Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/293

 the souls  whom  we  daily  see  returning  to  their  God,  are  not  led by other  lights:  the  righteous,  who  bear  his  yoke,  are  not  sustained or  animated  by  other  truths;. we ourselves,  who  serve  him,  know nothing more  of  it.

Cease, then,  to  deceive  yourself,  and  to  await  what  you  already have. Ah! it is  not  faith  that  is  wanting  to  you,  it  is  the  inclination to  fulfil  the  duties  it  imposes  on  you:  it  is  not  your  doubts, but your  passions  which  stop  you. You know  not  yourself;  you willingly persuade  yourself  that  you  want  faith,  because  that  pretext which you  oppose  to  grace  is  less  humiliating  to  self-love  than that of  the  shameful  vices  which  retain  you. But mount  to  the source; your  doubts  have  sprung  solely  from  your  irregular  mode of living:  regulate,  then,  your  manners,  and  you  will  see  nothing in faith  but  what  is  certain  and  consoling:  be  chaste,  modest,  and temperate, and  I  answer  for  that  faith  which  you  believe  to  have lost: live  uprightly,  and  you  will  find  little  difficulty  in  believing.

And a  proof  of  the  truth  of  what  I  tell  you  is,  that  if,  in  order to be  converted,  nothing  more  were  to  be  required  than  to  bend your reason  to  mysteries  which  exceed  our  comprehension;  if  a Christian  life  were  accompanied  with  no  other  difficulties  than certain apparent  contradictions  which  it  is  necessary  to  believe without being  able  to  comprehend  them;  if  faith  proposed  the  fulfilment of  no  irksome  duties;  if,  in  order  to  change  your  life,  it were  not  necessary  to  renounce  passions  the  most  lively,  and  attachments the  most  dear  to  your  heart;  if  the  matter  in  question  were merely a  point  of  opinion  and  of  belief,  without  either  the  heart  or the  passions  being  interested  in  it,  you  would  no  longer  have  the smallest difficulty  in  yielding  to  it;  you  would  view  in  the  light  of madmen  those,  who,  for  a  moment,  could  hesitate  between  difficulties of  pure  speculation,  of  which  the  belief  can  be  followed  by no  injury  and  an  eternity  of  misery,  which,  after  all,  may  be  the lot of  unbelievers. Faith appears  difficult  to  you,  therefore,  not because it  holds  out  mysteries,  but  because  it  regulates  the  passions:  it  is  the  sanctity  of  its  maxims  which  shocks,  and  not  the incomprehensibility of  its  secrets:  you  are  therefore  corrupted,  but not an  unbeliever.

And, in  effect,  notwithstanding  all  your  pretended  doubts  upon faith, you  feel  that  avowed  unbelief  is  a  horrible  course  to  adopt; you dare  not  determine  upon  it. It is  a  quicksand,  under  which you have  a  glimpse  of  a  thousand  gulfs  which  fill  you  with  horror, in which  you  find  no  consistency,  and  on  which  you  could  not venture to  tread  with  a  firm  and  confident  foot. You continually say to  yourself,  that  there  is  no  risk  in  devoting  one's  self  to  God, that, after  all,  and  even  admitting  the  uncertainty  of  any  thing  after this life,  the  alternative  is  too  horrible  not  to  require  precautions, and that,  even  in  an  actual  uncertainty  of  the  truths  of  faith,  the party of  the  godly  would  always  be  the  wisest  and  the  safest. Your state, therefore,  is  rather  the  vague  determination  of  an  agitated heart, which  dreads  to  break  its  chains,  than  a  real  and  actual  suspicion of  faith,  and  a  fear  lest,  in  sacrificing  to  it  all  your  iniquitous