Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/414

 that law  which  you  violate;  every  where  a  fund  of  weariness  and  of sorrow,  inseparable  from  guilt,  makes  you  to  feel  that  regularity and innocence  are  the  only  happiness  which  was  intended  for  you on the  earth;  you  vainly  display  an  affected  intrepidity:  the  guilty conscience always  betrays  itself. Cruel terrors  march  every  where before you:  solitude  disquiets,  darkness  alarms  you;  you  fancy  to see  phantoms  coming  from  every  quarter  to  reproach  you  with  the secret errors  of  your  soul;  unlucky  dreams  fill  you  with  black  and gloomy fancies;  and  guilt,  after  which  you  run  with  so  much  relish, pursues you  afterward  like  a  cruel  vulture,  and  fixes  itself  upon  you, to tear  your  heart,  and  to  punish  you  for  the  pleasure  it  had  formerly given  you. — O my  God! what resources  hast  thou  not  left in our  heart  to  recall  us  to  thee! and how  powerful  is  the  protection which  the  goodness  and  the  righteousness  of  thy  law  finds  in the  bottom  of  our  being! — First testimony  which  the  conscience renders to  the  law  of  God,  a  testimony  of  truth  to  the  sanctity  of its  maxims.

But it  also  renders  a  testimony  of  severity  to  the  exactitude  of its  rules. For a  second  illusion  of  the  greatest  part  of  wTorldly souls, who  live  exempted  from  great  irregularities,  but  who  otherwise live  amidst  all  the  pleasures,  all  the  abuses,  all  the  sensualities, and all  the  dissipations  authorized  by  the  world,  is,  that  of  wishing to persuade  themselves  that  the  gospel  requires  no  more,  and  to persuade  us  that  their  conscience  reproaches  them  with  nothing, and that  they  believe  themselves  safe  in  that  state. Now, I  say, that here  the  worldly  conscience  is  again  not  candid,  and  is  deceived; and that,  in  spite  of  all  those  mollifications  which  they  endeavour to justify  to  themselves,  it  renders,  in  the  bottom  of  our  hearts,  a testimony  of  severity  to  the  law  of  God.

In effect,  order  requires  that  all  our  passions  be  regulated  by  the bridle of  the  law. All our  inclinations,  corrupted  in  their  source, have occasion  for  a  rule  to  rectify  and  correct  them:  we  confess this ourselves;  we  feel  that  our  corruption  pervades  the  smallest as well  as  the  greatest  things;  that  self-love  infects  all  our  proceedings; and  that  we  every  where  find  ourselves  wTeak,  and  in  continual opposition  to  order  and  duty;  we  feel,  then,  that  the  rule ought, in  no  instance,  to  be  favourable  to  our  inclinations;  that we ought  every  where  to  find  it  severe,  because  it  ought  every where to  be  in  opposition  to  us;  that  the  law  cannot  be  in  unity with us;  that  whatever  favours  our  inclinations,  can  never  be  the remedy intended  to  cure  them;  that  whatever  flatters  our  desires, can never  be  the  bridle  which  is  to  restrain  them:  in  a  word,  that whatever nourishes  self-love,  is  not  the  law  which  is  established  for the sole  purpose  of  destroying  and  annihilating  it. Thus, by  an inward  feeling,  inseparable  from  our  being,  we  always  discriminate ourselves from  the  law,  our  inclinations  from  its  rules,  our  pleasures from its  duties;  and,  in  all  dubious  actions  where  we  decide  in favour  of  our  inclinations,  we  perfectly  feel  that  we  are  deviating from the  law  of  God,  always  more  rigid  than  ourselves.

And allow  me  here,  my  brethren,  to  appeal  to  your  conscience