318. Angels at Constantino's Dying Bed!
The Emperor, stained with every crime, is supposed to have died like a Christian. We hear nothing of fiends leering at him in the shadows of death. He does not see the forms of his murdered wife and son covered with the blood he shed. From his white and shriveled lips issued no shrieks of terror. He does not cover his glazed eyes with thin and trembling hands to shut out the visions of hell. His chamber is filled with the rustle of wings waiting to bear his soul to the thrilling realms of joy. Against the Emperor Constantine the church has hurled no anathema. She has accepted the story of his vision in the clouds, and his holy memory has been guarded by priest and pope.
319. Diderot
Diderot was born in 1713. His parents were in what may be called the humbler walks of life. Like Voltaire, he was educated by the Jesuits. He had in him something of the vagabond, and was for several years almost a beggar in Paris. He was endeavoring to live by his pen. In that day and generation a man without a patron, endeavoring to live by literature, was necessarily almost a beggar. He nearly starved—frequently going for days without food. Afterward, when he had something himself, he was generous as the air. No man ever was more willing to give, and no man less willing to receive, than Diderot. His motto was, "Incredulity is the first step toward philosophy." He had the vices of most Christians—was nearly as immoral as the majority of priests. His vices he shared in common—his virtues were his own—All who knew him united in saying that he had the pity of a woman, the generosity of a prince, the self-denial of an anchorite, the courage of Caesar, an insatiate thirst foi knowledge, and the enthusiasm of a poet. He attacked with every power of his mind the superstition of his day. He said what he thought. The priests hated him. He was in favor of universal education—the church despised it. He wished to put the knowledge of the whole world within reach of the poorest. He wished to drive from the gate of the Garden of Eden the cherubim of superstition, so that the child of Adam might return to eat once more the fruit of the tree of knowledge. Every Catholic was his enemy. His poor little desk was ransacked by the police, searching for manuscripts in which something might be found that would justify the imprisonment of such a dangerous man. Whoever, in 1750, wished to increase the knowledge of mankind was regarded as the enemy of social order.
320. Benedict Spinoza
One of the greatest thinkers of the world was Benedict Spinoza—a Jew, born at Amsterdam in 1638. He studied medicine, and afterward theology. He asked the rabbis so many questions, and insisted to such a degree on what he called reason, that his room was preferred to his company. His Jewish brethren excommunicated him from the synagogue. Under the terrible curse of their religion he was made an outcast from every Jewish home. His own father could not give him shelter, and his mother, after the curse had been pronounced, could not give him bread, could not even speak to him, without becoming an outcast herself. All the cruelty of Jehovah was in this curse. Spinoza was but twenty-four years old when he found himself without friends and without kindred. He uttered no complaint. He earned his bread with willing hands, and cheerfully divided his poor crust with those below. He tried to solve the problem of existence. To him the universe was one. The infinite embraced the all. The all was God. According to him the universe did not commence to be. It is; from eternity it was; and to eternity it will be. He insisted that God is inside, not outside, of what we call substance. To him the universe was God.