ight of an inconceivable being,
whose qualities he can never comprehend. Thus, we see, religion is the
art of turning the attention of mankind upon subjects they can never
comprehend.

7.

Religion unites man with God, or forms a communication between them; yet
do they not say, God is infinite? If God be infinite, no finite being can
have communication or relation with him. Where there is no relation, there
can be no union, communication, or duties. If there be no duties between
man and his God, there is no religion for man. Thus, in saying God is
infinite, you annihilate religion for man, who is a finite being. The idea
of infinity is to us an idea without model, without archetype, without
object.

8.

If God be an infinite being, there cannot be, either in the present or
future world, any relative proportion between man and his God. Thus, the
idea of God can never enter the human mind. In supposition of a life, in
which man would be much more enlightened, than in this, the idea of the
infinity of God would ever remain the same distance from his finite mind.
Thus the idea of God will be no more clear in the future, than in the
present life. Thus, intelligences, superior to man, can have no more
complete ideas of God, than man, who has not the least conception of him
in his present life.

9.

How has it been possible to persuade reasonable beings, that the thing,
most impossible to comprehend, was most essential to them? It is because
they have been greatly terrified; because, when they fear, they cease
to reason; because, they have been taught to mistrust their own
understanding; because, when the brain is troubled, they believe every
thing, and examine nothing.

10.

Ignorance and fear are the two hinges of all religion. The uncertainty in
which man finds himself in relation to his God, is precisely the motive
that attaches him to his religion. Man is fearful in the dark--in moral,
as well as physical darkness. His fear becomes habitual, and habit makes
it natural; he would think that he wanted something, if he had nothing to
fear.

11.

He, who from infancy has habituated himself to tremble when he hears
pronounced certain words, requires those words and needs to tremble. He is
therefore more disposed to listen to one, who entertains him in his fears,
than to one, who dissuades him from them. The superstitious man wishes to
fear; his imagination demands it; one might say,