Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/278

 beyond resource,  and  which  is  worthy  both  of  horror  and  pity; but I  say  to  you,  that  the  surest  and  most  established  mark  of  a light  and  frivolous  mind,  of  a  weak  and  limited  reason,  of  an  ill-formed  heart,  equally  incapable  of  elevation  and  dignity,  is  that  of finding  nothing  which  strikes,  which  astonishes,  which  satisfies,  and which interests  you,  in  the  wise  and  sublime  truths  of  the  morality of Jesus  Christ.

For the  sinners  of  another  character  still  preserve  at  least  some remains of  respect  for,  and  a  certain  consciousness  of,  the  truth which subsists  with  a  life  altogether  criminal,  but  which  is  always the mark  of  a  good  heart,  of  a  heart  which  still  retains  a  relish  for good, of  a  judicious  reason,  which,  though  led  away  by  the  world and the  passions,  knows  to  do  justice  to  itself,  still  feels  the  force of that  truth  which  condemns  it,  and  leaves  within  us  resources  of salvation  and  repentance. These sinners,  at  least,  acknowledge that we  are  right:  they  change  nothing,  it  is  true,  of  their  manners; but the  truth  at  least  affects,  disturbs,  agitates,  and  excites  within them some  feeble  desires  of  salvation  and  hopes  of  a  future  conversion;  they  are  sorry  to  find  themselves  even  too  susceptible  of  the terrors of  faith;  they  are  almost  afraid  of  listening  to  us,  lest they lose  that  false  tranquillity  which  is  the  only  comfort  of  their crimes; on  quitting  our  instructions,  they  seek,  in  dissipation,  to enliven  a  fund  of  anxiety  and  sadness  which  the  truths  they  come from hearing  have  left  in  their  soul;  they  immediately  hurry  into the world  and  its  pleasures,  with  that  inward  sting  which  the  word of God  hath  left  in  their  heart,  there  to  seek  out  a  soothing  and  deceitful hand  which  may  draw  it  out,  and  which  may  close  up  that wound from  which  alone  its  cure  ought  to  flow;  they  dread  the breaking of  their  chains;  they  turn  away  their  head,  that  they  may not see  that  light  which  comes  to  disturb  the  comfort  of  their  sleep. They love  their  passions,  I  confess,  but  at  least  they  insult  not  the truth; on  the  contrary,  they  render  glory  to  its  might,  by  erecting defences against  it;  they  are  feeble  sinners,  who,  dreading  their  incapability of  defence  against  God,  fly  from,  and  shun  him. But for you,  you  make  a  vain-glorious  boast  of  listening  to  him  with indifference, and  of  not  dreading  him;  you  find  it  grand  and  philosophical to  have  placed  yourselves  above  all  these  vulgar  terrors; you believe  that  the  pride  of  your  reason  would  be  dishonoured  by any  religious  dread;  and  while  you  are  internally  the  meanest  and the most  cowardly  soul,  the  most  dejected  by  the  first  danger which threatens  you,  the  most  disheartened  by  the  smallest  accident, the  very  shuttlecock  of  every  frivolous  hope  and  fear  of  the earth, you  pique  yourself  upon  an  undaunted  courage  against  the truth; that  is  to  say,  that  you  are  possessed  of  every  thing  which is mean  and  vulgar  in  fear,  and  you  are  ashamed  of  having  that only portion  of  it  which  is  dignified  and  reasonable;  you  have  no resistance  to  offer  against  the  world,  and  you  make  a  vain  parade of a  senseless  valour  against  God.

Second disposition  which  ought  to  accompany  you  to  our  instructions,— a  sorrow  for  the  little  fruit  you  have  hitherto  reaped  from