Which Way?
The natural and the supernatural.

by Robert G. Ingersoll
(1884)

From The Works of Robert G. Ingersoll (Dresden Edition, 1900–1902), Volume 3.
Source: https://thegreatagnostic.com/works/which-way/
Public domain. CC0 / Public Domain Mark 1.0.

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THERE are two ways,—the natural and the supernatural.

One way is to live for the world we are in, to develop the brain by
study and investigation, to take, by invention, advantage of the forces
of nature, to the end that we may have good houses, raiment and food, to
the end that the hunger of the mind may be fed through art and science.

The other way is to live for another world that we expect, to sacrifice
this life that we have for another that we know not of. The other way is
by prayer and ceremony to obtain the assistance, the protection of some
phantom above the clouds.

One way is to think—to investigate, to observe, and follow the light of
reason. The other way is to believe, to accept, to follow, to deny the
authority of your own senses, your own reason, and bow down to those who
are impudent enough to declare that they know.

One way is to live for the benefit of your fellow-men—for your wife
and children—to make those you love happy and to shield them from the
sorrows of life.

The other way is to live for ghosts, goblins, phantoms and gods with the
hope that they will reward you in another world.

One way is to enthrone reason and rely on facts, the other to crown
credulity and live on faith.

One way is to walk by the light within—by the flame that illumines the
brain, verifying all by the senses—by touch and sight and sound.

The other way is to extinguish the sacred light and follow blindly the
steps of another.

One way is to be an honest man, giving to others your thought, standing
erect, intrepid, careless of phantoms and hells.

The other way is to cringe and crawl, to betray your nobler self, and to
deprive others of the liberty that you have not the courage to enjoy.

Do not imagine that I hate the ones who have taken the wrong side and
traveled the wrong road.

Our fathers did the best they could. They believed in the Supernatural,
and they thought that sacrifices and prayer, fasting and weeping, would
induce the Supernatural to give them sunshine, rain and harvest—long
life in this world and eternal joy in another. To them, God was an
absolute monarch, quick to take offence, sudden in anger, terrible in
punishment, jealous, hateful to his enemies, generous to his favorites.
They believed also in the existence of an evil God, almost the equal
of the other God in strength, and a little superior in cunning. Between
these two Gods was the soul of man like a mouse between two paws.

Both of these Gods inspired fear. Our fathers did not quite love God,
nor quite hate the Devil, but they were afraid of both. They really
wished to enjoy themselves with God in the next world and with the Devil
in this. They believed that the course of Nature was affected by their
conduct; that floods and storms, diseases, earthquakes and tempests were
sent as punishments, and that all good phenomena were rewards.

Everything was under the direction and control of supernatural powers.
The air, the darkness, were filled with angels and devils; witches
and wizards planned and plotted against the pious—against the true
believers. Eclipses were produced by the sins of the people, and
the unusual was regarded as the miraculous. In the good old times
Christendom was an insane asylum, and insane priests and prelates were
the keepers. There was no science. The people did not investigate—did
not think. They trembled and believed. Ignorance and superstition ruled
the Christian world.

At last a few began to observe, to make records, and to think.

It was found that eclipses came at certain intervals, and that their
coming could be foretold. This demonstrated that the actions of men had
nothing to do with eclipses. A few began to suspect that earthquakes and
storms had natural causes, and happened without the slightest reference
to mankind.

Some began to doubt the existence of evil spirits, or the interference
of good ones in the affairs of the world. Finding out something about
astronomy, the great number of the stars, the certain and continuous
motions of the planets, and the fact that many of them were vastly
larger than the earth; ascertaining something about the earth, the
slow development of forms, the growth and distribution of plants, the
formation of islands and continents, the parts played by fire, water
and air through countless centuries; the kinship of all life; fixing
the earth's place in the constellation of the sun; by experiment and
research discovering a few secrets of chemistry; by the invention of
printing, and the preservation and dissemination of facts, theories and
thoughts, they were enabled to break a few chains of superstition, to
free themselves a little from the dominion of the supernatural, and to
set their faces toward the light. Slowly the number of investigators and
thinkers increased, slowly the real facts were gathered, the sciences
began to appear, the old beliefs grew a little absurd, the supernatural
retreated and ceased to interfere in the ordinary affairs of men.

Schools were founded, children were taught, books were printed and the
thinkers increased. Day by day confidence lessened in the supernatural,
and day by day men were more and more impressed with the idea that
man must be his own protector, his own providence. From the mists and
darkness of savagery and superstition emerged the dawn of the Natural.
A sense of freedom took possession of the mind, and the soul began to
dream of its power. On every side were invention and discovery, and
bolder thought. The church began to regard the friends of science as
its foes: Theologians resorted to chain and fagot—to mutilation and
torture.

The thinkers were denounced as heretics and Atheists—as the minions
of Satan and the defamers of Christ. All the ignorance, prejudice and
malice of superstition were aroused and all united for the destruction
of investigation and thought. For centuries this conflict was waged.
Every outrage was perpetrated, every crime committed by the believers
in the supernatural. But, in spite of all, the disciples of the Natural
increased, and the power of the church waned. Now the intelligence of
the world is on the side of the Natural. Still the conflict goes on—the
supernatural constantly losing, and the Natural constantly gaining. In a
few years the victory of science over superstition will be complete and
universal.

So, there have been for many centuries two philosophies of life;
one in favor of the destruction of the passions—the lessening of
wants,—and absolute reliance on some higher power; the other, in favor
of the reasonable gratification of the passions, the increase of wants,
and their supply by industry, ingenuity and invention, and the reliance
of man on his own efforts. Diogenes, Epictetus, Socrates to some extent,
Buddha and Christ, all taught the first philosophy. All despised riches
and luxury, all were the enemies of art and music, the despisers of
good clothes and good food and good homes. They were the philosophers
of poverty and rags, of huts and hovels, of ignorance and faith. They
preached the glories of another world and the miseries of this. They
derided the prosperous, the industrious, those who enjoyed life, and
reserved heaven for beggars.

This philosophy is losing authority, and now most people are anxious
to be happy here in this life. Most people want food and roof and
raiment—books and pictures, luxury and leisure. They believe in
developing the brain—in making servants and slaves of the forces of
Nature.

Now the intelligent men of the world have cast aside the teachings,
the philosophy of the ascetics. They no longer believe in the virtue of
fasting and self-torture. They believe that happiness is the only good,
and that the time to be happy is now—here, in this world. They no
longer believe in the rewards and punishments of the supernatural. They
believe in consequences, and that the consequences of bad actions are
evil, and the consequences of good actions are good.

They believe that man by investigation, by reason, should find out the
conditions of happiness, and then live and act in accordance with
such conditions. They do not believe that earthquakes, or tempests, or
volcanoes, or eclipses are caused by the conduct of men. They no longer
believe in the supernatural. They do not regard themselves as the serfs,
servants, or favorites of any celestial king. They feel that many evils
can be avoided by knowledge, and for that reason they believe in the
development of the brain. The schoolhouse is their church and the
university their cathedral.

So, there have been for some centuries two theories of government,—one
theological, the other secular.

The king received his power directly from God. It was the business of
the people to obey. The priests received their creeds from God and it
was the duty of the people to believe.

The theological government is growing somewhat unpopular. In England,
Parliament has taken the place of God, and in the United States,
government derives its powers from the consent of the governed.

Probably Emperor William is the only man in Germany who really believes
that God placed him on the throne and will keep him there whether the
German people are satisfied or not. Italy has retired the Catholic God
from politics, France belongs to and is governed by the French, and
even in Russia there are millions who hold the Czar and all his divine
pretensions in contempt.

The theological governments are passing away and the secular are slowly
taking their places. Man is growing greater and the Gods are becoming
vague and indistinct. These "divine" governments rest on the fear and
ignorance of the many, the cunning, the impudence and the mendacity of
the few. A secular government is born of the intelligence, the honesty
and the courage, not only of the few, but of the many.

We have found that man can govern himself without the assistance of
priest or pope, of ghost or God. We have found that religion is not
self-evident, and that to believe without evidence is not a praiseworthy
action. We know that the self-evident is the square and compass of the
brain, the polar star in the firmament of mind. And we know that no
one denies the self-evident. We also know that there is no particular
goodness in believing when the evidence is sufficient, and certainly
there is' none in saying; that you believe when the evidence is
insufficient.

The believers have not all been good. Some of the worst people in the
whole world have been believers. The gentlemen who made Socrates drink
hemlock were believers. The Jews who crucified Christ were believers in
and worshipers of God. The devil believes in the Trinity, the Father,
Son and Holy Ghost, and yet it does not seem to have affected his moral
character. According to the Bible, he trembles, but he does not reform.
At last we have concluded that we have a right to examine the religion
of our fathers.

II.

ALL Christians know that all the gods, except Jehovah, were created by
man; that they were, and are, false, foolish and monstrous; that all the
heathen temples were built and all their altars erected in vain; that
the sacrifices were wasted, that the priests were hypocrites, that their
prayers were unanswered and that the poor people were deceived, robbed
and enslaved. But after all, is our God superior to the gods of the
heathen?

We can ask this question now because we are prosperous, and prosperity
gives courage. If we should have a few earthquakes or a pestilence we
might fall on our knees, shut our eyes and ask the forgiveness of God
for ever having had a thought. We know that famine is the friend of
faith and that calamity is the sunshine of superstition. But as we have
no pestilence or famine, and as the crust of the earth is reasonably
quiet, we can afford to examine into the real character of our God.

It must be admitted that the use of power is an excellent test of
character.

Would a good God appeal to prejudice, the armor, fortress, sword and
shield of ignorance? to credulity, the ring in the priest-led nose
of stupidity? to fear, the capital stock of imposture, the lever of
hypocrisy? Would a good God frighten or enlighten his children? Would
a good God appeal to reason or ignorance, to justice or selfishness, to
liberty or the lash?

To our first parents in the Garden of Eden, our God said nothing about
the sacredness of love, nothing about children, nothing about education,
about justice or liberty.

After they had violated his command he became ferocious as a wild beast.
He cursed the earth and to Eve he said:—"I will greatly multiply thy
sorrow. In sorrow shalt thou bring forth children. Thy husband shall
rule over thee."

Our God made love the slave of pain, made wives serfs, and brutalized
the firesides of the world.

Our God drowned the whole world, with the exception of eight people;
made the earth one vast and shoreless sea covered with corpses.

Why did he cover the world with men, women and children knowing that he
would destroy them?

Why did he not try to reform them? Why would he create people, knowing
that they could not be reformed?

Is it possible that our God was intelligent and good?

After the flood our God selected the Jews and abandoned the rest of his
children. He paid no attention to the Hindoos, neglected the Egyptians,
ignored the Persians, forgot the Assyrians and failed to remember the
Greeks. And yet he was the father of them all. For many centuries he was
only a tribal God, protecting the few and despising the many. Our God
was ignorant, knew nothing of astronomy or geology. He did not even know
the shape of the earth, and thought the stars were only specks.

He knew nothing of disease. He thought that the blood of a bird that had
been killed over running water was good medicine. He was revengeful and
cruel, and assisted some of his children to butcher and destroy others.
He commanded them to murder men, wives and children, and to keep alive
the maidens and distribute them among his soldiers.

Our God established slavery—commanded men to buy their fellow-men, to
make merchandise of wives and babes. Our God sanctioned polygamy and
made wives the property of their husbands. Our God murdered the people
for the crimes of kings.

No man of intelligence, no one whose brain has not been poisoned by
superstition, paralyzed by fear, can read the Old Testament without
being forced to the conclusion that our God was, a wild beast.

If we must have a god, let him be merciful. Let us remember that "the
quality of mercy is not strained." Let us remember that when the sword
of Justice becomes a staff to support the weak, it bursts into blossom,
and that the perfume of that flower is the only incense, the only
offering, the only sacrifice that mercy will accept.

Iii

SO, there have been two theories about the cause and cure of disease.
One is the theological, the other the scientific.

According to the theological idea, diseases were produced by evil
spirits, by devils who entered into the bodies of people.

These devils could be cast out by prophets, inspired men and priests.

While Christ was upon earth his principal business was to cast out evil
spirits.

For many centuries the priests followed his example, and during the
Middle Ages millions of devils were driven from the bodies of men.
Diseases were cured with little images of consecrated pewter, with
pieces of paper, with crosses worn about the neck—by having plaster of
Paris Virgins and clay Christs at the head of the bed, by touching the
bones of dead saints, or pieces of the true cross, or one of the nails
that was driven through the flesh of Christ, or a garment that had been
worn by the Virgin Mary, or by sprinkling the breast with holy water, or
saying prayers, or counting beads, or making the stations of the cross,
or by going without meat, or wearing haircloth, or in some way torturing
the body. All diseases were supposed to be of supernatural origin
and all cures were of the same nature. Pestilences were stopped by
processions, led by priests carrying the Host.

Nothing was known of natural causes and effects. Everything was
miraculous and mysterious. The priests were cunning and the people
credulous.

Slowly another theory as to the cause and cure of disease took
possession of the mind. A few discarded the idea of devils, and took
the ground that diseases were naturally produced, and that many of them
could be cured by natural means.

At first the physician was exceedingly ignorant, but he knew more than
the priest. Slowly but surely he pushed the priest from the bedside.
Some people finally became intelligent enough to trust their bodies to
the doctors, and remained ignorant enough to leave the care of their
souls with the priests. Among civilized people the theological theory
has been cast aside, and the miraculous, the supernatural, no longer has
a place in medicine. In Catholic countries the peasants are still cured
by images, prayers, holy water and the bones of saints, but when the
priests are sick they send for a physician, and now even the Pope, God's
agent, gives his sacred body to the care of a doctor.

The scientific has triumphed to a great extent over the theological.

No intelligent person now believes that devils inhabit the bodies
of men. No intelligent person now believes that devils are trying to
control the actions of men. No intelligent person now believes that
devils exist.

And yet, at the present time, in the city of New York, Catholic priests
are exhibiting a piece of one of the bones of Saint Anne, the supposed
mother of the Virgin Mary. Some of these priests may be credulous
imbeciles and some may be pious rogues. If they have any real
intelligence they must know that there is no possible way of proving
that the piece of bone ever belonged to Saint Anne. And if they have any
real intelligence they must know that even the bones of Saint Anne were
substantially like the bones of other people, made of substantially
the same material, and that the medical and miraculous qualities of all
human bones must be substantially the same. And yet these priests are
obtaining from their credulous dupes thousands and thousands of dollars
for the privilege of seeing this bone and kissing the box that contains
the "sacred relic."

Archbishop Corrigan knows that no one knows who the mother of the Virgin
Mary was, that no one knows about any of the bones of this unknown
mother, knows that the whole thing is a theological fraud, knows that
his priests, or priests under his jurisdiction, are obtaining money
under false pretences. Cardinal Gibbons knows the same, but neither of
these pious gentlemen has one word to say against this shameless crime.
They are willing that priests for the benefit of the church should make
merchandise of the hopes and fears of ignorant believers; willing that
fraud that produces revenue should live and thrive.

This is the honesty of the theologian. If these gentlemen should
be taken sick they would not touch the relic. They would send for a
physician.

Let me tell you a Japanese story that is exactly in point:

An old monk was in charge of a monastery that had been built above the
bones of a saint. These bones had the power to cure diseases and they
were so placed that by thrusting the arm through an orifice they could
be touched by the hand of the pilgrim. Many people, afflicted in many
ways, came and touched these bones. Many thought they had been benefited
or cured, and many in gratitude left large sums of money with the monk.
One day the old monk addressed his assistant as follows: "My dear son,
business has fallen off, and I can easily attend to all who come. You
will have to find another place. I will give you the white donkey, a
little money, and my blessing."

So the young man mounted upon the beast and went his way. In a few days
his money was gone and the white donkey died. An idea took possession of
the young man's mind. By the side of the road he buried the donkey, and
then to every passer-by held out his hands and said in solemn tones: "I
pray thee give me a little money to build a temple above the bones of
the sinless one."

Such was his success that he built the temple, and then thousands came
to touch the bones of the sinless one. The young man became rich, gave
employment to many assistants and lived in the greatest luxury.

One day he made up his mind to visit his old master. Taking with him a
large retinue of servants he started for the old home. When he
reached the place the old monk was seated by the doorway. With great
astonishment he looked at the young man and his retinue. The young man
dismounted and made himself known, and the old monk cried: "Where hast
thou been? Tell me, I pray thee, the story of thy success."

"Ah," the young man replied, "old age is stupid, but youth has thoughts.
Wait until we are alone and I will tell you all."

So that night the young man told his story, told about the death and
burial of the donkey, the begging of money to build a temple over the
bones of the sinless one, and of the sums of money he had received for
the cures the bones had wrought.

When he finished a satisfied smile crept over his pious face as he
added: "Old age is stupid, but youth has thoughts."

"Be not so fast," said the old monk, as he placed his trembling hand on
the head of his visitor, "Young man, this monastery in which your youth
was passed, in which you have seen so many miracles performed, so many
diseases cured, was built above the sacred bones of the mother of your
little jackass."

IV.

THERE are two ways of accounting for the sacred books and religions of
the world.

One is to say that the sacred books were written by inspired men, and
that our religion was revealed to us by God.

The other is to say that all books have been written by men, without any
aid from supernatural powers, and that all religions have been naturally
produced.

We find that other races and peoples have sacred books and prophets,
priests and Christs; we find too that their sacred books were written by
men who had the prejudices and peculiarities of the race to which they
belonged, and that they contain the mistakes and absurdities peculiar to
the people who produced them.

Christians are perfectly satisfied that all the so-called sacred books,
with the exception of the Old and New Testaments, were written by men,
and that the claim of inspiration is perfectly absurd. So they believe
that all religions, except Judaism and Christianity, were invented
by men. The believers in other religions take the ground that their
religion was revealed by God, and that all others, including Judaism and
Christianity, were made by men. All are right and all are wrong. When
they say that "other" religions were produced by men, they are right;
when they say that their religion was revealed by God, they are wrong.

Now we know that all tribes and nations have had some kind of religion;
that they have believed in the existence of good and evil beings,
spirits or powers, that could be softened by gifts or prayer. Now we
know that at the foundation of every religion, of all worship, is the
pale and bloodless face of fear. Now we know that all religions and all
sacred books have been naturally produced—all born of ignorance, fear
and cunning.

Now we know that the gifts, sacrifices and prayers were all in vain;
that no god received and that no god heard or answered.

A few years ago prayers decided the issue of battle, and priests,
through their influence with God, could give the victory. Now no
intelligent man expects any answer to prayer. He knows that nature
pursues her course without reference to the wishes of men, that the
clouds float, the winds blow, the rain falls and the sun shines without
regard to the human race. Yet millions are still praying, still hoping
that they can gain the protection of some god, that some being will
guard them from accident and disease. Year after year the ministers make
the same petitions, pray for the same things, and keep on in spite of
the fact that nothing is accomplished.

Whenever good men do some noble thing the clergy give their God the
credit, and when evil things are done they hold the men who did the evil
responsible, and forget to blame their God.

Praying has become a business, a profession, a trade, A minister is
never happier than when praying in public. Most of them are exceedingly
familiar with their God. Knowing that he knows everything, they tell him
the needs of the nation and the desires of the people, they advise him
what to do and when to do it. They appeal to his pride, asking him to do
certain things for his own glory. They often pray for the impossible. In
the House of Representatives in Washington I once heard a chaplain
pray for what he must have known was impossible. Without a change of
countenance, without a smile, with a face solemn as a sepulchre, he
said: "I pray thee, O God, to give Congress wisdom." It may be that
ministers really think that their prayers do good and it may be that
frogs imagine that their croaking brings spring.

The men of thought now know that all religions and all sacred books have
been made by men; that no revelation has come from any being superior
to nature; that all the prophecies were either false or made after the
event; that no miracle ever was or ever will be performed; that no God
wants the worship or the assistance of man; that no-prayer has ever
coaxed one drop of rain from the sky, one ray of light from the sun;
that no prayer has stayed the flood, or the tides of the sea, or folded
the wings of the storm; that no prayer has given water to the cracked
and bleeding lips of thirst, or food to the famishing; that no prayer
has stopped the pestilence, stilled the earthquake or quieted the
volcano; that no prayer has shielded the innocent, succored the
oppressed, unlocked the dungeon's door, broke the chains of slaves,
rescued the good and noble from the scaffold, or extinguished the
fagot's flame.

The intelligent man now knows that we live in a natural world, that gods
and devils and the sons of God are all phantoms, that our religion and
our Deity are much like the religion and deities of other nations,
and that the stone god of a savage answers prayer and protects his
worshipers precisely the same, and to just the same extent, as the
Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

V.

THERE are two theories about morals. One theory is that the moral man
obeys the commands of a supposed God, without stopping to think whether
the commands are right or wrong. He believes that the will of the God is
the source and fountain of right. He thinks a thing is wrong because
the God prohibits it, not that the God prohibits it because it is wrong.
This theory calls not for thought, but for obedience. It does not appeal
to reason, but to the fear of punishment, the hope of reward. God is a
king whose will is law, and men are serfs and slaves.

Many contend that without a belief in the existence of God morality is
impossible and that virtue would perish from the earth.

This absurd theory, with its "Thus saith the Lord" has been claimed to
be independent of and superior to reason.

The other theory is that right and wrong exist in the nature of things;
that certain actions preserve or increase the happiness of man, and that
other actions cause sorrow and misery; that all those actions that cause
happiness are moral, and that all others are evil, or indifferent. Right
and wrong are not revelations from some supposed god, but have been
discovered through the experience and intelligence of man. There is
nothing miraculous or supernatural about morality. Neither has morality
anything to do with another world, or with an infinite being. It applies
to conduct here, and the effect of that conduct on ourselves and others
determines its nature.

In this world people are obliged to supply their wants by labor.
Industry is a necessity, and those who work are the natural enemies of
those who steal.

It required no revelation from God to make larceny unpopular. Human
beings naturally object to being injured, maimed, or killed, and so
everywhere, and at all times, they have tried to protect themselves.

Men did not require a revelation from God to put in their minds the
thought of self-preservation. To defend yourself when attacked is as
natural as to eat when you are hungry.

To determine the quality of an action by showing that it is in
accordance with, or contrary to the command of some supposed God, is
superstition pure and simple. To test all actions by their consequences
is scientific and in accord with reason.

According to the supernatural theory, natural consequences are not taken
into consideration. Actions are wrong because they have been prohibited
and right because they have been commanded. According to the Catholic
Church, eating meat on Friday is a sin that deserves eternal punishment.
And yet, in the nature of things, the consequences of eating meat on
that day must be exactly the same as eating meat on any other. So,
all the churches teach that unbelief is a crime, not in the nature of
things, but by reason of the will of God.

Of course this is absurd and idiotic. If there be an infinite God he
cannot make that wrong which in the nature of things is right. Neither
can he make an action good the natural consequences of which are evil.
Even an infinite God cannot change a fact. In spite of him the relation
between the diameter and circumference of a circle would remain the
same.

All the relations of things to things, of forces to forces, of acts to
acts, of causes to effects in the domain of what is called matter,
and in the realm of what is called mind, are just as certain, just as
unchangeable as the relation between the diameter and circumference of a
circle.

An infinite God could not make ingratitude a virtue any easier than he
could make a square triangle.

So, the foundations of the moral and the immoral are in the nature of
things—in the necessary relation between conduct and well-being, and
an infinite God cannot change these foundations, and cannot increase or
diminish the natural consequences of actions.

In this world there is neither chance nor caprice, neither magic nor
miracle. Behind every event, every thought and dream, is the efficient,
the natural and necessary cause.

The effort to make the will of a supposed God the foundation of
morality, has filled the world with misery and crime, extinguished in
millions of minds the light of reason, and in countless ways hindered
and delayed the progress of our race.

Intelligent men now know, that if there be an infinite God, man cannot
in any way increase or decrease the happiness of such a being. They know
that man can only commit crimes against sentient beings who, to some
extent at least, are within his power, and that a crime by a finite
being against an infinite being is an infinite impossibility.

VI.

FOR many thousands of years man has believed in and sought for the
impossible. In chemistry he has searched for a universal solvent, for
some way in which to change the baser metals into gold. Even Lord
Bacon was a believer in this absurdity. Thousands of men, during many
centuries, in thousands of ways, sought to change the nature of lead and
iron so that they might be transformed to gold. They had no conception
of the real nature of things. They supposed that they had originally
been created by a kind of magic, and could by the same kind of magic
be changed into something else. They were all believers in the
supernatural. So, in mechanics, men sought for the impossible. They were
believers in perpetual motion and they tried to make machines that would
through a combination of levers furnish the force that propelled them.

Thousands of ingenious men wasted their lives in the vain effort to
produce machines that would in some wonderful way create a force. They
did not know that force is eternal, that it can neither be created nor
destroyed. They did not know that a machine having perpetual motion
would necessarily be a universe within itself, or independent of this,
and in which the force called friction would be necessarily changed,
without loss, into the force that propelled,—the machine itself causing
or creating the original force that put it in motion. And yet in spite
of all the absurdities involved, for many centuries men, regarded by
their fellows as intelligent and learned, tried to discover the great
principle of "perpetual motion."

Our ancestors studied the stars because in them they thought it possible
to learn the fate of nations, the life and destiny of the individual.
Eclipses, wandering comets, the relations of certain stars were the
forerunners or causes of prosperity or disaster, of the downfall or
upbuilding of kingdoms. Astrology was believed to be a science, and
those who studied the stars were consulted by warriors, statesmen and
kings. The account of the star that led the wise men of the East to the
infant Christ was written by a believer in astrology. It would be hard
to overstate the time and talent wasted in the study of this so-called
science. The men who believed in astrology thought that they lived in a
supernatural world—a world in which causes and effects had no necessary
connection with each other—in which all events were the result of magic
and necromancy.

Even now, at the close of the nineteenth century, there are hundreds
and hundreds of men who make their living by casting the horoscopes of
idiots and imbeciles.

The "perpetual motion" of the mechanic, the universal solvent of the
chemist, the changing of lead into gold, the foretelling events by the
relations of stars were all born of the same ignorance of nature that
caused the theologian to imagine an uncaused cause as the cause of all
causes and effects.

The theologian insisted that there was something superior to nature, and
that that something was the creator and preserver of nature.

Of course there is no more evidence of the existence of that "something"
than there is of the philosopher's stone.

The mechanics who now believe in perpetual motion are insane, so are the
chemists who seek to change one metal into another, so are the honest
astrologers, and in a few more years the same can truthfully be said of
the honest theologians.

Many of our ancestors believed in the existence of and sought for the
Fountain of Perpetual Youth. They believed that an old man could stoop
and drink from this fountain and that while he drank his gray hairs
would slowly change, that the wrinkles would disappear, that his dim
eyes would brighten and grow clear, his heart throb with manhood's force
and rhythm, while in his pallid cheeks would burst into blossom the
roses of health.

They were believers in the supernatural, the miraculous, and nothing
seemed more probable than the impossible.

Vii

MOST people use names in place of arguments. They are satisfied to be
disciples, followers of the illustrious dead. Each church, each party
has a list of "great men," and they throw the names of these men at each
other when discussing their dogmas and creeds.

Men prove the inspiration of the Bible, the divinity of Christ by the
admissions of soldiers, statesmen and kings. And in the same way they
establish the existence of heaven and hell. Dispute one of their dogmas
and you will instantly be told that Isaac Newton or Matthew Hale was on
the other side, and you will be asked whether you claim to be superior
to Newton or Hale. In our own country the ministers, to establish their
absurdities, quote the opinions of Webster and of other successful
politicians as though such opinions were demonstrations.

Most Protestants will cheerfully admit that they are inferior in brain
and genius to some men who have lived and died in the Catholic faith;
that in the matter of preaching funeral sermons they are not equal to
Bossuet; that their letters are not as interesting and polished as
those written by Pascal; that Torquemada excelled them in the genius
of organization, and that for planning a massacre they would not for
a moment claim the palm from Catherine de Medici, and yet after these
admissions, these same Protestants would insist that the Pope is an
unblushing impostor, and the Catholic Church a vampire.

The so-called "great men" of the world have been mistaken in many
things. Lord Bacon denied the Copernican system of astronomy and
believed to the day of his death that the sun and stars journeyed about
this little earth. Matthew Hale was a firm believer in the existence of
witches and wizards. John Wesley believed that earthquakes were caused
by sin and that they could be prevented by believing in the Lord Jesus
Christ. John Calvin regarded murder as one of the means to preserve the
purity of the gospel. Martin Luther denounced Galileo as a fool because
he was opposed to the astronomy of Moses. Webster was in favor of the
Fugitive Slave Law and held the book of Job in high esteem. He wanted
votes and he knelt to the South. He wanted votes and he flattered the
church.

Viii

VOLUMES might be written on the follies and imbecilities of "great" men.

Only a few years ago the really great men were persecuted, imprisoned
or burned. In this way the church was enabled to keep the "great" men on
her side.

As a matter of fact it is impossible to tell what the "great" men really
thought. We only know what they said. These "great" men had families
to support, they had a prejudice against prisons and objected to being
burned, and it may be that they thought one way and talked another.

The priests said to these men: "Agree with the creed, talk on our side,
or you will be persecuted to the death." Then the priests turned to the
people and cried: "Hear what the great men say."

For a few years we have had something like liberty of speech and many
men have told their thoughts. Now the theologians are not quite so apt
to appeal to names as formerly. The really great are not on their side.
The leaders of modern thought are not Christians. Now the unbelievers
can repeat names—names that stand for intellectual triumphs. Humboldt,
Helmholtz, Haeckel and Huxley, Darwin, Spencer and Tyndall and many
others, stand for investigation, discovery, for vast achievements in the
world of thought. These men were and are thinkers and they had and have
the courage to express their thoughts. They were not and are not puppets
of priests, or the trembling worshipers of ghosts.

For many years, most of the presidents of American colleges have
been engaged in the pious work of trying to prevent the intellectual
advancement of the race. To such an extent have they succeeded that none
of their students have been or are great scientists.

For the purpose of bolstering their creed the orthodox do not now repeat
the names of the living, their witnesses are in the cemetery. All the
"great" Christians are dead.

To-day we want arguments, not names, reasons, not opinions. It is
degrading to blindly follow a man, or a church. Nothing is nobler than
to be governed by reason. To be vanquished by the truth is to be a
victor. The man who follows is a slave. The man who thinks is free.

We must remember that most men have been controlled by their
surroundings. Most of the intelligent men in Turkey are followers of
Mahomet. They were rocked in the cradle of the Koran, they received
their religious opinions as they did their features—from their parents.
Their opinion on the subject of religion is of no possible value. The
same may be said of the Christians of our country. Their belief is the
result, not of thought, of investigation, but of surroundings.

All religions have been the result of ignorance, and the seeds were sown
and planted in the long night of savagery.

In the decline of the Roman power, in the times when prosperity died,
when commerce almost ceased, when the sceptre of authority fell from
weak and nerveless hands, when arts were lost and the achievements of
the past forgotten or unknown, then Christians came, and holding in
contempt all earthly things, told their fellows of another world—of joy
eternal beyond the clouds.

If learning had not been lost, if the people had been educated, if they
had known the literature of Greece and Rome, if they had been familiar
with the tragedies of Æschylus, Sophocles and Euripides, with the
philosophy of Zeno and Epicurus, with the orations of Demosthenes; if
they had known the works of art, the miracles of genius, the passions in
marble, the dreams in stone; if they had known the history of Rome; if
they had understood Lucretius, Cicero and Cæsar; if they had studied the
laws, the decisions of the Prætors; if they had known the thoughts of
all the mighty dead, there would have been no soil on which the seeds of
Christian superstition could have taken root and grown.

But the early Christians hated art, and song, and joy. They slandered
and maligned the human race, insisted that the world had been blighted
by the curse of God, that this life should be used only in making
preparation for the next, that education filled the mind with doubt, and
science led the soul from God.

IX.

THERE are two ways. One is to live for God. That has been tried, and the
result has always been the same. It was tried in Palestine many years
ago and the people who tried it were not protected by their God. They
were conquered, overwhelmed and exiled. They lost their country and were
scattered over the earth. For many centuries they expected assistance
from their God. They believed that they would be gathered together
again, that their cities and temples and altars would be rebuilt, that
they would again be the favorites of Jehovah, that with his help they
would overcome their enemies and rule the world. Century by century
the hope has grown weaker and weaker, until now it is regarded by the
intelligent as a foolish dream.

Living for God was tried in Switzerland and it ended in slavery and
torture. Every avenue that led to improvement, to progress, was closed.
Only those in authority were allowed to express their thoughts. No
one tried to increase the happiness of people in this world. Innocent
pleasure was regarded as sin, laughter was suppressed, all natural joy
despised, and love itself denounced as sin.

They amused themselves with fasting and prayer, hearing sermons, talking
about endless pain, committing to memory the genealogies in the Old
Testament, and now and then burning one of their fellow-men.

Living for God was tried in Scotland. The people became the serfs and
slaves of the blessed Kirk. The ministers became petty tyrants. They
poisoned the very springs of life. They interfered with every family,
invaded the privacy of every home, sowed the seeds of superstition and
fear, and filled the darkness with devils. They claimed to be divinely
inspired, that they delivered the messages of God, that to deny their
authority was blasphemy, and that all who refused to do their bidding
would suffer eternal pain. Under their government Scotland was a land of
sighing and sorrow, of grief and pain. The people were slaves.

Living for God was tried in New England. A government was formed in
accordance with the Old Testament. The laws, for the most part, were
petty and absurd, the penalties cruel and bloody to the last degree.
Religious liberty was regarded as a crime, as an insult to God. Persons
differing in belief from those in power, were persecuted, whipped,
maimed and exiled. People supposed to be in league with the devil
were imprisoned or killed. A theological government was established,
ministers were the agents of God, they dictated the laws and fixed the
penalties. Everything was under the supervision of the clergy. They had
no pity, no mercy. With all their hearts they hated the natural. They
promised happiness in another world, and did all they could to destroy
the pleasures of this.

Their greatest consolation, their purest joy was found in their belief
that all who failed to obey their words, to wear their yoke, would
suffer infinite torture in the eternal dungeons of hell.

Living for God was tried in the Dark Ages. Thousands of scaffolds were
wet with blood, countless swords were thrust through human hearts. The
flames of fagots consumed the flesh of men, dungeons became the homes of
those who thought. In the name of God every cruelty was practiced, every
crime committed, and liberty perished from the earth. Everywhere the
result has been the same. Living for God has filled the world with blood
and flame.

There is another way. Let us live for man, for this world. Let
us develop the brain and civilize the heart. Let us ascertain the
conditions of happiness and live in accordance with them. Let us do what
we can for the destruction of ignorance, poverty and crime. Let us do
our best to supply the wants of the body, to satisfy the hunger of the
mind, to ascertain the secrets of nature, to the end that we may make
the invisible forces the tireless servants of the human race, and fill
the world with happy homes.

Let the gods take care of themselves. Let us live for man. Let us
remember that those who have sought for the truths of nature have never
persecuted their fellow-men. The astronomers and chemists have forged no
chains, built no dungeons. The geologists have invented no instrument
of torture. The philosophers have not demonstrated the truth of their
theories by burning their neighbors. The great infidels, the thinkers,
have lived for the good of man.

It is noble to seek for truth, to be intellectually honest, to give to
others a true transcript of your mind, a photograph of your thoughts in
honest words.

X.

HERE are two ways: The narrow way along which the selfish go in single
file, not wide enough for husband and wife to walk side by side
while children clasp their hands. The narrow road over the desert of
superstition "with here and there a traveler." The narrow grass-grown
path, filled with flints and broken glass, bordered by thistles and
thorns, where the twice-born limping walk with bleeding feet. If by this
path you see a flower, do not pick it. It is a temptation. Beneath its
leaves a serpent lies. Keep your eyes on the New Jerusalem. Do not look
back for wife or child or friend. Think only of saving your own soul.
You will be just as happy in heaven with all you love in hell. Believe,
have faith, and you will be rewarded for the goodness of another. Look
neither to the right nor left. Keep on, straight on, and you will save
your worthless, withered, selfish soul.

This is the narrow road that leads from earth to the Christian's
heartless heaven.

There is another way—the broad road.

Give me the wide and ample way, the way broad enough for us all to go
together. The broad way where the birds sing, where the sun shines and
the streams murmur. The broad way, through the fields where the flowers
grow, over the daisied slopes where sunlight, lingering, seems to sleep
and dream.

Let us go the broad way with the great world, with science and art, with
music and the drama, with all that gladdens, thrills, refines and calms.

Let us go the wide road with husband and wife, with children and friends
and with all there is of joy and love between the dawn and dusk of
life's strange day.

This world is a great orange tree filled with blossoms, with ripening
and ripened fruit, while, underneath the bending boughs, the fallen
slowly turn to dust.

Each orange is a life. Let us squeeze it dry, get all the juice there
is, so that when death comes we can say; "There is nothing left but
withered peel."

Let us travel the broad and natural way. Let us live for man.

To think of what the world has suffered from superstition, from
religion, from the worship of beast and stone and god, is almost enough
to make one insane. Think of the long, long night of ignorance and fear!
Think of the agony, the sufferings of the past, of the days that are
dead!

I look. In gloomy caves I see the sacred serpents coiled, waiting for
their sacrificial prey. I see their open jaws, their restless tongues,
their glittering eyes, their cruel fangs. I see them seize and crush in
many horrid folds the helpless children given by fathers and mothers to
appease the Serpent-God. I look again. I see temples wrought of stone
and gilded with barbaric gold. I see altars red with human blood. I see
the solemn priests thrust knives in the white breasts of girls. I look
again. I see other temples and other altars, where greedy flames devour
the flesh and blood of babes. I see other temples and other priests and
other altars dripping with the blood of oxen, lambs and doves.

I look again. I see other temples and other priests and other altars on
which are sacrificed the liberties of man. I look. I see the cathedrals
of God, the huts of peasants, the robes of priests and kings, the rags
of honest men. I look again. The lovers of God are the murderers of
men. I see dungeons filled with the noblest and the best. I see exiles,
wanderers, outcasts, millions of martyrs, widows and orphans. I see the
cunning instruments of torture and hear the shrieks and sobs and moans
of millions dead.

I see the dungeon's gloom, I hear the clank of chains. I see the fagot's
flames, the scorched and blackened face, the writhing limbs. I hear the
jeers and scoffs of pious fiends. I see the victim on the rack, I hear
the tendons as they break. I see a world beneath the feet of priests,
liberty in chains, every virtue a crime, every crime a virtue,
intelligence despised, stupidity sainted, hypocrisy crowned and the
white forehead of honor wearing the brand of shame. This was.

I look again, and in the East of hope's fair sky the first pale light
shed by the herald star gives promise of another dawn. I look, and
from the ashes, blood and tears the heroes leap to bless the future and
avenge the past. I see a world at war, and in the storm and chaos of the
deadly strife thrones crumble, altars fall, chains break, creeds change.

The highest peaks are touched with holy light. The dawn has blossomed.
I look again. I see discoverers sailing across mysterious seas. I see
inventors cunningly enslave the forces of the world. I see the houses
being built for schools. Teachers, interpreters of nature, slowly take
the place of priests. Philosophers arise, thinkers give the world their
wealth of brain, and lips grow rich with words of truth. This is.

I look again, but toward the future now. The popes and priests and kings
are gone,—the altars and the thrones have mingled with the dust,—the
aristocracy of land and cloud have perished from the earth and-air, and
all the gods are dead. A new religion sheds its glory on mankind. It
is the gospel of this world, the religion of the body, of the heart
and brain, the evangel of health and joy. I see a world at peace,
where labor reaps its true reward, a world without prisons, without
workhouses, without asylums for the insane, a world on which the gibbets
shadow does not fall, a world where the poor girl, trying to win bread
with the needle, the needle that has been called "the asp for the breast
of the poor," is not driven to the desperate choice of crime or death,
of suicide or shame. I see a world without the beggar's outstretched
palm, the miser's heartless, stony stare, the piteous wail of want, the
pallid face of crime, the livid lips of lies, the cruel eyes of scorn.
I see a race without disease of flesh or brain, shapely and fair, the
married harmony of form and use, and as I look life lengthens, fear
dies, joy deepens, love intensifies. The world is free. This shall be.
