Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/442

 Part I. — Man  had  been  placed  upon  the  earth  for  the  sole  purpose of  rendering,  to  the  author  of  his  being,  that  glory  and  that homage which  were  his  due. All called  him  to  these  duties;  and every thing,  which  ought  to  have  called,  removed  him  from  them. To his  Supreme  Majesty  he  owed  his  adoration  and  his  homage; to his  paternal  goodness,  his  love;  to  his  infinite  wisdom,  the  sacrifice of  his  reason  and  of  his  lights. These duties,  engraven  on his  heart,  and  born  with  him,  were  still  also  incessantly  proclaimed to him  by  all  creatures;  he  could  neither  listen  to  himself,  nor  to all  things  around  him,  without  finding  them;  nevertheless,  he  forgets, he  effaces  them  from  his  heart. He no  longer  saw,  in  the work, that  honour  and  that  worship  which  were  due  to  the  sovereign Architect;  in  the  blessings  with  which  he  loaded  him,  that love which  he  owed  to  his  benefactor;  in  the  obscurity  spread through even  natural  causes,  that  impossibility,  much  less,  of fathoming  the  secrecies  of  God,  and  that  mistrust,  in  which  he  ought to live,  of  his  own  lights. Idolatry, therefore,  rendered  to  the  creature that  worship  which  the  Creator  had  reserved  for  himself  alone: the synagogue  honoured  him  from  the  lips,  and  that  love,  which  it owed  to  him,  was  confined  to  external  homages  totally  unworthy of him:  philosophy  lost  itself  in  its  own  ideas,  measured  the  lights of God  by  those  of  men,  and  vainly  believed  that  reason,  which knew not  itself,  was  able  to  know  all  truth:  three  sores,  spread  over the face  of  the  whole  earth. In a  word,  God  was  no  longer  either known or  glorified,  and  man  was  no  longer  known  to  himself.

And, first,  to  what  excesses  had  idolatry  not  carried  its  profane worship? The death  of  a  person  loved,  quickly  exalted  him  to  a divinity;  and  his  vile  ashes,  on  which  his  nothingness  was  stamped in characters  so  indelible,  became  themselves  the  title  of  his  glory and of  his  immortality. Conjugal love  made  gods  to  itself;  impure love  followed  the  example,  and  determined  to  have  its  altars: the wife  and  the  mistress,  the  husband  and  the  lover,  had  temples, priests, and  sacrifices. The folly,  or  the  general  corruption,  adopted a worship  so  ridiculous  and  so  abominable;  the  whole  universe was infected  with  it;  the  majesty  of  the  laws  of  the  empire authorized it;  and  the  magnificence  of  the  temples,  the  pomp  of the  sacrifices,  the  immense  riches  of  the  images,  rendered  that folly respectable. Every people  was  jealous  in  having  their  gods; in default  of  man  they  offered  incense  to  the  beast;  impure homages became  the  worship  of  these  impure  divinities;  the towns, the  mountains,  the  fields,  the  deserts,  were  stained  with them, and  beheld  superb  edifices  consecrated  to  pride,  to  lasciviousness,  to  revenge. The number  of  the  divinities  equalled  that of the  passions;  the  gods  were  almost  as  numerous  as  the  men; all became  god  with  man;  and  the  true  God  was  the  only  one  unknown to  man.

The world  was  plunged,  almost  from  its  creation,  in  the  horror of this  darkness;  every  age  had  added  to  it  fresh  impieties. In proportion as  the  appointed  time  of  the  Deliverer  drew  near,  the depravity of  men  seemed  to  increase. Rome itself,  mistress  of