The man who lays down moral principles runs the risk of laying down platitudes. When a priest meddles with the affairs of this world he is regarded—rightly—as being professionally incapable of laying down anything except moral principles. It is not surprising, therefore, that he should be regarded as a purveyor of platitudes. He may indeed be regarded as professionally incapable of saying anything rational at all; but with this error I am not immediately concerned. On the other hand, to call priests platitudinous is not, as such, to convict them of talking rubbish; if it were so, their case would indeed be pretty hopeless.

Yet even granting the connection of moral principles and platitudes and the distinction of these from nonsense, it does not follow that :t is good to be thought platitudinous, still less that it is good to acquiesce in the imputation. Much of what I have to say in this article will sound platitudinous, but it is a pity that :t should. Platitudes, if true at all, are truths worn smooth like old coins—truths ready for falsification. That honesty is a virtue, is true and platitudinous, but that it simply consists in paying your bills and avoiding theft, as the platitude tends to suppose, is not true. A truth gone dull is a truth nearly lost. But to grasp a truth closely is to lose a platitude, is to be free from a platitude. This freedom, freedom not of or from but by thought, Father Vincent won for himself and expressed for others. The proof is that whereas many people said he talked nonsense, no one accused him of talking platitudes.

We, however, must run the risk. We are concerned with moral principles, and the principle of anything is its starting-point; and once things have started the starting point is taken for granted. It is very likely a platitude. If you become conscious of it you may say, shamefacedly, ‘Of course that's obvious, a platitude’; or, if you want to question it, you may call it a prejudice. In either case it is presumed to be presumed.