{
  "schema": "tga.work.v1",
  "identifier": "dresden:vol-12:unitarian-club-dinner",
  "slug": "unitarian-club-dinner",
  "title": "Unitarian Club Dinner",
  "subtitle": "After-dinner address.",
  "excerpt": "After-dinner address to the Unitarian Club — the audience closest in spirit to Ingersoll within organized Christianity.",
  "year": 1891,
  "volume": 12,
  "category": "After-Dinner",
  "author": {
    "name": "Robert G. Ingersoll",
    "wikidata": "Q360326",
    "viaf": "44331023"
  },
  "isPartOf": {
    "title": "The Works of Robert G. Ingersoll",
    "edition": "Dresden Edition",
    "publisher": "C. P. Farrell",
    "year": 1900
  },
  "license": "https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/",
  "url": "https://thegreatagnostic.com/works/unitarian-club-dinner/",
  "wordCount": 5256,
  "body": "Unitarian Club Dinner\n\nNew York, January 15,1892.\n\nTOAST: THE IDEAL.\n\nMR. PRESIDENT, Ladies and Gentlemen: In the first place, I wish to\ntender my thanks to this club for having generosity and sense enough to\ninvite me to speak this evening. It is probably the best thing the club\nhas ever done. You have shown that you are not afraid of a man simply\nbecause he does not happen to agree entirely with you, although in a\nvery general way it may be said that I come within one of you.\n\nSo I think, not only that you have honored me—that, I most cheerfully\nand gratefully admit—but, upon my word, I think that you have honored\nyourselves. And imagine the distance the religious world has traveled\nin the last few years to make a thing of this kind possible! You know—I\npresume every one of you knows—that I have no religion—not enough to\nlast a minute—none whatever—that is, in the ordinary sense of that\nword. And yet you have become so nearly civilized that you are willing\nto hear what I have to say; and I have become so nearly civilized that I\nam willing to say what I think.\n\nAnd, in the second place, let me say that I have great respect for\nthe Unitarian Church. I have great respect for the memory of Theodore\nParker. I have great respect for every man who has assisted in reaving\nthe heavens of an infinite monster. I have great respect for every man\nwho has helped to put out the fires of hell. In other words, I have\ngreat respect for every man who has tried to civilize my race.\n\nThe Unitarian Church has done more than any other church—and may be\nmore than all other churches—to substitute character for creed, and\nto say that a man should be judged by his spirit; by the climate of his\nheart; by the autumn of his generosity; by the spring of his hope; that\nhe should be judged by what he does; by the influence that he exerts,\nrather than by the mythology he may believe. And whether there be one\nGod or a million, I am perfectly satisfied that every duty that devolves\nupon me is within my reach; it is something that I can do myself,\nwithout the help of anybody else, either in this world or any other.\n\nNow, in order to make myself plain on this subject—I think I was to\nspeak about the Ideal—I want to thank the Unitarian Church for what\nit has done; and I want to thank the Universalist Church, too. They at\nleast believe in a God who is a gentleman; and that is much more than\nwas ever done by an orthodox church. They believe, at least, in a\nheavenly father who will leave the latch string out until the last\nchild gets home; and as that lets me in—especially in reference to the\n\"last\"—I have great respect for that church.\n\nBut now I am coming to the Ideal; and in what I may say you may not all\nagree. I hope you won't, because that would be to me evidence that I am\nwrong. You cannot expect everybody to agree in the right, and I cannot\nexpect to be always in the right myself. I have to judge with the\nstandard called my reason, and I do not know whether it is right or\nnot; I will admit that. But as opposed to any other man's, I will bet\non mine. That is to say, for home use. In the first place, I think it\nis said in some book—and if I am wrong there are plenty here to correct\nme—that \"the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.\" I think\na knowledge of the limitations of the human mind is the beginning of\nwisdom, and, I may almost say, the end of it—really to understand\nyourself.\n\nNow, let me lay down this proposition. The imagination of man has the\nhorizon of experience; and beyond experience or nature man cannot\ngo, even in imagination. Man is not a creator. He combines; he adds\ntogether; he divides; he subtracts; he does not create, even in the\nworld of imagination. Let me make myself a little plainer: Not one\nhere—not one in the wide, wide world can think of a color that he never\nsaw. No human being can imagine a sound that he has not heard, and\nno one can think of a taste that he has not experienced. He can add\nto—that is add together—combine; but he cannot, by any possibility,\ncreate.\n\nMan originally, we will say—go back to the age of barbarism, and you\nwill not have to go far; our own childhood, probably, is as far as is\nnecessary—but go back to what is called the age of savagery; every man\nwas an idealist, as every man is to-day an idealist. Every man in savage\nor civilized time, commencing with the first that ever crawled out of\na cave and pushed the hair back from his forehead to look at the\nsun—commence with him and end with Judge Wright—the last expression\non the God question—and from that cave to the soul that lives in this\ntemple, everyone has been an idealist and has endeavored to account in\nsome way for what he saw and for what he felt; in other words, for the\nphenomena of nature. The easiest way to account for it by the rudest\nsavage, is the way it has been accounted for to-night. What makes the\nriver run? There's a god in it. What makes the tree grow? There's a god\nin it. What makes the star shine? There's a god in it. What makes the\nsun rise? Why, he is a god himself. And what makes the nightingale sing\nuntil the air is faint with melody? There's a god in it.\n\nThey commenced making gods to account for everything that happens; gods\nof dreams and gods of love and friendship, and heroism and courage.\nSplendid! They kept making more and more. The more they found out in\nnature, up to a certain point, the more gods they needed; and they kept\non making gods until almost every wave of the sea bore a god. Gods on\nevery mountain, and in every vale and field, and by every stream! Gods\nin flowers, gods in grass; gods everywhere! All accounting for this\nworld and for what happened in this world.\n\nThen, when they had got about to the top, when their ingenuity had been\nexhausted, they had not produced anything, and they did not produce\nanything beyond their own experience. We are told that they were\nidolaters. That is a mistake, except in the sense that we are all\nidolaters. They said, \"Here is a god; let us express our idea of him.\nHe is stronger than a man; let us give him the body of a lion. He is\nswifter than a man; let us give him the wings of an eagle. He is wiser\nthan a man\"—and when a man was very savage he said, \"let us give\nhim the head of a serpent;\" a serpent is wonderfully wise; he travels\nwithout feet; he climbs without claws; he lives without food, and he is\nof the simplest conceivable form.\n\nAnd that was simply to represent their idea of power, of swiftness, of\nwisdom. And yet this impossible monster was simply made of what man had\nseen in nature, and he put the various attributes or parts together\nby his imagination. He created nothing. He simply took these parts of\ncertain beasts, when beasts were supposed to be superior to man in some\nparticulars, and in that way expressed his thought.\n\nYou go into the territory of Arizona to-day, and you will find there\npictures of God. He was clothed in stone, through which no arrow could\npierce, and so they called God the Stone-Shirted whom no Indian could\nkill. That was for the simple and only reason that it was impossible to\nget an arrow through his armor. They got the idea from the armadillo.\n\nNow, I am simply saying this to show that they were making gods for all\nthese centuries, and making them out of something they found in nature.\nThen, after they got through with the beast business, they made gods\nafter the image of man; and they are the best gods, so far as I know,\nthat have been made.\n\nThe gods that were first made after the image of man were not made after\nthe pattern of very good men; but they were good men according to the\nstandard of that time, because, as I will show you in a moment, all\nthese things are relative. The qualities or things that we call mercy,\njustice, charity and religion are all relative. There was a time when\nthe victor on the field of battle was exceedingly merciful if he failed\nto eat his prisoner; he was regarded as a very charitable gentleman if\nhe refused to eat the man he had captured in battle. Afterward he\nwas regarded as an exceedingly benevolent person if he would spare a\nprisoner's life and make him a slave.\n\nSo that—but you all know it as well as I do or you would not be\nUnitarians—all this has been simply a growth from year to year, from\ngeneration to generation, from age to age. And let me tell you the first\nthing about these gods that they made after the image of men. After\na time there were men on the earth who were better than these gods in\nheaven.\n\nThen those gods began to die, one after another, and dropped from their\nthrones. The time will probably come in the history of this world when\nan insurance company can calculate the average life of gods as well as\nthey do now of men; because all these gods have been made by folks. And,\nlet me say right here, the folks did the best they could. I do not blame\nthem. Everybody in the business has always done his best. I admit it. I\nadmit that man has traveled from the first conception up to Unitarianism\nby a necessary road. Under the conditions he could have come up in no\nother way. I admit all that. I blame nobody. But I am simply trying to\ntell, in a very feeble manner, how it is.\n\nNow, in a little while, I say, men got better than their gods. Then the\ngods began to die. Then we began to find out a few things in nature, and\nwe found out that we were supporting more gods than were necessary—that\nfewer gods could do the business—and that, from an economical point of\nview, expenses ought to be cut down. There were too many temples, too\nmany priests, and you always had to give tithes of something to each\none, and these gods were about to eat up the substance of the world.\n\nAnd there came a time when it got to that point that either the gods\nwould eat up the people or the people must destroy some gods, and of\ncourse they destroyed the gods—one by one and in their places they put\nforces of nature to do the business—forces of nature that needed no\nchurch, that needed no theologians; forces of nature that you are under\nno obligation to; that you do not have to pay anything to keep working.\nWe found that the attraction of gravitation would attend to its\nbusiness, night and day, at its own expense. There was a great saving.\nI wish it were the same with all kinds of law, so that we could all go\ninto some useful business, including myself.\n\nSo day by day, they dispensed with this expense of deities; and the\nworld got along just as well—a good deal better. They used to think—a\ncommunity thought—that if a man was allowed to say a word against a\ndeity, the god would visit his vengeance upon the entire nation. But\nthey found out, after a while, that no harm came of it; so they went on\ndestroying the gods. Now, all these things are relative; and they made\ngods a little better all the time—I admit that—till we struck the\nPresbyterian, which is probably the worst ever made. The Presbyterians\nseem to have bred back.\n\nBut no matter. As man became more just, or nearer just, as he became\nmore charitable, or nearer charitable, his god grew to be a little\nbetter and a little better. He was very bad in Geneva—the three that\nwe then had. They were very bad in Scotland—horrible! Very bad in New\nEngland—infamous! I might as well tell the truth about it—very bad!\nAnd then men went to work, finally, to civilize their gods, to civilize\nheaven, to give heaven the benefit of the freedom of this brave world.\nThat's what we did. We wanted to civilize religion—civilize what is\nknown as Christianity. And nothing on earth needed civilization more;\nand nothing needs it more than that to-night. Civilization! I am not so\nmuch for the freedom of religion as I am for the religion of freedom.\n\nNow, there was a time when our ancestors—good people, away back, all\ndead, no great regret expressed at this meeting on that account—there\nwas a time when our ancestors were happy in their belief that nearly\neverybody was to be lost, and that a few, including themselves, were\nto be saved. That religion, I say, fitted that time. It fitted their\ngeology. It was a very good running mate for their astronomy. It was a\ngood match for their chemistry. In other words, they were about equal in\nevery department of human ignorance.\n\nAnd they insisted that there lived up there somewhere—generally\nup—exactly where nobody has, I believe, yet said—a being, an infinite\nperson \"without body, parts, or passions,\" and yet without passions he\nwas angry at the wicked every day; without body he inhabited a certain\nplace; and without parts he was, after all, in some strange and\nmiraculous manner, organized so that he thought.\n\nAnd I don't know that it is possible for anyone here—I don't know that\nanyone here is gifted with imagination enough—to conceive of such a\nbeing. Our fathers had not imagination enough to do so, at least, and\nso they said of this God, that he loves and he hates; he punishes and he\nrewards; and that religion has been described perfectly tonight by Judge\nWright as really making God a monster, and men poor, helpless victims.\nAnd the highest possible conception of the orthodox man was, finally,\nto be a good servant—just lucky enough to get in—feathers somewhat\nsinged, but enough left to fly. That was the idea of our fathers. And\nthen came these divisions, simply because men began to think.\n\nAnd why did they begin to think? Because in every direction, in all\ndepartments, they were getting more and more information. And then the\nreligion did not fit. When they found out something of the history of\nthis globe they found out that the Scriptures were not true. I will not\nsay not inspired, because I do not know whether they are inspired or\nnot. It is a question, to me, of no possible importance, whether they\nare inspired or not. The question is: Are they true? If they are true,\nthey do not need inspiration; and if they are not true, inspiration will\nnot help them. So that is a matter that I care nothing about.\n\nOn every hand, I say, they studied and thought. They began to grow—to\nhave new ideas of mercy, kindness, justice; new ideas of duty—new ideas\nof life. The old gods, after we got past the civilization of the Greeks,\npast their mythology—and it is the best mythology that man has ever\nmade—after we got past that, I say, the gods cared very little about\nwomen. Women occupied no place in the state—no place by the hearth,\nexcept one of subordination, and almost of slavery. So the early\nchurches made God after that image who held women in contempt. It was\nonly natural—I am not blaming anybody—they had to do it, it was part\nof the must!\n\nNow, I say that we have advanced up to the point that we demand not only\nintelligence, but justice and mercy, in the sky; we demand that—that\nidea of God. Then comes my trouble. I want to be honest about it. Here\nis my trouble—and I want it also understood that if I should see a man\npraying to a stone image or to a stuffed serpent, with that man's wife\nor daughter or son lying at the point of death, and that poor savage on\nhis knees imploring that image or that stuffed serpent to save his\nchild or his wife, there is nothing in my heart that could suggest the\nslightest scorn, or any other feeling than that of sympathy; any other\nfeeling than that of grief that the stuffed serpent could not answer the\nprayer and that the stone image did not feel; I want that understood.\nAnd wherever man prays for the right—no matter to whom or to what he\nprays; where he prays for strength to conquer the wrong, I hope his\nprayer may be heard; and if I think there is no one else to hear it I\nwill hear it, and I am willing to help answer it to the extent of my\npower.\n\nSo I want it distinctly understood that that is my feeling. But here is\nmy trouble: I find this world made on a very cruel plan. I do not say it\nis wrong—I just say that that is the way it seems to me. I may be wrong\nmyself, because this is the only world I was ever in; I am provincial.\nThis grain of sand and tear they call the earth is the only world I have\never lived in. And you have no idea how little I know about the rest of\nthis universe; you never will know how little I know about it until you\nexamine your own minds on the same subject.\n\nThe plan is this: Life feeds on life. Justice does not always triumph:\nInnocence is not a perfect shield. There is my trouble. No matter now,\nwhether you agree with me or not; I beg of you to be honest and fair\nwith me in your thought, as I am toward you in mine.\n\nI hope, as devoutly as you, that there is a power somewhere in this\nuniverse that will finally bring everything as it should be. I take a\nlittle consolation in the \"perhaps\"—in the guess that this is only one\nscene of a great drama, and that when the curtain rises on the fifth\nact, if I live that long, I may see the coherence and the relation of\nthings. But up to the present writing—or speaking—I do not. I do not\nunderstand it—a God that has life feed on life; every joy in the world\nborn of some agony! I do not understand why in this world, over the\nNiagara of cruelty, should run this ocean of blood. I do not understand\nit. And, then, why does not justice always triumph? Why is not innocence\na perfect shield? These are my troubles.\n\nSuppose a man had control of the atmosphere, knew enough of the secrets\nof nature, had read enough in \"nature's infinite book of secrecy\" so\nthat he could control the wind and rain; suppose a man had that power,\nand suppose that last year he kept the rain from Russia and did not\nallow the crops to ripen when hundreds of thousands were famishing and\nwhen little babes were found with their lips on the breasts of dead\nmothers! What would you think of such a man? Now, there is my trouble.\nIf there be a God he understood this. He knew when he withheld his rain\nthat the famine would come. He saw the dead mothers, he saw the empty\nbreasts of death, and he saw the helpless babes. There is my trouble. I\nam perfectly frank with you and honest. That is my trouble.\n\nNow, understand me! I do not say there is no God. I do not know. As I\ntold you before, I have traveled but very little—only in this world.\n\nI want it understood that I do not pretend to know. I say I think.\nAnd in my mind the idea expressed by Judge Wright so eloquently and\nso beautifully is not exactly true. I cannot conceive of the God he\nendeavors to describe, because he gives to that God will, purpose,\nachievement, benevolence, love, and no form—no organization—no wants.\nThere's the trouble. No wants. And let me say why that is a trouble. Man\nacts only because he wants. You civilize man by increasing his wants,\nor, as his wants increase he becomes civilized. You find a lazy savage\nwho would not hunt an elephant tusk to save your life. But let him have\na few tastes of whiskey and tobacco, and he will run his legs off for\ntusks. You have given him another want and he is willing to work. And\nthey nearly all started on the road toward Unitarianism—that is to say,\ntoward civilization—in that way. You must increase their wants.\n\nThe question arises: Can an infinite being want anything? If he does and\ncannot get it, he is not happy. If he does not want anything, I cannot\nhelp him. I am under no obligation to do anything for anybody who does\nnot need anything and who does not want anything. Now, there is my\ntrouble. I may be wrong, and I may get paid for it some time, but that\nis my trouble.\n\nI do not see—admitting that all is true that has been said about the\nexistence of God—I do not see what I can do for him; and I do not see\neither what he can do for me, judging by what he has done for others.\n\nAnd then I come to the other point, that religion so-called, explains\nour duties to this supposed being, when we do not even know that he\nexists; and no human being has got imagination enough to describe him,\nor to use such words that you understand what he is trying to say. I\nhave listened with great pleasure to Judge Wright this evening, and I\nhave heard a great many other beautiful things on the same subject—none\nbetter than his. But I never understood them—never.\n\nNow, then, what is religion? I say, religion is all here in this\nworld—right here—and that all our duties are right here to our\nfellow-men; that the man that builds a home; marries the girl that he\nloves; takes good care of her; likes the family; stays home nights, as\na general thing; pays his debts; tries to find out what he can; gets all\nthe ideas and beautiful things that his mind will hold; turns a part\nof his brain into a gallery of fine arts; has a host of paintings and\nstatues there; then has another niche devoted to music—a magnificent\ndome, filled with winged notes that rise to glory—now, the man who does\nthat gets all he can from the great ones dead; swaps all the thoughts he\ncan with the ones that are alive; true to the ideal that he has here in\nhis brain—he is what I call a religious man, because he makes the world\nbetter, happier; he puts the dimples of joy in the cheeks of the ones he\nloves, and he lets the gods run heaven to suit themselves. And I am not\nsaying that he is right; I do not know.\n\nThis is all the religion that I have; to make somebody else happier if I\ncan.\n\nI divide this world into two classes—the cruel and the kind; and I\nthink a thousand times more of a kind man than I do of an intelligent\nman. I think more of kindness than I do of genius, I think more of real,\ngood, human nature in that way—of one who is willing to lend a helping\nhand and who goes through the world with a face that looks as if its\nowner were willing to answer a decent question—I think a thousand times\nmore of that than I do of being theologically right; because I do not\ncare whether I am theologically right or not. It is something that is\nnot worth talking about, because it is something that I never, never,\nnever shall understand; and every one of you will die and you won't\nunderstand it either—until after you die at any rate. I do not know\nwhat will happen then.\n\nI am not denying anything. There is another ideal, and it is a beautiful\nideal. It is the greatest dream that ever entered the heart or brain of\nman—the Dream of Immortality. It was born of human affection. It did\nnot come to us from heaven. It was born of the human heart. And when\nhe who loved, kissed the lips of her who was dead, there came into his\nheart the dream: We may meet again.\n\nAnd, let me tell you, that hope of immortality never came from any\nreligion. That hope of immortality has helped make religion. It has\nbeen the great oak around which have climbed the poisonous vines of\nsuperstition—that hope of immortality is the great oak.\n\nAnd yet the moment a man expresses a doubt about the truth of Joshua or\nJonah or the other three fellows in a furnace, up hops some poor little\nwretch and says, \"Why, he doesn't want to live any more; he wants to\ndie and go down like a dog, and that is the end of him and his wife and\nchildren.\" They really seem to think that the moment a man is what\nthey call an Infidel he has no affections, no heart, no feeling, no\nhope—nothing—nothing. Just anxious to be annihilated! But, if the\northodox creed be true, I make my choice to-night. I take hell. And if\nit is between hell and annihilation, I take annihilation.\n\nI will tell you why I take hell in making the first choice. We have\nheard from both of those places—heaven and hell. According to the New\nTestament there was a rich man in hell, and a poor man, Lazarus, in\nheaven. And there was another gentleman by the name of Abraham. The rich\nman in hell was in flames, and he called for water, and they told him\nthey couldn't give him any. No bridge! But they did not express the\nslightest regret that they could not give him any water. Mr. Abraham was\nnot decent enough to say he would if he could; no, sir; nothing. It\ndid not make any difference to him. But this rich man in hell—in\ntorment—his heart was all right, for he remembered his brothers; and\nhe said to this Abraham, \"If you cannot go, why, send a man to my five\nbrethren, so that they will not come to this place!\" Good fellow, to\nthink of his five brothers when he was burning up. Good fellow. Best\nfellow we ever heard from on the other side—in either world.\n\nSo, I say there is my place. And, incidentally, Abraham at that time\ngave his judgment as to the value of miracles. He said, \"Though one\nshould arise from the dead he wouldn't help your five brethren!\" \"There\nare Moses and the prophets.\" No need of raising people from the dead.\n\nThat is my idea, in a general way, about religion; and I want the\nimagination to go to work upon it, taking the perfections of one church,\nof one school, of one system, and putting them together, just as the\nsculptor makes a great statue by taking the eyes from one, the nose from\nanother, the limbs from another, and so on; just as they make a great\npainting from a landscape by putting a river in this place, instead of\nover there, changing the location of a tree and improving on what they\ncall nature—that is to say, simply by adding to, taking from; that is\nall we can do. But let us go on doing that until there shall be a church\nin sympathy with the best human heart and in harmony with the best human\nbrain.\n\nAnd, what is more, let us have that religion for the world we live in.\nRight here! Let us have that religion until it cannot be said that they\nwho do the most work have the least to eat. Let us have that religion\nhere until hundreds and thousands of women are not compelled to make a\nliving with the needle that has been called \"the asp for the breast\nof the poor,\" and to live in tenements, in filth, where modesty is\nimpossible.\n\nI say, let us preach that religion here until men will be ashamed to\nhave forty or fifty millions, or any more than they need, while their\nbrethren lack bread—while their sisters die from want. Let us preach\nthat religion here until man will have more ambition to become wise and\ngood than to become rich and powerful. Let us preach that religion\nhere among ourselves until there are no abused and beaten wives. Let us\npreach that religion until children are no longer afraid of their own\nparents and until there is no back of a child bearing the scars of a\nfather's lash. Let us preach it, I say, until we understand and know\nthat every man does as he must, and that, if we want better men and\nwomen, we must have better conditions.\n\nLet us preach this grand religion until everywhere, the world over, men\nare just and kind to each other. And then, if there be another world,\nwe shall be prepared for it. And if I come into the presence of an\ninfinite, good, and wise being, he will say, \"Well, you did the best you\ncould. You did very well, indeed. There is plenty of work for you to do\nhere. Try and get a little higher than you were before.\" Let us preach\nthat one drop of restitution is worth an ocean of repentance.\n\nAnd if there is a life of eternal progress before us, I shall be as glad\nas any other angel to find that out.\n\nBut I will not sacrifice the world I have for one I know not of. I will\nnot live here in fear, when I do not know that that which I fear lives.\n\nI am going to live a perfectly free man. I am going to reap the harvest\nof my mind, no matter how poor it is, whether it is wheat or corn or\nworthless weeds. And I am going to scatter it. Some may \"fall on stony\nground.\" But I think I have struck good soil to-night.\n\nAnd so, ladies and gentlemen, I thank you a thousand times for your\nattention. I beg that you will forgive the time that I have taken, and\nallow me to say, once more, that this event marks an epoch in Religious\nLiberty in the United States.\n"
}