old, that he is very easily provoked, that he
grants his favours to a few people only, and that he furiously chastises
those, to whom he has not been pleased to grant favours?

64.

If we take our ideas of God from the nature of things, where we find a
mixture of good and evil, this God, just like the good and evil of which
we experience, must naturally appear capricious, inconstant, sometimes
good, and sometimes malevolent; and therefore, instead of exciting our
love, must generate distrust, fear, and uncertainty. There is then no
real difference between natural religion, and the most gloomy and servile
superstition. If the theist sees God only in a favourable light; the bigot
views him in the most hideous light. The folly of the one is cheerful,
that of the other is melancholy; but both are equally delirious.

65.

If I draw my ideas of God from theology, he appears to inspire aversion.
Devotees, who tell us, that they sincerely love their God, are either
liars or fools, who see their God only in profile. It is impossible to
love a being, the very idea of whom strikes us with terror, and whose
judgments make us tremble. How can we, without being alarmed, look upon
a God, who is reputed to be barbarous enough to damn us? Let not divines
talk to us of a filial, or respectful fear, mixed with love, which men
ought to have for their God. A son can by no means love his father, when
he knows him to be cruel enough to inflict upon him studied torments for
the least faults he may commit. No man upon earth can have the least spark
of love for a God, who reserves chastisements, infinite in duration and
violence, for ninety-nine hundredths of his children.

66.

The inventors of the dogma of eternal hell-torments have made of that God,
whom they call so good, the most detestable of beings. Cruelty in men is
the last act of wickedness. Every sensible mind must revolt at the bare
recital of the torments, inflicted on the greatest criminal; but cruelty
is much more apt to excite indignation, when void of motives. The most
sanguinary tyrants, the Caligulas, the Neros, the Domitians, had, at
least, some motives for tormenting their victims. These motives were,
either their own safety, or the fury of revenge, or the design of
frightening by terrible examples, or perhaps the vanity of making
a display of their power, and the desire of satisfying a barbarous
curiosity. Can a God have any of these motives? In torm