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In a word, as Seneca concludes, religion worships God; superstition destroys him: superstition destroys, but true religion honours God. True religion, where the true God is truly worshipped—where the true God is worshipped in truth—is the road to heaven and the mother of all virtues: love, fear, devotion, obedience, knowledge and so on. It raises the dejected human soul. Amid the many cares, miseries and persecutions this world affords, it is our sole relief, an inexpressible comfort, a sweet repose, an easy and light yoke, a light yoke, an anchor and a harbour.
It gives courage and boldness, and fosters noble spirits. Though tyrants rage and persecute, and the bloodthirsty lictor or officer stands ready to make martyrs of them—sacrifice, or die, as was practised in the persecutions of the early Church, described by Eusebius and others—though enemies are about to invade and everything is in uproar, if the shattered world falls upon them, its ruins will strike them unafraid. Though heaven should fall upon his head, he would not be dismayed.
As a good Christian prince once answered a threatening Turk, whoever is safe under God’s protection readily scorns the wicked weapons of men. Or as Phalaris wrote to Alexander, though in an unjust cause, neither he nor any other enemy could frighten him, because he trusted in God. If God is with us, who can be against us?
In every calamity and persecution he will sing with David, 2 Samuel 22:2–3: The Lord is my rock, my fortress, my strength, my refuge, the tower and horn of my salvation, and so on. In all troubles and adversities, Psalm 46:1, God is my hope and help, always ready to be found; therefore I will not fear, and so on. It is a fear that drives out fear. He has peace of conscience and is full of hope, which is, says Augustine, the life of mortal life, the life of this mortal life of ours: hope of immortality, the sole comfort of our misery.
Otherwise, as Paul says, we would be the most wretched of all people. But this makes us happy, steadying our hearts amid every misery. Superstition torments us and comes from the Devil, the father of lies; but true religion comes from God himself. As Lucian, the priest of Antioch, declared in his sacred confession in Eusebius, God himself is our authority concerning God: God himself is the author of our religion. His word is our rule and our lantern, dictated by the Holy Spirit. He plays upon our hearts as upon so many harp strings; we are his temples, he dwells in us, and we in him.
The part affected by superstition is the brain, heart, will, understanding, the soul itself and all its faculties—the whole composite being: all is mad and deluded. As for its extent, as I say, the whole world is subject to it. To leave aside that great sin of atheism, every age, past and present, has been afflicted: there is no one who does good, not even one, from the prophet to the priest, and so on.
It is lamentable to consider how many myriads of people this idolatry and superstition—for that includes them all—has made fools of in every age, stupefying them with this blind zeal, religion’s ape, religion’s bastard, religion’s shadow and distorting mirror. For where God has a temple, the Devil will have a chapel; where God has sacrifices, the Devil will have his offerings; where God has ceremonies, the Devil will have his traditions; wherever there is religion, the Devil will plant superstition. It is pitiful to see and read of the tortures and miseries it has caused, the slaughter of souls it has committed, and how it rages among those ancient Persians, Syrians, Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, Etruscans, Gauls, Germans, Britons and so on.
Britain even today practises it with such awe, says Pliny, with such elaborate ceremonies—speaking of superstition—that she might seem to have taught it to the Persians. The Britons are so astonishingly superstitious in their ceremonies that they surpass the Persians.
Anyone who merely reads Pausanias’s account of the gods, temples, altars, idols and statues among the ancient Greeks, made with such exquisite workmanship and boundless expense, in such multitudes and so many varieties—as Gerbelius rightly observes—may stand amazed and never cease to wonder. At the same time, he may thank God that the light of the Gospel has so happily freed us in our own days from that enslaving idolatry. But formerly, in almost every country and place, superstition blinded people’s hearts. In every age, how small a portion the true Church has been!
The Devil shares dominion with Jove.
The patriarchs and their families; the Israelites, a mere handful by comparison; Christ and his apostles—and not even all of them. Into what narrow bounds it has been confined: a little flock! Meanwhile, how superstition has spread; how error, ignorance, barbarism, folly and madness have deceived, triumphed over and mocked the wisest, most prudent and most discerning people! Philosophers, rulers and monarchs were all enveloped and overshadowed by this mist, in darkness deeper than that of the Cimmerians. So greatly does ignorant superstition corrupt human minds and sometimes lead even the wise astray.
At the present time, what a fraction! How small a part is truly religious, how little by comparison! Divide the world into six parts, and one part, or less, is Christian. Idolaters and Muslims possess almost all of Asia, Africa, America and Magellanica. The kings of China, the Great Khan, Siam, Borneo, Pegu, the Deccan, Narsinga, Japan and so on are pagans and idolaters; so are many other minor princes in Asia, those of Monomotapa and Congo, and I know not how many Black princes in Africa. All the Unknown Southern Land and most of America are pagan, differing in their various superstitions, yet all idolaters.