The Good Part Of Christmas Is Not

Logic Is Not Satisfied With Assertion. It Cares Nothing For The Opinions Of The Great; Nothing For The Prejudices Of The Many, And Least Of All For The Superstitions Of The Dead.

I Belong To The Great Church Which Holds The World Within Its Starlit Aisles; That Claims The Great And Good Of Every Race And Clime; That Finds With Joy The Grain Of Gold In Every Creed, And Floods With Light And Love The Germs Of Good In Every Soul.

All Religions Are Inconsistent With Mental Freedom. Shakespeare Is My Bible, Burns My Hymn-book.

The Ministers, Who Preached At These Revivals, Were In Earnest. They Were Zealous And Sincere. They Were Not Philosophers. To Them Science Was The Name Of A Vague Dread - A Dangerous Enemy. They Did Not Know Much, But They Believed A Great Deal.

Certainly The Old Testament Does Not Teach Us That There Is Another Life, And Upon That Question Even The New Is Obscure And Vague. The Hunger Of The Heart Finds Only A Few Small And Scattered Crumbs. There Is Nothing Definite, Solid, And Satisfying. United With The Idea Of Immortality We Find The Absurdity Of The Resurrection. A Prophecy That Depends For Its Fulfillment Upon An Impossibility, Cannot Satisfy The Brain Or Heart.