TO MY FELLOW-CITIZENS OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA:
I PUT the following work under your protection. It contains my opinions upon
Religion. You will do me the justice to remember, that I have always strenuously
supported the Right of every Man to his own opinion, however different that opinion
might be to mine. He who denies to another this right, makes a slave of himself to
his present opinion, because he precludes himself the right of changing it.
The most formidable weapon against errors of every kind is Reason. I have never used
any other, and I trust I never shall.
Your affectionate friend and fellow-citizen,
Luxembourg, 8th Pluviose, Second Year of the French Republic, one and indivisible.
January 27, O. S. 1794.
IT has been my intention, for several years past, to publish my thoughts upon
religion. I am well aware of the difficulties that attend the subject, and from
that consideration, had
reserved it to a more advanced period of life. I intended it to be the last offering
I should make to my fellow-citizens of all nations, and that at a time when the purity
of the motive that induced me to it, could not admit of a question, even by those
who might disapprove the work.
The circumstance that has now taken place in France of the total abolition of
the whole national order of priesthood, and of everything appertaining to compulsive
systems of religion, and compulsive articles of faith, has not only precipitated
my intention, but rendered a work of this kind exceedingly necessary, lest in the
general wreck of superstition, of false systems of government, and false theology,
we lose sight of morality, of humanity, and of the theology that is true.
As several of my colleagues and others of my fellow-citizens of France have
given me the example of making their voluntary and individual profession of faith,
I also will make mine; and I do this with all that sincerity and frankness with which
the mind of man communicates with itself.
I believe in one God, and no more; and I hope for happiness beyond this life.
I believe in the equality of man; and I believe that religious duties consist
in doing justice, loving mercy, and endeavoring to make our fellow-creatures happy.
But, lest it should be supposed that I believe in many other things in addition
to these, I shall, in the progress of this work, declare the things I do not believe,
and my reasons for not believing them.
I do not believe in the creed professed by the Jewish church, by the Roman church,
by the Greek church, by the Turkish church, by the Protestant church, nor by any
church that I know of. My own mind is my own church.
All national institutions of churches, whether Jewish, Christian or Turkish, appear
to me no other than human inventions, set up to terrify and enslave mankind, and
monopolize power and profit.
I do not mean by this declaration to condemn those who believe otherwise; they
have the same right to their belief as I have to mine. But it is necessary to the
happiness of man, that he be mentally faithful to himself. Infidelity does not consist
in believing, or in disbelieving; it consists in professing to believe what he does
It is impossible to calculate the moral mischief, if I may so express it, that
mental lying has produced in society. When a man has so far corrupted and prostituted
the chastity of his mind, as to subscribe his professional belief to things he does
not believe, he has prepared himself for the commission of every other crime. He
takes up the trade of a priest for the sake of gain, and in order to qualify himself
for that trade, he begins with a perjury. Can we conceive any thing more destructive
to morality than this?
Soon after I had published the pamphlet Common Sense, in America, I saw the
exceeding probability that a revolution in the system of government would be followed
by a revolution in the system of religion. The adulterous connection of church and
state, wherever it had taken place, whether Jewish, Christian, or Turkish, had so
effectually prohibited by pains and penalties, every discussion upon established
creeds, and upon first principles of religion, that until the system of government
should be changed, those subjects could not be brought fairly and openly before the
world; but that whenever this should be done, a revolution in the system of religion
would follow. Human inventions and priestcraft would be detected; and man would return
to the pure, unmixed and unadulterated belief of one God, and no more.
Every national church or religion has established itself by pretending some
special mission from God, communicated to certain individuals. The Jews have their
Moses; the Christians their Jesus Christ, their apostles and saints; and the Turks
their Mahomet, as if the way to God was not open to every man alike.
Each of those churches show certain books, which they call revelation, or the word
of God. The Jews say, that their word of God was given by God to Moses, face to face;
the Christians say, that their word of God came by divine inspiration: and the Turks
say, that their word of God (the Koran) was brought by an angel from Heaven. Each
of those churches accuse the other of unbelief; and for my own part, I disbelieve
As it is necessary to affix right ideas to words, I will, before I proceed further
into the subject, offer some other observations on the word revelation. Revelation,
when applied to religion, means something communicated immediately from God to man.
No one will deny or dispute the power of the Almighty to make such a communication,
if he pleases. But admitting, for the sake of a case, that something has been revealed
to a certain person, and not revealed to any other person, it is revelation to that
person only. When he tells it to a second person, a second to a third, a third to
a fourth, and so on, it ceases to be a revelation to all those persons. It is revelation
to the first person only, and hearsay to every other, and consequently they are not
obliged to believe it.
It is a contradiction in terms and ideas, to call anything a revelation that comes
to us at second-hand, either verbally or in writing. Revelation is necessarily limited
to the first communication — after this, it is only an account of something which
that person says was a revelation made to him; and though he may find himself obliged
to believe it, it cannot be incumbent on me to believe it in the same manner; for
it was not a revelation made to me, and I have only his word for it that it was made
When Moses told the children of Israel that he received the two tables of the commandments
from the hands of God, they were not obliged to believe him, because they had no
other authority for it than his telling them so; and I have no other authority for
it than some historian telling me so. The commandments carry no internal evidence
of divinity with them; they contain some good moral precepts, such as any man qualified
to be a lawgiver, or a legislator, could produce himself, without having recourse
to supernatural intervention.
When I am told that the Koran was written in Heaven and brought to Mahomet by an
angel, the account comes too near the same kind of hearsay evidence and second-hand
authority as the former. I did not see the angel myself, and, therefore, I have a
right not to believe it.
When also I am told that a woman called the Virgin Mary, said, or gave out, that
she was with child without any cohabitation with a man, and that her betrothed husband,
Joseph, said that an angel told him so, I have a right to believe them or not; such
a circumstance required a much stronger evidence than their bare word for it; but
we have not even this — for neither Joseph nor Mary wrote any such matter themselves;
it is only reported by others that they said so — it is hearsay upon hearsay, and
I do not choose to rest my belief upon such evidence.
It is, however, not difficult to account for the credit that was given to the story
of Jesus Christ being the son of God. He was born when the heathen mythology had
still some fashion and repute in the world, and that mythology had prepared the people
for the belief of such a story. Almost all the extraordinary men that lived under
the heathen mythology were reputed to be the sons of some of their gods. It was not
a new thing, at that time, to believe a man to have been celestially begotten; the
intercourse of gods with women was then a matter of familiar opinion. Their Jupiter,
according to their accounts, had cohabited with hundreds: the story, therefore, had
nothing in it either new, wonderful, or obscene; it was conformable to the opinions
that then prevailed among the people called Gentiles, or Mythologists, and it was
those people only that believed it. The Jews who had kept strictly to the belief
of one God, and no more, and who had always rejected the heathen mythology, never
credited the story.
It is curious to observe how the theory of what is called the Christian church sprung
out of the tail of the heathen mythology. A direct incorporation took place in the
first instance, by making the reputed founder to be celestially begotten. The trinity
of gods that then followed was no other than a reduction of the former plurality,
which was about twenty or thirty thousand: the statue of Mary succeeded the statue
of Diana of Ephesus; the deification of heroes changed into the canonization of saints;
the Mythologists had gods for everything; the Christian Mythologists had saints for
everything; the church became as crowded with one, as the Pantheon had been with
the other, and Rome was the place of both. The Christian theory is little else than
the idolatry of the ancient Mythologists, accommodated to the purposes of power and
revenue; and it yet remains to reason and philosophy to abolish the amphibious fraud.
Nothing that is here said can apply, even with the most distant disrespect, to the
real character of Jesus Christ. He was a virtuous and an amiable man. The morality
that he preached and practised was of the most benevolent kind; and though similar
systems of morality had been preached by Confucius, and by some of the Greek philosophers,
many years before; by the Quakers since; and by many good men in all ages, it has
not been exceeded by any.
Jesus Christ wrote no account of himself, of his birth, parentage, or any thing else;
not a line of what is called the New Testament is of his own writing. The history
of him is altogether the work of other people; and as to the account given of his
resurrection and ascension, it was the necessary counterpart to the story of his
birth. His historians having brought him into the world in a supernatural manner,
were obliged to take him out again in the same manner, or the first part of the story
must have fallen to the ground.
The wretched contrivance with which this latter part is told exceeds every thing
that went before it. The first part, that of the miraculous conception, was not a
thing that admitted of publicity; and therefore the tellers of this part of the story
had this advantage, that though they might not be credited, they could not be detected.
They could not be expected to prove it, because it was not one of those things that
admitted of proof, and it was impossible that the person of whom it was told could
prove it himself.
But the resurrection of a dead person from the grave, and his ascension through the
air, is a thing very different as to the evidence it admits of, to the invisible
conception of a child in the womb. The resurrection and ascension, supposing them
to have taken place, admitted of public and ocular demonstration, like that of the
ascension of a balloon, or the sun at noon-day, to all Jerusalem at least. A thing
which everybody is required to believe, requires that the proof and evidence of it
should be equal to all, and universal; and as the public visibility of this last
related act was the only evidence that could give sanction to the former part, the
whole of it falls to the ground, because that evidence never was given. Instead of
this, a small number of persons, not more than eight or nine, are introduced as proxies
for the whole world, to say they saw it, and all the rest of the world are called
upon to believe it. But it appears that Thomas did not believe the resurrection,
and, as they say, would not believe without having ocular and manual demonstration
himself. So neither will I, and the reason is equally as good for me, and for every
other person, as for Thomas.
It is in vain to attempt to palliate or disguise this matter. The story, so far as
relates to the supernatural part, has every mark of fraud and imposition stamped
upon the face of it. Who were the authors of it is as impossible for us now to know,
as it is for us to be assured that the books in which the account is related were
written by the persons whose names they bear; the best surviving evidence we now
have respecting that affair is the Jews. They are regularly descended from the people
who lived in the times this resurrection and ascension is said to have happened,
and they say, it is not true. It has long appeared to me a strange inconsistency
to cite the Jews as a proof of the truth of the story. It is just the same as if
a man were to say, I will prove the truth of what I have told you by producing the
people who say it is false.
That such a person as Jesus Christ existed, and that he was crucified, which was
the mode of execution at that day, are historical relations strictly within the limits
of probability. He preached most excellent morality and the equality of man; but
he preached also against the corruptions and avarice of the Jewish priests, and this
brought upon him the hatred and vengeance of the whole order of priesthood. The accusation
which those priests brought against him was that of sedition and conspiracy against
the Roman government, to which the Jews were then subject and tributary; and it is
not improbable that the Roman government might have some secret apprehensions of
the effects of his doctrine, as well as the Jewish priests; neither is it improbable
that Jesus Christ had in contemplation the delivery of the Jewish nation from the
bondage of the Romans. Between the two, however, this virtuous reformer and revolutionist
lost his life.
It is upon this plain narrative of facts, together with another case I am going to
mention, that the Christian Mythologists, calling themselves the Christian Church,
have erected their fable, which, for absurdity and extravagance, is not exceeded
by anything that is to be found in the mythology of the ancients.
The ancient Mythologists tell us that the race of Giants made war against Jupiter,
and that one of them threw a hundred rocks against him at one throw; that Jupiter
defeated him with thunder, and confined him afterward under Mount Etna, and that
every time the Giant turns himself Mount Etna belches fire.
It is here easy to see that the circumstance of the mountain, that of its being a
volcano, suggested the idea of the fable; and that the fable is made to fit and wind
itself up with that circumstance.
The Christian Mythologists tell us that their Satan made war against the Almighty,
who defeated him, and confined him afterward, not under a mountain, but in a pit.
It is here easy to see that the first fable suggested the idea of the second; for
the fable of Jupiter and the Giants was told many hundred years before that of Satan.
Thus far the ancient and the Christian Mythologists differ very little from each
other. But the latter have contrived to carry the matter much farther. They have
contrived to connect the fabulous part of the story of Jesus Christ with the fable
originating from Mount Etna; and in order to make all the parts of the story tie
together, they have taken to their aid the traditions of the Jews; for the Christian
mythology is made up partly from the ancient mythology and partly from the Jewish
The Christian Mythologists, after having confined Satan in a pit, were obliged to
let him out again to bring on the sequel of the fable. He is then introduced into
the Garden of Eden, in the shape of a snake or a serpent, and in that shape he enters
into familiar conversation with Eve, who is no way surprised to hear a snake talk;
and the issue of this tete-a-tete is that he persuades her to eat an apple, and the
eating of that apple damns all mankind.
After giving Satan this triumph over the whole creation, one would have supposed
that the Church Mythologists would have been kind enough to send him back again to
the pit; or, if they had not done this, that they would have put a mountain upon
him (for they say that their faith can remove a mountain), or have put him under
a mountain, as the former mythologists had done, to prevent his getting again among
the women and doing more mischief. But instead of this they leave him at large, without
even obliging him to give his parole- the secret of which is, that they could not
do without him; and after being at the trouble of making him, they bribed him to
stay. They promised him ALL the Jews, ALL the Turks by anticipation, nine-tenths
of the world beside, and Mahomet into the bargain. After this, who can doubt the
bountifulness of the Christian Mythology?
Having thus made an insurrection and a battle in Heaven, in which none of the combatants
could be either killed or wounded — put Satan into the pit — let him out again —
giving him a triumph over the whole creation — damned all mankind by the eating of
an apple, these Christian Mythologists bring the two ends of their fable together.
They represent this virtuous and amiable man, Jesus Christ, to be at once both God
and Man, and also the Son of God, celestially begotten, on purpose to be sacrificed,
because they say that Eve in her longing had eaten an apple.
Putting aside everything that might excite laughter by its absurdity, or detestation
by its profaneness, and confining ourselves merely to an examination of the parts,
it is impossible to conceive a story more derogatory to the Almighty, more inconsistent
with his wisdom, more contradictory to his power, than this story is.
In order to make for it a foundation to rise upon, the inventors were under the necessity
of giving to the being whom they call Satan, a power equally as great, if not greater
than they attribute to the Almighty. They have not only given him the power of liberating
himself from the pit, after what they call his fall, but they have made that power
increase afterward to infinity. Before this fall they represent him only as an angel
of limited existence, as they represent the rest. After his fall, he becomes, by
their account, omnipresent. He exists everywhere, and at the same time. He occupies
the whole immensity of space.
Not content with this deification of Satan, they represent him as defeating, by stratagem,
in the shape of an animal of the creation, all the power and wisdom of the Almighty.
They represent him as having compelled the Almighty to the direct necessity either
of surrendering the whole of the creation to the government and sovereignty of this
Satan, or of capitulating for its redemption by coming down upon earth, and exhibiting
himself upon a cross in the shape of a man.
Had the inventors of this story told it the contrary way, that is, had they represented
the Almighty as compelling Satan to exhibit himself on a cross, in the shape of a
snake, as a punishment for his new transgression, the story would have been less
absurd — less contradictory. But instead of this, they make the transgressor triumph,
and the Almighty fall.
That many good men have believed this strange fable, and lived very good lives under
that belief (for credulity is not a crime), is what I have no doubt of. In the first
place, they were educated to believe it, and they would have believed anything else
in the same manner. There are also many who have been so enthusiastically enraptured
by what they conceived to be the infinite love of God to man, in making a sacrifice
of himself, that the vehemence of the idea has forbidden and deterred them from examining
into the absurdity and profaneness of the story. The more unnatural anything is,
the more it is capable of becoming the object of dismal admiration.
But if objects for gratitude and admiration are our desire, do they not present themselves
every hour to our eyes? Do we not see a fair creation prepared to receive us the
instant we are born — a world furnished to our hands, that cost us nothing? Is it
we that light up the sun, that pour down the rain, and fill the earth with abundance?
Whether we sleep or wake, the vast machinery of the universe still goes on. Are these
things, and the blessings they indicate in future, nothing to us? Can our gross feelings
be excited by no other subjects than tragedy and suicide? Or is the gloomy pride
of man become so intolerable, that nothing can flatter it but a sacrifice of the
I know that this bold investigation will alarm many, but it would be paying too great
a compliment to their credulity to forbear it on their account; the times and the
subject demand it to be done. The suspicion that the theory of what is called the
Christian Church is fabulous is becoming very extensive in all countries; and it
will be a consolation to men staggering under that suspicion, and doubting what to
believe and what to disbelieve, to see the object freely investigated. I therefore
pass on to an examination of the books called the Old and New Testament.
These books, beginning with Genesis and ending with Revelation (which, by the by,
is a book of riddles that requires a revelation to explain it), are, we are told,
the word of God. It is, therefore, proper for us to know who told us so, that we
may know what credit to give to the report. The answer to this question is, that
nobody can tell, except that we tell one another so. The case, however, historically
appears to be as follows:
When the Church Mythologists established their system, they collected all the writings
they could find, and managed them as they pleased. It is a matter altogether of uncertainty
to us whether such of the writings as now appear under the name of the Old and New
Testament are in the same state in which those collectors say they found them, or
whether they added, altered, abridged, or dressed them up.
Be this as it may, they decided by vote which of the books out of the collection
they had made should be the WORD OF GOD, and which should not. They rejected several;
they voted others to be doubtful, such as the books called the Apocrypha; and those
books which had a majority of votes, were voted to be the word of God. Had they voted
otherwise, all the people, since calling themselves Christians, had believed otherwise
— for the belief of the one comes from the vote of the other. Who the people were
that did all this, we know nothing of; they called themselves by the general name
of the Church, and this is all we know of the matter.
As we have no other external evidence or authority for believing these books to be
the word of God than what I have mentioned, which is no evidence or authority at
all, I come, in the next place, to examine the internal evidence contained in the
In the former part of this Essay, I have spoken of revelation; I now proceed further
with that subject, for the purpose of applying it to the books in question.
Revelation is a communication of something which the person to whom that thing is
revealed did not know before. For if I have done a thing, or seen it done, it needs
no revelation to tell me I have done it, or seen it, nor to enable me to tell it,
or to write it.
Revelation, therefore, cannot be applied to anything done upon earth, of which man
himself is the actor or the witness; and consequently all the historical and anecdotal
parts of the Bible, which is almost the whole of it, is not within the meaning and
compass of the word revelation, and, therefore, is not the word of God.
When Samson ran off with the gate-posts of Gaza, if he ever did so (and whether he
did or not is nothing to us), or when he visited his Delilah, or caught his foxes,
or did any thing else, what has revelation to do with these things? If they were
facts, he could tell them himself, or his secretary, if he kept one, could write
them, if they were worth either telling or writing; and if they were fictions, revelation
could not make them true; and whether true or not, we are neither the better nor
the wiser for knowing them. When we contemplate the immensity of that Being who directs
and governs the incomprehensible WHOLE, of which the utmost ken of human sight can
discover but a part, we ought to feel shame at calling such paltry stories the word
As to the account of the Creation, with which the Book of Genesis opens, it has all
the appearance of being a tradition which the Israelites had among them before they
came into Egypt; and after their departure from that country they put it at the head
of their history, without telling (as it is most probable) that they did not know
how they came by it. The manner in which the account opens shows it to be traditionary.
It begins abruptly; it is nobody that speaks; it is nobody that hears; it is addressed
to nobody; it has neither first, second, nor third person; it has every criterion
of being a tradition; it has no voucher. Moses does not take it upon himself by introducing
it with the formality that he uses on other occasions, such as that of saying, "The
Lord spake unto Moses, saying."
Why it has been called the Mosaic account of the Creation, I am at a loss to conceive.
Moses, I believe, was too good a judge of such subjects to put his name to that account.
He had been educated among The Egyptians, who were a people as well skilled in science,
and particularly in astronomy, as any people of their day; and the silence and caution
that Moses observes in not authenticating the account, is a good negative evidence
that he neither told it nor believed it The case is, that every nation of people
has been world-makers, and the Israelites had as much right to set up the trade of
world-making as any of the rest; and as Moses was not an Israelite, he might not
choose to contradict the tradition. The account, however, is harmless; and this is
more than can be said of many other parts of the Bible.
Whenever we read the obscene stories, the voluptuous debaucheries, the cruel and
torturous executions, the unrelenting vindictiveness, with which more than half the
Bible is filled, it would be more consistent that we called it the word of a demon,
than the word of God. It is a history of wickedness, that has served to corrupt and
brutalize mankind; and, for my part, I sincerely detest it, as I detest everything
that is cruel.
We scarcely meet with anything, a few phrases excepted, but what deserves either
our abhorrence or our contempt, till we come to the miscellaneous parts of the Bible.
In the anonymous publications, the Psalms, and the Book of Job, more particularly
in the latter, we find a great deal of elevated sentiment reverentially expressed
of the power and benignity of the Almighty; but they stand on no higher rank than
many other compositions on similar subjects, as well before that time as since.
The Proverbs which are said to be Solomon's, though most probably a collection (because
they discover a knowledge of life which his situation excluded him from knowing),
are an instructive table of ethics. They are inferior in keenness to the proverbs
of the Spaniards, and not more wise and economical than those of the American Franklin.
All the remaining parts of the Bible, generally known by the name of the Prophets,
are the works of the Jewish poets and itinerant preachers, who mixed poetry, anecdote,
and devotion together — and those works still retain the air and style of poetry,
though in translation.
Poetry consists principally in two things — imagery and composition. The composition
of poetry differs from that of prose in the manner of mixing long and short syllables
together. Take a long syllable out of a line of poetry, and put a short one in the
room of it, or put a long syllable where a short one should be, and that line will
lose its poetical harmony. It will have an effect upon the line like that of misplacing
a note in a song. The imagery in these books, called the Prophets, appertains altogether
to poetry. It is fictitious, and often extravagant, and not admissible in any other
kind of writing than poetry. To show that these writings are composed in poetical
numbers, I will take ten syllables, as they stand in the book, and make a line of
the same number of syllables, (heroic measure) that shall rhyme with the last word.
It will then be seen that the composition of these books is poetical measure. The
instance I shall produce is from Isaiah:
"Hear, O ye heavens, and give ear, O earth!" 'Tis God himself that calls attention
Another instance I shall quote is from the mournful Jeremiah, to which I shall add
two other lines, for the purpose of carrying out the figure, and showing the intention
of the poet:
"O! that mine head were waters and mine eyes" Were fountains flowing like the liquid
skies; Then would I give the mighty flood release, And weep a deluge for the human
There is not, throughout the whole book called the Bible, any word that describes
to us what we call a poet, nor any word that describes what we call poetry. The case
is, that the word prophet, to which latter times have affixed a new idea, was the
Bible word for poet, and the word prophesying meant the art of making poetry. It
also meant the art of playing poetry to a tune upon any instrument of music.
We read of prophesying with pipes, tabrets, and horns — of prophesying with harps,
with psalteries, with cymbals, and with every other instrument of music then in fashion.
Were we now to speak of prophesying with a fiddle, or with a pipe and tabor, the
expression would have no meaning or would appear ridiculous, and to some people contemptuous,
because we have changed the meaning of the word.
We are told of Saul being among the prophets, and also that he prophesied; but we
are not told what they prophesied, nor what he prophesied. The case is, there was
nothing to tell; for these prophets were a company of musicians and poets, and Saul
joined in the concert, and this was called prophesying.
The account given of this affair in the book called Samuel is, that Saul met a company
of prophets; a whole company of them! coming down with a psaltery, a tabret, a pipe
and a harp, and that they prophesied, and that he prophesied with them. But it appears
afterward, that Saul prophesied badly; that is, he performed his part badly; for
it is said, that an "evil spirit from God" came upon Saul, and he prophesied.
Now, were there no other passage in the book called the Bible than this, to demonstrate
to us that we have lost the original meaning of the word prophesy, and substituted
another meaning in its place, this alone would be sufficient; for it is impossible
to use and apply the word prophesy, in the place it is here used and applied, if
we give to it the sense which latter times have affixed to it. The manner in which
it is here used strips it of all religious meaning, and shows that a man might then
be a prophet, or he might prophesy, as he may now be a poet or a musician, without
any regard to the morality or immorality of his character. The word was originally
a term of science, promiscuously applied to poetry and to music, and not restricted
to any subject upon which poetry and music might be exercised.
Deborah and Barak are called prophets, not because they predicted anything, but because
they composed the poem or song that bears their name, in celebration of an act already
done. David is ranked among the prophets, for he was a musician, and was also reputed
to be (though perhaps very erroneously) the author of the Psalms. But Abraham, Isaac,
and Jacob are not called prophets; it does not appear from any accounts we have that
they could either sing, play music, or make poetry.
We are told of the greater and the lesser prophets. They might as well tell us of
the greater and the lesser God; for there cannot be degrees in prophesying consistently
with its modern sense. But there are degrees in poetry, and therefore the phrase
is reconcilable to the case, when we understand by it the greater and the lesser
It is altogether unnecessary, after this, to offer any observations upon what those
men, styled prophets, have written. The axe goes at once to the root, by showing
that the original meaning of the word has been mistaken and consequently all the
inferences that have been drawn from those books, the devotional respect that has
been paid to them, and the labored commentaries that have been written upon them,
under that mistaken meaning, are not worth disputing about. In many things, however,
the writings of the Jewish poets deserve a better fate than that of being bound up,
as they now are with the trash that accompanies them, under the abused name of the
word of God.
If we permit ourselves to conceive right ideas of things, we must necessarily affix
the idea, not only of unchangeableness, but of the utter impossibility of any change
taking place, by any means or accident whatever, in that which we would honor with
the name of the word of God; and therefore the word of God cannot exist in any written
or human language.
The continually progressive change to which the meaning of words is subject, the
want of a universal language which renders translation necessary, the errors to which
translations are again subject, the mistakes of copyists and printers, together with
the possibility of willful alteration, are of themselves evidences that the human
language, whether in speech or in print, cannot be the vehicle of the word of God.
The word of God exists in something else.
Did the book called the Bible excel in purity of ideas and expression all the books
that are now extant in the world, I would not take it for my rule of faith, as being
the word of God, because the possibility would nevertheless exist of my being imposed
upon. But when I see throughout the greater part of this book scarcely anything but
a history of the grossest vices and a collection of the most paltry and contemptible
tales, I cannot dishonor my Creator by calling it by his name.
Thus much for the Bible; I now go on to the book called the New Testament. The New
Testament! that is, the new will, as if there could be two wills of the Creator.
Had it been the object or the intention of Jesus Christ to establish a new religion,
he would undoubtedly have written the system himself, or procured it to be written
in his life-time. But there is no publication extant authenticated with his name.
All the books called the New Testament were written after his death. He was a Jew
by birth and by profession; and he was the son of God in like manner that every other
person is — for the Creator is the Father of All.
The first four books, called Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, do not give a history
of the life of Jesus Christ, but only detached anecdotes of him. It appears from
these books that the whole time of his being a preacher was not more than eighteen
months; and it was only during this short time that these men became acquainted with
him. They make mention of him at the age of twelve years, sitting, they say, among
the Jewish doctors, asking and answering them questions. As this was several years
before their acquaintance with him began, it is most probable they had this anecdote
from his parents. From this time there is no account of him for about sixteen years.
Where he lived, or how he employed himself during this interval, is not known. Most
probably he was working at his father's trade, which was that of a carpenter. It
does not appear that he had any school education, and the probability is, that he
could not write, for his parents were extremely poor, as appears from their not being
able to pay for a bed when he was born.
It is somewhat curious that the three persons whose names are the most universally
recorded, were of very obscure parentage. Moses was a foundling; Jesus Christ was
born in a stable; and Mahomet was a mule driver. The first and last of these men
were founders of different systems of religion; but Jesus Christ founded no new system.
He called men to the practice of moral virtues and the belief of one God. The great
trait in his character is philanthropy.
The manner in which he was apprehended shows that he was not much known at that time;
and it shows also, that the meetings he then held with his followers were in secret;
and that he had given over or suspended preaching publicly. Judas could not otherwise
betray him than by giving information where he was, and pointing him out to the officers
that went to arrest him; and the reason for employing and paying Judas to do this
could arise only from the cause already mentioned, that of his not being much known
and living concealed.
The idea of his concealment not only agrees very ill with his reputed divinity, but
associates with it something of pusillanimity; and his being betrayed, or in other
words, his being apprehended, on the information of one of his followers, shows that
he did not intend to be apprehended, and consequently that he did not intend to be
The Christian Mythologists tell us, that Christ died for the sins of the world, and
that he came on purpose to die. Would it not then have been the same if he had died
of a fever or of the small-pox, of old age, or of anything else?
The declaratory sentence which, they say, was passed upon Adam, in case he eat of
the apple, was not, that thou shall surely be crucified, but thou shalt surely die
— the sentence of death, and not the manner of dying. Crucifixion, therefore, or
any other particular manner of dying, made no part of the sentence that Adam was
to suffer, and consequently, even upon their own tactics, it could make no part of
the sentence that Christ was to suffer in the room of Adam. A fever would have done
as well as a cross, if there was any occasion for either.
The sentence of death, which they tell us was thus passed upon Adam must either have
meant dying naturally, that is, ceasing to live, or have meant what these Mythologists
call damnation; and, consequently, the act of dying on the part of Jesus Christ,
must, according to their system, apply as a prevention to one or other of these two
things happening to Adam and to us.
That it does not prevent our dying is evident, because we all die; and if their accounts
of longevity be true, men die faster since the crucifixion than before; and with
respect to the second explanation (including with it the natural death of Jesus Christ
as a substitute for the eternal death or damnation of all mankind), it is impertinently
representing the Creator as coming off, or revoking the sentence, by a pun or a quibble
upon the word death. That manufacturer of quibbles, St. Paul, if he wrote the books
that bear his name, has helped this quibble on by making another quibble upon the
word Adam. He makes there to be two Adams; the one who sins in fact, and suffers
by proxy; the other who sins by proxy, and suffers in fact. A religion thus interlarded
with quibble, subterfuge, and pun has a tendency to instruct its professors in the
practice of these arts. They acquire the habit without being aware of the cause.
If Jesus Christ was the being which those Mythologists tell us he was, and that he
came into this world to suffer, which is a word they sometimes use instead of to
die, the only real suffering he could have endured, would have been to live. His
existence here was a state of exilement or transportation from Heaven, and the way
back to his original country was to die. In fine, everything in this strange system
is the reverse of what it pretends to be. It is the reverse of truth, and I become
so tired of examining into its inconsistencies and absurdities, that I hasten to
the conclusion of it, in order to proceed to something better.
How much or what parts of the books called the New Testament, were written by the
persons whose names they bear, is what we can know nothing of; neither are we certain
in what language they were originally written. The matters they now contain may be
classed under two beads — anecdote and epistolary correspondence.
The four books already mentioned, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, are altogether anecdotal.
They relate events after they had taken place. They tell what Jesus Christ did and
said, and what others did and said to him; and in several instances they relate the
same event differently. Revelation is necessarily out of the question with respect
to those books; not only because of the disagreement of the writers, but because
revelation cannot be applied to the relating of facts by the person who saw them
done, nor to the relating or recording of any discourse or conversation by those
who heard it. The book called the Acts of the Apostles (an anonymous work) belongs
also to the anecdotal part.
All the other parts of the New Testament, except the book of enigmas called the Revelations,
are a collection of letters under the name of epistles; and the forgery of letters
has been such a common practice in the world, that the probability is at least equal,
whether they are genuine or forged. One thing, however, is much less equivocal, which
is, that out of the matters contained in those books, together with the assistance
of some old stories, the Church has set up a system of religion very contradictory
to the character of the person whose name it bears. It has set up a religion of pomp
and revenue, in pretended imitation of a person whose life was humility and poverty.
The invention of purgatory, and of the releasing of souls therefrom by prayers bought
of the church with money; the selling of pardons, dispensations, and indulgences,
are revenue laws, without bearing that name or carrying that appearance. But the
case nevertheless is, that those things derive their origin from the paroxysm of
the crucifixion and the theory deduced therefrom, which was that one person could
stand in the place of another, and could perform meritorious service for him. The
probability, therefore, is that the whole theory or doctrine of what is called the
redemption (which is said to have been accomplished by the act of one person in the
room of another) was originally fabricated on purpose to bring forward and build
all those secondary and pecuniary redemptions upon; and that the passages in the
books, upon which the idea or theory of redemption is built, have been manufactured
and fabricated for that purpose. Why are we to give this Church credit when she tells
us that those books are genuine in every part, any more than we give her credit for
everything else she has told us, or for the miracles she says she had performed?
That she could fabricate writings is certain, because she could write; and the composition
of the writings in question is of that kind that anybody might do it; and that she
did fabricate them is not more inconsistent with probability than that she could
tell us, as she has done, that she could and did work miracles.
Since, then no external evidence can, at this long distance of time, be produced
to prove whether the Church fabricated the doctrines called redemption or not (for
such evidence, whether for or against, would be subject to the same suspicion of
being fabricated), the case can only be referred to the internal evidence which the
thing carries within itself; and this affords a very strong presumption of its being
a fabrication. For the internal evidence is that the theory or doctrine of redemption
has for its base an idea of pecuniary Justice, and not that of moral Justice.
If I owe a person money, and cannot pay him, and he threatens to put me in prison,
another person can take the debt upon himself, and pay it for me; but if I have committed
a crime, every circumstance of the case is changed; moral Justice cannot take the
innocent for the guilty, even if the innocent would offer itself. To suppose Justice
to do this, is to destroy the principle of its existence, which is the thing itself;
it is then no longer Justice, it is indiscriminate revenge.
This single reflection will show, that the doctrine of redemption is founded on a
mere pecuniary idea corresponding to that of a debt which another person might pay;
and as this pecuniary idea corresponds again with the system of second redemption,
obtained through the means of money given to the Church for pardons, the probability
is that the same persons fabricated both the one and the other of those theories;
and that, in truth there is no such thing as redemption — that it is fabulous, and
that man stands in the same relative condition with his Maker as he ever did stand
since man existed, and that it is his greatest consolation to think so.
Let him believe this, and he will live more consistently and morally than by any
other system; it is by his being taught to contemplate himself as an outlaw, as an
outcast, as a beggar, as a mumper, as one thrown, as it were, on a dunghill at an
immense distance from his Creator, and who must make his approaches by creeping and
cringing to intermediate beings, that he conceives either a contemptuous disregard
for everything under the name of religion, or becomes indifferent, or turns what
he calls devout. In the latter case, he consumes his life in grief, or the affectation
of it; his prayers are reproaches; his humility is ingratitude; he calls himself
a worm, and the fertile earth a dunghill; and all the blessings of life by the thankless
name of vanities; he despises the choicest gift of God to man, the GIFT OF REASON;
and having endeavored to force upon himself the belief of a system against which
reason revolts, he ungratefully calls it human reason, as if man could give reason
Yet, with all this strange appearance of humility and this contempt for human reason,
he ventures into the boldest presumptions; he finds fault with everything; his selfishness
is never satisfied; his ingratitude is never at an end. He takes on himself to direct
the Almighty what to do, even in the government of the universe; he prays dictatorially;
when it is sunshine, he prays for rain, and when it is rain, he prays for sunshine;
he follows the same idea in everything that he prays for; for what is the amount
of all his prayers but an attempt to make the Almighty change his mind, and act otherwise
than he does? It is as if he were to say: Thou knowest not so well as I.
But some, perhaps, will say: Are we to have no word of God — no revelation? I answer,
Yes; there is a word of God; there is a revelation.
THE WORD OF GOD IS THE CREATION WE BEHOLD and it is in this word, which no human
invention can counterfeit or alter, that God speaketh universally to man.
Human language is local and changeable, and is therefore incapable of being used
as the means of unchangeable and universal information. The idea that God sent Jesus
Christ to publish, as they say, the glad tidings to all nations, from one end of
the earth to the other, is consistent only with the ignorance of those who knew nothing
of the extent of the world, and who believed, as those world-saviours believed, and
continued to believe for several centuries (and that in contradiction to the discoveries
of philosophers and the experience of navigators), that the earth was flat like a
trencher, and that man might walk to the end of it.
But how was Jesus Christ to make anything known to all nations? He could speak but
one language which was Hebrew, and there are in the world several hundred languages.
Scarcely any two nations speak the same language, or understand each other; and as
to translations, every man who knows anything of languages knows that it is impossible
to translate from one language to another, not only without losing a great part of
the original, but frequently of mistaking the sense; and besides all this, the art
of printing was wholly unknown at the time Christ lived.
It is always necessary that the means that are to accomplish any end be equal to
the accomplishment of that end, or the end cannot be accomplished. It is in this
that the difference between finite and infinite power and wisdom discovers itself.
Man frequently fails in accomplishing his ends, from a natural inability of the power
to the purpose, and frequently from the want of wisdom to apply power properly. But
it is impossible for infinite power and wisdom to fail as man faileth. The means
it useth are always equal to the end; but human language, more especially as there
is not an universal language, is incapable of being used as an universal means of
unchangeable and uniform information, and therefore it is not the means that God
useth in manifesting himself universally to man.
It is only in the CREATION that all our ideas and conceptions of a word of God can
unite. The Creation speaketh an universal language, independently of human speech
or human language, multiplied and various as they may be. It is an ever-existing
original, which every man can read. It cannot be forged; it cannot be counterfeited;
it cannot be lost; it cannot be altered; it cannot be suppressed. It does not depend
upon the will of man whether it shall be published or not; it publishes itself from
one end of the earth to the other. It preaches to all nations and to all worlds;
and this word of God reveals to man all that is necessary for man to know of God.
Do we want to contemplate his power? We see it in the immensity of the Creation.
Do we want to contemplate his wisdom? We see it in the unchangeable order by which
the incomprehensible whole is governed! Do we want to contemplate his munificence?
We see it in the abundance with which he fills the earth. Do we want to contemplate
his mercy? We see it in his not withholding that abundance even from the unthankful.
In fine, do we want to know what God is? Search not the book called the Scripture,
which any human hand might make, but the Scripture called the Creation.
The only idea man can affix to the name of God is that of a first cause, the cause
of all things. And incomprehensible and difficult as it is for a man to conceive
what a first cause is, he arrives at the belief of it from the tenfold greater difficulty
of disbelieving it. It is difficult beyond description to conceive that space can
have no end; but it is more difficult to conceive an end. It is difficult beyond
the power of man to conceive an eternal duration of what we call time; but it is
more impossible to conceive a time when there shall be no time.
In like manner of reasoning, everything we behold carries in itself the internal
evidence that it did not make itself Every man is an evidence to himself that he
did not make himself; neither could his father make himself, nor his grandfather,
nor any of his race; neither could any tree, plant, or animal make itself; and it
is the conviction arising from this evidence that carries us on, as it were, by necessity
to the belief of a first cause eternally existing, of a nature totally different
to any material existence we know of, and by the power of which all things exist;
and this first cause man calls God.
It is only by the exercise of reason that man can discover God. Take away that reason,
and he would be incapable of understanding anything; and, in this case, it would
be just as consistent to read even the book called the Bible to a horse as to a man.
How, then, is it that those people pretend to reject reason?
Almost the only parts in the book called the Bible that convey to us any idea of
God, are some chapters in Job and the 19th Psalm; I recollect no other. Those parts
are true deistical compositions, for they treat of the Deity through his works. They
take the book of Creation as the word of God, they refer to no other book, and all
the inferences they make are drawn from that volume.
I insert in this place the 19th Psalm, as paraphrased into English verse by Addison.
I recollect not the prose, and where I write this I have not the opportunity of seeing
"The spacious firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled heavens,
a shining frame, Their great original proclaim. The unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display; And publishes to every land The work of an Almighty
"Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly
to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth; While all the stars that round
her burn, And all the planets, in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And
spread the truth from pole to pole.
"What though in solemn silence all Move round this dark terrestrial ball? What though
no real voice, or sound, Amidst their radiant orbs be found? In reason's ear they
all rejoice And utter forth a glorious voice, Forever singing, as they shine, THE
HAND THAT MADE US IS DIVINE."
What more does man want to know than that the hand or power that made these things
is divine, is omnipotent? Let him believe this with the force it is impossible to
repel, if he permits his reason to act, and his rule of moral life will follow of
The allusions in Job have, all of them, the same tendency with this Psalm; that of
deducing or proving a truth that would be otherwise unknown, from truths already
I recollect not enough of the passages in Job to insert them correctly; but there
is one occurs to me that is applicable to the subject I am speaking upon. "Canst
thou by searching find out God? Canst thou find out the Almighty to perfection?"
I know not how the printers have pointed this passage, for I keep no Bible; but it
contains two distinct questions that admit of distinct answers.
First, — Canst thou by searching find out God? Yes because, in the first place, I
know I did not make myself, and yet I have existence; and by searching into the nature
of other things, I find that no other thing could make itself; and yet millions of
other things exist; therefore it is, that I know, by positive conclusion resulting
from this search, that there is a power superior to all those things, and that power
Secondly, — Canst thou find out the Almighty to perfection? No; not only because
the power and wisdom He has manifested in the structure of the Creation that I behold
is to me incomprehensible, but because even this manifestation, great as it is, is
probably but a small display of that immensity of power and wisdom by which millions
of other worlds, to me invisible by their distance, were created and continue to
It is evident that both these questions were put to the reason of the person to whom
they are supposed to have been addressed; and it is only by admitting the first question
to be answered affirmatively, that the second could follow. It would have been unnecessary
and even absurd, to have put a second question, more difficult than the first, if
the first question had been answered negatively. The two questions have different
objects; the first refers to the existence of God, the second to his attributes;
reason can discover the one, but it falls infinitely short in discovering the whole
of the other.
I recollect not a single passage in all the writings ascribed to the men called apostles,
that conveys any idea of what God is. Those writings are chiefly controversial; and
the subjects they dwell upon, that of a man dying in agony on a cross, is better
suited to the gloomy genius of a monk in a cell, by whom it is not impossible they
were written, than to any man breathing the open air of the Creation. The only passage
that occurs to me, that has any reference to the works of God, by which only his
power and wisdom can be known, is related to have been spoken by Jesus Christ as
a remedy against distrustful care. "Behold the lilies of the field, they toil not,
neither do they spin." This, however, is far inferior to the allusions in Job and
in the 19th Psalm; but it is similar in idea, and the modesty of the imagery is correspondent
to the modesty of the man.
As to the Christian system of faith, it appears to me as a species of Atheism — a
sort of religious denial of God. It professes to believe in a man rather than in
God. It is a compound made up chiefly of Manism with but little Deism, and is as
near to Atheism as twilight is to darkness. It introduces between man and his Maker
an opaque body, which it calls a Redeemer, as the moon introduces her opaque self
between the earth and the sun, and it produces by this means a religious, or an irreligious,
eclipse of light. It has put the whole orbit of reason into shade.
The effect of this obscurity has been that of turning everything upside down, and
representing it in reverse, and among the revolutions it has thus magically produced,
it has made a revolution in theology.
That which is now called natural philosophy, embracing the whole circle of science,
of which astronomy occupies the chief place, is the study of the works of God, and
of the power and wisdom of God in his works, and is the true theology.
As to the theology that is now studied in its place, it is the study of human opinions
and of human fancies concerning God. It is not the study of God himself in the works
that he has made, but in the works or writings that man has made; and it is not among
the least of the mischiefs that the Christian system has done to the world, that
it has abandoned the original and beautiful system of theology, like a beautiful
innocent, to distress and reproach, to make room for the hag of superstition.
The Book of Job and the 19th Psalm, which even the Church admits to be more ancient
than the chronological order in which they stand in the book called the Bible, are
theological orations conformable to the original system of theology. The internal
evidence of those orations proves to a demonstration that the study and contemplation
of the works of creation, and of the power and wisdom of God, revealed and manifested
in those works, made a great part in the religious devotion of the times in which
they were written; and it was this devotional study and contemplation that led to
the discovery of the principles upon which what are now called sciences are established;
and it is to the discovery of these principles that almost all the arts that contribute
to the convenience of human life owe their existence. Every principal art has some
science for its parent, though the person who mechanically performs the work does
not always, and but very seldom, perceive the connection.
It is a fraud of the Christian system to call the sciences human invention; it is
only the application of them that is human. Every science has for its basis a system
of principles as fixed and unalterable as those by which the universe is regulated
and governed. Man cannot make principles, he can only discover them.
For example: Every person who looks at an almanac sees an account when an eclipse
will take place, and he sees also that it never fails to take place according to
the account there given. This shows that man is acquainted with the laws by which
the heavenly bodies move. But it would be something worse than ignorance, were any
Church on earth to say that those laws are a human invention. It would also be ignorance,
or something worse, to say that the scientific principles by the aid of which man
is enabled to calculate and foreknow when an eclipse will take place, are a human
invention. Man cannot invent a thing that is eternal and immutable; and the scientific
principles he employs for this purpose must be, and are of necessity, as eternal
and immutable as the laws by which the heavenly bodies move, or they could not be
used as they are to ascertain the time when, and the manner how, an eclipse will
The scientific principles that man employs to obtain the foreknowledge of an eclipse,
or of anything else relating to the motion of the heavenly bodies, are contained
chiefly in that part of science which is called trigonometry, or the properties of
a triangle, which, when applied to the study of the heavenly bodies, is called astronomy;
when applied to direct the course of a ship on the ocean, it is called navigation;
when applied to the construction of figures drawn by rule and compass, it is called
geometry; when applied to the construction of plans or edifices, it is called architecture;
when applied to the measurement of any portion of the surface of the earth, it is
called land surveying. In fine, it is the soul of science; it is an eternal truth;
it contains the mathematical demonstration of which man speaks, and the extent of
its uses is unknown.
It may be said that man can make or draw a triangle, and therefore a triangle is
a human invention.
But the triangle, when drawn, is no other than the image of the principle; it is
a delineation to the eye, and from thence to the mind, of a principle that would
otherwise be imperceptible. The triangle does not make the principle, any more than
a candle taken into a room that was dark makes the chairs and tables that before
were invisible. All the properties of a triangle exist independently of the figure,
and existed before any triangle was drawn or thought of by man. Man had no more to
do in the formation of these properties or principles, than he had to do in making
the laws by which the heavenly bodies move; and therefore the one must have the same
Divine origin as the other.
In the same manner, as it may be said, that man can make a triangle, so also, may
it be said, he can make the mechanical instrument called a lever; but the principle
by which the lever acts is a thing distinct from the instrument, and would exist
if the instrument did not; it attaches itself to the instrument after it is made;
the instrument, therefore, cannot act otherwise than it does act; neither can all
the efforts of human invention make it act otherwise — that which, in all such cases,
man calls the effect is no other than the principle itself rendered perceptible to
Since, then, man cannot make principles, from whence did he gain a knowledge of them,
so as to be able to apply them, not only to things on earth, but to ascertain the
motion of bodies so immensely distant from him as all the heavenly bodies are? From
whence, I ask, could he gain that knowledge, but from the study of the true theology?
It is the structure of the universe that has taught this knowledge to man. That structure
is an ever-existing exhibition of every principle upon which every part of mathematical
science is founded. The offspring of this science is mechanics; for mechanics is
no other than the principles of science applied practically. The man who proportions
the several parts of a mill, uses the same scientific principles as if he had the
power of constructing a universe; but as he cannot give to matter that invisible
agency by which all the component parts of the immense machine of the universe have
influence upon each other, and act in motional unison together, without any apparent
contact, and to which man has given the name of attraction, gravitation, and repulsion,
he supplies the place of that agency by the humble imitation of teeth and cogs. All
the parts of man's microcosm must visibly touch; but could he gain a knowledge of
that agency, so as to be able to apply it in practice, we might then say that another
canonical book of the Word of God had been discovered.
If man could alter the properties of the lever, so also could he alter the properties
of the triangle, for a lever (taking that sort of lever which is called a steelyard,
for the sake of explanation) forms, when in motion, a triangle. The line it descends
from (one point of that line being in the fulcrum), the line it descends to, and
the cord of the arc which the end of the lever describes in the air, are the three
sides of a triangle. The other arm of the lever describes also a triangle; and the
corresponding sides of those two triangles, calculated scientifically, or measured
geometrically, and also the sines, tangents, and secants generated from the angles,
and geometrically measured, have the same proportions to each other, as the different
weights have that will balance each other on the lever, leaving the weight of the
lever out of the case.
It may also be said, that man can make a wheel and axis; that he can put wheels of
different magnitudes together, and produce a mill. Still the case comes back to the
same point, which is, that he did not make the principle that gives the wheels those
powers. That principle is as unalterable as in the former case, or rather it is the
same principle under a different appearance to the eye.
The power that two wheels of different magnitudes have upon each other, is in the
same proportion as if the semi-diameter of the two wheels were joined together and
made into that kind of lever I have described, suspended at the part where the semi-diameters
join; for the two wheels, scientifically considered, are no other than the two circles
generated by the motion of the compound lever.
It is from the study of the true theology that all out knowledge of science is derived,
and it is from that knowledge that all the arts have originated.
The Almighty Lecturer, by displaying the principles of science in the structure of
the universe, has invited man to study and to imitation. It is as if He had said
to the inhabitants of this globe, that we call ours, "I have made an earth for man
to dwell upon, and I have rendered the starry heavens visible, to teach him science
and the arts. He can now provide for his own comfort, AND LEARN FROM MY MUNIFICENCE
TO ALL, TO BE KIND TO EACH OTHER."
Of what use is it, unless it be to teach man something, that his eye is endowed with
the power of beholding to an incomprehensible distance, an immensity of worlds revolving
in the ocean of space? Or of what use is it that this immensity of worlds is visible
to man? What has man to do with the Pleiades, with Orion, with Sirius, with the star
he calls the North Star, with the moving orbs he has named Saturn, Jupiter, Mars,
Venus, and Mercury, if no uses are to follow from their being visible? A less power
of vision would have been sufficient for man, if the immensity he now possesses were
given only to waste itself, as it were, on an immense desert of space glittering
It is only by contemplating what he calls the starry heavens, as the book and school
of science, that he discovers any use in their being visible to him, or any advantage
resulting from his immensity of vision. But when he contemplates the subject in this
light he sees an additional motive for saying, that nothing was made in vain; for
in vain would be this power of vision if it taught man nothing.
As the Christian system of faith has made a revolution in theology, so also has it
made a revolution in the state of learning. That which is now called learning, was
not learning originally. Learning does not consist, as the schools now make it consist,
in the knowledge of languages, but in the knowledge of things to which language gives
The Greeks were a learned people, but learning with them did not consist in speaking
Greek, any more than in a Roman's speaking Latin, or a Frenchman's speaking French,
or an Englishman's speaking English. From what we know of the Greeks, it does not
appear that they knew or studied any language but their own, and this was one cause
of their becoming so learned: it afforded them more time to apply themselves to better
studies. The schools of the Greeks were schools of science and philosophy, and not
of languages; and it is in the knowledge of the things that science and philosophy
teach, that learning consists.
Almost all the scientific learning that now exists came to us from the Greeks, or
the people who spoke the Greek language. It, therefore, became necessary for the
people of other nations who spoke a different language that some among them should
learn the Greek language, in order that the learning the Greeks had, might be made
known in those nations, by translating the Greek books of science and philosophy
into the mother tongue of each nation.
The study, therefore, of the Greek language (and in the same manner for the Latin)
was no other than the drudgery business of a linguist; and the language thus obtained,
was no other than the means, as it were the tools, employed to obtain the learning
the Greeks had. It made no part of the learning itself, and was so distinct from
it, as to make it exceedingly probable that the persons who had studied Greek sufficiently
to translate those works, such, for instance, as Euclid's Elements, did not understand
any of the learning the works contained.
As there is now nothing new to be learned from the dead languages, all the useful
books being already translated, the languages are become useless, and the time expended
in teaching and learning them is wasted. So far as the study of languages may contribute
to the progress and communication of knowledge, (for it has nothing to do with the
creation of knowledge), it is only in the living languages that new knowledge is
to be found; and certain it is that, in general, a youth will learn more of a living
language in one year, than of a dead language in seven, and it is but seldom that
the teacher knows much of it himself. The difficulty of learning the dead languages
does not arise from any superior abstruseness in the languages themselves, but in
their being dead, and the pronunciation entirely lost. It would be the same thing
with any other language when it becomes dead. The best Greek linguist that now exists
does not understand Greek so well as a Grecian plowman did, or a Grecian milkmaid;
and the same for the Latin, compared with a plowman or milkmaid of the Romans; it
would therefore be advantageous to the state of learning to abolish the study of
the dead languages, and to make learning consist, as it originally did, in scientific
The apology that is sometimes made for continuing to teach the dead languages is,
that they are taught at a time when a child is not capable of exerting any other
mental faculty than that of memory; but that is altogether erroneous. The human mind
has a natural disposition to scientific knowledge, and to the things connected with
it. The first and favorite amusement of a child, even before it begins to play, is
that of imitating the works of man. It builds houses with cards or sticks; it navigates
the little ocean of a bowl of water with a paper boat, or dams the stream of a gutter
and contrives something which it calls a mill; and it interests itself in the fate
of its works with a care that resembles affection. It afterwards goes to school,
where its genius is killed by the barren study of a dead language, and the philosopher
is lost in the linguist.
But the apology that is now made for continuing to teach the dead languages, could
not be the cause, at first, of cutting down learning to the narrow and humble sphere
of linguistry; the cause, therefore, must be sought for elsewhere. In all researches
of this kind, the best evidence that can be produced, is the internal evidence the
thing carries with itself, and the evidence of circumstances that unite with it;
both of which, in this case, are not difficult to be discovered.
Putting then aside, as a matter of distinct consideration, the outrage offered to
the moral justice of God by supposing him to make the innocent suffer for the guilty,
and also the loose morality and low contrivance of supposing him to change himself
into the shape of a man, in order to make an excuse to himself for not executing
his supposed sentence upon Adam — putting, I say, those things aside as matter of
distinct consideration, it is certain that what is called the Christian system of
faith, including in it the whimsical account of the creation — the strange story
of Eve — the snake and the apple — the ambiguous idea of a man-god — the corporeal
idea of the death of a god — the mythological idea of a family of gods, and the Christian
system of arithmetic, that three are one, and one is three, are all irreconcilable,
not only to the divine gift of reason that God hath given to man, but to the knowledge
that man gains of the power and wisdom of God, by the aid of the sciences and by
studying the structure of the universe that God has made.
The setters-up, therefore, and the advocates of the Christian system of faith could
not but foresee that the continually progressive knowledge that man would gain, by
the aid of science, of the power and wisdom of God, manifested in the structure of
the universe and in all the works of Creation, would militate against, and call into
question, the truth of their system of faith; and therefore it became necessary to
their purpose to cut learning down to a size less dangerous to their project, and
this they effected by restricting the idea of learning to the dead study of dead
They not only rejected the study of science out of the Christian schools, but they
persecuted it, and it is only within about the last two centuries that the study
has been revived. So late as 1610, Galileo, a Florentine, discovered and introduced
the use of telescopes, and by applying them to observe the motions and appearances
of the heavenly bodies, afforded additional means for ascertaining the true structure
of the universe. Instead of being esteemed for those discoveries, he was sentenced
to renounce them, or the opinions resulting from them, as a damnable heresy. And,
prior to that time, Vigilius was condemned to be burned for asserting the antipodes,
or in other words that the earth was a globe, and habitable in every part where there
was land; yet the truth of this is now too well known even to be told.
If the belief of errors not morally bad did no mischief, it would make no part of
the moral duty of man to oppose and remove them. There was no moral ill in believing
the earth was flat like a trencher, any more than there was moral virtue in believing
that it was round like a globe; neither was there any moral ill in believing that
the Creator made no other world than this, any more than there was moral virtue in
believing that he made millions, and that the infinity of space is filled with worlds.
But when a system of religion is made to grow out of a supposed system of creation
that is not true, and to unite itself therewith in a manner almost inseparable therefrom,
the case assumes an entirely different ground. It is then that errors not morally
bad become fraught with the same mischiefs as if they were. It is then that the truth,
though otherwise indifferent itself, becomes an essential by becoming the criterion
that either confirms by corresponding evidence, or denies by contradictory evidence,
the reality of the religion itself. In this view of the case, it is the moral duty
of man to obtain every possible evidence that the structure of the heavens, or any
other part of creation affords, with respect to systems of religion. But this, the
supporters or partisans of the Christian system, as if dreading the result, incessantly
opposed, and not only rejected the sciences, but persecuted the professors. Had Newton
or Descartes lived three or four hundred years ago, and pursued their studies as
they did, it is most probable they would not have lived to finish them; and had Franklin
drawn lightning from the clouds at the same time, it would have been at the hazard
of expiring for it in the flames.
Later times have laid all the blame upon the Goths and Vandals; but, however unwilling
the partisans of the Christian system may be to believe or to acknowledge it, it
is nevertheless true that the age of ignorance commenced with the Christian system.
There was more knowledge in the world before that period than for many centuries
afterwards; and as to religious knowledge, the Christian system, as already said
was only another species of mythology, and the mythology to which it succeeded was
a corruption of an ancient system of theism.
All the corruptions that have taken place in theology and in religion, have been
produced by admitting of what man calls revealed religion. The Mythologists pretended
to more revealed religion than the Christians do. They had their oracles and their
priests, who were supposed to receive and deliver the word of God verbally, on almost
Since, then, all corruptions, down from Moloch to modern predestinarianism, and the
human sacrifices of the heathens to the Christian sacrifice of the Creator, have
been produced by admitting of what is called revealed religion, the most effectual
means to prevent all such evils and impositions is not to admit of any other revelation
than that which is manifested in the book of creation, and to contemplate the creation
as the only true and real word of God that ever did or ever will exist; and that
everything else, called the word of God, is fable and imposition.
It is owing to this long interregnum of science, and to no other cause, that we have
now to look through a vast chasm of many hundred years to the respectable characters
we call the ancients. Had the progression of knowledge gone on proportionably with
that stock that before existed, that chasm would have been filled up with characters
rising superior in knowledge to each other; and those ancients we now so much admire
would have appeared respectably in the background of the scene. But the Christian
system laid all waste; and if we take our stand about the beginning of the sixteenth
century, we look back through that long chasm to the times of the ancients, as over
a vast sandy desert, in which not a shrub appears to intercept the vision to the
fertile hills beyond.
It is an inconsistency scarcely possible to be credited, that anything should exist,
under the name of a religion, that held it to be irreligious to study and contemplate
the structure of the universe that God has made. But the fact is too well established
to be denied. The event that served more than any other to break the first link in
this long chain of despotic ignorance is that known by the name of the Reformation
by Luther. From that time, though it does not appear to have made any part of the
intention of Luther, or of those who are called reformers, the sciences began to
revive, and liberality, their natural associate, began to appear. This was the only
public good the Reformation did; for with respect to religious good, it might as
well not have taken place. The mythology still continued the same, and a multiplicity
of National Popes grew out of the downfall of the Pope of Christendom.
Having thus shown from the internal evidence of things the cause that produced a
change in the state of learning, and the motive for substituting the study of the
dead languages in the place of the sciences, I proceed, in addition to several observations
already made in the former part of this work, to compare, or rather to confront,
the evidence that the structure of the universe affords with the Christian system
of religion; but, as I cannot begin this part better than by referring to the ideas
that occurred to me at an early part of life, and which I doubt not have occurred
in some degree to almost every person at one time or other, I shall state what those
ideas were, and add thereto such other matter as shall arise out of the subject,
giving to the whole, by way of preface, a short introduction.
My father being of the Quaker profession, it was my good fortune to have an exceedingly
good moral education, and a tolerable stock of useful learning. Though I went to
the grammar school, I did not learn Latin, not only because I had no inclination
to learn languages, but because of the objection the Quakers have against the books
in which the language is taught. But this did not prevent me from being acquainted
with the subject of all the Latin books used in the school.
The natural bent of my mind was to science. I had some turn, and I believe some talent,
for poetry; but this I rather repressed than encouraged, as leading too much into
the field of imagination. As soon as I was able I purchased a pair of globes, and
attended the philosophical lectures of Martin and Ferguson, and became afterward
acquainted with Dr. Bevis, of the society called the Royal Society, then living in
the Temple, and an excellent astronomer.
I had no disposition for what is called politics. It presented to my mind no other
idea than as contained in the word Jockeyship. When therefore I turned my thoughts
toward matter of government, I had to form a system for myself that accorded with
the moral and philosophic principles in which I have been educated. I saw, or at
least I thought I saw, a vast scene opening itself to the world in the affairs of
America, and it appeared to me that unless the Americans changed the plan they were
pursuing with respect to the government of England, and declared themselves independent,
they would not only involve themselves in a multiplicity of new difficulties, but
shut out the prospect that was then offering itself to mankind through their means.
It was from these motives that I published the work known by the name of Common Sense,
which was the first work I ever did publish; and so far as I can judge of myself,
I believe I should never have been known in the world as an author, on any subject
whatever, had it not been for the affairs of America. I wrote Common Sense the latter
end of the year 1775, and published it the first of January, 1776. Independence was
declared the fourth of July following.
Any person who has made observations on the state and progress of the human mind,
by observing his own, cannot but have observed that there are two distinct classes
of what are called thoughts — those that we produce in ourselves by reflection and
the act of thinking, and those that bolt into the mind of their own accord. I have
always made it a rule to treat those voluntary visitors with civility, taking care
to examine, as well as I was able, if they were worth entertaining, and it is from
them I have acquired almost all the knowledge that I have. As to the learning that
any person gains from school education, it serves only, like a small capital, to
put him in a way of beginning learning for himself afterward. Every person of learning
is finally his own teacher, the reason of which is that principles, being a distinct
quality to circumstances, cannot be impressed upon the memory; their place of mental
residence is the understanding and they are never so lasting as when they begin by
conception. Thus much for the introductory part.
From the time I was capable of conceiving an idea and acting upon it by reflection,
I either doubted the truth of the Christian system or thought it to be a strange
affair; I scarcely knew which it was, but I well remember, when about seven or eight
years of age, hearing a sermon read by a relation of mine, who was a great devotee
of the Church, upon the subject of what is called redemption by the death of the
Son of God. After the sermon was ended, I went into the garden, and as I was going
down the garden steps (for I perfectly recollect the spot) I revolted at the recollection
of what I had heard, and thought to myself that it was making God Almighty act like
a passionate man, that killed his son when he could not revenge himself in any other
way, and as I was sure a man would be hanged that did such a thing, I could not see
for what purpose they preached such sermons. This was not one of that kind of thoughts
that had anything in it of childish levity; it was to me a serious reflection, arising
from the idea I had that God was too good to do such an action, and also too almighty
to be under any necessity of doing it. I believe in the same manner at this moment;
and I moreover believe, that any system of religion that has anything in it that
shocks the mind of a child, cannot be a true system.
It seems as if parents of the Christian profession were ashamed to tell their children
anything about the principles of their religion. They sometimes instruct them in
morals, and talk to them of the goodness of what they call Providence, for the Christian
mythology has five deities — there is God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Ghost,
the God Providence, and the Goddess Nature. But the Christian story of God the Father
putting his son to death, or employing people to do it (for that is the plain language
of the story) cannot be told by a parent to a child; and to tell him that it was
done to make mankind happier and better is making the story still worse — as if mankind
could be improved by the example of murder; and to tell him that all this is a mystery
is only making an excuse for the incredibility of it.
How different is this to the pure and simple profession of Deism! The true Deist
has but one Deity, and his religion consists in contemplating the power, wisdom,
and benignity of the Deity in his works, and in endeavoring to imitate him in everything
moral, scientifical, and mechanical.
The religion that approaches the nearest of all others to true Deism, in the moral
and benign part thereof, is that professed by the Quakers; but they have contracted
themselves too much, by leaving the works of God out of their system. Though I reverence
their philanthropy, I cannot help smiling at the conceit, that if the taste of a
Quaker could have been consulted at the creation, what a silent and drab-colored
creation it would have been! Not a flower would have blossomed its gayeties, nor
a bird been permitted to sing.
Quitting these reflections, I proceed to other matters. After I had made myself master
of the use of the globes and of the orrery, and conceived an idea of the infinity
of space, and the eternal divisibility of matter, and obtained at least a general
knowledge of what is called natural philosophy, I began to compare, or, as I have
before said, to confront the eternal evidence those things afford with the Christian
system of faith.
Though it is not a direct article of the Christian system, that this world that we
inhabit is the whole of the habitable creation, yet it is so worked up therewith,
from what is called the Mosaic account of the Creation, the story of Eve and the
apple, and the counterpart of that story, the death of the Son of God, that to believe
otherwise, that is, to believe that God created a plurality of worlds, at least as
numerous as what we call stars, renders the Christian system of faith at once little
and ridiculous, and scatters it in the mind like feathers in the air. The two beliefs
cannot be held together in the same mind, and he who thinks that he believes both,
has thought but little of either.
Though the belief of a plurality of worlds was familiar to the ancients, it only
within the last three centuries that the extent and dimensions of this globe that
we inhabit have been ascertained. Several vessels, following the tract of the ocean,
have sailed entirely round the world, as a man may march in a circle, and come round
by the contrary side of the circle to the spot he set out from. The circular dimensions
of our world, in the widest part, as a man would measure the widest round of an apple
or ball, is only twenty-five thousand and twenty English miles, reckoning sixty-nine
miles and a half to an equatorial degree, and may be sailed round in the space of
about three years.
A world of this extent may, at first thought, appear to us to be great; but if we
compare it with the immensity of space in which it is suspended, like a bubble or
balloon in the air, it is infinitely less in proportion than the smallest grain of
sand is to the size of the world, or the finest particle of dew to the whole ocean,
and is therefore but small; and, as will be hereafter shown, is only one of a system
of worlds of which the universal creation is composed.
It is not difficult to gain some faint idea of the immensity of space in which this
and all the other worlds are suspended, if we follow a progression of ideas. When
we think of the size or dimensions of a room, our ideas limit themselves to the walls,
and there they stop; but when our eye or our imagination darts into space, that is,
when it looks upward into what we call the open air, we cannot conceive any walls
or boundaries it can have, and if for the sake of resting our ideas, we suppose a
boundary, the question immediately renews itself, and asks, what is beyond that boundary?
and in the same manner, what is beyond the next boundary? and so on till the fatigued
imagination returns and says, There is no end. Certainly, then, the Creator was not
pent for room when he made this world no larger than it is, and we have to seek the
reason in something else.
If we take a survey of our own world, or rather of this, of which the Creator has
given us the use as our portion in the immense system of creation, we find every
part of it — the earth, the waters, and the air that surrounds it — filled and, as
it were, crowded with life, down from the largest animals that we know of to the
smallest insects the naked eye can behold, and from thence to others still smaller,
and totally invisible without the assistance of the microscope. Every tree, every
plant, every leaf, serves not only as a habitation but as a world to some numerous
race, till animal existence becomes so exceedingly refined that the effluvia of a
blade of grass would be food for thousands.
Since, then, no part of our earth is left unoccupied, why is it to be supposed that
the immensity of space is a naked void, lying in eternal waste? There is room for
millions of worlds as large or larger than ours, and each of them millions of miles
apart from each other.
Having now arrived at this point, if we carry our ideas only one thought further,
we shall see, perhaps, the true reason, at least a very good reason, for our happiness,
why the Creator, instead of making one immense world extending over an immense quantity
of space, has preferred dividing that quantity of matter into several distinct and
separate worlds, which we call planets, of which our earth is one. But before I explain
my ideas upon this subject, it is necessary (not for the sake of those who already
know, but for those who do not) to show what the system of the universe is.
That part of the universe that is called the solar system (meaning the system of
worlds to which our earth belongs, and of which Sol, or in English language, the
Sun, is the centre) consists, besides the Sun, of six distinct orbs, or planets,
or worlds, besides the secondary called the satellites or moons, of which our earth
has one that attends her in her annual revolution around the Sun, in like manner
as the other satellites or moons attend the planets or worlds to which they severally
belong, as may be seen by the assistance of the telescope.
The Sun is the centre, round which those six worlds or planets revolve at different
distances therefrom, and in circles concentrate to each other. Each world keeps constantly
in nearly the same track round the Sun, and continues, at the same time, turning
round itself in nearly an upright position, as a top turns round itself when it is
spinning on the ground, and leans a little sideways.
It is this leaning of the earth (23.5 degrees) that occasions summer and winter,
and the different length of days and nights. If the earth turned round itself in
a position perpendicular to the plane or level of the circle it moves in around the
Sun, as a top turns round when it stands erect on the ground, the days and nights
would be always of the same length, twelve hours day and twelve hours night, and
the seasons would be uniformly the same throughout the year.
Every time that a planet (our earth for example) turns round itself, it makes what
we call day and night; and every time it goes entirely round the Sun it makes what
we call a year; consequently our world turns three hundred and sixty-five times round
itself, in going once round the Sun.
The names that the ancients gave to those six worlds, and which are still called
by the same names, are Mercury, Venus, this world that we call ours, Mars, Jupiter,
and Saturn. They appear larger to the eye than the stars, being many million miles
nearer to our earth than any of the stars are. The planet Venus is that which is
called the evening star, and sometimes the morning star, as she happens to set after
or rise before the Sun, which in either case is never more than three hours.
The Sun, as before said, being the centre, the planet or world nearest the Sun is
Mercury; his distance from the Sun is thirty-four million miles, and he moves round
in a circle always at that distance from the Sun, as a top may be supposed to spin
round in the track in which a horse goes in a mill. The second world is Venus; she
is fifty-seven million miles distant from the Sun, and consequently moves round in
a circle much greater than that of Mercury. The third world is this that we inhabit,
and which is eighty-eight million miles distant from the Sun, and consequently moves
round in a circle greater than that of Venus. The fourth world is Mars; he is distant
from the Sun one hundred and thirty-four million miles, and consequently moves round
in a circle greater than that of our earth. The fifth is Jupiter; he is distant from
the Sun five hundred and fifty-seven million miles, and consequently moves round
in a circle greater than that of Mars. The sixth world is Saturn; he is distant from
the Sun seven hundred and sixty-three million miles, and consequently moves round
in a circle that surrounds the circles, or orbits, of all the other worlds or planets.
The space, therefore, in the air, or in the immensity of space, that our solar system
takes up for the several worlds to perform their revolutions in round the Sun, is
of the extent in a straight line of the whole diameter of the orbit or circle, in
which Saturn moves round the Sun, which being double his distance from the Sun, is
fifteen hundred and twenty-six million miles and its circular extent is nearly five
thousand million, and its globular contents is almost three thousand five hundred
million times three thousand five hundred million square miles.
But this, immense as it is, is only one system of worlds. Beyond this, at a vast
distance into space, far beyond all power of calculation, are the stars called the
fixed stars. They are called fixed, because they have no revolutionary motion, as
the six worlds or planets have that I have been describing. Those fixed stars continue
always at the same distance from each other, and always in the same place, as the
Sun does in the centre of our system. The probability, therefore, is, that each of
these fixed stars is also a Sun, round which another system of worlds or planets,
though too remote for us to discover, performs its revolutions, as our system of
worlds does round our central Sun.
By this easy progression of ideas, the immensity of space will appear to us to be
filled with systems of worlds, and that no part of space lies at waste, any more
than any part of the globe of earth and water is left unoccupied.
Having thus endeavored to convey, in a familiar and easy manner, some idea of the
structure of the universe, I return to explain what I before alluded to, namely,
the great benefits arising to man in consequence of the Creator having made a plurality
of worlds, such as our system is, consisting of a central Sun and six worlds, besides
satellites, in preference to that of creating one world only of a vast extent.
It is an idea I have never lost sight of, that all our knowledge of science is derived
from the revolutions (exhibited to our eye and from thence to our understanding)
which those several planets or worlds of which our system is composed make in their
circuit round the Sun.
Had, then, the quantity of matter which these six worlds contain been blended into
one solitary globe, the consequence to us would have been, that either no revolutionary
motion would have existed, or not a sufficiency of it to give to us the idea and
the knowledge of science we now have; and it is from the sciences that all the mechanical
arts that contribute so much to our earthly felicity and comfort are derived.
As, therefore, the Creator made nothing in vain, so also must it be believed that
he organized the structure of the universe in the most advantageous manner for the
benefit of man; and as we see, and from experience feel, the benefits we derive from
the structure of the universe formed as it is, which benefits we should not have
had the opportunity of enjoying, if the structure, so far as relates to our system,
had been a solitary globe — we can discover at least one reason why a plurality of
worlds has been made, and that reason calls forth the devotional gratitude of man,
as well as his admiration.
But it is not to us, the inhabitants of this globe, only, that the benefits arising
from a plurality of worlds are limited. The inhabitants of each of the worlds of
which our system is composed enjoy the same opportunities of knowledge as we do.
They behold the revolutionary motions of our earth, as we behold theirs. All the
planets revolve in sight of each other, and, therefore, the same universal school
of science presents itself to all.
Neither does the knowledge stop here. The system of worlds next to us exhibits, in
its revolutions, the same principles and school of science to the inhabitants of
their system, as our system does to us, and in like manner throughout the immensity
Our ideas, not only of the almightiness of the Creator, but of his wisdom and his
beneficence, become enlarged in proportion as we contemplate the extent and the structure
of the universe. The solitary idea of a solitary world, rolling or at rest in the
immense ocean of space, gives place to the cheerful idea of a s round in a circle
that happily contrived as to administer, even by their motion, instruction to man.
We see our own earth filled with abundance, but we forget to consider how much of
that abundance is owing to the scientific knowledge the vast machinery of the universe
But, in the midst of those reflections, what are we to think of the Christian system
of faith, that forms itself upon the idea of only one world, and that of no greater
extent, as is before shown, than twenty-five thousand miles? An extent which a man
walking at the rate of three miles an hour, for twelve hours in the day, could he
keep on in a circular direction, would walk entirely round in less than two years.
Alas! what is this to the mighty ocean of space, and the almighty power of the Creator?
From whence, then, could arise the solitary and strange conceit that the Almighty,
who had millions of worlds equally dependent on his protection, should quit the care
of all the rest, and come to die in our world, because, they say, one man and one
woman had eaten an apple? And, on the other hand, are we to suppose that every world
in the boundless creation had an Eve, an apple, a serpent, and a redeemer? In this
case, the person who is irreverently called the Son of God, and sometimes God himself,
would have nothing else to do than to travel from world to world, in an endless succession
of deaths, with scarcely a momentary interval of life.
It has been by rejecting the evidence that the word or works of God in the creation
afford to our senses, and the action of our reason upon that evidence, that so many
wild and whimsical systems of faith and of religion have been fabricated and set
up. There may be many systems of religion that, so far from being morally bad, are
in many respects morally good; but there can be but ONE that is true; and that one
necessarily must, as it ever will, be in all things consistent with the ever-existing
word of God that we behold in his works. But such is the strange construction of
the Christian system of faith that every evidence the Heavens afford to man either
directly contradicts it or renders it absurd.
It is possible to believe, and I always feel pleasure in encouraging myself to believe
it, that there have been men in the world who persuade themselves that what is called
a pious fraud might, at least under particular circumstances, be productive of some
good. But the fraud being once established, could not afterward be explained, for
it is with a pious fraud as with a bad action, it begets a calamitous necessity of
The persons who first preached the Christian system of faith, and in some measure
combined it with the morality preached by Jesus Christ, might persuade themselves
that it was better than the heathen mythology that then prevailed. From the first
preachers the fraud went on to the second, and to the third, till the idea of its
being a pious fraud became lost in the belief of its being true; and that belief
became again encouraged by the interests of those who made a livelihood by preaching
But though such a belief might by such means be rendered almost general among the
laity, it is next to impossible to account for the continual persecution carried
on by the Church, for several hundred years, against the sciences and against the
professors of science, if the Church had not some record or tradition that it was
originally no other than a pious fraud, or did not foresee that it could not be maintained
against the evidence that the structure of the universe afforded.
Having thus shown the irreconcilable inconsistencies between the real word of God
existing in the universe, and that which is called the Word of God, as shown to us
in a printed book that any man might make, I proceed to speak of the three principal
means that have been employed in all ages, and perhaps in all countries, to impose
Those three means are Mystery, Miracle, and Prophecy. The two first are incompatible
with true religion, and the third ought always to be suspected.
With respect to mystery, everything we behold is, in one sense, a mystery to us.
Our own existence is a mystery; the whole vegetable world is a mystery. We cannot
account how it is that an acorn, when put into the ground, is made to develop itself,
and become an oak. We know not how it is that the seed we sow unfolds and multiplies
itself, and returns to us such an abundant interest for so small a capital.
The fact, however, as distinct from the operating cause, is not a mystery, because
we see it, and we know also the means we are to use, which is no other than putting
the seed into the ground. We know, therefore, as much as is necessary for us to know;
and that part of the operation that we do not know, and which, if we did, we could
not perform, the Creator takes upon himself and performs it for us. We are, therefore,
better off than if we had been let into the secret, and left to do it for ourselves.
But though every created thing is, in this sense, a mystery, the word mystery cannot
be applied to moral truth, any more than obscurity can be applied to light. The God
in whom we believe is a God of moral truth, and not a God of mystery or obscurity.
Mystery is the antagonist of truth. It is a fog of human invention, that obscures
truth, and represents it in distortion. Truth never envelops itself in mystery, and
the mystery in which it is at any time enveloped is the work of its antagonist, and
never of itself.
Religion, therefore, being the belief of a God and the practice of moral truth, cannot
have connection with mystery. The belief of a God, so far from having anything of
mystery in it, is of all beliefs the most easy, because it arises to us, as is before
observed, out of necessity. And the practice of moral truth, or, in other words,
a practical imitation of the moral goodness of God, is no other than our acting toward
each other as he acts benignly toward all. We cannot serve God in the manner we serve
those who cannot do without such service; and, therefore, the only idea we can have
of serving God, is that of contributing to the happiness of the living creation that
God has made. This cannot be done by retiring ourselves from the society of the world
and spending a recluse life in selfish devotion.
The very nature and design of religion, if I may so express it, prove even to demonstration
that it must be free from everything of mystery, and unencumbered with everything
that is mysterious. Religion, considered as a duty, is incumbent upon every living
soul alike, and, therefore, must be on a level with the understanding and comprehension
of all. Man does not learn religion as he learns the secrets and mysteries of a trade.
He learns the theory of religion by reflection. It arises out of the action of his
own mind upon the things which he sees, or upon what he may happen to hear or to
read, and the practice joins itself thereto.
When men, whether from policy or pious fraud, set up systems of religion incompatible
with the word or works of God in the creation, and not only above, but repugnant
to human comprehension, they were under the necessity of inventing or adopting a
word that should serve as a bar to all questions, inquiries and speculation. The
word mystery answered this purpose, and thus it has happened that religion, which
is in itself without mystery, has been corrupted into a fog of mysteries.
As mystery answered all general purposes, miracle followed as an occasional auxiliary.
The former served to bewilder the mind, the latter to puzzle the senses. The one
was the lingo, the other the legerdemain.
But before going further into this subject, it will be proper to inquire what is
to be understood by a miracle.
In the same sense that everything may be said to be a mystery, so also may it be
said that everything is a miracle, and that no one thing is a greater miracle than
another. The elephant, though larger, is not a greater miracle than a mite, nor a
mountain a greater miracle than an atom. To an almighty power, it is no more difficult
to make the one than the other, and no more difficult to make millions of worlds
than to make one. Everything, therefore, is a miracle, in one sense, whilst in the
other sense, there is no such thing as a miracle. It is a miracle when compared to
our power and to our comprehension, if not a miracle compared to the power that performs
it; but as nothing in this description conveys the idea that is affixed to the word
miracle, it is necessary to carry the inquiry further.
Mankind have conceived to themselves certain laws, by which what they call nature
is supposed to act; and that miracle is something contrary to the operation and effect
of those laws; but unless we know the whole extent of those laws, and of what are
commonly called the powers of nature, we are not able to judge whether anything that
may appear to us wonderful or miraculous be within, or be beyond, or be contrary
to, her natural power of acting.
The ascension of a man several miles high in the air would have everything in it
that constitutes the idea of a miracle, if it were not known that a species of air
can be generated, several times lighter than the common atmospheric air, and yet
possess elasticity enough to prevent the balloon in which that light air is enclosed
from being compressed into as many times less bulk by the common air that surrounds
it. In like manner, extracting flames or sparks of fire from the human body, as visible
as from a steel struck with a flint, and causing iron or steel to move without any
visible agent, would also give the idea of a miracle, if we were not acquainted with
electricity and magnetism. So also would many other experiments in natural philosophy,
to those who are not acquainted with the subject. The restoring persons to life who
are to appearance dead, as is practised upon drowned persons, would also be a miracle,
if it were not known that animation is capable of being suspended without being extinct.
Besides these, there are performances by sleight-of-hand, and by persons acting in
concert, that have a miraculous appearance, which when known are thought nothing
of. And besides these, there are mechanical and optical deceptions. There is now
an exhibition in Paris of ghosts or spectres, which, though it is not imposed upon
the spectators as a fact, has an astonishing appearance. As, therefore, we know not
the extent to which either nature or art can go, there is no positive criterion to
determine what a miracle is, and mankind, in giving credit to appearances, under
the idea of there being miracles, are subject to be continually imposed upon.
Since, then, appearances are so capable of deceiving, and things not real have a
strong resemblance to things that are, nothing can be more inconsistent than to suppose
that the Almighty would make use of means such as are called miracles, that would
subject the person who performed them to the suspicion of being an impostor, and
the person who related them to be suspected of lying, and the doctrine intended to
be supported thereby to be suspected as a fabulous invention.
Of all the modes of evidence that ever were invented to obtain belief to any system
or opinion to which the name of religion has been given, that of miracle, however
successful the imposition may have been, is the most inconsistent. For, in the first
place, whenever recourse is had to show, for the purpose of procuring that belief,
(for a miracle, under any idea of the word, is a show), it implies a lameness or
weakness in the doctrine that is preached. And, in the second place, it is degrading
the Almighty into the character of a showman, playing tricks to amuse and make the
people stare and wonder. It is also the most equivocal sort of evidence that can
be set up; for the belief is not to depend upon the thing called a miracle, but upon
the credit of the reporter who says that he saw it; and, therefore, the thing, were
it true, would have no better chance of being believed than if it were a lie.
Suppose I were to say, that when I sat down to write this book, a hand presented
itself in the air, took up the pen, and wrote every word that is herein written;
would anybody believe me? Certainly they would not. Would they believe me a whit
the more if the thing had been a fact? Certainly they would not. Since, then, a real
miracle, were it to happen, would be subject to the same fate as the falsehood, the
inconsistency becomes the greater of supposing the Almighty would make use of means
that would not answer the purpose for which they were intended, even if they were
If we are to suppose a miracle to be something so entirely out of the course of what
is called nature, that she must go out of that course to accomplish it, and we see
an account given of such miracle by the person who said he saw it, it raises a question
in the mind very easily decided, which is, is it more probable that nature should
go out of her course, or that a man should tell a lie? We have never seen, in our
time, nature go out of her course; but we have good reason to believe that millions
of lies have been told in the same time; it is therefore, at least millions to one,
that the reporter of a miracle tells a lie.
The story of the whale swallowing Jonah, though a whale is large enough to do it,
borders greatly on the marvelous; but it would have approached nearer to the idea
of a miracle, if Jonah had swallowed the whale. In this, which may serve for all
cases of miracles, the matter would decide itself, as before stated, namely, is it
more that a man should have swallowed a whale or told a lie?
But suppose that Jonah had really swallowed the whale, and gone with it in his belly
to Nineveh, and, to convince the people that it was true, had cast it up in their
sight, of the full length and size of a whale, would they not have believed him to
be the devil, instead of a prophet? Or, if the whale had carried Jonah to Ninevah,
and cast him up in the same public manner, would they not have believed the whale
to have been the devil, and Jonah one of his imps?
The most extraordinary of all the things called miracles, related in the New Testament,
is that of the devil flying away with Jesus Christ, and carrying him to the top of
a high mountain, and to the top of the highest pinnacle of the temple, and showing
him and promising to him all the kingdoms of the World. How happened it that he did
not discover America, or is it only with kingdoms that his sooty highness has any
I have too much respect for the moral character of Christ to believe that he told
this whale of a miracle himself; neither is it easy to account for what purpose it
could have been fabricated, unless it were to impose upon the connoisseurs of Queen
Anne's farthings and collectors of relics and antiquities; or to render the belief
of miracles ridiculous, by outdoing miracles, as Don Quixote outdid chivalry; or
to embarrass the belief of miracles, by making it doubtful by what power, whether
of God or of the devil, anything called a miracle was performed. It requires, however,
a great deal of faith in the devil to believe this miracle.
In every point of view in which those things called miracles can be placed and considered,
the reality of them is improbable and their existence unnecessary. They would not,
as before observed, answer any useful purpose, even if they were true; for it is
more difficult to obtain belief to a miracle, than to a principle evidently moral
without any miracle. Moral principle speaks universally for itself. Miracle could
be but a thing of the moment, and seen but by a few; after this it requires a transfer
of faith from God to man to believe a miracle upon man's report. Instead, therefore,
of admitting the recitals of miracles as evidence of any system of religion being
true, they ought to be considered as symptoms of its being fabulous. It is necessary
to the full and upright character of truth that it rejects the crutch, and it is
consistent with the character of fable to seek the aid that truth rejects. Thus much
for mystery and miracle.
As mystery and miracle took charge of the past and the present, prophecy took charge
of the future and rounded the tenses of faith. It was not sufficient to know what
had been done, but what would be done. The supposed prophet was the supposed historian
of times to come; and if he happened, in shooting with a long bow of a thousand years,
to strike within a thousand miles of a mark, the ingenuity of posterity could make
it point-blank; and if he happened to be directly wrong, it was only to suppose,
as in the case of Jonah and Nineveh, that God had repented himself and changed his
mind. What a fool do fabulous systems make of man!
It has been shown, in a former part of this work, that the original meaning of the
words prophet and prophesying has been changed, and that a prophet, in the sense
of the word as now used, is a creature of modern invention; and it is owing to this
change in the meaning of the words, that the flights and metaphors of the Jewish
poets, and phrases and expressions now rendered obscure by our not being acquainted
with the local circumstances to which they applied at the time they were used, have
been erected into prophecies, and made to bend to explanations at the will and whimsical
conceits of sectaries, expounders, and commentators. Everything unintelligible was
prophetical, and everything insignificant was typical. A blunder would have served
for a prophecy, and a dish-clout for a type.
If by a prophet we are to suppose a man to whom the Almighty communicated some event
that would take place in future, either there were such men or there were not. If
there were, it is consistent to believe that the event so communicated would be told
in terms that could be understood, and not related in such a loose and obscure manner
as to be out of the comprehension of those that heard it, and so equivocal as to
fit almost any circumstance that may happen afterward. It is conceiving very irreverently
of the Almighty, to suppose that he would deal in this jesting manner with mankind,
yet all the things called prophecies in the book called the Bible come under this
But it is with prophecy as it is with miracle; it could not answer the purpose even
if it were real. Those to whom a prophecy should be told, could not tell whether
the man prophesied or lied, or whether it had been revealed to him, or whether he
conceited it; and if the thing that he prophesied, or intended to prophesy, should
happen, or something like it, among the multitude of things that are daily happening,
nobody could again know whether he foreknew it, or guessed at it, or whether it was
accidental. A prophet, therefore, is a character useless and unnecessary; and the
safe side of the case is to guard against being imposed upon by not giving credit
to such relations.
Upon the whole, mystery, miracle, and prophecy are appendages that belong to fabulous
and not to true religion. They are the means by which so many Lo, here's! and Lo,
there's! have been spread about the world, and religion been made into a trade. The
success of one imposter gave encouragement to another, and the quieting salvo of
doing some good by keeping up a pious fraud protected them from remorse.
Having now extended the subject to a greater length than I first intended, I shall
bring it to a close by abstracting a summary from the whole.
First — That the idea or belief of a word of God existing in print, or in writing,
or in speech, is inconsistent in itself for reasons already assigned. These reasons,
among many others, are the want of a universal language; the mutability of language;
the errors to which translations are subject: the possibility of totally suppressing
such a word; the probability of altering it, or of fabricating the whole, and imposing
it upon the world.
Secondly — That the Creation we behold is the real and ever-existing word of God,
in which we cannot be deceived. It proclaims his power, it demonstrates his wisdom,
it manifests his goodness and beneficence.
Thirdly — That the moral duty of man consists in imitating the moral goodness and
beneficence of God, manifested in the creation toward all his creatures. That seeing,
as we daily do, the goodness of God to all men, it is an example calling upon all
men to practise the same toward each other; and, consequently, that everything of
persecution and revenge between man and man, and everything of cruelty to animals,
is a violation of moral duty.
I trouble not myself about the manner of future existence. I content myself with
believing, even to positive conviction, that the Power that gave me existence is
able to continue it, in any form and manner he pleases, either with or without this
body; and it appears more probable to me that I shall continue to exist hereafter,
than that I should have had existence, as I now have, before that existence began.
It is certain that, in one point, all the nations of the earth and all religions
agree — all believe in a God; the things in which they disagree, are the redundancies
annexed to that belief; and, therefore, if ever a universal religion should prevail,
it will not be by believing anything new, but in getting rid of redundancies, and
believing as man believed at first. Adam, if ever there were such a man, was created
a Deist; but in the meantime, let every man follow, as he has a right to do, the
religion and the worship he prefers.
END OF THE FIRST PART.
Thus far I had written on the 28th of December, 1793. In the evening I went to the
Hotel Philadelphia (formerly White's Hotel), Passage des Petis Peres, where I lodged
when I came to Paris, in consequence of being elected a member of the Convention,
but left the lodging about nine months, and taken lodgings in the Rue Fauxbourg St.
Denis, for the sake of being more retired than I could be in the middle of the town.
Meeting with a company of Americans at the Hotel Philadelphia, I agreed to spend
the evening with them; and, as my lodging was distant about a mile and a half, I
bespoke a bed at the hotel. The company broke up about twelve o'clock, and I went
directly to bed. About four in the morning I was awakened by a rapping at my chamber
door; when I opened it, I saw a guard, and the master of the hotel with them. The
guard told me they came to put me under arrestation, and to demand the key of my
papers. I desired them to walk in, and I would dress myself and go with them immediately.
It happened that Achilles Audibert, of Calais, was then in the hotel; and I desired
to be conducted into his room. When we came there, I told the guard that I had only
lodged at the hotel for the night; that I was printing a work, and that part of that
work was at the Maison Bretagne, Rue Jacob; and desired they would take me there
first, which they did.
The printing-office at which the work was printing was near to the Maison Bretagne,
where Colonel Blackden and Joel Barlow, of the United States of America, lodged;
and I had desired Joel Barlow to compare the proof-sheets with the copy as they came
from the press. The remainder of the manuscript, from page 32 to 76, was at my lodging.
But besides the necessity of my collecting all the parts of the work together that
the publication might not be interrupted by my imprisonment, or by any event that
might happen to me, it was highly proper that I should have a fellow-citizen of America
with me during the examination of my papers, as I had letters of correspondence in
my possession of the President of Congress General Washington; the Minister of Foreign
Affairs to Congress Mr. Jefferson; and the late Benjamin Franklin; and it might be
necessary for me to make a proces-verbal to send to Congress.
It happened that Joel Barlow had received only one proof-sheet of the work, which
he had compared with the copy and sent it back to the printing-office.
We then went, in company with Joel Barlow, to my lodging; and the guard, or commissaries,
took with them the interpreter to the Committee of Surety-General. It was satisfactory
to me, that they went through the examination of my papers with the strictness they
did; and it is but justice that I say, they did it not only with civility, but with
tokens of respect to my character.
I showed them the remainder of the manuscript of the foregoing work. The interpreter
examined it and returned it to me, saying, "It is an interesting work; it will do
much good." I also showed him another manuscript, which I had intended for the Committee
of Public Safety. It is entitled, "Observations on the Commerce between the United
States of America and France."
After the examination of my papers was finished, the guard conducted me to the prison
of the Luxembourg, where they left me as they would a man whose undeserved fate they
regretted. I offered to write under the proces-verbal they had made that they had
executed their orders with civility, but they declined it.