Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/98

 allows itself  every  animosity  which  extends  not  to  avowed  revenge; it justifies  every  pleasure  in  which  guilt  is  not  palpable;  it  delivers itself up  without  reserve  to  every  worldly  desire  and  gratification, by which  no  individual,  it  supposes,  is  injured;  every  omission, which seems  to  turn  on  the  arbitrary  duties,  or  but  slightly  interest the essential  ones,  it  makes  no  scruple  of;  every  action  of  selflove,  which  leads  not  directly  to  guilt,  it  regards  as  nothing;  all that nicety  with  regard  to  rank  and  personal  fame,  which  is compatible  with  that  moderation  even  the  world  requires,  it  regards as  a  merit. Now, what  happens  in  consequence  of  this? Listen, and  you  shall  know;  and  I  beg  you  will  attend  to  the  following reflections.

In the  first  place:  all  the  inclinations  within  us,  which  oppose themselves to  order  and  duty,  being  continually  strengthened,  order and duty  at  last  find  in  us  insurmountable  difficulties:  insomuch, that, to  accomplish  them  on  any  essential  occasion,  or  when  required by  the  law  of  God,  is  like  remounting  against  the  stream  of a  rapid  flood,  where  the  current  drags  us  down  in  spite  of  every effort to  the  contrary;  or  like  a  furious  and  unmanageable  horse which it  is  necessary  to  stop  short  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice. Thus your  insensibility  and  pride  are  nourished  to  such  a  degree of strength,  that  you  abandon  your  heart  to  all  their  impressions. Thus your  care  and  anxiety  have  so  fortified  in  your  heart  the  desire of  worldly  praise,  that,  on  any  important  occasion,  where  it would  be  necessary  to  sacrifice  the  vanity  of  its  suffrages  to  duty, and expose  yourself,  for  the  good  of  your  soul,  to  its  censure  and derision, you  will  always  prefer  the  interests  of  vanity  to  those  of truth,  and  the  opinions  of  men  will  be  much  more  powerful  than the fear  of  God. Thus those  anxieties  with  regard  to  fortune  and advancement have  rendered  ambition  so  completely  sovereign  of your  heart,  that,  in  any  delicate  conjuncture,  where  the  destruction of a  rival  would  be  necessary  toward  your  own  elevation,  you  will never hesitate,  but  will  sacrifice  your  conscience  to  your  fortune, and be  unjust  toward  your  brother,  lest  you  fail  toward  yourself. Thus in  a  word,  to  avoid  a  long  detail,  those  suspicious  attachments, loose  conversations,  ridiculous  compliances,  and  desires  of pleasing,  too  much  attended,  have  filled  you  with  dispositions  so nearly  allied  to  guilt  and  debauchery,  that  you  are  no  longer  capable of  resistance  against  any  of  their  attacks;  the  corruption  prepared by  the  whole  train  of  your  past  actions,  will  be  lighted up in  an  instant;  your  weakness  will  overcome  your  reflection; your heart  will  go  against  glory,  duty,  and  yourself. We cannot long continue  faithful,  when  we  find  in  ourselves  so  many  dispositions to  be  otherwise.

Thus you  will  yourself  be  surprised  at  your  own  weakness:  you will ask  at  yourself,  what  are  become  of  all  those  dispositions  of modesty  and  virtue,  which  formerly  inspired  you  with  such  horror at sin? You no  longer  will  know  yourself:  but  this  state  of  guilt will gradually  appear  less  frightful  to  you. The heart  soon  justifies to  itself  whatever  pleases  it:  whatever  is  agreeable  to  us,  does