THERE is one other instance of unworthy deference to private opinion, of
which I must accuse myself. My neighbour was not an Atheist, he rather
liked to converse on religious topics, as if he justly appreciated the
importance of the subject, and was no stranger to its discussion. Still,
he indulged a number of unreasonable prejudices against Christianity,
which he regarded less in its real nature than its abuses. The
superficial philosophy which preceded the French revolution had dazzled
him. He had formed an idea that religious worship might be offered up
with greater purity than as it had been dictated by the religion of the
Evangelists. Without any intimate acquaintance with the writings of
Condillac and Tracy, he venerated them as the most profound thinkers, and
really thought that the last had carried the branch of metaphysics to the
highest degree of perfection.
I may fairly say that _my_ philosophical studies had been better
directed; I was aware of the weakness of the experimental doctrine, and I
knew the gross and shameless errors in point of criticism, which
influenced the age of Voltaire in libelling Christianity. I had also
read Guénée, and other able exposers of such false criticism. I felt a
conviction that, by no logical reasoning, could the being of a God be
granted, and the Bible rejected, and I conceived it a vulgar degradation
to fall in with the stream of antichristian opinions, and to want
elevation of intellect to apprehend how the doctrine of Catholicism in
its true character, is religiously simple and ennobling. Yet I had the
meanness to bow to human opinion out of deference and respect. The wit
and sarcasms of my neighbour seemed to confound me, while I could not
disguise from myself that they were idle and empty as the air. I
dissimulated, I hesitated to announce my own belief, reflecting how far
it were seasonable thus to contradict my companion, and persuading myself
that it would be useless, and that I was perfectly justified in remaining
silent. What vile pusillanimity! why thus respect the presumptuous power
of popular errors and opinions, resting upon no foundation. True it is
that an ill-timed zeal is always indiscreet, and calculated to irritate
rather than convert; but to avow with frankness and modesty what we
regard as an important truth, to do it even when we have reason to
conclude it will not be palatable, and to meet willingly any ridicule or
sarcasm which may be launched against it; this I maintain to be an actual
duty. A noble avowal of this kind, moreover, may always be made, without
pretending to assume, uncalled for, anything of the missionary character.
It is, I repeat, a duty, not to keep back an important truth at any
period; for though there may be little hope of it being immediately
acknowledged; it may tend to prepare the minds of others, and in due
time, doubtless, produce a better and more impartial judgment, and a
consequent triumph of truth.