Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/543

 disappointments, and  their  unpleasant  reports:  theatres,  no  longer having as  spectators  but  souls  grossly  dissolute  and  incapable  of  being roused but  by  the  most  shocking  excesses  of  debauchery,  become insipid while  moving  only  those  delicate  passions,  which  only  serve to show  guilt  from  afar,  and  to  lay  snares  for  innocence. Lastly, the world  is  a  place  where  hope  itself,  considered  as  a  passion  so sweet  and  so  pleasing,  renders  all  men  unhappy;  where  those  who have nothing  more  to  hope,  believe  themselves  still  more  miserable; where every  thing  that  pleases  soon  ceases  to  please:  and  where inanity or  listless  insipidity  is  almost  the  best  and  the  most  supportable lot  to  be  expected. Such is  the  world,  my  brethren;  nor is this  that  obscure  world,  to  which  neither  the  great  pleasures,  nor the charms  of  prosperity,  of  favour,  and  affluence  are  known:  it  is the  world  in  its  most  brilliant  point  of  view;  it  is  the  world  of  the court; it  is  you  yourselves  who  now  listen  to  me. Such is  the world; nor  is  this  one  of  those  fanciful  paintings  of  which  the  reality is no  where  to  be  found. I paint  the  world  after  your  own  heart, that is  to  say,  such  as  you  know  it  to  be,  and  such  as  you  yourselves continually experience  it.

Such, nevertheless,  is  the  place  in  which  all  sinners  seek  their happiness. That is  their  country. There they  would  willingly eternize themselves. Such is  that  world  which  they  prefer  to  the eternal inheritance,  and  to  all  the  promises  of  faith. Great God! how just  art  thou  in  punishing  man  through  his  passions  themselves, and to  permit  that,  wishing  to  seek  his  happiness  elsewhere  than  in thee,  who  alone  art  the  true  peace  of  his  heart,  he  forms  for  himself a ridiculous  felicity  of  his  fears,  his  disgusts,  his  wearinesses,  and his disquietudes!

But that  which  is  so  fortunate  here  for  virtue,  is,  that  the  same world, so  tiresome  and  so  insupportable  to  sinners  who  seek  their happiness in  it,  becomes  a  source  of  the  most  soothing  reflections to the  righteous,  who  consider  it  as  an  exilement  and  a  foreign land.

For, in  the  first  place,  the  inconstancy  of  the  world,  so  dreaded by those  delivered  up  to  it,  supplies  a  thousand  motives  of  consolation to  the  believing  soul. Nothing appears  to  him  either  constant or  durable  upon  the  earth;  neither  the  most  flourishing  fortunes, nor  the  warmest  friendships,  nor  the  most  brilliant  reputations, nor  the  most  envied  favour. He sees  a  sovereign  wisdom through all,  which  delights,  it  would  appear,  in  making  a  sport  of men,  by  alternately  exalting  them  on  the  ruins  of  each  other;  by hurling  down  those  at  the  top  of  the  wheel,  in  order  to  elevate  those who, only  a  moment  before,  were  groveling  at  the  bottom:  by  introducing every  day,  on  the  theatre  of  life,  new  heroes  to  eclipse all those  who  formerly  played  on  it  so  brilliant  a  part;  by  incessantly giving  new  scenes  to  the  universe. He sees  men  passing their whole  life  in  ferments,  projects,  and  plots;  ever  on  the  watch to surprise  each  other,  or  to  avoid  being  surprised;  always  eager and active  to  profit  of  the  retreat,  the  disgrace,  or  the  death  of  a rival;  and  of  these  grand  lessons,  so  fitted  to  inculcate  contempt