Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/350

 to overcome  its  antipathies,  to  repress  its  likings,  to  lower  its  pride, and to  fix  its  inconstancy? Is it  so  easy  a  matter  to  restrain  the sallies of  the  mind,  to  moderate  its  judgments,  to  disavow  its  suspicions, to  soften  its  keenness,  and  to  smother  its  malignity? Is it so  easy  to  be  the  eternal  enemy  of  one's  own  body,  to  conquer  its indolence, to  mortify  its  tastes  and  to  crucify  its  desires? Is it  so natural  to  pardon  injuries,  to  bear  with  contempt,  to  love,  and  even to load  with  benefits  those  who  do  evil  to  us,  to  sacrifice  one's fortune  in  order  not  to  fail  to  his  conscience,  to  deny  one's  self pleasures to  which  all  our  inclinations  lead  us,  to  resist  example, and singly  to  maintain  the  cause  of  virtue  against  the  multitude which condemns  it? Do all  these  appear,  in  fact,  so  easy  to  you, that you  deem  those,  who  for  an  instant  depart  from  them,  unworthy of the  least  indulgence? How feelingly  do  you  expatiate  every day on  the  difficulties  of  a  Christian  life,  when  we  propose  to  you these holy  rules! Is it  so  very  astonishing,  that,  in  a  long  march through rough  and  dangerous  ways,  a  man  should  sometimes  stumble, or  even  fall,  through  fatigue  and  weakness?

Inhuman that  we  are! And nevertheless,  the  slightest  imperfection in  the  pious  destroys,  in  our  mind,  all  their  most  estimable qualities: far  from  excusing  their  weaknesses,  in  consideration  of their  virtue,  it  is  their  virtue  itself  which  renders  us  doubly  cruel and inexorable  to  their  weaknesses. To be  just  is  sufficient,  it would  appear,  to  forfeit  every  claim  to  indulgence:  to  their  vices we are  clear-sighted;  to  their  virtues  we  are  blind;  a  moment  of weakness  effaces  from  our  remembrance  a  whole  life  of  fidelity  and innocence.

But what  renders  your  injustice  toward  the  pious  still  more  cruel, is, that  it  is  your  own  examples,  your  irregularities,  and  even  your censures, which  stagger,  weaken,  and  force  them  sometimes  to imitate  you;  it  is  the  corruption  of  your  manners  which  becomes the continual  and  the  most  dangerous  snare  to  their  innocence; it is  those  foolish  derisions  with  which  you  continually  assault virtue, that  force  them  reluctantly  to  shelter  themselves  under  the appearances of  guilt. And how  can  you  suppose  it  possible  that the piety  of  the  most  righteous  should  always  preserve  itself  pure, in the  midst  of  the  present  manners,  in  a  perverse  world,  whose customs are  abuses,  and  its  communications  crimes;  where  the passions are  the  only  bond  of  society,  and  where  the  wisest  and most virtuous  are  those  who  retrenched  from  guilt  only  its  scandal and publicity? How can  you  suppose  it  possible,  that,  amidst these eternal  derisions  which  ridicule  the  pious,  which  make  them almost ashamed  of  virtue,  and  often  oblige  them  to  counterfeit  vice; that, in  the  midst  of  so  many  disorders,  authorized  by  the  public manners, by  senseless  applauses,  by  examples  rendered  respectable by rank  and  dignity,  by  the  ridicule  cast  on  those  who  dare  to hesitate  at  them,  and  lastly,  by  the  weakness  even  of  their  own heart; how  do  you  think  it  possible  that  the  pious  should  be always  enabled  to  stem  such  a  torrent,  and  that,  obliged  continually to fortify  themselves  against  so  rapid  and  so  impetuous  a  course,