he arms of martyrdom, and heroism, and obedience. This
was not the case during a few years only, it is the history of three
centuries, an ever-memorable page of human annals, in which all ages
will be able to learn what are the true weapons of truth. Christendom,
too often forgetful of its origin, has in later times allowed the fury
of persecution to cloak itself under a pretended regard for sacred
interests; but the remedy has proceeded from the very evil. The
Christian conscience has protested, in the name of the Gospel, against
the crimes of which the Gospel was the pretext, and the passions of men
the cause. "We must bewail the misery and error of our time," already
St. Hilary was exclaiming, in the fourth century. "Men are thinking that
God has need of the protection of men.... The Church is uttering threats
of banishment and imprisonment, and desiring to compel belief by
force,--the Church, which itself acquired strength in exile and in
prisons!"

True faith, then, possesses a principle by which it protests against
abuses which it is sought to cloak under its name, and this protest
comes at last to make itself heard. Faith suppressed, the passions will
remain, for in order to be a saint, it is not enough to be a sceptic.
The passions will look for other pretexts. Will not the spirit of doubt
offer them such pretexts?

It seems at first sight that doubt must promote toleration, since it
does not allow any importance to be attached to opinions. This is a
specious conclusion, similar to that which placed in belief the source
of intolerant passions. Let us once more reflect a little. The first
effect of doubt is certainly to dispose the mind to leave a free course
to all opinions; but disdain is not the way to respect, and only respect
can give solid bases to the spirit of liberty. Believers are in the eyes
of the sceptic weak-minded persons, whom he treats at first with a
gentle and patronizing compassion. But these weak minds grow obstinate;
the sceptic perceives that they do not bend before his superiority, and
dare perhaps to consider themselves as his equals. Then irritation
arises, and, beneath the velvet paw, one feels the piercing of the claw.
The sceptic has in fact a dogma; he has but one, but one he has after
all--the negation of truth. The faith of others is a protest against
that single dogma on which he has concentrated all the powers of his
conviction. He is passionately in earnest for this negation; h