THE boy left me, and I felt a sort of pleasure at having taken the Bible
again in my hands, more especially at having owned I had been worse for
having neglected it. It seemed as if I had made atonement to a generous
friend whom I had unjustly offended, but had now become reconciled to.
Yes! I had even forgotten my God! I exclaimed, and perverted my better
nature. Could I have been led to believe that the vile mockery of the
cynic was applicable to one in my forlorn and desperate situation?
I felt an indescribable emotion on asking myself this question; I placed
the Bible upon a chair, and, falling on my knees, I burst into tears of
remorse: I who ever found it so difficult to shed even a tear. These
tears were far more delightful to me than any physical enjoyment I had
ever felt. I felt I was restored to God, I loved him, I repented of
having outraged religion by degrading myself; and I made a vow never,
never more to forget, to separate myself from, my God.
How truly a sincere return to faith, and love, and hope, consoles and
elevates the mind. I read and continued to weep for upwards of an hour.
I rose with renewed confidence that God had not abandoned me, but had
forgiven my every fault and folly. It was then that my misfortunes, the
horrors of my continued examinations, and the probable death which
awaited me, appeared of little account. I rejoiced in suffering, since I
was thus afforded an occasion to perform some duty, and that, by
submitting with a resigned mind, I was obeying my Divine Master. I was
enabled, thanks be to Heaven, to read my Bible. I no longer estimated it
by the wretched, critical subterfuges of a Voltaire, heaping ridicule
upon mere expressions, in themselves neither false nor ridiculous, except
to gross ignorance or malice, which cannot penetrate their meaning. I
became clearly convinced how indisputably it was the code of sanctity,
and hence of truth itself; how really unphilosophical it was to take
offence at a few little imperfections of style, not less absurd than the
vanity of one who despises everything that wears not the gloss of elegant
forms; what still greater absurdity to imagine that such a collection of
books, so long held in religious veneration, should not possess an
authentic origin, boasting, as they do, such a vast superiority over the
Koran, and the old theology of the Indies.
Many, doubtless, abused its excellence, many wished to turn it into a
code of injustice, and a sanction of all their bad passions. But the
triumphant answer to these is, that every thing is liable to abuse; and
when did the abuse of the most precious and best of things lead us to the
conclusion that they were in their own nature bad? Our Saviour himself
declared it; the whole law and the Prophets, the entire body of these
sacred books, all inculcate the same precept to love God and mankind.
And must not such writings embrace the truth—truth adapted to all times
and ages? must they not ever constitute the living word of the Holy
Spirit?
Whilst I made these reflections, I renewed my intention of identifying
with religion all my thoughts concerning human affairs, all my opinions
upon the progress of civilisation, my philanthropy, love of my country,
in short, all the passions of my mind.
The few days in which I remained subjected to the cynic doctrine, did me
a deal of harm. I long felt its effects, and had great difficulty to
remove them. Whenever man yields in the least to the temptation of
undignifying his intellect, to view the works of God through the infernal
medium of scorn, to abandon the beneficent exercise of prayer, the injury
which he inflicts upon his natural reason prepares him to fall again with
but little struggle. For a period of several weeks I was almost daily
assaulted with strong, bitter tendencies to doubt and disbelief; and it
called for the whole power of my mind to free myself from their grasp.