That a man should determine to devote himself to the service of humanity—­including intellectual and moral self-culture under that name; that this should be, in the proper sense of the word, his religion—­is not only an intelligible, but, I think, a laudable resolution.  And I am greatly disposed to believe that it is the only religion which will prove itself to be unassailably acceptable so long as the human race endures.  But when the Comtist asks me to worship “Humanity”—­that is to say, to adore the generalised conception of men as they ever have been and probably ever will be—­I must reply that I could just as soon bow down and worship the generalised conception of a “wilderness of apes.”  Surely we are not going back to the days of Paganism, when individual men were deified, and the hard good sense of a dying Vepasian could prompt the bitter jest, “Ut puto Deus fio.”  No divinity doth hedge a modern man, be he even a sovereign ruler.  Nor is there any one, except a municipal magistrate, who is officially declared worshipful.  But if there is no spark of worship-worthy divinity in the individual twigs of humanity, whence comes that godlike splendour which the Moses of Positivism fondly imagines to pervade the whole bush?

I know no study which is so unutterably saddening as that of the evolution of humanity, as it is set forth in the annals of history.  Out of the darkness of prehistoric ages man emerges with the marks of his lowly origin strong upon him.  He is a brute, only more intelligent than the other brutes, a blind prey to impulses, which as often as not lead him to destruction; a victim to endless illusions, which make his mental existence a terror and a burden, and fill his physical life with barren toil and battle.  He attains a certain degree of physical comfort, and develops a more or less workable theory of life, in such favourable situations as the plains of Mesopotamia or of Egypt, and then, for thousands and thousands of years, struggles, with varying fortunes, attended by infinite wickedness, bloodshed, and misery, to maintain himself at this point against the greed and the ambition of his fellow-men.  He makes a point of killing and otherwise persecuting all those who first try to get him to move on; and when he has moved on a step, foolishly confers post-mortem deification on his victims.  He exactly repeats the process with all who want to move a step yet farther.  And the best men of the best epochs are simply those who make the fewest blunders and commit the fewest sins.

That one should rejoice in the good man, forgive the bad man, and pity and help all men to the best of one’s ability, is surely indisputable.  It is the glory of Judaism and of Christianity to have proclaimed this truth, through all their aberrations.  But the worship of a God who needs forgiveness and help, and deserves pity every hour of his existence, is no better than that of any other voluntarily selected fetish.  The Emperor Julian’s project was hopeful in comparison with the prospects of the Comtist Anthropolatry.