
picture he forms. The contented, healthy man, does not see him with the
same eyes as the man who is chagrined and sick; the man with a heated
blood, who has an ardent imagination, or is subject to bile, does not
pourtray him under the same traits as he who enjoys a more peaceable
soul, who has a cooler fancy, who is of a more phlegmatic habit. This is
not all; even the same individual does not view him in the same manner
at different periods of his life: he undergoes all the variations of
his machine--all the revolutions of his temperament--all those continual
vicissitudes which his existence experiences. The idea of the Divinity
is said to be innate; on the contrary, it is perpetually fluctuating in
the mind of each individual; varies every moment in all the beings
of the human species; so much so, that there are not two who admit
precisely the same Deity; there is not a single one, who, under
different circumstances, does not see him variously.

Do not then let us be surprised at the variety of systems adopted by
mankind on this subject; it ought not to astonish us that there is so
little harmony existing among men upon a point of such consequence; it
ought not to appear strange that so much contradiction should prevail
in the various doctrines held forth; that they should have such
little consistency, such slender connection with each other; that the
professors should dispute continually upon the rectitude of the opinions
adopted by each: they must necessarily wrangle upon that which each
contemplates so variously--upon which there is hardly a single mortal
who is constantly in accord with himself.

All men are pretty well agreed upon those objects which they are enabled
to submit to the test of experience; we do not hear any disputes upon
the principles of geometry; those truths that are evident, that are
easily demonstrable, never vary in our mind; we never doubt that
the part is less than the whole; that two and two make four; that
benevolence is an amiable quality; that equity is necessary to man in
society. But we find nothing but perpetual controversy upon all those
systems which have the Divinity for their object; they are full of
incertitude; subject to continual variations: we do not see any harmony
either in the principles of theology, or in the principles of its
graduates. Even the proofs offered of his existence have been the
subject of cavil; they have either been thought too feeble, have been
brought forward against rule, or else have not been taken up with
sufficient zeal to please the various reasoners who advocate the cause;
the corollaries drawn from the premises laid down, are not the same in
any two nations, scarcely in two individuals; the thinkers of all
ages, in all countries, are perpetually in rivalry with each other;
unceasingly quarrel upon all the points of religion; can never agree
either upon their theological hypotheses, or upon the fundamental
truths which should serve for their basis; even the attributes, the
very qualities ascribed, are as warmly contested by some, as they are
zealously defended by others.

These never-ending disputes, these perpetual variations, ought, at
least, to convince the unprejudiced, that the ideas of the Divinity have
neither the generally-admitted evidence, nor the certitude which are
attributed to them; on the contrary, these contrarieties in the opinions
of the theologians, if submitted to the logic of the schools, might be
fatal to the whole of them: according to that mode of reasoning, which
at least has the sanction of our universities, all the probabilities in
the world cannot acquire the force of a demonstration; a truth is
not made evident but when constant experience, reiterated reflection,
exhibits it always under the same point of view; the evidence of a
proposition cannot be admitted unless it carries with it a substantive
demonstration; from the constant relation which is made by well
constituted senses, results that evidence, that certitude, which alone
can produce full conviction: if the major proposition of a syllogism
should be overturned by the minor, the whole falls to the ground.
Cicero, who is no mean authority on such a subject, says expressly, "No
reasoning can render that false, which experience has demonstrated as
evident." Wolff, in his Ontology, says; "That which is repugnant in
itself, cannot possibly be understood; that those things which are in
themselves contradictions, must always be deficient of evidence." St.
Thomas says, "Being, is all that which is not repugnant to existence."

However it may be with these qualities, which the theologians assign to
their immaterial beings, whether they may be irreconcileable, or whether
they are totally incomprehensible, what can result to the human species
in supposing them to have intelligence and views? Can an universal
intelligence, whose care must be equally extended to every thing that
exists, have more direct, more intimate relations with man, who only
forms an insensible portion of the great whole? Can we seriously believe
that it is to make joyful the insects, to gratify the ants of his
garden, that the Monarch of the universe has constructed and embellished
his habitation? Would our feeble eyes, therefore, become stronger--would
our narrow views of things be enlarged--should we be better capacitated
to understand his projects--could we with more certitude divine
his plans, enter into his designs--would our exility of judgment be
competent to measure his wisdom, to follow the eternal order he has
established? Will those effects, which flow from his omnipotence,
emanate from his providence--whether we estimate them as good, or
whether we tax them as evil--whether we consider them beneficial, or
view them as prejudicial--be less the necessary results of his wisdom,
of his justice, of his eternal decrees? In this case can we reasonably
suppose that a Being, so wise, so just, so intelligent, will derange
his system, change his plan, for such weak beings as ourselves? Can we
rationally believe we have the capacity to address worthy prayers, to
make suitable requests, to point out proper modes of conduct to such a
Being? Can we at all flatter ourselves that to please us, to gratify our
discordant wishes, he will alter his immutable laws? Can we imagine
that at our entreaty he will take from the beings who surround us their
essences, their properties, their various modes of action? Have we
any right to expect he will abrogate in our behalf the eternal laws of
nature, that he will disturb her eternal march, arrest her ever-lasting
course, which his wisdom has planned; which his goodness has conferred;
which are, in fact, the admiration of mankind? Can we hope that in our
favour fire will cease to burn, when we approximate it too closely; that
fever shall not consume our habit, when contagion has penetrated our
system; that gout shall not torment us, when an intemperate mode of
life shall have amassed the humours that necessarily result from such
conduct; that an edifice tumbling in ruins shall not crush us by its
fall, when we are within the vortex of its action? Will our vain cries,
our most fervent supplications, prevent a country from being unhappy,
when it shall be devastated by an ambitious conqueror; when it shall
be submitted to the capricious will of unfeeling tyrants, who bend it
beneath the iron rod of their oppression?

If this infinite intelligence gives a free course to those events which
his wisdom has prepared; if nothing happens in this world but after
his impenetrable designs; we ought silently to submit; we have in fact
nothing to ask; we should be madmen to oppose our own weak intellect to
such capacious wisdom; we should offer an insult to his prudence if we
were desirous to regulate them. Man must not flatter himself that he
is wiser than his God; that he is in a capacity to make him change his
will; with having power to determine him to take other means than those
which he has chosen to accomplish his decrees. An intelligent Divinity
can only have taken those measures which embrace complete justice; can
only have availed himself of those means which are best calculated to
arrive at his end; if he was capable of changing them, he could neither
be called wise, immutable, nor provident. If it was to be granted,
that the Divinity did for a single instant suspend those laws which he
himself has given, if he was to change any thing in his plan, it would
be supposing he had not foreseen the motives of this suspension; that he
had not calculated the causes of this change; if he did not make these
motives enter into his plan, it would be saying he had not foreseen
the causes that render them necessary: if he has foreseen them without
making them part of his system, it would be arraigning the perfection of
the whole. Thus in whatever manner these things are contemplated, under
whatever point of view they are examined, it is evident that the
prayers which man addresses to the Divinity, which are sanctioned by the
different modes of worship, always suppose he is supplicating a being
whose wisdom and providence are defective; in fact, that his own is more
appropriate to his situation. To suppose he is capable of change in his
conduct, is to bring his omniscience into question; to vitally attack
his omnipotence; to arraign his goodness; at once to say, that he either
is not willing or not competent to judge what would be most
expedient for man; for whose sole advantage and pleasure they
will, notwithstanding, insist he created the universe: such are the
inconsistent doctrines of theology; such the imbecile efforts of
metaphysics.

It is, however, upon these notions, extravagant as they may appear,
ill directed as they assuredly are, inconclusive as they must
be acknowledged by unprejudiced minds, that are founded all the
superstitions and many of the religions of the earth. It is by no means
an uncommon sight, to see man upon his knees before an all-wise God,
whose conduct he is endeavouring to regulate; whose decrees he wishes to
avert; whose plan he is desirous to reform. These inconsistent objects
he is occupied with gaining, by means equally repugnant to sound sense;
equally injurious to the dignity of the Divinity: adopting his own
sensations as the criterion of the feelings of the Deity; in some places
he tries to win him to his interests by presents; sometimes we behold
even the princes of the earth attempting to direct his views, by
offering him splendid garments, upon which their own fatuity sets an
inordinate value, merely because they have laboured at them themselves;
some strive to disarm his justice by the most splendid pageantry; others
by practices the most revolting to humanity; some think his immutability
will yield to idle ceremonies; others to the most discordant prayers;
it not unfrequently happens that to induce him to change in their favour
his eternal decrees, those who have opposite interests to promote, each
returns him thanks for that which the others consider as the greatest
curse that can befal them. In short, man is almost every where prostrate
before an omnipotent God, who, if we were to judge by the discrepancy of
their requests, never has rendered his creatures such as they ought
to be; who to accomplish his divine views has never taken the proper
measures, who to fulfil his wisdom has continual need of the admonitions
of man, conveyed either in the form of thanks or prayers.

We see, then, that superstition is founded upon manifest contradictions,
which man must always fall into when he mistakes the natural causes of
things--when he shall attribute the good or evil which he experiences to
an intelligent cause, distinguished from nature, of which he will never
be competent to form to himself any certain ideas. Indeed, man will
always be reduced, as we have so frequently repeated, to the necessity
of clothing his gods with his own imbecile qualities: as he is himself
a changeable being, whose intelligence is limited; who, placed in divers
circumstances, appears to be frequently in contradiction with himself;
although he thinks he honours his gods in giving them his own peculiar
qualities, he in fact does nothing more than lend them his own
inconstancy, cover them with his own weakness, invest them with his own
vices. It is thus that in reasoning, he is unable to account for the
necessity of things--that he imagines there is a confusion which his
prayers will have a tendency to remove--that he thinks the evils of
life more than commensurate with the good: he does not perceive that an
undeviating system, by operating upon beings diversely organized, whose
circumstances are different, whose modes of action are at variance, must
of necessity sometimes appear to be inimical to the interests of
the individual, while it embraces the general good of the whole. The
theologian may subtilize, exaggerate, render as unintelligible as he
pleases, the attributes with which he clothes his divinities, he
will never be able to remove the contradictions which arise from the
discordant qualities which he thus heaps together; neither will he be
able to give man any other mode of judging than what arises from the
exercise of his senses, such as they are actually found. He will never
be able to furnish the idea of an immutable being, while he shall
represent this being as capable of being irritated and appeased by the
prayers of mortals. He will never delineate the features of omnipotence
under the portrait of a being who cannot restrain the actions of his
inferiors. He will never hold up a standard of justice, while he shall
mingle it with mercy, however amiable the quality; or while he shall
represent it as punishing those actions, which the perpetrators were
under the necessity of committing. Neither will he be able, under any
circumstances, to make a finite mind comprehend infinity; much less when
he shall represent this infinity as bounded by finity itself.

From this it will be obvious, that immaterial substances, such as are
depicted by the theologians, can only be looked upon as the offspring
of a metaphysical brain, unsupported by any of those proofs which are
usually required to establish the propositions laid down among men;
all the qualities which they ascribe to them, are only those which are
suitable to material substances; all the abstract properties with which
they invest them, are incomprehensible by material beings; the whole
taken together, is one confused mass of contradictions: they have held
forth to man, that it highly imported to his interests to know, to
understand these substances; he has consequently set his intellect
in action to discover some means of compassing an end, said to be so
consequential to his welfare; he has, however, been unable to make any
progress, because no clue could be offered to him of the road he must
pursue; all was mere assertion unsupported by evidence; the whole was
enveloped in complete darkness, into which the least scintillation of
light could never penetrate. Notwithstanding, as soon as man believes
himself greatly interested in knowing a thing, he labors to form to
himself an idea of that, the knowledge of which he thinks so important;
if insuperable obstacles impede his inquiries--if difficulties of a
magnitude to alarm his industry intervene--if with immense labour he
makes but little progress, then the slender success that attends
his research, aided by a slothful disposition, while it wearies
his diligence disposes him to credulity. It was thus, that a crafty
ambitious Arab, subtle and knavish in his manners, insinuating in his
address, profiting by this credulous inclination, made his countrymen
adopt his own fanciful reveries as permanent truths, of which it was not
permitted them for an instant to doubt; following up these opinions with
enthusiasm, he stimulated them on to become conquerors; obliging the
conquered to lend themselves to his system, he gave currency to a creed,
invented solely for the purpose of enslaving mankind, which now spreads
over immense regions inhabited by a numerous population, although like
other systems it does not escape sectarianism, having above seventy
branches. Thus ignorance, despair, sloth, the want of reflecting habits,
place the human race in a state of dependance upon those who build up
systems, while upon the objects which are the foundations, they have
no one settled idea: once adopted, however, whenever these systems are
brought into question, man either reasons in a very strange manner, or
else is the dupe of very deceitful arguments: when they are agitated,
and he finds it impossible to understand what is said concerning them
when his mind cannot embrace the ambiguity of these doctrines, he
imagines those who speak to him are better acquainted with the
objects of their discourse than himself; these seizing the favourable
opportunity, do not let it slip, they reiterate to him with Stentorian
lungs, "That the most certain way is to agree with what they tell him;
to allow himself to be guided by them;" in short, they persuade him to
shut his eyes, that he may with greater perspicuity distinguish the
road he is to travel: once arrived at this influence, they indelibly fix
their lessons; irrevocably chain him to the oar; by holding up to his
view the punishments intended for him by these imaginary beings, in case
he refuses to accredit, in the most liberal manner, their marvellous
inventions; this argument, although it only supposes the thing in
question, serves to close his mouth--to put an end to his research;
alarmed, confused, bewildered, he seems convinced by this victorious
reasoning--attaches to it a sacredness that fills him with awe--blindly
conceives that they have much clearer ideas of the subject than
himself--fears to perceive the palpable contradictions of the doctrines
announced to him, until, perhaps, some being, more subtle than those who
have enslaved him, by labouring the point incessantly, attacking him on
the weak side of his interest, arrives at throwing the absurdity of his
system into light, and finally succeeds by inducing him to adopt that
of another set of speculators. The uninformed man generally believes
his priests have more senses than himself; he takes them for superior
beings; for divine men. He only sees that which these priests inform
him he must contemplate; to every thing else his eyes are completely
hoodwinked; thus the authority of the priests frequently decides,
without appeal, that which is useful perhaps only to the priesthood.

When we shall be disposed to recur to the origin of things, we shall
ever find that it has been man's imagination, guided by his ignorance,
under the influence of fear, which gave birth to his gods; that
enthusiasm or imposture have generally either embellished or disfigured
them; that credulity readily adopted the fabulous accounts which
interested duplicity promulgated respecting them; that these
dispositions, sanctioned by time, became habitual. Tyrants finding their
advantage in sustaining them, have usually established their power upon
the blindness of mankind, and the superstitious fears with which it is
always accompanied. Thus, under whatever point of view it is considered,
it will always be found that _error cannot be useful to the human
species._

Nevertheless, the happy enthusiast, when his soul is sensible of its
enjoyments, when his softened imagination has occasion to paint to
itself a seducing object, to which he can render thanks for the kindness
he experiences, will ask, "Wherefore deprive me of a being that I see
under the character of a sovereign, filled with wisdom, abounding in
goodness? What comfort do I not find in figuring to myself a powerful,
intelligent, indulgent monarch, of whom I am the favorite; who
continually occupies himself with my welfare--unceasingly watches over
my safety--who perpetually administers to my wants--who always consents
that under him I shall command the whole of nature? I believe I behold
him constantly showering his benefits on man; I see his Providence
labouring for his advantage without relaxation; he covers the earth
with verdure to delight him; he loads the trees with delicious fruits
to gratify his palate; he fills the forests with animals suitable to his
nourishment; he suspends over his head planets with innumerable stars,
to enlighten him by day, to guide his erring steps by night; he extends
around him the azure firmament to gladden his sight; he decorates the
meadows with flowers to please his fancy; he causes crystal fountains to
flow with limpid streams to slake his thirst; he makes rivulets meander
through his lands to fructify the earth; he washes his residence with
noble rivers, that yield him fish in abundance. Ah! suffer me to thank
thee, Author of so many benefits: do not deprive me of my charming
sensations. I shall not find my illusions so sweet, so consolatory in a
severe destiny--in a rigid necessity--in a blind inanimate matter--in a
nature destitute of intelligence, devoid of feeling."

"Wherefore," will say the unfortunate, from whom his destiny has
rigorously withheld those benefits which have been lavished on so many
others; "wherefore ravish from me an error that is dear to me? Wherefore
annihilate to me a being, whose consoling idea dries up the source of my
tears--who serves to calm my sorrows? Wherefore deprive me of an object
which I represent to myself as a compassionate, tender father; who
reproves me in this world, but into whose arms I throw myself with
confidence, when the whole of nature appears to have abandoned me?
Supposing it no more than a chimera, the unhappy have occasion for it,
to guarantee them against frightful despair: is it not cruel, is it not
inhuman, to be desirous of plunging them into a vacuum, by seeking to
undeceive them? Is it not an useful error, preferable to those truths
which deprive the mind of every consolation, which do not hold forth any
relief from its sorrows?"

Thus will equally reason the Negro, the Mussulman, the Brachman, and
others. We shall reply to these enthusiasts, no! truth can never render
you unhappy; it is this which really consoles us; it is a concealed
treasure, much superior to all the superstitions ever invented by fear;
it can cheer the heart; give it courage to support the burthens of
life; make us smile under adversity; elevate the soul; render it
active; furnishes it with means to resist the attacks of fate; to combat
misfortunes with success. This will shew clearly that the good and evil
of life are distributed with an equal hand, without respect to man's
peculiar comforts; that all beings are equally regarded in the universe;
that every thing is submitted to necessary laws; that man has no right
whatever to think himself a being peculiarly favoured--who is exempted
from the common operations of the eternal routine; that it is folly to
think he is the only being considered--one for whose enjoyment alone
every thing is produced; an attention to facts will suffice to put an
end to this delusion, however pleasant may be the indulgence of such
a notion; the most superficial glance of the eye will be sufficient
to undeceive us in the idea, that he is the _final cause_ of the
creation--the constant object of the labours of nature, or of its
Author. Let us seriously ask him, if he does not witness good constantly
blended with evil? If he does not equally partake of them with the other
beings in nature? To be obstinately bent to see only the evil, is as
irrational as to be willing only to notice the good. Providence seems to
be just as much occupied for one class of beings as for another. We see
the calm succeed the storm; sickness give place to health; the blessings
of peace follow the calamities of war; the earth in every country
bring forth roots necessary for the nourishment of man, produce others
suitable to his destruction. Each individual of the human species is
a compound of good and bad qualities; all nations present a varied
spectacle of virtues, growing up beside vices; that which gladdens one
being, plunges another into sadness--no event takes place that does not
give birth to advantages for some, to disadvantages for others. Insects
find a safe retreat in the ruin of the palace, which crushes man in
its fall; man by his death furnishes food for myriads of contemptible
insects; animals are destroyed by thousands that he may increase his
bulk; linger out for a season a feverish existence. We see beings
engaged in perpetual hostility, each living at his neighbour's expence;
the one banquetting upon that which causes the desolation of the other;
some luxuriously growing into flesh upon the misery which wears others
into skeletons--profiting by misfortunes, rioting upon disasters, which
ultimately, reciprocally destroy them. The most deadly poisons spring up
beside the most wholesome fruits the earth equally nourishes the fatal
steel which terminates man's career, and the fruitful corn that prolongs
his existence; the bane and its antidote are near neighbours, repose on
the same bosom, ripen under the same sun, equally court the hand of the
incautious stranger. The rivers which man believes flow for no other
purpose than to irrigate his residence, sometimes swell their waters,
overtop their banks, inundate his fields, overturn his dwelling, and
sweep away the flock and shepherd. The ocean, which he vainly imagines
was only collected together to facilitate his commerce supply him with
fish, and wash his shores; often wrecks his ships, frequently bursts its
boundaries, lays waste his lands, destroys the produce of his industry,
and commits the most frightful ravages. The halcyon, delighted with the
tempest, voluntarily mingles with the storm; rides contentedly upon the
surge; rejoiced by the fearful howlings of the northern blast, plays
with happy buoyancy upon the foaming billows, that have ruthlessly
dashed in pieces the vessel of the unfortunate mariner; who, plunged
into an abyss of misery, with tremulous emotion clings to the wreck;
views with horrific despair, the premature destruction of his indulged
hopes; sighs deeply at the thoughts of home; with aching heart, thinks
of the cherished friends his streaming eyes will never more behold in an
agony of soul dwells upon the faithful affection of an adored wife, who
will never again repose her drooping head upon his manly bosom; grows
wild with the appalling remembrance of beloved children, his wearied
arms will never more encircle with parental fondness; then sinks for
ever, the unhappy victim of circumstances that fill with glee the
fluttering bird, who sees him yield to the overwhelming force of the
infuriate waves. The conqueror displays his military skill, fights a
sanguinary battle, puts his enemy to the rout, lays waste his country,
slaughters thousands of his fellows, plunges whole districts into tears,
fills the land with the moans of the fatherless, the wailings of the
widow, in order that the crows may have a banquet--that ferocious beasts
may gluttonously gorge themselves with human gore--that worms may riot
in luxury.

Thus when there is a question concerning an agent we see act so
variously; whose motives seem sometimes to be advantageous, sometimes
disadvantageous for the human race; at least each individual will judge
after the peculiar mode in which he is himself affected; there will
consequently be no fixed point, no general standard in the opinions
men will form to themselves. Indeed our mode of judging will always
be governed by our manner of seeing, by our way of feeling. This
will depend upon our temperament, which itself springs out of our
organization, and the peculiarity of the circumstances in which we are
placed; these can never be the same for all the beings of our species.
These individual modes of being affected, then, will always furnish the
colours of the portrait which man may paint to himself of the Divinity;
it must therefore be obvious they can never be determinate--can have
no fixity--can never be reduced to any graduated scale; the inductions
which they may draw from them, can never be either constant or uniform;
each will always judge after himself, will never see any thing but
himself or his own peculiar situation in the picture he delineates.

This granted, the man who has a contented, sensible soul, with a lively
imagination, will paint the Divinity under the most charming traits; he
will believe that he sees in the whole of nature nothing but proofs of
benevolence, evidence of goodness, because it will unceasingly cause him
agreeable sensations. In his poetical extacy he will imagine he every
where perceives the impression of a perfect intelligence--of an infinite
wisdom--of a providence tenderly occupied with the welfare of man;
self-love joining itself to these exalted qualities, will put the
finishing hand to his persuasion, that the universe is made solely for
the human race; he will strive in imagination to kiss with transport the
hand from which he believes he receives so many benefits; touched with
his kindness, gratified with the perfume of roses whose thorns he does
not perceive, or which his extatic delirium prevents him from feeling,
he will think he can never sufficiently acknowledge the necessary
effects, which he will look upon as indubitable testimony of the divine
predilection for man. Completely inebriated with these feelings, this
enthusiast will not behold those sorrows, will not notice that confusion
of which the universe is the theatre: or if it so happens, he cannot
prevent himself from being a witness, he will be persuaded that in the
views of an indulgent providence, these calamities are necessary to
conduct man to a higher state of felicity; the reliance which he has in
the Divinity, upon whom he imagines they depend, induces him to believe,
that man only suffers for his good; that this being, who is fruitful in
resources, will know how to make him reap advantage from the evils which
he experiences in this world: his mind thus pre-occupied, from thence
sees nothing that does not elicit his admiration call forth his
gratitude; excite his confidence; even those effects which are the most
natural, the most necessary, appear in his eyes miracles of benevolence;
prodigies of goodness: he shuts his eyes to the disorders which could
bring these amiable qualities into question: the most cruel calamities,
the most afflicting events, the most heart-rending circumstances, cease
to be disorders in his eyes, and do nothing, more than furnish him with
new proofs of the divine perfections; he persuades himself that what
appears defective or imperfect, is only so in appearance; he admires the
wisdom, acknowledges the bounty of the Divinity, even in those effects
which are the most terrible for his race--most suitable to discourage
his species--most fraught with misery for his fellow.

It is, without doubt, to this happy disposition of the human mind,
in some beings of his order, that is to be ascribed the system of
_Optimism_, by which enthusiasts, furnished with a romantic imagination,
seem to have renounced the evidence of their senses: to find that even
for man every thing is good in nature, where the good has constantly its
concomitant evil, and where minds less prejudiced, less poetical, would
judge that every thing is only that which it can be--that the good
and the evil are equally necessary--that they have their source in
the nature of things; moreover, in order to attribute any particular
character to the events that take place, it would be needful to know the
aim of the whole: now the whole cannot have an aim, because if it had a
tendency, an aim, or end, it would no longer be the whole, seeing that
that to which it tended would be a part not included.

It will be asserted by some, that the evils which we behold in this
world are only relative, merely apparent; that they prove nothing
against the good: but does not man almost uniformly judge after his own
mode of feeling; after his manner of co-existing with those causes
by which he is encompassed; which constitute the order of nature with
relation to himself; consequently, he ascribes wisdom and goodness to
all that which affects him pleasantly, disorder to that state of things
by which he is injured. Nevertheless every thing which we witness in
the world conspires to prove to us, that whatever is, is necessary; that
nothing is done by chance; that all the events, good or bad, whether
for us or for beings of a different order, are brought about by causes
acting after certain and determinate laws; that nothing can he
a sufficient warrantry in us to clothe with any one of our human
qualities, either nature or the motive-power which has been given to
her.

With respect to those who pretend that supreme wisdom will know how
to draw the greatest benefits for us, even out of the bosom of those
calamities which it is permitted we shall experience in this world; we
shall ask them, if they are themselves the confidents of the Divinity;
or upon what they found these assertions so flattering to their hopes?
They will, without doubt, tell us they judge by analogy; that from the
actual proofs of goodness and wisdom, they have a just right to conclude
in favour of future bounty. Would it not be a fair reply to ask, If they
reason by analogy, and man has not been rendered completely happy in
this world, what analogy informs them he will be so in another? If,
according to their own shewing, man is sometimes made the victim of evil
in his present existence, in order that he may attain a greater good,
does not analogical reasoning, which they say they adopt, clearly
warrant a deduction, that the same afflictions, for the same purposes,
will be equally proper, equally requisite in the world to come?

Thus this language founds itself upon ruinous hypotheses, which have
for their bases only a prejudiced imagination. It, in fact, signifies
nothing more than that man once persuaded, without any evidence, of his
future happiness, will not believe it possible he can be permitted to be
unhappy: but might it not be inquired what testimony does he find, what
substantive knowledge has he obtained of the peculiar good that results
to the human species from those sterilities, from those famines, from
those contagions, from those sanguinary conflicts, which cause so many
millions of men to perish; which unceasingly depopulate the earth,
and desolate the world we inhabit? Is there any one who has sufficient
compass of comprehension to ascertain the advantages that result from
the evils that besiege us on all sides? Do we not daily witness beings
consecrated to misfortune, from the moment they quitted the womb of the
parent who brought them into existence, until that which re-committed
them to the earth, to sleep in peace with their fathers; who with great
difficulty found time to respire; lived the constant sport of fortune;
overwhelmed with affliction, immersed in grief, enduring the most cruel
reverses? Who is to measure the precise quantity of misery required to
derive a certain portion of good? Who is to say when the measure of evil
will be full which it is necessary to suffer?

The most enthusiastic Optimists, the _Theists_ themselves, the partizans
of _Natural Religion_, as well as the most credulous and superstitious,
are obliged to recur to the system of another life, to remedy the evils
man is decreed to suffer in the present; but have they really any just
foundation to suppose the next world will afford him a happiness
denied him in this? If it is necessary to recur to a doctrine so little
probable as that of a future existence, by what chain of reasoning do
they establish their opinion, that when he shall no longer have organs,
by the aid of which he is at present alone enabled either to enjoy or
to suffer, he shall be able to compensate the evils he has endured; to
enjoy a felicity, to partake of a pleasure this organic structure has
refused him while on his pilgrimage through the land of his fathers.

From this it will be seen, that the proofs of a sovereign intelligence,
or of a magnified human quality drawn from the order, from the harmony,
from the beauty of the universe, are never more than those which are
derived from men who are organized and modified after a certain mode;
or whose cheerful imagination is so constructed as to give birth to
agreeable chimeras which they embellish according to their fancy: these
illusions, however, must be frequently dissipated even in themselves,
whenever their machine becomes deranged; when sorrows assail them, when
misfortune corrodes their mind; the spectacle of nature, which under
certain circumstances has appeared to them so delightful, so seducing,
must then give place to disorder, must yield to confusion. A man
of melancholy temperament, soured by misfortunes, made irritable
by infirmities, cannot view nature and her author under the same
perspective, as the healthy man of a sprightly humour, who is contented
with every thing. Deprived of happiness, the fretful man can only find
disorder, can see nothing but deformity, can find nothing but subjects
to afflict himself with; he only contemplates the universe as the
theatre of malice, as the stage for tyrants to execute their vengeance;
he grows superstitious, he gives way to credulity, and not unfrequently
becomes cruel, in order to serve a master whom he believes he has
offended.

In consequence of these ideas, which have their growth in an unhappy
temperament, which originate in a peevish humour, which are the
offspring of a disturbed imagination, the superstitious are constantly
infected with terror, are the slaves to mistrust, the creatures of
discontent, continually in a state of fearful alarm. Nature cannot have
charms for them; her countless beauties pass by unheeded; they do
not participate in her cheerful scenes; they look upon this world, so
marvellous to the happy man, so good to the contented enthusiast, as a
_valley of tears_, in which a vindictive fate has placed them only to
expiate crimes committed either by themselves or by their fathers; they
consider themselves as sent here for no other purpose than to be the
sharers of calamity; the sport of a capricious fortune; that they are
the children of sorrow, destined to undergo the severest trials, to the
end that they may everlastingly arrive at a new existence, in which they
shall be either happy or miserable, according to their conduct towards
the ministers of a being who holds their destiny in his hands. These
dismal notions have been the source of all the irrational systems
that have ever prevailed; they have given birth to the most revolting
practices, currency to the most absurd customs. History abounds with
details of the most atrocious cruelties, under the imposing name of
public worship; nothing has been considered either too fantastical or
too flagitious by the votaries of superstition. Parents have immolated
their children; lovers have sacrificed the objects of their affection;
friends have destroyed each other: the most bloody disputes have been
fomented; the most interminable animosities have been engendered, to
gratify the whim of implacable priests, who by crafty inventions have
obtained an influence over the people; to please blind zealots, who have
never been able either to give fixity to their ideas, or to define
their own feelings. Idle dreamers nourished with bile, intoxicated
with theologic fury--atrabilarians, whose melancholic humour frequently
disposes them to wickedness--visionaries, whose devious imaginations,
heated with intemperate zeal, generally leads them to the extremes of
fanaticism, working upon ignorance, whose usual bias is credulity,
have incessantly disturbed the harmony of mankind, kindled the
inextinguishable flame of discord, and in an almost uninterrupted
succession, strewed the earth with the mangled carcasses of the
multitudinous victims to mad-brained error, whose only crime has been
their incapacity to dream according to the rules prescribed by these
infuriate maniacs; although these have never been uniform--never
assimilated in any two countries--never borne the same features in
any two ages, nor even had the united concurrence of the persecuting
contemporaries.

It is then in the diversity of temperament, arising from variety of
organization--in the contrariety of passions, springing out of this
miscellany, modified by the most opposite circumstances, that must
be sought the difference we find in the opinions of the theist,
the optimist, the happy enthusiast, the zealot, the devotee, the
superstitious of all denominations; they are all equally irrational--the
dupes of their imagination--the blind children of error. What one
contemplates under a favorable point of view, the other never looks
upon but on the dark side; that which is the object of the most sedulous
research to one set, is that which the others most seek to avoid: each
insists he is right; no one offers the least shadow of substantive proof
of what he asserts; each points out the great importance of his mission,
yet cannot even agree with his colleagues in the embassy, either upon
the nature of their instructions, or the means to be adopted. It is thus
whenever man sets forth a false supposition, all the reasonings he makes
on it are only a long tissue of errors, which entail on him an endless
series of misfortunes; every time he renounces the evidence of
his senses, it is impossible to calculate the bounds at which his
imagination will stop; when he once quits the road of experience, when
he travels out of nature, when he loses sight of his reason, to strike
into the labyrinths of conjecture, it is difficult to ascertain where
his folly will lead him--into what mischievous swamps this _ignis
fatuus_ of the mind may beguile his wandering steps. It is certainly
true, the ideas of the happy enthusiast will be less dangerous to
himself, less baneful to others, than those of the atrabilarious
fanatic, whose temperament may render him both cowardly and cruel;
nevertheless the opinions of the one and of the other will not be less
chimerical; the only difference will be, that of the first will produce
agreeable, cheerful dreams; while that of the second will present
the most appalling visions, terrific spectres, the fruit of a peevish
transport of the brain: there will, however, never be more than a step
between them all; the smallest revolution in the machine, a slight
infirmity, an unforeseen affliction, suffices to change the course
of the humours--to vitiate the temperament--to endanger the
organization--to overturn the whole system of opinions of the happiest.
As soon as the portrait is found disfigured, the beautiful order
of things is overthrown relatively to himself; melancholy grapples
him--pusillanimity benumbs his faculties--by degrees plunges, him into
the rankest depths of gloomy superstition; he then degenerates into all
those irregularities which are the dismal harvest of fanatic ignorance
ploughed with credulity.

Those ideas, which have no archetype but in the imagination of man,
must necessarily take their complexion from his own character; must be
clothed with his own passions; must constantly follow the revolutions of
his machine; be lively or gloomy; favourable or prejudicial; friendly
or inimical; sociable or savage; humane or cruel; according as he whose
brain they inhabit shall himself be disposed; in fact, they can never be
more than the shadow of the substance he himself interposes between the
light and the ground on which they are thrown. A mortal plunged from a
state of happiness into misery, whose health merges into sickness, whose
joy is changed into affliction, cannot in these vicissitudes preserve
the same ideas; these naturally depend every instant upon the
variations, which physical sensations oblige his organs to undergo.
It will not therefore appear strange that these opinions should be
fluctuating, when they depend upon the state of the nervous fluid, upon
the greater or less portion of igneous matter floating in the sanguinary
vessels.

_Theism_, or what is called _Natural Religion_, cannot have certain
principles; those who profess it must necessarily be subject to vary in
their opinions--to fluctuate in their conduct, which flows out of
them. A system founded upon wisdom and intelligence, which can never
contradict itself, when circumstances change will presently be converted
into fanaticism; rapidly degenerate into superstition; such a system,
successively meditated by enthusiasts of very distinct characters,
must of necessity experience vicissitudes, and quickly depart from its
primitive simplicity. The greater part of those philosophers who have
been disposed to substitute theism for superstition, have not felt
that it was formed to corrupt itself--to degenerate. Striking examples,
however, prove this fatal truth. Theism is almost every where corrupted;
it has by degrees given way to those superstitions, to those extravagant
sects, to those prejudicial opinions with which the human species is
degraded. As soon as man consents to acknowledge invisible powers out
of nature, upon which his restless mind will never be able invariably to
fix his ideas--which his imagination alone will be capable of painting
to him; whenever he shall not dare to consult his reason relatively to
those powers, it must necessarily be, that the first false step leads
him astray, that his conduct as well as his opinions becomes in the long
run perfectly absurd.

Those are usually called Theists, who, undeceived upon the greater
number of grosser errors to which the uninformed, the superstitiously
ignorant, tend the most determined support, simply hold the notion of
unknown agents endowed with intelligence, wisdom, power and goodness, in
short, full of infinite perfections, whom they distinguish from nature,
but whom they clothe after their own fashion; to whom they ascribe their
own limited views; whom they make act according to their own absurd
passions. The religion of Abraham appears to have originally been a kind
of theism, imagined to reform the superstition of the Chaldeans; Moses
modified it, and gave it the Judaical form. Socrates was a theist, who
lost his life in his attack on polytheism; his disciple Aristocles, or
Plato, as he was afterwards called from his large shoulders, embellished
the theism of his master, with the mystical colours which he borrowed
from the Egyptian and Chaldean priests, which he modified in his own
poetical brain, and preserved a remnant of polytheism. The disciples
of Plato, such as Proclus, Ammonius, Jamblicus. Plotinus, Longinus,
Porphyrus, and others, dressed it up still more fantastically, added a
great deal of superstitious mummery, blended it with magic, and other
unintelligible doctrines. The first doctors of Christianity were
Platonists, who combined the reformed Judaism with the philosophy taught
in Academia. Mahomet, in combating the polytheism of his country, seems
to have been desirous of restoring the primitive theism of Abraham, and
his son Ishmael; yet this has now seventy-two sects. Thus it will be
obvious, that theism has no fixed point, no standard, no common measure
more than other systems: that it runs from one supposition to another,
to find in what manner evil has crept into the world. Indeed it has been
for this purpose, which perhaps after all will never be satisfactorily
explained, that the doctrine of free-agency was introduced; that the
fable of Prometheus and the box of Pandora was imagined; that the
history of the Titanes was invented; notwithstanding, it must be evident
that these things as well as all the other trappings of superstition,
are not more difficult of comprehension than the immaterial substances
of the theists; the mind who can admit that beings devoid of parts,
destitute of organs, without bulk, can move matter, think like man, have
the moral qualities of human nature, need not hesitate to allow that
ceremonies, certain motions of the body, words, rites, temples, statues,
can equally contain secret virtues; has no occasion to withhold its
faith from the concealed powers of magic, theurgy, enchantments, charms,
talismans, &c.; can shew no good reason why it should not accredit
inspirations, dreams, visions, omens, soothsayers, metamorphoses, and
all the host of occult sciences: when things so contradictory to the
dictates of reason, so completely opposed to good sense are freely
admitted, there can no longer be an thing which ought to possess the
right to make credulity revolt; those who give sanction to the one,
may without much hesitation believe whatever else is offered to their
credence. It would be impossible to mark the precise point at which
imagination ought to arrest itself--the exact boundary that should
circumscribe belief--the true dose of folly that may be permitted them;
or the degree of indulgence that can with safety be extended to
those priests who are in the habit of teaching so variously, so
contradictorily, what man ought to think on the subjects they handle
so advantageously to themselves; who when it becomes a question what
remuneration is due from mankind for their unwearied exertions in
his favour, are, in spite of all their other differences, in the most
perfect union; except perhaps when they come to the division of
the spoil: in this, indeed, the apple of discord sometimes takes a
tremendous roll. Thus it will be clear that there can be no substantive
grounds for separating the theists from the most superstitious; that it
becomes impossible to fix the line of demarcation, which divides them
from the most credulous of men; to shew the land-marks by which they
can be discriminated from those who reason with the least conclusive
persuasion. If the theist refuses to follow up the fanatic in every step
of his cullibility, he is at least more inconsequent than the last, who
having admitted upon hearsay an inconsistent, whimsical doctrine, also
adopts upon report the ridiculous, strange means which it furnishes him.
The first sets forth with an absurd supposition, of which he rejects
the necessary consequences; the other admits both the principle and the
conclusion. There are no degrees in fiction any more than in truth. If
we admit the superstition, we are bound to receive every thing which
its ministers promulgate, as emanating from its principle. None of
the reveries of superstition embrace any thing more incredible than
immateriality; these reveries are only corollaries drawn with more
or less subtilty from unintelligible subjects, by those who have an
interest in supporting the system. The inductions which dreamers have
made, by dint of meditating on impenetrable materials, are nothing
more than ingenious conclusions, which have been drawn with wonderful
accuracy, from unknown premises, that are modestly offered to the
sanction of mankind by enthusiasts, who claim an unconditional assent,
because they assure us no one of the human race is in a capacity either
to see, feel, or comprehend the object of their contemplation. Does not
this somewhat remind us of what Rabelais describes as the employment of
Queen Whim's officers, in his fifth book and twenty-second chapter?

Let us then acknowledge, that the man who is this most credulously
superstitious, reasons in a more conclusive manner, or is at least more
consistent in his credulity, than those, who, after having admitted a
certain position of which they have no one idea, stop short all at once,
and refuse to accredit that system of conduct which is the immediate,
the necessary result of a radical and primitive error. As soon as they
subscribe to a principle fatally opposed to reason, by what right do
they dispute its consequences, however absurd they may be found? We
cannot too often repeat, for the happiness of mankind, that the human
mind, let it torture itself as much as it will, when it quits visible
nature leads itself astray; for want of an intelligent guide it wanders
in tracks that bewilder its powers, and is quickly obliged, to return
into that with which it has at least some, acquaintance. If man mistakes
nature and her energies, it is because he does not sufficiently study
her--because he does not submit to the test of experience the phenomena
he beholds; if he will obstinately deprive her of motion, he can
no longer have any ideas of her. Does, he, however, elucidate his
embarrassments, by submitting her action to the agency of a being of
which he makes himself the model? Does he think he forms a god, when
he assembles into one heterogeneous mass, his own discrepant qualities,
magnified until his optics are no longer competent to recognize them,
and then unites to them certain abstract properties of which he cannot
form to himself any one conception? Does he, in fact, do more than
collect together that which becomes, in consequence of its association,
perfectly unintelligible? Yet, strange as it may appear, when he no
longer understands himself--when his mind, lost in its own fictions,
becomes inadequate to decipher the characters he has thus promiscuously
assembled--when he has huddled together a heap of incomprehensible,
abstract qualities, which he is obliged to acknowledge are the mere
creatures of imagination, not within the reach of human intellect,
he firmly persuades himself he has made a most accurate and beautiful
portrait of the Divinity; he ostentatiously displays his picture,
demands the eulogy of the spectator, and quarrels with all those who do
not agree to adulate his creative powers, by adopting the inconceivable
being he holds forth to their worship; in short, to question the
existence of his extravaganza, rouses his most bitter reproaches;
elicits his everlasting scorn; entails on the incredulous his eternal
hatred.

On the other hand, what could we expect from such a being, as they have
supposed him to be? What could we consistently ask of him? How make
an immaterial being, who has neither organs, space, point, or contact,
understand that modification of matter called voice? Admit that this
is the being who moves nature--who establishes her laws--who gives to
beings their various essences--who endows them with their respective
properties; if every thing that takes place is the fruit of his infinite
providence--the proof of his profound wisdom, to what end shall we
address our prayers to him? Shall we solicit him to acknowledge that
the wisdom and providence with which we have clothed him, are in fact
erroneous, by entreating him to alter in our favour his eternal laws?
Shall we give him to understand our wisdom exceeds his own, by asking,
him for our pleasure to change the properties of bodies--to annihilate
his immutable decrees--to trace back the invariable course of things--to
make beings act in opposition to the essences with which he has thought
it right to invest them? Will he at our intercession prevent a body
ponderous and hard by its nature, such as a stone, for example, from
wounding, in its fall a sensitive being such as the human frame? Again,
should we not, in fact, challenge impossibilities, if the discordant
attributes brought into union by the theologians were correct; would
not immutability oppose itself to omnipotence; mercy to the exercise
of rigid justice; omniscience, to the changes that might be required in
foreseen plans? In physics, in consequence of the general research
after a perpetual motion, science has drawn forth the discovery, that
by amalgamating metals of contrary properties, the contractile powers
of one kind, under given circumstances which cause the dilation of the
other, by their opposite tendencies neutralize the actual effects
of each, taken separately, and thus produce an equality in the
oscillations, that, neither possessed individually.

It will perhaps, be insisted, that the infinite science of the Creator
of all things, is acquainted with resources in the beings he has formed,
which are concealed from imbecile mortals; that consequently without
changing any thing, either in the laws of nature, or in the essence
of things, he is competent to produce effects which surpass the
comprehension of our feeble understanding; that these, effects will in
no wise be contrary to that order which he himself has established in
nature. Granted: but then I reply, _first_, that every thing which is
conformable to the nature of things, can neither be called
supernatural nor miraculous: many things are, unquestionably, above
our comprehension; but then all that is operated in the world is
natural--grows out of those immutable laws by which nature is regulated.
In the _second_ place, it will be requisite to observe, that by the
word miracle an effect is designed, of which, for want of understanding
nature, she is believed incapable. In the _third_ place, it is worthy of
remark, that the theologians, almost universally, insist that by miracle
is meant not an extraordinary effort of nature, but an effect directly
opposite to her laws, which nevertheless they equally challenge to
have been prescribed by the Divinity. Buddaeus says, "a miracle is an
operation by which the laws of nature, upon which depend the order
and the preservation of the universe, are suspended." If, however, the
Deity, in those phenomena that most excite our surprise, does nothing
more than give play to springs unknown to mortals, there is, then,
nothing in nature, which, in this sense, may not be looked upon as a
miracle; because the cause by which a stone falls is as unknown to us,
as that which makes our globe turn on its own axis. Thus, to explain
the phenomena of nature by a miracle, is, in other words, to say we are
ignorant of the actuating causes; to attribute them to the Divinity,
is to agree we do not comprehend the resources of nature: it is
little better than accrediting magic. To attribute to a sovereignly
intelligent, immutable, provident, wise being, those miracles by which
he derogates from his own laws, is at one blow to annihilate all these
qualities: it is an inconsistency that would shame a child. It cannot be
supposed that omnipotence has need of miracles to govern the universe,
nor to convince his creatures, whose minds and hearts must be in his
own hands. The last refuge of the theologian, when driven off all other
ground, is the possibility of every thing he asserts, couched in the
dogma, "that nothing is impossible to the Divinity." He makes this
asseveration with a degree of self-complacency, with an air of triumph,
that would almost persuade one he could not be mistaken; most assuredly,
with those who dip no further than the surface, he carries complete
conviction. But we must take leave to examine a little the nature of
this proposition, and we do apprehend that a very slight degree of
consideration will shew that it is untenable. In the _first_ place, as
we have before observed, the possibility of a thing by no means proves
its absolute existence: a thing may be extremely possible, and yet not
be. _Secondly_, if this was once to become an admitted argument, there
would be, in fact, an end of all morality and religion. The Bishop of
Chester, Doctor John Wilkins, says, "would not such men be generally
accounted out of their wits, who could please themselves by entertaining
actual hopes of any thing, merely upon account of the possibility of
it, or torment themselves with actual fears of all such evils as are
possible? Is there any thing imaginable wore wild and extravagant
amongst those in bedlam than this would be?" _Thirdly_, the
impossibility would reasonably appear to be on the other side, so far
from nothing being impossible, every thing that is erroneous would seem
to be actually so; the Divinity could not possibly either love vice,
cherish crime, be pleased with depravity, or commit wrong; this
decidedly turns the argument against them; they must either admit the
most monstrous of all suppositions, or retire from behind the shield
with which they have imagined they rendered themselves invulnerable.

To those who may be inclined to inquire, whether it would not be better
that all things were operated by a good, wise, intelligent Being, than
by a blind nature, in which not one consoling quality is found; by a
fatal necessity always inexorable to human intreaty? It may be replied,
_first_, that our interest does not decide the reality of things, and
that when this should be even wore advantageous than it is pointed out,
it would prove nothing. _Secondly_, that as we are obliged to admit
some things are operated by nature, it is certainly on the side of
probability that she performs the others; especially as her capabilities
are more substantively proved by every age as it advances. _Thirdly_,
that nature duly studied furnishes every thing necessary to render us
as, happy as our essence admits. When, guided by experience, we shall
consult her, with cultivated reason; she will discover to us our
duties, that is to say, the indispensable means to which her eternal and
necessary laws have attached our preservation, our own happiness,
and that of society. It is decidedly in her bosom that we shall find
wherewith to satisfy our physical wants; whatever is out of nature, can
have no existence relatively to ourselves.

Nature, then, is not a step-mother to us; we do not depend upon an
inexorable destiny. Let us therefore endeavour to become more familiar
with her resources; she will procure us a multitude of benefits when we
shall pay her the attention she deserves: when we shall feel disposed
to consult her, she will supply us with the requisites to alleviate both
our physical and moral evils: she only punishes us with rigour, when,
regardless of her admonitions, we plunge into excesses that disgrace us.
Has the voluptuary any reason to complain of the sharp pains inflicted
by the gout, when experience, if he had but attended to its counsels,
has so often warned him, that the grossness of sensual indulgence must
inevitably amass in his machine those humours which give birth to the
agony he so acutely feels? Has the superstitious bigot any cause
for repining at the misery of his uncertain ideas, when an attentive
examination of that nature, he holds of such small account, would have
convinced him that the idols under whom he trembles, are nothing but
personifications of herself, disguised under some other name? It is
evidently by incertitude, discord, blindness, delirium, she chastises
those who refuse to, acknowledge the justice of her claims.

In the mean time, it cannot be denied, that a pure Theism, or what is
called Natural Religion, may not be preferable to superstition, in the
same manner as reform has banished many of the abuses of those countries
who have embraced it; but there is nothing short of an unlimited and
inviolable liberty of thought, that can permanently assure the repose
of the mind. The opinions of men are only dangerous when they are
restrained, or when it is imagined necessary to make others think as
we ourselves think. No opinions, not even those of superstition itself,
would be dangerous, if the superstitious did not think themselves
obliged to enforce their adoption, or had not the power to persecute
those who refused. It is this prejudice, which, for the benefit
of mankind, it is essential to annihilate; and if the thing be not
achievable, then the next object which philosophy may reasonably propose
to itself, will be to make the depositaries of power feel that
they never ought to permit their subjects to commit evil for either
superstitious or religious opinions. In this case, wars would be almost
unheard of amongst men: instead of beholding the melancholy spectacle of
man cutting the throat of his fellow man, because this cannot see
with his eyes, we shall witness him essentially labouring to his own
happiness by promoting that of his neighbour; cultivating the earth
in peace; quietly bringing forth the productions of nature, instead of
puzzling his brain with theological disputes, which can never be of the
smallest advantage, except to the priests. It must be a self-evident
truth, that an argument by men, upon that which is not accessible to
man, _could only have been invented by knaves, who, like the professors
of legerdemain, were determined to riot luxuriously on the ignorance and
credulity of mankind._





CHAP. VIII.

_Examination of the Advantages which result from Man's Notions on
the Divinity.--Of their Influence upon Mortals;--upon Politics;--upon
Science;--upon the Happiness of Nations, and that of Individuals._


The slender foundation of those ideas which men form to themselves of
their gods, must have appeared obvious in what has preceded; the proofs
which have been offered in support of the existence of immaterial
substances, have been examined; the want of harmony that exists in the
opinions upon this subject, which all concur in agreeing to be equally
impossible to be known to the inhabitants of the earth, has been shewn;
the incompatibility of the attributes with which, theology has clothed
incorporeity, has been explained. It has been proved, that the idols
which man sets up for adoration, have usually had their birth, either in
the bosom of misfortune, when ignorance was at a loss to account for the
calamities of the earth upon natural principles, or else have been the
shapeless fruit of melancholy, working upon an alarmed mind, coupled
with enthusiasm and an unbridled imagination. It has been pointed out
how these prejudices, transmitted by tradition from father to son,
grafting themselves upon infant minds, cultivated by education,
nourished by fear, corroborated by habit, have been maintained by
authority; perpetuated by example. In short, every thing must have
distinctly evidenced to us, that the ideas of the gods, so generally
diffused over the earth, has been little more than an universal delusion
of the human race. It remains now to examine if this error has been
useful.

It needs little to prove error can never be advantageous for mankind;
it is ever founded upon his ignorance, which is itself an acknowledged
evil; it springs out of the blindness of his mind to acknowledged
truths, and his want of experience, which it must be admitted are
prejudicial to his interests: the more importance, therefore, he
shall attach to these errors, the more fatal will be the consequences
resulting from their adoption. Bacon, the illustrious sophist, who first
brought philosophy out of the schools, had great reason when he said,
"The worst of all things is deified error." Indeed, the mischiefs
springing from superstition or religious errors, have been, and always
will be, the most terrible in their consequences--the most extensive in
their devastation. The more these errors are respected, the more play
they give to the passions; the more value is attached to them, the
more the mind is disturbed; the more they are insisted upon, the
more irrational they render those, who are seized with the rage for
proselytism; the more they are cherished, the greater influence they
have on the whole conduct of our lives. Indeed, there can he but little
likelihood that he who renounces his reason, in the thing which he
considers as most essential to his happiness, will listen to it on any
other occasion.

The slightest reflection will afford ample proof to this sad truth: in
those fatal notions which man has cherished on this subject, are to be
traced the true sources of all those prejudices, the fountain of all
those sorrows, to which he is the victim. Nevertheless, as we have
elsewhere said, utility ought to be the only standard, the uniform
scale, by which to form a judgment on either the opinions, the
institutions, the systems, or the actions of intelligent beings; it is
according to the measure of happiness which these things procure for us,
that we ought either to cover them with our esteem, or expose them to
our contempt. Whenever they are useless it is our duty to despise them;
as soon as they become pernicious, it is imperative to reject
them; reason imperiously prescribes that our detestation should be
commensurate with the evils which they cause.

Taking these principles for a land-mark, which are founded on our
nature, which must appear incontestible to every reasonable being, with
experience for a beacon, let us coolly examine the effects which these
notions have produced on the earth. We have already, in more than one
part of the work, given a glimpse of the doctrine of that morals, which
having only for object the preservation of man, and his conduct in
society, can have nothing, in common with imaginary systems: it has been
shewn, that the essence of a sensitive, intelligent, rational being,
properly meditated, would discover motives competent to moderate
the fury of his passions--to induce him to resist his vicious
propensities--to make him fly criminal habits--to invite him to render
himself useful to those beings for whom his own necessities have a
continual occasion; thus, to endear himself to his, fellow mortals, to
become respectable in his own esteem. These motives will unquestionably
be admitted to possess more solidity, to embrace greater, potency, to
involve more truth, than those which are borrowed from systems that want
stability; that assume more shapes than there are languages; that are
not tangible to the tact of humanity; that must of necessity present a
different perspective to all who shall view them through the medium of
prejudice. From what has been advanced, it will be felt that education,
which should make man in early life contract good habits, adopt
favorable dispositions, fortified by a respect for public opinion,
invigorated by ideas of decency, strengthened by wholesome laws,
corroborated by the desire of meriting the friendship of others,
stimulated by the fear of losing his own esteem, would be fully adequate
to accustom him to a laudable conduct, amply sufficient to divert
him from even those secret crimes, from which he is obliged to punish
himself by remorse; which costs him the most incessant labour to keep
concealed, by the dread of that shame, which must always follow their
publicity. Experience demonstrates in the clearest manner, that the
success of a first crime disposes him to commit a second; impunity leads
on to the third, this to a lamentable sequel that frequently closes a
wretched career with the most ignominious exhibition; thus the first
delinquency is the commencement of a habit: there is much less distance
from this to the hundredth, than from innocence to criminality: the man,
however, who lends himself to a series of bad actions, under even the
assurance of impunity, is most woefully deceived, because he cannot
avoid castigating himself: moreover, he cannot know at what point of
iniquity he shall stop. It has been shewn, that those punishments which
society, for its own preservation, has the right to inflict on those
who disturb its harmony, are more substantive, more efficacious, more
salutary in their effects, than all the distant torments held forth by
the priests; they intervene a more immediate obstacle to the stubborn
propensities of those obdurate wretches, who, insensible to the charms
of virtue, are deaf to the advantages that spring from its practice,
than can be opposed by the denunciations, held forth in an hereafter
existence, which he is at the same moment taught may be avoided by
repentance, that shall only take place when the ability to commit
further wrong has ceased. In short, one would be led to think it obvious
to the slightest reflection, that politics, founded upon the nature of
man, upon the principles of society, armed with equitable laws, vigilant
over morals, faithful in rewarding virtue, constant in visiting crime,
would be more suitable to clothe ethics with respectability, to throw a
sacred mantle over moral goodness, to lend stability to public virtue,
than any authority that can be derived from contested systems, the
conduct of whose professors frequently disgrace the doctrines they lay
down, which after all seldom do more than restrain those whose mildness
of temperament effectually prevents them from running into excess; those
who, already given to justice, require no coercion. On the other hand,
we have endeavoured to prove that nothing can be more absurd, nothing
actually more dangerous, than attributing human qualities to the
Divinity which cannot but choose to find themselves in a perpetual
contradiction.

Plato has said "that virtue consists in resembling God." But how is man
to resemble a being, who, it is acknowledged, is incomprehensible to
mankind--who cannot be conceived by any of those means, by which he is
alone capable of having perceptions? If this being, who is shewn to man
under such various aspects, who is said to owe nothing to his creatures,
is the author of all the good, as well as all the evil that takes
place, how can he be the model for the conduct of the human race
living together in society? At most he can only follow one side of the
character, because among his fellows, he alone is reputed virtuous who
does not deviate in his conduct from justice; who abstains from evil;
who performs with punctuality those duties he owes to his fellows. If it
be taken up, and insisted he is not the author of the evil, only of
the good, I say very well: that is precisely what I wanted to know;
you thereby acknowledge he is not the author of every thing; we are no
longer at issue; you are inconclusive to your own premises, consequently
ought not to demand an implicit reliance on what you choose to assert.

But, replies the subtle theologian, that is not the affair; you must
seek it in the creed I have set forth--in the religion of which I am a
pillar. Very good: Is it then actually in the system of fanatics, that
man should draw up his ideas of virtue? Is it in the doctrines which
these codes hold forth, that he is to seek for a model? Alas! do they
not pourtray their idols: under the most unwholesome colours; do they
not represent them as following their caprice in every thing, who love
or hate, who choose or reject, who approve or condemn according to their
whim, who delight in carnage, who send discord amongst men, who act
irrationally, who commit wantonness, who sport with their feeble
subjects, who lay continual snares for them, who rigorously interdict
the use of their reason? What, let us seriously ask, would become of
morality, if men proposed to themselves such portraits for models!

It was, however, for the most part, systems of this temper that nations
adopted. At was in consequence of these principles that what has been
called religion in most countries, was far removed from being
favourable to morality; on the contrary, it often shook it to its
foundation--frequently left no vestige of its existence. It divided
man, instead of drawing closer the bonds of union; in the place of
that mutual love, that reciprocity of succour, which ought ever to
distinguish human society, it introduced hatred and persecution; it made
them seize every opportunity to cut each other's throat for speculative
opinions, equally irrational; it engendered the most violent
heart-burnings--the most rancorous animosities--the most sovereign
contempt. The slightest difference in their received opinions rendered
them the most mortal enemies; separated their interests for ever; made
them despise each other; and seek every means to render their existence
miserable. For these theological conjectures, nations become opposed to
nations; the sovereign frequently armed himself against his subjects;
subjects waged war with their sovereign; citizens gave activity to the
most sanguinary hostility against each other; parents detested their
offspring; children plunged the pointed steel, the barbed arrow,
into the bosoms of those who gave them existence; husbands and wives
disunited, became the scourges of each other; relations forgetting the
ties of consanguinity, tore each other to pieces, or else reciprocally
consigned them to oblivion; all the bonds of society were rent asunder;
the social compact was broken up; society committed suicide: whilst in
the midst of this fearful wreck--regardless of the horrid shrieks called
forth by this dreadful confusion--unmindful of the havock going forward
on all sides--each pretended that he conformed to the views of his
idol, detailed to him by his priest--fulminated by the oracles. Far
from making himself any reproach, for the misery he spread abroad, each
lauded his own individual conduct; gloried in the crimes he committed in
support of his sacred cause.

The same spirit of maniacal fury pervaded the rites, the ceremonies,
the customs, which the worship, adopted by superstition, placed so much
above all the social virtues. In one country, tender mothers delivered
up their children to moisten with their innocent blood the altars of
their idols; in another, the people assembled, performed the ceremony
of consolation to their deities, for the outrages they committed against
them, and finished by immolating to their anger human victims; in
another, a frantic enthusiast lacerated his body, condemned himself for
life to the most rigorous tortures, to appease the wrath of his gods.
The Jupiter of the Pagans was a lascivious monster; the Moloch of the
Phenicians was a cannibal; the savage idol of the Mexican requires
thousands of mortals to bleed on his shrine, in order to satisfy his
sanguinary appetite.

Such are the models superstition holds out to the imitation of man; is
it then surprising that the name of these despots became the signal for
mad-brained enthusiasm to exercise its outrageous fury; the standard
under which cowardice wreaked its cruelty; the watchword for the
inhumanity of nations to muster their barbarous strength; a sound which
spreads terror wherever its echo could reach; a continual pretext for
the most barefaced breaches of public decorum; for the most shameless
violation of the moral duties? It was the frightful character men gave
of their gods, that banished kindness from their hearts--virtue from
their conduct--felicity from their habitations--reason from their mind:
almost every where it was some idol, who was disturbed by the mode in
which unhappy mortals thought; this armed them with poignards against
each other; made them stifle the cries of nature; rendered them
barbarous to themselves; atrocious to their fellow creatures: in short,
they became irrational, breathed forth vengeance, outraged humanity,
every time that, instigated by the priest, they were inclined to imitate
the gods of their idolatry, to display their zeal, to render themselves
acceptable in their temples.

It is not, then, in such systems, man ought to seek either for models of
virtue, or rules of conduct suitable to live in society. He needs human
morality, founded upon his own nature; built upon invariable experience;
submitted to reason. The ethics of superstition will always he
prejudicial to the earth; cruel masters cannot be well served, but by
those who resemble them: what then becomes of the great advantages which
have been imagined resulted to man, from the notions which have
been unceasingly infused into him of his gods? We see that almost
all nations acknowledge them; yet, to conform themselves
to their views, they trampled under foot the clearest rights of
nature--the most evident duties of humanity; they appeared to act as
if it was only by madness the most incurable--by folly the most
preposterous--by the most flagitious crimes, committed with an unsparing
hand, that they hoped to draw down upon themselves the favor of
heaven--the blessings of the sovereign intelligence they so much boast
of serving with unabated zeal; with the most devotional fervor; with the
most unlimited obedience. As soon, therefore, as the priests give them
to understand their deities command the commission of crime, or whenever
there is a question of their respective creeds, although they are wrapt
in the most impenetrable obscurity, they make it a duty with themselves
to unbridle their rancour--to give loose to the most furious passions;
they mistake the clearest precepts of morality; they credulously
believe the remission of their own sins will be the reward of their
transgressions against their neighbour. Would it not be better to be
an inhabitant of Soldania in Africa, where never yet form of worship
entered, or the name of God resounded, than thus to pollute the land
with superstitious castigation--with the enmity of priests against each
other?

Indeed, it is not generally in those revered mortals, spread over the
earth to announce the oracles of the gods, that will be found the most
sterling virtues. These men, who think themselves so enlightened, who
call themselves the ministers of heaven, frequently preach nothing but
hatred, discord, and fury in its name: the fear of the gods, far from
having a salutary influence over their own morals, far from submitting
them to a wholesome discipline, frequently do nothing more than increase
their avarice, augment their ambition, inflate their pride, extend their
covetousness, render them obstinately stubborn, and harden their hearts.
We may see them unceasingly occupied in giving birth to the most lasting
animosities, by their unintelligible disputes. We see them hostilely
wrestling with the sovereign power, which they contend is subordinate to
their own. We see them arm the chiefs of nations against the legitimate
magistrates; distribute to the credulous multitude the most mortal
weapons, to massacre each other in the prosecution of those futile
controversies, which sacerdotal vanity clothes with the most interesting
importance. Do these men, who advance the beauty of their theories, who
menace the people with eternal vengeance, avail themselves of their own
marvellous notions to moderate their pride--to abate their vanity--to
lessen their cupidity--to restrain their turbulence--to bring their
vindictive humours under control? Are they, even in those countries
where their empire is established upon pillars of brass, fixed on
adamantine rocks, decorated with the most curious efforts of human
ingenuity--where the sacred mantle of public opinion shields them with
impunity--where credulity, planted in the hot-bed of ignorance, strikes
the roots of their authority into the very centre of the earth; are
they, I would ask, the enemies to debauchery, the foes to intemperance,
the haters of those excesses which they insist a severe God interdicts
to his adorers? On the contrary, are they not seen to be emboldened in
crime; intrepid in iniquity; committing the most shameful atrocities;
giving free scope to their irregularities; indulging their hatred;
glutting their vengeance; exercising the most savage cruelties on the
miserable victims to their cowardly suspicion? In short, it may be
safely advanced, without fear of contradiction, that scarcely any
thing is more frequent, than that those men who announce these terrible
creeds--who make men tremble under their yoke--who are unceasingly
haranguing upon the eternity and dreadful nature of their
punishments--who declare themselves the chosen ministers of their
oracular laws--who make all the duties of morality centre in themselves;
are those whom superstition least contributes to render virtuous; are
men who possess the least milk of human kindness; the fewest feelings
of tenderness; who are the most intolerant to their neighbours; the most
indulgent to themselves; the most unsociable in their habits; the most
licentious in their manners; the most unforgiving in their disposition.
In contemplating their conduct, we should be tempted to accredit, that
they were perfectly undeceived with respect to the idols whom they
serve; that no one was less the dupe to those menaces which they so
solemnly pronounce in their name, than themselves. In the hands of the
priests of almost all countries, their divinities resembled the head of
Medusa, which, without injuring him who shewed it, petrified all others.
The priests are generally the most crafty of men, and many among them
are substantively wicked.

Does the idea of these avenging, these remunerating systems, impose upon
some princes of the earth, who found their titles, who rest their power
upon them; who avail themselves of their terrific power to intimidate
their subjects; to make the people, often rendered unhappy by their
caprice, hold them in reverence? Alas! the theological, the supernatural
ideas, adopted by the pride of some sovereigns, have done nothing more
than corrupt politics--than metamorphose, them into an abject tyranny.
The ministers of these idols, always tyrants themselves, or the
cherishers of despots, are unceasingly crying out to monarchs that
they are the images of the Divinity. Do they not inform the credulous
multitude that heaven is willing they should groan under the most cruel
bondage; writhe under the most multifarious injustice; that to suffer
is their inheritance; that their princes have the indubitable right
to appropriate the goods, dispose of the persons, coerce the liberty;
command the lives of their subjects? Do not some of these chiefs of
nations, thus poisoned in the name of deified idols, imagine that every
indulgence of their wayward humour is freely permitted to them? At once
competitors, representatives, and rivals of the celestial powers, do
they not, in some instances, exercise after their example the most
arbitrary despotism? Do they not, in the intoxication into which
sacerdotal flattery has plunged them, think that like their idols, they
are not accountable to man for their actions, that they owe nothing
to the rest of mortals, that they are bound by no bonds but their own
unruly will, to their miserable subjects?

Then it is evident that it is to theological notions, to the loose
flattery of its ministers, that are to be ascribed the despotism,
the tyrannical injustice, the corruption, the licentiousness of some
princes, and the blindness of those people, to whom in heaven's name
they interdict the love of liberty; who are forbid to labour effectually
to their own happiness; to oppose themselves to violence, however
flagrant; to exercise their natural rights, however conducive to their
welfare. These intoxicated rulers, even while adoring their avenging
gods, in the act of bending others to their worship, do not scruple to
outrage them by their irregularities--by their want of moral virtue.
What morality is this, but that of men who offer themselves as living
images, as animated representatives of the Divinity? Are those monarchs,
then, who are habitually unjust, who wrest without remorse the bread
from the hands of a famished people, to administer to the profligacy of
their insatiable courtiers--to pamper the luxury of the vile instruments
of their enormities, atheists? Are, then, those ambitious conquerors,
who not contented with oppressing their own slaves, carry desolation,
spread misery, deal out death among the subjects of others, atheists?
Do we not witness in some of those potentates who rule over nations by
_divine right_, (a patent of power, which every usurper claims as his
own) ambitious mortals, whose exterminating fury nothing can arrest;
with hearts perfectly insensible to the sorrows of mankind; with minds
without energy; with souls without virtue; who neglect their most
evident duties, with which they do not even deign to become acquainted;
powerful men, who insolently set themselves above the rules of equity;
knaves who make a sport of honesty? Generally speaking, is there
the least sincerity in the alliances which these rulers form among
themselves? Do they ever last longer than for the season of their
convenience? Do we find substantive virtues adorn those who most
abjectly submit themselves to all the follies of superstition? Do they
not tax each other as violators of property--as faithlessly aggrandizing
themselves at the expence of their neighbour; in fact, do we not see
them endeavouring to surprise, anxious to over-reach, ready to injure
each other, without being arrested by the menaces of their creeds, or at
all yielding to the calls of humanity? In general, they are too haughty
to be humane; too inflated with ambition to be virtuous; they make a
code for themselves, which they cannot help violating. Charles the Fifth
used to say, "that being a warrior, it was impossible for him to have
either conscience or religion." His general, the Marquis de Piscaire,
observed, that "nothing was more difficult, than to serve at one and the
same time, the god _Mars_ and _Jesus Christ_." Indeed, nothing can be
more opposed to the true spirit of Christianity than the profession
of arms; notwithstanding the Christian princes have the most numerous
armies, and are in perpetual hostility with each other: perhaps the
clergy themselves do not hold forth the most peaceable examples of the
doctrine they teach; they sometimes wrangle for tithes, dispute
for trifling enjoyments, quarrel for worldly opinion, with as much
determined obstinacy, with as, much settled rancour, with as little
charity, as could possibly inhabit the bosom of the most unenlightened
Pagan, whose ignorance they despise--whose superstition they rank as the
grossest effort of idolatrous debasement. It might almost admit of
doubt whether they would be quite pleased to see the mild maxims of the
Evangelists, the true Christian meekness, rigidly followed--whether they
might not think the complete working of their own system would clash
with their own immediate interests? Is it a demonstrable axiom that
the ministers of the Christian faith do not think soldiers are beings
extremely well calculated to give efficacy to their doctrine--solidity
to their advantages--durability to their claims? Be this as it may,
priests as well as monarchs have occasionally waged war for the most
futile interests; impoverished a people from the anti-christian motives;
wrested from each other with all the venom of furies, the bloody remnant
of the nations they have laid waste; in fact, to judge by their conduct
on certain occasions, it might have been a question if they were not
disputing who should have the credit of making the greater number of
miserable beings upon earth. At length, either wearied with their own
fury, exhausted by their own devouring passions, or compelled by the
stern hand of necessity, they have permitted suffering humanity to take
breath; they have allowed the miseries concomitant on war, to cease for
an instant their devastating havoc; they have made peace in the name of
that God, whose decrees, as attested by themselves, they have been so
wantonly outraging,--still ready, however, to violate their most solemn
pledges, when the smallest interest could offer them a pretext.

Thus it will be obvious, in what manner the idea of the Divinity
operates on the priest, as well as upon those who are called his images;
who insist they have no account to render but to him alone. Among these
representatives of the Divine Majesty, it is with difficulty during
thousands of years we find some few who have equity, sensibility,
virtue, or even the most ordinary talent. History points out some
of these vicegerents of the Deity, who in the exacerbation of their
delirious rage, have insisted upon displacing him, by exalting
themselves into gods; and exacting the most obsequious worship; who have
inflicted the most cruel torments on those who have opposed themselves
to their madness, and refused to acknowledge the Divinity of their
persons. These men, whose licentiousness knew no limits, from the
impunity which attended their actions, notwithstanding they had learned
to despise public opinion, to set decency at defiance, to indulge in the
most shameless vice: in spite of the power they possessed; of the homage
they received; of the terror they inspired: although they had learned
to counterfeit, with great effect, the whole catalogue of human virtues;
found it impossible, even with the addition of their enormous wealth,
wrenched from the necessities of laborious honesty, to counterfeit the
animating blush, which modest merit brings forth, when eulogized by some
happy being whose felicity he has occasioned, by following the great
law of nature--which says, "_love thy neighbour as thyself_." On the
contrary, we see them grow listless with satiety; disgusted with their
own inordinate indulgences; obliged to recur to strange pleasures, to
awaken their benumbed faculties; to run headlong into the most costly
follies, in the fruitless attempt to keep up the activity of their
souls, the spring of which they had for ever relaxed, by the profligacy
of their enjoyment.

History, although it describes a multitude of vicious rulers, whose
irregular propensities were of the most mischievous consequence to the
human race, nevertheless, shews us but few who have been atheists. The
annals of nations, on the contrary, offer to our view great numbers of
superstitious princes, governed by their mistresses, led by unworthy
favorites, leagued with priests, who passed their lives plunged in
luxury; indulging the most effeminate pursuits; following the most
childish pleasures; pleased with ostentatious show; slaves even to the
fashion of the vestments that covered them; but strangers to every manly
virtue; insensible to the sorrows of their subjects; although uniformly
good to their hungry courtiers, invariably kind to those cringing
sycophants who surrounded their persons, and poisoned their ears with
the most fulsome flattery: in short, superstitious persecutors, who,
to render themselves acceptable to their priests, to expiate their
own shameful irregularities, added to all their other vices that of
tyrannizing over the mind, of fettering the conscience, of destroying
their subjects for their opinions, when they were in hostility with
their own received doctrines. Indeed, superstition in princes frequently
allied itself with the most horrid crimes; they have almost all
professed religion, although very few of them have had a just knowledge
of morality--have practiced any useful substantive virtue. Superstitious
notions, on the contrary, often serve to render them more blind, to
augment their evil inclinations; to set them at a greater distance from
moral goodness. They for the most part believe themselves assured of the
favor of heaven; they think they faithfully serve their gods, that the
anger of their divinities is appeased, if for a short season they
shew themselves attached to futile customs--lend themselves to absurd
rites--perform some ridiculous duties, which superstition imposes on
them, with a view to obtain their assistance in the prosecution of its
own plans, very rarely in strict unison with their immediate interest.
Nero, the cruel, sanguinary, matricidal Nero, his hands yet reeking with
the blood of that unfortunate being who had borne him in her womb, who
had, with agonizing pains, given the monster to the world that
plunged the dagger in her heart, was desirous to be initiated into the
_Eleusinian Mysteries_. The odious Constantine himself, found in the
priests, accomplices disposed to expiate his crimes. The infamous
Philip, whose ungovernable ambition caused him to be called the daemon
of the south, whilst he assassinated his wife and son, caused the
throats of the wretched Batavians to be cut for their religious
opinions. It is thus, that the priests of superstition sometimes
persuade sovereigns they can atone for crimes, by committing others of a
more atrocious kind--of an increased magnitude.

It would be fair to conclude, from the conduct of so many princes, who
had so much superstition, but so slender a portion of virtue, that the
notion of their gods, far from being useful to them, only served to
render them wore corrupt--to make them more abominable than they already
were; that the idea of an avenging power, placed in the perspective
of futurity, imposed but little restraint on the turbulence of deified
tyrants, who were sufficiently powerful not to fear the reproaches of
their subjects--who had the insensibility to be deaf to the censure of
their fellows--who were gifted with an obduracy of soul, that prevented
their having compassion for the miseries of mankind, from whom they
fancied themselves so pre-eminently distinguished; which, in fact, they
were, if crime can be allowed for the standard of distinction. Neither
heaven nor earth furnishes a balsam of sufficient efficacy to heal the
inveterate wounds of beings cankered to this degree: for such chronic
diseases, there is "no balm in Gilead:" there is no curb sufficiently
coercive to rein in the passions, to which superstition itself
gives activity; which only makes them more unruly; renders them more
inveterately rash. Whenever men flatter themselves with easily expiating
their sins--when they soothe themselves with the consolitary idea of
appeasing the anger of the gods by a show of earnestness, they then
deliver themselves up, with the most unrestrained freedom, to the bent
of their criminal pursuits. The most dissolute men are frequently in
appearance extremely attached to superstition: it furnishes them with a
means of compensating by ceremonies, that of which they are deficient
in morals: it is much easier for them to adopt a faith, to believe in
a doctrine, to conform themselves to certain rituals, than to renounce
their habits, resist their passions, or relinquish the pursuit of that
pleasure, which results to unprincipled minds from the prosecution of
the most diabolical schemes.

Under chiefs, depraved even by superstition, nations continued
necessarily to be corrupted. The great conformed themselves to the
vices of their masters; the example of these distinguished men, whom the
uninformed erroneously believe to be happy, was followed by the people;
courts thus became the sinks from whence issued the epidemic contagion
of licentious indulgence. The law only held forth pictures of honesty;
the dispensers of jurisprudence were partial, partook of the mania of
the times, were labouring under the general disease; Justice suffered
her balance to rust, occasionally removed her bandage, although she
always wore it in the presence of the poor; genuine ideas of equity
had grown into disuse; distinct notions of right and wrong became
troublesome and unfashionable; education was neglected; it served only
to produce prejudiced beings, grounded in ignorance--devotees, always
ready to injure themselves--fanatics, eager to shew their zeal ever
willing to annoy their unfortunate neighbours. Superstition, sustained
by tyranny, ousted every other feeling, hoodwinked its destined victims,
rendered those tractable whom it had the intention to despoil. Whoever
doubts of these truisms, has only to turn over the pages of history,
he will find myriads of evidence to much more than is here stated.
Machiavel, in his _Political Discourses upon Titus Livius_, labours the
point hard, to shew the utility of superstition to the Roman Republic:
unfortunately, however, the examples he brings forward in its support,
incontestibly prove that none but the senate profited by the infatuation
of the people, who availed itself of their blindness more effectually to
bend them to its yoke.

Thus it was that nations, destitute of equitable laws, deficient in the
administration of justice, submitted to irrational government, continued
in slavery by the monarch, chained up in ignorance by the priest, for
want of enlightened institutions, deprived of reasonable education,
became corrupt, superstitious, and flagitious. The nature of man, the
just interests of society, the real advantage of the sovereign, the true
happiness of the people, once mistaken, were completely lost sight
of; the morality of nature, founded upon the essence of man living
in society, was equally unknown; lay buried under an enormous load
of prejudice, that no common efforts were competent to remove. It was
entirely forgotten that man has wants; that society was formed that he
might, with greater security, facilitate the means of satisfying
them; that government, to be legitimate, ought to have for object, the
happiness--for end, the means of maintaining the indivisibility of the
community; that consequently it ought to give activity to springs, full
play to motives suitable to have a favorable influence over sensible
beings. It was quite overlooked, that virtue faithfully rewarded,
vice as regularly visited, had an elastic force, of which the public
authorities could efficaciously avail themselves, to determine their
citizens to blend their interests; to work out their own felicity, by
labouring to the happiness of the body of which they were members. The
social virtues were unknown, the _amor patriae_ became a chimera. Men
thus associated, thus blinded by their superstitious bias, credulously
believed their own immediate interest consisted in injuring each other;
they were solely occupied with meriting the favor of those men, who
fatally accreditted the doctrine of clerical flatterers, of silver-toned
courtiers, which taught that they wore distinctly interested in injuring
the whole.

This is the mode in which the human heart has become perverted; here
is the genuine source of moral evil; the hot-bed of that epidemical
depravity, the cause of that hereditary corruption, the fountain of
that inveterate delinquency, which pervaded the earth; rendering the
abundance of nature nothing better than a curse; blasting the fairest
prospects of humanity; degrading man below the beast of the forest;
sinking his intellectual faculties in the most savage barbarity;
rendering him the vile instrument of lawless ambition; the wretched tool
by which the fetters of his species were firmly rivetted; obliging him
to moisten his harvest with the bitter tears of the most abject slavery.
For the purpose of remedying so many crying evils, grown insupportable,
recourse was had to new superstitions. Notwithstanding this alone had
produced them, it was still imagined, that the menaces of heaven would
restrain passions which every thing conspired to rouse in all hearts;
fatuity persuaded monarchs that ideal, metaphysical barriers, terrible
fables, distant phantoms, would be competent to curb those inordinate
desires, to rein in that impetuous propensity to crime, that rendered
society incommodious to itself; credulity fancied that invisible powers
would be more efficacious, than those visible motives that evidently
invited mortals to the commission of mischief. Every thing was
understood to be achieved, by occupying man's mind with gloomy chimeras,
with vague, undefinable terrors, with avenging angels; and politics
madly believed that its own interests grew out of the blind submission
of its subjects, to the ministers of these delusive doctrines.

What was the result? Nations had only sacerdotal laws; theological
morality; accommodated to the interests of the hierarchy--suitable to
the views of subtle priests: who substituted reveries for realities,
opinions for reason, rank fallacies for sterling truths; who made
ceremonies supply the place of virtue; a pious blindness supersede the
necessity of an enlightened understanding; undermined the sacredness
of oaths, and placed fanaticism on the altars of sociability. By a
necessary consequence of that confidence which the people were compelled
to give to the ministers of superstition, two distinct authorities
were established in each state, who were substantially at variance, in
continual hostility with each other. The priest fought the sovereign
with the formidable weapon of opinion; it generally proved sufficiently
powerful to shake the most established thrones. Thus, although the
hierarchy was unceasingly admonishing the people to submit themselves
to the divine authority of their sovereigns, because it was derived
immediately from heaven, yet, whenever it so happened that the monarch
did not repay their advocacy, by blindly yielding his own authority to
the supervisance of the priests, these made no scruple of threatening
him with loss of his temporalities; fulminated their anathemas,
interdicted his dominions, and sometimes went the length of absolving
his subjects from allegiance. Superstition, in general, only upholds
despotism, that it may with greater certainty direct its blows against
its enemies; it overthrows it whenever it is found to clash with its
interests. The ministers of invisible powers preach up obedience to
visible powers, only when they find these humbly devoted to themselves.
Thus the sovereign was never at rest, but when abjectly cringing to his
priest, he tractably received his lessons--lent himself to his frantic
zeal--and piously enabled him to carry on the furious occupation of
proselytism. These priests, always restless, full of ambition, burning
with intolerance, frequently excited the sovereign to ravage his own
states--encouraged him to tyranny: when, pursuing this sacerdotal mania,
he feared to have outraged humanity, to have incurred the displeasure
of heaven, he was quickly reconciled to himself, upon promise of
undertaking some distant expedition, for the purpose of bringing some
unfortunate nation within the pale of their own particular creed. When
the two rival powers united themselves, morality gained nothing by the
junction; the people were neither more happy, nor more virtuous; their
morals, their welfare, their liberty, were equally overwhelmed by the
combined powers. Thus, superstitious princes always felt interested in
the maintenance of theological opinions, which were rendered flattering
to their vanity, favorable to their power. Like the grateful perfumes
of Arabia, that are used to cover the ill scent of a deadly poison, the
priest lulled them into security by administering to their sensualities;
these, in return, made common cause with him: fully persuaded that the
superstition which they themselves adopted, must be the most wholesome
for their subjects, most conducive to their interests, those who refused
to receive the boon, thus gratuitously forced upon them, were treated
as enemies, held up to public scorn, and rendered the victims of
punishment. The most superstitious sovereign became, either politically
or through piety, the executioner of one part of his slaves; he was
taught to believe it a sacred duty to tyrannize over the mind--to
overwhelm the refractory--to crush the enemy of his priest, under an
idea that he was therefore hostile to his own authority. In cutting the
throats of these unfortunate sceptics, he imagined he at once discharged
his obligations to heaven, and gave security to his own power. He did,
not perceive, that by immolating victims to his priest, he in fact
strengthened the arm of his most formidable foe--the real enemy to
his authority--the rival of his greatness--the least subjected of his
subjects.

But the prevalence of these false notions, with which both the minds of
the sovereign and the people were prepossessed, it was found that every
thing in society concurred to gratify the avidity, to bolster the pride,
to glut the vengeance of the sacerdotal order: every where, it was to be
observed, that the most turbulent, the most dangerous, the most useless
men, were those who were the most amply rewarded. The strange spectacle
presented itself, of beholding those who were born the bitterest enemies
to sovereign power, cherished by its fostering care--honoured at its
hands: the most rebellious subjects were looked upon as the pillars of
the throne; the corrupters of the people were rendered the exclusive
masters of education; the least laborious of the citizens were richly
rewarded for their idleness--munificently remunerated for the most
futile speculations--held in respect for their fatal discord--gorged
with benefits for their inefficacious prayers: they swept off the fat of
the land for their expiations, so destructive to morals, so calculated
to give permanency to crime. Thus, by a strange fatuity, the viper that
could, and frequently did, inflict the most deadly sting on the bosom of
confiding credulity, was pampered and nourished by the unsuspecting hand
of its destined victim.

For thousands of years, nations as well as sovereigns were emulously
despoiling themselves to enrich the expounders of superstition; to
enable them to wallow in abundance: they loaded them with honors,
decorated them with titles, invested them with privileges, granted them
immunities, for no other purpose than to make them bad citizens, unruly
subjects, mischievous beings, who revenged upon society the advantages
they had received. What was the fruit that kings and people gathered
from their imprudent kindness? What was the harvest these men yielded
to their labour? Did princes really become more powerful; were nations
rendered more happy; did they grow more flourishing; did men become more
rational? No! Unquestionably, the sovereign lost the greater portion
of his authority; he was the slave of his priest; and when he wished to
preserve the remnant that was left, or to recover some part of what
had been wrested from him, he was obliged to be continually wrestling
against the men his own indulgence, his own weakness, had furnished
with means, to set his authority at defiance: the riches of society were
lavished to support the idleness, maintain the splendour, satiate the
luxury of the most useless, the most arrogant, the most dangerous of its
members.

Did the morals of the people improve under the pastoral care of these
guides, who were so liberally rewarded? Alas! the superstitious never
knew them, their fanatic creed had usurped the place of every virtue;
its ministers, satisfied with upholding the doctrines, with preserving
the ceremonies so useful to their own interests, only invented
fictitious crimes--multiplied painful penances--instituted absurd
customs; to the end, that they might turn even the transgressions of
their slaves to their own immediate profit. Every where they exercised
a monopoly of expiatory indulgences; they made a lucrative traffic of
pretended pardons from above; they established a tariff, according to
which crime was no longer contraband, but freely admitted upon paying
the customs. Those subjected to the heaviest impost, were always such as
the hierarchy judged most inimical to its own stability; you might at a
very easy rate obtain permission to attack the dignity of the sovereign,
to undermine the temporal power, but it was enormously dear to be
allowed to touch even the hem of the sacerdotal garments. Thus heresy,
sacrilege, &c. were considered crimes of a much deeper dye, that fixed
an indelible stain on the perpetrator, alarmed the mind of the priestly
order, much more seriously than the most inveterate villainy, the
most determined delinquency, which more immediately involved the true
interests of society. Thence the ideas of the people were completely
overturned, imaginary crimes terrified them, while real crimes had
no effect upon their obdurate hearts. A man, whose opinions were at
variance with the received doctrines, whose abstract systems did not
harmonize with those of his priest, was more loathed than a corrupter of
youth; more abhorred than an assassin; more hated than an oppressor; was
held in greater contempt than a robber; was punished with greater
rigor than the seducer of innocence. The acme of all wickedness, was
to despise that which the priest was desirous should be looked upon as
sacred. The celebrated Gordon says, "the most abominable of heresies,
is to believe there is any other god than the clergy." The civil laws
concurred to aid this confusion of ideas; they inflicted the most
serious penalties, punished in the most atrocious manner those unknown
crimes which imagination had magnified into the most flagitious actions;
heretics, infidels, were brought to the stake, and publicly burnt with
the utmost refinement of cruelty; the brain was tortured to find means
of augmenting the sufferings of the unhappy victims to sacerdotal fury;
whilst calumniators of innocence, adulterers, depredators of every
description, knaves of all kinds, were at a trifling cost absolved from
their past iniquity, and opened a new account of future delinquency.

Under such instructors what could become of youth? The period of
juvenility was shamefully sacrificed to superstition. Man, from his
earliest infancy, was poisoned with unintelligible notions; fed with
mysteries; crammed with fables; drenched with doctrines, in which he was
compelled to acquiesce without being able to comprehend. His brain was
disturbed with phantoms, alarmed with chimeras, rendered frantic by
visions. His genius was cramped with puerile pursuits, mechanical
devotions, sacred trifles. Superstition at length so fascinated
the human mind, made such mere automata of mankind, that the people
consented to address their gods in a dialect they did not themselves
understand: women occupied their whole lives in singing Latin,
without comprehending a word of the language; the people assisted very
punctually, without being competent to explain any part of the
worship, under an idea that it was taken kindly they should thus weary
themselves; that it was sufficient to shew their persons in the sacred
temples, which were beautifully decorated to fascinate their senses.
Thus man wasted his most precious moments in absurd customs; spent his
life in idle ceremonies; his bead was crowded with sophisms, his mind
was loaded with errors; intoxicated with fanaticism, he was the declared
enemy to reason; for ever prepossessed against truth, the energy of
his soul was resisted by shackles too ponderous for its elasticity;
the spring gave way, and he sunk into sloth and wretchedness: from this
humiliating state he could never again soar; he could no longer become
useful either to himself or to his associates: the importance he
attached to his imaginary science, or rather the systematic ignorance
which served for its basis, rendered it impossible for the most fertile
soil to produce any thing but thorns; for the best proportioned tree to
yield any thing but crabs.

Does a superstitious, sacerdotal education, form intrepid citizens,
intelligent fathers of families, kind husbands, just masters, faithful
servants, loyal subjects, pacific associates? No! it either makes
peevish enthusiasts or morose devotees, who are incommodious to
themselves, vexatious to others: men without principle, who quickly
pour the waters of Lethe over the terrors with which they have been
disturbed; who know no moral obligation, who respect no virtue. Thus
superstition, elevated above every thing else, held forth the fanatical
dogma, "Better to obey the gods than men;" in consequence, man believed
he must revolt against his prince, detach himself from his wife, detest
his children, estrange himself from his friends, cut the throats of his
fellow-citizens, every time they questioned the veracity of his faith:
in short, a superstitious education, when it had its effect, only served
to corrupt the juvenile heart--to fascinate youthful winds with its
pageantry--to degrade the human soul--to make man mistake the duties
he owed to himself, his obligations to society, his relations with the
beings by whom he was surrounded.

What advantages might not nations have reaped, if they would have
employed on useful objects, those riches, which ignorance has so
shamefully lavished on the expounders of superstition; which fatuity has
bestowed on the most useless ceremonies? What might not have been the
progress of genius, if it had enjoyed those ample remunerations, granted
during so many ages to those priests who at all times opposed its
elevation? What perfection might not science have attained, what height
might not the arts have reached, if they had had the same succours that
were held forth with a prodigal hand to enthusiasm and futility? Upon
what rocks might not morality have been rested, what solid foundations
might not politics have found, with what majestic grandeur might not
truth have illumined the human horizon, if they had experienced the
same fostering cares, the same animating countenance, the same
public sanction, which accompanied imposture--which was showered
upon fanaticism--which shielded falsehood from the rude attack of
investigation--which gave impunity to its ministers?

It is then obvious, that superstitious, theological notions, have not
produced any of those solid advantages that have been held forth; if may
be doubted whether they were not always, and ever will remain, contrary
to healthy politics, opposed to sound morality; they frequently change
sovereigns into restless, jealous, mischievous, divinities; they
transform their subjects into envious, wicked slaves, who by idle
pageantry, by futile ceremonies, by an exterior acquiescence in
unintelligible opinions, imagine themselves amply compensated for
the evil they commit against each other. Those who have never had
the confidence to examine these sublimated opinions; those who feel
persuaded that their duties spring out of these abstruse doctrines;
those who are actually commanded to live in peace, to cherish each
other, to lend mutual assistance, to abstain from evil, and to do good,
presently lose sight of these sterile speculations, as soon as present
interests, ungovernable passions, inveterate habits, or irresistible
whims, hurry them away. Where are we to look for that equity, that union
of interest, that peace, that concord, which these unsettled notions,
supported by superstition, backed with the full force of authority,
promise to the societies placed under their surveillance? Under the
influence of corrupt courts, of time-serving priests, who, either
impostors or fanatics, are never in harmony with each other, are only
to be discerned vicious men, degraded by ignorance--enslaved by
criminal habits--swayed by transient interests--guided by shameful
pleasures--sunk in a vortex of dissipation; who do not even think of
the Divinity. In despite of his theological ideas, the subtle courtier
continues to weave his dark plots, labours to gratify his ambition,
seeks to satisfy his avidity, to indulge his hatred, to wreak his
vengeance, to give full swing to all the passions inherent to the
perversity of his being: maugre that frightful hell, of which the idea
alone makes her tremble, the woman of intrigue persists in her amours;
continues her harlotry, revels in her adulteries. Notwithstanding their
dissipated conduct, their dissolute manners, their entire want of moral
principle, the greater part of those who swarm in courts, who crowd in
cities, would recoil with horror, if the smallest doubt was exhibited of
the truth of that creed which they outrage every moment, of their
lives. What advantage, then, has resulted to the human race from those
opinions, so universal, at the same time so barren? They seem rarely to
have had any other kind of influence than to serve as a pretext for the
most dangerous passions--as a mantle of security for the most criminal
indulgences. Does not the superstitious despot, who would scruple to
omit the least part of the ceremonies of his persuasion, on quitting
the altars at which he has been sacrificing, on leaving the temple where
they have been delivering the oracles and terrifying crime in the name
of heaven, return to his vices, reiterate his injustice, increase his
political crimes, augment his transgressions against society? Issuing
from the sacred fane, their ears still ringing with the doctrines they
have heard, the minister returns to his vexations, the courtier to
his intrigues, the courtezan to her prostitution, the publican to his
extortions, the merchant to his frauds, the trader to his tricks.

Will it be pretended that those cowardly assassins, those dastardly
robbers, those miserable criminals, whom evil institutions, the
negligence of government, the laxity of morals, continually multiply;
from whom the laws, in many instances too sanguinary, frequently wrest
their existence; will it, I say, be pretended that the malefactors who
regularly furnish the gibbets, who daily crowd the scaffolds, are either
incredulous or atheists? No! Unquestionably, these unfortunate beings,
these wretched outcasts, these children of turpitude, firmly believe in
God; his name has been repeated to them from their infancy; they have
been informed of the punishment destined for sinners: they have been
habituated in early life to tremble at his judgments; nevertheless they
have outraged society; their unruly passions, stronger than their fears,
not having been coerced by visible motives, have not, for much more
cogent reasons, been restrained by those which are invisible: distant,
concealed punishments will never be competent to arrest those excesses
which present and assured torments are incapable of preventing.

In short, does not every day's experience furnish us the lesson,
that men, persuaded that an all-seeing Deity views them, hears them,
encompasses them, do not on that account arrest their progress when
the furor exists, either for gratifying their licentious passions, or
committing the most dishonest actions? The same individual who would
fear the inspection of the meanest of his fellows, whom the presence of
another man would prevent from committing a bad action, from delivering
himself up to some scandalous vice, freely sins, cheerfully lends
himself to crime, when he believes no eyes beholds him but those of his
God. What purpose, then, does the conviction of the omniscience, the
ubiquity, the omnipotence of the Divinity answer, if it imposes
much less on the conduct of the human being, than the idea of being
overlooked by the least of his fellow men? He who would not have the
temerity to commit a crime, even in the presence of a child, will make
no scruple of boldly committing it, when he shall have only his God for
a witness. These facts, which are indubitable, ill serve for a reply to
those who insist that the fear of God is more suitable to restrain the
actions of men, than wholesome laws, with strict discipline. When man
believes he has only his God to dread, he commonly permits nothing to
interrupt his course.

Those persons who do not in the least suspect the power of superstitious
notions, who have the most perfect reliance on their efficacy, very
rarely, however, employ them, when they are desirous to influence the
conduct of those who are subordinate to them; when they are disposed
to re-conduct them to the paths of reason. In the advice which a father
gives to his vicious, criminal son, he rather represents to him the
present temporal inconveniencies to which his conduct exposes him, than
the danger he encounters in offending an avenging God; he points out to
him the natural consequences of his irregularities, his health damaged
by debaucheries; the loss of his reputation by criminal pursuits; the
ruin of his fortune by gambling; the punishments of society, &c. Thus
the DEICOLIST himself, on the most important occasions of life, reckons
more stedfastly upon the force of natural motives, than upon those
supernatural inducements furnished by superstition: the same man, who
vilifies the motives that an atheist can have to do good and abstain
from evil, makes use of them himself on this occasion, because he feels
they are the most substantive he can employ.

Almost all men believe in an avenging and remunerating God; yet nearly
in all countries the number of the wicked bears a larger proportion
than that of the good. If the true cause of this general corruption be
traced, it will be more frequently found in the superstitious notions
inculcated by theology, than in those imaginary sources which the
various superstitions have invented to account for human depravity. Man
is always corrupt wherever he is badly governed; wherever superstition
deifies the sovereign, his government becomes unworthy: this perverted
and assured of impunity, necessarily render his people miserable;
misery, when it exceeds the point of endurance, as necessarily renders
them wicked. When the people are submitted to irrational masters, they
are never guided by reason. If they are blinded by priests, who are
either deceived or impostors, their reason become useless. Tyrants, when
combined with priests, have generally been successful in their efforts
to prevent nations from becoming enlightened--from seeking after
truth--from ameliorating their condition--from perfectioning their
morals; and never has the union smiled upon liberty: the people, unable
to resist the mighty torrent produced by the confluence of two such
rivers, have usually sunk into the most abject slavery. It is only by
enlightening the mass of mankind, by demonstrating truth, that we can
promise to render him better; that we can indulge the hope of making him
happy. It is by causing both sovereigns and subjects to feel their true
relations with each other, that their actual interests will be improved;
that their politics will be perfectioned: it will then be felt and
accredited, that the true art of governing mortals, the sure method of
gaining their affections, is not the art of blinding them, of deceiving
them, or of tyrannizing over them. Let us, then, good humouredly consult
reason, avail ourselves of experience, interrogate nature; we shall,
perhaps, find what is requisite to be done, in order to labour
efficaciously to the happiness of the human race. We shall most
assuredly perceive, that error is the true source of the evils
which embitter our existence; that it is in cheering the hearts, in
dissipating those vain phantoms which alarm the ignorant, in laying the
axe to the root of superstition, that we can peaceably seek after truth;
that it is only in the conflagration of this baneful tree, we can ever
expect to light the torch which shall illumine the road to felicity.
Then let man study nature; observe her immutable laws; let him dive into
his own essence; let him cure himself of his prejudices: these means
will conduct him by a gentle declivity to that virtue, without which he
must feel he can never be permanently happy in the world he inhabits.

If man could once cease to fear, from that moment he would be truly
happy. Superstition is a domestic enemy which he always carries within
himself: those who will seriously occupy themselves with this formidable
phantom, must be content to endure continual agonies, to live in
perpetual inquietude: if they will neglect the objects most worthy
of interesting them, to run after chimeras, they will commonly pass
a melancholy existence, in groaning, in praying, in sacrificing,
in expiating faults, either real or imaginary, which they believe
calculated to offend their priests; frequently in their irrational fury
they will torment themselves, they will make it a duty to inflict on
their own persons the most barbarous punishments: but society will reap
no benefit from these mournful opinions--from the tortures of these
pious irrationals; because their mind, completely absorbed by their
gloomy reveries, their time dissipated in the most absurd ceremonies,
will leave them no opportunity of being really advantageous to the
community of which they are members. The most superstitions men are
commonly misanthropists, quite useless to the world, and very injurious
to themselves: if ever they display energy, it is only to devise means
by which they can increase their own affliction; to discover new methods
to torture their mind; to find out the most efficacious means to deprive
themselves of those objects which their nature renders desirable. It is
common in the world to behold penitents, who are intimately persuaded
that by dint of barbarous inflictions on their own persons, by means
of a lingering suicide, they shall merit the favor of heaven. Madmen of
this species are to be seen every where; superstition has in all ages,
in all places, given birth to the most cruel extravagances, to the most
injurious follies.

If, indeed, these irrational devotees only injure themselves, and
deprive society of that assistance which they owe to it, they without
doubt do less mischief than those turbulent, zealous fanatics, who,
infuriated with their superstitious ideas, believe themselves bound to
disturb the world, to commit actual crimes, to sustain the cause of
what they denominate the true faith. It not unfrequently happens that in
outraging morality, the zealous enthusiast supposes he renders himself
agreeable to his God. He makes perfection consist either in tormenting
himself, or in rending asunder, in favour of his fanatical ideas, the
most sacred ties that connect mortals with each other.

Let us, then, acknowledge, that the notions of superstition, are not
more suitable to procure the welfare, to establish the content, to
confirm the peace of individuals, than they are of the society of which
they are members. If some peaceable, honest, inconclusive enthusiasts,
find either comfort or consolation in them, there are millions who, more
conclusive to their principles, are unhappy during their whole life;
who are perpetually assailed by the most melancholy ideas; to whom their
disordered imagination shews these notions, as every instant involving
them in the most cruel punishments. Under such formidable systems, a
tranquil, sociable devotee, is a man who has not reasoned upon them.

In short, every thing serves to prove, that superstitious opinions have
the strongest influence over men; that they torment them unceasingly,
divide them from their dearest connections, inflame their minds, envenom
their passions, render them miserable without ever restraining their
actions, except when their own temperament proves too feeble to propel
them forward: all this holds forth one great lesson, that _superstition
is incompatible with liberty, and can never furnish good citizens_.





CHAP. IX.

_Theological Notions cannot be the Basis of Morality.--Comparison
between Theological Ethics and Natural Morality.--Theology prejudicial
to the human Mind._


Felicity is the great end of human existence; a supposition therefore,
to be actually useful to man, should render him happy. By what parity
of reasoning can he flatter himself that an hypothesis, which does not
facilitate his happiness in his present duration, may one day conduct
him to permanent bliss? If mortals only sigh, tremble, and groan in this
world, of which they have a knowledge, upon what foundation is it they
expect a more felicitous existence hereafter, in a world of which they
know nothing? If man is every where the child of calamity, the victim to
necessary evil, the unhappy sufferer under an immutable system, ought he
reasonably to indulge a greater confidence in future happiness?

On the other hand, a supposition which should throw light on every
thing, which should supply an easy solution to all the questions to
which it could be applied, when even it should not be competent to
demonstrate the certitude, would probably be true: but that system which
should only obscure the clearest notions, render more insoluble the
problems desired to be resolved by its means, would most assuredly
be looked upon as fallacious; as either useless or dangerous. To be
convinced of this principle, let us examine, without prejudice, if the
theological ideas of the Divinity have ever given the solution to any
one difficulty. Has the human understanding progressed a single step
by the assistance of this metaphysical science? Has it not, on the
contrary, had a tendency to obscure the wore certain science of morals?
Has it not, in many instances, rendered the most essential duties of
our nature problematical? Has it not in a great measure confounded the
notions of virtue and vice, of justice and injustice? Indeed, what
is virtue, in the eyes of the generality of theologians? They will
instantly reply, "that which is conformable to the will of the
incomprehensible beings who govern nature." But way it not be asked,
without offence to the individual opinions of any one, what are these
beings, of whom they are unceasingly talking, without having the
capacity to comprehend them? How can we acquire a knowledge of their
will? They will forthwith reply, with a confidence that is meant to
strike conviction on uninformed minds, by recounting what they are not,
without even attempting to inform us what they are. If they do undertake
to furnish an idea of them, they will heap upon their hypothetical
beings a multitude, of contradictory, incompatible attributes, with
which they will form a whole, at once impossible for the human mind to
conceive or else they will refer to oracles, by which they insist their
intentions have been promulgated to mankind. If, however, they are
requested to prove the authenticity of these oracles, which are at such
variance with each other, they will refer to miracles in support of what
they assert: these miracles, independent of the difficulty there must
exist to repose in them our faith, when, as we have seen, they are
admitted even by the theologians themselves, to be contrary to the
intelligence, the immutability, to the omnipotency of their immaterial
substances, are, moreover, warmly disputed by each particular sect,
as being impositions, practised by the others for their own individual
advantage. As a last resource, then, it will be necessary to accredit
the integrity, to rely on the veracity, to rest on the good faith of
the priests, who announce these oracles. On this again, there arises two
almost insuperable difficulties, in the _first_ place, who shall assure
us of their actual mission? are we quite certain none of them may be
mistaken? how shall we be justified in giving credence to their powers?
are they not these priests themselves, who announce to us that they are
the infallible interpreters of a being whom they acknowledge they do
not at all know? In the _second_ place, which set of these oracular
developements are we to adopt? For to give currency to the whole, would,
in point of fact, annihilate them entirely; seeing, that no two of them
run in unison with each other. This granted, the priests, that is to
say, men extremely suspicious, but little in harmony with each other,
will be the arbiters of morality; they will decide (according to their
own uncertain knowledge, after their various passions, in conformity to
the different perspectives under which they view these things,) on the
whole system of ethics; upon which absolutely rests the repose of
the world--the sterling happiness of each individual. Would this be
a desirable state? would it be that from which humanity has the best
founded prospect of that felicity, which is the desired object of his
research? Again; do we not see that either enthusiasm or interest is the
only standard of their decisions? that their morals are as variable as
their caprice? those who listen to them, very rarely discover to what
line they will adhere. In their various writings, we have evidence of
the most bitter animosities; we find continual contradictions; endless
disputes upon what they themselves acknowledge to be the most essential
points; upon those premises, in the substantive proof of which their
whole system depends; the very beings they depict as their source of
their various creeds, are pourtrayed as variable as themselves; as
frequently changing their plans as these are their arguments. What
results from all this to a rational man? It will be natural for him to
conclude, that neither inconstant gods, nor vacillating priests, whose
opinions are more fluctuating than the seasons, can be the proper
models of a moral system, which should be as regular, as determinate,
as invariable as the laws of nature herself; as that eternal march, from
which we never see her derogate.

No! Arbitrary, inconclusive, contradictory notions, abstract,
unintelligible speculations, can never be the sterling bases of the
ethical science! They must be evident, demonstrable principles, deduced
from the nature of man, founded upon his wants, inspired by rational
education, rendered familiar by habit, made sacred by wholesome laws,
that will flash conviction on our mind, render systems useful to
mankind, make virtue dear to us--that will people nations with honest
men--fill up the ranks with faithful subjects--crowd them with
intrepid citizens. Incomprehensible beings can present nothing to our
imagination, save vague ideas, which will never embrace any common point
of union amongst those who shall contemplate them. If these beings are
painted as terrible, the mind is led astray; if changeable, it always
precludes us from ascertaining the road we ought to pursue. The menaces
held forth by those, who, in despite of their own assertions, say they
are acquainted with the views, with the determination of these beings,
will seldom do more than render virtue unpleasant; fear alone will
then make us practise with reluctance, that which reason, which our
own immediate interest, ought to make us execute with pleasure. The
inculcation of terrible ideas will only serve to disturb honest persons,
without in the least arresting the progress of the profligate, or
diverting the course of the flagitious: the greater number of men,
when they shall be disposed to sin, to deliver themselves up to vicious
propensities, will cease to contemplate these terrific ideas, will only
behold a merciful God, who is filled with goodness, who will pardon the
transgressions of their weakness. Man never views things but on that
side which is most conformable to his desires.

The goodness of God cheers the wicked; his rigour disturbs the honest
man. Thus, the qualities with which theology clothes its immaterial
substances, themselves turn out disadvantageous to sound morality. It
is upon this infinite goodness that the most corrupt men will have the
audacity to reckon, when they are either hurried along by crime, or
given up to habitual vice. If, then, they are reminded of their criminal
courses, they reply, "God is good, his mercy is infinite, his clemency
boundless:" thus it may be said that religion itself is pressed into the
service of vice, by the children of turpitude. Superstition, above all,
rather abets crime than represses it, by holding forth to mortals that
by the assistance of certain ceremonies, the performance of certain
rites, the repetition of certain prayers, aided by the payment of
certain sums of money, they can appease the anger of their gods, assuage
the wrath of heaven, wash out the stains of their sins, and be received
with open arms into the happy number of the elect--be placed in
the blissful abodes of eternity. In short, do not the priests of
superstition universally affirm, that they possess infallible secrets,
for reconciling the most perverse to the pale of their respective
systems?

It must be concluded from this, that however these systems are viewed,
in whatever manner they are considered, they cannot serve for the basis
of morality, which in its very nature is formed to be invariably the
same. Irascible systems are only useful to those who find an interest in
terrifying the ignorance of mankind, that they may advantage themselves
of his fears--profit by his expiations. The nobles of the earth, who are
frequently men not gifted with the most exemplary morals--who do not
on all occasions exhibit the most perfect specimens of self-denial--who
would not, perhaps, be at all times held up as mirrors of virtue, will
not see these formidable systems, when they shall be inclined to listen
to their passions; to lend themselves to the indulgence of their unruly
desires: they will, however, feel no repugnance to make use of them
to frighten others, to the end that they may preserve unimpaired their
superiority; that they may keep entire their prerogatives; that they may
more effectually bind them to servitude. Like the rest of mankind, they
will see their God under the traits of his benevolence; they will always
believe him indulgent to those outrages they may commit against their
fellows, provided they shew due respect for him themselves: superstition
will furnish them with easy means to turn aside his Wrath; its ministers
seldom omit a profitable opportunity, to expiate the crimes of human
nature.

Morality is not made to follow the caprices of the imagination, the fury
of the passions, the fluctuating interests of men: it ought to possess
stability; to be at all times the same, for all the individuals of the
human race; it ought neither to vary in one country, nor in one race
from another: neither superstition nor religion, has a privilege to make
its immutability subservient to the changeable laws of their systems.
There is but one method to give ethics this solidity; it has been more
than once pointed out in the course of this work: it is only to be
founded upon the nature of man, bottomed upon his duties, rested upon
the relations subsisting between intelligent beings, who are in love,
with their happiness, who are occupied with their own preservation, who
live together in society that they may With greater facility ascertain
these ends. In short we must take for the basis of morality the
necessity of things.

In weighing these principles, which are self evident, confirmed by
constant experience, approved by reason, drawn from nature herself, we
shall have an undeviating tone of conduct; a sure system of morality,
that will never be in contradiction with itself. Man will have no
occasion to recur to theological speculations to regulate his conduct
in the visible world. We shall then be capacitated to reply to those who
pretend that without them there can be no morality. If we reflect upon
the long tissue of errors, upon the immense chain of wanderings, that
flow from the obscure notions these various systems hold forth--of the
sinister ideas which superstition in all countries inculcates; it would
be much more conformable to truth to say, that all sound ethics, all
morality, either useful to individuals or beneficial to society, is
totally incompatible with systems which never represent their gods
but under the form of absolute monarchs, whose good qualities are
continually eclipsed by dangerous caprices. Consequently, we shall
be obliged to acknowledge, that to establish morality upon a steady
foundation, we must necessarily commence by at least quitting those
chimerical systems upon which the ruinous edifice of supernatural
morality has hitherto been constructed, which during such a number
of ages, has been so uselessly preached up to a great portion of the
inhabitants of the earth.

Whatever may have been the cause that placed man in his present abode,
that gave him the faculties he possesses; whether the human species be
considered as the work of nature, or whether it be supposed that he owes
his existence to an intelligent being, distinguished from nature; the
existence of man, such as he is, is a fact; we behold in him a being who
thinks, who feels, who has intelligence, who loves himself, who tends
to his own conservation, who in every moment of his duration strives
to render his existence agreeable; who, the more easily to satisfy
his wants and to procure himself pleasure, congregates in society with
beings similar to himself; of whom his conduct can either conciliate
the favour, or draw upon him the disaffection. It is, then, upon these
general sentiments, inherent in his nature, which will subsist as long
as his race shall endure, that we ought to found morality; which is only
a science embracing, the duties of men living together in society.

These duties have their spring in our nature, they are founded upon our
necessities, because we cannot reach the goal of happiness, if we do not
employ the requisite means: these means constitute the moral science. To
be permanently felicitous, we must so comport ourselves as to merit the
affection, so act as to secure the assistance of those, beings with whom
we are associated; these will only accord us their love, lend us their
esteem, aid us in our projects, labour to our peculiar happiness, but in
proportion as our own exertions shall be employed for their advantage.
It is this necessity, flowing naturally out of the relations of mankind,
that is called MORAL OBLIGATION. It is founded upon reflection, rested
upon those motives competent to determine sensible, intelligent beings,
to pursue that line of conduct, which in best calculated to achieve that
happiness towards which they are continually verging. These motives
in the human species, never can be other than the desire, always
regenerating, of procuring good and avoiding evil. Pleasure and pain,
the hope of happiness, or the fear of misery, are the only motives
suitable to have an efficacious influence on the volition of sensible
beings. To impel them towards this end, it is sufficient these motives
exist and be understood to have a knowledge of them, it is only
requisite to consider our own constitution: according to this, we shall
find we can only love those actions, approve that conduct, from whence
result actual and reciprocal utility; this constitutes VIRTUE. In
consequence, to conserve ourselves, to make our own happiness, to enjoy
security, we are compelled to follow the routine which conducts to
this end; to interest others in our own preservation, we are obliged
to display an interest in theirs; we must do nothing that can have a
tendency to interrupt that mutual co-operation which alone can lead
to the felicity desired. Such is the true establishment of moral
obligation.

Whenever it is attempted to give any other basis to morality than the
nature of man, we shall always deceive ourselves; none other can have
the least stability; none can be more solid. Some authors, even of great
integrity, have thought, that to give ethics more respectability in the
eyes of man, to render more inviolable those duties which his nature
imposes on him, it was needful to clothe them with the authority of a
being whom they have made superior to nature--whom they have rendered
more powerful than necessity. Theology, seizing on these ideas, with its
own general want of just inference, has in consequence invaded morality;
has endeavoured to connect it with its various systems. By some it has
been imagined, this union would render virtue more sacred; that the fear
attached to invisible powers, who govern nature, would lend more weight,
would give more efficacy to its laws; in short, it has been believed
that man, persuaded, of the necessity of the moral system, seeing it
united with superstition, would contemplate superstition itself as
necessary to his happiness. Indeed it is the supposition that these
systems are essential to morality, that sustains the theological
ideas--that gives permanency to the greater part of all the creeds on
earth; it is erroneously imagined that without them man would neither
understand nor practise the duties he owes to others. This prejudice
once established, gives currency to the opinion that the vague ideas
growing out of these systems are in such a manner connected with
morality, are so linked with the actual welfare of society, that they
cannot be attacked without overturning the social duties that bind man
to his fellow. It is thought that the reciprocity of wants, the desire
of happiness, the evident interests of the community, would be mere
skeleton motives, devoid of all active energy, if they did not borrow
their substance from these various systems; if they were not invested
with the force derived from these numerous creeds; if they were not
clothed with the sanction of those ideas which have been made the
arbiters of all things.

Nothing, however, is more borne out by the evidence of experience,
nothing has more thoroughly impressed itself on the minds of reflecting
men, than the danger always arising from connecting truth with fiction;
the known with the unknown; the delirium of enthusiasm, with the
tranquillity of reason. Indeed what has resulted from the confused
alliance, from the marvellous speculations, which theology has made with
the most substantive realities? of mixing up its evanescent conjectures
with the confirmed aphorisms of time? The imagination bewildered, has
mistaken truth: superstition, by aid of its gratuitous suppositions, has
commanded nature--made reason bow, under its bulky yoke,--submitted man
to its own peculiar caprices; very frequently in the name of its gods
obliged him to stifle his nature, to piously violate the most sacred
duties of morality. When these superstitions have been desirous of
restraining mortals whom they had previously hood-winked, whom they had
rendered irrational, it gave them only ideal curbs, imaginary motives;
it substituted unsubstantial causes, for those which were substantive;
marvellous supernatural powers, for those which were natural, and
well understood; it supplied actual realities, by ideal romances and
visionary fables. By this inversion of principle, morality had no
longer any fixed basis: nature, reason, virtue, demonstration, were laid
prostrate before the most undefinable systems; were made to depend
upon oracular promulgations, which never spake distinctly; indeed, they
generally silenced reason, were often delivered by fanatics, which time
proved to be impostors; by those who, always adopting the appellation
of inspired beings, gave forth nothing but the wanderings of their own
delirium, or else were desirous of profiting by the errors which
they themselves instilled into mankind. Thus these men became
deeply interested in preaching abject submission, non-resistance,
passive-obedience, factitious virtues, frivolous ceremonies; in short,
an arbitrary morality, conformable to their own reigning passions;
frequently prejudicial to the rest of the human race.

It was thus, in making ethics flow from these various systems, they in
point of fact submitted it to the dominant passions of men, who had a
direct interest in moulding it to their own advantage. In being disposed
to found it upon undemonstrated theories, they founded it upon nothing;
in deriving it from imaginary sources, of which each individual forms to
himself his own notion, generally adverse to that of his neighbour;
in resting it upon obscure oracles, always delivered ambiguously,
frequently interpreted by men in the height of delirium, sometimes
by knaves, who had immediate interests to promote, they rendered it
unsteady--devoid of fixed principle,--too frequently left it to the
mercy of the most crafty of mankind. In proposing to man the changeable
creeds of the theologians for a model, they weakened the moral system
of human actions; frequently annihilated that which was furnished by
nature; often substituted in its place nothing but the most perplexing
incertitude; the most ruinous inconsistency. These systems, by the
qualities which are ascribed, to them, become inexplicable enigmas,
which each expounds as best suits himself; which each explains after his
own peculiar mode of thinking; in which the theologian ever finds that
which most harmonizes with his designs; which he can bend to his own
sinister purposes; which he offers as irrefragible evidence of the
rectitude of those actions, which at bottom have nothing but his own
advantage in view. If they exhort the gentle, indulgent, equitable man,
to be good, compassionate, benevolent; they equally excite the furious,
who is destitute of these qualities, to be intolerant, inhuman,
pitiless. The morality of these systems varies in each individual;
differs in one country from another; in fact, those actions which
some men look upon as sacred, which they have learned to consider
meritorious, make others shudder with horror--fill them with the most
painful recollections. Some see the Divinity filled with gentleness and
mercy; others behold him as full of wrath and fury, whose anger is to be
assuaged by the commission of the most shocking cruelties.

The morality of nature is clear, it is evident even to those who outrage
it. It is not thus with superstitious morality; this is as obscure
as the systems which prescribe it; or rather as fluctuating as the
passions, as changeable as the temperaments, of those who expound them;
if it was left to the theologians, ethics ought to be considered as the
science of all others the most problematical, the most unsteady, the
most difficult to bring to a point; it would require the most profound,
penetrating genius, the most active, vigorous mind, to discover the
principles of those duties man owes to himself, that he ought to
exercise towards others; this would render the sources of the moral
system attainable by a very small number of individuals; would
effectually lock them up in the cabinets of the metaphysicians; place
them under the treacherous guardianship of priests: to derive it from
those systems, which are in themselves undefinable, with the foundations
of which no one is actually acquainted, which each contemplates after
his own mode, modifies after his own peculiar ideas, is at once to
submit it to the caprice of every individual; it is completely to
acknowledge, we know not from whence it is derived, nor whence it has
its principles. Whatever may be the agent upon whom they make nature, or
the beings she contains, to depend; with whatever power they way suppose
him invested, it is very certain that man either does, or does not
exist; but as soon as his existence is acknowledged, as soon as it is
admitted to be what it actually is, when he shall be allowed to be a
sensible being living in society, in love with his own felicity, they
cannot without either annihilating him, or new modelling him, cause
him to exist otherwise than he does. Therefore, according to his actual
essence, agreeable to his absolute qualities, conformable to those
modifications which constitute him a being, of the human species,
morality becomes necessary to him, and the desire of conserving himself
will make him prefer virtue to vice, by the same necessity that
he prefers pleasure to pain. If, following up the doctrine of the
theologians, "that man hath occasion for supernatural grace to enable
him to do good," it must be very injurious to sound principles of
morality; because he will always wait for "the call from above," to
exercise that virtue, which is indispensable to his welfare. Tertullian,
nevertheless says expressly, "wherefore will ye trouble yourselves,
seeking after the law of God, whilst ye have that which is common to all
the world, and which is written on the tablets of nature?"

To say, that man cannot possess any moral sentiments without embracing
the discordant systems offered to his acceptance, is, in point of fact,
saying, that he cannot distinguish virtue from vice; it is to pretend
that without these systems, man would not feel the necessity of eating
to live, would not make the least distinction, would be absolutely
without choice in his food: it is to pretend, that unless he is fully
acquainted with the name, character, and qualities of the individual
who prepares a mess for him, he is not competent to discriminate whether
this mess be agreeable or disagreeable, good or bad. He who does not
feel himself satisfied what opinions to adopt, upon the foundation and
moral attributes of these systems, or who even formally denies them,
cannot at least doubt his own existence-his own functions--his own
qualities--his own mode of feeling--his own method of judging; neither
can he doubt the existence of other organized beings similar to himself;
in whom every thing discovers to him qualities analogous with his own;
of whom he can, by certain actions, either gain the love or incur the
hatred--secure the assistance or attract the ill-will--merit the esteem
or elicit the contempt; this knowledge is sufficient to enable him
to distinguish moral good and evil. In short, every man enjoying
a well-ordered organization, possessing the faculty of making true
experience, will only need to contemplate himself in order to discover
what he owes to others: his own nature will enlighten him much more
effectually upon his duties, than those systems in which he will consult
either his own unruly passions, those of some enthusiast, or those of
an impostor. He will allow, that to conserve himself, to secure his own
permanent welfare, he is frequently obliged to resist the blind impulse
of his own desires; that to conciliate the benevolence of others, he
must act in a mode conformable to their advantage; in reasoning thus,
he will find out what virtue actually is; if he puts his theory into
practice, he will be virtuous; he will be rewarded for his conduct by
the harmony of his own machine; by the legitimate esteem of himself,
confirmed by the good opinion of others, whose kindness he will have
secured: if he acts in a contrary mode, the trouble that will ensue, the
disorder of his frame, will quickly warn him that nature, thwarted by
his actions, disapproves his conduct, which is injurious to himself;
to which he will be obliged to add the condemnation of others, who will
hate him. If the wanderings of his mind prevent him from seeing the more
immediate consequences of his irregularities, neither will he perceive
the distant rewards, the remote punishments, which these systems
hold forth; because they will never speak to him so distinctly as his
conscience, which will either reward or punish him on the spot. Theology
has never yet known how to give a true definition of virtue: according
to it, it is an effort of grace, that disposes man to do that which is
agreeable to the Divinity. But what is this grace? How doth it act
upon man? How shall we know what is agreeable to a Divinity who is
incomprehensible to all men?

Every thing that has been advanced evidently proves, that superstitious
morality is an infinite loser when compared with the morality of nature,
with which, indeed, it is found in perpetual contradiction. Nature
invites man to love himself, to preserve his existence, to incessantly
augment the sum of his happiness: superstition teaches him to be in love
only with formidable doctrines, calculated to generate his dislike;
to detest himself; to sacrifice to his idols his most pleasing
sensations--the most legitimate pleasures of his heart. Nature counsels
man to consult reason, to adopt it for his guide; superstition
pourtrays this reason as corrupted, as a treacherous director, that
will infallibly lead him astray. Nature warns him to enlighten his
understanding, to search after truth, to inform himself of his duties;
superstition enjoins him not to examine any thing, to remain in
ignorance, to fear truth; it persuades him there are no relations so
important to his interest, as those which subsist between himself and
systems which he can never understand. Nature tells the being who is
in love with his welfare, to moderate his passions, to resist them when
they are found destructive to himself, to counteract them by substantive
motives collected from experience; superstition desires a sensible being
to have no passions, to be an insensible mass, or else to combat his
propensities by motives borrowed from the imagination, which are as
variable as itself. Nature exhorts man to be sociable, to love his
fellow creatures, to be just, peaceable, indulgent, benevolent, to
permit his associates to freely enjoy their opinions; superstition
admonishes him to fly society, to detach himself from his fellow
mortals, to hate them when their imagination does not procure them
dreams conformable to his own; to break through the most sacred bonds,
to maintain his own opinions, or to frustrate those of his neighbour; to
torment, to persecute, to massacre, those who will not be mad after his
own peculiar manner. Nature exacts that man in society should cherish
glory, labour to render himself estimable, endeavour to establish an
imperishable name, to be active, courageous, industrious; superstition
tells him to be abject, pusillanimous, to live in obscurity, to occupy
himself with ceremonies; it says to him, be useless to thyself, and do
nothing for others. Nature proposes to the citizen, for his model, men
endued with honest, noble, energetic souls, who have usefully served
their fellow citizens; superstition recommends to his imitation mean,
cringing sycophants; extols pious enthusiasts, frantic penitents,
zealous fanatics, who for the most ridiculous opinions have disturbed
the tranquility of empires. Nature urges the husband to be tender, to
attach himself to the company of his mate, to cherish her in his bosom;
superstition makes a crime of his susceptibility, frequently obliges
him to look upon the conjugal bonds as a state of pollution, as the
offspring of imperfection. Nature calls to the father to nurture his
children, to cherish their affection, to make them useful members of
society; superstition advises him to rear them in fear of its systems,
to hoodwink them, to make them superstitious, which renders them
incapable of actually serving society, but extremely well calculated to
disturb its repose. Nature cries out to children to honor their parents,
to listen to their admonitions, to be the support of their old age;
superstition says, prefer the oracles; in support of the systems of
which you are an admitted member, trample father and mother under your
feet. Nature holds out to the philosopher that he should occupy
himself with useful objects, consecrate his cares to his country, make
advantageous discoveries, suitable to perfect the condition of mankind;
superstition saith, occupy thyself with useless reveries; employ thy
time in endless dispute; scatter about with a lavish hand the seeds of
discord, calculated to induce the carnage of thy fellows; obstinately
maintain opinions which thou thyself canst never understand. Nature
points out to the perverse man, that he should blush for his vices, that
he should feel sorrow for his disgraceful propensities, that he should
be ashamed of crime; it shews him, that his most secret irregularities
will necessarily have an influence over his own felicity; superstition
crieth to the most corrupt men, to the most flagitious mortals, "do not
irritate the gods, whom thou knowest not; but if, peradventure, against
their express command, thou dost deliver thyself up to crime, remember
that their mercy is infinite, that their compassion endureth for ever,
that therefore they may be easily appeased; thou hast nothing more to
do than to go into their temples, prostrate thyself before their
altars, humiliate thyself at the feet of their ministers; expiate thy
transgressions by largesses, by sacrifices, by offerings, by ceremonies,
and by prayer; these things done with a willing spirit, and a contrite
heart, will pacify thine own conscience, and cleanse thee in the eyes of
heaven."

The rights of the citizen, or the man in society, are not less injured
by superstition, which is always in contradiction with sound politics.
Nature says distinctly to man, "thou art free; no power on earth can
justly deprive thee of thy rights, without thine own consent; and even
then, thou canst not legitimately make thyself a slave to thy like."
Superstition tells him he is a slave, condemned to groan all his life
under the iron rod of the representatives of its system. Nature commands
man to love the country which gave him birth, to serve it faithfully,
to blend his interests with it, to unite against all those who shall
attempt to injure it; superstition generally orders him to obey without
murmur the tyrants who oppress it, to serve them against its best
interests, to merit their favors by contributing to enslave their fellow
citizens to their ungovernable caprices: notwithstanding these general
orders, if the sovereign be not sufficiently devoted to the priest,
superstition quickly changes its language, it then calls upon subjects
to become rebels; it makes it a duty in them to resist their masters;
it cries out to them, "it is better to obey the gods than men." Nature
acquaints princes that they are men: that it is not by their capricious
whims that they can decide what is just; that it is not their wayward
humours that can mark what is unjust; that the public will maketh the
law. Superstition often insinuates to them that they are gods, to whom
nothing in this world ought to offer resistance; sometimes, indeed, it
transforms them into tyrants, whom enraged heaven is desirous should be
immolated to its wrath.

Superstition corrupts princes; these corrupt the law, which, like
themselves, becomes unjust; from thence institutions are perverted;
education only forms men who are worthless, blinded with prejudice,
smitten with vain objects, enamoured of wealth, devoted to pleasures,
which they must obtain by iniquitous means: thus nature, mistaken, is
disdained; virtue is only a shadow quickly sacrificed to the slightest
interest, while superstition, far from remedying these evils to which
it has given birth, does nothing more than render them still more
inveterate; or else engenders sterile regrets which it presently
effaces: thus, by its operation, man is obliged to yield to the force of
habit, to the general example, to the stream of those propensities, to
those causes of confusion, which conspire to hurry all his species, who
are not willing to renounce their own welfare, on to the commission of
crime.

Here is the mode by which superstition, united with politics, exert
their efforts to pervert, abuse, and poison the heart of man; the
generality of human institutions appear to have only for their object to
abase the human character, to render it more flagitiously wicked. Do
not then let us be at all astonished if morality is almost every where
a barren speculation, from which every one is obliged to deviate in
practice, if he will not risk the rendering himself unhappy. Men can
only have sound morals, when, renouncing his prejudices, he consults
his nature; but the continued impulse which his soul is every moment
receiving, on the part of more powerful motives, quickly compels him
to forget those ethical rules which nature points out to him. He is
continually floating between vice and virtue; we behold him unceasingly
in contradiction with himself; if, sometimes, he justly appreciates the
value of an honest, upright conduct, experience very soon shews him,
that this cannot lead him to any thing, which he has been taught to
desire, on the contrary, that it may be an invincible obstacle to the
happiness which his heart never ceases for an instant to search after.
In corrupt societies it is necessary to become corrupt, in order to
become happy.

Citizens, led astray at the same time both by their spiritual and
temporal guides, neither knew reason nor virtue. The slaves both of
their superstitious systems, and of men like themselves, they had all
the vices attached to slavery; kept in a perpetual state of infancy,
they had neither knowledge nor principles; those who preached virtue to
them, knew nothing of it themselves, and could not undeceive them
with respect to those baubles in which they had learned to make their
happiness consist. In vain they cried out to them to stifle those
passions which every thing conspired to unloose: in vain they made the
thunder of the gods roll to intimidate men whose tumultuous passions
rendered them deaf. It was soon discovered that the gods of the heavens
were much less feared than those of the earth; that the favour of the
latter procured a much more substantive welfare than the promises of
the former; that the riches of this world were more tangible than the
treasures reserved for favorites in the next; that it was much more
advantageous for men to conform themselves to the views of visible
powers than to those of powers who were not within the compass of their
visual faculties.

Thus society, corrupted by its priests, guided by their caprice, could
only bring forth a corrupt offspring. It gave birth to avaricious,
ambitious, jealous, dissolute citizens, who never saw any thing happy
but crime; who beheld meanness rewarded; incapacity honoured; wealth
adored; debauchery held in esteem; who almost every where found talents
discouraged; virtue neglected; truth proscribed; elevation of soul
crushed; justice trodden under foot; moderation languishing in misery;
liberality of mind obligated to groan under the ponderous bulk of
haughty injustice.

In the midst of this disorder, in this confusion of ideas, the precepts
of morality could only be vague declamations, incapable of convincing
any one. What barrier could superstition, with its imaginary motives,
oppose to the general corruption? When it spake reason, it could not be
heard; its gods themselves were not sufficiently powerful to resist the
torrent; its menaces failed of effect, on those hearts which every thing
hurried along to crime; its distant promises could not counterbalance
present advantages; its expiations, always ready to cleanse mortals from
their sins, emboldened them to persevere in their criminal pursuits; its
frivolous ceremonies calmed their consciences; its zeal, its disputes,
its caprices, only multiplied the evils, with which society found itself
afflicted; only gave them an inveteracy that rendered them more
widely mischievous; in short, in the most vitiated nations there was
a multitude of devotees, and but very few honest men. Great and small
listened to the doctrines of superstition, when they appeared favorable
to their dominant passions; when they were desirous to counteract
them, they listened no longer. Whenever superstition was conformable to
morality, it appeared incommodious, it was only followed when it
either combatted ethics or destroyed them. The despot himself found
it marvellous, when it assured him he was a god upon earth; that his
subjects were born to adore him alone, to administer to his phantasms.
He neglected it when it told him to be just; from thence he saw it was
in contradiction with itself, that it was useless to preach equity to
a deified mortal; besides, he was assured the gods would pardon every
thing, as soon as he should consent to recur to his priests, always
ready to reconcile them; the most wicked of their subjects reckoned in
the same manner upon their divine assistance: thus superstition, far
from restraining vice, assured its impunity; its menaces could not
destroy the effects which its unworthy flattery had produced in princes;
these same menaces could not annihilate the hope which its expiations
had furnished to all. Sovereigns, either inflated with pride, or always
confident of washing out their crimes by timely sacrifices, no longer
actually feared their gods; become gods themselves, they believed they
were permitted any thing against poor pitiful mortals, whom they no
longer considered under any other light than as playthings destined for
their earthly amusement.

If the nature of man was consulted in his politics which supernatural
ideas have so woefully depraved, it would completely rectify those false
notions that are entertained equally by sovereigns and by subjects;
it would contribute more amply than all the superstitions existing,
to render society happy, powerful, and flourishing under rational
authority. Nature would teach man, it is for the purpose of enjoying
a greater portion of happiness, that mortals live together in society;
that it is its own preservation, its own immediate felicity, that
society should have for its determinate, unchangeable object: that
without equity, a nation only resembles a congregation of enemies; that
his most cruel foe, is the man who deceives him in order that he may
enslave him; that the scourges most to be feared, are those priests who
corrupt his chiefs, who, in the name of the gods assure them of
impunity for their crimes: she would prove to him that association is a
misfortune under unjust, negligent, destructive governments.

This nature, interrogated by princes, would teach them they are men and
not gods; that their power is only derived from the consent of other
men; that they themselves are citizens, charged by other citizens, with
the care of watching over the safety of the whole; that the law ought
to be only the expression of the public will; that it is never permitted
them to counteract nature, or to thwart the invariable end of society.
This nature would make monarchs feel, that to be truly great, to be
decidedly powerful, they ought to command elevated, virtuous souls; not
minds degraded by despotism, vitiated by superstition. This nature would
teach sovereigns, that in order to be cherished by their subjects, they
ought to afford them succour; to cause them to enjoy those benefits
which their wants render imperative, that they should at all times
maintain them, inviolably, in the possession of their rights, of which
they are the appointed defenders--of which they are the constituted
guardians. This nature would prove to all those princes who should deign
to consult her, that it is only by good actions, by kindness, they can
either merit the love, or secure the attachment of the people; that
oppression does nothing more than raise up enemies against them; that
violence only makes their power unsteady; that force, however
brutally used, cannot confer on them any legitimate right; that beings
essentially in love with happiness, must sooner or later finish by
revolting against an authority that establishes itself by injustice;
that only makes itself felt by the outrage it commits: this is the
manner in which nature, the sovereign of all beings, in whose system all
are equal, would speak to one of these superb monarchs, whom flattery
has deified:--"Untoward, headstrong child! Pigmy, so proud of commanding
pigmies! Have they then assured thee that thou art a god? Have they
flattered thee that thou art something supernatural? Know there is
nothing superior to myself. Contemplate thine own insignificance,
acknowledge thine impotence against the slightest of my blows. I can
break thy sceptre; I can take away thine existence; I can level thy
throne with the dust; I can scatter thy people; I can destroy even the
earth which thou inhabitest; and yet thou hast the folly to believe thou
art a god. Be then, again, thyself; honestly avow that thou art a man,
formed to submit to my laws equally with the meanest of thy subjects.
Learn then, and never let it escape thy memory, that thou art the man of
thy people; the minister of thy nation; the interpreter of its laws;
the executer of its will; the fellow-citizen of those whom thou hast the
right of commanding, only because they consent to obey thee, in view of
that well being which thou promisest to procure for them. Reign, then,
on these conditions; fulfil thy sacred engagements. Be benevolent: above
all, equitable. If thou art willing to have thy power assured to thee,
never abuse it; let it be circumscribed by the immovable limits of
eternal justice. Be the father of thy people, and they will cherish thee
as thy children. But, if unmindful of thy duties, thou neglectest them;
if negligent of thine own interest, thou separatest them from those of
thy great family, if thou refusest to thy subjects that happiness which
thou owest them; if, heedless of thy own security, thou armest thyself
against them; thou shall be like all tyrants, the slave to gloomy care,
the bondman of alarm, the vassal of cruel suspicion: thou wilt become
the victim to thine own folly. Thy people, reduced to despair, shorn of
their felicity, will no longer acknowledge thy divine rights. In vain,
then, thou wouldst sue for aid to that superstition which hath deified
thee; it can avail nothing with thy people, whom sharp misery had
rendered deaf; heaven will abandon thee to the fury of those enemies
to which thy frenzy shall have given birth. Superstitious systems can
effect nothing against my irrevocable decrees, which will that man shall
ever irritate himself against the cause of his sorrows."

In short, every thing would make known to rational princes, that they
have no occasion for superstition to be faithfully obeyed on earth; that
all the powers contained in these systems will not sustain them when
they shall act the tyrant; that their true friends are those who
undeceive the people in their delusions; that their real enemies are
those who intoxicate them with flattery--who harden them in crime--who
make the road to heaven too easy for them--who feed them with fanciful,
chimerical doctrines, calculated to make them swerve from those cares,
to divert them from those sentiments, which they justly owe to their
nations.

It is then, I repeat it, only by re-conducting man to nature, that we
can procure him distinct notions, evident opinions, certain knowledge;
it is only by shewing him his true relations with his fellows, that
we can place him on the road to happiness. The human mind, blinded
by theology, has scarcely advanced a single step. Man's superstitious
systems have rendered him sceptical on the most demonstrable truths.
Superstition, while it pervaded every thing, while it had an universal
influence, served to corrupt the whole: philosophy, dragged in its
train, although it swelled its triumphant procession, was no longer any
thing but an imaginary science: it quitted the real world to plunge into
the sinuosities of the ideal, inconceivable labyrinths of metaphysics;
it neglected nature, who spontaneously opened her book to its
examination, to occupy itself with systems filled with spirits, with
invisible powers, which only served to render all questions more
obscure; which, the more they were probed, the more inexplicable
they became; which took delight in promulgating that which no one was
competent to understand. In all difficulties it introduced the Divinity;
from thence things only became more and more perplexed, until nothing
could be explained. Theological notions appear only to have been
invented to put man's reason to flight; to confound his judgment; to
deceive his mind; to overturn his clearest ideas in every science. In
the hands of the theologian, logic, or the art of reasoning, was nothing
more than an unintelligible jargon, calculated to support sophism,
to countenance falsehood, to attempt to prove the most palpable
contradictions. Morality, as we have seen, became wavering and
uncertain, because it was founded on ideal systems, never in harmony
with themselves, which, on the contrary, were continually contradicting
their own most positive assertions. Politics, as we have elsewhere said,
were cruelly perverted by the fallacious ideas given to sovereigns of
their actual rights. Jurisprudence was determinately submitted to the
caprices of superstition, which shackled labour, chained down human
industry, controuled activity, and fettered the commerce of nations.
Every thing, in short, was sacrificed to the immediate interests of
these theologians: in the place of every rational science, they taught
nothing but an obscure, quarrelsome metaphysics, which but too often
caused the blood of those unhappy people to flow copiously who were
incapable of understanding its hallucinations.

Born an enemy to experience, theology, that supernatural science, was
an invincible obstacle to the progress of the natural sciences, as
it almost always threw itself in their way. It was not permitted to
experimental philosophy, to natural history, to anatomy, to see any
thing but through the jaundiced eye of superstition. The most evident
facts were rejected with disdain, proscribed with horror, when ever they
could not be made to quadrate with the idle hypotheses of superstition.
Virgil, the Bishop of Saltzburg, was condemned by the church, for having
dared to maintain the existence of the antipodes; Gallileo suffered the
most cruel persecutions, for asserting that the sun did not make its
revolution round the earth. Descartes was obliged to die in a foreign
land. Priests, indeed, have a right to be the enemies to the sciences;
the progress of reason must, sooner or later, annihilate superstitious
ideas. Nothing that is founded upon nature, that is bottomed upon truth,
can ever be lost; while the systems of imaginations, the creeds of
imposture, must be overturned. Theology unceasingly opposed itself to
the happiness of nations--to the progress of the human mind--to useful
researches--to the freedom of thought; it kept man in ignorance; all
his steps being guided by it, he was no more than a tissue of errors.
Indeed, is it resolving a question in natural philosophy, to say that
an effect which excites our surprise, that an unusual phenomenon, that a
volcano, a deluge, a hurricane, a comet, &c. are either signs of divine
wrath, or works contrary to the laws of nature? In persuading nations,
as it has done, that the calamities, whether physical or moral, which
they experience, are the effects of the divine anger, or chastisements
which his power inflicts on them, has it not, in fact, prevented them
from seeking after remedies for these evils? Would it not have been more
useful to have studied the nature of things, to have sought in nature
herself, or in human industry, for succours against those sorrows
with which mortals are afflicted, than to attribute the evil which
man experiences to an unknown power, against whose will it cannot be
supposed there exists any relief? The study of nature, the search after
truth, elevates the soul, expands the genius, is calculated to render
man active, to make him courageous. Theological notions appear to
have been made to debase him, to contract his mind, to plunge him into
despondence. In the place of attributing to the divine vengeance those
wars, those famines, those sterilities, those contagions, that multitude
of calamities, which desolate the earth; would it not have been more
useful, more consistent with truth, to have shewn man that these evils
were to be ascribed to his own folly, or rather to the unruly passions,
to the want of energy, to the tyranny of some princes, who sacrifice
nations to their frightful delirium? The irrational people, instead of
amusing themselves with expiations for their pretended crimes, seeking
to render themselves acceptable to imaginary powers; should they not
rather have sought in a more healthy administration, the true means of
avoiding those scourges, to which they were the victims? Natural evils
demand natural remedies: ought not experience then long since to
have convinced mortals of the inefficacy of supernatural remedies, of
expiatory sacrifices, of fastings, of processions, &c. which almost all
the people of the earth have vainly opposed to the disasters which they
experienced?

Let us then conclude, that theology with its notions, far from being
useful to the human species, is the true source of all those sorrows
which afflict the earth of all those errors by which man is blinded; of
those prejudices which benumb mankind; of that ignorance which renders
him credulous; of those vices which torment him; of those governments
which oppress him. Let us be fully persuaded that those theological,
supernatural ideas, with which man is inspired from his infancy, are
the actual causes of his habitual folly; are the springs of his
superstitious quarrels; of his sacred dissensions; of his inhuman
persecutions. Let us, at length, acknowledge, that they are these fatal
ideas which have obscured morality; corrupted polities; retarded the
progress of the sciences; annihilated happiness; banished peace from the
bosom of mankind, Then let it be no longer dissimulated, that all those
calamities, for which man turns his eyes towards heaven, bathed in
tears, have their spring in the imaginary systems he has adopted:
let him, therefore, cease to expect relief from them; let him seek
in nature, let him search in his own energies, those resources, which
superstition, deaf to his cries, will never procure for him. Let him
consult the legitimate desires of his heart, and he will find that which
he oweth to himself, also that which he oweth to others; let him examine
his own essence, let him dive into the aim of society, from thence he
will no longer be a slave; let him consult experience, he will find
truth, and he will discover, that _error can never possible render him
happy._





CHAP. X.

_Man can form no Conclusion from the Ideas which are offered him of the
Divinity.--Of their want of just Inference.--Of the Inutility of his
Conduct._


It has been already stated, that ideas to be useful, must be founded
upon truth; that experience must at all times demonstrate their justice:
if, therefore, as we have proved, the erroneous ideas which man has in
almost all ages formed to himself of the Divinity, far from being of
utility, are prejudicial to morality, to politics, to the happiness of
society, to the welfare of the individuals who compose it, in short, to
the progress of the human understanding; reason, and our interest, ought
to make us feel the necessity of banishing from our mind these illusive,
futile opinions, which can never do more than confound it--which can
only disturb the tranquillity of our hearts. In vain should we flatter
ourselves with arriving at the correction of theological notions;
erroneous in their principles, they are not susceptible of reform. Under
whatever shape an error presents itself, as soon as man shall attach an
undue importance to it, it will, sooner or later, finish by producing
consequences dangerous in proportion to their extent. Besides, the
inutility of those researches, which in all ages have been made after
the true nature of the Divinity, the notions that have hitherto been
entertained, have done little more than throw it into greater obscurity,
even to those who have most profoundly meditated on the subject; then,
ought not this very inutility to convince us that this subject is not
within the reach of our capacity that this being will not be better
known to us, or by our descendants, than it hath been to our ancestors,
either the most savage or the most ignorant? The object, which of all
others man has at all times reasoned upon the most, written upon the
most, nevertheless remains the least known; far from progressing in his
research, time, with the aid of theological ideas, has only rendered
it more impossible to be conceived. If the Divinity be such as dreaming
theology depicts, he must himself be a Divinity who is competent to form
an idea of him. We know little of man, we hardly know ourselves, or our
own faculties, yet we are disposed to reason upon a being inaccessible
to our senses. Let us, then, travel in peace over the line described for
us by nature, without having a wish to diverge from it, to hunt after
vague systems; let us occupy ourselves with our true happiness; let us
profit of the benefits spread before us; let us labour to multiply them,
by diminishing the number of our errors; let us quietly submit to those
evils we cannot avoid, and not augment them by filling our mind with
prejudices calculated to lead us astray. When we shall give it serious
reflection, every thing will clearly prove that the pretended science of
theology is, in truth, nothing but presumptuous ignorance, masked under
pompous, unintelligible words. In short, let us terminate unfruitful
researches; be content at least to acknowledge our invincible ignorance;
it will clearly be more substantively advantageous, than an arrogant
science, which has hitherto done little more than sow discord on the
earth--affliction in the heart of man.

In supposing a sovereign intelligence who governs the world; in
supposing a Divinity who exacts from his creatures that they should
have a knowledge of him, that they should understand his attributes,
his wisdom, his power; who is desirous they should render him homage; it
must be allowed, that no man on earth in this respect completely fulfils
the views of providence. Indeed, nothing is more demonstrable than the
impossibility in which the theologians find themselves, to form to their
mind any idea whatever of the Divinity. Procopius, the first bishop of
the Goths, says in the most solemn manner: "I esteem it a very foolish
temerity to be disposed to penetrate into the knowledge of the nature of
God;" and further on he acknowledges, "that he has nothing more to say
of him, except that he is perfectly good. He who knoweth more, whether
he be ecclesiastic or layman, has only to tell it." The weakness, the
obscurity of the proofs offered, of the systems attributed to him, the
manifest contradictions into which they fall, the sophisms, the begging
of the question, which are employed, evidently prove they are themselves
in the greatest incertitude upon the nature of that being with whom it
is their profession to occupy their thoughts: even the author of _A
New View of Society_ acknowledges, "that up to this moment it is, not
possible yet to say which is right or which is wrong: that had any one
of the various opposing systems which until this day have governed the
world, and disunited man from man, been true, without any mixture of
error; that system, very speedily after its public promulgation, would
have pervaded society, and compelled all men to have acknowledged its
truth." But granting that they have a knowledge of this being, that
his essence, his attributes, his systems, were so fully demonstrated to
them, as no longer to leave any doubt in their mind, do the rest of the
human race enjoy the same advantages? Are they, in fact, in a condition
to be charged with this knowledge? Ingenuously, how many persons are
to be found in the world, who have the leisure, the capacity, the
penetration, necessary to understand what is meant to be designated
under the name of an immaterial being--of a pure spirit, who moveth
matter without being himself matter; who is the motive of all the powers
of nature, without being contained in nature--without being able to
touch it? Are there, in the most religious societies, many persons who
are competent to follow their spiritual guides, in the subtle proofs
which they adduce in evidence of their creeds, upon which they bottom
their systems of theology?

Without question very few men are capable of profound, connected
meditation; the exercise of intense thought is, for the greater number,
a species of labour as painful as it is unusual. The people, obliged
to toil hard, in order to obtain subsistence, are commonly incapable of
reflection; nobles, men of the world, women, young people, occupied with
their own immediate affairs, taken up with gratifying their passions,
employed in procuring themselves pleasure, as rarely think deeply as the
uninformed. There are not, perhaps, two men in an hundred thousand,
who have seriously asked themselves the question, _What it is they
understand by the word God?_ Whilst it is extremely rare to find persons
to whom the nature of God is a problem. Nevertheless, as we have said,
conviction supposes that evidence alone has banished doubt from the
mind. Where, then, are the web who are convinced of the rectitude
of these systems? Who are those in whom we shall find the complete
certitude of these truths, so important to all? Who are the persons, who
have given themselves an accurate account of the ideas they have
formed upon the Divinity, upon his attributes, upon his essence? Alas!
throughout the whole world, are only to be seen some speculators, who,
by dint of occupying themselves with the idea, have, with great fatuity,
believed they have discovered something decisive in the confused,
unconnected wanderings of their own imagination; they have, in
consequence, endeavoured to form a whole, which, chimerical as it is,
they have accustomed themselves to consider as actually existing: by
force of musing upon it, they have sometimes persuaded themselves they,
saw it distinctly; these have not unfrequently succeeded in making
others believe, their reveries, although they may not have mused upon it
quite so much as themselves.

It is seldom more than hearsay, that the mass of the people adopt
either the systems of their fathers, or of their priests: authority,
confidence, submission, habit, take place of conviction--supersede
proof; they prostrate themselves before idols, lend themselves to
different creeds, because their ancestors have taught them to fall down,
and worship; but never do they inquire wherefore they bend the knee: it
is only because, in times far distant, their legislators, their guides,
have imposed it upon them as a duty; these have said, "adore and believe
those gods, whom ye cannot comprehend; yield yourselves in this
instance to our profound wisdom; we know more than ye do respecting
the Divinity." But wherefore, it might be inquired, should I take this
system upon your authority? It is, they will reply, because the gods
will have it thus; because they will punish you, if you dare to resist.
But are not these gods the thing in question? Nevertheless, man has
always been satisfied with this circle of errors; the idleness of his
mind made him find it most easy to yield to the judgment of others.
All superstitions are uniformly founded upon error, established by
authority; equally forbid examination; are equally indisposed to permit
that man should reason upon them; it is power that wills he should
unconditionally accredit them: they are rested solely upon the influence
of some few men, who pretend to a knowledge of things, which they admit
are incomprehensible for all their species; who, at the same time,
affirm they are sent as missionaries to announce them to the inhabitants
of the earth: these inconceivable systems, formed in the brain of some
enthusiastic persons, have most unquestionably occasion for men to
expound them to their fellows. Man is generally credulous as a child
upon those objects which relate to superstition; he is told he must
believe them; as he generally understands nothing of the matter, he
imagines he runs no risk in joining sentiments with his priest, whom he
supposes has been competent to discover what he himself is not able to
comprehend. The most rational people argue thus: "What shall I do? What
interest can so many persons have to deceive?" But, seriously, does this
prove that they do not deceive? They may do it from two motives: either
because they are themselves deceived, or because they have a great
interest in deceiving. By the confession of the theologians themselves,
man is, for the greater part, without _religion_: he has only
_superstition_. Superstition, according to them, "is a worship of the
Divinity, either badly understood or irrational," or else, "worship
rendered to a false Divinity." But where are the people or the clergy
who will allow, either that their Divinity is false, or their worship
irrational? How shall it be decided who is right, or who is wrong? It
is evident that in this affair great numbers must be wrong. Indeed,
Buddaeus, in his _Treatise on Atheism_, tells us, "in order that a
religion may be true, not only the object of the worship must be true,
but we must also have a just idea of it. He, then, who adoreth God
without knowing him, adoreth him in a perverse and corrupt manner, and
is generally guilty of superstition." This granted, would it not be fair
to demand of the theologians, if they themselves can boast of having a
_just idea_ or real knowledge of the Divinity?

Admit for a moment they have, would it not then be evident, that it is
for the priest, for the inspired, for the metaphysician, that this
idea, which is said to be so necessary for the whole human race, is
exclusively reserved? If we examine, however, we shall not find any
harmony among the theological notions of these various inspired men, or
of that hierarchy which is scattered over the earth: even those who
make a profession of the same system, are not in unison upon the
leading points. Are they ever contented with the proofs offered by their
colleagues? Do they unanimously subscribe to each other's ideas?
Are they agreed upon the conduct to be adopted; upon the manner of
explaining their texts; upon the interpretation of the various oracles?
Does there exist one country upon the whole earth, where the science of
theology is actually perfectioned?--where the ideas of the Divinity are
rendered so clear, as not to admit of cavil? Has this science obtained
any of that steadiness, any of that consistency, any of that uniformity,
which is found attached to other branches of human knowledge; even to
the most futile arts, or to those trades which are most despised?
Has the multitude of subtle distinctions, with which theology in some
countries is filled throughout; have the words spirit, immateriality,
incorporeity, predestination, grace, with other ingenious inventions,
imagined by sublime thinkers, who during so many ages have succeeded
each other, actually had any other effect than to perplex things; to
render the whole obscure; decidedly unintelligible? Alas! do, they not
offer practical demonstration, that the science held forth as the most
necessary to man, has not, hitherto, been able to acquire the least
degree of stability; has remained in the most determined state of
indecision; has entirely failed in obtaining solidity? For thousands of
years the most idle dreamers have been relieving each other, meditating
on systems, diving into concealed ways, inventing hypothesis suitable
to develope this important enigma. Their slender success has not at all
discouraged theological vanity; the priests have always spoken of it as
of a thing with which they were most intimately acquainted; they have
disputed with all the pertinancy of demonstrated argument; they
have destroyed each other with the most savage barbarity; yet,
notwithstanding, to this moment, this sublime science remains entirely
unauthenticated; almost unexamined. Indeed, if things were coolly
contemplated, it would be obvious that these theories are not formed for
the generality of mankind, who for the most part are utterly incompetent
to comprehend the aerial subtilities upon which they rest. Who is the
man, that understandeth any thing of the fundamental principles of
these systems? Whose capacity embraces spirituality, immateriality,
incorporeity, or the mysteries of which he is every day informed? Are
there many persons who can boast of perfectly understanding the state of
the question, in those theological disputations, which have frequently
had the potency to disturb the repose of mankind? Nevertheless, even
women believe themselves obliged to take part in the quarrels excited by
these idle speculators, who are of less actual utility, to society, than
the meanest artizan.

Man would, perhaps, have been too happy, if confining himself to those
visible objects which interest him, he had employed half that energy
which he has wasted in researches after incomprehensible systems, upon
perfectioning the real sciences; in giving consistency to his laws; in
establishing his morals upon solid foundations; in spreading a wholesome
education among his fellows. He would, unquestionably, have been much
wiser, more fortunate, if he had agreed to let his idle, unemployed
guides quarrel among themselves unheeded; if he had permitted them
to fathom those depths calculated to astound the mind, to amaze the
intellect, without intermeddling with their irrational disputes. But it
is the essence of ignorance, to attach great importance to every thing
which it doth not understand. Human vanity makes the mind bear up
against difficulties. The more an object eludes our inquiry, the more
efforts we make to compass it; because from thence our pride is spurred
on, our curiosity is set afloat, our passions are irritated, and it
assumes the character of being highly interesting to us. On the other
hand, the more continued, the more laborious our researches have been,
the more importance we attach to either our real or our pretended
discoveries; the more we are desirous not to have wasted our time;
besides, we are always ready warmly to defend the soundness of our own
judgment. Do not let us then be surprised at the interest that ignorant
persons have at all times taken in the discoveries of their priests; nor
at the obstinate pertinacity which they have ever manifested in their
disputes. Indeed, in combating for his own peculiar system, each only
fought for the interests of his own vanity, which of all human passions
is the most quickly alarmed, the most calculated to lead man on to the
commission of great follies.

Theology is truly the vessel of the Danaides. By dint of contradictory
qualities, by means of bold assertions, it has so shackled its own
systems as to render it impossible they should act. Indeed, when even we
should suppose the existence of these theological systems, the reality
of codes so discordant with each other and with themselves, we can
conclude nothing from them to authorize the conduct, or sanction the
mode of worship which they prescribe. If their gods are infinitely good,
wherefore should we dread them? If they are infinitely wise, what reason
have we to disturb ourselves with our condition? If they are omniscient,
wherefore inform them of our wants, why fatigue them with our requests?
If they are omnipresent, of what use can it be to erect temples to them?
If they are lords of all, why make sacrifices to them; why bring them
offerings of what already belongs to them? If they are just, upon what
foundation believe that they will punish those creatures whom they have
filled with imbecility? If their grace works every thing in man, what
reason can there be why he should be rewarded? If they are omnipotent,
how can they be offended; how can we resist them? If they are rational,
how can the enrage themselves against blind mortals, to whom they have
left the liberty of acting irrationally? If they are immutable, by what
right shall we pretend to make them change their decrees? If they are
inconceivable, wherefore should we occupy ourselves with them? If the
knowledge of these systems be the most necessary thing, wherefore are
they not more evident, more consistent, more manifest?

This granted, he who can undeceive himself on the afflicting notions
of these theories, hath this advantage over the credulous, trembling,
superstitious mortal--that he establishes in his heart a momentary
tranquility, which, at least, rendereth him happy in this life. If the
study of nature hath banished from his mind, those chimeras with which
the superstitions man is infested, he, at least, enjoys a security of
which this sees himself deprived. In consulting this nature, his
fears are dissipated, his opinions, whether true or false, acquire a
steadiness of character; a calm succeeds the storm, which panic terror,
the result of wavering notions, excite in the hearts of all men who
occupy themselves with these systems. If the human soul, cheered by
philosophy, had the boldness to consider things coolly; it would no
longer behold the universe submitted to implacable systems, under which
man is continually trembling. If he was rational, he would perceive that
in committing evil he did not disturb nature; that he either injureth
himself alone, or injures other beings capable of feeling the effects of
his conduct, from thence he would know the line of his duties; he would
prefer virtue to vice, for his own permanent repose: he would, for
his own satisfaction, for his own felicity in this world, find himself
deeply interested in the practice of moral goodness; in rendering
virtue habitual; in making it dear to the feeling of his heart: his
own immediate welfare would be concerned in avoiding vice, in detesting
crime, during the short season of his abode among intelligent, sensible
beings, from whom he expects his happiness. By attaching himself to
these rules, he would live contented with his own conduct; he would
be cherished by those who are capable of feeling the influence of his
actions; he would expect without inquietude the term when his existence
should have a period; he would have no reason to dread the existence
which _might_ follow the one he at present enjoys: he would not fear to
be deceived in his reasonings. Guided by demonstration, led gently along
by honesty, he would perceive, that he could have nothing to dread from
a beneficent Divinity, who would not punish him for those involuntary
errors which depend upon the organization, which without his own consent
he has received.

Such a man so conducting himself, would have nothing to apprehend,
whether at the moment of his death, he falls asleep for ever; or whether
that sleep is only a prelude to another existence, in which he shall
find himself in the presence of his God. Addressing himself to the
Divinity, he might with confidence say,

"O God! Father, who hath rendered thyself invisible to thy child!
Inconceivable, hidden Author of all, whom I could not discover! Pardon
me, if my limited understanding hath not been able to know thee, in a
nature, where every thing hath appeared to me to be necessary! Excuse
me, if my sensible heart hath not discerned thine august traits among
those numerous systems which superstitious mortals tremblingly adore:
if, in that assemblage of irreconcileable qualities, with which the
imagination hath clothed thee, I could only see a phantom. How could my
coarse eyes perceive thee in nature, in which all my senses have
never been able to bring me acquainted but with material beings, with,
perishable forms? Could I, by the aid of these senses, discover thy
spiritual essence, of which no one could furnish me any idea? Could
my feeble brain, obliged to form its judgments after its own capacity,
discern thy plans, measure thy wisdom, conceive thine intelligence,
whilst the universe presented to my view a continued mixture of order
and confusion--of good and evil--of formation and destruction? Have I
been able to render homage to the justice of thy priests, whilst I so
frequently beheld crime triumphant, virtue in tears? Could I possibly
acknowledge the voice of a being filled with wisdom, in those ambiguous,
puerile, contradictory oracles, published in thy name in the different
countries of the earth I have quitted? If I have not known thy peculiar
existence, it is because I have not known either what thou couldst be,
where thou couldst be placed, or the qualities which could be assigned
thee. My ignorance is excusable, because it was invincible: my mind
could not bend itself under the authority of men, who acknowledged they
were as little enlightened upon thine essence as myself; who were for
ever disputing among themselves; who were in harmony only in imperiously
crying out to me, to sacrifice to them that reason which thou hadst
given to me; But, oh God! If thou cherishest thy creatures, I also, like
thee, have cherished them; I have endeavoured to render them happy, in
the sphere in which I have lived. If thou art the author of reason,
I have always listened to it--have ever endeavoured to follow it; if
virtue pleaseth thee, my heart hath always honoured it; I have never
willingly outraged it: when my powers have permitted me, I have myself
practised it; I was an affectionate husband, a tender father, a
sincere friend, a faithful subject, a zealous citizen; I have held out
consolation to the afflicted; and if the foibles of my nature have been
either injurious to myself or incommodious to others, I have not at
least made the unfortunate groan under the weight of my injustice. I
have not devoured the substance of the poor--I have not seen without
pity the widow's tears; I have not heard without commiseration the cries
of the orphan. If thou didst render man sociable, if thou was disposed
that society should subsist, if thou wast desirous the community might
be happy, I have been the enemy to all who oppressed him, the decided
foe to all those who deceived him, in order that they might advantage
themselves of his misfortunes.

"If I have not thought properly of thee, it is because my understanding
could not conceive thee; if I have spoken ill of thy systems, it is
because my heart, partaking too much of human nature, revolted against
the odious portrait under which they depicted thee. My wanderings have
been the effect of the temperament which thou hast given me; of the
circumstances in which, without my consent, thou hast placed me; of
those ideas, which in despite of me, have entered into my mind. As thou
art good, as thou art just, (as we are assured thou art) thou wilt not
punish me for the wanderings of mine imagination; for faults caused by
my passions, which are the necessary consequence of the organization
which I have received from thee. Thus I cannot doubt thy justice, I
cannot dread the condition which thou preparest for me. Thy goodness
cannot have permitted that I should incur punishment for inevitable
errors. Thou wouldst rather prevent my being born, than have called me
into the rank of intelligent beings, there to enjoy the fatal liberty of
rendering myself eternally unhappy."

It is thus that a disciple of nature, who, transported all at once into
the regions of space, should find himself in the presence of his God,
would be able to speak, although he should not have been in a condition
to lend himself to all the abstract systems of theology which appear to
have been invented for no other purpose than to overturn in his mind all
natural ideas. This illusory science seems bent an forming its systems
in a manner the most contradictory to human reason; notwithstanding
we are obliged to judge in this world according to its dictates; if,
however, in the succeeding world, there is nothing conformable to this,
what can be of more inutility, than to think of it or reason upon it?
Besides, wherefore should we leave it to the judgment of men, who are,
themselves, only enabled to act after our manner?

Without a very marked derangement of our organs, our sentiments hardly
ever vary upon those objects which either our senses experience, or
which reason has clearly demonstrated, In whatever circumstances we are
found, we have no doubt either upon the whiteness of snow, the light
of day, or the utility of virtue. It is not so with those objects which
depend solely upon our imagination--which are not proved to us by the
constant evidence of our senses; we judge of them variously, according
to the dispositions in which we find ourselves. These dispositions
fluctuate by reason of the involuntary impulse which our organs every
instant receive, on the part of an infinity of causes, either exterior
to ourselves, or else contained within our own frame. These organs are,
without our knowledge, perpetually modified, either relaxed or braced
by the density, more or less, of the atmosphere; by heat and by cold; by
dryness and by humidity; by health and by sickness; by the heat of the
blood; by the abundance of bile; by the state of the nervous system, &c.
These various causes have necessarily an influence upon the momentary
ideas, upon the instantaneous thoughts, upon the fleeting opinions of
man, He is, consequently, obliged to see under a great variety of hues,
those objects which his imagination presents to him; without it all
times having the capacity to correct them by experience: to compare them
by memory. This, without doubt, is the reason why man is continually
obliged to view his gods, to contemplate his superstitious systems,
under such a diversity of aspects, in different periods of his
existence. In the moment, when his fibres find themselves disposed to
he tremulous, he will be cowardly, pusillanimous; he will think of these
systems only with fear and trembling. In the moment, when these same
fibres shall have more tension, he will possess more firmness, he will
then view these systems with greater coolness. The theologian will call
his pusillanimity, "inward feeling;" "warning from heaven;" "secret
inspiration;" but he who knoweth man, will say that this is nothing
more than a mechanical motion, produced by a physical or natural cause.
Indeed, it is by a pure physical mechanism, that we can explain all the
revolutions that take place in the system, frequently from one minute
to another; all the fluctuations in the opinions of mankind; all the
variations of his judgment: in consequence of which we sometimes see him
reasoning justly, sometimes in the most irrational manner.

This is the mode by which, without recurring to grace, to inspirations,
to visions, to supernatural notions, we can render ourselves an account
of that uncertain, that wavering state into which we sometimes behold
persons fall, when there is a question respecting their superstition,
who are otherwise extremely enlightened. Frequently, in despite of all
reasoning, momentary dispositions re-conduct them to the prejudices of
their infancy, upon which on other occasions they appear to be
entirely undeceived. These changes are very apparent, especially under
infirmities, in sickness, or at approach of death. The barometer of the
understanding is then frequently obliged to fall. Those chimeras which
he despised, or which in a state of health, he set down at their true
value, are then realized. He trembles, because his machine is enfeebled;
he is irrational because his brain is incapable of fulfilling its
functions with exactitude. It is evident these are the actual causes
of those changes which the priests well know how to make use of against
what they call incredulity; from which they draw proofs of the reality
of their sublimated opinions. Those conversions, or those alterations,
which take place, in the ideas of man, have always their origin in some
derangement of his machine; brought on either by chagrin or by some
other natural or known cause.

Submitted to the continual influence of physical causes, our systems
invariably follow the variations of the body; we reason well when the
body is healthy--when it is soundly constituted; we reason badly when
the corporeal faculties are deranged; from thence our ideas become
disconnected, we are no longer equal to the task of associating them
with precision; we are incapable of finding principles, or to draw
from them just inferences; the brain, in fact, is shaken; we no longer
contemplate any thing under its actual point of view. It is a man of
this kind, who does not see things in frosty weather, under the same
traits as when the season is cloudy, or when it is rainy; he does not
view them in the same manner in sorrow as in gaiety; when in company
as when alone. Good sense suggests to us, that it is when the body is
sound, when the mind is undisturbed by any mist, that we can reason with
accuracy; this state can furnish us with a general standard, calculated
to regulate our judgment; even to rectify our ideas, when unexpected
causes shall make them waver.

If the opinions even of the same individual, are fluctuating, subject to
vaccillate, how many changes must they experience in the various beings
who compose the human race? If there do not, perhaps, exist two persons
who see a physical object under the same exact form or colour, what much
greater variety must they not have in their mode of contemplating those
things which have existence only in their imagination? What an infinity
of combinations, what a multitude of ideas, must not minds essentially
different, form to themselves when they endeavour to compose an ideal
being, which each moment of their existence must present to them under
a different aspect? It would, then, be a most irrational enterprise,
to attempt to prescribe to man what he ought to think of superstition,
which is entirely under the cognizance of his imagination; for the
admeasurement of which, as we have very frequently repeated, mortals
will never have any common standard. To oppugn the superstitious
opinions of man, is to commence hostilities with his imagination--to
attack his fancy--to be at war with his organization--to enter the lists
with his habits, which are of themselves sufficient to identify with
his existence, the most absurd, the most unfounded ideas. The more
imagination man has, the greater enthusiast he will be in matters of
superstition; reason will have the less ability to undeceive him in
his chimeras. In proportion as his fancy is powerful, these chimeras
themselves will become food necessary to its ardency. In fine, to battle
with the superstitious notions of man, is to combat the passions he
usually indulges for the marvellous; it is to assail him on that side
where he is least vulnerable; to force him in that position where he
unites all his strength--where he keeps the most vigilant guard. In
despite of reason, those persons who have a lively imagination, are
perpetually re-conducted to those chimeras which habit renders dear to
them, even when they are found troublesome; although they should prove
fatal. Thus a tender soul hath occasion for a God that loveth him;
the happy enthusiast needeth a God who rewardeth him; the unfortunate
visionary wants a God who taketh part in his sorrows; the melancholy
devotee requireth a God who chastiseth him, who maintaineth him in that
trouble which has become necessary to his diseased organization; the
frantic penitent exacteth a God, who imposes upon him an obligation to
be inhuman towards himself; whilst the furious fanatic would believe
himself unhappy, if he was deprived of a God who commanded him to make
others experience the effect of his inflamed humours, of his unruly
passions.

He is, without question, a less dangerous enthusiast who feeds himself
with agreeable illusions, than he whose soul is tormented with odious
spectres. If a placid, tender soul, does not commit ravages in society,
a mind agitated by incommodious passions, cannot fall to become, sooner
or later, troublesome to his fellow creatures. The God of a Socrates, or
a Fenelon, may be suitable to souls as gentle as theirs; but he cannot
be that of a whole nation, in which it is extremely rare men of their
temper are found: if honest men only view their gods as fitted with
benefits; vicious, restless, inflexible individuals, will give them
their own peculiar character, from thence will authorize themselves to
indulge, a free course to their passions. Each will view his deities
with eyes only open to his own reigning prejudice; the number of those
who will paint them as afflicting will always be greater, much more to
be feared, than those who shall delineate them under seducing colors:
for one mortal that those ideas will render happy, there will be
thousands who will be made miserable; they will, sooner or later,
become an inexhaustible source of contention; a never failing spring of
extravagant folly; they will disturb the mind of the ignorant, over whom
impostors will always gain ascendancy--over whom fanatics will ever
have an influence: they will frighten the cowardly, terrify the
pussillanimous, whose imbecility will incline them to perfidy, whose
weakness will render them cruel; they will cause the most upright to
tremble, who, even while practising virtue, will fear incurring the
divine displeasure; but they will not arrest the progress of the wicked,
who will easily cast them aside, that they may the more commodiously
deliver themselves up to crime; or who will even take advantage of these
principles, to justify their transgression. In short, in the hands
of tyrants, these systems will only serve to crush the liberty of the
people; will be the pretext for violating, with impunity, all equitable
rights. In the hands of priests they will become talismans, suitable
to intoxicate the mind; calculated to hoodwink the people; competent
to subjugate equally the sovereign as the subject; in the hands of the
multitude, they will be a two-edged sword, with which they will inflict,
at the same moment, the most dreadful wounds on themselves--the most
serious injuries on their associates.

On the other hand, these theological systems, as we have seen, being
only an heap of contradictions, which represent the Divinity under the
most incompatible characters, seem to doubt his wisdom, when they invite
mortals to address their prayers to him, for the gratification of their
desires; to pray to him to grant that which he has not thought it
proper to accord to them. Is it not, in other words, to accuse him with
neglecting his creatures? Is it not to ask him to alter the eternal
decrees of his justice; to change the invariable laws which he hath
himself determined? Is it not to say to him, "O, my God! I acknowledge
thy wisdom, thine omniscience, thine infinite goodness; nevertheless,
thou forgettest thy servant; thou losest sight of thy creature; thou
art ignorant, or thou feignest ignorance, of that which he wanteth: dost
thou not see that I suffer from the marvellous arrangement, which thy
wise laws have made in the universe? Nature, against thy commands,
actually renders my existence painful: change then, I beseech thee, the
essence which thy will has given to all beings. Grant that the elements,
at this moment, lose in my favor their distinguishing properties; so
order it, that heavy bodies shall not fall, that fire shall not burn,
that the brittle frame which I have received at thine hands, shall not
suffer those shocks which it every instant experiences. Rectify, I pray
thee, for my happiness, the plan which thine infinite prudence hath
marked out from all eternity." Such is very nearly the euchology
which man adopts; such are the discordant, absurd requests which he
continually puts up to the Divinity, whose wisdom he extols; whose
intelligence he holds forth to admiration; whose providence he
eulogizes; whose equity he applauds; whilst he is hardly ever contented
with the effects of the divine perfections.

Man is not more consequent in those thanksgivings which he believes
himself obliged to offer to the throne of grace. Is it not just, he
exclaims, to thank the Divinity for his kindness? Would it not be
the height of ingratitude to refuse our homage to the Author of our
existence; to withhold our acknowledgements from the Giver of every
thing that contributes to render it agreeable? But does he not
frequently offer up his thanksgivings for actions that overwhelm his
neighbour with misery? Does not the husbandman on the hill, return
thanks for the rain that irrigates his lands parched with drought,
whilst the cultivator of the valley is imploring a cessation of those
showers which deluge his fields--that render useless the labour of his
hands? Thus each becomes thankful for that which his own limited views
points out to him as his immediate interest, regardless of the general
effect produced by those circumstances on the welfare of his fellows.
Each believes that it is either a peculiar dispensation of providence
in his own favor, or a signal of the heavenly wrath directed against
himself; whilst the slightest reflection would clearly evince it to
be nothing more than the inevitable order of things, which take place
without the least regard to his individual comforts. From this it will
be obvious, that these systems do not teach their votaries, practically,
to love their neighbour as themselves. But in matters of superstition,
mortals never reason; they only follow the impulse of their fears; the
direction of their imagination; the force of their temperament; the
bent of their own peculiar passions; or those of the guides, who have
acquired the right of controling their understanding. Fear has generally
created these systems; terror unceasingly accompanies them; it is
impossible to reason while we tremble.

We do not, however, flatter ourselves that reason will be capable, all
at once, to deliver the human race from those errors with which so
many causes united have contributed to poison him. The vainest of
all projects would be the expectation of curing, in an instant, those
epidemical follies, those hereditary fallacies, rooted during so many
ages; continually fed by ignorance; corroborated by custom; borne along
by the passions made inveterate by interest; grounded upon the fears,
established upon the ever regenerating calamities of nations. The
ancient disasters of the earth gave birth to the first systems of
theology, new revolutions would equally produce others; even if the
old ones should chance to be forgotton. Ignorant, miserable, trembling
beings, will always either form to themselves systems, or else adopt
those which imposture shall announce--which fanaticism shall be disposed
to give them.

It would therefore be useless to propose more than to hold out reason to
those who are competent to understand it; to present truth to those who
can sustain its lustre; who can with serenity contemplate its refulgent
beauty; to undeceive those who shall not be inclined to oppose obstacles
to demonstration; to enlighten those who shall not desire pertinaciously
to persist in error. Let us, then, infuse courage into those who want
power to break with their illusions; let us cheer up the honest man, who
is much more alarmed by his fears than the wicked, who, in despite of
his opinions, always follows the rule of his passions: let us console
the unfortunate, who groans under a load of prejudices which he has not
examined: let us dissipate the incertitude of those whose doubts
render them unhappy; who ingenuously seek after truth, but who find in
philosophy itself only wavering opinions little calculated to determine
their fluctuating minds. Let us banish from the man of genius those
chimerical speculations which cause him to waste his time; let us wrest
his gloomy superstition from the intimidated mortal, who, duped by
his vain fears, becomes useless to society; let us remove from the
atrabilarious being those systems that afflict him, that exasperate his
mind, that do nothing more than kindle his anger against his incredulous
neighbour; let us tear from the fanatic those terrible ideas which arm
him with poniards against the happiness of his fellows; let us pluck
from tyrants, let us snatch from impostors, those opinions which enable
them to terrify, to enslave, and to despoil the human species. In
removing from honest men their formidable notions let us not encourage
those of the wicked, who are the enemies of society; let us deprive the
latter of those illegitimate sources, upon which they reckon to expiate
their transgressions; let us substitute actual, present terrors, to
those which are distant and uncertain to those which do not arrest the
most licentious excesses; let us make the profligate blush at beholding
themselves what they really are; let the ministers of superstition
tremble at finding their conspiracies discovered; let them dread the
arrival of the day, when mortals, cured of those errors with which they
have abused them, will no longer be enslaved by their artifice.

If we cannot induce nations to lay aside their inveterate prejudices,
let us, at least, endeavour to prevent them from relapsing into those
excesses, to the commission of which superstition has so frequently
hurried them; let mankind form to himself chimeras, if he cannot do
without them; let him think as he may feel inclined, provided his
reveries do not make him forget that he is a man; that he does not cease
to remember that a sociable being is not formed to resemble the most
ferocious animals. Let us try to balance the fictitious interests
of superstition, by the more immediate advantages of the earth. Let
sovereigns, as well as their subjects, at length acknowledge that the
benefits resulting from truth, the happiness arising from justice,
the tranquillity springing out of wholesome laws, the blessings to be
derived from a rational education, the superiority to be obtained from a
physical, peaceable morality, are much more substantive than those they
vainly expect from their respective superstitious systems, Let them
feel, that advantages so tangible, benefits so precious, ought not to be
sacrificed to uncertain hopes, so frequently contradicted by experience.
In order to convince themselves of these truths, let every rational man
consider the numberless crimes which superstition has caused upon our
globe; let them study the frightful history of theology: let them read
over the biography of its more odious ministers, who have too often
fanned the spirit of discord--kindled the flame of fury--stirred up
the raging fire of madness: let the prince and the people, at least,
sometimes learn to resist the demoniacal passions of these interpreters
of unintelligible systems, which they acknowledge they do not themselves
at all understand, especially when they shall invoke them to be
inhuman; when they shall preach up intolerance; when they invite them to
barbarity; above all, when they shall command them, in the name of their
gods, to stifle the cries of nature; to put down the voice of equity; to
be deaf to the remonstrances of reason; to be blind to the interest of
society.

Feeble mortals! led astray by error, how long will ye permit your
imagination, so active, so prompt to seize on the marvellous, to
continue to seek out of the universe pretexts to render you baneful
to yourselves, injurious to the beings with whom ye live in society?
Wherefore do ye not follow in peace, the simple, easy route marked out
for ye by nature? To what purpose do ye scatter thorns on the road
of life? What avails it, that ye multiply those sorrows to which your
destiny exposes ye? What advantages can ye derive from systems with
which the united efforts of the whole human species have not been
competent to bring ye acquainted? Be content, then, to remain ignorant
of that, which the human mind is not formed to comprehend; which human
intellect is not adequate to embrace: occupy yourselves with truth;
learn the invaluable art of living happy; perfection your morals; give
rationality to your governments; simplify your laws, and rest them on
the pillars of justice; watch over education, and see that it is of
an invigorating quality; give attention to agriculture, and encourage
beneficial improvements; foster those sciences which are actually
useful, and place their professors in the most honorable stations; labor
with ardour, and munificently reward those whose assiduity promotes
the general welfare; oblige nature by your industry to open her immense
stores, to become propitious to your exertions; do these things, and the
gods will oppose nothing to your felicity. Leave to idle thinkers, to
soporific dreamers, to waking visionaries, to useless enthusiasts, the
unproductive task, the unfruitful occupation, of fathoming depths,
from which ye ought sedulously to divert your attention; enjoy with
moderation, the benefits attached to your present existence; augment
their number when reason sanctions the multiplication; but never attempt
to spring yourselves forward, beyond the sphere destined for your
action. If you must have chimeras, permit your fellow creatures to have
theirs also; but never cut the throats of your brethren, when, they
cannot rave in your own manner. If ye will have unintelligible
systems, if ye cannot be contented without marvellous doctrines, if the
infirmities of your nature require an invisible crutch, adopt such as
may best suit with your humour; select those which you may think most
calculated to support your tottering frame; if ye can, let your own
imagination give birth to them; but do not insist on your neighbours
making the same choice with yourself: do not suffer these imaginary
theories to infuriate your mind: let them not so far intoxicate your
understandings, as to make ye mistake the duties ye owe to the real
beings with whom ye are associated. Always remember, that amongst these
duties, the foremost, the most consequential, the most immediate in
its bearing upon the felicity of the human race, stands, _a reasonable
indulgence for the foibles of others_.





CHAP. XI.

_Defence of the Sentiments contained in this Work.--Of Impiety.--Do
there exist Atheists?_


What has been said in the course of this work, ought sufficiently to
undeceive those who are capable of reasoning on the prejudices to which
they attached so much importance. But the most evident truths frequently
crouch under fear; are kept at bay by habit; prove abortive against
the force of enthusiasm. Nothing is more difficult to remove from its
resting place than error, especially when long prescription has given
it full possession of the human mind. It is almost unassailable when
supported by general consent; when it is propagated by education; when
it has acquired inveteracy by custom: it commonly resists every effort
to disturb it, when it is either fortified by example, maintained
by authority, nourished by the hopes, or cherished by the fears of a
people, who have learned to look upon these delusions as the most potent
remedies for their sorrows. Such are the united forces which sustain
the empire of unintelligible systems over the inhabitants of this world;
they appear to give stability to their throne; to render their power
immoveable; to make their reign as lasting as the human race.

We need not, then, be surprised at seeing the multitude cherish their
own blindness; encourage their superstitious notions; exhibit the most
sensitive fear of truth. Every where we behold mortals obstinately
attached to phantoms from which they expect their happiness;
notwithstanding these fallacies are evidently the source of all their
sorrows. Deeply smitten with the marvellous, disdaining the simple,
despising that which is easy of comprehension, but little instructed in
the ways of nature, accustomed to neglect the use of their reason, the
uninformed, from age to age, prostrate themselves before those invisible
powers which they have been taught to adore. To these they address their
most fervent prayers; implore them in their misfortunes, offer them
the fruits of their labour; they are unceasingly occupied either with
thanking their vain idols for benefits they have not received at their
bands, or else in requesting from them favors which they can never
obtain. Neither experience nor reflection can undeceive them; they do
not perceive these idols, the work of their own hands, have always been
deaf to their intreaties; they ascribe it to their own conduct; believe
them to be violently irritated: they tremble, groan out the most dismal
lamentations; sigh bitterly in their temples; strew their altars with
presents; load their priests with their largesses; it never strikes
their attention that these beings, whom they imagine so powerful, are
themselves submitted to nature; are never propitious to their wishes,
but when nature herself is favourable. It is thus that nations are the
accomplices of those who deceive them; are themselves as much opposed to
truth as those who lead them astray.

In matters of superstition, there are very few persons who do not
partake, more or less, of the opinions of the illiterate. Every man who
throws aside the received ideas, is generally considered a madman; is
looked upon as a presumptuous being, who insolently believes himself
much wiser than his associates. At the magical sound of superstition, a
sudden panic, a tremulous terror takes possession of the human species:
whenever it is attacked, society is alarmed; each individual imagines
he already sees the celestial monarch lift his avenging arm against
the country in which rebellious nature has produced a monster with
sufficient temerity to brave these sacred opinions. Even the most
moderate persons tax with folly, brand with sedition, whoever dares
combat with these imaginary systems, the rights of which good sense has
never yet examined. In consequence, the man who undertakes to tear the
bandeau of prejudice, appears an irrational being--a dangerous citizen;
his sentence is pronounced with a voice almost unanimous; the public
indignation, roused by fanaticism, stirred up by imposture, renders
it impossible for him to be heard in his defence; every one believes
himself culpable, if he does not exhibit his fury against him; if he
does not display his zeal in hunting him down; it is by such means man
seeks to gain the favor of the angry gods, whose wrath is supposed to be
provoked. Thus the individual who consults his reason, the disciple of
nature, is looked upon as a public pest; the enemy to superstition
is regarded as the enemy to the human race; he who would establish a
lasting peace amongst men, is treated as the disturber of society; the
man who would be disposed to cheer affrighted mortals by breaking those
idols, before whom prejudice has obliged them to tremble, is unanimously
proscribed as an atheist. At the bare name of atheist the superstitious
man quakes; the deist himself is alarmed; the priest enters the
judgement chair with fury glaring in his eyes; tyranny prepares his
funeral pile, the vulgar applaud the punishments which irrational,
partial laws, decree against the true friend of the human species.

Such are the sentiments which every man must expect to excite, who shall
dare to present his fellow creatures with that truth which all appear to
be in search of, but which all either fear to find, or else mistake
what we are disposed to shew it to them. But what is this man, who is
so foully calumniated as an atheist? He is one who destroyeth chimeras
prejudicial to the human race; who endeavours to re-conduct wandering
mortals back to nature; who is desirous to place them upon the road
of experience; who is anxious that they should actively employ their
reason. He is a thinker, who, having meditated upon matter, its
energies, its properties, its modes of acting, hath no occasion to
invent ideal powers, to recur to imaginary systems, in order to explain
the phenomena of the universe--to develope the operations of nature; who
needs not creatures of the imagination, which far from making him better
understand nature, do no more than render it wholly inexplicable, an
unintelligible mass, useless to the happiness of mankind.

Thus, the only men who can have pure, simple, actual ideas of nature,
are considered either as absurd or knavish speculators. Those who
form to themselves distinct, intelligible notions of the powers of the
universe, are accused of denying the existence of this power: those
who found every thing that is operated in this world, upon determinate,
immutable laws, are accused with attributing every thing to chance; are
taxed with blindness, branded with delirium, by those very enthusiasts
themselves, whose imagination, always wandering in a vacuum, regularly
attribute the effects of nature to fictitious causes, which have no
existence but in their own heated brain; to fanciful beings of their
own creation; to chimerical powers, which they obstinately persist in
preferring to actual, demonstrable causes. No man in his proper senses
can deny the energy of nature, or the existence of a power by virtue of
which matter acts; by which it puts itself in motion; but no man can,
without renouncing his reason, attribute this power to an immaterial
substance; to a power placed out of nature; distinguished from matter;
having nothing in common with it. Is it not saying, this power does not
exist, to pretend that it resides in an unknown being, formed by an heap
of unintelligible qualities, of incompatible attributes, from
whence necessarily results a whole, impossible to have existence?
Indestructible elements, the atoms of Epicurus, of which it is said the
motion, the collision, the combination, have produced all beings,
are, unquestionably, much more tangible than the numerous theological
systems, broached in various parts of the earth. Thus, to speak
precisely, they are the partizans of imaginary theories, the advocates
of contradictory beings, the defenders of creeds, impossible to be
conceived, the contrivers of substances which the human mind
cannot embrace on any side, who are either absurd or knavish; those
enthusiasts, who offer us nothing but vague names, of which every thing
is denied, of which nothing is affirmed, are the real _Atheists_; those,
I say, who make such beings the authors of motion, the preservers of the
universe, are either blind or irrational. Are not those dreamers, who
are incapable of attaching any one positive idea to the causes of which
they unceasingly speak, true deniers? Are not those visionaries, who
make a pure nothing the source of all beings, men really groping in
the dark? Is it not the height of folly to personify abstractions, to
organize negative ideas, and then to prostrate ourselves before the
figments of our own brain?

Nevertheless, they are men of this temper who regulate the opinions
of the world; who hold up to public scorn, those who are consistent to
principle; who expose to the most infuriate vengeance, those who are
more rational than themselves. If you will but accredit those profound
dreamers, there is nothing short of madness, nothing on this side
the most complete derangement of intellect, that can reject a totally
incomprehensible motive-power in nature. Is it, then, delirium to prefer
the known to the unknown? Is it a crime to consult experience, to call
in the evidence of our senses, in the examination of that which we are
informed is the most important to be understood? Is it a horrid outrage
to address ourselves to reason; to prefer its oracles to the sublime
decisions of some sophists, who themselves acknowledge they do not
comprehend any thing of the systems they announce? Nevertheless,
according to these men, there is no crime more worthy of
punishment--there is no enterprize more dangerous to morals--no treason
more substantive against society, than to despoil these immaterial
substances, which they know nothing about, of those inconceivable
qualities which these learned doctors ascribe to them--of that equipage
with which a fanatical imagination has furnished them--of those
miraculous properties with which ignorance, fear, and imposture have
emulated each other in surrounding them: there is nothing more impious
than to call forth man's reason upon superstitious creeds; nothing more
heretical than to cheer up mortals against systems, of which the idea
alone is the source of all their sorrows; there is nothing more pious,
nothing more orthodox, than to exterminate those audacious beings who
have had sufficient temerity to attempt to break an invisible charm that
keeps the human species benumbed in error: if we are to put faith in the
asseverations of the hierarchy, to be disposed to break man's chains is
to rend asunder his most sacred bonds.

In consequence of these clamours, perpetually renovated by the disciples
of imposture, kept constantly afloat by the theologians, reiterated
by ignorance, those nations, which reason, in all ages, has sought to
undeceive, have never dared to hearken to its benevolent lessons: they
have stood aghast at the very name of physical truth. The friends of
mankind were never listened to, because they were the enemies to his
superstition--the examiners of the doctrines of his priest. Thus the
people continued to tremble; very few philosophers had the courage to
cheer them; scarcely any one dared brave public opinion; completely
inoculated by superstition, they dreaded the power of imposture,
the menaces of tyranny, which always sought to uphold themselves
by delusion. The yell of triumphant ignorance, the rant of haughty
fanaticism, at all time stifled the feeble voice of the disciple of
nature; his lessons were quickly forgotten; he was obliged to keep
silence; when he even dared to speak, it was frequently only in an
enigmatical language, perfectly unintelligible to the great mass of
mankind. How should the uninformed, who with difficulty compass the most
evident truths, those that are the most distinctly announced, be able to
comprehend the mysteries of nature, presented under half words, couched
under intricate emblems.

In contemplating the outrageous language which is excited among
theologians, by the opinions of those whom they choose to call atheists;
in looking at the punishments which at their instigation were frequently
decreed against them, should we not be authorized to conclude, that
these doctors either are not so certain as they say they are, of the
infallibility of their respective systems; or else that they do not
consider the opinions of their adversaries so absurd as they pretend?
It is always either distrust, weakness, or fear, frequently the whole
united, that render men cruel; they have no anger against those whom
they despise; they do not look upon folly as a punishable crime. We
should be content with laughing at an irrational mortal, who should deny
the existence of the sun; we should not think of punishing him, unless
we had, ourselves, taken leave of our senses. Theological fury never
proves more than the imbecility of its cause. Lucian describes Jupiter,
who disputing with Menippus, is disposed to strike him to the earth with
his thunder; upon which the philosopher says to him, "Ah! thou vexest
thyself, thou usest thy thunder! then thou art in the wrong." The
inhumanity of these men-monsters, whose profession it was to announce
chimerical systems to nations, incontestibly proves, that they alone
have an interest in the invisible powers they describe; of which they
successfully avail themselves to terrify, mortals: they are these
tyrants of the mind, however, who, but little consequent to their own
principles, undo with one hand that which they rear up with the other:
they are these profound logicians who, after having formed a deity
filled with goodness, wisdom and equity, traduce, disgrace, and
completely annihilate him, by saving he is cruel, capricious, unjust,
and despotic: this granted, these men are truly impious; decidedly
heretical.

He who knoweth not this system, cannot do it any injury, consequently
cannot be called impious. "To be impious," says Epicurus, "is not
to take away from the illiterate the gods which they have; it is to
attribute to these gods the opinions of the vulgar." To be impious is to
insult systems which we believe; it is knowingly to outrage them. To be
impious, is to admit a benevolent, just God, at the same time we preach
up persecution and carnage. To be impious, is to deceive men in the
name of a Deity, whom we make use of as a pretext for our own unworthy
passions. To be impious, is to speak falsely on the part of a God, whom
we suppose to be the enemy of falsehood. In fine, to be impious, is to
make use of the name of the Divinity in order to disturb society--to
enslave it to tyrants--to persuade man that the cause of imposture
is the cause of God; it is to impute to God those crimes which would
annihilate his divine perfections. To be impious, and irrational, at
the same time, is to make, by the aggregation of discrepant qualities, a
mere chimera of the God we adore.

On the other hand, to be pious, is to serve our country with fidelity;
it is to be useful to our fellow creatures; to labour to the welfare of
society. Every one can put in his claim to this piety, according to his
faculties; he who meditates can render himself useful, when he has the
courage to announce truth--to attack error--to battle those prejudices
which everywhere oppose themselves to the happiness of mankind; it is to
be truly useful, it is even a duty, to wrest from the hands of mortals
those homicidal weapons which wretched fanatics so profusely distribute
among them; it is highly praiseworthy to deprive imposture of its
influence; it is loving our neighbour as ourself to despoil tyranny of
its fatal empire over opinion, which at all times it so successfully
employs to elevate knaves at the expence of public happiness; to erect
its power upon the ruins of liberty; to establish unruly passions upon
the wreck of public security. To be truly pious, is religiously to
observe the wholesome laws of nature; to follow up faithfully those
duties which she prescribes to us; in short, to be pious is to be
humane, equitable, benevolent: it is to respect the rights of mankind.
To be pious and rational at the same time, is to reject those reveries
which would be competent to make us mistake the sober counsels of
reason.

Thus, whatever fanaticism, whatever imposture may say, he who denieth
the solidity of systems which have no other foundation than an alarmed
imagination; he who rejecteth creeds continually in contradiction with
themselves; he who banisheth from his heart, doctrines perpetually
wrestling with nature, always in hostility with reason, ever at war
with the happiness of man; he, I repeat, who undeceiveth himself on
such dangerous chimeras, when his conduct shall not deviate from those
invariable rules which sound morality dictates, which nature approves,
which reason prescribes, may be fairly reputed pious, honest, and
virtuous. Because a man refuseth to admit contradictory systems, as well
as the obscure oracles, which are issued in the name of the gods, does
it then follow, that such a man refuses to acknowledge the evident,
the demonstrable laws of nature, upon which he depends, of which he in
obliged to fulfil the necessary duties, under pain of being punished in
this world; whatever he may be in the in the next? It is true, that if
virtue could by any chance consist in an ignominious renunciation of
reason, in a destructive fanaticism, in useless customs, the atheist,
as he is called, could not pass for a virtuous being: but if virtue
actually consists in doing to society all the good of which we are
capable, this miscalled atheist may fairly lay claim to its practice:
his courageous, tender soul, will not be found guilty, for hurling his
legitimate indignation against prejudices, fatal to the happiness of the
human species.

Let us listen, however, to the imputations which the theologians lay
upon those men they falsely denominate atheists; let us coolly, without
any peevish humour, examine the calumnies which they vomit forth against
them: it appears to them that atheism, (as they call differing in
opinion from themselves,) is the highest degree of delirium that can
assail the human mind; the greatest stretch of perversity that can
infect the human heart; interested in blackening their adversaries, they
make incredulity the undeniable offspring of folly; the absolute effect
of crime. "We do not," say they to us, "see those men fall into the
horrors of atheism, who have reason to hope the future state will be for
them a state of happiness." In short, according to these metaphysical
doctors, it is the interest of their passions which makes them seek to
doubt systems, at whose tribunals they are accountable for the abuses
of this life; it is the fear of punishment which is alone known to
atheists; they are unceasingly repeating the words of a Hebrew prophet,
who pretends that nothing but folly makes men deny these systems;
perhaps, however, if he had suppressed his negation, he would have
more closely aproximated the truth. Doctor Bentley, in his _Folly of
Atheism_, has let loose the whole Billingsgate of theological spleen,
which he has scattered about with all the venom of the most filthy
reptiles: if he and other expounders are to be believed, "nothing is
blacker than the heart of an atheist; nothing is more false than his
mind. Atheism," according to them, "can only be the offspring of a
tortured conscience, that seeks to disengage itself from the cause of
its trouble. We have a right", says Derham, "to look upon an atheist
as a monster among rational beings; as one of those extraordinary
productions which we hardly ever meet with in the whole human species;
and who, opposing himself to all other men, revolts not only against
reason and human nature, but against the Divinity himself."

We shall simply reply to all these calumnies by saying, it is for the
reader to judge if the system which these men call atheism, be as absurd
as these profound speculators (who are perpetually in dispute on the
uninformed, ill organized, contradictory, whimsical productions of their
own brain) would have it believed to be! It is true, perhaps, that the
system of naturalism hitherto has not been developed in all its extent:
unprejudiced persons however, will, at least, be enabled to know whether
the author has reasoned well or ill; whether or not he has attempted to
disguise the most important difficulties; distinctly to see if he has
been disingenuous; they will be competent to observe if, like unto the
enemies of human reason, he has recourse to subterfuges, to sophisms, to
subtle discriminations, which ought always to make it suspected of those
who use them, either that they do not understand or else that they
fear the truth. It belongs then to candour, it is the province of
disinterestedness, it is the duty of reason to judge, if the natural
principles which have been here ushered to the world be destitute of
foundation; it is to these upright jurisconsults that a disciple of
nature submits his opinions: he has a right to except against the
judgment of enthusiasm; he has the prescription to enter his caveat
against the decision of presumptuous ignorance; above all, he is
entitled to challenge the verdict of interested knavery. Those persons
who are accustomed to think, will, at least find reasons to doubt many
of those marvellous notions, which appear as incontestable truths only
to those, who have never assayed them by the standard of good sense.

We agree with Derham, that atheists are rare; but then we also say,
that superstition has so disfigured nature, so entangled her
rights--enthusiasm has so dazzled the human mind-terror has so disturbed
the heart of man--imposture has so bewildered his imagination--tyranny
has so enslaved his thoughts: in fine, error, ignorance, and delirium
have so perplexed and confused the clearest ideas, that nothing is
more uncommon than to find men who have sufficient courage to undeceive
themselves on notions which every thing conspires to identify with their
very existence. Indeed, many theologians in despite of those bitter
invectives with which they attempt to overwhelm the men they choose
to call atheists, appear frequently to have doubted whether any ever
existed in the world. Tertullian, who, according to modern systems,
would be ranked as an atheist, because he admitted a corporeal God,
says, "Christianity has dissipated the ignorance in which the Pagans
were immersed respecting the divine essence, and there is not an artizan
among the Christians who does not see God, and who does not know him."
This uncertainty of the theologic professors was, unquestionably,
founded upon those absurd ideas, which they ascribe to their
adversaries, whom they have unceasingly accused with attributing every
thing to chance--to blind causes--to dead, inert matter, incapable of
self-action. We have, I think, sufficiently justified the partizans
of nature against these ridiculous accusations; we have throughout the
whole proved, and we repeat it, that chance is a word devoid of sense,
which as well as all other unintelligible words, announces nothing but
ignorance of actual causes. We have demonstrated that matter is not
dead; that nature, essentially active and self-existent, has sufficient
energy to produce all the beings which she contains--all the phenomena
we behold. We have, throughout, made it evident that this cause is much
more tangible, more easy of comprehension, than the inconceivable theory
to which theology assigns these stupendous effects. We have represented,
that the incomprehensibility of natural effects was not a sufficient
reason for assigning to them a system still more incomprehensible than
any of those of which, at least, we have a slight knowledge. In fine, if
the incomprehensibility of a system does not authorize the denial of
its existence, it is at least certain that the incompatibility of the
attributes with which it is clothed, authorizes the assertion, that
those which unite them cannot be any thing more than chimeras, of which
the existence is impossible.

This granted, we shall be competent to fix the sense that ought to be
attached to the name of atheist; which, notwithstanding, the theologians
lavish on all those who deviate in any thing from their opinions. If,
by atheist, be designated a man who denieth the existence of a power
inherent in matter, without which we cannot conceive nature, and if it
be to this power that the name of God is given, then there do not exist
any atheists, and the word under which they are denominated would only
announce fools. But if by atheists be understood men without enthusiasm;
who are guided by experience; who follow the evidence of their senses;
who see nothing in nature but what they actually find to have existence,
or that which they are capacitated to know; who neither do, nor can
perceive any thing but matter essentially active, moveable, diversely
combined, in the full enjoyment of various properties, capable of
producing all the beings who display themselves to our visual faculties,
if by atheists be understood natural philosophers, who are convinced
that without recurring to chimerical causes, they can explain every
thing, simply by the laws of motion; by the relation subsisting between
beings; by their affinities; by their analogies; by their aptitude to
attraction; by their repulsive powers; by their proportions; by their
combinations; by their decomposition: if by atheists be meant these
persons who do not understand what _Pneumatology_ is, who do
not perceive the necessity of spiritualizing, or of rendering
incomprehensible, those corporeal, sensible, natural causes, which
they see act uniformly; who do not find it requisite to separate the
motive-power from the universe; who do not see, that to ascribe
this power to an immaterial substance, to that whose essence is from
thenceforth totally inconceivable, is a means of becoming more familiar
with it: if by atheists are to be pourtrayed those men who ingenuously
admit that their mind can neither receive nor reconcile the union of the
negative attributes and the theological abstractions, with the human
and moral qualities which are given to the Divinity; or those men who
pretend that from such an incompatible alliance, there could only result
an imaginary being; seeing that a pure spirit is destitute of the organs
necessary to exercise the qualities, to give play to the faculties of
human nature: if by atheists are described those men who reject systems,
whose odious and discrepant qualities are solely calculated to disturb
the human species--to plunge it into very prejudicial follies: if,
I repeat it, thinkers of this description are those who are called
atheists, it is not possible to doubt their existence; and their number
would be considerable, if the light of sound natural philosophy was more
generally diffused; if the torch of reason burnt more distinctly; or
if it was not obscured by the theological bushel: from thence, however,
they would be considered neither as irrational; nor as furious beings,
but as men devoid of prejudice, of whose opinions, or if they prefer it,
whose ignorance, would be much more useful to the human race, than those
ideal sciences, those vain hypotheses, which for so many ages have been
the actual causes of all man's tribulation.

Doctor Cudworth, in his _Intellectual System_, reckons four species of
atheists among the ancients.

First.--The disciples of Anaximander, called _Hylopathians_, who
attributed every thing to matter destitute of feeling. His doctrine was,
that men were born of earth united with water, and vivified by the
beams of the sun; his crime seems to have been, that he made the first
geographical maps and sun-dials; declared the earth moveable and of a
cylindrical form.

Secondly.--The _Atomists_, or the disciples of Democritus, who attribute
every thing, to the concurrence of atoms. His crime was, having first
taught that the milky way was occasioned by the confused light from a
multitude of stars.

Thirdly.--The _Stoics_, or the disciples of Zeno, who admitted a blind
nature acting after certain laws. His crime appears to be, that he
practised virtue with unwearied perseverance, and taught that this
quality alone would render mankind happy.

Fourthly.--The _Hylozoists_, or the disciples of Strato, who attributed
life to matter. His crime consisted in being one of the most acute
natural philosophers of his day, enjoying high favour with Ptolemy
Philadelphus, an intelligent prince, whose preceptor be was.

If, however, by atheists, are meant those men, who are obliged to avow,
that they have not one idea of the system they adore, or which they
announce to others; who cannot give any satisfactory account, either
of the nature or of the essence of their immaterial substances; who
can never agree amongst themselves on the proofs which they adduce in
support of their System; on the qualities or on the modes of action
of their incorporeities, which by dint of negations they render a mere
nothing; who either prostrate themselves, or cause others to bow
down, before the absurd fictions of their own delirium: if, I say,
by atheists, be denominated men of this stamp, we shall be under the
necessity of allowing, that the world is filled with them: we shall even
be obliged to place in this number some of the most active theologians,
who are unceasingly reasoning upon that Which they do not understand;
who are eternally disputing upon points which they cannot demonstrate;
who by their contradictions very efficaciously undermine their own
systems; who annihilate all their own assertions of perfection, by the
numberless imperfections with which they clothe them; who rebel against
their gods by the atrocious character under which they depict them. In
short, we shall be able to consider as true atheists, those credulous,
weak persons, who upon hearsay and from tradition, bend the knee before
idols, of whom they have no other ideas, than those which are furnished
them by their spiritual guides, who themselves acknowledge that they
comprehend nothing about the matter.

What has been said amply proves that the theologians themselves have not
always known the sense they could affix to the word atheist; they have
vaguely attacked, in an indistinct manner, calumniated with it, those
persons whose sentiments and principles were opposed to their own.
Indeed, we find that these sublime professors, always infatuated with
their own particular opinions, have frequently been extremely lavish in
their accusations of atheism, against all those whom they felt a
desire to injure; whose characters it was their pleasure to paint in
unfavourable colours; whose doctrines they wished to blacken; whose
systems they sought to render odious: they were certain of alarming
the illiterate, of rousing the antipathies of the silly, by a loose
imputation, or by a word, to which ignorance attaches the idea of
horror, merely because it is unacquainted with its true sense. In
consequence of this policy, it has been no uncommon spectacle to see the
partizans of the same sect, the adorers of the same gods, reciprocally
treat each other as atheists, in the fervour of their theological
quarrels; to be an atheist, in this sense, is not to have, in every
point, exactly the same opinions as those with whom we dispute, either
on superstitious or religious subjects. In all times the uninformed
have considered those as atheists, who did not think upon the Divinity
precisely in the same manner as the guides whom they were accustomed
to follow. Socrates, the adorer of a unique God, was no more than an
atheist in the eyes of the Athenian people.

Still more, as we have already observed, those persons have frequently
been accused of atheism, who have taken the greatest pains to establish
the existence of the gods, but who have not produced satisfactory
proofs: when their enemies wished to take advantage of them, it was easy
to make them pass for atheists, who had wickedly betrayed their cause,
by defending it too feebly. The theologians have frequently been very
highly incensed against those who believed they had discovered the most
forcible proof of the existence of their gods, because they were obliged
to discover that their adversaries could make very contrary inductions
from their propositions; they did not perceive that it was next to
impossible not to lay themselves open to attack, in establishing
principles visibly founded upon that which each man sees variously.
Thus Paschal says, "I have examined if this God, of whom all the world
speaks, might not have left some marks of himself. I look every where,
and every where I see nothing but obscurity. Nature offers one nothing,
that may not be a matter of doubt and inquietude. If I saw nothing in
nature which indicated a Divinity, I should determine with myself, to
believe nothing about it. If every where I saw the sign of a creator, I
should repose myself in peace, in the belief of one. But seeing too
much to deny, and too little to assure me of his existence, I am in a
situation that I lament, and in which I have an hundred times wished,
that if a God doth sustain nature, he would give unequivocal marks of
it, and that if the signs which he hath given be deceitful, that he
would suppress them entirely; that he said all or nothing, to the end
that I might see which side I ought to follow."

In a word, those who have most vigorously taken up the cause of the
theological systems, have been taxed with atheism and irreligion; the
most zealous partizans have been looked upon as deserters, have been
contemplated as traitors; the most orthodox theologians have not been
able to guarantee themselves from this reproach; they have mutually
bespatered each other; prodigally lavished, with malignant reciprocity,
the most abusive terms: nearly all have, without doubt, merited these
invectives, if in the term atheist be included those men who have
not any idea of their various systems, that does not destroy itself,
whenever they are willing to submit it to the touchstone of reason. From
whence we may conclude, without subjecting ourselves to the reproach of
being hasty, that error will not stand the test of investigation; that
it will not pass the ordeal of comparison; that it is in its hues a
perfect chamelion; that consequently it can never do more than lead to
the most absurd deductions: that the most ingenious systems, when they
have their foundations in hallucination, crumble like dust under the
rude band of the assayer; that the most sublimated doctrines, when they
lack the substantive quality of rectitude, evaporate under the scrutiny
of the sturdy examiner, who tries them in the crucible; that it is
not by levelling abusive language against those who investigate
sophisticated theories, they will either be purged of their absurdities,
acquire solidity, or find an establishment to give them perpetuity; that
moral obliquities, can never be made rectilinear by the mere application
of unintelligible terms, or by the inconsiderate jumble of discrepant
properties, however gaudy the assemblage: in short, that the only
criterion of truth is, _that it is ever consistent with itself_.





CHAP. XII.

_Is what is termed Atheism compatible with Morality?_


After having proved the existence of those whom the superstitious bigot,
the heated theologian, the inconsequent theist, calls _atheists_, let us
return to the calumnies which are so profusely showered upon them by
the deicolists. According to Abady, in his _Treatise on the Truth of the
Christian Religion_, "an atheist cannot be virtuous: to him virtue is
only a chimera; probity no more than a vain scruple; honesty nothing
but foolishness;--he knoweth no other law than his interest: where this
sentiment prevails, conscience is only a prejudice; the law of nature
only an illusion; right no more than an error; benevolence hath no
longer any foundation; the bonds of society are loosened; the ties of
fidelity are removed; friend is ready to betray friend; the citizen to
deliver up his country; the son to assassinate his father, in order
to enjoy his inheritance, whenever they shall find occasion, and that
authority or silence shall shield them from the arm of the secular
power, which alone is to be feared. The most inviolable rights, and
most sacred laws, must no longer be considered, except as dreams
and visions." Such, perhaps, would be the conduct, not of a feeling,
thinking, reflecting being, susceptible of reason; but of a ferocious
brute, of an irrational wretch, who should not have any idea of the
natural relations which subsist between beings, reciprocally necessary
to each other's happiness. Can it actually be supposed, that a man
capable of experience, furnished with the faintest glimmerings of sound
sense, would lend himself to the conduct which is here ascribed to the
atheist; that is to say, to a man who is conversant with the evidence of
facts; who ardently seeks after truth; who is sufficiently susceptible
of reflection, to undeceive himself by reasoning upon those prejudices
which every one strives to shew him as important; which all voices
endeavour to announce to him as sacred? Can it, I repeat, be supposed,
that any enlightened, any polished society, contains a citizen so
completely blind, not to acknowledge his most natural duties; so very
absurd, not to admit his dearest interests; so completely besotted not
to perceive the danger he incurs in incessantly disturbing his fellow
creatures; or in following no other rule, than his momentary appetites?
Is not every human being who reasons in the least possible manner,
obliged to feel that society is advantageous to him; that he hath need
of assistance; that the esteem of his fellows is necessary to his own
individual happiness; provoked, that he has every thing to fear from
the wrath of his associates; that the laws menace whoever shall dare to
infringe them? Every man who has received a virtuous education, who
has in his infancy experienced the tender cares of a parent; who has in
consequence tasted the sweets of friendship; who has received kindness;
who knows the worth of benevolence; who sets a just value upon equity;
who feels the pleasure which the affection of our fellow creatures
procures for us; who endures the inconveniences which result from their
aversion who smarts under the sting which is inflicted by their
scorn, is obliged to tremble at losing, by his measures, such manifest
advantages--at incurring such, imminent danger. Will not the hatred of
others, the fear of punishment, his own contempt of himself, disturb his
repose every time that, turning, inwardly upon his own conduct, he shall
contemplate it under the same perspective as does his neighbour? Is
there then no remorse but for those who believe in incomprehensible
systems? Is the idea that we are tinder the eye of beings of whom we
have but vague notions, more forcible than the thought that we are
viewed by our fellow men; than the fear of being detected by ourselves;
than the dread of exposure; than the cruel necessity of becoming
despicable in our own eyes; than the wretched alternative, to be
constrained to blush guiltily, when we reflect on our wild career, and
the sentiments which it must infallibly inspire?

This granted, we shall reply deliberately to this Abady, that an atheist
is a man who understands nature, who studies her laws; who knows his own
nature; who feels what it imposes upon him. An atheist hath experience;
this experience proves to him every moment that vice can injure him;
that his most concealed faults, his most secret dispositions, may be
detected--may display his character in open day; this experience proves
to him that society is useful to his happiness; that his interest
authoritatively demands he should attach himself to the country that
protects him, which enables him to enjoy in security the benefits of
nature; every thing shews him that in order to be happy he must make
himself beloved; that his parent is for him the most certain of friends;
that ingratitude would remove him from his benefactor; that justice is
necessary to the maintenance of every association; that no man, whatever
way he his power, can be content with himself, when he knows he is an
object of public hatred. He who has maturely reflected upon himself,
upon his own nature, upon that of his associates, upon his own wants,
upon the means of procuring them, cannot prevent himself from becoming
acquainted with his duties--from discovering the obligations he owes to
himself, as well as those which he owes to others; from thence he has
morality, he has actual motives to confirm himself to its dictates; he
is obliged to feel, that these duties are imperious: if his reason be
not disturbed by blind passions, if his mind be not contaminated by
vicious habits, he will find that virtue is the surest road to felicity.
The atheists, as they are styled, or the fatalists, build their system
upon necessity: thus, their moral speculations, founded upon the nature
of things, are at least much more permanent, much more invariable, than
those which only rest upon systems that alter their aspect according
to the various dispositions of their adherents--in conformity with the
wayward passions of those who contemplate, them. The essence of things,
and the immutable laws of nature, are not subject to fluctuate; it
is imperative with the atheist, as he is facetiously called by the
theologian, to call whatever injures himself either vice or folly; to
designate that which injures others, crime; to describe all that is
advantageous to society, every thing which contributes to its permanent
happiness, virtue.

It will be obvious, then, that the principles of the miscalled atheist
are much less liable to be shaken, than those of the enthusiast, who
shall have studied a baby from his earliest Infancy; who should have
devoted not only his days, but his nights, to gleaning the scanty
portion of actual information that he scatters through his volumes;
they will have a much more substantive foundation than those of the
theologian, who shall construct his morality upon the harlequin scenery
of systems that so frequently change, even in his own distempered brain.
If the atheist, as they please to call those who differ in opinion with
themselves, objects to the correctness, of--their systems, he cannot
deny his own existence, nor that of beings similar to himself, by whom
he is surrounded; he cannot doubt the reciprocity of the relations that
subsist between them; he cannot question the duties which spring out
of these relations; Pyrrhonism, then, cannot enter his mind upon the
actual principles of morality; which is nothing more than the science of
the relations of beings living together in society.

If, however, satisfied with a barren, speculative knowledge of his
duties, the atheist of the theologian should not apply them in
his conduct--if, hurried along by the current of his ungovernable
passions--if, borne forward by criminal habits--if, abandoned to
shameful vices-if, possessing a vicious temperament, which he has
not been sedulous to correct--if, lending himself to the stream of
outrageous desires, he appears to forget his moral obligations, it by no
means follows, either that he hath no principles, or that his principles
are false: it can only be concluded from such conduct, that in the
intoxication of his passions, in the delirium of his habits, in the
confusion of his reason, he does not give activity to doctrines grounded
upon truth; that he forgets to give currency to ascertained principles;
that he may follow those propensities which lead him astray. In this,
indeed, he will have dreadfully descended to the miserable level of
the theologian, but he will nevertheless find him the partner of his
folly--the partaker of his insanity--the companion of his crime.

Nothing is, perhaps, more common among men, than a very marked
discrepancy between the mind and the heart; that is to say, between the
temperament, the passions, the habits the caprices, the imagination, and
the judgment, assisted by reflection. Nothing is, in fact, more rare,
than to find these harmoniously running upon all fours with each other;
it is, however, only when they do, that we see speculation influence
practice. The most certain virtues are those which are founded upon
the temperament of man. Indeed, do we not every day behold mortals
in contradiction with themselves? Does not their more sober judgment
unceasingly condemn the extravagancies to which their undisciplined
passions deliver them up? In short, doth not every thing prove to us
hourly, that men, with the very best theory, have sometimes the very
worst practice; that others with the most vicious theory, frequently
adopt the most amiable line of conduct? In the blindest systems, in
the most atrocious superstitions, in those which are most contrary to
reason, we meet with virtuous men, the mildness of whose character, the
sensibility of whose hearts, the excellence of whose temperament, re
conducts them to humanity, makes them fall back upon the laws of nature,
in despite of their furious theories. Among the adorers of the most
cruel, vindictive, jealous gods, are found peaceable, souls, who are
enemies to persecution; who set their faces against violence; who are
decidedly opposed to cruelty: among the disciples of a God filled with
mercy, abounding in clemency, are seen barbarous monsters; inhuman
cannibals: nevertheless, both the one and the other acknowledge, that
their gods ought to serve them for a model. Wherefore, then, do they not
in all things conform themselves? It is because the most wicked systems
cannot always corrupt a virtuous soul; that those which are most bland,
most gentle in their precepts, cannot always restrain hearts driven
along by the impetuosity of vice. The organization will, perhaps, be
always more potential than either superstition or religion. Present
objects, momentary interests, rooted habits, public opinion, have much
more efficacy than unintelligible theories, than imaginary systems,
which themselves depend upon the organic structure of the human frame.

The point in question then is, to examine if the principles of the
atheist, as he is erroneously called, be true, and not whether his
conduct be commendable? An atheist, having an excellent theory, founded
upon nature, grafted upon experience, constructed upon reason, who
delivers himself up to excesses, dangerous to himself, injurious to
society, is, without doubt, an inconsistent man. But he is not more to
be feared than a superstitious bigot; than a zealous enthusiast; or
than even a religious man who, believing in a good, confiding in an
equitable, relying on a perfect God, does not scruple to commit the
most frightful devastations in his name. An atheistical tyrant would
assuredly not be more to be dreaded than a fanatical despot. An
incredulous philosopher, however, is not so mischievous a being as an
enthusiastic priest, who either fans the flame of discord among his
fellow subjects, or rises in rebellion against his legitimate monarch.
Would, then, an atheist clothed with power, be equally dangerous as a
persecuting priest-ridden king; as a savage inquisitor; as a whimsical
devotee; or, as a morose bigot? These are assuredly more numerous in the
world than atheists, as they are ludicrously termed, whose opinions, or
whose vices are far from being in a condition to have an influence
upon society; which is ever too much hoodwinked by the priest, too much
blinded by prejudice, too much the slave of superstition, to be disposed
to give them a patient hearing.

An intemperate, voluptuous atheist, is not more dangerous to society
than a superstitions bigot, who knows how to connect licentiousness,
punic faith, ingratitude, libertinism, corruption of morals, with his
theological notions. Can it, however, be ingeniously imagined, that a
man, because he is falsely termed an atheist, or because he does not
subscribe to the vengeance of the most contradictory systems, will
therefore be a profligate debaucheé, malicious, and persecuting; that he
will corrupt the wife of his friend; will turn his own wife adrift;
will consume both his time and his money in the most frivolous
gratifications; will be the slave to the most childish amusements; the
companion of the most dissolute men; that he will discard all his
old friends; that he will select his bosom confidents from the brazen
betrayers of their native land--from among the hoary despoilers of
connubial happiness--from out of the ranks of veteran gamblers; that he
will either break into his neighbour's dwelling, or cut his throat;
in short, that he will lend himself to all those excesses, the most
injurious to society, the most prejudicial to himself, the most
deserving public castigation? The blemishes of an atheist, then, as the
theologian styles him, have not any thing more extraordinary in them
than those of the superstitious man; they possess nothing with which his
doctrine can be fairly reproached. A tyrant, who should be incredulous,
would not be a more incommodious scourge to his subjects, than a
theological autocrat, who should wield his sceptre to the misery of his
people. Would the nation of the latter feel more happy, from the
mere circumstance that the tyger who governed it believed in the most
abstract systems, heaped the most sumptuous presents on the priests, and
humiliated himself at their shrine? At least it must be acknowledged,
according to the shewing of the theologian himself, that under
the dominion of the atheist, a nation would not have to apprehend
superstitious vexations; to dread persecutions for opinion; to fear
proscriptions for ill-digested systems; neither would it witness those
strange outrages that have sometimes been Committed for the interests
of heaven, even under the mildest monarchs. If it was the victim to the
turbulent passions of an unbelieving prince, the sacrifice to the folly
of a sovereign who should be an infidel, it would not, at least, suffer
from his blind infatuation, for theological systems which he does not
understand; nor from his fanatical zeal, which of all the passions
that infest monarchs, is ever the most destructive, always the most
dangerous. An atheistical tyrant, who should persecute for opinions,
would be a man not consistent with his own principles; he could not
exist; he would not, indeed, according to the theologian, be an atheist
at most, he would only furnish one more example, that mortals much
more frequently follow the blind impulse of their passions, the more
immediate stimulus of their interest, the irresistible torrent of their
temperament, than their speculations, however grave, however wise.
It is, at least, evident, that an atheist has one pretext less than a
credulous prince, for exercising his natural wickedness.

Indeed, if men condescended to examine things coolly, they would find
that on this earth the name of God is but too frequently made use of as
a motive to indulge the worst of human passions. Ambition, imposture,
and tyranny, have often formed a league to avail themselves of its
influence, to the end that they might blind the people, and bend them
beneath a galling yoke: the monarch sometimes employs it to give a
divine lustre to his person--the sanction of heaven to his rights--the
confidence of its votaries to his most unjust, most extravagant whims.
The priest frequently uses it to give currency to his pretensions, to
the end that he may with impunity gratify his avarice, minister to his
pride, secure his independence. The vindictive, enraged, superstitious
being, introduces the cause of his gods, that he may give free scope to
his fury, which he qualifies with zeal. In short, superstition becomes
dangerous, because it justifies those passions, lends legitimacy to
those crimes, holds forth as commendable those excesses, of which it
does not fail to gather the fruit: according to its ministers, every
thing is permitted to revenge the most high: thus the name of the
Divinity is made use of to authorize the most baneful actions, to
palliate the most injurious transgressions. The atheist, as he is
called, when he commits crimes, cannot, at least, pretend that it is
his gods who command them, or who clothe them with the mantle of their
approval, this is the excuse the superstitious being offers for his
perversity; the tyrant for his persecutions; the priest for his cruelty,
and for his sedition; the fanatic for the ebullition of his boiling
passions; the penitent for his inutility.

"They are not," says Bayle, "the general opinions of the mind, but the
passions, which determine us to act." Atheism, as it is called, is a
system which will not make a good man wicked but it may, perhaps, make
a wicked man good. "Those," says the same author, "who embraced the
sect of Epicurus, did not become debaucheés because they had adopted
the doctrine of Epicurus; they only lent themselves to the system, then
badly understood, because they were debaucheés." In the same manner, a
perverse man may embrace atheism, because he will flatter himself, that
this system will give full scope to his passions: he will nevertheless
be deceived. Atheism, as it is called, if well understood, is founded
upon nature and upon reason, which never can, like superstition, either
justify or expiate the crimes of the profligate.

From the diffusion of doctrines which make morality depend upon
unintelligible, incomprehensible systems, that are proposed to man for
a model, there has unquestionably resulted very great inconvenience.
Corrupt souls, in discovering, how much each of these suppositions
are erroneous or doubtful, give loose to the rein of their vices, and
conclude there are not more substantive motives for acting well; they
imagine that virtue, like these fragile systems, is merely chimerical;
that there is not any cogent solid reason for practising it in this
world. Nevertheless, it must be evident, that it is not as the disciples
of any particular tenet, that we are bound to fulfil the duties of
morality; it is as men, living together in society, as sensible beings
seeking to secure to ourselves a happy existence, that we should feel
the moral obligation. Whether these systems maintain their ground, or
whether the do not, our duties will remain the same; our nature, if
consulted, will incontestibly prove, that _vice is a decided evil, that
virtue is an actual, a substantial good_.

If, then, there be found atheists who have denied the distinction
of good and evil, or who have dared to strike at the foundations of
morality; we ought to conclude, that upon this point they have reasoned
badly; that they have neither been acquainted with the nature of man,
nor known the true source of his duties; that they have falsely imagined
that ethics, as well as theology, was only an ideal science; that the
fleeting systems once destroyed, there no longer remained any bonds
to connect mortals. Nevertheless, the slightest reflection would have
incontestibly proved, that morality is founded upon immutable relations
subsisting between sensible, intelligent, sociable beings; that without
virtue, no society can maintain itself; that without putting the curb on
his desires, no mortal can conserve himself: man is constrained from
his nature to love virtue, to dread crime, by the same necessity that
obliges him to seek happiness, and fly from sorrow: thus nature compels
him to place a distinction between those objects which please, and those
objects Which injure him. Ask a man, who is sufficiently irrational to
deny the difference between virtue and vice, if it would be indifferent
to him to be beaten, robbed, calumniated, treated with ingratitude,
dishonoured by his wife, insulted by his children, betrayed by his
friend? His answer will prove to you, that whatever he may say, he
discriminates the actions of mankind; that the distinction between good
and evil, does not depend either upon the conventions of men, or
upon the ideas which they may have of particular systems; upon the
punishments or upon the recompenses which attend mortals in a future
existence.

On the contrary, an atheist, as he is denominated, who should reason
with justness, would feel himself more interested than another in
practising those virtues to which he finds his happiness attached in
this world. If his views do not extend themselves beyond the limits of
his present existence, he must, at least, desire to see his days roll
on in happiness and in peace. Every man, who during the calm of his
passions, falls back upon himself, will feel that his interest invites
him to his own preservation; that his felicity rigorously demands he
should take the necessary means to enjoy life peaceably that it becomes
an imperative duty to himself to keep his actual abode free from alarm;
his mind untainted by remorse. Man oweth something to man, not merely
because he would offend any particular system, if he was to injure his
fellow creature; but because in doing him an injury he would offend a
man; would violate the laws of equity; in the maintenance of which every
human being finds himself interested.

We every day see persons who are possessed of great talents, who have
very extensive knowledge, who enjoy very keen penetration, join to
these advantages a very corrupt heart; who lend, themselves to the most
hideous vices: their opinions may be true in some respects, false in a
great many others; their principles may be just, but their inductions
are frequently defective; very often precipitate. A man may embrace
sufficient knowledge to detect some of his errors, yet command too
little energy to divest himself of his vicious propensities. Man is
a being whose character depends upon his organization, modified
by habit--upon his temperament, regulated by education--upon his
propensities, marshalled by example--upon his; passions, guided by
his government; in short, he is only what transitory or permanent
circumstances make him: his superstitious ideas are obliged to yield to
this temperament; his imaginary systems feel a necessity to accommodate
themselves to his propensities; his theories give way to his interests.
If the system which constitutes man an atheist in the eyes of this
theologic friend, does not remove him from the vices with which he was
anteriorly tainted, neither does it tincture him with any new ones;
whereas, superstition furnishes its disciples with a thousand pretexts
for committing evil without repugnance; induces them even to applaud
themselves for the commission of crime. Atheism, at least, leaves men
such as they are; it will neither increase a man's intemperance, nor
add to his debaucheries, it will not render him more cruel than his
temperament before invited him to be: whereas superstition either
lacks the rein to the most terrible passions, gives loose to the most
abominable suggestions, or else procures easy expiations for the most
dishonourable vices. "Atheism," says Chancellor Bacon, "leaves to man
reason, philosophy, natural piety, laws, reputation, and every thing
that can serve to conduct him to virtue; but superstition destroys all
these things, and erects itself into a tyranny over the understandings
of men: this is the reason why atheism never disturbs the government,
but renders man more clear-sighted, as seeing nothing beyond the bounds
of this life." The same author adds, "that the times in which men
have turned towards atheism, have been the most tranquil; whereas
superstition has always inflamed their minds, and carried them on to
the greatest disorders; because it infatuates the people with novelties,
which wrest from and carry with them all the authority of government."

Men, habituated to meditate, accustomed to make study a pleasure, are
not commonly dangerous citizens: whatever may be their speculations,
they never produce sudden revolutions upon the earth. The winds of the
people, at all times susceptible to be inflamed by the marvellous, their
dormant passions liable to be aroused by enthusiasm, obstinately resist
the light of simple truths; never heat themselves for systems that
demand a long train of reflection--that require the depth of the
most acute reasoning. The system of atheism, as the priests choose to
denominate it, can only be the result of long meditation; the fruit of
connected study; the produce of an imagination cooled by experience: it
is the child of reason. The peaceable Epicurus never disturbed Greece;
his philosophy was publicly taught in Athens during many centuries; he
was in incredible favour with his countrymen, who caused statues to be
erected to him; he had a prodigious number of friends, and his school
subsisted for a very long period. Cicero, although a decided enemy
to the Epicureans, gives a brilliant testimony to the probity both
of Epicurus and his disciples, who were remarkable for the inviolable
friendship they bore each other. In the time of Marcus Aurelius, there
was at Athens a public professor of the philosophy of Epicurus, paid
by that emperor, who was himself a stoic. Hobbes did not cause blood to
flow in England, although in his time, religious fanaticism made a king
perish on the scaffold. The poem of Lucretius caused no civil wars
in Rome; the writings of Spinosa did not excite the same troubles in
Holland as the disputes of Gomar and D'Arminius. In short, we can defy
the enemies to human reason to cite a single example, which proves in a
decisive manner that opinions purely philosophical, or directly contrary
to superstition, have ever excited disturbances in the state. Tumults
have generally arisen from theological notions, because both princes and
people have always foolishly believed they ought to take a part in
them. There is nothing so dangerous as that empty philosophy, which
the theologians have combined with their systems. It is to philosophy,
corrupted by priests, that it peculiarly belongs to blow up the embers
of discord; to invite the people to rebellion; to drench the earth with
human blood. There is, perhaps, no theological question, which has not
been the source of immense mischief to man; whilst all the writings of
those denominated atheists, whether ancient or modern, have never caused
any evil but to their authors; whom dominant imposture has frequently
immolated at his deceptive shrine.

The principles of atheism are not formed for the mass of the people,
who are commonly under the tutelage of their priests; they are
not calculated for those frivolous capacities, not suited to those
dissipated minds, who fill society with their vices, who hourly afford
evidence of their own inutility; they will not gratify the ambitious;
neither are they adapted to intriguers, nor fitted for those restless
beings who find their immediate interest in disturbing the harmony
of the social compact: much less are they made for a great number of
persons, who, enlightened in other respects, have not sufficient courage
to divorce themselves from the received prejudices.

So many causes unite themselves to confirm man in those errors which he
draws in with his mother's milk, that every step that removes him from
these endeared fallacies, costs him uncommon pain. Those persons who
are most enlightened, frequently cling on some side to the general
prepossession. By giving up these revered ideas, we feel ourselves, as
it were, isolated in society: whenever we stand alone in our opinions,
we no longer seem to speak the language of our associates; we are apt
to fancy ourselves placed on a barren, desert island, in sight of a
populous, fruitful country, which we can never reach: it therefore
requires great courage to adopt a mode of thinking that has but few
approvers. In those countries where human knowledge has made some
progress; where, besides, a certain freedom of thinking is enjoyed, may
easily be found a great number of deicolists, theists, or incredulous
beings, who, contented with having trampled under foot the grosser
prejudices of the illiterate, have not dared to go back to the
source--to cite the more subtle systems before the tribunal of reason.
If these thinkers did not stop on the road, reflection would quickly
prove to them that those systems which they have not the fortitude
to examine, are equally injurious to sound ratiocination, fully
as revolting to good sense, quite as repugnant to the evidence
of experience, as any of those doctrines, mysteries, fables, or
superstitious customs, of which they have already acknowledged the
futility; they would feel, as we have already proved, that all these
things are nothing more than the necessary consequences of those
primitive errors which man has indulged for so many ages in succession;
that in admitting these errors, they no longer have any rational cause
to reject the deductions which the imagination has drawn from them. A
little attention would distinctly shew them, that it is precisely these
errors that are the true cause of all the evils of society; that those
endless disputes, those sanguinary quarrels, to which superstition and
the spirit of party every instant give birth, are the inevitable effects
of the importance they attach to errors which possess all the means of
distraction, that scarcely ever fail to put the mind of man into a state
of combustion. In short, nothing is more easy than to convince ourselves
that imaginary systems, not reducible to comprehension, which are always
painted under terrific aspects, must act upon the imagination in a
very lively manner, must sooner or later produce disputes--engender
enthusiasm--give birth to fanaticism--end in delirium.

Many persons acknowledge, that the extravagances to which superstition
lends activity, are real evils; many complain of the abuse of
superstition, but there are very few who feel that this abuse, together
with the evils, are the necessary consequences of the fundamental
principles of all superstition; which are founded upon the most grievous
notions, which rest themselves on the most tormenting opinions. We
daily see persons undeceived upon superstitious ideas, who nevertheless
pretend that this superstition "is salutary for the people;" that
without its supernatural magic, they could not be kept within due
bounds; in other words, could not be made the voluntary slaves of the
priest. But, to reason thus, is it not to say, poison is beneficial to
mankind, that therefore it is proper to poison them, to prevent them
from making an improper use of their power? Is it not in fact to pretend
it is advantageous to render them absurd; that it is a profitable course
to make them extravagant; wholesome to give them an irrational bias;
that they have need of hobgoblins to blind them; require the most
incomprehensible systems to make them giddy; that it is imperative
to submit them either to impostors or to fanatics, who will avail
themselves of their follies to disturb the repose of the world? Again,
is it an ascertained fact, does experience warrant the conclusion, that
superstition has a useful influence over the morals of the people? It
appears much more evident, is much better borne out by observation,
falls more in with the evidence of the senses, that it enslaves them
without rendering them better; that it constitutes an herd of ignorant
beings, whom panic terrors keep under the yoke of their task-masters;
whom their useless fears render the wretched instruments of towering
ambition--of rapacious tyrants; of the subtle craft of designing
priests: that it forms stupid slaves, who are acquainted with no other
virtue, save a blind submission to the most futile customs, to which
they attach a much more substantive value than to the actual virtues
springing out of the duties of morality; or issuing from the social
compact which has never been made known to them. If by any chance,
superstition does restrain some few individuals, it has no effect on
the greater number, who suffer themselves to be hurried along by the
epidemical vices with which they are infected: they are placed by it
upon the stream of corruption, and the tide either sweeps them away,
or else, swelling the waters, breaks through its feeble mounds, and
involves the whole in one undistinguished mass of ruin. It is in those
countries where superstition has the greatest power, that will always
be found the least morality. Virtue is incompatible with ignorance; it
cannot coalesce with superstition; it cannot exist with slavery: slaves
can only be kept in subordination by the fear of punishment; ignorant
children are for a moment intimidated by imaginary terrors. But freemen,
the children of truth, have no fears but of themselves; are neither to
be lulled into submission by visionary duties, nor coerced by fanciful
systems; they yield ready obedience to the evident demonstrations of
virtue; are the faithful, the invulnerable supporters of solid systems;
cling with ardour to the dictates of reason; form impenetrable
ramparts round their legitimate sovereigns; and fix their thrones on an
immoveable basis, unknown to the theologian; that cannot be touched with
unhallowed hands; whose duration will be commensurate with the existence
of time itself. To form freemen, however, to have virtuous citizens,
it is necessary to enlighten them; it is incumbent to exhibit truth to
them; it is imperative to reason with them; it is indispensable to make
them feel their interests; it is paramount to learn them to respect
themselves; they must be instructed to fear shame; they must be excited
to have a just idea of honour; they must be made familiar with the value
of virtue, they must be shewn substantive motives for following its
lessons. How can these happy effects ever be expected from the polluted
fountains of superstition, whose waters do nothing more than degrade
mankind? Or how are they to be obtained from the ponderous, bulky yoke
of tyranny, which proposes nothing more to itself, than to vanquish them
by dividing them; to keep them in the most abject condition by means of
lascivious vices, and the most detestable crimes?

The false idea, which so many persons have of the utility of
superstition, which they, at least, judge to be calculated to restrain
the licentiousness of the illiterate, arise from the fatal prejudice
that it is a useful error; that truth may be dangerous. This principle
has complete efficacy to eternize the sorrows of the earth: whoever
shall have the requisite courage to examine these things, will without
hesitation acknowledge, that all the miseries of the human race are to
be ascribed to his errors; that of these, superstitious error must he
the most prejudicial, from the importance which is usually attached to
it; from the haughtiness with which it inspires sovereigns; from the
worthless condition which it prescribes to subjects; from the phrenzy
which it excites among the vulgar. We shall, therefore, be obliged to
conclude, that the superstitious errors of man, rendered sacred by time,
are exactly those which for the permanent interest of mankind, for the
well-being of society, for the security of the monarch himself,
demand the most complete destruction; that it is principally to their
annihilation, the efforts of a sound philosophy ought to be directed. It
is not to be feared, that this attempt will produce either disorders or
revolutions: the more freedom shall accompany the voice of truth, the
more convincing it will appear; although the more simple it shall
be, the less it will influence men, who are only smitten with the
marvellous; even those individuals who most sedulously seek after truth,
who pursue it with the greatest ardour, have frequently an irresistible
inclination, that urges them on, and incessantly disposes them to
reconcile error with its antipode. That great master of the art of
thinking, who holds forth to his disciples such able advice, says, with
abundant reason, "that there is nothing but a good and solid philosophy,
which can, like another Hercules, exterminate those monsters called
popular errors: it is that alone which can give freedom to the human
mind."

Here is, unquestionably, the true reason why atheism, as it is called,
of which hitherto the principles have not been sufficiently developed,
appears to alarm even those persons who are the most destitute of
prejudice. They find the interval too great between vulgar superstition
and an absolute renunciation of it; they imagine they take a wise medium
in compounding with error; they therefore reject the consequences, while
they admit the principle; they preserve the shadow and throw away the
substance, without foreseeing that, sooner or later, it must, by its
obstetric art, usher into the world, one after another, the same
follies which now fill the heads of bewildered human beings, lost in
the labyrinths of incomprehensible systems. The major part of the
incredulous, the greater number of reformers, do no more than prune a
cankered tree, to whose root they dare not apply the axe; they do
not perceive that this tree will in the end produce the same fruit.
Theology, or superstition, will always be an heap of combustible matter:
brooded in the imagination of mankind, it will always finish by causing
the most terrible explosions. As long as the sacerdotal order shall have
the privilege of infecting youth--of habituating their minds to tremble
before unmeaning words--of alarming nations with the most terrific
systems, so long will fanaticism be master of the human mind; imposture
will, at its pleasure, cast the apple of discord among the members of
the state. The most simple error, perpetually fed, unceasingly modified,
continually exaggerated by the imagination of man, will by degrees
assume a collossal figure, sufficiently powerful to upset every
institution; amply competent to the overthrow of empires. Theism is a
system at which the human mind cannot make a long sojourn; founded upon
error, it will, sooner or later, degenerate into the most absurd, the
most dangerous superstition.

Many incredulous beings, many theists, are to be met with in those
countries where freedom of opinion reigns; that is to say, where the
civil power has known how to balance superstition. But, above all,
atheists as they are termed, will be found in those nations where,
superstition, backed by the sovereign authority, most enforces the
ponderosity of its yoke; most impresses the volume of its severity;
imprudently abuses its unlimited power. Indeed, when in these kind of
countries, science, talents, the seeds of reflection, are not entirely
stifled, the greater part of the men who think, revolt at the crying
abuses of superstition; are ashamed of its multifarious follies; are
shocked at the corruption of its professors; scandalized at the tyranny
of its priests: are struck with horror at those massive chains which
it imposes on the credulous. Believing with great reason, that they can
never remove themselves too far from its savage principles, the system
that serves for the basis of such a creed, becomes as odious as the
superstition itself; they feel that terrific systems can only be
detailed by cruel ministers; these become detestable objects to every
enlightened, to every honest mind, in which either the love of equity,
or the sacred fire of freedom resides; to every one who is the advocate
of humanity--the indignant spurner of tyranny. Oppression gives a spring
to the soul; it obliges man to examine closely into the cause of his
sorrows; misfortune is a powerful incentive, that turns the mind to
the side of truth. How formidable a foe must not outraged reason be to
falsehood? It at least throws it into confusion, when it tears away its
mask; when it follows it into its last entrenchment; when it proves,
beyond contradiction, that _nothing is so dastardly as delusion
detected, or tyrannic power held at bay._





CHAP. XIII.

_Of the motives which lead to what is falsely called Atheism.--Can this
System be dangerous?--Can it be embraced by the Illiterate?_


The reflections, as well as the facts which have preceded, will furnish
a reply to those who inquire what interest man has in not admitting
unintelligible systems? The tyrannies, the persecutions, the numberless
outrages committed under these systems; the stupidity, the slavery,
into which their ministers almost every where plunge the people; the
sanguinary disputes to which they give birth; the multitude of unhappy
beings with which their fatal notions fill the world; are surely
abundantly sufficient to create the most powerful, the most interesting
motives, to determine all sensible men, who possess the faculty of
thought, to examine into the authenticity of doctrines, which cause so
many serious evils to the inhabitants of the earth.

A theist, very estimable for his talents, asks, "if there can be any
other cause than an evil disposition, which can make men atheists?" I
reply to him, yes, there are other causes. There is the desire, a very
laudable one, of having a knowledge of interesting truths; there is the
powerful interest of knowing what opinions we ought to hold upon the
object which is announced to us as the most important; there is the fear
of deceiving ourselves upon systems which are occupied with the opinions
of mankind, which do not permit he should deceive himself respecting
them with impunity. But when these motives, these causes, should not
subsist, is not indignation, or if they will, an evil disposition, a
legitimate cause, a good and powerful motive, for closely examining the
pretensions, for searching into the rights of systems, in whose name so
many crimes are perpetrated? Can any man who feels, who thinks, who
has any elasticity in his soul, avoid being incensed against austere
theories, which are visibly the pretext, undeniably the source, of all
those evils, which on every side assail the human race? Are they not
these fatal systems which are at once the cause and the ostensible
reason of that iron yoke that oppresses mankind; of that wretched
slavery in which he lives; of that blindness which hides from him
his happiness; of that superstition, which disgraces him; of those
irrational customs which torment him; of those sanguinary quarrels which
divide him; of all the outrages which he experiences? Must not every
breast in which humanity is not extinguished, irritate itself against
that theoretical speculation, which in almost every country is made to
speak the language of capricious, inhuman, irrational tyrants?

To motives so natural, so substantive, we shall join those which are
still more urgent, more personal to every reflecting man: namely, that
benumbing terror, that incommodious fear, which must be unceasingly
nourished by the idea of capricious theories, which lay man open to the
most severe penalties, even for secret thoughts, over which he himself
has not any controul; that dreadful anxiety arising out of inexorable
systems, against which he may sin without even his own knowledge; of
morose doctrines, the measure of which he can never be certain of having
fulfilled; which so far from being equitable, make all the obligations
lay on one side; which with the most ample means of enforcing restraint,
freely permit evil, although they hold out the most excruciating
punishments for the delinquents? Does it not then, embrace the best
interests of humanity, become of the highest importance to the welfare
of mankind, of the greatest consequence to the quiet of his existence,
to verify the correctness of these systems? Can any thing be more
rational than to probe to the core these astounding theories? Is it
possible that any thing can be more just, than to inquire rigorously
into the rights, sedulously to examine the foundations, to try by
every known test, the stability of doctrines, that involve in their
operations, consequences of such colossal magnitude; that embrace, in
their dictatory mandates, matters of such high behest; that implicate
the eternal felicity of such countless millions in the vortex of their
action? Would it not be the height of folly to wear such a tremendous
yoke without inquiry; to let such overwhelming notions pass current
unauthenticated; to permit the soi-disant ministers of these terrific
systems to establish their power, without the most ample verification
of their patents of mission? Would it, I repeat, be at all wonderful, if
the frightful qualities of some of these systems, as exhibited by
their official expounders, whom the accredited functionaries of similar
systems, do not scruple, in the face of day, to brand as impostors,
should induce rational beings to drive them entirely from their hearts;
to shake off such an intolerable burden of misery; to even deny the
existence of such appalling doctrines, of such petrifying systems,
which the superstitious themselves, whilst paying them their homage,
frequently curse from the very bottom of their hearts?

The theist, however, will not fail to tell the atheist, as he calls him,
that these systems are not such as superstition paints them; that the
colours are coarse, too glaring, ill assorted, the perspective out of
all keeping; he will then exhibit his own picture, in which the tints
are certainly blended with more mellowness, the colouring of a more
pleasing hue, the whole more harmonious, but the distances equally
indistinct: the atheist, in reply, will say, that superstition itself,
with all the absurd prejudices, all the mischievous notions to which it
gives birth, are only corollaries drawn from the fallacious ideas, from
those obscure principles, which the deicolist himself indulges. That his
own incomprehensible system authorizes the incomprehensible absurdities,
the inconceivable mysteries, with which superstition abounds; that they
flow consecutively from his own premises; that when once the mind of
mortals is bewildered in the dark, inextricable mazes of an ill-directed
imagination, it will incessantly multiply its chimeras. To assure the
repose of mankind, fundamental errors must be annihilated; that he may
understand his true relations, be acquainted with his imperative duties,
primary delusions must be rectified; to procure him that serenity of
soul, without which there can be no substantive happiness, original
fallacies must be undermined. If the systems of the superstitious
be revolting, if their theories be gloomy, if their dogmas are
unintelligible, those of the theist will always be contradictory; will
prove fatal, when he shall be disposed to meditate upon them; will
become the source of illusions, with which, sooner or later, imposture
will not omit to abuse his credulity. Nature alone, with the truths she
discovers, is capable of lending to the human mind that firmness
which falsehood will never be able to shake; to the human heart that
self-possession, against which imposture will in vain direct its
attacks.

Let us again reply to those who unceasingly repeat that the interest of
the passions alone conduct man to what is termed atheism: that it is the
dread of future punishment that determines corrupt individuals to make
the most strenuous efforts to break up a system they have reason to
dread. We shall, without hesitation, agree that it is the interest of
man's passions which excites him to make inquiries; without interest,
no man is tempted to seek; without passion, no man will seek vigorously.
The question, then, to be examined, is, if the passions and interests,
which determine some thinkers to dive into the stability or the systems
held forth to their adoption, are or are not legitimate? These interests
have, already been exposed, from which it has been proved, that every
rational man finds in his inquietudes, in his fears, reasonable motives
to ascertain, whether or not it be necessary to pass his life in
perpetual dread; in never ceasing agonies? Will it be said, that an
unhappy being, unjustly condemned to groan in chains, has not the right
of being willing to render them asunder; to take some means to liberate
himself from his prison; to adopt some plan to escape from those
punishments, which every instant threaten him? Will it be pretended that
his passion for liberty has no legitimate foundation, that he does an
injury to the companions of his misery, in withdrawing himself from the
shafts of tyrannical infliction; or in furnishing, them also with means
to escape from its cruel strokes? Is, then, an incredulous man, any
thing more than one who has taken flight from the general prison,
in which despotic superstition detains nearly all mankind? Is not an
atheist, as he is called, who writes, one who has broken his fetters,
who supplies to those of his associates who have sufficient courage to
follow him, the means of setting themselves free from the terrors that
menace them? The priests unceasingly repeat that it is pride, vanity,
the desire of distinguishing himself from the generality of mankind,
that determines man to incredulity. In this they are like some of those
wealthy mortals, who treat all those as insolent who refuse to cringe
before them. Would not every rational man have a right to ask the
priest, where is thy superiority in matters of reasoning? What motives
can I have to submit my reason to thy delirium? On the other hand, way
it not be said to the hierarchy, that it is interest which makes them
priests; that it is interest which renders them theologians; that it is
for the interest of their passions, to inflate their pride, to gratify
their avarice, to minister to their ambition, &c. that they attach
themselves to systems, of which they alone reap the benefits? Whatever
it may be, the priesthood, contented with exercising their power over
the illiterate, ought to permit those men who do think, to be excused
from bending the knee before their vain, illusive idols.

We also agree, that frequently the corruption of morals, a life of
debauchery, a licentiousness of conduct, even levity of mind, may
conduct man to incredulity; but is it not possible to be a libertine, to
be irreligious, to make a parade of incredulity, without being on that
account an atheist? There is unquestionably a difference between those
who are led to renounce belief in unintelligible systems by dint of
reasoning, and those who reject or despise superstition, only because
they look upon it as a melancholy object, or an incommodious restraint.
Many persons, no doubt, renounce received prejudices, through vanity or
upon hearsay; these pretended strong minds have not examined any thing
for themselves; they act upon the authority of others, whom they suppose
to have weighed things more maturely. This kind of incredulous beings,
have not, then, any distinct ideas, any substantive opinions, and are
but little capacitated to reason for themselves; they are indeed hardly
in a state to follow the reasoning of others. They are irreligious in
the same manner as the majority of mankind are superstitious, that is to
say, by credulity like the people; or through interest like the
priest. A voluptuary devoted to his appetites; a debaucheé drowned
in drunkenness; an ambitious mortal given up to his own schemes of
aggrandizement; an intriguer surrounded by his plots; a frivolous,
dissipated mortal, absorbed by his gewgaws, addicted to his puerile
pursuits, buried in his filthy enjoyments; a loose woman abandoned to
her irregular desires; a choice spirit of the day: are these I say,
personages, actually competent to form a sound judgment of superstition,
which they have never examined? Are they in a condition to maturely
weigh theories that require the utmost depth of thought? Have they the
capabilities to feel the force of a subtle argument; to compass the
whole of a system: to embrace the various ramifications of an extended
doctrine? If some feeble scintillations occasionally break in upon the
cimmerian darkness of their minds; if by any accident they discover
some faint glimmerings of truth amidst the tumult of their passions; if
occasionally a sudden calm, suspending, for a short season, the tempest
of their contending vices, permits the bandeau of their unruly desires
by which they are blinded, to drop for an instant from their hoodwinked
eyes, these leave on them only evanescent traces; scarcely sooner
received than obliterated. Corrupt men only attack the gods when they
conceive them to be the enemies to their vile passions. Arrian says,
"that when men imagine the gods are in opposition to their passions,
they abuse them, and overturn their altars." The Chinese, I believe, do
the same. The honest man makes war against systems which he finds are
inimical to virtue--injurious to his own happiness--baneful to that of
his fellow mortals--contradictory to the repose, fatal to the interests
of the human species. The bolder, therefore, the sentiments of the
honest atheist, the more strange his ideas, the more suspicious they
appear to other men, the more strictly he ought to observe his own
obligations; the more scrupulously he should perform his duties;
especially if he be not desirous that his morals shall calumniate his
system; which duly weighed, will make the necessity of sound ethics, the
certitude of morality, felt in all its force; but which every species of
superstition tends to render problematical, or to corrupt.

Whenever our will is moved by concealed and complicated motives, it is
extremely difficult to decide what determines it; a wicked man may be
conducted to incredulity or to scepticism by those motives which he dare
not avow, even to himself; in believing he seeks after truth, he
may form an illusion to his mind, only to follow the interest of his
passions; the fear of an avenging system will perhaps determine him to
deny their existence without examination; uniformly because he feels
them incommodious. Nevertheless, the passions sometimes happen to be
just; a great interest carries us on to examine things more minutely;
it may frequently make a discovery of the truth, even to him who seeks
after it the least, or who is only desirous to be lulled to sleep, who
is only solicitous to deceive himself. It is the same with a perverse
man who stumbles upon truth, as it is with him, who flying from an
imaginary danger, should encounter in his road a dangerous serpent,
which in his haste he should destroy; he does that by accident, without
design, which a man, less disturbed in his mind, would have done with
premeditated deliberation.

To judge properly of things, it is necessary to be disinterested; it
is requisite to have an enlightened mind, to have connected ideas to
compass a great system. It belongs, in fact, only to the honest man
to examine the proofs of systems--to scrutinize the principles of
superstition; it belongs only to the man acquainted with nature,
conversant with her ways, to embrace with intelligence the cause of the
SYSTEM OF NATURE. The wicked are incapable of judging with temper;
the ignorant are inadequate to reason with accuracy; the honest, the
virtuous, are alone competent judges in so weighty an affair. What do
I say? Is not the virtuous man, from thence in a condition to ardently
desire the existence of a system that remunerates the goodness of men?
If he renounces those advantages, which his virtue confers upon him
the right to hope, it is, undoubtedly, because he finds them imaginary.
Indeed, every man who reflects will quickly perceive, that for one timid
mortal, of whom these systems restrain the feeble passions, there are
millions whose voice they cannot curb, of whom, on the contrary, they
excite the fury; for one that they console, there are millions whom they
affright, whom they afflict; whom they make unhappy: in short, he finds,
that against one inconsistent enthusiast, which these systems, which
are thought so excellent, render happy, they carry discord, carnage,
wretchedness into vast countries; plunge whole nations into misery;
deluge them with tears.

However this may be, do not let us inquire into motives which may
determine a man to embrace a system; let us rather examine the system
itself; let us convince ourselves of its rectitude; if we shall find
that it is founded upon truth, we shall never, be able to esteem it
dangerous. It is always falsehood that is injurious to man; if error be
visibly the source of his sorrows, reason is the true remedy for them;
this is the panacea that can alone carry consolation to his afflictions.
Do not let us farther examine the conduct of a man who presents us with
a system; his ideas, as we have already said, may be extremely sound,
when even his actions are highly deserving of censure. If the system of
atheism cannot make him perverse, who is not so by his temperament, it
cannot render him good, who does not otherwise know the motives
that should conduct him to virtue. At least we have proved, that the
superstitious man, when he has strong passions, when he possesses a
depraved heart, finds even in his creed a thousand pretexts more than
the atheist, for injuring the human species. The atheist has not, at
least, the mantle of zeal to cover his vengeance; he has not the command
of his priest to palliate his transports; he has not the glory of his
gods to countenance his fury; the atheist does not enjoy the faculty of
expiating, at the expence of a sum of money, the transgressions of his
life; of availing himself of certain ceremonies, by the aid of which he
may atone for the outrages he may have committed against society; he
has not the advantage of being able to reconcile himself with heaven, by
some easy custom; to quiet the remorse of his disturbed conscience, by
an attention to outward forms: if crime has not deadened every feeling
of his heart, he is obliged continually to carry within himself an
inexorable judge, who unceasingly reproaches him for his odious conduct;
who forces him to blush for his own folly; who compels him to hate
himself; who imperiously obliges him to fear examination, to dread the
resentment of others. The superstitious man, if he be wicked, gives
himself up to crime, which is followed by remorse; but his superstition
quickly furnishes him with the means a getting rid of it; his life is
generally no more than a long series of error and grief, of sin and
expiation, following each other in alternate succession; still more, he
frequently, as we have seen, perpetrates crimes of greater magnitude,
in order to wash away the first. Destitute of any permanent ideas on
morality, he accustoms himself to look upon nothing as criminal, but
that which the ministers, the official expounders of his system, forbid
him to commit: he considers actions of the blackest dye as virtues, or
as the means of effacing those transgressions, which are frequently held
out to him as faithfully executing the duties of his creed. It is thus
we have seen fanatics expiate their adulteries by the most atrocious
persecutions; cleanse their souls from infamy by the most unrelenting
cruelty; make atonement for unjust wars by the foulest means; qualify
their usurpations by outraging every principle of virtue; in order
to wash away their iniquities, bathe themselves in the blood of those
superstitious victims, whose infatuation made them martyrs.

An atheist, as he is falsely called, if he has reasoned justly, if he
has consulted nature, hath principles more determinate, more humane,
than the superstitious; his system, whether gloomy or enthusiastic,
always conducts the latter either to folly or cruelty; the imagination
of the former will never be intoxicated to that degree, to make him
believe that violence, injustice, persecution, or assassination
are either virtuous or legitimate actions. We every day see that
superstition, or the cause of heaven, as it is called, hoodwinks even
those persons who on every other occasion are humane, equitable, and
rational; so much so, that they make it a paramount duty to treat with
determined barbarity, those men who happen to step aside from their mode
of thinking. An heretic, an incredulous being, ceases to be a man, in
the eyes of the superstitious. Every society, infected with the venom of
bigotry, offers innumerable examples of juridical assassination, which
the tribunals commit without scruple, even without remorse. Judges who
are equitable on every other occasion, are no longer so when there is a
question of theological opinions; in steeping their hands in the blood
of their victims, they believe, on the authority of the priests, they
conform themselves to the views of the Divinity. Almost every where the
laws are subordinate to superstition; make themselves accomplices in its
fanatical fury; they legitimate those actions most opposed to the gentle
voice of humanity; they even transform into imperative duties, the most
barbarous cruelties. The president Grammont relates, with a satisfaction
truly worthy of a cannibal, the particulars of the punishment of Vanini,
who was burned at Thoulouse, although he had disavowed the opinions with
which he was accused; this president carries his demoniac prejudices
so far, as to find wickedness in the piercing cries, in the
dreadful howlings, which torment wrested from this unhappy victim
to superstitious vengeance. Are not all these avengers of the gods
miserable men, blinded by their piety, who, under the impression of
duty, wantonly immolate at the shrine of superstition, those wretched
victims whom the priests deliver over to them? Are they not savage
tyrants, who have the rank injustice to violate thought; who have the
folly to believe they can enslave it? Are they not delirious fanatics,
on whom the law, dictated by the most inhuman prejudices, imposes the
necessity of acting like ferocious brutes? Are not all those sovereigns,
who to gratify the vanity of the priesthood, torment and persecute their
subjects, who sacrifice to their anthropophagite gods human victims,
men whom superstitious zeal has converted into tygers? Are not those
priests, so careful of the soul's health, who insolently break into the
sacred sanctuary of man's mind, to the end that they may find in his
opinions motives for doing him an injury, abominable knaves, disturbers
of the public repose, whom superstition honours, but whom virtue
detests? What villains are more odious in the eyes of humanity, what
depredators more hateful to the eye of reason, than those infamous
inquisitors, who by the blindness of princes, by the delirium of
monarchs, enjoy the advantage of passing judgment on their own enemies;
who ruthlessly commit them to the charity of the flames? Nevertheless,
the fatuity of the people makes even these monsters respected; the
favour of kings covers them with kindness; the mantle of superstitious
opinion shields them from the effect of the just execration of every
honest man. Do not a thousand examples prove, that superstition has
every where produced the most frightful ravages: that it has continually
justified the most unaccountable horrors? Has it not a thousand times
armed its votaries with the dagger of the homicide; let loose passions
much wore terrible than those which it pretended to restrain; broken up
the most sacred bonds by which mortals are connected with each other?
Has it not, under the pretext of duty, under the colour of faith,
under the semblance of zeal, under the sacred name of piety, favoured
cupidity, lent wings to ambition, countenanced cruelty, given a spring
to tyranny? Has it not legitimatized murder; given a system to perfidy;
organized rebellion; made a virtue of regicide? Have not those princes
who have been foremost as the avengers of heaven, who have been the
lictors of superstition, frequently themselves become its victims? In
short, has it not been the signal for the most dismal follies, the most
wicked outrages, the most horrible massacres? Has not its altars been
drenched with human gore? Under whatever form it has been exhibited,
has it not always been the ostensible cause of the most bare-faced
violation--of the sacred rights of humanity?

Never will an atheist, as he is called, as called, as he enjoys his
proper senses, persuade himself that similar actions can be justifiable;
never will he believe that he who commits them can be an estimable man;
there is no one but the superstitious, whose blindness makes him forget
the most evident principles of morality, whose callous soul renders
him deaf to the voice of nature, whose zeal causes him to overlook
the dictates of reason, who can by any possibility imagine the most
destructive crimes are the most prominent features of virtue. If the
atheist be perverse, he, at least, knows that he acts wrong; neither
these systems, nor their priests, will be able to persuade him that he
does right: one thing, however, is certain, whatever crimes he may allow
himself to commit, he will never be capable of exceeding those which
superstition perpetrates without scruple; that it encourages in those
whom it intoxicates with its fury; to whom it frequently holds forth
wickedness itself, either as expiations for offences, or else as
orthodox, meritorious actions.

Thus the atheist, however wicked he may be supposed, will at most be
upon a level with the devotee, whose superstition encourages him to
commit crimes, which it transforms into virtue. As to conduct, if he
be debauched, voluptuous, intemperate, adulterous, the atheist in
this differs in nothing from the most credulously superstitious, who
frequently knows how to connect these vices with his credulity, to
blend with his superstition certain atrocities, for which his priests,
provided he renders due homage to their power, especially if he augments
their exchequer, will always find means to pardon him. If he be in
Hindoostan, his brahmins will wash him in the sacred waters of the
Ganges, while reciting a prayer. If he be a Jew, upon making an
offering, his sins will be effaced. If he be in Japan, he will be
cleansed by performing a pilgrimage. If he be a Mahometan, he will be
reputed a saint, for having visited the tomb of his prophet; the Roman
pontiff himself will sell him indulgences; but none of them will ever
censure him for those crimes he may have committed in the support of
their several faiths.

We are constantly told, that the indecent behaviour of the official
expounders of superstition, the criminal conduct of the priests, or of
their sectaries, proves nothing against the goodness of their systems.
Admitted: but wherefore do they not say the same thing of the conduct of
those whom they call atheists, who, as we have already proved, way
have a very substantive, a very correct system of morality, even while
leading a very dissolute life? If it be necessary to judge the opinions
of mankind according to their conduct, which is the theory that would
bear the scrutiny? Let us, then, examine the opinion of the atheist,
without approving his conduct; let us adopt his mode of thinking, if we
find it marked by the truth; if it shall appear useful; if it shall be
proved rational; but let us reject his mode of action, if that should be
found blameable. At the sight of a work performed with truth, we do not
embarrass ourselves with the morals of the workman: of what importance
is it to the universe, whether the illustrious Newton was a sober,
discreet citizen, or a debauched intemperate man? It only remains for us
to examine his theory; we want nothing more than to know whether he
has reasoned acutely; if his principles be steady; if the parts of his
system are connected; if his work contains more demonstrable truths,
than bold ideas? Let us judge in the same manner of the principles of
the atheist; if they appear strange, if they are unusual, that is a
solid reason for probing them more strictly; if he has spoken truth,
if he has demonstrated his positions, let us yield to the weight of
evidence; if he be deceived in some parts, let us distinguish the true
from the false; but do not let us fall into the hacknied prejudice,
which on account of one error in the detail, rejects a multitude of
incontestible truisms. Doctor Johnson, I think, says in his preface to
his Dictionary, "when a man shall have executed his task with all the
accuracy possible, he will only be allowed to have done his duty; but if
he commits the slightest error, a thousand snarlers are ready to point
it out." The atheist, when he is deceived, has unquestionably as
much right to throw his faults on the fragility of his nature, as the
superstitious man. An atheist may have vices, may be defective, he
may reason badly; but his errors will never have the consequences of
superstitious novelties; they will not, like these, kindle up the fire
of discord in the bosom of nations; the atheist will not justify his
vices, defend his wanderings by superstition; he will not pretend to
infallibility, like those self-conceited theologians who attach the
Divine sanction to their follies; who initiate that heaven authorizes
those sophisms, gives currency to those falsehoods, approves those
errors, which they believe themselves warranted to distribute over the
face of the earth.

It will perhaps be said, that the refusal to believe in these systems,
will rend asunder one of the most powerful bonds of society, by making
the sacredness of an oath vanish. I reply, that perjury is by no means
rare, even in the most superstitious nations, nor even among the
most religious, or among those who boast of being the most thoroughly
convinced of the rectitude of their theories. Diagoras, superstitious as
he was, and it was not well possible to be more so, it is said became
an atheist, on seeing that the gods did not thunder their vengeance on
a man who had taken them as evidence to a falsity. Upon this principle,
how many atheists ought there to be? From the systems that have made
invisible unknown beings the depositaries of man's engagements, we do
not always see it result that they are better observed; or that the
most solemn contracts have acquired a greater solidity. If history
was consulted, it would now and then be in evidence, that even the
conductors of nations, those who have said they were the images of the
Divinity, who have declared that they held their right of governing
immediately from his hands, have sometimes taken the Deity as the
witness to their oaths, have made him the guarantee of their treaties,
without its having had all the effect that might have been expected,
when very trifling interests have intervened; it would appear, unless
historians are incorrect, that they did not always religiously observe
those sacred engagements they made with their allies, much less with
their subjects. To form a judgment from these historic documents,
we should be inclined to say, there have been those who had much
superstition, joined with very little probity; who made a mockery
both of gods and men; who perhaps blushed when they reviewed their own
conduct: nor can this be at all surprising, when it not unfrequently
happened that superstition itself absolved them from their oaths. In
fact, does not superstition sometimes inculcate perfidy; prescribe
violation of plighted faith? Above all, when there is a question of its
own interests, does it not dispense with engagements, however solemn,
made with those whom it condemns? It is, I believe, a maxim in the
Romish church, that _"no faith is to be held with heretics."_ The
general council of Constance decided thus, when, notwithstanding the
emperor's passport, it decreed John Hus and Jerome of Prague to be
burnt. The Roman pontiff has, it is well known, the right of relieving
his sectaries from their oaths; of annulling their vows: this same
pontiff has frequently arrogated to himself the right of deposing kings;
of absolving their subjects from their oaths of fidelity. Indeed, it
is rather extraordinary that oaths should be prescribed, by the laws
of those nations which profess Christianity, seeing that Christ
has expressly forbidden the use of them. If things were considered
attentively, it would be obvious that under such management,
superstition and politics are schools of perjury. They render it common:
thus knaves of every description never recoil, when it is necessary to
attest the name of the Divinity to the most manifest frauds, for the
vilest interests. What end, then, do oaths answer? They are snares, in
which simplicity alone can suffer itself to be caught: oaths, almost
every where, are vain formalities, that impose nothing upon villains;
nor do they add any thing to the sacredness of the engagements of honest
men; who would neither have the temerity nor the wish to violate them;
who would not think themselves less bound without an oath. A perfidious,
perjured, superstitious being, has not any advantage over an atheist,
who should fail in his promises: neither the one nor the other any
longer deserves the confidence of their fellow citizens nor the esteem
of good men; if one does not respect his gods, in whom he believes, the
other neither respects his reason, his reputation, nor public opinion,
in which all rational men cannot refuse to believe. Hobbes says, "an
oath adds nothing to the obligation. For a covenant, if lawful, binds
in the sight of God, without the oath, as much as with it: if unlawful,
bindeth not at all: though it be confirmed with an oath." The heathen
form was, "let Jupiter kill me else, as I kill this beast." Adjuration
only augments, in the imagination of him who swears, the fear of
violating an engagement, which he would have been obliged to keep, even
without the ceremony of an oath.

It has frequently been asked, if there ever was a nation that had no
idea of the Divinity: and if a people, uniformly composed of atheists,
would be able to subsist? Whatever some speculators may say, it does not
appear likely that there ever has been upon our globe, a numerous people
who have not had an idea of some invisible power, to whom they have
shewn marks of respect and submission: it has been sometimes believed
that the Chinese were atheists: but this is an error, due to the
Christian missionaries, who are accustomed to treat all those as
atheists, who do not hold opinions similar with their own upon Divinity.
It always appears that the Chinese are a people extremely addicted
to superstition, but that they are governed by chiefs who are not so,
without however their being atheists for that reason. If the empire of
China be as flourishing as it is said to be, it at least furnishes
a very forcible proof that those who govern have no occasion to be
themselves superstitious, in order to govern with propriety a people
who are so. It is pretended that the Greenlanders have no idea of the
Divinity. Nevertheless, it is difficult to believe it of a nation so
savage. Man, inasmuch as he is a fearful, ignorant animal, necessarily
becomes superstitious in his misfortunes: either he forms gods for
himself, or he admits the gods which others are disposed to give him;
it does not then appear, that we can rationally suppose there may have
been, or that there actually is, a people on the earth a total stranger
to some Divinity. One will shew us the sun, the moon, or the stars; the
other will shew us the sea, the lakes, the rivers, which furnish him his
subsistence, the trees which afford him an asylum against the inclemency
of the weather; another will shew us a rock of an odd form; a lofty
mountain; or a volcano that frequently astonishes him by its emission
of lava; another will present you with his crocodile, whose malignity
he fears; his dangerous serpent, the reptile to which he attributes his
good or bad fortune. In short, each individual will make you behold his
phantasm or his tutelary or domestic gods with respect.

But from the existence of his gods, the savage does not draw the same
inductions as the civilized, polished man: the savage does not believe
it a duty to reason continually upon their qualities; he does not
imagine that they ought to influence his morals, nor entirely occupy his
thoughts: content with a gross, simple, exterior worship, he does not
believe that these invisible powers trouble themselves with his conduct
towards his fellow creatures; in short, he does not connect his morality
with his superstition. This morality is coarse, as must be that of all
ignorant people; it is proportioned to his wants, which are few; it
is frequently irrational, because it is the fruit of ignorance; of
inexperience; of the passions of men but slightly restrained, or to
say thus, in their infancy. It is only numerous, stationary, civilized
societies, where man's wants are multiplied, where his interests clash,
that he is obliged to have recourse to government, to laws, to
public worship, in order to maintain concord. It is then, that men
approximating, reason together, combine their ideas, refine their
notions, subtilize their theories; it is then also, that those who
govern them avail themselves of invisible powers, to keep them within
bounds, to render them docile, to enforce their obedience, to oblige
them to live peaceably. It was thus, that by degrees, morals and
politics found themselves associated with superstitious systems. The
chiefs of nations, frequently, themselves, the children of superstition,
but little enlightened upon their actual interests; slenderly versed
in sound morality; with an extreme exilty of knowledge on the actuating
motives of the human heart; believed they had effected every thing
requisite for the stability of their own authority; as well as achieved
all that could guarantee the repose of society, that could consolidate
the happiness of the people, in rendering their subjects superstitious
like themselves; by menacing them with the wrath of invisible powers; in
treating them like infants who are appeased with fables, like children
who are terrified by shadows. By the assistance of these marvellous
inventions, to which even the chiefs, the conductors of nations, are
themselves frequently the dupes; which are transmitted as heirlooms from
race to race; sovereigns were dispensed from the trouble of instructing
themselves in their duties; they in consequence neglected the laws,
enervated themselves in luxurious ease, rusted in sloth; followed
nothing but their caprice: the care of restraining their subjects was
reposed in their deities; the instruction of the people was confided to
their priests, who were commissioned to train them to obedience, to make
them submissive, to render them devout, to teach them at an early age to
tremble under the yoke of both the visible and invisible gods.

It was thus that nations, kept by their tutors in a perpetual state of
infancy, were only restrained by vain, chimerical theories. It was thus
that politics, jurisprudence, education, morality, were almost every
where infected with superstition; that man no longer knew any duties,
save those which grew out of its precepts: the ideas of virtue were thus
falsely associated with those of imaginary systems, to which imposture
generally gave that language which was most conducive to its own
immediate interests: mankind thus fully persuaded, that without these
marvellous systems, there could not exist any sound morality, princes,
as well as subjects, equally blind to their actual interests, to the
duties of nature, to their reciprocal rights, habituated themselves
to consider superstition as necessary to mortals--as indispensibly
requisite to govern men--as the most effectual method of preserving
power--as the most certain means of attaining happiness.

It is from these dispositions, of which we have so frequently
demonstrated the fallacy, that so many persons, otherwise extremely
enlightened, look upon it as an impossibility that a society formed of
atheists, as they are termed, could subsist for any length of time. It
does not admit a question, that a numerous society, who should neither
have religion, morality, government, laws, education, nor principles,
could not maintain itself; that it would simply congregate beings
disposed to injure each other, or children who would follow nothing but
the blindest impulse; but then is it not a lamentable fact, that with
all the superstition that floats in the world, the greater number of
human societies are nearly in this state? Are not the sovereigns
of almost every country in a continual state of warfare with their
subjects? Are not the people, in despite of their superstition, not
withstanding the terrific notions which it holds forth, unceasingly
occupied with reciprocally injuring each other; with rendering
themselves mutually unhappy? Does not superstition itself, with its
supernatural notions, unremittingly flatter the vanity of monarchs,
unbridle the passions of princes, throw oil into the fire of discord,
which it kindles between those citizens who are divided in their
opinion? Could those infernal powers, who are supposed to be ever on the
alert to mischief mankind, be capable of inflicting greater evils upon
the human race than spring from fanaticism, than arise out of the fury
to which theology gives birth? Could atheists, however irrational they
may be supposed, if assembled together in society, conduct themselves
in a more criminal manner? In short, is it possible they could act worse
than the superstitious, who, saturated with the most pernicious vices,
guided by the most extravagant systems, during so many successive ages,
have done nothing more than torment themselves with the most cruel
inflictions; savagely cut each other's throats, without a shadow of
reason; make a merit of mutual extermination? It cannot be pretended
they would. On the contrary, we boldly assert, that a community of
atheists, as the theologian calls them, because they cannot fall in
with his mysteries, destitute of all superstition, governed by wholesome
laws, formed by a salutary education, invited to the practice of
virtue by instantaneous recompences, deterred from crime by immediate
punishments, disentangled from illusive theories, unsophisticated by
falsehood, would be decidedly more honest, incalculably more virtuous,
than those superstitious societies, in which every thing contributes to
intoxicate the mind; where every thing conspires to corrupt the heart.

When we shall be disposed usefully to occupy ourselves with the
happiness of mankind, it is with superstition that the reform must
commence; it is by abstracting these imaginary theories, destined to
affright the ignorant, who are completely in a state of infancy, that we
shall be able to promise ourselves the desirable harvest of conducting
man to a state of maturity. It cannot be too often repeated, there can
be no morality without consulting the nature of man, without studying
his actual relations with the beings of his own species; there can be
no fixed principle for man's conduct, while it is regulated upon unjust
theories; upon capricious doctrines; upon corrupt systems; there can
be no sound politics without attending to human temperament, without
contemplating him as a being associated for the purpose of satisfying
his wants, consolidating his happiness, and assuring its enjoyment. No
wise government can found itself upon despotic systems; they will always
make tyrants of their representatives. No laws can be wholesome, that
do not bottom themselves upon the strictest equity; which have not for
their object the great end of human society. No jurisprudence can
be advantageous for nations, if its administration be regulated by
capricious systems, or by human passions deified. No education can be
salutary, unless it be founded upon reason; to be efficacious to its
proposed end, it must neither be construed upon chimerical theories, nor
upon received prejudices. In short, there can be no probity, no talents,
no virtue, either under corrupt masters, or under the conduct of those
priests who render man the enemy to himself--the determined foe
to others; who seek to stifle in his bosom the germ of reason; who
endeavour to smother science, or who try to damp his courage.

It will, perhaps, be asked, if we can reasonably flatter ourselves with
ever reaching the point to make a whole people entirely forget their
superstitious opinions; or abandon the ideas which they have of their
gods? I reply, that the thing appears utterly impossible; that this is
not the end we can propose to ourselves. These ideas, inculcated from
the earliest ages, do not appear of a nature to admit eradication
from the mind of the majority of mankind: it would, perhaps be equally
arduous to give them to those persons, who, arrived at a certain time of
life, should never have heard them spoken of, as to banish them from
the minds of those, who have been imbued with them from their tenderest
infancy. Thus, it cannot be reckoned possible to make a whole nation
pass from the abyss of superstition, that is to say, from the bosom of
ignorance, from the ravings of delirium, into absolute naturalism, or
as the priests of superstition would denominate it, into atheism;
which supposes reflection--requires intense study--demands extensive
knowledge--exacts a long series of experience--includes the habit of
contemplating nature--the faculty of observing her laws; which, in
short, embraces the expansive science of the causes producing her
various phenomena; her multiplied combinations, together with the
diversified actions of the beings she contains, as well as their
numerous properties. In order to be an atheist, or to be assured of
the capabilities of nature, it is imperative to have meditated
her profoundly: a superficial glance of the eye will not bring man
acquainted with her resources; optics but little practised on her
powers, will unceasingly be deceived; the ignorance of actual causes
will always induce the supposition of those which are imaginary;
credulity will, thus re-conduct the natural philosopher himself to the
feet of superstitious phantoms, in which either his limited vision, or
his habitual sloth, will make him believe he shall find the solution to
every difficulty.

Atheism, then, as well as philosophy, like all profound abstruse
sciences, is not calculated for the vulgar; neither is it suitable
to the great mass of mankind. There are, in all populous, civilized
nations, persons whose circumstances enable them to devote their time
to meditation, whose easy finances afford them leisure to make deep
researches into the nature of things, who frequently make useful
discoveries, which, sooner or later, after they have been submitted
to the infallible test of experience, when they have passed the fiery
ordeal of truth, extend widely their salutary effects, become extremely
beneficial to society, highly advantageous to individuals. The
geometrician, the chemist, the mechanic, the natural philosopher, the
civilian, the artizan himself, are industriously employed, either
in their closets, or in their workshops, seeking the means to serve
society, each in his sphere: nevertheless, not one of their sciences
or professions are familiar to the illiterate; not one of the arts with
which they are respectively occupied, are known to the uninitiated:
these, however, do not fail, in the long run, to profit by them, to reap
substantive advantages from those labours, of which they themselves have
no idea. It is for the mariner, that the astronomer explores his arduous
science; it is for him the geometrician calculates; for his use the
mechanic plies his craft: it is for the mason, for the carpenter, for
the labourer, that the skilful architect studies his orders, lays down
well-proportioned elaborate plans. Whatever may be the pretended utility
of Pneumatology, whatever may be the vaunted advantages of superstitious
opinions, the wrangling polemic, the subtle theologian, cannot boast
either of toiling, of writing, or of disputing for the advantage of the
people, whom, notwithstanding, he contrives to tax, very exorbitantly,
for those systems they can never understand; from whom he levies the
most oppressive contributions, as a remuneration for the detail of those
mysteries, which under any possible circumstances, cannot, at any time
whatever, be of the slightest benefit to them. It is not, then, for the
multitude that a philosopher should propose to himself, either to write
or to meditate: the Code of Nature, or the principles of atheism, as
the priest calls it, are not, as we have shewn, even calculated for
the meridian of a great number of persons, who are frequently too much
prepossessed in favour of the received prejudices, although extremely
enlightened on other points. It is extremely rare to find men, who, to
an enlarged mind, extensive knowledge, great talents, join either a well
regulated imagination, or the courage necessary to successfully oppugn
habitual errors; triumphantly to attack those chimerical systems, with
which the brain has been inoculated from the first hour of its birth.
A secret bias, an invincible inclination, frequently, in despite of all
reasoning, re-conducts the most comprehensive, the best fortified, the
most liberal minds, to those prejudices which have a wide-spreading
establishment; of which they have themselves taken copious draughts
during the early stages of life. Nevertheless, those principles, which
at first appear strange, which by their boldness seem revolting, from
which timidity flies with trepidation, when they have the sanction
of truth, gradually insinuate themselves into the human mind, become
familiar to its exercise, extend their happy influence on every side,
and finally produce the most substantive advantages to society. In time,
men habituate themselves to ideas which originally they looked upon
as absurd; which on a superficial glance they contemplated as either
noxious or irrational: at least, they cease to consider those as odious,
who profess opinions upon subjects on which experience makes it evident
they may be permitted to have doubts, without imminent danger to public
tranquillity.

Then the diffusion of ideas among mankind is not an event to be dreaded:
if they are truths, they will of necessity be useful: by degrees they
will fructify. The man who writes, must neither fix his eyes upon the
time in which he lives, upon his actual fellow citizens, nor upon the
country he inhabits. He must speak to the human race; he must instruct
future generations; he must extend his views into the bosom of futurity;
in vain he will expect the eulogies of his contemporaries; in vain will
he flatter himself with seeing his reasoning adopted; in vain he
will soothe himself with the pleasing reflection, that his precocious
principles will be received with kindness; if he has exhibited truisms,
the ages that shall follow will do justice to his efforts; unborn
nations shall applaud his exertions; his future countrymen shall crown
his sturdy attempts with those laurels, which interested prejudice
withholds from him in his own days; it must therefore be from posterity,
he is to expect the need of applause due to his services; the present
race is hermetically sealed against him: meantime let him content
himself with having done well; with the secret suffrages of those few
friends to veracity who are so thinly spread over the surface of the
earth. It is after his death, that the trusty reasoner, the faithful
writer, the promulgator of sterling principles, the child of simplicity,
triumphs; it is then that the stings of hatred, the shafts of envy, the
arrows of malice, either exhausted or blunted, enable mankind to judge
with impartiality; to yield to conviction; to establish eternal truth
upon its own imperishable altars, which from its essence must survive
all the error of the earth. It is then that calumny, crushed like the
devouring snail by the careful gardener, ceases to besmear the character
of an honest man, while its venomous slime, glazed by the sun, enables
the observant spectator to trace the filthy progress it had made.

It is a problem with many people, _if truth may not be injurious?_
The best intentioned persons are frequently in great doubt upon this
important point. The fact is, _it never injures any but those who
deceive mankind_: this has, however, the greatest interest in being
undeceived. Truth may be injurious to the individual who announces it,
but it can never by any possibility harm the human species; never can it
be too distinctly presented to beings, always either little disposed to
listen to its dictates, or too slothful to comprehend its efficacy. If
all those who write to publish important truths, which, of all others,
are ever considered the most dangerous, were sufficiently ardent for the
public welfare to speak freely, even at the risk of displeasing their
readers, the human race would be much more enlightened, much happier
than it now is. To write in ambiguous terms, is very frequently to
write to nobody. The human mind is idle; we must spare it, as much
as possible, the trouble of reflection; we must relieve it from the
embarrassment of intense thinking. What time does it not consume,
what study does it not require, at the present day, to unravel the
amphibological oracles of the ancient philosophers, whose actual
sentiments are almost entirely lost to the present race of men? If truth
be useful to human beings, it is an injustice to deprive them of
its advantages; if truth ought to be admitted, we must admit its
consequences, which are also truths. Man, taken generally, is fond of
truth, but its consequences often inspire him with so much dread, so
alarm his imbecility, that, frequently, he prefers remaining in error,
of which a confirmed habit prevents him from feeling the deplorable
effects. Besides, we shall say with Hobbes, "that we cannot do men any
harm by proposing truth to them; the worst mode is to leave them in
doubt, to let them remain in dispute." If an author who writes be
deceived, it is because he may have reasoned badly. Has he laid down
false principles? It remains to examine them. Is his system fallacious?
Is it ridiculous? It will serve to make truth appear with the greatest
splendor: his work will fall into contempt; the writer, if he be witness
to its fall, will be sufficiently punished for his temerity; if he
be defunct, the living cannot disturb his ashes. No man writes with a
design to injure his fellow creatures; he always proposes to himself
to merit their suffrages, either by amusing them, by exciting their
curiosity, or by communicating to them discoveries, which he believes
useful. Above all, no work can be really dangerous, if it contains
truth. It would not be so, even if it contained principles evidently
contrary to experience--opposed to good sense. Indeed, what would
result from a work that should now tell us the sun is not luminous; that
parricide is legitimate; that robbery is allowable; that adultery is not
a crime? The smallest reflection would make us feet the falsity of these
principles; the whole human race would protest against them. Men would
laugh at the folly of the author; presently his book, together with his
name, would be known only by its ridiculous extravagancies. There is
nothing but superstitious follies that are pernicious to mortals; and
wherefore? It is because authority always pretends to establish them by
violence; to make them pass for substantive virtues; rigorously punishes
those who shall be disposed to smile at their inconsistency, or examine
into their pretensions. If man was more rational, he would examine
superstitious opinions as he examines every thing else; he would look
upon theological theories with the same eyes that he contemplates
systems of natural philosophy, or problems in geometry: the latter never
disturbs the repose of society, although they sometimes excite very
warm disputes in the learned world. Theological quarrels would never
be attended with any evil consequences, if man could gain the desirable
point of making those who exercise power, feel that the disputes of
persons, who do not themselves understand the marvellous questions upon
which they never cease wrangling, ought not to give birth to any other
sensations than those of indifference; to rouse no other passion than
that of contempt.

It is, at least, this indifference not speculative theories, so just, so
rational, so advantageous for states, that sound philosophy may propose
to introduce, gradually, upon the earth. Would not the human race be
much happier--if the sovereigns of the world, occupied with the welfare
of their subjects, leaving to superstitious theologians their futile
contests, making their various systems yield to healthy politics;
obliged these haughty ministers to become citizens; carefully prevented
their disputes from interrupting the public tranquillity? What advantage
might there not result to science; what a start would be given to the
progress of the human mind, to the cause of sound morality, to
the advancement of equitable jurisprudence, to the improvement of
legislation, to the diffusion of education, from an unlimited freedom
of thought? At present, genius every where finds trammels; superstition
invariably opposes itself to its course; man, straitened with bandages,
scarcely enjoys the free use of any one of his faculties; his mind
itself is cramped; it appears continually wrapped up in the swaddling
clothes of infancy. The civil power, leagued with spiritual domination,
appears only disposed to rule over brutalized slaves, shut up in a dark
prison, where they reciprocally goad each other with the efferverscence
of their mutual ill humour. Sovereigns, in general, detest liberty
of thought, because they fear truth; this appears formidable to them,
because it would condemn their excesses; these irregularities are dear
to them, because they do not, better than their subjects, understand
their true interests; properly considered, these ought to blend
themselves into one uniform mass.

Let not the courage of the philosopher, however, be abated by so many
united obstacles, which would appear for ever to exclude truth from its
proper dominion; to banish reason from the mind of man; to spoil nature
of her imprescriptible rights. The thousandth part of those cares which
are bestowed to infect the human mind, would be amply sufficient to make
it whole. Let us not, then, despair of the case: do not let us do man
the injury to believe that truth is not made for him; his mind seeks
after it incessantly; his heart desires it faithfully; his happiness
demands it with an imperious voice; he only either fears it, or mistakes
it, because superstition, which has thrown all his ideas into confusion,
perpetually keeps the bandeau of delusion fast bound over his eyes;
strives, with an almost irresistible force, to render him an entire
stranger to virtue.

Maugre the prodigious exertions that are made to drive truth from the
earth; in spite of the extraordinary pains used to exile reason--of
the uninterrupted efforts to expel true science from the residence of
mortals; time, assisted by the progressive knowledge of ages, may one
day be able to enlighten even those princes who are the most outrageous
in their opposition to the illumination of the human mind; who appear
such decided enemies to justice, so very determined against the
liberties of mankind. Destiny will, perhaps, when least expected,
conduct these wandering outcasts to the throne of some enlightened,
equitable, courageous, generous, benevolent sovereign, who, smitten with
the charms of virtue, shall throw aside duplicity, frankly acknowledge
the true source of human misery, and apply to it those remedies with
which wisdom has furnished him: perhaps he may feel, that those systems,
from whence it is pretended he derives his power, are the true scourges
of his people; the actual cause of his own weakness: that the official
expounders of these systems are his most substantial enemies--his most
formidable rivals; he may find that superstition, which he has been
taught to look upon as the main support to his authority, in point
of fact only enfeebles it--renders it tottering: that superstitious
morality, false in its principles, is only calculated to pervert his
subjects; to break down their intrepidity; to render them perfidious;
in short, to give them the vices of slaves, in lieu of the virtues
of citizens. A prince thus disentangled from prejudice, will perhaps
behold, in superstitious errors, the fruitful source of human sorrows,
and commiserations, the condition of his race, it may be, will
generously declare, that they are incompatible with every equitable
administration.

Until this epoch, so desirable for humanity, shall arrive, the
principles of naturalism will be adopted only by a small number of
liberal-minded men, who shall dive below the surface; these cannot
flatter themselves either with making proselytes, or having a great
number of approvers: on the contrary, they will meet with zealous
adversaries, with ardent contemners, even in those persons who upon
every other subject discover the most acute minds; display the most
consummate knowledge. Those men who possess the greatest share of
ability, as we have already observed, cannot always resolve to divorce
themselves completely from their superstitious ideas; imagination,
so necessary to splendid talents, frequently forms in them an
insurmountable obstacle to the total extinction of prejudice; this
depends much more upon the judgment than upon the mind. To this
disposition, already so prompt to form illusions to them, is also to
be joined the force of habit; to a great number of men, it would
he wresting from them a portion of themselves to take away their
superstitious notions; it would be depriving them of an accustomed
aliment; plunging them into a dreadful vacuum: obliging their
distempered minds to perish for want of exercise. Menage remarks, "that
history speaks of very few incredulous women, or female atheists:"
this is not surprising; their organization renders them fearful; their
nervous system undergoes periodical variations; the education they
receive disposes them to credulity. Those among them who have a sound
constitution, who have a well ordered imagination, have occasion for
chimeras suitable to occupy their leisure; above all, when the world
abandons them, then superstitious devotion, with its attractive
ceremonies, becomes either a business or an amusement.

Let us not be surprised, if very intelligent, extremely learned men,
either obstinately shut their eyes, or run counter to their ordinary
sagacity, every time there is a question respecting an object which they
have not the courage to examine with that attention they lend to many
others. Lord Chancellor Bacon pretends, "that a little philosophy
disposes men to atheism, but that great depth re-conducts them to
religion." If we analyze this proposition, we shall find it signifies,
that even moderate, indifferent thinkers, are quickly enabled to
perceive the gross absurdities of superstition; but that very little
accustomed to meditate, or else destitute of those fixed principles
which could serve them for a guide, their imagination presently replaces
them in the theological labyrinth, from whence reason, too weak for the
purpose, appeared disposed to withdraw them: these timid souls, who fear
to take courage, with minds disciplined to be satisfied with theological
solutions, no longer see in nature any thing but an inexplicable enigma;
an abyss which it is impossible for them to fathom: these, habituated to
fix their eyes upon an ideal, mathematical point, which they have made
the centre of every thing, whenever they lose sight of it, find the
universe becomes an unintelligible jumble to them; then the confusion in
which they feel themselves involved, makes them rather prefer returning
to the prejudices of their infancy, which appear to explain every thing,
than to float in the vacuum, or quit a foundation which they judge to
be immoveable. Thus the proposition of Bacon should seem, to indicate
nothing, except it be that the most experienced persons cannot at all
times defend themselves against the illusions of their imagination; the
impetuosity of which resists the strongest reasoning.

Nevertheless, a deliberate study of nature is sufficient to undeceive
every man who will calmly consider things: he will discover that the
phenomena of the world is connected by links, invisible to superficial
notice, equally concealed from the too impetuous observer, but extremely
intelligible to him who views her with serenity. He will find that the
most unusual, the most marvellous, as well as the most trifling, or
ordinary effects, are equally inexplicable, but that they all equally
flow from natural causes; that supernatural causes, under whatever name
they way be designated, with whatever qualities they may be decorated,
will never do more than increase difficulties; will only make chimeras
multiply. The simplest observation will incontestibly prove to him
that every thing is necessary; that all the effects he perceives are
material; that they can only originate in causes of the same nature,
when he even shall not be able to recur to them by the assistance of his
senses. Thus his mind, properly directed, every where show him nothing
but matter, sometimes acting in a manner which his organs permit him to
follow, at others in a mode imperceptible by the faculties he possesses:
he will see that all beings follow constant invariable laws, by which
all combinations are united and destroyed; he will find that all forms
change, but that, nevertheless, the great whole ever remains the same.
Thus, cured of the idle notions with which he was imbued, undeceived
in those erroneous ideas, which from habit be attached to imaginary
systems, he will cheerfully consent to be ignorant of whatever his
organs do not enable him to compass; he will know that obscure terms,
devoid of sense, are not calculated to explain difficulties; guided
by reason, he will throw aside all hypothesis of the imagination; the
champion of rectitude, he will attach himself to realities, which are
confirmed by experience, which are evidenced by truth.

The greater number of those who study nature, frequently do not
consider, that prejudiced eyes will never discover more than that which
they have previously determined to find: as soon as they perceive facts
contrary to their own ideas, they quickly turn aside, and believe their
visual organs have deceived them; if they return to the task, it is in
hopes to find means by which they may reconcile the facts to the
notions with which their own mind is previously tinctured. Thus we find
enthusiastic philosophers, whose determined prepossession shews them
what they denominate incontestible evidences of the systems with which
they are pre-occupied, even in those things, that most openly contradict
their hypothesis: hence those pretended demonstrations of the existence
of theories, which are drawn from final causes--from the order of
nature--from the kindness evinced to man, &c. Do these same enthusiasts
perceive disorder, witness calamities? They induct new proofs of the
wisdom, fresh evidence of the intelligence, additional testimony to
the bounty of their system, whilst all these occurrences as visibly
contradict these qualities, as the first seem to confirm or to establish
them. These prejudiced observers are in an ecstacy at the sight of the
periodical motions of the planets; at the order of the stars; at the
various productions of the earth; at the astonishing harmony in the
component parts of animals: in that moment, however, they forget the
laws of motion; the powers of gravitation; the force of attraction and
repulsion; they assign all these striking phenomena to unknown causes,
of which they have no one substantive idea. In short, in the fervor of
their imagination they place man in the centre of nature; they believe
him to be the object, the end, of all that exists; that it is for his
convenience every thing is made; that it is to rejoice his mind, to
pleasure his senses, that the whole was created; whilst they do not
perceive, that very frequently the entire of nature appears to be loosed
against his weakness; that the elements themselves overwhelm him with
calamity; that destiny obstinately persists in rendering him the most
miserable of beings. The progress of sound philosophy will always be
fatal to superstition, whose notions will be continually contradicted by
nature.

Astronomy has caused judiciary astrology to vanish; experimental
philosophy, the study of natural history and chemistry, have rendered
it impossible for jugglers, priests or sorcerers, any longer to perform
miracles. Nature, profoundly studied, must necessarily cause the
overthrow of those chimerical theories, which ignorance has substituted
to her powers.

Atheism, as it is termed, is only so rare, because every thing conspires
to intoxicate man with a dazzling enthusiasm, from his most tender age;
to inflate him from his earliest infancy, with systematic error, with
organized ignorance, which of all others is the most difficult to
vanquish, the most arduous to root out. Theology is nothing more than a
science of words, which by dint of repetition we accustom ourselves to
substitute for things: as soon as we feel disposed to analyze them, we
are astonished to find they do not present us with any actual sense.
There are, in the whole world, very few men who think deeply: who render
to themselves a faithful account of their own ideas; who have keen
penetrating minds. Justness of intellect is one of the rarest gifts
which nature bestows on the human species. It is not, however, to be
understood by this, that nature has any choice in the formation of
her beings; it is merely to be considered, that the circumstances very
rarely occur which enable the junction of a certain quantity of
those atoms or parts, necessary to form the human machine in such due
proportions, that one disposition shall not overbalance the others; and
thus render the judgment erroneous, by giving it a particular bias.
We know the general process of making gunpowder; nevertheless, it will
sometimes happen that the ingredients have been so happily blended, that
this destructive article is of a superior quality to the general produce
of the manufactory, without, however, the chemist being on that account
entitled to any particular commendation; circumstances have been
decidedly favorable, and these seldom occur. Too lively an imagination,
an over eager curiosity, are as powerful obstacles to the discovery of
truth, as too much phlegm, a slow conception, indolence of mind, or
the want of a thinking habit: all men have more or less imagination,
curiosity, phlegm, bile, indolence, activity: it is from the happy
equilibrium which nature has observed in their organization, that
depends that invaluable blessing, correctness of mind. Nevertheless,
as we have heretofore said, the organic structure of man is subject
to change; the accuracy of his mind varies with the mutations of his
machine: from hence may be traced those almost perpetual revolutions
that take place in the ideas of mortals; above all when there is a
question concerning those objects, upon which experience does not
furnish any fixed basis whereon to rest their merits.

To search after right, to discover truth, requires a keen, penetrating,
just, active mind; because every thing strives to conceal from us its
beauties: it needs an upright heart, one in good faith with itself,
joined to an imagination tempered with reason, because our habitual
fears make us frequently dread its radiance, sometimes bursting like a
meteor on our darkened faculties; besides, it not unfrequently happens,
that we are actually the accomplices of those who lead us astray, by an
inclination we too often manifest to dissimilate with ourselves on this
important measure. Truth never reveals itself either to the enthusiast
smitten with his own reveries; to the fellifluous fanatic enslaved
by his prejudices; to the vain glorious mortal puffed up with his own
presumptuous ignorance; to the voluptuary devoted to his pleasures; or
to the wily reasoner, who, disingenuous with himself, has a peculiar
spontaneity to form illusions to his mind. Blessed, however, with a
heart, gifted with a mind such as described, man will surely discover
this _rara avis:_ thus constituted, the attentive philosopher, the
geometrician, the moralist, the politician, the theologian himself, when
he shall sincerely seek truth, will find that the corner-stone which
serves for the foundation of all superstitious systems, is evidently
rested upon fiction. The philosopher will discover in matter a
sufficient cause for its existence; he will perceive that its motion,
its combination, its modes of acting, are always regulated by general
laws, incapable of variation. The geometrician, without quiting nature,
will calculate the active force of matter; it will then become obvious
to him, that to explain its phenomena, it is by no means necessary to
have recourse to that which is incommensurable with all known powers.
The politician, instructed in the true spring which can act upon the
mind of nations, will feel distinctly, that it is not imperative to
recur to imaginary theories, whilst there are actual motives to
give play to the volition of the citizens; to induce them to labour
efficaciously to the maintenance of their association; he will readily
acknowledge that fictitious systems are calculated either to slaken the
exertions, or to disturb the motion of so complicated a machine an human
society. He who shall more honor truth than the vain subtilities of
theology, will quickly perceive that this pompous science is nothing
more than an unintelligible jumble of false hypothesis; that it
continually begs its principles; is full of sophisms; contains only
vitiated circles; embraces the most subdolous distinctions; is ushered
to mankind by the most disingenuous arguments, from which it is not
possible, under any given circumstances, there should result any thing
but puerilities--the most endless disputes. In short, all men who
have sound ideas of morality, whose notions of virtue are correct, who
understand what is useful to the human being in society, whether it be
to conserve himself individually, or the body of which he is a member,
will acknowledge, that in order to discover his relations, to ascertain
his duties, he has only to consult his own nature; that he ought to be
particularly careful neither to found them upon discrepant systems, nor
to borrow them from models that never can do more than disturb his mind;
that will only render his conduct fluctuating; that will leave him for
ever uncertain of its proper character.

Thus, every rational thinker, who renounces his prejudices, will be
enabled to feel the inutility, to comprehend the fallacy of so many
abstract systems; he will perceive that they have hitherto answered
no other purpose than to confound the notions of mankind; to render
doubtful the clearest truths. In quitting the regions of the empyreum,
where his mind can only bewilder itself, in re-entering his proper
sphere, in consulting reason, man will discover that of which he
needs the knowledge; he will be able to undeceive himself upon those
chimerical theories, which enthusiasm has substituted for actual natural
causes; to detect those figments, by which imposture has almost every
where superseded the real motives that can give activity in nature; out
of which the human mind never rambles, without going woefully astray;
without laying the foundation of future misery.

The Deicolists, as well as the theologians, continually reproach their
adversaries with their taste for paradoxes--with their attachment to
systems; whilst they themselves found all their reasoning upon imaginary
hypothesis--upon visionary theories; make a principle of submitting
their understanding to the yoke of authority; of renouncing experience;
of setting down as nothing the evidence of their senses. Would it not
be justifiable in the disciples of nature, to say to these men, who thus
despise her, "We only assure ourselves of that which we see; we yield to
nothing but evidence; if we have a system, it is one founded upon
facts; we perceive in ourselves, we behold every where else, nothing
but matter; we therefore conclude from it that matter can both feel
and think: we see that the motion of the universe is operated after
mechanical laws; that the whole results from the properties, is the
effect of the combination, the immediate consequence of the modification
of matter; thus, we are content, we seek no other explication of the
phenomena which nature presents. We conceive only an unique world, in
which every thing is connected; where each effect is linked to a natural
cause, either known or unknown, which it produces according to necessary
laws; we affirm nothing that is not demonstrable; nothing that you are
not obliged to admit as well as ourselves: the principles we lay down
are distinct: they are self-evident: they are facts. If we find
some things unintelligible, if causes frequently become arduous, we
ingenuously agree to their obscurity; that is to say, to the limits
of our own knowledge. But in order to explain these effects, we do not
imagine an hypothesis; we either consent to be for ever ignorant
of them, or else we wait patiently until time, experience, with the
progress of the human mind, shall throw them into light: is not, then,
our manner of philosophizing consistent with truth? Indeed, in whatever
we advance upon the subject of nature, we proceed precisely in the same
manner as our opponents themselves pursue in all the other sciences,
such as natural history, experimental philosophy, mathematics,
chemistry, &c. We scrupulously confine ourselves to what comes to our
knowledge through the medium of our senses; the only instruments with
which nature has furnished us to discover truth. What is the conduct of
our adversaries? In order to expound things of which they are ignorant,
they imagine theories still more incomprehensible than what they are
desirous to explain; theories of which they themselves are obliged to
acknowledge they have not the most slender notion. Thus they invert the
true principles of logic, which require we should proceed gradually from
that which is most known, to that with which we are least acquainted.
Again, upon what do they found the existence of these theories, by whose
aid they pretend to solve all difficulties? It is upon the universal
ignorance of mankind; upon the inexperience of man; upon his fears; upon
his disordered imagination; upon a pretended _intimate sense_, which in
reality is nothing more than the effect of vulgar prejudice; the result
of dread; the consequence of the want of a reflecting habit, which
induces them to crouch to the opinions of others; to be guided by the
mandates of authority, rather than take the trouble to examine for their
own information. Such, O theologians! are the ruinous foundations upon
which you erect the superstructure of your doctrine. Accordingly, you
find it impossible to form to yourselves any distinct idea of those
theories which serve for the basis of your systems; you are unable to
comprehend either their attributes, their existence, the nature of their
localities, or their mode of action. Thus, even by your own confession,
ye are in a state of profound ignorance, on the primary elements of that
which ye constitute the cause of all that exists: of which, according
to your own account, it is imperative to have a correct knowledge.
Under whatever point of view, therefore, ye are contemplated, it must be
admitted ye are the founders of aerial systems; of fanciful theories:
of all systematizers, ye are consequently the most absurd; because in
challenging your imagination to create a cause, this cause, at least,
ought to diffuse light over the whole; it would be upon this condition
alone that its incomprehensibility could be pardonable; but to speak
ingenuously, does this cause serve to explain any thing? Does it make us
conceive more clearly the origin of the world; bring us more distinctly
acquainted with the actual nature of man; does it more intelligibly
elucidate the faculties of the soul; or point out with more perspicuity
the source of good and evil? No! unquestionably: these subtle
theories explain nothing, although they multiply to infinity their own
difficulties; they, in fact, embarrass elucidation, by plunging into
greater obscurity those matters in which they are interposed. Whatever
may be the question agitated, it becomes complicated: as soon as these
theories are introduced, they envelope the most demonstrable sciences
with a thick, impenetrable mist; render the most simple notions complex;
give opacity to the most diaphanous ideas; turn the most evident
opinions into insolvable enigmas. What exposition of morality does the
theories, upon which ye found all the virtue, present to man? Do not
all your oracles breathe inconsistency? Does not your doctrines embrace
every gradation of character, however discrepant: every known property,
however opposed. All your ingenious systems, all your mysteries, all the
subtilties which ye have invented, are they capable of reconciling that
discordant assemblage of amiable and unamiable qualities, with which
ye have dressed up your figments? In short, is it not by these theories
that ye disturb the harmony of the universe; is it not in their name
ye follow up your barbarous proscriptions; in their support, that ye
so inhumanly exterminate all who refuse to subscribe to your organized
reveries; who withhold assent to those efforts of the imagination which
ye have collectively decorated with the pompous name of religion; but
which, individually, ye brand as superstition, always excepting that to
which ye lend yourselves. Agree, then, O Theologians! Acknowledge,
then, ye subtle metaphysicians! Consent, then, ye organizers of fanciful
theories! that not only are ye systematically absurd, but also that ye
finish by being atrocious; because whenever ye obtain the ascendancy one
over the other, your unfortunate pre-eminence is distinguished by the
most malevolent persecution; your domination is ushered in with cruelty;
your career is described with blood: from the importance which your own
interest attaches to your ruinous dogmas; from the pride with which ye
tumble down the less fortunate systems of those who started with you for
the prize of plunder; _from that savage ferocity, under which ye
equally overwhelm human reason, the happiness of the individual, and the
felicity of nations._"





CHAP. XIV.

_A Summary of the Code of Nature_.


Truth is the only object worthy the research of every wise man; since
that which is false cannot be useful to him: whatever constantly injures
him cannot be founded upon truth; consequently, ought to be for ever
proscribed. It is, then, to assist the human mind, truly to labour for
his happiness, to point out to him the clew by which he may extricate
himself from those frightful labyrinths in which his imagination
wanders; from those sinuosities whose devious course makes him err,
without ever finding a termination to his incertitude. Nature alone,
known through experience, can furnish him with this desirable thread;
her eternal energies can alone supply the means of attacking the
Minotaur; of exterminating the figments of hypocrisy; of destroying
those monsters, who during so many ages, have devoured the unhappy
victims, which the tyranny of the ministers of Moloch have exacted as
a cruel tribute from affrighted mortals. By steadily grasping this
inestimable clew, rendered still more precious by the beauty of the
donor, man can never be led astray--will never ramble out of his course;
but if, careless of its invaluable properties, for a single instant he
suffers it to drop from his hand; if, like another Theseus, ungrateful
for the favour, he abandons the fair bestower, he will infallibly fall
again into his ancient wanderings; most assuredly become the prey to the
cannibal offspring of the White Bull. In vain shall he carry his views
above his head, to find resources which are at his feet; so long as man,
infatuated with his superstitious notions, shall seek in an imaginary
world the rule of his earthly conduct, he will be without principles;
while he shall pertinaciously contemplate the regions of a distempered
fancy, so long he will grope in those where he actually finds himself;
his uncertain steps will never encounter the welfare he desires; never
lead him to that repose after which he so ardently sighs, nor conduct
him to that surety which is so decidedly requisite to consolidate his
happiness.

But man, blinded by his prejudices; rendered obstinate in injuring his
fellow, by his enthusiasm; ranges himself in hostility even against
those who are sincerely desirous of procuring for him the most
substantive benefits. Accustomed to be deceived, he is in a state of
continual suspicion; habituated to mistrust himself, to view his reason
with diffidence, to look upon truth as dangerous, he treats as enemies
even those who most eagerly strive to encourage him; forewarned in early
life against delusion, by the subtilty of imposture, he believes himself
imperatively called upon to guard with the most sedulous activity the
bandeau with which they have hoodwinked him; he thinks his eternal
welfare involved in keeping it for ever over his eyes; he therefore
wrestles with all those who attempt to tear it from his obscured optics.
If his visual organs, accustomed to darkness, are for a moment opened,
the light offends them; he is distressed by its effulgence; he thinks it
criminal to be enlightened; he darts with fury upon those who hold the
flambeau by which he is dazzled. In consequence, the atheist, as the
arch rogue from whom he differs ludicrously calls him, is looked upon as
a malignant pest, as a public poison, which like another Upas, destroys
every thing within the vortex of its influence; he who dares to arouse
mortals from the lethargic habit which the narcotic doses administered
by the theologians have induced passes for a perturbator; he who
attempts to calm their frantic transports, to moderate the fury of
their maniacal paroxysms, is himself viewed as a madman, who ought to
be closely chained down in the dungeons appropriated to lunatics; he
who invites his associates to rend their chains asunder, to break their
galling fetters, appears only like an irrational, inconsiderate being,
even to the wretched captives themselves: who have been taught to
believe that nature formed them for no other purpose than to tremble:
only called them into existence that they might be loaded with shackles.
In consequence of these fatal prepossessions, the _Disciple of Nature_
is generally treated as an assassin; is commonly received by his fellow
citizens in the same manner as the feathered race receive the doleful
bird of night, which as soon as it quits its retreat, all the other
birds follow with a common hatred, uttering a variety of doleful cries.

No, mortals blended by terror! The friend of nature is not your enemy;
its interpreter is not the minister of falsehood; the destroyer of your
vain phantoms is not the devastator of those truths necessary to your
happiness; the disciple of reason is not an irrational being, who either
seeks to poison you, or to infect you with a dangerous delirium. If
he is desirous to wrest the thunder from those terrible theories that
affright ye, it is that ye way discontinue your march, in the midst
of storms, over roads that ye can only distinguish by the sudden, but
evanescent glimmerings of the electric fluid. If he breaks those idols,
which fear has served with myrrh and frankencense--which superstition
has surrounded by gloomy despondency--which fanaticism has imbrued with
blood; it is to substitute in their place those consoling truths that
are calculated to heal the desperate wounds ye have received; that are
suitable to inspire you with courage, sturdily to oppose yourselves
to such dangerous errors; that have power to enable you to resist such
formidable enemies. If he throws down the temples, overturns the altars,
so frequently bathed with the bitter tears of the unfortunate, blackened
by the most cruel sacrifices, smoked with servile incense, it is that he
may erect a fane sacred to peace; a hall dedicated to reason; a durable
monument to virtue, in which ye may at all times find an asylum against
your own phrenzy; a refuge from your own ungovernable passions; a
sanctuary against those powerful dogmatists, by whom ye are oppressed.
If he attacks the haughty pretensions of deified tyrants, who crush ye
with an iron sceptre, it is that ye may enjoy the rights of your nature;
it is to the end that ye may be substantively freemen, in mind as well
as in body; that ye may not be slaves, eternally chained to the oar of
misery; it is that ye may at length be governed by men who are citizens,
who may cherish their own semblances, who way protect mortals like
themselves, who may actually consult the interests of those from
whom they hold their power. If he battles with imposture, it is to
re-establish truth in those rights which have been so long usurped by
fiction. If he undermines the base of that unsteady, fanatical morality,
which has hitherto done nothing more than perplex your minds, without
correcting your hearts; it is to give to ethics an immovable basis, a
solid foundation, secured upon your own nature; upon the reciprocity of
those wants which are continually regenerating in sensible beings: dare,
then, to listen to his voice; you will find it much more intelligible
than those ambiguous oracles, which are announced to you as the
offspring of capricious theories; as imperious decrees that are
unceasingly at variance with themselves. Listen then to nature, she
never contradicts her own eternal laws.

"O thou!" cries this nature to man, "who, following the impulse I
have given you, during your whole existence, incessantly tend towards
happiness, do not strive to resist my sovereign law. Labour to your own
felicity; partake without fear of the banquet which is spread before
you, with the most hearty welcome; you will find the means legibly
written on your own heart. Vainly dost thou, O superstitious being! seek
after thine happiness beyond the limits of the universe, in which my
hand hath placed thee: vainly shalt thou search it in those inexorable
theories, which thine imagination, ever prone to wander, would establish
upon my eternal throne: vainly dost thou expect it in those fanciful
regions, to which thine own delirium hath given a locality and a shame:
vainly dost thou reckon upon capricious systems, with whose advantages
thou art in such ecstasies; whilst they only fill thine abode with
calamity--thine heart with dread--thy mind with illusions--thy bosom
with groans. Know that when thou neglectest my counsels, the gods will
refuse their aid. Dare, then, to affranchise thyself from the trammels
of superstition, my self-conceited, pragmatic rival, who mistakes
my rights; renounce those empty theories, which are usurpers of my
privileges; return under the dominion of my laws, which, however severe,
are mild in comparison with those of bigotry. It is in my empire
alone that true liberty reigns. Tyranny is unknown to its soil; equity
unceasingly watches over the rights of all my subjects, maintains
them in the possession of their just claims; benevolence, grafted upon
humanity, connects them by amicable bonds; truth enlightens them; never
can imposture blind them with his obscuring mists. Return, then,
my child, to thy fostering mother's arms! Deserter, trace back thy
wandering steps to nature! She will console thee for thine evils; she
will drive from thine heart those appalling fears which overwhelm thee;
those inquietudes that distract thee; those transports which agitate
thee; those hatreds that separate thee from thy fellow man, whom thou
shouldst love as thyself. Return to nature, to humanity, to thyself!
Strew flowers over the road of life: cease to contemplate the future;
live to thine own happiness; exist for thy fellow creatures; retire into
thyself, examine thine own heart, then consider the sensitive beings by
whom thou art surrounded: leave to their inventors those systems which
can effect nothing towards thy felicity. Enjoy thyself, and cause others
also to enjoy, those comforts which I have placed with a liberal hand,
for all the children of the earth; who all equally emanate from my
bosom: assist them to support the sorrows to which necessity has
submitted them in common with thyself. Know, that I approve thy
pleasures, when without injuring thyself, they are not fatal to thy
brethren, whom I have rendered indispensably necessary to thine own
individual happiness. These pleasures are freely permitted thee, if thou
indulgest them with moderation; with that discretion which I myself have
fixed. Be happy, then, O man! Nature invites thee to participate in it;
but always remember, thou canst not be so alone; because I invite all
mortals to happiness as well as thyself; thou will find it is only in
securing their felicity that thou canst consolidate thine own. Such is
the decree of thy destiny: if thou shalt attempt to withdraw thyself
from its operation, recollect that hatred will pursue thee; vengeance
overtake thy steps; and remorse be ever ready at hand to punish the
infractions of its irrevocable mandates.

"Follow then, O man! in whatever station thou findest thyself, the
routine I have described for thee, to obtain that happiness to which
thou hast an indispensable right to challenge pretension. Let the
sensations of humanity interest thee for the condition of other men, who
are thy fellow creatures; let thine heart have commisseration for their
misfortunes: let thy generous hand spontaneously stretch forth to lend
succour to the unhappy mortal who is overwhelmed by his destiny; always
bearing in thy recollection, that it may fall heavy upon thyself, as
it now does upon him. Acknowledge, then, without guile, that every
unfortunate has an inalienable right to thy kindness. Above all, wipe
from the eyes of oppressed innocence the trickling crystals of agonized
feeling; let the tears of virtue in distress, fall upon thy sympathizing
bosom; let the genial glow of sincere friendship animate thine honest
heart; let the fond attachment of a mate, cherished by thy warmest
affection, make thee forget the sorrows of life: be faithful to her
love, responsible to her tenderness, that she may reward thee by
a reciprocity of feeling; that under the eyes of parents united in
virtuous esteem, thy offspring may learn to set a proper value on
practical virtue; that after having occupied thy riper years, they may
comfort thy declining age, gild with content thy setting sun, cheer the
evening of thine existence, by a dutiful return of that care which thou
shalt have bestowed on their imbecile infancy.

"Be just, because equity is the support of human society! Be good,
because goodness connects all hearts in adamantine bonds! Be indulgent,
because feeble thyself, thou livest with beings who partake of thy
weakness! Be gentle, because mildness attracts attention! Be thankful,
because gratitude feeds benevolence, nourishes generosity! Be modest,
because haughtiness is disgusting to beings at all times well with
themselves. Forgive injuries, because revenge perpetuates hatred! Do
good to him who injureth thee, in order to shew thyself more noble than
he is; to make a friend of him, who was once thine enemy! Be reserved
in thy demeanor, temperate in thine enjoyment, chaste in thy pleasures,
because voluptuousness begets weariness, intemperance engenders disease;
forward manners are revolting: excess at all times relaxes the springs
of thy machine, will ultimately destroy thy being, and render thee
hateful to thyself, contemptible to others.

"Be a faithful citizen; because the community is necessary to thine own
security; to the enjoyment of thine own existence; to the furtherance
of thine own happiness. Be loyal, but be brave; submit to legitimate
authority; because it is requisite to the maintenance of that society
which is necessary to thyself. Be obedient to the laws; because they
_are_, or _ought to be_, the expression of the public will, to which
thine own particular will ought ever to be subordinate. Defend thy
country with zeal; because it is that which renders thee happy, which
contains thy property, as well as those beings dearest to thine heart:
do not permit this common parent of thyself, as well as of thy fellow
citizens, to fall under the shackles of tyranny; because from thence
it will be no more than thy common prison. If thy country, deaf to the
equity of thy claims, refuses thee happiness--if, submitted to an unjust
power, it suffers thee to be oppressed, withdraw thyself from its bosom
in silence, but never disturb its peace.

"In short, be a man; be a sensible, rational being; be a faithful
husband; a tender father; an equitable master; a zealous citizen; labour
to serve thy country by thy prowess; by thy talents; by thine industry;
above all, by thy virtues. Participate with thine associates those gifts
which nature has bestowed upon thee; diffuse happiness, among thy fellow
mortals; inspire thy fellow citizens with content; spread joy over all
those who approach thee, that the sphere of thine actions, enlivened by
thy kindness, illumined by thy benevolence, may re-act upon thyself; be
assured that the man who makes others happy cannot himself be miserable.
In thus conducting thyself, whatever may be the injustice of others,
whatever may be the blindness of those beings with whom it is thy
destiny to live, thou wilt never be totally bereft of the recompense
which is thy due; no power on earth be able to ravish from thee that
never failing source of the purest felicity, inward content; at each
moment thou wilt fall back with pleasure upon thyself; thou wilt neither
feel the rankling of shame, the terror of internal alarm, nor find
thy heart corroded by remorse. Thou wilt esteem thyself; thou wilt be
cherished by the virtuous, applauded and loved by all good men, whose
suffrages are much more valuable than those of the bewildered
multitude. Nevertheless, if externals occupy thy contemplation, smiling
countenances will greet thy presence; happy faces will express the
interest they have in thy welfare; jocund beings will make thee
participate in their placid feelings. A life so spent, will each moment
be marked by the serenity of thine own soul, by the affection of the
beings who environ thee; will be made cheerful by the friendship of thy
fellows; will enable thee to rise a contented, satisfied guest from the
general feast; conduct thee gently down the declivity of life, lead thee
peaceably to the period of thy days; for die thou must: but already
thou wilt survive thyself in thought; thou wilt always live in the
remembrance of thy friends; in the grateful recollection of those beings
whose comforts have been augmented by thy friendly attentions; thy
virtues will, beforehand have erected to thy fame an imperishable
monument: if heaven occupies itself with thee, it will feel satisfied
with thy conduct, when it shall thus have contented the earth.

"Beware, then, how thou complainest of thy condition; be just, be kind,
be virtuous, and thou canst never be wholly destitute of felicity. Take
heed how thou enviest the transient pleasure of seductive crime; the
deceitful power of victorious tyranny; the specious tranquillity of
interested imposture; the plausible manners of venal justice; the shewy,
ostentatious parade of hardened opulence. Never be tempted to increase
the number of sycophants to an ambitious despot; to swell the catalogue
of slaves to an unjust tyrant; never suffer thyself to be allured to
infamy, to the practice of extortion, to the commission of outrage, by
the fatal privilege of oppressing thy fellows; always recollect it will
be at the expence of the most bitter remorse thou wilt acquire this
baneful advantage. Never be the mercenary accomplice of the spoilers of
thy country; they are obliged to blush secretly whenever they meet the
public eye.

"For, do not deceive thyself, it is I who punish, with an unerring hand,
all the crimes of the earth; the wicked may escape the laws of man, but
they never escape mine. It is I who have formed the hearts, as well
an the bodies of mortals; it is I who have fixed the laws which govern
them. If thou deliverest thyself up to voluptuous enjoyment, the
companions of thy debaucheries may applaud thee; but I shall punish thee
with the most cruel infirmities; these will terminate a life of shame
with deserved contempt. If thou givest, thyself up to intemperate
indulgences, human laws may not correct thee, but I shall castigate thee
severely by abridging thy days. If thou art vicious, thy fatal habits
will recoil on thine own head. Princes, those terrestrial divinities,
whose power places them above the laws of mankind, are nevertheless
obliged to tremble under the silent operation of my decrees. It is I who
chastise them; it is I who fill their breasts with suspicion; it is
I who inspire them with terror; it is I who make them writhe under
inquietude; it is I who make them shudder with horror, at the very name
of august truth; it is I who, amidst the crowd of nobles who surround
them, make them feel the inward workings of shame; the keen anguish of
guilt; the poisoned arrows of regret; the cruel stings of remorse; it is
I who, when they abuse my bounty, diffuse weariness over their benumbed
souls; it is I who follow uncreated, eternal justice; it is I who,
without distinction of persons, know how to make the balance even; to
adjust the chastisement to the fault; to make the misery bear its due
proportion to the depravity; to inflict punishment commensurate with the
crime. The laws of man are just, only when they are in conformity with
mine; his judgements are rational, only when I have dictated them: my
laws alone are immutable, universal, irrefragable; formed to regulate
the condition of the human race, in all ages, in all places, under all
circumstances.

"If thou doubtest mine authority, if thou questionest the irresistible
power I possess over mortals, contemplate the vengeance I wreak on all
those who resist my decrees. Dive into the recesses of the hearts of
those various criminals, whose countenances, assuming a forced smile,
cover souls torn with anguish. Dost thou not behold ambition tormented
day and night, with an ardour which nothing can extinguish? Dost not
thou see the mighty conquerer become the lord of devastated solitudes;
his victorious career, marked by a blasted cultivation, reign
sorrowfully over smoking ruins; govern unhappy wretches who curse him in
their hearts; while his soul, gnawed by remorse, sickens at the gloomy
aspect of his own triumphs? Dost thou believe that the tyrant, encircled
with his flatterers, who stun him with their praise, is unconscious of
the hatred which his oppression excites; of the contempt which his vices
draw upon him; of the sneers which his inutility call forth; of the
scorn which his debaucheries entail upon his name? Dost thou think that
the haughty courtier does not inwardly blush at the galling insults he
brooks; despise, from the bottom of his soul, those meannesses by
which he is compelled to purchase favours; feel at his heart's core the
wretched dependence in which his cupidity places him.

"Contemplate the indolent child of wealth, behold him a prey to the
lassitude of unmeasured enjoyment, corroded by the satiety which always
follows his exhausted pleasures. View the miser with an emaciated
countenance, the consequence of his own penurious disposition, whose
callous heart is inaccessible to the calls of misery, groaning over the
accumulating load of useless treasure, which at the expense of himself,
he has laboured to amass. Behold the gay voluptuary, the smiling
debaucheé, secretly lament the health they have so inconsiderately
damaged so prodigally thrown away: see disdain, joined to hatred, reign
between those adulterous married couples, who have reciprocally violated
the sacred vows they mutually pledged at the altar of Hymen; whose
appetencies have rendered them the scorn of the world; the jest of their
acquaintance; polluted tributaries to the surgeon. See the liar
deprived of all confidence; the knave stript of all trust; the hypocrite
fearfully avoiding the penetrating looks of his inquisitive neighbour;
the impostor trembling at the very name of formidable truth. Bring under
your review the heart of the envious, uselessly dishonored; that withers
at the sight of his neighbour's prosperity. Cast your eyes on the frozen
soul of the ungrateful wretch, whom no kindness can warm, no benevolence
thaw, no beneficence convert into a genial fluid. Survey the iron
feelings of that monster whom the sighs of the unfortunate cannot
mollify. Behold the revengeful being nourished with venemous gall, whose
very thoughts are serpents; who in his rage consumes himself. Envy, if
thou canst, the waking slumbers of the homicide; the startings of the
iniquitous judge; the restlessness of the oppressor of innocence; the
fearful visions of the extortioner; whose couches are infested with the
torches of the furies. Thou tremblest without doubt at the sight of
that distraction which, amidst their splendid luxuries, agitates those
farmers of the revenue, who fatten upon public calamnity--who devour the
substance of the orphan--who consume the means of the widow--who grind
the hard earnings of the poor: thou shudderest at witnessing the remorse
which rends the souls of those reverend criminals, whom the uninformed
believe to be happy, whilst the contempt which they have for themselves,
the unerring shafts of secret upbraidings, are incessantly revenging
an outraged nation. Thou seest, that content is for ever banished the
heart; quiet for ever driven from the habitations of those miserable
wretches on whose minds I have indelibly engraved the scorn, the infamy,
the chastisement which they deserve. But, no! thine eyes cannot sustain
the tragic spectacle of my vengeance. Humanity obliges thee to partake
of their merited sufferings; thou art moved to pity for these unhappy
people, to whom consecrated errors renders vice necessary; whose fatal
habits make them familiar with crime. Yes; thou shunnest them without
hating them; thou wouldst succour them, if their contumacious perversity
had left thee the means. When thou comparest thine own condition, when
thou examinest thine own soul, thou wilt have just cause to felicitate
thyself, if thou shalt find that peace has taken up her abode with thee;
that contentment dwells at the bottom of thine own heart. In short, thou
seest accomplished upon them, as well as, upon thyself, the unalterable
decrees of destiny, which imperiously demand, that crime shall punish
itself, that virtue never shall be destitute Of remuneration."

Such is the sum of those truths which are contained in the _Code of
Nature_; such are the doctrines, which its disciples can announce. They
are unquestionably preferable to that supernatural superstition which
never does any thing but mischief to the human species. Such is the
worship that is taught by that sacred reason, which is the object of
contempt with the theologian; which meets the insult of the fanatic;
who only estimates that which man can neither conceive nor practise; who
make his morality consist in fictitious duties; his virtue in actions
generally useless, frequently pernicious to the welfare of society; who
for want of being acquainted with nature, which is before their eyes,
believe themselves obliged to seek in ideal worlds imaginary motives, of
which every thing proves the inefficacy. The motive which the morality
of nature employs, is the self-evident interest of each individual,
of each community, of the whole human species, in all times, in every
country, under all circumstances. Its worship is the sacrifice of vice,
the practise of real virtues; its object is the conservation of the
human race, the happiness of the individual, the peace of mankind;
its recompences are affection, esteem, and glory; or in their default,
contentment of mind, with merited self-esteem, of which no power will
ever be able to deprive virtuous mortals; its punishments, are hatred,
contempt, and indignation; which society always reserves for those
who outrage its interests; from which even the most powerful can never
effectually shield themselves.

Those nations who shall be disposed to practise a morality so wise, who
shall inculcate it in infancy, whose laws shall unceasingly confirm it,
will neither have occasion for superstition, nor for chimeras. Those
who shall obstinately prefer figments to their dearest interests, will
certainly march forward to ruin. If they maintain themselves for a
season, it is because the power of nature sometimes drives them back to
reason, in despite of those prejudices which appear to lead them on to
certain destruction. Superstition, leagued with tyranny, for the waste
of the human species, are themselves frequently obliged to implore
the assistance of a reason which they contemn; of a nature which they
disdain; which they debase; which they endeavour to crush under the
ponderous bulk of artificial theories. Superstition, in all times so
fatal to mortals, when attacked by reason, assumes the sacred mantle of
public utility; rests its importance on false grounds, founds its
rights upon the indissoluble alliance which it pretends subsists between
morality and itself; notwithstanding it never ceases for a single
instant to wage against it the most cruel hostility. It is,
unquestionably, by this artifice, that it has seduced so many sages.
In the honesty of their hearts, they believe it useful to politics;
necessary to restrain the ungovernable fury of the passions; thus
hypocritical superstition, in order to mask to superficial observers,
its own hideous character, like the ass with the lion's skin, always
knows how to cover itself with the sacred armour of utility; to buckle
on the invulnerable shield of virtue; it has therefore, been believed
imperative to respect it, notwithstanding it felt awkward under these
incumbrances; it consequently has become a duty to favor imposture,
because it has artfully entrenched itself behind the altars of truth;
its ears, however, discover its worthlessness; its natural cowardice
betrays itself; it is from this intrenchment we ought to drive it; it
should be dragged forth to public view; stripped of its surreptitious
panoply; exposed in its native deformity; in order that the human race
may become acquainted with its dissimulation; that mankind may have a
knowledge of its crimes; that the universe may behold its sacrilegious
hands, armed with homicidal poniards, stained with the blood of nations,
whom it either intoxicates with its fury, or immolates without pity to
the violence of its passions.

The MORALITY OF NATURE is the only creed which her interpreter offers to
his fellow citizens; to nations; to the human species; to future races,
weaned from those prejudices which have so frequently disturbed the
felicity of their ancestors. The friend of mankind cannot be the friend
of delusion, which at all times has been a real scourge to the earth.
The APOSTLE OF NATURE will not be the instrument of deceitful chimeras,
by which this world is made only an abode of illusions; the adorer of
truth will not compromise with falsehood; he will make no covenant with
error; conscious it must always be fatal to mortals. He knows that the
happiness of the human race imperiously exacts that the dark unsteady
edifice of superstition should be razed to its foundations; in order
to elevate on its ruins a temple suitable to peace--a fane sacred to
virtue. He feels it is only by extirpating, even to the most slender
fibres, the poisonous tree, that during so many ages has overshadowed
the universe, that the inhabitants of this world will be able to use
their own optics--to bear with steadiness that light which is competent
to illumine their understanding--to guide their wayward steps--to give
the necessary ardency to their souls. If his efforts should be vain; if
he cannot inspire with courage, beings too much accustomed to tremble;
he will, at least, applaud himself for having dared the attempt.
Nevertheless, he will not judge his exertions fruitless, if he has
only been enabled to make a single mortal happy: if his principles have
calmed the conflicting transports of one honest soul; if his reasonings
have cheered up some few virtuous hearts. At least he will have the
advantage of having banished from his own mind the importunate terror
of superstition; of having expelled from his own heart the gall which
exasperates zeal; of having trodden under foot those chimeras with which
the uninformed are tormented. Thus, escaped from the peril of the storm,
he will calmly contemplate from the summit of his rock, those tremendous
hurricanes which superstition excites; he will hold forth a succouring
hand to those who shall be willing to accept it; he will encourage them
with his voice; he will second them with his best exertions, and in the
warmth of his own compassionate heart, he will exclaim:

O NATURE; sovereign of all beings! and ye, her adorable daughters,
VIRTUE, REASON, and TRUTH! remain for ever our revered protectors: it is
to you that belong the praises of the human race; to you appertains the
homage of the earth. Shew, us then, O NATURE! that which man ought
to do, in order to obtain the happiness which thou makest him desire.
VIRTUE! Animate him with thy beneficent fire. REASON! Conduct his
uncertain steps through the paths of life. TRUTH! Let thy torch illumine
his intellect, dissipate the darkness of his road. Unite, O assisting
deities! your powers, in order to submit the hearts of mankind to
your dominion. Banish error from our mind; wickedness from our hearts;
confusion from our footsteps; cause knowledge to extend its salubrious
reign; goodness to occupy our souls; serenity to dwell in our bosoms.
Let imposture, confounded, never again dare to shew its head. Let our
eyes, so long, either dazzled or blindfolded, be at length fixed
upon those objects we ought to seek. Dispel for ever those mists
of ignorance, those hideous phantoms, together with those seducing
chimeras, which only serve to lead us astray. Extricate us from that
dark abyss into which we are plunged by superstition; overthrow the
fatal empire of delusion; crumble the throne of falsehood; wrest from
their polluted hands the power they have usurped. Command men, without
sharing your authority with mortals: break the chains that bind them
down in slavery: tear away the bandeau by which they are hoodwinked;
allay the fury that intoxicates them; break in the hands of sanguinary,
lawless tyrants, that iron sceptre with which they are crushed to
exile; the imaginary regions, from whence fear has imported them, those
theories by which they are afflicted. Inspire the intelligent being with
courage; infuse energy into his system, that, at length, he may feel his
own dignity; that he may dare to love himself; to esteem his own actions
when they are worthy; that a slave only to your eternal laws, he may no
longer fear to enfranchise himself from all other trammels; that blest
with freedom, he may have the wisdom to cherish his fellow creature; and
become happy by learning to perfection his own condition; instruct him
in the great lesson, that the high road to felicity, is prudently to
partake himself, and also to cause others to enjoy, the rich banquet
which thou, O Nature! hast so bountifully set before him. Console thy
children for those sorrows to which their destiny submits them, by
those pleasures which wisdom allows them to partake; teach them to be
contented with their condition; to banish envy from their mind; to yield
silently to necessity. Conduct them without alarm to that period which
all beings must find; _let them learn that time changes all things, that
consequently they are made neither to avoid its scythe nor to fear its
arrival._





[TRANSLATOR'S APPENDIX]

A BRIEF SKETCH

OF THE

LIFE AND WRITINGS

OF

M. DE. MIRABAUD.


At a time when we are on the eve of an important change in our
political affairs, which must evidently lead either to the recovery and
re-establishment of our liberties, or to a military despotism, those who
are connected with the press ought to use every exertion to enlighten
their fellow-citizens, and to assert their right of canvassing, in the
most free and unrestrained manner, every subject connected with the
happiness of man.

The priesthood have ever been convenient tools in the hands of
tyrants, to keep the bulk of the people in a degraded servility. By the
superstitious and slavish doctrines which they infuse into their minds,
they prevent them from thinking for themselves and asserting their own
independence. At a moment when national schools are erecting in every
quarter of the country, not with a sincere desire of enlightening the
rising generation, but with the insidious design of instilling into
their minds the doctrines of "Church and King," in order to bolster up
a little longer the present rotten, tottering, and corrupt system: at
a moment, too, when thousands of fanatic preachers are traversing the
country, with a view to subjugate the human mind to the baleful empire
of visonary enthusiasm and sectarian bigotry to the utter extinction
of every noble, manly, liberal, and pilanthropic principle;--at such a
moment as this, we thought that the "SYSTEM OF NATURE" could not fail
to render essential service to the cause both of civil and religious
liberty. No work, ancient or modern, has surpassed it, in the eloquence
and sublimity of its language, or in the facility with which it treats
the most abtruse and difficult subjects. It is, without exception, the
boldest effort the human mind has yet produced, in the investigation
of morals and theology--in the destruction of priestcraft and
superstition--and in developing the sources of all those passions and
prejudices which have proved so fatal to the tranquillity of the world.

The republic of letters has never produced an author whose pen was so
well calculated to emancipate mankind from all those trammels with which
the nurse, the schoolmaster and the priest have successively locked
up their noblest faculties, before they were capable of reasoning and
judging for themselves. The frightful apprehensions of the gloomy
bigot, and all the appalling terrors of superstition, are here utterly
annihilated, to the complete satisfaction of every unbiassed and
impartial person.--These we considered as necessary observations to
make, previous to any attempt at the biography of the author.

Biography may be reckoned among the most interesting of literary
productions. Its intrinsic value is such, that, though capable of
extraordinary embellishment from the hand of genius, yet no inferiority
of execution can so degrade it, as to deprive it of utility. Whatever
relates even to man in general, considered only as an aggregate of
active and intelligent beings, has a strong claim upon our notice; but
that which relates to our author, as distinguished from the rest of his
species, moving in a more exalted sphere, and towering above them by
the resplendent excellencies of his mind, seems to me to be peculiarly
calculated for our contemplation, and ought to form the highest pleasure
of our lives. There is a principle of curiosity implanted in us, which
leads us, in an especial manner, to investigate our fellow creatures;
the eager inquisitiveness with which the mechanic seeks to know the
history of his fellow-workmen and the ardour with which the philosopher,
the poet, or the historian hunts for details that may familiarize
him with, a Descartes or a Newton, with a Milton, a Hume, or a
Gibbon--spring from the same source. Their object, however, may
perhaps vary; for, in the former, it may be for the sake of detraction,
invidious cavil, or malice; in the latter, it is a sweet homage paid by
the human heart to the memory of departed genius.

It has been repeatedly observed that the life of a scholar affords few
materials for biography. This is only negatively true;--could every
scholar have a Boswell, the remark would vanish; or were every scholar
a Rousseau, a Gibbon, or a Cumberland it would be equally nugatory.
What can present higher objects of contemplation--what can claim
more forcibly our attention--where can we seek for subjects of a more
precious nature, than in the elucidation of the operations of mind,
the acquisition of knowledge, the gradual expansion of genius; its
application, its felicities, its sorrows, its wreaths of fame, its cold,
undeserved neglect? Such scenes, painted by, the artist himself, are a
rich bequest to mankind: even when traced by the hand of friendship
or the pencil of admiration, they possess a permanent interest in our
hearts. I cannot conceive a life more worthy of public notice, more
important, more interesting to human nature, than the life of a literary
man, were it executed according to the ideas I have formed of it: did
it exhibit a faithful delineation of the progress of intellect, from the
cradle upwards; did it portray, in accurate colors, the production of
what we call genius: by what accident it was first awakened; what were
its first tendencies; how directed to a particular object; by what means
it was nourished and unfolded; the gradual progress of its operation
in the production of a work; its hopes and fears; its delights; its
miseries; its inspirations; and all the thousand fleeting joys that so
often invest its path but for a moment, and then fade like the dews
of the morning. Let it contain too a transcript of the many nameless
transports that float round the heart, that dance in the gay circle
before the ardent gazing eye, when the first conception of some future
effort strikes the mind; how it pictures undefined delights of fame and
popular applause; how it anticipates the bright moments of invention,
and dwells with prophetic ecstasy on the felicitous execution of
particular parts, that already start into existence by the magic touch
of a heated imagination. Let it depict the tender feelings of solitude,
the breathings of midnight silence, the scenes of mimic life, of imaged
trial, that often occupy the musing mind; let it be such a work, so
drawn, so coloured, and who shall pronounce it inferior? Who rather
will not confess that it presents a picture of human nature, where every
heart may find some corresponding harmony? When, therefore, it is said,
that the life of a scholar is barren, it is so only because it has never
been properly delineated; because those parts only have been selected
which are common, and fail to distinguish him from the common man;
because we have never penetrated into his closet, or into his heart;
because we have drawn him only as an outward figure, and left unnoticed
that internal structure that would delight, astonish, and improve. And
then, when we compare the life of such a man with the more active one
of a soldier, a statesman, or a lawyer, we pronounce it insipid,
uninteresting. True;--the man of study has not fought for hire--he has
not slaughtered at the command of a master: he would disdain to do
so. Though unaccompanied with the glaring actions of public men, which
confound and dazzle by their publicity, but shrink from the estimation
of moral truth, it would present a far nobler picture; yes, and a more
instructive one:--the calm disciple of reason meditates in silence; he
walks his road with innoxious humility; he is poor, but his mind is his
treasure; he cultivates his reason, and she lifts him to the pinnacle of
truth; he learns to tear away the veil of self-love, folly, pride, and
prejudice, and bares the human heart to his inspection; he corrects and
amends; he repairs the breaches made by passion; the proud man passes
him by, and looks upon him with scorn; but he feels his own worth, that
ennobling consciousness which swells in every vein, and inspires him
with true pride--with manly independence: to such a man I could sooner
bow in reverence, than to the haughtiest, most successful candidate for
the world's ambition. But of such men, for the reason I have already
mentioned, our information is scanty. While of others, who have
commanded a greater share of public notoriety, venal or mistaken
admiration has given more than we wished to know. Among these respected
individuals of human nature, may be placed Mirabaud. Had Mirabaud been
an Englishman, who doubts but that we should have possessed at least
ample details of the usual subjects of biographical notice; while all
that has been collected among his own countrymen, is a scanty memoir in
a common dictionary. That we are doomed to remain ignorant of the life
of such men, speaks a loud disgrace.--I lament it.

JOHN BAPTISTE MIRABAUD, was born at Paris in the year 1674. He
prosecuted his infantile studies under the direction of his parents, and
was afterwards entered a member of the _Congregation of the Priests of
the Oratory_, where he passed several years, and produced some very bold
writings, which were never intended for publication.

He was subsequently appointed tutor to the princesses of the House of
Orleans, and then took the resolution of destroying the greater part of
the manuscripts that he produced while a member of the _Congregation_;
but the treachery of some of his friends, to whom he had confided his
manuscripts, rendered this precaution useless, for some of his works
were published during the time he remained the preceptor to his royal
pupils; among which number may be reckoned his "New Liberties of
Thought," a work but little calculated for gaining him friends in the
purlieus of the Court of Orleans. The "Origin and Antiquity of the
World," in three parts, was also published at this period, and from the
publication of this work, may be dated the resolution of M. de Mirabaud
to quit his office of preceptor, which he relinquished, having become
more independent; he now gave himself up entirely to his philosophical
studies, and produced the "System of Nature," with which he was assisted
by Diderot, D'Alembert, Baron D'Olbac, and others.

The profound metaphysical knowledge displayed throughout the System
of Nature, and the doctrines which are therein advanced, warrants the
conclusion, that it is at once the most decisive, boldest, and most
extraordinary work, that the human understanding ever had the courage to
produce. The study of metaphysics his generally been considered the most
terrific to the indolent mind; but the clear and perspicuous reasoning
of a Mirabaud, who has united the most profound argument, with the most
fascinating eloquence, charm and instruct us at the same time. But it
was not, to be expected that such doctrines as are contained in the
System of Nature, would be advanced without meeting with some opposition
from the superficial and bigoted metaphysicians, who feel an interest
in upholding a system of delusion and superstition. No! certainly not,
Their interest was threatened, and their _craft_ in danger, and the
consequence was, that the _Atheist_ or _Disciple of Nature_, has
been abused with every scurrilous epithet, "full of sound and fury,
signifying nothing."

Atheism is stigmatized with having "opened a wide door for libertinism,
destroying the social and moral compact; and striking a deadly blow
at religion. It is asserted that the atheist, who by his opinions has
deprived himself of the hope and consolation of a future life, has no
motive for the practise of virtue, or to contribute to the well being of
society. Deprived of a chimera which religion every where presents him,
he wanders through the cheerless gloom of scepticism, regardless of the
consequences of an abandoned life. Without a God, he acknowledges no
benefactor; without divine laws, he knows no rule for the conduct of
life, and submits to no law but his passions. An enemy to all social
order, he spurns at human laws, and breaks through every barrier opposed
to his wickedness." Under such colours is an atheist painted: a short
digression must be suffered to examine this picture, and to disprove the
assertions so sweepingly made.

I admit that atheism strikes a deadly blow at religion; because under
the cloak of religion, mankind have been oppressed in all ages; but that
it encourages libertinism, or destroys the "social and moral compact," I
have yet to learn. In all organized governments, men are restrained from
crime and compelled to submission by laws supposed to be made for the
general benefit. These laws are the effect of the first formation of
society for mutual preservation. Here then is a sufficient motive
for the one as well as the other, to contribute to the well-being of
society. The laws of Nature are the same in effect on the atheist
and the religionist. If man be led captive by his passions, and gives
himself to debauchery and voluptuousness, nature will punish him with
bodily infirmities and a debilitated mind. If he be intemperate, she
will shorten his days and bring him to the grave with the most poignant
remorse. The fatal effects of his vicious propensities will fall upon
his own head. A disturber of social order will live in continual fear
of the vengeance of society, and that very fear is a more dreadful
punishment than the just vengeance which perhaps he escapes. It renders
life burdensome, and makes a man hateful to himself. Can men have
stronger motives for the practise of virtue? The atheist is in full
possession of these motives, and the religionist is most completely
swayed by them, whatever may be his pretensions to others derived
from religion. But we are assured he has other motives; more powerful
incentives, in the promise of future rewards and punishments. This, like
all other chimerical doctrines, cannot be maintained if we look at the
general practise of mankind. Let us trace the effects of this doctrine,
or rather let us examine the actions, conduct, and character of men
professing it, and we shall see how little influence it has over them.
The bulk of society believe they shall answer in a future life for the
deeds done in the present. Nay, I hardly think one in a hundred thousand
will say they doubt it. What then is its effect? With this dreadful
sentence, _"Thou shalt go into everlasting punishment,"_ continually
sounded in their ears, do we not daily see the greatest enormities
committed? Are not the most horrid crimes perpetrated in all parts
of the world? The most vicious propensities and the most extravagant
follies are almost indiscriminately gratified. Is not vice frequently
triumphant, and virtue compelled to seek her own reward in retirement?
The laws of society are broken by the most flagrant injustice, and the
laws of nature outraged by the most shocking depravity. All this evil
exists in nations believing themselves to be accountable beings after
death. Where then are the beneficial effects arising, to mankind from
the promulgation of this doctrine? Men who cannot be restrained from
doing evil by human laws, have no dread of any other. Their whole lives
and conduct confirm this. Others who live in submission to the laws of
society, give themselves up to those vicious habits, (without fear of
divine laws) which the law does not take cognizance of. Men, not wholly
depraved, or not without the pale of society, generally respect the
laws, and fear the bad opinion of others. Hence we observe, when
interest or passion leads them into secret vices, they invariably play
the hypocrite; and although they are aware of the denunciations of their
God, whom they acknowledge is a witness to all their actions, while they
preserve their fair fame they still persevere. In fact, they live as if
they disbelieved in his existence; and yet the greatest criminal, the
most depraved wretch, would shudder at being told there is no God. The
atheist, as a man, is liable to commit the same crimes, and fall into
the same vices as the believer; but because he is an atheist, is he a
worse criminal than the other? In one respect, I conceive he is not so
bad. He only acts in defiance of _human_ laws,--he only offends men; the
other infringes _both divine_ and _human_;--he defies both God and man.
Both are injurious to society and themselves, and both are actuated by
the came motives.

Again we are told, that the well disposed part of mankind are rendered
more virtuous, and the vicious less vicious by this doctrine. How are
we to know that? If the virtuous man acts uprightly, does good to his
fellow creatures, restrains his passions, and returns good for evil,
experience teaches him it is his interest so to do. Those who are
viciously disposed are only deterred from crime by penal laws. Societies
cannot long exist, where evil has the ascendency. Without social
laws, this would really be the case, notwithstanding the threats of an
avenging God. If men were told they would not be answerable for the evil
committed in this life to human laws, but that God would punish them
after death, it is evident the human race would soon be exterminated.
On the other hand, tell them their crimes will never be punished by God,
or, in other words, there is no other God than NATURE, but that the laws
of men will avenge the offences against society; so long as those
laws are administered with justice and impartiality, so long will such
society continue to improve. Hence it is evident that the system which
will maintain order in society by itself, must be the best and most
rational. A good government without religion would be more solid and
lasting, and tend more to the preservation of mankind, than all the
theocratical or ecclesiastical governments that ever the world was
subject to.--Thus much for the opponents of atheism.

It has been asserted with a perverse obstinacy, by the advocates for the
existence of a deity, that the SYSTEM OF NATURE was never written by
the author whose name it bears.--It is granted that it was not published
during his life: but that circumstance forms no reason why such a
conclusion should be drawn. The persecutions which the atheists have
endured, were a sufficient excuse for the work not appearing in any form
during the life time of its venerable author. The Athenians sought to
try Diagoras the Melian, for atheism; but he fled from Athens, and a
price was offered for his head. Protagoras was banished from Athens, and
his books burnt, because he ventured to assert, that he knew nothing of
the gods. Stephen Dolet was burnt at Paris for atheism. Giordano Bruno
was burnt by the Inquisitors in Italy. Lucilio Vanini was burnt at
Thoulouse, through the kind offices of an Attorney-General. Bayle
was under the necessity of fleeing to Holland. Casimio Liszynski was
executed at Grodno;--and Akenhead at Edinborough. And the body of the
eloquent and erudite Hume, was obliged to be watched many nights by his
friends, lest it should be taken up by the fanatics, who considered him
one of the greatest monsters of iniquity, because he did not happen to
believe as they believed.--With these pictures of Christian persecution
before his eyes, is it surprising that M. de Mirabaud should adopt the
resolution of suffering the SYSTEM OF NATURE to appear as a posthumous
work? That the same fate would have attended him, the most devout
Christian will not undertake to deny.

However the sentiments of M. de Mirabaud may be condemned by the
fanatics, all those who knew him bear the most brilliant testimony of
his integrity, candour, and the soundness of his understanding; in a
word, to his social virtues, and the innocence of his manners. He died
universally regretted, at Paris, the twenty-fourth of June, 1760, in the
eighty-sixth year of his age.

The following works, written by him at different periods, were never
published:--_The Life of Jesus Christ. Impartial Reflections on the
Gospel. The Morality of Nature. An Abridged History of the Priesthood;
Ancient and Modern. The Opinions of the Ancients concerning the Jews._ A
wretched mutilated edition of this last work was published at Amsterdam,
in 1740, in two small volumes, under the title of _Miscellaneous
Dissertations_.


FINIS.











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