The New Gospel

I don’t believe in God because I don’t believe in Mother Goose.

When we fully understand the brevity of life, its fleeting joys and unavoidable pains; when we accept the fact that all men and women are approaching on inevitable doom; the consciousness of it should make us more kindly and considerate of each other.  This feeling should make men and women use their best efforts to help their fellow travelers on the road, to make the path brighter and easier … for the wayfarers who must live a common life and die a common death.

There is, perhaps, no more striking example of the credulity of man than the widespread belief in immortality.  This idea includes not only the belief that death is not the end of what we call life, but that personal identity involving memory persists beyond the grave.  So determined is the ordinary individual to hold fast to this belief that, as a rule, he refuses to read or to think upon the subject lest it cast doubt upon his cherished dream.  Of those who may chance to look at this contribution [Darrow’s essay], many will do so with the determination not to be convinced, and will refuse to consider the manifold reasons that might weaken their faith.  I know this is true, for I know the reluctance with which I long approached the subject and my firm determination not to give up any hope.