{
  "schema": "tga.work.v1",
  "identifier": "dresden:vol-3:voltaire",
  "slug": "voltaire",
  "title": "Voltaire",
  "subtitle": "The infidels of one age have often been the aureoled saints of the next.",
  "excerpt": "A tribute to Voltaire — the man who, more than any other, laughed superstition out of Europe and carried the torch of reason past rack, stake, dungeon, altar, and throne.",
  "year": 1894,
  "volume": 3,
  "category": "Tribute",
  "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/voltaire/",
  "wordCount": 13523,
  "body": "THE infidels of one age have often been the aureoled saints of the next.\n\nThe destroyers of the old are the creators of the new.\n\nAs time sweeps on the old passes away and the new in its turn becomes\nold.\n\nThere is in the intellectual world, as in the physical, decay and\ngrowth, and ever by the grave of buried age stand youth and joy.\n\nThe history of intellectual progress is written in the lives of\ninfidels.\n\nPolitical rights have been preserved by traitors, the liberty of mind by\nheretics.\n\nTo attack the king was treason; to dispute the priest was blasphemy.\n\nFor many centuries the sword and cross were allies. Together they\nattacked the rights of man. They defended each other.\n\nThe throne and altar were twins—two vultures from the same egg.\n\nJames I. said: \"No bishop, no king.\" He might have added: \"No cross,\nno crown.\" The king owned the bodies of men; the priest, the souls.\nOne lived on taxes collected by force, the other on alms collected by\nfear—both robbers, both beggars.\n\nThese robbers and these beggars controlled two worlds. The king made\nlaws, the priest made creeds. Both obtained their authority from God,\nboth were the agents of the Infinite.\n\nWith bowed backs the people carried the burdens of one, and with\nwonder's open mouth received the dogmas of the other.\n\nIf the people aspired to be free, they were crushed by the king, and\nevery priest was a Herod who slaughtered the children of the brain.\n\nThe king ruled by force, the priest by fear, and both by both.\n\nThe king said to the people: \"God made you peasants, and He made me\nking; He made you to labor, and me to enjoy; He made rags and hovels for\nyou, robes and palaces for me. He made you to obey, and me to command.\nSuch is the justice of God.\"\n\nAnd the priest said: \"God made you ignorant and vile; He made me holy\nand wise; you are the sheep, I am the shepherd; your fleeces belong to\nme. If you do not obey me here, God will punish you now and torment you\nforever in another world. Such is the mercy of God.\"\n\n\"You must not reason. Reason is a rebel. You must not\ncontradict—contradiction is born of egotism; you must believe. He that\nhath ears to hear let him hear.\" Heaven was a question of ears.\n\nFortunately for us, there have been traitors and there have been\nheretics, blasphemers, thinkers, investigators, lovers of liberty, men\nof genius who have given their lives to better the condition of their\nfellow-men.\n\nIt may be well enough here to ask the question: What is greatness?\n\nA great man adds to the sum of knowledge, extends the horizon of\nthought, releases souls from the Bastile of fear, crosses unknown and\nmysterious seas, gives new islands and new continents to the domain of\nthought, new constellations to the firmament of mind. A great man does\nnot seek applause or place; he seeks for truth; he seeks the road to\nhappiness, and what he ascertains he gives to others.\n\nA great man throws pearls before swine, and the swine are sometimes\nchanged to men. If the great had always kept their pearls, vast\nmultitudes would be barbarians now.\n\nA great man is a torch in the darkness, a beacon in superstition's\nnight, an inspiration and a prophecy.\n\nGreatness is not the gift of majorities; it cannot be thrust upon any\nman; men cannot give it to another; they can give place and power, but\nnot greatness.\n\nThe place does not make the man, nor the sceptre the king. Greatness is\nfrom within.\n\nThe great men are the heroes who have freed the bodies of men; they are\nthe philosophers and thinkers who have given liberty to the soul; they\nare the poets who have transfigured the common and filled the lives of\nmany millions with love and song.\n\nThey are the artists who have covered the bare walls of weary life with\nthe triumphs of genius.\n\nThey are the heroes who have slain the monsters of ignorance and fear,\nwho have outgazed the Gorgon and driven the cruel gods from their\nthrones.\n\nThey are the inventors, the discoverers, the great mechanics, the kings\nof the useful who have civilized this world.\n\nAt the head of this heroic army, foremost of all, stands Voltaire, whose\nmemory we are honoring tonight.\n\nVoltaire! a name that excites the admiration of men, the malignity of\npriests. Pronounce that name in the presence of a clergyman, and you\nwill find that you have made a declaration of war. Pronounce that name,\nand from the face of the priest the mask of meekness will fall, and\nfrom the mouth of forgiveness will pour a Niagara of vituperation and\ncalumny. And yet Voltaire was the greatest man of his century, and did\nmore to free the human race than any other of the sons of men.\n\nOn Sunday, the 21st of November, 1694, a babe was born—a babe so\nexceedingly frail that the breath hesitated about remaining, and the\nparents had him baptized as soon as possible. They were anxious to save\nthe soul of this babe, and they knew that if death came before baptism\nthe child would be doomed to an eternity of pain. They knew that God\ndespised an unsprinkled child. The priest who, with a few drops of\nwater, gave the name of Francois-Marie Arouet to this babe and saved\nhis soul—little thought that before him, wrapped in many folds, weakly\nwailing, scarcely breathing, was the one destined to tear from the white\nthroat of Liberty the cruel, murderous claws of the \"Triumphant Beast.\"\n\nWhen Voltaire came to this \"great stage of fools,\" his country had been\nChristianized—not civilized—for about fourteen hundred years. For a\nthousand years the religion of peace and good-will had been supreme. The\nlaws had been given by Christian kings, and sanctioned by \"wise and\nholy men.\" Under the benign reign of universal love, every court had its\nchamber of torture, and every priest relied on the thumb-screw and rack.\n\nSuch had been the success of the blessed gospel that every science was\nan outcast.\n\nTo speak your honest thoughts, to teach your fellow-men, to investigate\nfor yourself, to seek the truth, these were all crimes, and the\n\"holy-mother church\" pursued the criminals with sword and flame.\n\nThe believers in a God of love—an infinite father—punished hundreds of\noffences with torture and death. Suspected persons were tortured to\nmake them confess. Convicted persons were tortured to make them give the\nnames of their accomplices. Under the leadership of the church, cruelty\nhad become the only reforming power.\n\nIn this blessed year, 1694, all authors were at the mercy of king and\npriest. The most of them were cast into prisons, impoverished by fines\nand costs, exiled or executed.\n\nThe little time that hangmen could snatch from professional duties was\noccupied in burning books.\n\nThe courts of justice were traps, in which the innocent were caught.\nThe judges were almost as malicious and cruel as though they had been\nbishops or saints. There was no trial by jury, and the rules of\nevidence allowed the conviction of the supposed criminal by the proof of\nsuspicion or hearsay.\n\nThe witnesses, being liable to be tortured, generally told what the\njudges wished to hear.\n\nThe supernatural and the miraculous controlled the world. Everything was\nexplained, but nothing was understood. The church was at the head. The\nsick bought from monks little amulets of consecrated paper. They did not\nsend for a doctor, but for a priest, and the priest sold the diseased\nand the dying these magical amulets. These little pieces of paper with\nthe help of some saint would cure diseases of every kind. If you would\nput one in a cradle, it would keep the child from being bewitched. If\nyou would put one in the barn, the rats would not eat your corn. If you\nwould keep one in the house, evil spirits would not enter your doors,\nand if you buried them in the fields, you would have good weather, the\nfrost would be delayed, rain would come when needed, and abundant crops\nwould bless your labor. The church insisted that all diseases could\nbe cured in the name of God, and that these cures could be effected\nby prayers, exorcism, by touching bones of saints, pieces of the true\ncross; by being sprinkled with holy water or with sanctified salt, or\ntouched with magical oil.\n\nIn that day the dead saints were the best physicians; St. Valentine\ncured the epilepsy; St. Gervasius was exceedingly good for rheumatism;\nSt. Michael for cancer; St. Judas for coughs and colds; St. Ovidius\nrestored the hearing; St. Sebastian was good for the bites of snakes and\nthe stings of poisonous insects; St. Apollonia for toothache; St. Clara\nfor any trouble with the eyes; and St. Hubert for hydrophobia. It\nwas known that doctors reduced the revenues of the church; that was\nenough—science was the enemy of religion.\n\nThe church thought that the air was filled with devils; that every\nsinner was a kind of tenement house inhabited by evil spirits; that\nangels were on one side of men and evil spirits on the other, and that\nGod would, when the subscriptions and donations justified the effort,\ndrive the evil spirits from the field.\n\nSatan had power over the air; consequently he controlled the frost, the\nmildew, the lightning and the flood; and the principal business of the\nchurch was with bells, and holy water, and incense, and crosses, to\ndefeat the machinations of that prince of the power of the air.\n\nGreat reliance was placed upon the bells; they were sprinkled with holy\nwater, and their clangor cleared the air of imps and fiends. And bells\nalso protected the people from storms and lightning. In that day the\nchurch used to anathematize insects. Suits were commenced against rats,\nand judgment rendered. Every monastery had its master magician, who\nsold incense and salt and tapers and consecrated palms and relics.\nEvery science was regarded as an enemy; every fact held the creed of the\nchurch in scorn. Investigators were regarded as dangerous; thinkers\nwere traitors, and the church exerted its vast power to prevent the\nintellectual progress of man.\n\nThere was no real liberty, no real education, no real philosophy, no\nreal science—-nothing but credulity and superstition. The world was\nunder the control of Satan and the church.\n\nThe church firmly believed in the existence of witches and devils and\nfiends. In this way the church had every enemy within her power. It\nsimply had to charge him with being a wizard, of holding communications\nwith devils, and the ignorant mob were ready to tear him to pieces. So\nprevalent was this belief, this belief in the supernatural, that the\npoor people were finally driven to make the best possible terms they\ncould with the spirit of evil. This frightful doctrine filled every\nfriend with suspicion of his friend; it made the husband denounce the\nwife, children their parents, parents their children. It destroyed the\namenities of humanity; it did away with justice in courts; it broke the\nbond of friendship; it filled with poison the golden cup of life; it\nturned earth into a very perdition peopled with abominable, malicious\nand hideous fiends. Such was the result of a belief in the supernatural;\nsuch was the result of giving up the evidence of their own senses and\nrelying upon dreams, visions and fears. Such was the result of the\nattack upon the human reason; such the result of depending on the\nimagination, on the supernatural; such the result of living in this\nworld for another; of depending upon priests instead of upon ourselves.\nThe Protestants vied with Catholics; Luther stood side by side with the\npriests he had deserted in promoting this belief in devils and fiends.\nTo the Catholic every Protestant was possessed by a devil; to the\nProtestant every Catholic was the home of a fiend. All order, all\nregular succession of causes and effects were known no more; the natural\nceased to exist; the learned and the ignorant were on a level. The\npriest was caught in the net he had spread for the peasant, and\nChristendom became a vast madhouse, with the insane for keepers.\n\nWhen Voltaire was born the church ruled and owned France. It was\na period of almost universal corruption. The priests were mostly\nlibertines, the judges cruel and venal. The royal palace was a house of\nprostitution. The nobles were heartless, proud, arrogant and cruel to\nthe last degree. The common people were treated as beasts. It took the\nchurch a thousand years to bring about this happy condition of things.\n\nThe seeds of the Revolution unconsciously were being scattered by every\nnoble and by every priest.\n\nThey were germinating slowly in the hearts of the wretched; they were\nbeing watered by the tears of agony; blows began to bear interest. There\nwas a faint longing for blood. Workmen, blackened by the sun, bowed by\nlabor, deformed by want, looked at the white throats of scornful ladies\nand thought about cutting them.\n\nIn those days witnesses were cross-examined with instruments of torture;\nthe church was the arsenal of superstition; miracles, relics, angels and\ndevils were as common as lies.\n\nIn order to appreciate a great man we must know his surroundings. We\nmust understand the scope of the drama in which he played—the part he\nacted, and we must also know his audience.\n\nIn England George I. was disporting with the \"May-pole\" and \"Elephant,\"\nand then George II., jealous and choleric, hating the English and their\nlanguage, making, however, an excellent image or idol before whom the\nEnglish were glad to bow—snobbery triumphant—the criminal code getting\nbloodier every day—223 offences punishable with death—the prisons\nfilled and the scaffolds crowded—efforts on every hand to repress\nthe ambition of men to be men—the church relying on superstition and\nceremony to make men good—and the state dependent on the whip, the rope\nand axe to make men patriotic.\n\nIn Spain the Inquisition in full control—all the instruments of torture\nused to prevent the development of the mind, Spain, that had driven out\nthe Jews, that is to say, her talent; that had driven out the Moors,\nthat is to say, her taste and her industry, was still endeavoring by all\nreligious means to reduce the land to the imbecility of the true faith.\n\nIn Portugal they were burning women and children for having eaten meat\non a holy day, and this to please the most merciful God.\n\nIn Italy the nation prostrate, covered with swarms of cardinals and\nbishops and priests and monks and nuns and every representative of holy\nsloth. The Inquisition there also—while hands that were clasped in\nprayer or stretched for alms, grasped with eagerness and joy the lever\nof the rack, or gathered fagots for the holy flame.\n\nIn Germany they were burning men and women charged with having made a\ncompact with the enemy of man.\n\nAnd in our own fair land, persecuting Quakers, stealing men and women\nfrom another shore, stealing children from their mother's breasts, and\npaying labor with the cruel lash.\n\nSuperstition ruled the world!\n\nThere is but one use for law, but one excuse for government—the\npreservation of liberty—to give to each man his own, to secure to the\nfarmer what he produces from the soil, the mechanic what he invents\nand makes, to the artist what he creates, to the thinker the right to\nexpress his thoughts. Liberty is the breath of progress.\n\nIn France, the people were the sport of a king's caprice. Everywhere was\nthe shadow of the Bastile.\n\nIt fell upon the sunniest field, upon the happiest home. With the king\nwalked the headsman; back of the throne was the chamber of torture. The\nChurch appealed to the rack, and Faith relied on the fagot. Science was\nan outcast, and Philosophy, so-called, was the pander of superstition.\n\nNobles and priests were sacred. Peasants were vermin. Idleness sat at\nthe banquet, and Industry gathered the crumbs and the crusts.\n\nII. The Days of Youth.\n\nVOLTAIRE was of the people. In the language of that day, he had no\nancestors. His real name was Francois-Marie Arouet. His mother was\nMarguerite d'Aumard. This mother died when he was seven years of age.\nHe had an elder brother, Armand, who was a devotee, very religious and\nexceedingly disagreeable. This brother used to present offerings to the\nchurch, hoping to make amends for the unbelief of his brother. So far as\nwe know, none of his ancestors were literary people.\n\nThe Arouets had never written a line. The Abbe de Chaulieu was his\ngodfather, and, although an abbe, was a Deist who cared nothing about\nreligion except in connection with his salary. Voltaire's father wanted\nto make a lawyer of him, but he had no taste for law. At the age of ten\nhe entered the college of Louis Le Grand. This was a Jesuit school,\nand here he remained for seven years, leaving at seventeen, and never\nattending any other school. According to Voltaire, he learned nothing at\nthis school but a little Greek, a good deal of Latin and a vast amount\nof nonsense.\n\nIn this college of Louis Le Grand they did not teach geography, history,\nmathematics or any science. This was a Catholic institution, controlled\nby the Jesuits. In that day the religion was defended, was protected or\nsupported by the state. Behind the entire creed were the bayonet, the\naxe, the wheel, the fagot and the torture chamber.\n\nWhile Voltaire was attending the college of Louis Le Grand the soldiers\nof the king were hunting Protestants in the mountains of Cevennes for\nmagistrates to hang on gibbets, to put to torture, to break on the\nwheel, or to burn at the stake.\n\nAt seventeen Voltaire determined to devote his life to literature. The\nfather said, speaking of his two sons Armand and Francois, \"I have a\npair of fools for sons, one in verse and the other in prose.\"\n\nIn 1713, Voltaire, in a small way, became a diplomat. He went to The\nHague attached to the French minister, and there he fell in love. The\ngirl's mother objected. Voltaire sent his clothes to the young lady that\nshe might visit him. Everything was discovered and he was dismissed.\nTo this girl he wrote a letter, and in it you will find the key note of\nVoltaire: \"Do not expose yourself to the fury of your mother. You know\nwhat she is capable of. You have experienced it too well. Dissemble; it\nis your only chance. Tell her that you have forgotten me, that you hate\nme; then after telling her, love me all the more.\"\n\nOn account of this episode Voltaire was formally disinherited by his\nfather. The father procured an order of arrest and gave his son the\nchoice of going to prison or beyond the seas. He finally consented to\nbecome a lawyer, and says: \"I have already been a week at work in the\noffice of a solicitor learning the trade of a pettifogger.\"\n\nAbout this time he competed for a prize, writing a poem on the king's\ngenerosity in building the new choir in the Cathedral Notre Dame. He did\nnot win it. After being with the solicitor a little while, he hated the\nlaw, began to write poetry and the outlines of tragedy. Great questions\nwere then agitating the public mind, questions that throw a flood of\nlight upon that epoch.\n\nIn 1552 Dr. Baius took it into his head to sustain a number of\npropositions touching predestination to the prejudice of the doctrine of\nfree will. The Cordelian monks selected seventy-six of the propositions\nand denounced them to the Pope as heretical, and from the Pope obtained\nwhat was called a Bull. This Bull contained a doubtful passage, the\nmeaning of which was dependent upon the position of a comma. The friends\nof Dr. Baius wrote to Rome to find where the comma ought to be placed.\nRome, busy with other matter, sent as an answer a copy of the Bull in\nwhich the doubtful sentence was left without any comma. So the dispute\ncontinued.\n\nThen there was the great controversy between the Jansenists and\nMolinists. Molini was a Spanish Jesuit, who sustained the doctrine of\nfree will with a subtlety of his own, \"man's will is free, but God sees\nexactly how he will use it.\" The Presbyterians of our country are still\nwrestling with this important absurdity.\n\nJansenius was a French Jesuit who carried the doctrine of predestination\nto the extreme, asserting that God commands things that are impossible,\nand that Christ did not die for all.\n\nIn 1641 the Jesuits obtained a Bull condemning five propositions\nof Jansenius. The Jansenists there upon denied that the five\npropositions—or any of them—were found in the works of Jansenius.\n\nThis question of Jansenism and Molinism occupied France for about two\nhundred years.\n\nIn Voltaire's time the question had finally dwindled down to whether the\nfive propositions condemned by the Papal Bull were in fact in the works\nof Jansenius. The Jansenists proved that the five propositions were not\nin his book, because a niece of Pascal had a diseased eye cured by the\napplication of a thorn from the crown of Christ.\n\nThe Bull Unigenitus was launched in 1713, and then all the prisons were\nfilled with Jansenists. This great question of predestination and free\nwill, of free moral agency and accountability, and being saved by the\ngrace of God, and damned for the glory of God, have occupied the mind of\nwhat we call the civilized world for many centuries. All these questions\nwere argued pro and con through Switzerland; all of them in Holland\nfor centuries; in Scotland and England and New England, and millions\nof people are still busy harmonizing foreordination and free will,\nnecessity and morality, predestination and accountability.\n\nLouis XIV. having died, the Regent took possession, and then the prisons\nwere opened. The Regent called for a list of all persons then in the\nprisons sent there at the will of the king. He found that, as to many\nprisoners, nobody knew any cause why they had been in prison. They had\nbeen forgotten. Many of the prisoners did not know themselves, and\ncould not guess why they had been arrested. One Italian had been in the\nBastile thirty-three years without ever knowing why. On his arrival in\nParis, thirty-three years before, he was arrested and sent to prison.\nHe had grown old. He had survived his family and friends. When the rest\nwere liberated he asked to remain where he was, and lived there the\nrest of his life. The old prisoners were pardoned, but in a little while\ntheir places were taken by new ones.\n\nAt this time Voltaire was not interested in the great world—knew very\nlittle of religion or of government. He was busy writing poetry, busy\nthinking of comedies and tragedies. He was full of life. All his fancies\nwere winged like moths.\n\nHe was charged with having written some cutting epigrams. He was exiled\nto Tulle, three hundred miles away. From this place he wrote in the true\nvein—\"I am at a chateau, a place that would be the most agreeable in\nthe world if I had not been exiled to it, and where there is nothing\nwanting for my perfect happiness except the liberty of leaving. It would\nbe delicious to remain, if I only were allowed to go.\"\n\nAt last the exile was allowed to return. Again he was arrested; this\ntime sent to the Bastile, where he remained for nearly a year. While in\nprison he changed his name from Francois-Marie Arouet to Voltaire, and\nby that name he has since been known.\n\nVoltaire, as full of life as summer is full of blossoms, giving his\nideas upon all subjects at the expense of prince and king, was exiled\nto England. From sunny France he took his way to the mists and fogs of\nAlbion. He became acquainted with the highest and the best in Britain.\nHe met Pope, a most wonderful verbal mechanic, a maker of artificial\nflowers, very much like natural ones, except that they lack perfume and\nthe seeds of suggestion. He made the acquaintance of Young, who wrote\nthe \"Night Thoughts;\" Young, a fine old hypocrite with a virtuous\nimagination, a gentleman who electioneered with the king's mistress that\nhe might be made a bishop. He became acquainted with Chesterfield—all\nmanners, no man; with Thomson, author of \"The Seasons,\" who loved to\nsee the sun rise in bed and visit the country in town; with Swift, whose\npoisoned arrows were then festering in the flesh of Mr. Bull—Swift, as\nwicked as he was witty, and as heartless as he was humorous—with Swift,\na dean and a devil; with Congreve, whom Addison thought superior to\nShakespeare, and who never wrote but one great line, \"The cathedral\nlooking tranquillity.\"\n\nIII. The Morn of Manhood.\n\nVOLTAIRE began to think, to doubt, to inquire. He studied the history of\nthe church, of the creed. He found that the religion of his time\nrested on the inspiration of the Scriptures—the infallibility of\nthe church—the dreams of insane hermits—the absurdities of the\nFathers—the mistakes and falsehoods of saints—the hysteria of\nnuns—the cunning of priests and the stupidity of the people. He found\nthat the Emperor Constantine, who lifted Christianity into power,\nmurdered his wife Fausta and his eldest son Crispus, the same year that\nhe convened the Council of Nice, to decide whether Christ was a man or\nthe Son of God. The Council decided, in the year 325, that Christ was\nconsubstantial with the Father. He found that the church was indebted\nto a husband who assassinated his wife—a father who murdered his son,\nfor settling the vexed question of the divinity of the Savior. He found\nthat Theodosius called a council at Constantinople in 381, by which\nit was decided that the Holy Ghost proceeded from the Father—that\nTheodosius, the younger, assembled a council at Ephesus in 431, that\ndeclared the Virgin Mary to be the mother of God—that the Emperor\nMarcian called another council at Chalcedon in 451, that decided\nthat Christ had two wills—that Pognatius called another in 680, that\ndeclared that Christ had two natures to go with his two wills—and that\nin 1274, at the council of Lyons, the important fact was found that the\nHoly Ghost \"proceeded,\" not only from the Father, but also from the Son\nat the same time.\n\nSo, it took about 1,300 years to find out a few things that had been\nrevealed by an infinite God to his infallible church.\n\nVoltaire found that this insane creed had filled the world with cruelty\nand fear. He found that vestments were more sacred than virtues—that\nimages and crosses—pieces of old bones and bits of wood were more\nprecious than the rights and lives of men, and that the keepers of these\nrelics were the enemies of the human race.\n\nWith all the energy of his nature—with every faculty of his mind—he\nattacked this \"Triumphant Beast.\"\n\nVoltaire was the apostle of common sense. He knew that there could have\nbeen no primitive or first language from which all other languages had\nbeen formed. He knew that every language had been influenced by the\nsurroundings of the people. He knew that the language of snow and ice\nwas not the language of palm and flower. He knew also that there had\nbeen no miracle in language. He knew that it was impossible that the\nstory of the Tower of Babel should be true. He knew that everything in\nthe whole world had been natural. He was the enemy of alchemy, not only\nin language but in science. One passage from him is enough to show his\nphilosophy in this regard. He says; \"To transmute iron into gold, two\nthings are necessary: first, the annihilation of the iron; second, the\ncreation of gold.\"\n\nVoltaire gave us the philosophy of history.\n\nVoltaire was a man of humor, of good nature, of cheerfulness. He\ndespised with all his heart the philosophy of Calvin, the creed of the\nsombre, of the severe, of the unnatural. He pitied those who needed\nthe aid of religion to be honest, to be cheerful. He had the courage\nto enjoy the present and the philosophy to bear what the future might\nbring.\n\nAnd yet for more than a hundred and fifty years the Christian world has\nfought this man and has maligned his memory. In every Christian pulpit\nhis name has been pronounced with scorn, and every pulpit has been an\narsenal of slander. He is one man of whom no orthodox minister has\never told the truth. He has been denounced equally by Catholics and\nProtestants.\n\nPriests and ministers, bishops and exhorters, presiding elders and popes\nhave filled the world with slanders, with calumnies about Voltaire. I am\namazed that ministers will not or cannot tell the truth about an enemy\nof the church. As a matter of fact, for more than one thousand years,\nalmost every pulpit has been a mint in which slanders have been coined.\n\nVoltaire made up his mind to destroy the superstition of his time.\n\nHe fought with every weapon that genius could devise or use. He was the\ngreatest of all caricaturists, and he used this wonderful gift without\nmercy. For pure crystallized wit, he had no equal. The art of flattery\nwas carried by him to the height of an exact science. He knew and\npracticed every subterfuge. He fought the army of hypocrisy and\npretence, the army of faith and falsehood.\n\nVoltaire was annoyed by the meaner and baser spirits of his time, by\nthe cringers and crawlers, by the fawners and pretenders, by those who\nwished to gain the favor of priests, the patronage of nobles. Sometimes\nhe allowed himself to be annoyed by these wretches; sometimes he\nattacked them. And, but for these attacks, long ago they would have been\nforgotten. In the amber of his genius Voltaire preserved these insects,\nthese tarantulas, these scorpions.\n\nIt is fashionable to say that he was not profound. This is because he\nwas not stupid. In the presence of absurdity he laughed, and was called\nirreverent. He thought God would not damn even a priest forever—this\nwas regarded as blasphemy. He endeavored to prevent Christians from\nmurdering each other, and did what he could to civilize the disciples\nof Christ. Had he founded a sect, obtained control of some country, and\nburned a few heretics at slow fires, he would have won the admiration,\nrespect and love of the Christian world. Had he only pretended to\nbelieve all the fables of antiquity, had he mumbled Latin prayers,\ncounted beads, crossed himself, devoured now and then the flesh of God,\nand carried fagots to the feet of Philosophy in the name of Christ, he\nmight have been in heaven this moment, enjoying a sight of the damned.\n\nIf he had only adopted the creed of his time—if he had asserted that\na God of infinite power and mercy had created millions and billions\nof human beings to suffer eternal pain, and all for the sake of his\nglorious justice—that he had given his power of attorney to a cunning\nand cruel Italian Pope, authorizing him to save the soul of his mistress\nand send honest wives to hell—if he had given to the nostril's of\nthis God the odor of burning flesh—the incense of the fagot—if he had\nfilled his ears with the shrieks of the tortured—the music of the rack,\nhe would now be known as Saint Voltaire.\n\nFor many years this restless man filled Europe with the product of his\nbrain. Essays, epigrams, epics, comedies, tragedies, histories, poems,\nnovels, representing every phase and every faculty of the human mind. At\nthe same time engrossed in business, full of speculation, making money\nlike a millionaire, busy with the gossip of courts, and even with the\nscandals of priests. At the same time alive to all the discoveries\nof science and the theories of philosophers, and in this Babel never\nforgetting for one moment to assail the monster of superstition.\n\nSleeping and waking he hated the church. With the eyes of Argus he\nwatched, and with the arms of Briareus he struck. For sixty years he\nwaged continuous and unrelenting war, sometimes in the open field,\nsometimes striking from the hedges of opportunity—taking care during\nall this time to remain independent of all men. He was in the highest\nsense successful. He lived like a prince, became one of the powers of\nEurope, and in him, for the first time, literature was crowned.\n\nIt has been claimed by the Christian critics that Voltaire was\nirreverent; that he examined sacred things without solemnity; that he\nrefused to remove his shoes in the presence of the Burning Bush; that\nhe smiled at the geology of Moses, the astronomical ideas of Joshua,\nand that the biography of Jonah filled him with laughter. They say that\nthese stories, these sacred impossibilities, these inspired falsehoods,\nshould be read and studied with a believing mind in humbleness of\nspirit; that they should be examined prayerfully, asking God at the same\ntime to give us strength to triumph over the conclusions of our\nreason. These critics imagine that a falsehood can be old enough to be\nvenerable, and that to stand covered in its presence is the act of\nan irreverent scoffer. Voltaire approached the mythology of the Jews\nprecisely as he did the mythology of the Greeks and Romans, or the\nmythology of the Chinese or the Iroquois Indians. There is nothing\nin this world too sacred to be investigated, to be understood. The\nphilosopher does not hide. Secrecy is not the friend of truth. No man\nshould be reverent at the expense of his reason. Nothing should be\nworshiped until the reason has been convinced that it is worthy of\nworship.\n\nAgainst all miracles, against all holy superstition, against sacred\nmistakes, he shot the arrows of ridicule.\n\nThese arrows, winged by fancy, sharpened by wit, poisoned by truth,\nalways reached the centre.\n\nIt is claimed by many that anything, the best and holiest, can be\nridiculed. As a matter of fact, he who attempts to ridicule the truth,\nridicules himself. He becomes the food of his own laughter.\n\nThe mind of man is many-sided. Truth must be and is willing to be tested\nin every way, tested by all the senses.\n\nBut in what way can the absurdity of the \"real presence\" be answered,\nexcept by banter, by raillery, by ridicule, by persiflage? How are you\ngoing to convince a man who believes that when he swallows the sacred\nwafer he has eaten the entire Trinity, and that a priest drinking a drop\nof wine has devoured the Infinite? How are you to reason with a man who\nbelieves that if any of the sacred wafers are left over they should be\nput in a secure place, so that mice should not eat God?\n\nWhat effect will logic have upon a religious gentleman who firmly\nbelieves that a God of infinite compassion sent two bears to tear thirty\nor forty children in pieces for laughing at a bald-headed prophet?\n\nHow are such people to be answered? How can they be brought to a\nsense of their absurdity? They must feel in their flesh the arrows of\nridicule..\n\nSo Voltaire has been called a mocker.\n\nWhat did he mock? He mocked kings that were unjust; kings who cared\nnothing for the sufferings of their subjects. He mocked the titled\nfools of his day. He mocked the corruption of courts; the meanness,\nthe tyranny and the brutality of judges. He mocked the absurd and cruel\nlaws, the barbarous customs. He mocked popes and cardinals and bishops\nand priests, and all the hypocrites on the earth. He mocked historians\nwho filled their books with lies, and philosophers who defended\nsuperstition. He mocked the haters of liberty, the persecutors of their\nfellow-men. He mocked the arrogance, the cruelty, the impudence, and the\nunspeakable baseness of his time.\n\nHe has been blamed because he used the weapon of ridicule.\n\nHypocrisy has always hated laughter, and always will. Absurdity detests\nhumor, and stupidity despises wit. Voltaire was the master of ridicule.\nHe ridiculed the absurd, the impossible. He ridiculed the mythologies\nand the miracles, the stupid lives and lies of the saints. He found\npretence and mendacity crowned by credulity. He found the ignorant\nmany controlled by the cunning and cruel few. He found the historian,\nsaturated with superstition, filling his volumes with the details of the\nimpossible, and he found the scientists satisfied with \"they say.\"\n\nVoltaire had the instinct of the probable. He knew the law of average,\nthe sea level; he had the idea of proportion, and so he ridiculed the\nmental monstrosities and deformities—the non sequiturs—of his day.\nAristotle said women had more teeth than men. This was repeated again\nand again by the Catholic scientists of the eighteenth century.\n\nVoltaire counted the teeth. The rest were satisfied with \"they say.\"\n\nVoltaire for many years, in spite of his surroundings, in spite of\nalmost universal tyranny and oppression, was a believer in God and what\nhe was pleased to call the religion of Nature. He attacked the creed of\nhis time because it was dishonorable to his God. He thought of the Deity\nas a father, as the fountain of justice, intelligence and mercy, and\nthe creed of the Catholic Church made him a monster of cruelty and\nstupidity. He attacked the Bible with all the weapons at his command. He\nassailed its geology, its astronomy, its ideas of justice, its laws\nand customs, its absurd and useless miracles, its foolish wonders, its\nignorance on all subjects, its insane prophecies, its cruel threats and\nits extravagant promises.\n\nAt the same time he praised the God of nature, the God who gives us rain\nand light and food and flowers and health and happiness—who fills the\nworld with youth and beauty.\n\nAttacked on every side, he fought with every weapon that wit, logic,\nreason, scorn, contempt, laughter, pathos and indignation could sharpen,\nform, devise or use. He often apologized, and the apology was an insult.\nHe often recanted, and the recantation was a thousand times worse than\nthe thing recanted. He took it back by giving more. In the name of\neulogy he flayed his victim. In his praise there was poison. He often\nadvanced by retreating, and asserted by retraction.\n\nHe did not intend to give priests the satisfaction of seeing him burn or\nsuffer. Upon this very point of recanting he wrote:\n\n\"They say I must retract. Very willingly. I will declare that Pascal is\nalways right. That if St. Luke and St. Mark contradict one another, it\nis only another proof of the truth of religion to those who know how\nto understand such things; and that another lovely proof of religion\nis that it is unintelligible. I will even avow that all priests are\ngentle and disinterested; that Jesuits are honest people; that\nmonks are neither proud nor given to intrigue, and that their odor is\nagreeable; that the Holy Inquisition is the triumph of humanity\nand tolerance. In a word, I will say all that may be desired of me,\nprovided they leave me in repose, and will not persecute a man who has\ndone harm to none.\"\n\nHe gave the best years of his wondrous life to succor the oppressed,\nto shield the defenceless, to reverse infamous decrees, to rescue the\ninnocent, to reform the laws of France, to do away with torture, to\nsoften the hearts of priests, to enlighten judges, to instruct kings,\nto civilize the people, and to banish from the heart of man the love and\nlust of war.\n\nYou may think that I have said too much; that I have placed this man too\nhigh. Let me tell you what Goethe, the great German, said of this man:\n\n\"If you wish depth, genius, imagination, taste, reason, sensibility,\nphilosophy, elevation, originality, nature, intellect, fancy,\nrectitude, facility, flexibility, precision, art, abundance, variety,\nfertility, warmth, magic, charm, grace, force, an eagle sweep of\nvision, vast understanding, instruction rich, tone excellent, urbanity,\nsuavity, delicacy, correctness, purity, clearness, eloquence, harmony,\nbrilliancy, rapidity, gaiety, pathos, sublimity and universality,\nperfection indeed, behold Voltaire.\"\n\nEven Carlyle, that old Scotch terrier, with the growl of a grizzly\nbear, who attacked shams, as I have sometimes thought, because he hated\nrivals, was forced to admit that Voltaire gave the death stab to modern\nsuperstition.\n\nIt is the duty of every man to destroy the superstitions of his time,\nand yet there are thousands of men and women, fathers and mothers, who\nrepudiate with their whole hearts the creeds of superstition, and\nstill allow their children to be taught these lies. They allow their\nimaginations to be poisoned with the dogma of eternal pain. They allow\narrogant and ignorant parsons, meek and foolish teachers, to sow the\nseeds of barbarism in the minds of their children—seeds that will fill\ntheir lives with fear and pain. Nothing can be more important to a human\nbeing than to be free and to live without fear.\n\nIt is far better to be a mortal free man than an immortal slave.\n\nFathers and mothers should do their utmost to make their children free.\nThey should teach them to doubt, to investigate, to inquire, and every\nfather and mother should know that by the cradle of every child, as by\nthe cradle of the infant Hercules, crawls the serpent of superstition.\n\nIV. The Scheme of Nature.\n\nAT that time it was pretended by the believers in God that the plan, or\nthe scheme of nature, was not cruel; that the lower was sacrificed\nfor the benefit of the higher; that while life lived upon life, while\nanimals lived upon each other, and while man was the king or sovereign\nof all, still the higher lived upon the lower. Consequently, a lower\nlife was sacrificed that a higher life might exist. This reasoning\nsatisfied many. Yet there were thousands that could not see why the\nlower should be sacrificed, or why all joy should be born of pain. But,\nsince the construction of the microscope, since man has been allowed\nto look toward the infinitely small, as well as toward the infinitely\ngreat, he finds that our fathers were mistaken when they laid down the\nproposition that only the lower life was sacrificed for the sake of the\nhigher.\n\nNow we find that the lives of all visible animals are liable to be, and\nin countless cases are, destroyed by a far lower life; that man himself\nis destroyed by the microbes, the bacilli, the infinitesimal. We find\nthat for the sake of preserving the yellow fever germs millions and\nmillions have died, and that whole nations have been decimated for the\nsake of the little beast that gives us the cholera. We have also found\nthat there are animals, call them what you please, that live on the\nsubstance of the human heart, others that prefer the lungs, others again\nso delicate in their palate that they insist on devouring the optic\nnerve, and when they have destroyed the sight of one eye have sense\nenough to bore through the cartilage of the nose to attack the other.\nThus we find the other side of this proposition. At first sight the\nlower seemed to be sacrificed for the sake of the higher, but on closer\ninspection the highest are sacrificed for the sake of the lowest.\n\nVoltaire was, for a long time, a believer in the optimism of Pope—\"All\npartial evil, universal good.\" This is a very fine philosophy for the\nfortunate. It suits the rich. It is flattering to kings and priests. It\nsounds well. It is a fine stone to throw at a beggar. It enables you to\nbear with great fortitude the misfortunes of others.\n\nIt is not the philosophy for those who suffer—for industry clothed in\nrags, for patriotism in prison, for honesty in want, or for virtuous\noutcasts. It is a philosophy of a class, of a few, and of the few who\nare fortunate; and, when misfortune overtakes them, this philosophy\nfades and withers.\n\nIn 1755 came the earthquake at Lisbon. This frightful disaster became an\nimmense interrogation. The optimist was compelled to ask, \"What was my\nGod doing? Why did the Universal Father crush to shapelessness thousands\nof his poor children, even at the moment when they were upon their knees\nreturning thanks to him?\"\n\nWhat could be done with this horror? If earthquake there must be, why\ndid it not occur in some uninhabited desert, on some wide waste of\nsea? This frightful fact changed the theology of Voltaire. He became\nconvinced that this is not the best possible of all worlds. He became\nconvinced that evil is evil here, now, and forever.\n\nThe Theist was silent. The earthquake denied the existence of God.\n\nV. His Humanity.\n\nTOULOUSE was a favored town. It was rich in relics. The people were as\nignorant as wooden images, but they had in their possession the dried\nbodies of seven apostles—the bones of many of the infants slain by\nHerod—part of a dress of the Virgin Mary, and lots of skulls and\nskeletons of the infallible idiots known as saints.\n\nIn this city the people celebrated every year with great joy two holy\nevents: The expulsion of the Huguenots, and the blessed massacre of St.\nBartholomew. The citizens of Toulouse had been educated and civilized by\nthe church.\n\nA few Protestants, mild because in the minority, lived among these\njackals and tigers.\n\nOne of these Protestants was Jean Calas—a small dealer in dry goods.\nFor forty years he had been in this business, and his character was\nwithout a stain. He was honest, kind and agreeable. He had a wife and\nsix children—four sons and two daughters. One of the sons became a\nCatholic. The eldest son, Marc Antoine, disliked his father's business\nand studied law. He could not be allowed to practice unless he became\na Catholic. He tried to get his license by concealing that he was\na Protestant. He was discovered—grew morose. Finally he became\ndiscouraged and committed suicide, by hanging himself one evening in his\nfather's store.\n\nThe bigots of Toulouse started the story that his parents had killed him\nto prevent his becoming a Catholic.\n\nOn this frightful charge the father, mother, one son, a servant, and one\nguest at their house, were arrested.\n\nThe dead son was considered a martyr, the church taking possession of\nthe body.\n\nThis happened in 1761.\n\nThere was what was called a trial. There was no evidence, not the\nslightest, except hearsay. All the facts were in favor of the accused.\n\nThe united strength of the defendants could not have done the deed.\n\nJean Calas was doomed to torture and to death upon the wheel. This was\non the 9th of March, 1762, and the sentence was to be carried out the\nnext day.\n\nOn the morning of the 10th the father was taken to the torture room. The\nexecutioner and his assistants were sworn on the cross to administer the\ntorture according to the judgment of the court.\n\nThey bound him by the wrists to an iron ring in the stone wall four feet\nfrom the ground, and his feet to another ring in the floor. Then they\nshortened the ropes and chains until every joint in his arms and\nlegs was dislocated. Then he was questioned. He declared that he was\ninnocent. Then the ropes were again shortened until life fluttered in\nthe torn body; but he remained firm.\n\nThis was called \"the question ordinaire.\"\n\nAgain the magistrates exhorted the victim to confess, and again he\nrefused, saying that there was nothing to confess.\n\nThen came \"the question extraordinaire.\"\n\nInto the mouth of the victim was placed a horn holding three pints of\nwater. In this way thirty pints of water were forced into the body\nof the sufferer. The pain was beyond description, and yet Jean Calas\nremained firm.\n\nHe was then carried to the scaffold in a tumbril.\n\nHe was bound to a wooden cross that lay on the scaffold. The executioner\nthen took a bar of iron, broke each leg and each arm in two places,\nstriking eleven blows in all. He was then left to die if he could. He\nlived for two hours, declaring his innocence to the last. He was slow\nto die, and so the executioner strangled him. Then his poor lacerated,\nbleeding and broken body was chained to a stake and burned.\n\nAll this was a spectacle—a festival for the savages of Toulouse. What\nwould they have done if their hearts had not been softened by the glad\ntidings of great joy—peace on earth and good will to men?\n\nBut this was not all. The property of the family was confiscated; the\nson was released on condition that he become a Catholic; the servant\nif she would enter a convent. The two daughters were consigned to a\nconvent, and the heart-broken widow was allowed to wander where she\nwould.\n\nVoltaire heard of this case. In a moment his soul was on fire. He took\none of the sons under his roof. He wrote a history of the case. He\ncorresponded with kings and queens, with chancellors and lawyers. If\nmoney was needed, he advanced it. For years he filled Europe with the\nechoes of the groans of Jean Calas. He succeeded. The horrible judgment\nwas annulled—the poor victim declared innocent and thousands of dollars\nraised to support the mother and family.\n\nThis was the work of Voltaire.\n\nThe Sirven Family\n\nSirven, a Protestant, lived in Languedoc with his wife and three\ndaughters. The housekeeper of the bishop wanted to make one of the\ndaughters a Catholic.\n\nThe law allowed the bishop to take the child of Protestants from their\nparents for the sake of its soul. This little girl was so taken and\nplaced in a convent. She ran away and came back to her parents. Her poor\nlittle body was covered with the marks of the convent whip.\n\n\"Suffer little children to come unto me.\"\n\nThe child was out of her mind—suddenly she disappeared, and a few days\nafter her little body was found in a well, three miles from home.\n\nThe cry was raised that her folks had murdered her to keep her from\nbecoming a Catholic.\n\nThis happened only a little way from the Christian City of Toulouse\nwhile Jean Calas was in prison. The Sirvens knew that a trial would end\nin conviction. They fled. In their absence they were convicted, their\nproperty confiscated, the parents sentenced to die by the hangman, the\ndaughters to be under the gallows during the execution of their mother,\nand then to be exiled.\n\nThe family fled in the midst of winter; the married daughter gave birth\nto a child in the snows of the Alps; the mother died, and, at last\nreaching Switzerland, the father found himself without means of support.\n\nThey went to Voltaire. He espoused their cause. He took care of them,\ngave them the means to live, and labored to annul the sentence that had\nbeen pronounced against them for nine long and weary years. He appealed\nto kings for money, to Catharine II. of Russia, and to hundreds of\nothers. He was successful. He said of this case: The Sirvens were tried\nand condemned in two hours in January, 1762, and now in January, 1772,\nafter ten years of effort, they have been restored to their rights.\n\nThis was the work of Voltaire. Why should the worshipers of God hate the\nlovers of men?\n\nThe Espenasse Case\n\nEspenasse was a Protestant, of good estate. In 1740 he received into his\nhouse a Protestant clergyman, to whom he gave supper and lodging.\n\nIn a country where priests repeated the parable of the \"Good Samaritan,\"\nthis was a crime.\n\nFor this crime Espenasse was tried, convicted and sentenced to the\ngalleys for life.\n\nWhen he had been imprisoned for twenty-three years his case came to\nthe knowledge of Voltaire, and he was, through the efforts of Voltaire,\nreleased and restored to his family.\n\nThis was the work of Voltaire. There is not time to tell of the case of\nGeneral Lally, of the English General Byng, of the niece of Corneille,\nof the Jesuit Adam, of the writers, dramatists, actors, widows and\norphans for whose benefit he gave his influence, his money and his time.\nBut I will tell another case:\n\nIn 1765, at the town of Abbeville, an old wooden cross on a bridge had\nbeen mutilated—whittled with a knife—a terrible crime. Sticks, when\ncrossing each other, were far more sacred than flesh and blood. Two\nyoung men were suspected—the Chevalier de la Barre and D'Etallonde.\nD'Etallonde fled to Prussia and enlisted as a common soldier.\n\nLa Barre remained and stood his trial.\n\nHe was convicted without the slightest evidence, and he and D'Etallonde\nwere both sentenced:\n\nFirst, to endure the torture, ordinary and extraordinary.\n\nSecond, to have their tongues torn out by the roots with pincers of\niron.\n\nThird, to have their right hands cut off at the door of the church.\n\nFourth, to be bound to stakes by chains of iron and burned to death by\na slow fire.\n\n\"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.\"\n\nRemembering this, the judges mitigated the sentence by providing that\ntheir heads should be cut off before their bodies were given to the\nflames.\n\nThe case was appealed to Paris; heard by a court composed of twenty-five\njudges, learned in the law, and the judgment was confirmed.\n\nThe sentence was carried out on the first day of July, 1766.\n\nWhen Voltaire heard of this judicial infamy he made up his mind\nto abandon France. He wished to leave forever a country where such\ncruelties were possible.\n\nHe wrote a pamphlet, giving the history of the case.\n\nHe ascertained the whereabouts of D'Etallonde, wrote in his behalf to\nthe King of Prussia; got him released from the army; took him to his\nown house; kept him for a year and a half; saw that he was instructed\nin drawing, mathematics, engineering, and had at last the happiness of\nseeing him a captain of engineers in the army of Frederick the Great.\n\nSuch a man was Voltaire. He was the champion of the oppressed and the\nhelpless. He was the Cæsar to whom the victims of church and state\nappealed. He stood for the intellect and heart of his time.\n\nAnd yet for a hundred and fifty years those who love their enemies have\nexhausted the vocabulary of hate, the ingenuity of malice and mendacity,\nin their efforts to save their stupid creeds from the genius of\nVoltaire.\n\nFrom a great height he surveyed the world. His horizon was large. He had\nsome vices—these he shared in common with priests—his virtues were his\nown.\n\nHe was in favor of universal education—of the development of the brain.\nThe church despised him. He wished to put the knowledge of the whole\nworld within the reach of all. Every priest was his enemy. He wished to\ndrive from the gate of Eden the cherubim of superstition, so that\nthe children of Adam might return and eat of the fruit of the tree of\nknowledge. The church opposed this because it had the fruit of the tree\nof ignorance for sale.\n\nHe was one of the foremost friends of the Encyclopedia—of Diderot, and\ndid all in his power to give information to all. So far as principles\nwere concerned, he was the greatest lawyer of his time. I do not mean\nthat he knew the terms and decisions, but that he clearly perceived not\nonly what the law should be, but its application and administration. He\nunderstood the philosophy of evidence, the difference between suspicion\nand proof, between belief and knowledge, and he did more to reform the\nlaws of the kingdom and the abuses at courts than all the lawyers and\nstatesmen of his time.\n\nAt school, he read and studied the works of Cicero—the lord of\nlanguage—probably the greatest orator that has uttered speech, and the\nwords of the Roman remained in his brain. He became, in spite of the\nspirit of caste, a believer in the equality of men. He said:\n\n\"Men are born equal.\"\n\n\"Let us respect virtue and merit.\"\n\n\"Let us have it in the heart that men are equal.\" He was an\nabolitionist—the enemy of slavery in all its forms. He did not think\nthat the color of one man gave him the right to steal from another man\non account of that man's color. He was the friend of serf and peasant,\nand did what he could to protect animals, wives and children from the\nfury of those who loved their neighbors as themselves.\n\nIt was Voltaire who sowed the seeds of liberty in the heart and brain of\nFranklin, of Jefferson and Thomas Paine.\n\nPufendorf had taken the ground that slavery was, in part, founded on\ncontract.\n\nVoltaire said: \"Show me the contract, and if it is signed by the party\nto be the slave, I may believe.\"\n\nHe thought it absurd that God should drown the fathers, and then come\nand die for the children. This is as good as the remark of Diderot: \"If\nChrist had the power to defend himself from the Jews and refused to use\nit, he was guilty of suicide.\"\n\nHe had sense enough to know that the flame of the fagot does not\nenlighten the mind. He hated the cruel and pitied the victims of church\nand state. He was the friend of the unfortunate—the helper of the\nstriving. He laughed at the pomp of kings—the pretensions of priests.\nHe was a believer in the natural and abhorred with all his heart the\nmiraculous and absurd.\n\nVoltaire was not a saint. He was educated by the Jesuits. He was never\ntroubled about the salvation of his soul. All the theological disputes\nexcited his laughter, the creeds his pity, and the conduct of bigots his\ncontempt. He was much better than a saint.\n\nMost of the Christians in his day kept their religion not for every day\nuse but for disaster, as ships carry life boats to be used only in the\nstress of storm.\n\nVoltaire believed in the religion of humanity—of good and generous\ndeeds. For many centuries the church had painted virtue so ugly, sour\nand cold, that vice was regarded as beautiful. Voltaire taught the\nbeauty of the useful, the hatefulness and hideousness of superstition.\n\nHe was not the greatest of poets, or of dramatists, but he was the\ngreatest man of his time, the greatest friend of freedom and the\ndeadliest foe of superstition.\n\nHe did more to break the chains of superstition—to drive the phantoms\nof fear from the heart and brain, to destroy the authority of the church\nand to give liberty to the world than any other of the sons of men. In\nthe highest, the holiest sense he was the most profoundly religious man\nof his time.\n\nVI. The Return.\n\nAFTER an exile of twenty-seven years, occupying during all that time\na first place in the civilized world, Voltaire returned to Paris. His\njourney was a triumphal march. He was received as a conqueror. The\nAcademy, the Immortals, came to meet him—a compliment that had never\nbeen paid to royalty. His tragedy of \"Irene\" was performed. At the\ntheatre he was crowned with laurel, covered with flowers; he was\nintoxicated with perfume and with incense of worship. He was the supreme\nFrench poet, standing above them all. Among the literary men of the\nworld he stood first—a monarch by the divine right of genius. There\nwere three mighty forces in France—the throne, the altar and Voltaire.\n\nThe king was the enemy of Voltaire. The court could have nothing to do\nwith him. The church, malign and morose, was waiting for her revenge,\nand yet, such was the reputation of this man—such the hold he had upon\nthe people—that he became, in spite of Throne, in spite of Church, the\nidol of France.\n\nHe was an old man of eighty-four. He had been surrounded with the\ncomforts, the luxuries of life. He was a man of great wealth, the\nrichest writer that the world had known. Among the literary men of the\nearth he stood first. He was an intellectual king—one who had built his\nown throne and had woven the purple of his own power. He was a man of\ngenius. The Catholic God had allowed him the appearance of success.\nHis last years were filled with the intoxication of flattery—of almost\nworship. He stood at the summit of his age.\n\nThe priests became anxious. They began to fear that God would forget, in\na multiplicity of business, to make a terrible example of Voltaire.\n\nTowards the last of May, 1778, it was whispered in Paris that Voltaire\nwas dying. Upon the fences of expectation gathered the unclean birds of\nsuperstition, impatiently waiting for their prey.\n\n\"Two days before his death, his nephew went to seek the Curé of Saint\nSulpice and the Abbé Gautier, and brought them into his uncle's sick\nchamber. 'Ah, well!' said Voltaire, 'give them my compliments and my\nthanks.' The Abbé spoke some words to him, exhorting him to patience.\nThe curé of Saint Sulpice then came forward, having announced himself,\nand asked of Voltaire, elevating his voice, if he acknowledged the\ndivinity of our Lord Jesus Christ. The sick man pushed one of his hands\nagainst the curés coif, shoving him back and cried, turning abruptly to\nthe other side, 'Let me die in peace.' The curé seemingly considered his\nperson soiled and his coif dishonored by the touch of a philosopher. He\nmade the nurse give him a little brushing and went out with the Abbé\nGautier.\"\n\nHe expired, says Wagnière, on the 30th of May, 1778, at about a\nquarter-past eleven at night, with the most perfect tranquillity. A few\nminutes before his last breath he took the hand of Morand, his _valet de\nchambre_, who was watching by him, pressed it, and said: \"Adieu, my dear\nMorand, I am gone.\" These were his last words. Like a peaceful river\nwith green and shaded banks, he flowed without a murmur into the\nwaveless sea, where life is rest.\n\nFrom this death, so simple and serene, so kind, so philosophic and\ntender, so natural and peaceful; from these words, so utterly destitute\nof cant or dramatic touch, all the frightful pictures, all the\ndespairing utterances, have been drawn and made. From these materials,\nand from these alone, or rather, in spite of these facts, have been\nconstructed by priests and clergymen and their dupes all the shameless\nlies about the death of this great and wonderful man. A man, compared\nwith whom all of his calumniators, dead and living, were, and are, but\ndust and vermin.\n\nLet us be honest. Did all the priests of Rome increase the mental wealth\nof man as much as Bruno? Did all the priests of France do as great a\nwork for the civilization of the world as Voltaire or Diderot? Did all\nthe ministers of Scotland add as much to the sum of human knowledge as\nDavid Hume? Have all the clergymen, monks, friars, ministers, priests,\nbishops, cardinals and popes, from the day of Pentecost to the last\nelection, done as much for human liberty as Thomas Paine?\n\nWhat would the world be if infidels had never been?\n\nThe infidels have been the brave and thoughtful men; the flower of all\nthe world; the pioneers and heralds of the blessed day of liberty and\nlove; the generous spirits of the unworthy past; the seers and\nprophets of our race; the great chivalric souls, proud victors on the\nbattlefields of thought, the creditors of all the years to be.\n\nWhy should it be taken for granted that the men who devoted their lives\nto the liberation of their fellow-men should have been hissed at in\nthe hour of death by the snakes of conscience, while men who defended\nslavery—practiced polygamy—-justified the stealing of babes from\nthe breasts of mothers, and lashed the naked back of unpaid labor, are\nsupposed to have passed smilingly from earth to the embraces of the\nangels? Why should we think that the brave thinkers, the investigators,\nthe honest men, must have left the crumbling shore of time in dread\nand fear, while the instigators of the massacre of St. Bartholomew;\nthe inventors and users of thumb-screws, of iron boots and racks; the\nburners and tearers of human flesh; the stealers, the whippers and the\nenslavers of men; the buyers and beaters of maidens, mothers and babes;\nthe founders of the Inquisition; the makers of chains; the builders of\ndungeons; the calumniators of the living; the slanderers of the\ndead, and even the murderers of Jesus Christ, all died in the odor of\nsanctity, with white, forgiven hands folded upon the breasts of peace,\nwhile the destroyers of prejudice, the apostles of humanity, the\nsoldiers of liberty, the breakers of fetters, the creators of light,\ndied surrounded by the fierce fiends of God?\n\nIn those days the philosophers—that is to say, the thinkers—were\nnot buried in holy ground. It was feared that their principles might\ncontaminate the ashes of the just. And they also feared that on the\nmorning of the resurrection they might, in a moment of confusion, slip\ninto heaven. Some were burned, and their ashes scattered; and the bodies\nof some were thrown naked to beasts, and others buried in unholy earth.\n\nVoltaire knew the history of Adrienne Le Couvreur, a beautiful actress,\ndenied burial.\n\nAfter all, we do feel an interest in what is to become of our bodies.\nThere is a modesty that belongs to death. Upon this subject Voltaire\nwas infinitely sensitive. It was that he might be buried that he\nwent through the farce of confession, of absolution, and of the last\nsacrament. The priests knew that he was not in earnest, and Voltaire\nknew that they would not allow him to be buried in any of the cemeteries\nof Paris.\n\nHis death was kept a secret. The Abbé Mignot made arrangements for\nthe burial at Romilli-on-the-Seine, more than 100 miles from Paris. On\nSunday evening, on the last day of May, 1778, the body of Voltaire, clad\nin a dressing gown, clothed to resemble an invalid, posed to simulate\nlife, was placed in a carriage; at its side, a servant, whose business\nit was to keep it in position. To this carriage were attached six\nhorses, so that people might think a great lord was going to his\nestates. Another carriage followed, in which were a grand nephew and two\ncousins of Voltaire. All night they traveled, and on the following day\narrived at the courtyard of the Abbey. The necessary papers were shown,\nthe mass was performed in the presence of the body, and Voltaire found\nburial. A few moments afterwards, the prior, who \"for charity had given\na little earth,\" received from his bishop a menacing letter forbidding\nthe burial of Voltaire. It was too late.\n\nVoltaire was dead. The foundations of State and Throne had been sapped.\nThe people were becoming acquainted with the real kings and with the\nactual priests. Unknown men born in misery and want, men whose fathers\nand mothers had been pavement for the rich, were rising toward the\nlight, and their shadowy faces were emerging from darkness. Labor and\nthought became friends. That is, the gutter and the attic fraternized.\nThe monsters of the Night and the angels of the Dawn—the first thinking\nof revenge, and the others dreaming of equality, liberty and fraternity.\n\nVII. The Death-bed Argument.\n\nALL kinds of criminals, except infidels, meet death with reasonable\nserenity. As a rule, there is nothing in the death of a pirate to cast\nany discredit on his profession. The murderer upon the scaffold, with\na priest on either side, smilingly exhorts the multitude to meet him in\nheaven. The man who has succeeded in making his home a hell, meets death\nwithout a quiver, provided he has never expressed any doubt as to the\ndivinity of Christ, or the eternal \"procession\" of the Holy Ghost. The\nking who has waged cruel and useless war, who has filled countries with\nwidows and fatherless children, with the maimed and diseased, and who\nhas succeeded in offering to the Moloch of ambition the best and bravest\nof his subjects, dies like a saint.\n\nAll the believing kings are in heaven—all the doubting philosophers in\nperdition. All the persecutors sleep in peace, and the ashes of those\nwho burned their brothers, sleep in consecrated ground. Libraries could\nhardly contain the names of the Christian wretches who have filled the\nworld with violence and death in defence of book and creed, and yet\nthey all died the death of the righteous, and no priest, no minister,\ndescribes the agony and fear, the remorse and horror with which their\nguilty souls were filled in the last moments of their lives. These men\nhad never doubted—they had never thought—they accepted the creed as\nthey did the fashion of their clothes. They were not infidels, they\ncould not be—they had been baptized, they had not denied the divinity\nof Christ, they had partaken of the \"last supper.\" They respected\npriests, they admitted that Christ had two natures and the same number\nof wills; they admitted that the Holy Ghost had \"proceeded,\" and that,\naccording to the multiplication table of heaven, once one is three, and\nthree times one is one, and these things put pillows beneath their heads\nand covered them with the drapery of peace.\n\nThey admitted that while kings and priests did nothing worse than to\nmake their fellows wretched, that so long as they only butchered and\nburnt the innocent and helpless, God would maintain the strictest\nneutrality; but when some honest man, some great and tender soul,\nexpressed a doubt as to the truth of the Scriptures, or prayed to the\nwrong God, or to the right one by the wrong name, then the real God\nleaped like a wounded tiger upon his victim, and from his quivering\nflesh tore his wretched soul.\n\nThere is no recorded instance where the uplifted hand of murder has been\nparalyzed—no truthful account in all the literature of the world of\nthe innocent child being shielded by God. Thousands of crimes are being\ncommitted every day—men are at this moment lying in wait for their\nhuman prey—wives are whipped and crushed, driven to insanity and\ndeath—little children begging for mercy, lifting imploring, tear-filled\neyes to the brutal faces of fathers and mothers—sweet girls are\ndeceived, lured and outraged, but God has no time to prevent these\nthings—no time to defend the good and protect the pure. He is too busy\nnumbering hairs and watching sparrows. He listens for blasphemy; looks\nfor persons who laugh at priests; examines baptismal registers; watches\nprofessors in college who begin to doubt the geology of Moses and the\nastronomy of Joshua. He does not particularly object to stealing, if you\nwon't swear. A great many persons have fallen dead in the act of taking\nGod's name in vain, but millions of men, women and children have been\nstolen from their homes and used as beasts of burden, but no one engaged\nin this infamy has ever been touched by the wrathful hand of God.\n\nNow and then a man of genius, of sense, of intellectual honesty, has\nappeared. Such men have denounced the superstitions of their day. They\nhave pitied the multitude. To see priests devour the substance of the\npeople—priests who made begging one of the learned professions—filled\nthem with loathing and contempt. These men were honest enough to\ntell their thoughts, brave enough to speak the truth. Then they were\ndenounced, tried, tortured, killed by rack or flame. But some escaped\nthe fury of the fiends who love their enemies, and died naturally in\ntheir beds. It would not do for the church to admit that they died\npeacefully. That would show that religion was not essential at the last\nmoment. Superstition gets its power from the terror of death. It would\nnot do to have the common people understand that a man could deny the\nBible—refuse to kiss the cross—contend that Humanity was greater than\nChrist, and then die as sweetly as Torquemada did, after pouring molten\nlead into the ears of an honest man; or as calmly as Calvin after he had\nburned Servetus; or as peacefully as King David after advising with his\nlast breath one son to assassinate another.\n\nThe church has taken great pains to show that the last moments of all\ninfidels (that Christians did not succeed in burning) were infinitely\nwretched and despairing. It was alleged that words could not paint the\nhorrors that were endured by a dying infidel. Every good Christian was\nexpected to, and generally did, believe these accounts. They have been\ntold and retold in every pulpit of the world. Protestant ministers have\nrepeated the lies invented by Catholic priests, and Catholics, by a kind\nof theological comity, have sworn to the lies told by the Protestants.\nUpon this point they have always stood together, and will as long as the\nsame falsehood can be used by both.\n\nInstead of doing these things, Voltaire wilfully closed his eyes to\nthe light of the gospel, examined the Bible for himself, advocated\nintellectual liberty, struck from the brain the fetters of an arrogant\nfaith, assisted the weak, cried out against the torture of man, appealed\nto reason, endeavored to establish universal toleration, succored the\nindigent, and defended the oppressed.\n\nHe demonstrated that the origin of all religions is the same—the same\nmysteries—the same miracles—the same imposture—the same temples and\nceremonies—the same kind of founders, apostles and dupes—the same\npromises and threats—the same pretence of goodness and forgiveness and\nthe practice of the same persecution and murder. He proved that religion\nmade enemies—philosophy friends—and that above the rights of Gods were\nthe rights of man.\n\nThese were his crimes. Such a man God would not suffer to die in peace.\nIf allowed to meet death with a smile, others might follow his example,\nuntil none would be left to light the holy fires of the auto da fe. It\nwould not do for so great, so successful, an enemy of the church to\ndie without leaving some shriek of fear, some shudder of remorse, some\nghastly prayer of chattered horror uttered by lips covered with blood\nand foam.\n\nFor many centuries the theologians have taught that an unbeliever—an\ninfidel—one who spoke or wrote against their creed, could not meet\ndeath with composure; that in his last moments God would fill his\nconscience with the serpents of remorse.\n\nFor a thousand years the clergy have manufactured the facts to fit this\ntheory—this infamous conception of the duty of man and the justice of\nGod.\n\nThe theologians have insisted that crimes against man were, and are, as\nnothing compared with crimes against God.\n\nUpon the death-bed subject the clergy grow eloquent. When describing the\nshudderings and shrieks of the dying unbeliever, their eyes glitter with\ndelight.\n\nIt is a festival.\n\nThey are no longer men. They become hyenas. They dig open graves. They\ndevour the dead.\n\nIt is a banquet.\n\nUnsatisfied still, they paint the terrors of hell. They gaze at the\nsouls of the infidels writhing in the coils of the worm that never dies.\nThey see them in flames—in oceans of fire—in gulfs of pain—in abysses\nof despair. They shout with joy. They applaud.\n\nIt is an auto da fe, presided over by God.\n\nVIII. The Second Return.\n\nFOR four hundred years the Bastile had been the outward symbol of\noppression. Within its walls the noblest had perished. It was a\nperpetual threat. It was the last, and often the first, argument of\nking and priest. Its dungeons, damp and rayless, its massive towers, its\nsecret cells, its instruments of torture, denied the existence of God.\n\nIn 1789, on the 14th of July, the people, the multitude, frenzied by\nsuffering, stormed and captured the Bastile. The battle-cry was \"Vive\nVoltaire.\"\n\nIn 1791 permission was given to place in the Pantheon the ashes of\nVoltaire. He had been buried 110 miles from Paris. Buried by stealth, he\nwas to be removed by a nation. A funeral procession of a hundred miles;\nevery village with its flags and arches; all the people anxious to\nhonor the philosopher of France—the Savior of Calas—the Destroyer of\nSuperstition.\n\nOn reaching Paris the great procession moved along the Rue St. Antoine.\nHere it paused, and for one night upon the ruins of the Bastile rested\nthe body of Voltaire—rested in triumph, in glory—rested on fallen wall\nand broken arch, on crumbling stone still damp with tears, on rusting\nchain and bar and useless bolt—above the dungeons dark and deep, where\nlight had faded from the lives of men and hope had died in breaking\nhearts.\n\nThe conqueror resting upon the conquered.—Throned upon the Bastile,\nthe fallen fortress of Night, the body of Voltaire, from whose brain had\nissued the Dawn.\n\nFor a moment his ashes must have felt the Promethean fire, and the old\nsmile must have illumined once more the face of death.\n\nThe vast multitude bowed in reverence, hushed with love and awe heard\nthese words uttered by a priest: \"God shall be avenged.\"\n\nThe cry of the priest was a prophecy. Priests skulking in the shadows\nwith faces sinister as night, ghouls in the name of the gospel,\ndesecrated the grave. They carried away the ashes of Voltaire.\n\nThe tomb is empty.\n\nGod is avenged.\n\nThe world is filled with his fame.\n\nMan has conquered.\n\nWas there in the eighteenth century, a man wearing the vestments of the\nchurch, the equal of Voltaire?\n\nWhat cardinal, what bishop, what priest in France raised his voice for\nthe rights of men? What ecclesiastic, what nobleman, took the side of\nthe oppressed—of the peasant? Who denounced the frightful criminal\ncode—the torture of suspected persons? What priest pleaded for the\nliberty of the citizen? What bishop pitied the victims of the rack? Is\nthere the grave of a priest in France on which a lover of liberty would\nnow drop a flower or a tear? Is there a tomb holding the ashes of a\nsaint from which emerges one ray of light?\n\nIf there be another life—a day of judgment, no God can afford to\ntorture in another world the man who abolished torture in this. If God\nbe the keeper of an eternal penitentiary, he should not imprison there\nthe men who broke the chains of slavery here. He cannot afford to make\nan eternal convict of Voltaire.\n\nVoltaire was a perfect master of the French language, knowing all its\nmoods, tenses and declinations, in fact and in feeling—playing upon it\nas skillfully as Paganini on his violin, finding expression for every\nthought and fancy, writing on the most serious subjects with the gayety\nof a harlequin, plucking jests from the crumbling mouth of death,\ngraceful as the waving of willows, dealing in double meanings that\ncovered the asp with flowers and flattery—master of satire and\ncompliment—mingling them often in the same line, always interested\nhimself, and therefore interesting others—handling thoughts, questions,\nsubjects as a juggler does balls, keeping them in the air with perfect\nease—dressing old words in new meanings, charming, grotesque, pathetic,\nmingling mirth with tears, wit and wisdom, and sometimes wickedness,\nlogic and laughter. With a woman's instinct knowing the sensitive\nnerves—just where to touch—hating arrogance of place, the stupidity of\nthe solemn—snatching masks from priest and king, knowing the springs of\naction and ambition's ends—perfectly familiar with the great world—the\nintimate of kings and their favorites, sympathizing with the oppressed\nand imprisoned, with the unfortunate and poor, hating tyranny, despising\nsuperstition, and loving liberty with all his heart. Such was Voltaire\nwriting \"Odipus\" at seventeen, \"Irene\" at eighty-three, and crowding\nbetween these two tragedies the accomplishment of a thousand lives.\n\nFrom his throne at the foot of the Alps, he pointed the finger of scorn\nat every hypocrite in Europe. For half a century, past rack and stake,\npast dungeon and cathedral, past altar and throne, he carried with brave\nhands the sacred torch of Reason, whose light at last will flood the\nworld.\n"
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