Superstition
To believe in spite of evidence or without evidence.

by Robert G. Ingersoll
(1898)

From The Works of Robert G. Ingersoll (Dresden Edition, 1900–1902), Volume 4.
Source: https://thegreatagnostic.com/works/superstition/
Public domain. CC0 / Public Domain Mark 1.0.

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To believe in spite of evidence or without evidence. To account for one
mystery by another.

To believe that the world is governed by chance or caprice.

To disregard the true relation between cause and effect.

To put thought, intention and design back of nature.

To believe that mind created and controls matter. To believe in force
apart from substance, or in substance apart from force.

To believe in miracles, spells and charms, in dreams and prophecies.

To believe in the supernatural.

The foundation of superstition is ignorance, the superstructure is faith
and the dome is a vain hope.

Superstition is the child of ignorance and the mother of misery.

In nearly every brain is found some cloud of superstition.

A woman drops a cloth with which she is washing dishes, and she
exclaims: "That means company."

Most people will admit that there is no possible connection between
dropping the cloth and the coming of visitors. The falling cloth could
not have put the visit desire in the minds of people not present, and
how could the cloth produce the desire to visit the particular person
who dropped it? There is no possible connection between the dropping of
the cloth and the anticipated effects.

A man catches a glimpse of the new moon over his left shoulder, and he
says: "This is bad luck."

To see the moon over the right or left shoulder, or not to see it, could
not by any possibility affect the moon, neither could it change the
effect or influence of the moon on any earthly thing. Certainly the
left-shoulder glance could in no way affect the nature of things. All
the facts in nature would remain the same as though the glance had been
over the right shoulder. We see no connection between the left-shoulder
glance and any possible evil effects upon the one who saw the moon in
this way.

A girl counts the leaves of a flower, and she says: "One, he comes; two,
he tarries; three, he courts; four, he marries; five, he goes away."

Of course the flower did not grow, and the number of its leaves was not
determined with reference to the courtship or marriage of this girl,
neither could there have been any intelligence that guided her hand
when she selected that particular flower. So, count' ing the seeds in an
apple cannot in any way determine whether the future of an individual is
to be happy or miserable.

Thousands of persons believe in lucky and unlucky days, numbers, signs
and jewels.

Many people regard Friday as an unlucky day—as a bad day to commence a
journey, to marry, to make any investment. The only reason given is that
Friday is an unlucky day.

Starting across the sea on Friday could have no possible effect upon the
winds, or waves, or tides, any more than starting on any other day, and
the only possible reason for thinking Friday unlucky is the assertion
that it is so.

So it is thought by many that it is dangerous for thirteen people to
dine together. Now, if thirteen is a dangerous number, twenty-six ought
to be twice as dangerous, and fifty-two four times as terrible.

It is said that one of the thirteen will die in a year. Now, there is no
possible relation between the number and the digestion of each, between
the number and the individual diseases. If fourteen dine together there
is greater probability, if we take into account only the number, of a
death within the year, than there would be if only thirteen were at the
table.

Overturning the salt is very unlucky, but spilling the vinegar makes no
difference.

Why salt should be revengeful and vinegar forgiving has never been told.

If the first person who enters a theatre is crosseyed, the audience will
be small and the "run" a failure.

How the peculiarity of the eyes of the first one who enters, changes the
intention of a community, or how the intentions of a community cause
the cross-eyed man to go early, has never been satisfactorily explained.
Between this so-called cause and the so-called effect there is, so far
as we can see, no possible relation.

To wear an opal is bad luck, but rubies bring health. How these stones
affect the future, how they destroy causes and defeat effects, no one
pretends to know.

So, there are thousands of lucky and unlucky tilings, warnings, omens
and prophecies, but all sensible, sane and reasoning human beings know
that every one is an absurd and idiotic superstition.

Let us take another step:

For many centuries it was believed that eclipses of the sun and moon
were prophetic of pestilence or famine, and that comets foretold the
death of kings, or the destruction of nations, the coming of war or
plague. All strange appearances in the heavens—the Northern Lights,
circles about the moon, sun dogs, falling stars—filled our intelligent
ancestors with terror. They fell upon their knees—did their best with
sacrifice and prayer to avoid the threatened disaster. Their faces were
ashen with fear as they closed their eyes and cried to the heavens for
help. The clergy, who were as familiar with God then as the orthodox
preachers are now, knew exactly the meaning of eclipses and sun dogs and
Northern Lights; knew that God's patience was nearly exhausted; that he
was then whetting the sword of his wrath, and that the people could
save themselves only by obeying the priests, by counting their beads and
doubling their subscriptions.

Earthquakes and cyclones filled the coffers of the church. In the midst
of disasters the miser, with trembling hands, opened his purse. In the
gloom of eclipses thieves and robbers divided their booty with God, and
poor, honest, ignorant girls, remembering that they had forgotten to say
a prayer, gave their little earnings to soften the heart of God.

Now we know that all these signs and wonders in the heavens have nothing
to do with the fate of kings, nations or individuals; that they had no
more reference to human beings than to colonies of ants, hives of bees
or the eggs of insects. We now know that the signs and eclipses, the
comets, and the falling stars, would have been just the same if not a
human being had been upon the earth. We know now that eclipses come at
certain times and that their coming can be exactly foretold.

A little while ago the belief was general that there were certain
healing virtues in inanimate things, in the bones of holy men and women,
in the rags that had been tom from the foul clothing of still fouler
saints, in hairs from martyrs, in bits of wood and rusty nails from
the true cross, in the teeth and finger nails of pious men, and in a
thousand other sacred things.

The diseased were cured by kissing a box in which was kept some bone, or
rag, or bit of wood, some holy hairs, provided the kiss was preceded or
followed by a gift—a something for the church.

In some mysterious way the virtue in the bone, or rag, or piece of wood,
crept or flowed from the box, took possession of the sick who had the
necessary faith, and in the name of God drove out the devils who were
the real disease.

This belief in the efficacy of bones or rags and holy hair was born
of another belief—the belief that all diseases were produced by evil
spirits. The insane were supposed to be possessed by devils. Epilepsy
and hysteria were produced by the imps of Satan. In short, every human
affliction was the work of the malicious emissaries of the god of hell.
This belief was almost universal, and even in our time the sacred bones
are believed in by millions of people.

But to-day no intelligent man believes in the existence of devils—no
intelligent man believes that evil spirits cause disease—consequently,
no intelligent person believes that holy bones or rags, sacred hairs or
pieces of wood, can drive disease out, or in any way bring back to the
pallid cheek the rose of health.

Intelligent people now know that the bone of a saint has in it no
greater virtue than the bone of any animal. That a rag from a wandering
beggar is just as good as one from a saint, and that the hair of a horse
will cure disease just as quickly and surely as the hair of a martyr.
We now know that all the sacred relics are religious rubbish; that those
who use them are for the most part dishonest, and that those who rely on
them are almost idiotic.

This belief in amulets and charms, in ghosts and devils, is
superstition, pure and simple.

Our ancestors did not regard these relics as medicine, having a curative
power, but the idea was that evil spirits stood in dread of holy
things—that they fled from the bone of a saint, that they feared a
piece of the true cross, and that when holy water was sprinkled on a man
they immediately left the premises. So, these devils hated and dreaded
the sound of holy bells, the light of sacred tapers, and, above all, the
ever-blessed cross.

In those days the priests were fishers for money, and they used these
relics for bait.

II.

Let us take another step:

This belief in the Devil and evil spirits laid the foundation for
another belief: Witchcraft.

It was believed that the devil had certain things to give in exchange
for a soul. The old man, bowed and broken, could get back his youth—the
rounded form, the brown hair, the leaping heart of life's morning—if he
would sign and seal away his soul. So, it was thought that the malicious
could by charm and spell obtain revenge, that the poor could be
enriched, and that the ambitious could rise to place and power. All the
good things of this life were at the disposal of the Devil. For those
who resisted the temptations of the Evil One, rewards were waiting in
another world, but the Devil rewarded here in this life. No one has
imagination enough to paint the agonies that were endured by reason
of this belief in witchcraft. Think of the families destroyed, of
the fathers and mothers cast in prison, tortured and burned, of the
firesides darkened, of the children murdered, of the old, the poor and
helpless that were stretched on racks mangled and flayed!

Think of the days when superstition and fear were in every house, in
every mind, when accusation was conviction, when assertion of innocence
was regarded as a confession of guilt, and when Christendom was insane!

Now we know that all of these horrors were the result of superstition.
Now we know that ignorance was the mother of all the agonies endured.
Now we know that witches never lived, that human beings never bargained
with any devil, and that our pious savage ancestors were mistaken.

Let us take another step:

Our fathers believed in miracles, in signs and wonders, eclipses and
comets, in the virtues of bones, and in the powers attributed to evil
spirits. All these belonged to the miraculous. The world was
supposed to be full of magic; the spirits were sleight-of-hand
performers—necromancers. There were no natural causes behind events. A
devil wished, and it happened. One who had sold his soul to Satan made
a few motions, uttered some strange words, and the event was present.
Natural causes were not believed in. Delusion and illusion, the
monstrous and miraculous, ruled the world. The foundation was
gone—reason had abdicated. Credulity gave tongues and wings to lies,
while the dumb and limping facts were left behind—were disregarded and
remained untold.

What is a Miracle

An act performed by a master of nature without reference to the facts in
nature. This is the only honest definition of a miracle.

If a man could make a perfect circle, the diameter of which was exactly
one-half the circumference, that would be a miracle in geometry. If a
man could make twice four, nine, that would be a miracle in mathematics.
If a man could make a stone, falling in the air, pass through a space of
ten feet the first second, twenty-five feet the second second, and five
feet the third second, that would be a miracle in physics. If a man
could put together hydrogen, oxygen and nitrogen and produce pure gold,
that would be a miracle in chemistry. If a minister were to prove his
creed, that would be a theological miracle. If Congress by law would
make fifty cents worth of silver worth a dollar, that would be a
financial miracle. To make a square triangle would be a most wonderful
miracle. To cause a mirror to reflect the faces of persons who stand
behind it, instead of those who stand in front, would be a miracle. To
make echo answer a question would be a miracle. In other words, to do
anything contrary to or without regard to the facts in nature is to
perform a miracle.

Now we are convinced of what is called the "uniformity of nature." We
believe that all things act and are acted upon in accordance with
their nature; that under like conditions the results will always be
substantially the same; that like ever has and ever will produce like.
We now believe that events have natural parents and that none die
childless.

Miracles are not simply impossible, but they are unthinkable by any man
capable of thinking.

Now an intelligent man cannot believe that a miracle ever was, or ever
will be, performed.

Ignorance is the soil in which belief in miracles grows.

Iii

Let us take another step:

While our ancestors filled the darkness with evil spirits, enemies of
mankind, they also believed in the existence of good spirits. These good
spirits sustained the same relation to God that the evil ones did to the
Devil. These good spirits protected the faithful from the temptations
and snares of the Evil One. They took care of those who carried amulets
and charms, of those who repeated prayers and counted beads, of those
who fasted and performed ceremonies. These good spirits would turn aside
the sword and arrow from the breast of the faithful. They made poison
harmless, they protected the credulous, and in a thousand ways defended
and rescued the true believer. They drove doubts from the minds of the
pious, sowed the seeds of credulity and faith, saved saints from the
wiles of women, painted the glories of heaven for those who fasted
and prayed, made it possible for the really good to dispense with the
pleasures of sense and to hate the Devil.

These angels watched over infants who had been baptized, over persons
who had made holy vows, over priests and nuns and wandering beggars who
believed.

These spirits were of various kinds: Some had once been men or women,
some had never lived in this world, and some had been angels from
the commencement. Nobody pretended to know exactly what they were, or
exactly how they looked, or in what way they went from place to place,
or how they affected or controlled the minds of men.

It was believed that the king of all these evil spirits was the Devil,
and that the king of all the good spirits was God. It was also believed
that God was in fact the king of all, and that the Devil himself was one
of the children of this God. This God and this Devil were at war, each
trying to secure the souls of men. God offered the rewards of eternal
joy and threatened eternal pain. The Devil baited his traps with present
pleasure, with the gratification of the senses, with the ecstasies of
love, and laughed at the joys of heaven and the pangs of hell. With
malicious hand he sowed the seeds of doubt—induced men to investigate,
to reason, to call for evidence, to rely upon themselves; planted in
their hearts the love of liberty, assisted them to break their chains,
to escape from their prisons and besought them to think. In this way he
corrupted the children of men.

Our fathers believed that they could by prayer, by sacrifice, by
fasting, by performing certain ceremonies, gain the assistance of this
God and of these good spirits. They were not quite logical. They did
not believe that the Devil was the author of all evil. They thought that
flood and famine, plague and cyclone, earthquake and war, were sometimes
sent by God as punishment for unbelief. They fell upon their knees and
with white lips, prayed the good God to stay his hand. They humbled
themselves, confessed their sins, and filled the heavens with their vows
and cries. With priests and prayers they tried to stay the plague. They
kissed the relics, fell at shrines, besought the Virgin and the saints,
but the prayers all died in the heartless air, and the plague swept on
to its natural end. Our poor fathers knew nothing of any science. Back
of all events they put spirits, good or bad, angels or demons, gods or
devils. To them nothing had what we call a natural cause. Everything was
the work of spirits. All was done by the supernatural, and everything
was done by evil spirits that they could do to ruin, punish, mislead and
damn the children of men. This world was a field of battle, and here the
hosts of heaven and hell waged war.

IV.

Now no man in whose brain the torch of reason bums, no man who
investigates, who really thinks, who is capable of weighing evidence,
believes in signs, in lucky or unlucky days, in lucky or unlucky
numbers. He knows that Fridays and Thursdays are alike; that thirteen
is no more deadly than twelve. He knows that opals affect the wearer the
same as rubies, diamonds or common glass. He knows that the matrimonial
chances of a maiden are not increased or decreased by the number of
leaves of a flower or seeds in an apple. He knows that a glance at the
moon over the left shoulder is as healthful and lucky as one over
the right. He does not care whether the first comer to a theatre is
crosseyed or hump-backed, bow-legged, or as well-proportioned as Apollo.
He knows that a strange cat could be denied asylum without bringing any
misfortune to the family. He knows that an owl does not hoot in the full
of the moon because a distinguished man is about to die. He knows that
comets and eclipses would come if all the folks were dead. He is not
frightened by sun dogs, or the Morning of the North when the glittering
lances pierce the shield of night.

He knows that all these things occur without the slightest reference to
the human race. He feels certain that floods would destroy and cyclones
rend and earthquakes devour; that the stars would shine; that day and
night would still pursue each other around the world; that flowers would
give their perfume to the air, and light would paint the seven-hued arch
upon the dusky bosom of the cloud if every human being was unconscious
dust.

A man of thought and sense does not believe in the existence of the
Devil. He feels certain that imps, goblins, demons and evil spirits
exist only in the imagination of the ignorant and frightened. He knows
how these malevolent myths were made. He knows the part they have played
in all religions. He knows that for many centuries a belief in these
devils, these evil spirits, was substantially universal. He knows that
the priest believed as firmly as the peasant. In those days the best
educated and the most ignorant were equal dupes. Kings and courtiers,
ladies and clowns, soldiers and artists, slaves and convicts, believed
as firmly in the Devil as they did in God.

Back of this belief there is no evidence, and there never has been.
This belief did not rest on any fact. It was supported by mistakes,
exaggerations and lies. The mistakes were natural, the exaggerations
were mostly unconscious and the lies were generally honest. Back of
these mistakes, these exaggerations, these lies, was the love of
the marvelous. Wonder listened with greedy ears, with wide eyes, and
ignorance with open mouth.

The man of sense knows the history of this belief, and he knows, also,
that for many centuries its truth was established by the Holy Bible. He
knows that the Old Testament is filled with allusions to the Devil,
to evil spirits, and that the New Testament is the same. He knows that
Christ himself was a believer in the Devil, in evil spirits, and that
his principal business was casting out devils from the bodies of men and
women. He knows that Christ himself, according to the New Testament, was
not only tempted by the Devil, but was carried by his Satanic Highness
to the top of the temple. If the New Testament is the inspired word of
God, then I admit that these devils, these imps, do actually exist and
that they do take possession of human beings.

To deny the existence of these evil spirits, to deny the existence
of the Devil, is to deny the truth of the New Testament. To deny the
existence of these imps of darkness is to contradict the words of Jesus
Christ. If these devils do not exist, if they do not cause disease,
if they do not tempt and mislead their victims, then Christ was an
ignorant, superstitious man, insane, an impostor, or the New Testament
is not a true record of what he said and what he pretended to do. If we
give up the belief in devils, we must give up the inspiration of the Old
and New Testament. We must give up the divinity of Christ. To deny
the existence of evil spirits is to utterly destroy the foundation of
Christianity. There is no half-way ground. Compromise is impossible. If
all the accounts in the New Testament of casting out devils are false,
what part of the Blessed Book is true?

As a matter of fact, the success of the Devil in the Garden of Eden made
the coming of Christ a necessity, laid the foundation for the atonement,
crucified the Savior and gave us the Trinity.

If the Devil does not exist, the Christian creeds all crumble, and the
superstructure known as "Christianity," built by the fathers, by popes,
by priests and theologians—built with mistakes and falsehoods, with
miracles and wonders, with blood and flame, with lies and legends
borrowed from the savage world, becomes a shapeless ruin.

If we give up the belief in devils and evil spirits, we are compelled
to say that a witch never lived. No sensible human being now believes in
witchcraft. We know that it was a delusion. We now know that thousands
and thousands of innocent men, women and children were tortured and
burned for having been found guilty of an impossible crime, and we also
know, if our minds have not been deformed by faith, that all the books
in which the existence of witches is taught were written by ignorant
and superstitious men. We also know that the Old Testament asserted
the existence of witches. According to that Holy Book, Jehovah was a
believer in witchcraft, and said to his chosen people: "Thou shalt not
suffer a witch to live."

This one commandment—this simple line—demonstrates that Jehovah
was not only not God, but that he was a poor, ignorant, superstitious
savage. This one line proves beyond all possible doubt that the Old
Testament was written by men, by barbarians.

John Wesley was right when he said that to give up a belief in
witchcraft was to give up the Bible.

Give up the Devil, and what can you do with the Book of Job? How will
you account for the lying spirits that Jehovah sent to mislead Ahab?

Ministers who admit that witchcraft is a superstition will read the
story of the Witch of Endor—will read it in a solemn, reverential
voice—with a theological voice—and will have the impudence to say that
they believe it.

It would be delightful to know that angels hover in the air; that they
guard the innocent, protect the good; that they bend over the cradles
and give health and happy dreams to pallid babes; that they fill
dungeons with the light of their presence and give hope to the
imprisoned; that they follow the fallen, the erring, the outcasts, the
friendless, and win them back to virtue, love and joy. But we have no
more evidence of the existence of good spirits than of bad. The angels
that visited Abraham and the mother of Samson are as unreal as the
ghosts and goblins of the Middle Ages. The angel that stopped the
donkey of Balaam, the one who walked in the furnace flames with Meshech,
Shadrack and Abed-nego, the one who slew the Assyrians and the one who
in a dream removed the suspicions of Joseph, were all created by the
imagination of the credulous, by the lovers of the marvelous, and
they have been handed down from dotage to infancy, from ignorance to
ignorance, through all the years. Except in Catholic countries, no
winged citizen of the celestial realm has visited the world for hundreds
of years. Only those who are blind to facts can see these beautiful
creatures, and only those who reach conclusions without the assistance
of evidence can believe in their existence. It is told that the great
Angelo, in decorating a church, painted some angels wearing sandals. A
cardinal looking at the picture said to the artist: "Whoever saw angels
with sandals?" Angelo answered with another question: "Whoever saw an
angel barefooted?"

The existence of angels has never been established. Of course, we know
that millions and millions have believed in seraphim and cherubim; have
believed that the angel Gabriel contended with the Devil for the body
of Moses; that angels shut the mouths of the lions for the protection
of Daniel; that angels ministered unto Christ, and that countless angels
will accompany the Savior when he comes to take possession of the world.
And we know that all these millions believe through blind, unreasoning
faith, holding all evidence and all facts in theological contempt.

But the angels come no more. They bring no balm to any wounded heart.
Long ago they folded their pinions and faded from the earth and air.
These winged guardians no longer protect the innocent; no longer cheer
the suffering; no longer whisper words of comfort to the helpless. They
have become dreams—vanished visions.

V.

In the dear old religious days the earth was flat—a little dishing, if
anything—and just above it was Jehovah's house, and just below it was
where the Devil lived. God and his angels inhabited the third story, the
Devil and his imps the basement, and the human race the second floor.

Then they knew where heaven was. They could almost hear the harps and
hallelujahs. They knew where hell was, and they could almost hear the
groans and smell the sulphurous fumes. They regarded the volcanoes
as chimneys. They were perfectly acquainted with the celestial, the
terrestrial and the infernal. They were quite familiar with the
New Jerusalem, with its golden streets and gates of pearl. Then the
translation of Enoch seemed reasonable enough, and no one doubted
that before the flood the sons of God came down and made love to the
daughters of men. The theologians thought that the builders of Babel
would have succeeded if God had not come down and caused them to forget
the meaning of words.

In those blessed days the priests knew all about heaven and hell.
They knew that God governed the world by hope and fear, by promise and
threat, by reward and punishment. The reward was to be eternal and so
was the punishment. It was not God's plan to develop the human brain, so
that man would perceive and comprehend the right and avoid the wrong.
He taught ignorance nothing but obedience, and for obedience he offered
eternal joy. He loved the submissive—the kneelers and crawlers. He
hated the doubters, the investigators, the thinkers, the philosophers.
For them he created the eternal prison where he could feed forever the
hunger of his hate. He loved the credulous—those who believed without
evidence—and for them he prepared a home in the realm of fadeless
light. He delighted in the company of the questionless.

But where is this heaven, and where is this hell? We now know that
heaven is not just above the clouds and that hell is not just below
the earth. The telescope has done away with the ancient heaven, and
the revolving world has quenched the flames of the ancient hell. These
theological countries, these imagined worlds, have disappeared. No one
knows, and no one pretends to know, where heaven is; and no one knows,
and no one pretends to know, the locality of hell. Now the theologians
say that hell and heaven are not places, but states of mind—conditions.

The belief in gods and devils has been substantially universal. Back of
the good, man placed a god; back of the evil, a devil; back of health,
sunshine and harvest was a good deity; back of disease, misfortune and
death he placed a malicious fiend.

Is there any evidence that gods and devils exist? The evidence of the
existence of a god and of a devil is substantially the same. Both of
these deities are inferences; each one is a perhaps. They have not been
seen—they are invisible—and they have not ventured within the horizon
of the senses. The old lady who said there must be a devil, else how
could they make pictures that looked exactly like him, reasoned like a
trained theologian—like a doctor of divinity.

Now no intelligent man believes in the existence of a devil—no longer
fears the leering fiend. Most people who think have given up a personal
God, a creative deity. They now talk about the "Unknown," the "Infinite
Energy," but they put Jehovah with Jupiter. They regard them both as
broken dolls from the nursery of the past.

The men or women who ask for evidence—who desire to know the
truth—care nothing for signs; nothing for what are called wonders;
nothing for lucky or unlucky jewels, days or numbers; nothing for charms
or amulets; nothing for comets or eclipses, and have no belief in good
or evil spirits, in gods or devils. They place no reliance on general
or special providence—on any power that rescues, protects and saves the
good or punishes the vile and vicious. They do not believe that in the
whole history of mankind a prayer has been answered. They think that all
the sacrifices have been wasted, and that all the incense has ascended
in vain. They do not believe that the world was created and prepared
for man any more than it was created and prepared for insects. They do
not think it probable that whales were invented to supply the Eskimo
with blubber, or that flames were created to attract and destroy moths.
On every hand there seems to be evidence of design—design for the
accomplishment of good, design for the accomplishment of evil. On every
side are the benevolent and malicious—something toiling to preserve,
something laboring to destroy. Everything surrounded by friends and
enemies—by the love that protects, by the hate that kills. Design is as
apparent in decay, as in growth; in failure, as in success; in grief, as
in joy. Nature with one hand building, with one hand tearing down, armed
with sword and shield—slaying and protecting, and protecting but to
slay. All life journeying toward death, and all death hastening back to
life. Everywhere waste and economy, care and negligence.

We watch the flow and ebb of life and death—the great drama that
forever holds the stage, where players act their parts and disappear;
the great drama in which all must act—ignorant and learned, idiotic and
insane—without rehearsal and without the slightest knowledge of a part,
or of any plot or purpose in the play. The scene shifts; some actors
disappear and others come, and again the scene shifts; mystery
everywhere. We try to explain, and the explanation of one fact
contradicts another. Behind each veil removed, another. All things equal
in wonder. One drop of water as wonderful as all the seas; one grain
of sand as all the world; one moth with painted wings as all the things
that live; one egg from which warmth, in darkness, woos to life an
organized and breathing form—a form with sinews, bones and nerves, with
blood and brain, with instincts, passions, thoughts and wants—as all
the stars that wheel in space.

The smallest seed that, wrapped in soil, has dreams of April rains and
days of June, withholds its secret from the wisest men. The wisdom of
the world cannot explain one blade of grass, the faintest motion of
the smallest leaf. And yet theologians, popes, priests, parsons, who
speechless stand before the wonder of the smallest thing that is, know
all about the origin of worlds, know when the beginning was, when the
end will be, know all about the God who with a wish created all, know
what his plan and purpose was, the means he uses and the end he seeks.
To them all mysteries have been revealed, except the mystery of things
that touch the senses of a living man.

But honest men do not pretend to know; they are candid and sincere; they
love the truth; they admit their ignorance, and they say, "We do not
know."

After all, why should we worship our ignorance, why should we kneel to
the Unknown, why should we prostrate ourselves before a guess?

If God exists, how do we know that he is good, that he cares for us? The
Christians say that their God has existed from eternity; that he forever
has been, and forever will be, infinite, wise and good. Could this God
have avoided being God? Could he have avoided being good? Was he wise
and good without his wish or will?

Being from eternity, he was not produced. He was back of all cause. What
he is, he was, and will be, unchanged, unchangeable. He had nothing to
do with the making or developing of his character.

Nothing to do with the development of his mind. What he was, he is. He
has made no progress. What he is, he will be, there can be no change.
Why then, I ask, should we praise him? He could not have been different
from what he was and is. Why should we pray to him? He cannot change.

And yet Christians implore their God not to do wrong.

The meanest thing charged against the Devil is that he leads the
children of men into temptation, and yet, in the Lord's Prayer, God is
insultingly asked not to imitate the king of fiends.
    "Lead us not into temptation."

Why should God demand praise? He is as lie was. He has never learned
anything; has never practiced any self-denial; was never tempted, never
touched by fear or hope, and never had a want. Why should he demand our
praise?

Does anyone know that this God exists; that he ever heard or answered
any prayer? Is it known that he governs the world; that he interferes
in the affairs of men; that he protects the good or punishes the wicked?
Can evidence of this be found in the history of mankind? If God governs
the world, why should we credit him for the good and not charge him with
the evil? To justify this God we must say that good is good and
that evil is also good. If all is done by this God we should make no
distinction between his actions—between the actions of the infinitely
wise, powerful and good. If we thank him for sunshine and harvest
we should also thank him for plague and famine. If we thank him for
liberty, the slave should raise his chained hands in worship and thank
God that he toils unpaid with the lash upon his naked back. If we thank
him for victory we should thank him for defeat.

Only a few days ago our President, by proclamation, thanked God for
giving us the victory at Santiago. He did not thank him for sending the
yellow fever. To be consistent the President should have thanked him
equally for both.

The truth is that good and evil spirits—gods and devils—are beyond the
realm of experience; beyond the horizon of our senses; beyond the limits
of our thoughts; beyond imagination's utmost flight.

Man should think; he should use all his senses; he should examine; he
should reason. The man who cannot think is less than man; the man who
will not think is traitor to himself; the man who fears to think is
superstition's slave.

VI.

What harm does superstition do? What harm in believing in fables, in
legends?

To believe in signs and wonders, in amulets, charms and miracles, in
gods and devils, in heavens and hells, makes the brain an insane
ward, the world a madhouse, takes all certainty from the mind, makes
experience a snare, destroys the kinship of effect and cause—the unity
of nature—and makes man a trembling serf and slave. With this belief a
knowledge of nature sheds no light upon the path to be pursued.
Nature becomes a puppet of the unseen powers. The fairy, called the
supernatural, touches with her wand a fact, it disappears. Causes are
barren of effects, and effects are independent of all natural causes.
Caprice is king. The foundation is gone. The great dome rests on
air. There is no constancy in qualities, relations or results. Reason
abdicates and superstition wears her crown.

The heart hardens and the brain softens.

The energies of man are wasted in a vain effort to secure the protection
of the supernatural. Credulity, ceremony, worship, sacrifice and prayer
take the place of honest work, of investigation, of intellectual effort,
of observation, of experience. Progress becomes impossible.

Superstition is, always lias been, and forever will be, the enemy of
liberty.

Superstition created all the gods and angels, all the devils and ghosts,
all the witches, demons and goblins, gave us all the augurs, soothsayers
and prophets, filled the heavens with signs and wonders, broke the chain
of cause and effect, and wrote the history of man in miracles and lies.
Superstition made all the popes, cardinals, bishops and priests, all
the monks and nuns, the begging friars and the filthy saints, all the
preachers and exhorters, all the "called" and "set apart." Superstition
made men fall upon their knees before beasts and stones, caused them to
worship snakes and trees and insane phantoms of the air, beguiled them
of their gold and toil, and made them shed their children's blood
and give their babes to flames. Superstition built the cathedrals and
temples, all the altars, mosques and churches, filled the world with
amulets and charms, with images and idols, with sacred bones and holy
hairs, with martyrs' blood and rags, with bits, of wood that frighten
devils from the breasts of men. Superstition invented and used the
instruments of torture, flayed men and women alive, loaded millions,
with chains and destroyed hundreds of thousands with fire. Superstition
mistook insanity for inspiration and the ravings of maniacs for
prophesy, for the wisdom of God. Superstition imprisoned the virtuous,
tortured the thoughtful, killed the heroic, put chains on the body,
manacles on the brain, and utterly destroyed the liberty of speech.
Superstition gave us all the prayers and ceremonies; taught all
the kneelings, genuflections and prostrations; taught men to hate
themselves, to despise pleasure, to scar their flesh, to grovel in the
dust, to desert their wives and children, to shun their fellow-men, and
to spend their lives in useless pain and prayer. Superstition taught
that human love is degrading, low and vile; taught that monks are purer
than fathers, that nuns are holier than mothers, that faith is superior
to fact, that credulity leads to heaven, that doubt is the road to hell,
that belief is better than knowledge, and that to ask for evidence is to
insult God. Superstition is, always has been, and forever will be, the
foe of progress, the enemy of education and the assassin of freedom.
It sacrifices the known to the unknown, the present to the future, this
actual world to the shadowy next. It has given us a selfish heaven, and
a hell of infinite revenge; it has filled the world with hatred, war
and crime, with the malice of meekness and the arrogance of humility.
Superstition is the only enemy of science in all the world.

Nations, races, have been destroyed by this monster. For nearly two
thousand years the infallible agent of God has lived in Italy. That
country has been covered with nunneries, monasteries, cathedrals
and temples—filled with all varieties of priests and holy men. For
centuries Italy was enriched with the gold of the faithful. All roads
led to Rome, and these roads were filled with pilgrims bearing gifts,
and yet Italy, in spite of all the prayers, steadily pursued the
downward path, died and was buried, and would at this moment be in
her grave had it not been for Cavour, Mazzini and Garibaldi. For her
poverty, her misery, she is indebted to the holy Catholic Church, to the
infallible agents of God. For the life she has she is indebted to the
enemies of superstition. A few years ago Italy was great enough to
build a monument to Giordano Bruno—Bruno, the victim of the "Triumphant
Beast;"—Bruno, the sublimest of her sons.

Spain was at one time owner of half the earth, and held within her
greedy hands the gold and silver of the world. At that time all nations
were in the darkness of superstition. At that time the world was
governed by priests. Spain clung to her creed. Some nations began to
think, but Spain continued to believe. In some countries, priests lost
power, but not in Spain. The power behind her throne was the cowled
monk. In some countries men began to interest themselves in science, but
not in Spain. Spain told her beads and continued to pray to the Virgin.
Spain was busy-saving her soul. In her zeal she destroyed herself. She
relied on the supernatural; not on knowledge, but superstition. Her
prayers were never answered. The saints were dead. They could not help,
and the Blessed Virgin did not hear. Some countries were in the dawn of
a new day, but Spain gladly remained in the night. With fire and sword
she exterminated the men who thought. Her greatest festival was the
Auto da Fe. Other nations grew great while Spain grew small. Day by
day her power waned, but her faith increased. One by one her colonies
were lost, but she kept her creed. She gave her gold to superstition,
her brain to priests, but she faithfully counted her beads. Only a few
days ago, relying on her God and his priests, on charms and amulets, on
holy water and pieces of the true cross, she waged war against the great
Republic. Bishops blessed her armies and sprinkled holy water on
her ships, and yet her armies were defeated and captured, lier ships
battered, beached and burned, and in her helplessness she sued for
peace. But she has her creed; her superstition is not lost. Poor Spain,
wrecked by faith, the victim of religion!

Portugal, slowly dying, growing poorer every day, still clings to the
faith. Her prayers are never answered, but she makes them still. Austria
is nearly gone, a victim of superstition. Germany is traveling toward
the night. God placed her Kaiser on the throne. The people must obey.
Philosophers and scientists fall upon, their knees and become the
puppets of the divinely crowned.

Vii

The believers in the supernatural, in a power superior to nature, in
God, have what they call "inspired books." These books contain the
absolute truth. They must be believed. He who denies them will be
punished with eternal pain. These books are not addressed to human
reason. They are above reason. They care nothing for what a man calls
"facts." Facts that do not agree with these books are mistakes. These
books are independent of human experience, of human reason.

Our inspired books constitute what we call the "Bible." The man who
reads this inspired book, looking for contradictions, mistakes and
interpolations, imperils the salvation of his soul. While he reads he
has no right to think, no right to reason. To believe is his only duty.

Millions of men have wasted their lives in the study of this book—in
trying to harmonize contradictions and to explain the obscure and
seemingly absurd. In doing this they have justified nearly every crime
and every cruelty. In its follies they have found the profoundest
wisdom. Hundreds of creeds have been constructed from its inspired
passages.

Probably no two of its readers have agreed as to its meaning. Thousands
have studied Hebrew and Greek that they might read the Old and New
Testament in the languages in which they were written. The more they
studied, the more they differed. By the same book they proved that
nearly everybody is to be lost, and that all are to be saved; that
slavery is a divine institution, and that all men should be free; that
polygamy is right, and that no man should have more than one wife; that
the powers that be are ordained of God, and that the people have a right
to overturn and destroy the powers that be; that all the actions of men
were predestined—preordained from eternity, and yet that man is free;
that all the heathen will be lost; that all the heathen will be saved;
that all men who live according to the light of nature will be damned
for their pains; that you must be baptized by sprinkling; that you must
be baptized by immersion; that there is no salvation without baptism;
that baptism is useless; that you must believe in the Trinity; that it
is sufficient to believe in God; that you must believe that a Hebrew
peasant was God; that at the same time he was half man, that he was of
the blood of David through his supposed father Joseph, who was not his
father, and that it is not necessary to believe that Christ was God;
that you must believe that the Holy Ghost proceeded; that it makes no
difference whether you do or not; that you must keep the Sabbath holy;
that Christ taught nothing of the kind; that Christ established a
church; that he established no church; that the dead are to be raised;
that there is to be no resurrection; that Christ is coming again; that
he has made his last visit; that Christ went to hell and preached to the
spirits in prison; that he did nothing of the kind; that all the Jews
are going to perdition; that they are all going to heaven; that all the
miracles described in the Bible were performed; that some of them were
not, because they are foolish, childish and idiotic; that all the Bible
is inspired; that some of the books are not inspired; that there is to
be a general judgment, when the sheep and goats are to be divided; that
there never will be any general judgment; that the sacramental bread and
wine are changed into the flesh and blood of God and the Trinity; that
they are not changed; that God has no flesh or blood; that there is a
place called "purgatory;" that there is no such place; that unbaptized
infants will be lost; that they will be saved; that we must believe the
Apostles' Creed; that the apostles made no creed; that the Holy Ghost
was the father of Christ; that Joseph was his father; that the Holy
Ghost had the form of a dove; that there is no Holy Ghost; that heretics
should be killed; that you must not resist evil; that you should murder
unbelievers; that you must love your enemies; that you should take no
thought for the morrow, but should be diligent in business; that you
should lend to all who ask, and that One who does not provide for his
own household is worse than an infidel.

In defence of all these creeds, all these contradictions, thousands
of volumes have been written, millions of sermons have been preached,
countless swords reddened with blood, and thousands and thousands of
nights made lurid with the faggot's flames.

Hundreds and hundreds of commentators have obscured and darkened the
meaning of the plainest texts, spiritualized dates, names, numbers and
even genealogies. They have degraded the poetic, changed parables to
history, and imagery to stupid and impossible facts. They have wrestled
with rhapsody and prophecy, with visions and dreams, with illusions and
delusions, with myths and miracles, with the blunders of ignorance, the
ravings of insanity and the ecstasy of hysterics. Millions of priests
and preachers have added to the mysteries of the inspired book by
explanation, by showing the wisdom of foolishness, the foolishness of
wisdom, the mercy of cruelty and the probability of the impossible.

The theologians made the Bible a master and the people its slaves. With
this book they destroyed intellectual veracity, the natural manliness
of man. With this book they banished pity from the heart, subverted all
ideas of justice and fairness, imprisoned the soul in the dungeon of
fear and made honest doubt a crime.

Think of what the world has suffered from fear. Think of the millions
who were driven to insanity. Think of the fearful nights—nights filled
with phantoms, with flying, crawling monsters, with hissing serpents
that slowly uncoiled, with vague and formless horrors, with burning and
malicious eyes.

Think of the fear of death, of infinite wrath, of everlasting revenge
in the prisons of fire, of an eternity, of thirst, of endless regret, of
the sobs and sighs, the shrieks and groans of eternal pain!

Think of the hearts hardened, of the hearts broken, of the cruelties
inflicted, of the agonies endured, of the lives darkened.

The inspired Bible has been and is the greatest curse of Christendom,
and will so remain as long as it is held to be inspired.

Viii

Our God was made by men, sculptured by savages who did the best they
could. They made our God somewhat like themselves, and gave to him their
passions, their ideas of right and wrong.

As man advanced he slowly changed his God—took a little ferocity from
his heart, and put the light of kindness in his eyes. As man progressed
he obtained a wider view, extended the intellectual horizon, and again
he changed his God, making him as nearly perfect as he could, and
yet this God was patterned after those who made him. As man became
civilized, as he became merciful, he began to love justice, and as his
mind expanded his ideal became purer, nobler, and so his God became more
merciful, more loving.

In our day Jehovah has been outgrown. He is no longer the perfect. Now
theologians talk, not about Jehovah, but about a God of love, call him
the Eternal Father and the perpetual friend and providence of man. But,
while they talk about this God of love, cyclones wreck and rend, the
earthquake devours, the flood destroys, the red bolt leaping from the
cloud still crashes the life out of men, and plague and fever still are
tireless reapers in the harvest fields of death.

They tell us now that all is good; that evil is but blessing
in disguise, that pain makes strong and virtuous men—makes
character—while pleasure enfeebles and degrades. If this be so, the
souls in hell should grow to greatness, while those in heaven should
shrink and shrivel.

But we know that good is good. We know that good is not evil, and that
evil is not good. We know that light is not darkness, and that darkness
is not light. But we do not feel that good and evil were planned and
caused by a supernatural God. We regard them both as necessities. We
neither thank nor curse. We know that some evil can be avoided and that
the good can be increased. We know that this can be done by increasing
knowledge, by developing the brain.

As Christians have changed their God, so they have accordingly changed
their Bible. The impossible and absurd, the cruel and the infamous, have
been mostly thrown aside, and thousands are now engaged in trying to
save the inspired word. Of course, the orthodox still cling to every
word, and still insist that every line is true. They are literalists.

To them the Bible means exactly what it says.

They want no explanation. They care nothing for commentators.
Contradictions cannot disturb their faith. They deny that any
contradictions exist. They loyally stand by the sacred text, and they
give it the narrowest possible interpretation. They are like the janitor
of an apartment house who refused to rent a flat to a gentleman because
he said he had children. "But," said the gentleman, "my children are
both married and live in Iowa." "That makes no difference," said the
janitor, "I am not allowed to rent a flat to any man who has children."

All the orthodox churches are obstructions on the highway of progress.
Every orthodox creed is a chain, a dungeon. Every believer in the
"inspired book" is a slave who drives reason from her throne, and in her
stead crowns fear.

Reason is the light, the sun, of the brain. It is the compass of the
mind, the ever-constant Northern Star, the mountain peak that lifts
itself above all clouds.

IX.

There were centuries of darkness when religion had control of
Christendom. Superstition was almost universal. Not one in twenty
thousand could read or write. During these centuries the people lived
with their back to the sunrise, and pursued their way toward the dens of
ignorance and faith. There was no progress, no invention, no discovery.
On every hand cruelty and worship, persecution and prayer. The priests
were the enemies of thought, of investigation. They were the shepherds,
and the people were their sheep and it was their business to guard
the flock from the wolves of thought and doubt. This world was of
no importance compared with the next. This life was to be spent in
preparing for the life to come. The gold and labor of men were wasted in
building cathedrals and in supporting the pious and the useless. During
these Dark Ages of Christianity, as I said before, nothing was invented,
nothing was discovered, calculated to increase the well-being of men.
The energies of Christendom were wasted in the vain effort to obtain
assistance from the supernatural.

For centuries the business of Christians was to wrest from the followers
of Mohammed the empty sepulcher of Christ. Upon the altar of this folly
millions of lives were sacrificed, and yet the soldiers of the impostor
were victorious, and the wretches who carried the banner of Christ were
scattered like leaves before the storm.

There was, I believe, one invention during these ages. It is said that,
in the thirteenth century, Roger Bacon, a Franciscan monk, invented
gunpowder, but this invention was without a fellow. Yet we cannot give
Christianity the credit, because Bacon was an infidel, and was great
enough to say that in all things reason must be the standard. He was
persecuted and imprisoned, as most sensible men were in those blessed
days. The church was triumphant. The sceptre and mitre were in her
hands, and yet her success was the result of force and fraud, and it
carried within itself the seeds of its defeat. The church attempted the
impossible. It endeavored to make the world of one belief; to force all
minds to a common form, and utterly destroy the individuality of man.
To accomplish this it employed every art and artifice that cunning could
suggest It inflicted every cruelty by every means that malice could
invent.

But, in spite of all, a few men began to think.

They became interested in the affairs of this world—in the great
panorama of nature. They began to seek for causes, for the explanations
of phenomena. They were not satisfied with the assertions of the church.
These thinkers withdrew their gaze from the skies and looked at their
own surroundings. They were unspiritual enough to desire comfort here.
They became sensible and secular, worldly and wise.

What was the result? They began to invent, to discover, to find the
relation between facts, the conditions of happiness and the means that
would increase the well-being of their fellow-men.

Movable types were invented, paper was borrowed from the Moors, books
appeared, and it became possible to save the intellectual wealth so that
each generation could hand it to the next. History began to take the
place of legend and rumor. The telescope was invented. The orbits of the
stars were traced, and men became citizens of the universe. The steam
engine was constructed, and now steam, the great slave, does the work
of hundreds of millions of men. The Black Art, the impossible, was
abandoned, and chemistry, the useful, took its place. Astrology became
astronomy. Kepler discovered the three great laws, one of the greatest
triumphs of human genius, and our constellation became a poem, a
symphony. Newton gave us the mathematical expression of the attraction
of gravitation. Harvey discovered the circulation of the blood. He gave
us the fact, and Draper gave us the reason. Steamships conquered the
seas and railways covered the land. Houses and streets were lighted with
gas. Through the invention of matches fire became the companion of
man. The art of photography became known; the sun became an artist.
Telegraphs and cables were invented. The lightning became a carrier of
thought, and the nations became neighbors. Anaesthetics were discovered
and pain was lost in sleep. Surgery became a science. The telephone was
invented—the telephone that carries and deposits in listening ears the
waves of words. The phonograph, that catches and retains in marks and
dots and gives again the echoes of our speech.

Then came electric light that fills the night with day, and all the
wonderful machines that use the subtle force—the same force that leaps
from the summer cloud to ravage and destroy.

The Spectrum Analysis that tells us of the substance of the sun; the
Roentgen rays that change the opaque to the transparent. The
great thinkers demonstrated the indestructibility of force and
matter—demonstrated that the indestructible could not have been
created. The geologist, in rocks and deposits and mountains and
continents, read a little of the story of the world—of its changes, of
the glacial epoch—the story of vegetable and animal life.

The biologists, through the fossil forms of life, established the
antiquity of man and demonstrated the worthlessness of Holy Writ. Then
came evolution, the survival of the fittest and natural selection.
Thousands of mysteries were explained and science wrested the sceptre
from superstition. The cell theory was advanced, and embryology was
studied; the microscope discovered germs of disease and taught us how
to stay the plague. These great theories and discoveries, together with
countless inventions, are the children of intellectual liberty.

X.

After all we know but little. In the darkness of life there are a few
gleams of light. Possibly the dropping of a dishcloth prophesies the
coming of company, but we have no evidence. Possibly it is dangerous for
thirteen to dine together, but we have no evidence. Possibly a maiden's
matrimonial chances are determined by the number of seeds in an apple,
or by the number of leaves on a flower, but we have no evidence.
Possibly certain stones give good luck to the wearer, while the wearing
of others brings loss and death. Possibly a glimpse of the new moon over
the left shoulder brings misfortune. Possibly there are curative virtues
in old bones, in sacred rags and holy hairs, in images and bits of wood,
in rusty nails and dried blood, but the trouble is we have no evidence.
Possibly comets, eclipses and shooting stars foretell the death of
kings, the destruction of nations or the coming of plague. Possibly
devils take possession of the bodies and minds of men. Possibly witches,
with the Devil's help, control the winds, breed storms on sea and land,
fill summer's lap with frosts and snow, and work with charm and spell
against the public weal, but of this we have no evidence. It may be that
all the miracles described in the Old and New Testament were performed;
that the pallid flesh of the dead felt once more the thrill of life;
that the corpse arose and felt upon his smiling lips the kiss of wife
and child. Possibly water was turned into wine, loaves and fishes
increased, and possibly devils were expelled from men and women;
possibly fishes were found with money in their mouths; possibly clay
and spittle brought back the light to sightless eyes, and possibly words
cured disease and made the leper clean, but of this we have no evidence.

Possibly iron floated, rivers divided, waters burst from dry bones,
birds carried food to prophets and angels flourished drawn swords, but
of this we have no evidence.

Possibly Jehovah employed lying spirits to deceive a king, and all the
wonders of the savage world may have happened, but the trouble is there
is no proof.

So there may be a Devil, almost infinite in cunning and power, and he
may have a countless number of imps whose only business is to sow the
seeds of evil and to vex, mislead, capture and imprison in eternal
flames the souls of men. All this, so far as we know, is possible. All
we know is that we have no evidence except the assertions of ignorant
priests.

Possibly there is a place called "hell," where all the devils live—a
hell whose flames are waiting for, all the men who think and have the
courage to express their thoughts, for all who fail to credit priests
and sacred books, for all who walk the path that reason lights, for all
the good and brave who lack credulity and faith—but of this, I am happy
to say, there is no proof.

And so there may be a place called "heaven," the home of God, where
angels float and fly and play on harps and hear with joy the groans and
shrieks of the lost in hell, but of this there is no evidence.

It all rests on dreams and visions of the insane.

There may be a power superior to nature, a power that governs and
directs all things, but the existence of this power has not been
established.

In the presence of the mysteries of life and thought, of force and
substance, of growth and decay, of birth and death, of joy and pain,
of the sufferings of the good, the triumphs of wrong, the intelligent
honest man is compelled to say: "I do not know."

But we do know how gods and devils, heavens and hells, have been made.
We know the history of inspired books—the origin of religions. We know
how the seeds of superstition were planted and what made them grow. We
know that all superstitions, all creeds, all follies and mistakes,
all crimes and cruelties, all virtues, vices, hopes and fears, all
discoveries and inventions, have been naturally produced. By the light
of reason we divide the useful from the hurtful, the false from the
true.

We know the past—the paths that man has traveled—his mistakes, his
triumphs. We know a few facts, a few fragments, and the imagination,
the artist of the mind, with these facts, these fragments, rebuilds the
past, and on the canvas of the future deftly paints the things to be.

We believe in the natural, in the unbroken and unbreakable succession of
causes and effects. We deny the existence of the supernatural. We do not
believe in any God who can be pleased with incense, with kneeling, with
bell-ringing, psalm-singing, bead-counting, fasting or prayer—in any
God who can be flattered by words of faith or fear.

We believe in the natural. We have no fear of devils, ghosts or hells.
We believe that Mahatmas, astral bodies, materializations of spirits,
crystal gazing, seeing the future, telepathy, mind reading and Christian
Science are only cunning frauds, the genuineness of which is established
by the testimony of incompetent, honest witnesses. We believe that
Cunning plates fraud with the gold of honesty, and veneers vice with
virtue.

We know that millions are seeking the impossible—trying to secure
the aid of the supernatural—to solve the problem of life—to guess the
riddle of destiny, and to pluck from the future its secret. We know that
all their efforts are in vain.

We believe in the natural. We believe in home and fireside—in wife
and child and friend—in the realities of this world. We have faith
in facts—in knowledge—in the development of the brain. We throw away
superstition and welcome science. We banish the phantoms, the mistakes
and lies and cling to the truth. We do not enthrone the unknown and
crown our ignorance. We do not stand with our backs to the sun and
mistake our shadow for God.

We do not create a master and thankfully wear his chains. We do not
enslave ourselves. We want no leaders—no followers. Our desire is that
every human being shall be true to himself, to his ideal, unbribed by
promises, careless of threats. We want no tyrant on the earth or in the
air.

We know that superstition has given us delusions and illusions, dreams
and visions, ceremonies and cruelties, faith and fanaticism, beggars
and bigots, persecutions and prayers, theology and torture, piety and
poverty, saints and slaves, miracles and mummeries, disease and death.

We know that science has given us all we have of value. Science is
the only civilizer. It has freed the slave, clothed the naked, fed the
hungry, lengthened life, given us homes and hearths, pictures and books,
ships and railways, telegraphs and cables, engines that tirelessly turn
the countless wheels, and it has destroyed the monsters, the phantoms,
the winged horrors that filled the savage brain.

Science is the real redeemer. It will put honesty above hypocrisy;
mental veracity above all belief. It will teach the religion of
usefulness. It will destroy bigotry in all its forms. It will put
thoughtful doubt above thoughtless faith. It will give us philosophers,
thinkers and savants, instead of priests, theologians and saints. It
will abolish poverty and crime, and greater, grander, nobler than all
else, it will make the whole world free.
