Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/396

 self against  himself;  he  cannot  support,  at  the  same  time,  the  view of his  crimes  and  that  of  the  punishment  which  awaits  them;  that faith, so  venerable,  and  of  which  he  speaks  with  such  contempt, nevertheless terrifies  and  disquiets  him  still  more  than  those  other sinners, who,  without  doubting  its  punishments,  yet  are  frequently not less  unfaithful  to  its  precepts;  it  is  a  coward,  who  hides  his fear under  a  false  ostentation  of  bravery. No, my  brethren,  our pretended free-thinkers  give  themselves  out  as  men  of  courage  and firmness; examine  them  narrowly,  and  they  are  the  weakest  and most cowardly  of  men.

Besides, it  is  not  surprising  that  licentiousness  leads  us  to  doubt of religion:  the  passions  require  the  aid  of  unbelief;  for  they  are too feeble  and  too  unreasonable  to  maintain  their  own  cause. Our lights, our  feelings,  our  conscience,  all  struggle  within  us  against them: we  are  under  the  necessity,  therefore,  of  seeking  a  support for them,  and  of  defending  them  against  ourselves;  for,  it  is  a matter  of  satisfaction  to  justify  to  one's  self  whatever  is  pleasing. We would  neither  wish  that  passions  which  are  dear  to  us  should be criminal,  nor  that  we  should  continually  have  to  support  the  interests of  our  pleasures  against  those  of  our  conscience:  we  wish tranquilly to  enjoy  our  crimes,  and  to  free  ourselves  from  that  troublesome monitor  which  continually  espouses  the  cause  of  virtue against ourselves:  while  remorses  contest  the  pleasure  of  our  enjoyments, they  must  be  very  imperfectly  tasted;  it  is  paying  too  great a price  for  guilt,  to  purchase  it  at  the  expense  of  that  quiet  which is sought  in  it:  we  must  either  terminate  our  debaucheries,  or  try to quiet  ourselves  in  them;  and  as  it  is  impossible  to  enjoy  peace of mind  in  them,  and  next  to  impossible  to  terminate  them,  the only refuge  seems  that  of  doubting  the  truths  which  disquiet  us; and, in  order  to  attain  to  tranquillity,  every  effort  is  used  to  inculcate the  persuasion  of  unbelief.

That is  to  say,  that  the  great  effort  of  licentiousness  is  that  of leading  us  to  the  desire  of  unbelief;  the  horrible  security  of  the unbeliever is  coveted;  total  hardness  of  heart  is  considered  as  a happy  state;  it  is  unpleasant  to  have  been  born  with  a  weaker  and more fearful  conscience;  the  lot  of  those  apparently  firm  and  unshaken in  impiety,  is  envied:  while  they,  in  their  turn,  perhaps  a prey  to  the  most  gloomy  remorses,  and  vaunting  a  courage  they are far  from  having,  view  our  lot  with  envy;  for,  judging  of  us  from the language  we  hold  upon  free-thinking,  they  take  us  for  what  we take  them;  that  is  to  say,  for  what  we  are  not,  and  for  what  both they and  we  would  wish  to  be. And it  is  thus,  O  my  God! that these false  heroes  of  impiety  live  in  a  perpetual  illusion,  continually deceive themselves,  and  appear  what  they  are  not,  only  because they would  wish  to  be  it. They would  willingly  have  religion  to be  but  a  dream:  they  say  in  their  heart,  "  There  is  no  God;"  that is to  say,  this  impious  language  is  the  desire  of  their  heart;  they would ardently  wish  no  God;  that  that  Being,  so  grand  and  so necessary,  were  a  chimera;  that  they  were  the  sole  masters  of  their own destiny;  that  they  were  accountable  only  to  themselves  for