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 PRINCETON, N. J. 
 
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 Division - _P ■j'^ C/ ^ I 
 
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 Shelf. Number V.*..^... 
 
SERMONS, 
 
 AND 
 
 MORAL DISCOURSES, 
 
 ON THE 
 
 IMPORTANT DUTIES OF CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 
 
 PERE BOURDALOUE, S.I. 
 
 BY THE REV. A. CARROLL, S.J. 
 
 PREACH THE 'WORD : BE INSTANT IN SEASON, OUT OF SEASON ; REPROVE, 
 ENTREAT, BEBDKB IN ALL PATIENCE AND DOCTRINE 2Tim. CiV. V.2. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 VOL. n. 
 
 DUBLIN : 
 PUBLISHED BY JAMES DUFFY, 
 
 25, ANGLESEA STREET. 
 M.DCCC.XLni. 
 
CONTENTS, VOL. II, 
 
 SERMON XVII On Temptation, 5 
 
 [For the first Sunday in Lent.] 
 Jesus was led up hy the spirit into the wilderness, to be tempted by the devil ; 
 and when he had fasted forty days and forty nights, he afterwards ivas hungered. 
 Matth. IV. 
 
 SERMON XVIIL— On Relapse into Sin, - - - - 29 
 
 [For the eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost.] 
 Jesus seeing their faith, said to the man sick of the palsy : be of good heart, S07i, 
 thy sins are forgiven thee. Matth. ix. 
 
 SERMON XIX — On Divine Grace, 51 
 
 Jesus answered, and said to her : if thou didst know the gift of God. John iv 
 
 SERMON XX — On Remorse of Conscience, - - - 74 
 
 When Jesus came near Jerusalem, he beheld the city, and wept over it, saying : 
 if thou hadst known, even then, the tlmigs belonging to thy peace ! Luke xix. 
 
 SERMON XXI On the Love of God, .... 95 
 
 This he spake of the spirit which they who believe in him should receive. 
 
 John vii. 
 
 SERMON XXII — On Penance, 1 IG 
 
 He came into all the country about the Jordan, preaching the baptism of penance, 
 unto the remission of sins. Luke hi. 
 
 SERMON XXIII._On Communion, 137 
 
 [For the third Sunday after Epiphany.] 
 Jesus saith unto him : I will come and heal him. And the centurion answered 
 and said : Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldst come tinder my roof. 
 Matth. viii. 
 
 SERMON XXI v.— On Prayer, 162 
 
 Behold a woman of Canaan, who came out of the coasts, saying : have mercy on 
 me, O Lord, the son of David f my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil. 
 Matth. xv. 
 
 SERMON XXV — On THE Thoughts OF Death, - - 184 
 
 Dust thou art, and unto dust ihnn shalt return. Gen. lit. 
 
IV CONTENTS, VOL. II. 
 
 SERMON XXVI On Preparation for Death, - - 2.08 
 
 [For the fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost.] 
 When he came near unto the gate of the city, behold, there was a dead man 
 carried out, the only son of his mother; and she was a widow, and many people 
 of the city were with her. And when the Lord saw her, being moved with 
 compassion, he said unto her, weep not. Luke vii. 
 
 SERMON XXVII On Final Impenitence, - - - 228 
 
 Jesus said unto them ; / go, and ye shall seek me ; and shall die in your sin. 
 
 John viii. 
 
 SERMON XXVIII On the Last Jud(1ment, - - - 247 
 
 [For the first Sunday of Advent.] 
 
 There shall be signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars, and upon 
 the earth distress of nations .... Men withering away for fear and ex- 
 pectation of what shall come upon the whole world. Luke xxi. 
 
 SERMON XXIX.— On the Pains of Hell, - - - 269 
 
 The rich man also died, and was buried j;i Hell. Luke xvi. 
 
 SERMON XXX On the Eternity OP Hell, - - - 291 
 
 The7i the king said to the waiters: bind him hand and foot, ajtd cast him into 
 outer darkness. There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Matth. xxii. 
 
 SERMON XXXI On the Reward of the Saints - - 315 
 
 [For the Feast of All Saints.] 
 Rejoice and be exceeding glad, for lo ! your reward is very great in heaven. 
 
 Matth. v. 
 
1 1 >- u . I K u V I r j i 
 
 SERMONS. 
 
 SERMON XVII. 
 
 ON TEMPTATION. 
 
 'For the First Sunday in Lent. 
 
 *' Jesus was led up hy the Spirit into the wilderness^ to he 
 tempted by the devil ; and when he had fasted forty days and forty 
 nights, he afterwards was hungered." Matt. iv. 
 
 Ib it not astonishing, beloved Christians, that the Son of God, who 
 came down upon earth, (as St. John tells us,) with a view to over- 
 turn the works of Satan, should condescend to 'experience in his 
 own person the assaults and wiles of that ghostly tempter ? But 
 to this he was induced, (as St. Augustin observes,) for four great 
 reasons, every one of which had a direct tendency to promote our 
 welfare. We were too frail and weak to undergo temptation, and 
 he would supply us with strength. We were too timid and das- 
 tardly, and he would inspire us with courage. We were too 
 imprudent and rash, and he would teach us to be cautious. We 
 wanted experience, and were little versed in the art of withstanding 
 the art of our common enemy, and he would instruct us in it. 
 
 Now this he doth admirably in the passage I have quoted. For, 
 (according to the thought and expression of St. Gregory,) he 
 supphed us with strength to overcome temptations, by his o^vn 
 temptations, as by his own death he overcame ours. He inspired 
 us with courage and resolution, by sharing the same combat, as 
 nothing covUd encourage us more effectually than the example of 
 a God-man, our Sovereign Pontiff, who was (according to St. 
 Paul's words) "in all points tempted, like as we were." Ileb. iv. 
 
 VOL. 11. B 
 
6 ON TEMI'TATION. 
 
 He taught us vigilance and circumspection, by showing U8 that no 
 one should hold himself secure ; since he himself, tlie saint of 
 saints, was liable to be tempted. He gave us knowledge and 
 understanding, by discovering the arms we ought to make use of 
 in our own defence, and by laying down the rules which were 
 to be observed in this spiritual warfare. 
 
 Thus a great prince, to repulse his enemies, and disconcert their 
 measures, is not content with levying forces, and issuing out orders, 
 but puts himself the first at the head of his armies, encourages 
 them by his presence, leads them on by his prudence, animates 
 them by his valour, and, notwithstanding the obstacles and dan- 
 gers they meet with, makes them sure of victory. And if such be 
 the efficacy, such the prevalence of royal example, as you well 
 know, Christians, and of which you have been witnesses oftentimes 
 yourselves, what must be that of a saving God ? This is, undoubt- 
 edly, one of the most important subjects I can treat of, or discuss 
 in the pulpit ; a subject, than which none requires more attention, 
 or deeper reflection. Among so great a nimiber of excellent 
 lessons which the gospel lays down in the present narrative, con- 
 cerning the manner in which it is our duty to behave in temptation, 
 I shall suigle out two, to which I shall confine myself, and which 
 naturally arise from the words of my text. The first is, that this 
 divine Master goes not into the wilderness, where he suffers temp- 
 tation, but by the suggestion and guidance of the holy Spirit : 
 *' Led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted." The 
 second, that before he is tempted, he prej^ares for it by fasting, and 
 by mortifying the senses : " And when he had fasted forty days 
 and forty nights, the tempter came to him." And from hence I 
 shall make two deductions, both the one and the other extremely 
 profitable, and no less necessary. 
 
 In Avhat manner soever, God, by the decrees of his infinite wis- 
 dom, may have previously appointed the disposition of his graces, 
 which St. Augustin denominates, predestination, these three things 
 are evident and incontestable in the principles of faith, namely ; 
 that the assistance of grace is necessary, in order to overcome 
 temptation ; that there is no temptation which may not be over- 
 come by the assistance of grace ; and finally, that God, by an 
 engagement of fidelity, never fails to strengthen us with grace in 
 temptation. 
 
 1 cannot, without grace, overcome temptation. This is an 
 
ON TEMPTATION. 7 
 
 article long since decided against the Pelagians. Now when I say 
 overcome, I mean that victory of which St. Paul speaks, when he 
 Bays, "that a man is not crowned, except he strive lawfully." 
 2 Tim. ii. A victory which results from the spirit of Christianity; 
 a victory meritorious in the sight of God ; a victory for which the 
 conqueror shall one day be rewarded in heaven. For, to subdue 
 one temptation by another temptation, one vice by another vice, 
 one sin by another sin ; to subdue revenge by avarice, avarice by 
 pleasure, pleasure by ambition : these are the \'irtues and victories 
 of the world, in which grace hath no share. But to siumouut, for 
 God, and righteousness' sake, all these temptations, and the world 
 itself, is a victory peculiar to grace and our faith : " And this is 
 the victory which overcometh the world, our faith." 1 John v. 
 
 There is no temptation which is not surmountable yviih God's 
 assistance ; this is another essential maxim in religion, for which St. 
 John assigns an excellent reason ; for (says he) " greater is he who 
 is in you [by his grace] than he who is in the world," (1 John iv.) 
 and reigns in it in quality of prince of the world. It is to offer an 
 injury to God, therefore, to suppose, that temptations cannot be 
 surmounted, and to say, what nevertheless is so often said : I 
 cannot bear up against such a passion; I cannot make head against 
 such a custom, and such a propensity. There is more of infidelity 
 (according to St. Bernard,) than of weakness in expressions of this 
 nature ; because, by thus speaking, either we consider only our 
 own strength, and, in that sense, indeed, the proposition is true • 
 but we are faithless in separating our oAvn strength from that of 
 God ; or we suppose grace, and the divine assistance ; and in that 
 sense, the proposition is not only false, but, moreover, heretical • 
 because faith teaches, that " we can do all things throuo-h Jesus 
 Christ our Lord, who strengthens us." Phil. iv. 
 
 But have we always this assistance of God in temptation ? This 
 is that which remains to be explained, and wliich I purpose to make 
 the subject of the following discom-se, in wliich I fear not to 
 promise, that I shall, without embarrassing the imagination, or con- 
 fusing the mind, or advancing aught but what will edify you, 
 throw light upon wdiatever is most important and sohd rclatinrr to 
 grace. 
 
 Yes, beloved Cluistians, it is an article of our faith, that God, 
 at no time, pei'mits us to be tempted above our strength : " God 
 is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that Avhich 
 
 b2 
 
ON TEMrXATION. 
 
 you are able." 1 Cor. x. Now this ability we have only through 
 gmce, wliich, therefore, is never wanting on the part of God, not 
 only to repel, but to draw advantage from, the sallies of temp- 
 tation : for *' he will make vnth the temptation a way to escape." 
 
 1 Cor. X. This is the doctrine of the great apostle, and this we 
 cannot doubt of, unless we preposterously figure to ourselves a 
 supreme Being without mercy and without Providence. But how 
 true soever all this may be, there is still a mistake but too common 
 in the world, and discoverable in the greater part of mankind ; it 
 is to suppose that these graces are imparted to us, such as we would 
 have them, and at the time we would have them be imparted to us : 
 a gross mistake, the consequences of which are extremely perni- 
 cious, and whicli I look upon as of the utmost importance to 
 rectify. In order to lay my plan the more clearly before you, I 
 must here distinguish between two sorts of temptations : one, in 
 which we engage against the order of God, and of our own accord ; 
 the other, in which we are overtaken by a kind of necessity 
 annexed to our condition. 
 
 First then, I say, that when temptation is voluntary, we expect 
 to no purpose the assistance of God, if we do not quit the occasion 
 of it ; nor must we then promise ourselves the grace to resist it, 
 but the grace to fly from it. 
 
 Secondly, I say, that though temptation be involuntary, we shall 
 have to no purpose the grace of resistance, if we be not^ ourselves, 
 resolved to resist it, particularly in imitation of our blessed Lord 
 and Saviour Jesus Christ, by mortifying the flesh. 
 
 Both these propositions abound with solid instruction, and are 
 well deserving of your serious attention. 
 
 Part I. AVliatever obligation we may sometimes be under, as 
 in fact we are, of risking our lives, it is an incontestable truth, 
 fomided in that primary law of charity which we owe to ourselves, 
 that we are never permitted to venture our salvation. Now, it is 
 evident that we do so, and therefore, that we sin as often as we 
 rashly engage In temptation. My meaning is this : there is no one 
 who hath not, internally and externally, originals of temptation 
 peculiar to himself : internally, passions and habits ; externally, 
 opportunities and importunities, which lie must personally guard 
 against, and which are sources of temptation in his regard. For 
 with great propriety we may say of temptation, what St. Paul said 
 ol" grace : thjit as there is in us a diversity of graces and inspira- 
 
ON TEMPTATION. 9 
 
 tions, all which proceed from one and the same spirit of sanctity, 
 and which Almighty God, who operates in us, makes use oi", 
 though differently, in order to convert us and bring us to salvation ; 
 60 also there is in us a diversity of temptations, which one and the 
 same spirit of iniquity raises up against us, in order to corrupt us, 
 and lead us to perdition. We are sufficiently apprised what that 
 foible is, tlu-ough which he mostly, and most vehemently attacks 
 us ; and if we give but ever so little attention to our o\\ai conduct, 
 we easily discern, not only the temptation which predominates in 
 us, but the particular circumstances which enhance the danger of 
 it. For (as St. Chrysostom judiciously ^remarks) what is temp- 
 tation for one man, is not so for another ; what may be the occasion 
 of one man's fall, may be no way dangerous with regard to another ; 
 and many there are, who, though firm and unshaken amidst 
 the most enormous scandals in the world, yet, on account of the 
 particular disposition they are in, unhappily miscarry for (if I may 
 80 call it) the veriest trifle. To know the danger, and not to fly 
 from it, is what I call exposing one's self, against the order of God, 
 to temptation. Now I maintain, that a Christian should not then 
 expect the assistance of those graces, which are given him to resist 
 and overcome temptation. I maintain that he hath no right to 
 petition, or even to hope for them. I proceed still farther, nor am 
 I afraid to add, that although he should petition for them, God, 
 in the ordinary course of his Providence, is expressly determined to 
 give him a denial. How can I address myself in stronger terms 
 to those presumptuous souls, in order to let them see the irregu- 
 larity of their conduct, and induce them to come back into the 
 prudential and holy ways of righteousness ? 
 
 No, Christians ; whoever inadvisedly, and against God's order, 
 rushes into temptation, must not hope for those graces of protec- 
 tion and defence, of resistance and conflict, so necessary to support 
 us. Under what colour can we ask them of God ? Under colour 
 of justice ? No, they would no longer be graces, or gifts of God, 
 if God owed them as a debt. Under colom- of fidelity ? No, God 
 never promised them. Under colour of mercy ? To that, by his 
 presumption, he puts a voluntary obstacle, and renders himself 
 unworthy of the divine mercies. He is, therefore, so long as he 
 remains in this state, and is willing to remain in it, destitute of 
 help on the part of God, and deprived of all right and title to grace ; 
 I mean that grace of which St. Augustin speaks, and wliich he 
 
10 ON TEMPTATION. 
 
 styles victorious, inasmuch as it is by it that we vanquish temp- 
 tation. 
 
 I say more : not only we must not on ihese occasions presume, 
 or suppose that God will afford us his victorious grace ; we must 
 be assured he will not, because he hath so declared, and because 
 no doctrine is more clearly set forth in the scripture than this, 
 namely ; that to punish the rashness and presumption of a sinner, 
 God abandons him, and gives him up to his corrupt desires. And 
 tell me not, that God is faithful to his promise, and that his pro- 
 mise is (according to St. Paul) not to suffer us to be tempted above 
 that which we are able. God is faithful to his promise ; but these 
 are two very different things : not to suffer us to be tempted above 
 that which we are able, and to give us what degree of ability we 
 please, whenever we throw ourselves into temptation. One is by 
 no means a consequence of the other ; and God may refuse us, 
 without prejudice to his promise, a favour for which we cannot 
 reasonably hope. He is faithful to his promise ; but when, or 
 where, hath he promised to succour the man in temptation who 
 seeks the temptation ? To reason with propriety, and on the prin- 
 ciples of faith, we would invert the proposition, and conclude in 
 this manner : God is faitliful to his promise, nay, infallible in his 
 words ; he will, therefore, refuse to aid him in temptation, because 
 he hath so told us in express terms. Now it is as much the con- 
 cernment of God's fidelity as to make good the truth of tliia 
 formidable threat : " He that loveth the danger shall perish in it ;" 
 (Ecclus. iii.;) as it is to fulfil tliis comfortable promise ; " God is 
 faithful, who will not sufier you to be tempted above that which 
 you are able." I Cor. x. 
 
 But waving the promises and menaces of God, let us consider 
 the thing as it is in itself. Why, truly, beloved hearers, if a man 
 should rashly, and of his own accord, run into temptation, and 
 should voluntarily harbom- the cause and origin of it, how doth it 
 become him to implore and expect the assistance of heaven ? But 
 had it been the desire of promoting the greater glory of God, or a 
 necessaiy obHgation, or a charitable motive, or accident, or surprise, 
 that induced you to take this dangerous step, his Providence had 
 watched over you, and had sooner worked a miracle, than suffered 
 you to fall. And, indeed, when Christian virgins, in the days of 
 persecution, were committed to places of prostitution and debauch- 
 ery, with a vicAV to ruin them, the grace of God went after them. 
 
ON TEMPTATION. 11 
 
 ^V^lcn the prophets of Israel, to fulfil their duty, appeared In the 
 courts of idolatrous princes, the grace of God accompanied them. 
 When the fathers of the desert, in obedience to the call and Inspi- 
 ration of God, relinquished their retreats, and repaired to infamous 
 dissolute towns, to exhort the people and reclaim them to penance, 
 the grace of God went along with them. It acted within them, 
 and impelled them to action. It gmned illustrious victories, and 
 made glorious conquests. And because he was himself the guar- 
 dian of their way, and ensurancer of their salvation, they were 
 proof against every thing. But you, upon principles extremely 
 different, give yourselves up to whatever is most dangerous for you, 
 and most capable to pervert you. With a view of satisfying your 
 evil propensity, you are taken up with loose friends, loose com- 
 pany, and loose conversation, that would corrupt (if I may venture 
 80 to speak) the angels themselves. With a view of indulging in 
 some favourite passion, or influenced by weakness and vicious duc- 
 tility, you give free admittance to contagious persons, domestic 
 demons, who perpetually watch for an opportunity of seducing you, 
 and instilling into you the seductive poison which they carry in 
 their breasts. With a view of procuring insignificant pleasure, you 
 run to exhibitions, and are seen at assemblies, which are capable of 
 mortally wounding your heart. With a view of gratifying a hellish 
 curiosity, you devour books without discrimination, not scrupling 
 to peruse even those which have a du'eet tendency to debauch the 
 imagination by lascivious narratives, and amorous adventures ; or 
 to pervert the understanding by their impious principles, and scoffs 
 at rehgion. And you, woman of the world, through an imfortu- 
 nate vanity, peculiar to your sex, do everything in your power to 
 appear at all places of public resort, to attract admiration, to sec 
 and be seen, to shine in company, to set yourself off with all the 
 advantages of an affected luxury ; and in this disposition you have 
 tlie presumption to expect that God, in his goodness, will support 
 and protect you- Now I say, on the contraiy, that he ivill with- 
 draw his arm, that he will suffer you to fall ; and tliat although 
 from motives of Avorldly prudence, you should avoid those crimes, 
 which in the eyes of the world itself are accounted abominable, yet 
 you will fall into others of not so deep a dye, but mortal, never- 
 theless, with regard to salvation. I say that those graces, on which 
 you ridiculously build your hopes, were not intended to confirm 
 resolution in such circumstances, and that you may despair of 
 
12 ON TEMPTATION. 
 
 obtaining them, while your life is so disorderly as 1 suppose it to 
 be. This is what I advance as a maxim the most incontestable, 
 and the most solidly authorised by the three great rules of moral 
 agency, namely ; by experience, by reason, and by faith. This is 
 the great, the capital point, which 'you and I must invariably 
 adhere to through our whole conduct and plan of life. 
 
 Ah 1 my brethren (says the pious St. Bernard) were it true, as 
 you would persuade yourselves, that God was disposed to protect 
 and uphold us, as weU when we throw ourselves against his order 
 into the danger of sinning, as when we are innocently surprised, 
 we must admit that the saints took wrong measures and needless 
 precautions on this head. Those men, so reno\viied for the sanc- 
 tity of their lives, and who are proposed for our imitation ; those 
 men, so consummately skilled in the science of salvation, would have 
 understood it but ill, if grace had been indifferently imparted to 
 him wlio courted the temptation, and to him who feared it ; to him 
 who excites it and takes delight in it, and to him who avoids it. 
 In vain should you break off all communication with the world, 
 and shut yourselves up in holy retirement, if, in the most corrupt 
 communication wth the world, you might make sure of God and 
 his all-powerful protection. 
 
 Why had St. Jerom so great a horror of worldly pomp ? Why 
 was he disturbed, as he witnesses himself, at the remembrance of 
 things which he had seen at Rome ? He might have quitted his 
 solitude, and joined once more his former associates. He might, 
 without fear, have resorted to, and indulged in all the softness and 
 effeminacy of female conversation. Why did this great, this cele- 
 brated master in a spiritual life, this doctor of the church, so wise 
 and so enlightened, oblige that holy virgin, Eustochium, to refrain 
 for eVer from certain liberties, which are mostly taken without 
 scruple ; concealed appointments, frequent visits, ambiguous words 
 and of double meaning ; humorous letters and artfully obscure ; 
 professions of affection, and all the formalities of a growing friend- 
 ship ? Why, I say, did he rebuke her for all these, as for so 
 many crimes ? Why did he make her so much apprehend the 
 consequences of them, if he knew that God had taken care to 
 provide J us with an infallible preservative, and a never-failing 
 remedy always at hand ? 
 
 In fine, when the fathers of the church so zealously inveighed 
 against the abuses and scandals of theatrical cxliibitions ; when they 
 
ON TEMPTATION. 13 
 
 obliged the faithful to renounce them for ever, in consequence of 
 their baptism, those vehement invectives we should regard as 
 figures, and those pathetic discourses as exaggerations. But think 
 what you will of it, beloved hearers, it is hard that the saints should 
 have been all deceived ; and in matters of conscience I had rather 
 be impelled by their example, than be influenced by the world and 
 all its adherents. For, the saints spoke and acted by the spirit of 
 God ; and error ever was, and will bo incompatible with the Spirit 
 of God. 
 
 But let us proceed to the fountain-head ; and in order to ascer- 
 tain still more fully the truth of this doctrine, let us try to make 
 appear from what soiu-ce it flows. Why doth not God give his 
 grace to a sinner who lays himself voluntarily open to temptation? 
 To promote the advantage and credit of his grace. And for tliis 
 Tertullian gives a very natural and very solid reason. The aid 
 (says he) of the Deity, in any other supposition, would be a foun- 
 dation and pretext for the rashness of. man. This, then, is the 
 meaning of that father : Almighty God, liberal and boimtiliil as he 
 is, must in such a manner dispose of his graces, that they make us 
 not live in a presumptuous confidence. This proposition is clear 
 and evident. Now did I know, that in the temptations to wliich 
 I expose myself against his will, he would infallibly assist me, I 
 should not imagine circumspection needful ; I should slight liis 
 counsels, and overlook the dictates of Chiistian prudence, equally 
 invincible, whether I sought or avoided the danger. And thus, 
 instead of making me watchful and humble, the influence of God 
 would make me proud and remiss. 
 
 What then doth God do ? Seeing me prepossessed with an 
 error so injurious to his very sanctity, he deprives me of his grace, 
 and obviates the reproach which might be made to his Providence : 
 that he had countenanced my libertinism, and authorized my tirae- 
 rity. It is a great mistake (says St. Cyprian) to imagine, that the 
 spiritual force and power of grace, which ought to overcome temp- 
 tation in us, or help us to overcome it, is left to omr discretion. 
 God keeps it in store for the wise and provident, not for the negli- 
 gent and inconsiderate Christian, imparting it only to righteous 
 souls, who know their o^vn weakness, and are perpetually on their 
 guard. But as to those audacious, precipitate Christians, who go 
 on without reflection in their evil courses, he makes a point of 
 leaving them to the desiies of their own heart. And this chastise- 
 
14 ON TEMPTATION. 
 
 ment, however terrible, is perfectly commensurate witli the nature 
 of their sin. 
 
 For, what doth a Christian do, when the instigation and capri- 
 eiousness of a ruling power neither alarm him, nor induce him to 
 prevent temptation ? He tempts God : and to tempt God is one 
 of the greatest and most hateful inordinations of which man is 
 capable ; an inordination which (according to the fathers) offends 
 directly against the first duty of the Christian rehgion : " Thou 
 ehalt not tempt the Lord thy God." Matt. iv. Now for this the 
 einner can undergo no punishment more severe, than that of God's 
 dereliction. Hear how St. Thomas reasons upon the matter. In 
 the language of scripture (says he) God may be tempted three 
 several ways : first, when we desire that he would work a miracle 
 without necessity ; and this is the case of those Pharisees mentioned 
 in St. Luke : " Others, tempting him, sought of him a sign from 
 heaven." Luke xi. They asked him to show them a prodigy in 
 the air. But what was their view in making this petition ? It was 
 to tempt him. Secondly, when we try to set bounds to his omni- 
 potence ; and with this it was that the amiable Judith reproached 
 the Bethulians, who, when besieged by Holofemes, despairing too 
 soon of succour from above, were ready to capitulate, and deliver 
 themselves up : " Who are you, (says she) that tempt the Lord?" 
 Jud. viii. " You have a set time for his mercy." Lastly, when 
 we are false to him, not maintaining an open, upright conduct 
 towards liim. Thus, the Jews perfidiously presented a piece of 
 coin to Christ, and wished him to tell them, if it were expedient 
 they should pay tribute to C»sar. " Why tempt ye me, (answers 
 he,) ye hypocrites ?" Matt. xxi. In this manner (says St. Thomas) 
 is God tempted ; these are the three difierent branches of tliis sin. 
 
 A Christian, who, presumptuously relying on grace, throws 
 himself into temptation, is guilty at once of all these three different 
 kinds of sin. For, first, he desires a miracle of God without neces- 
 sity ; because, doing nothing for his own preservation, he expects 
 that God will, alone, preserve him ; and, not making use of the 
 grace he hath, hopes that God will supply him with the grace he 
 hath not. The grace he hath, is a grace of flight ; but he will not 
 fly. The grace he hath not, is a grace of conflict ; but reckoning 
 nevertheless, that God will combat for him, he faces the danf^er ; 
 that is, he subverts, or at least would subvert, all the laws of Pro- 
 vidence. Regvdarly he should withdraw from the occasion of 
 
ON TEMPTATION. 15 
 
 einning, because it is in his power; but he will not. Ho presumes, 
 however, that God will protect him, and by an extraordinary con- 
 currence, withhold him from perdition. Is not this to desire a 
 most needless miracle ? When God was for preserving Lot and 
 his family from the flames of Sodom, and ordered him to leave that 
 reprobated tosvn, had he refused the condition, and chosen to remain 
 in the midst of the flames, still imploring the miraculous interpo- 
 sition of heaven, how would, how should, the petition have been 
 received ? Now this expressly sets forth the nature of our daily 
 conduct. We want, in places where the fire of concupiscence is 
 lighted up on all sides, that God Avould enable us, by his special 
 grace, to escape its influence. We go into all places, we hear and 
 see everything, we dread no connexions, we make but slight reflec- 
 tions on our own weakness ; and yet we expect that God will shield 
 us against so many dangers, and make us invulnerable to so many 
 shafts. But God can find means of keeping us to Jorder, and 
 baffling our presumption ; for he says to us directly what he said to 
 Lot : " Stay not in the country all about." Gen. ix. Stay not in 
 Sodom, or in the adjacent places ; stay not in the company of 
 wicked men, in evil communication, in scenes of debauchery : I 
 will work no miracle on your account : I consent, from this 
 moment, to your eternal ruin, unless by a vnse and speedy retreat 
 you prevent the misfortune that hangs over and threatens you. 
 *' Stay not in the country all about." 
 
 Accordingly, Christians, it is very remarkable, that the Son of 
 God, who might easily have accepted the challenge given him by 
 the tempter in the gospel ; Avho, without hazard, might have cast 
 himself down from the top of the pinnacle, and, by so doing, have 
 put his enemy to shame, was content to repulse him with these 
 words : " Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God." And at this 
 (says St. Augustin) we must not be sui-prised, because this enemy 
 of our happiness must be foiled by the vigilance of man, and not 
 by a miracle of God's omnipotence. To hear the holy fathers 
 deliver their sentiments on this head, one would think that they 
 had adopted the doctrine of Pelagius. All their propositions, how- 
 ever, are orthodox, as they exclude not grace, but the miracle of 
 grace. And it was this that made the saints so timorous, so 
 cautious, so attentive to themselves. But we, more knowing in the 
 dispensations of God than God himself^ carry our aflSance in his 
 divine protection to a liigher degree. For the father of lies says ; 
 
16 ON TEMPTATION. 
 
 "Cast yourselves down;" (Matt. iv;) throw yourselves, fearless, 
 into this abyss ; visit this person ; keep up this connexion : "he 
 hath given his angels charge concerning you." Matt. iv. Thus 
 he speaks to us, thus we hearken to him, thus we persuade our- 
 selves, that the angels of heaven will come down to oiu* assistance : 
 I mean, that we shall feel the influence of divine grace. And 
 forthwith, we shut our eyes, in order to proceed in slippery paths 
 with greater confidence ; and instead of answering, like Christ our 
 Lord : " thou shalt not tempt," thou shalt not make trial of God's 
 omnipotence, without hesitation we leave all to chance ; we expect 
 that God will do that for us, which he would not do for his divine 
 Son ; we ask of him a miracle, which (if I may venture to use the 
 expression) he refuses himself. 
 
 Further : at the same time that the sinner presumes to tempt 
 God, with regard to his omnipotence, he hath the boldness to 
 tempt him with regard to his mercy ; not by setting bounds to it, 
 like the priests'of Bethulia, but by extending it, on the contrary, 
 beyond the limits which he himself hath prescribed. For, his 
 mercy (says St. Augustin) is only stored for those who are taken 
 in the toils of temptation against their will ; and yet we would 
 have it be granted to those who entangle themselves in it, who 
 make it familiar to them, who love, and are pleased with its 
 destructive snares ; as if we were masters of God's graces, and had 
 it in our power to dispose of them at pleasure. " Now who are 
 we, therefore, who tempt the Lord ?" 
 
 In fine, we tempt God by hypocrisy, when we implore his 
 assisting grace in temptation, from which we are still afraid to be 
 delivered, and which we refuse to banish. God might well answer 
 us as Christ did the Jews : " Why tempt ye me, ye hypocrites?" 
 Matt. xxii. For we ask him for one thing with our lips, while in 
 our mind, and in our hearts, we desire another. We beg of him 
 to withdraw us and screen us from temptation, while yet we 
 approach against his prohibition. We say. Lord ! cast an eye of 
 compassion on our weakness, and save us from the violence and 
 surprises of the tempter ; and, notwithstanding this, by a mon- 
 strous contradiction, wc become our own tempters. We perform 
 in ourselves, and against ourselves (as St. Gregory, pope, excel- 
 lently observes,) a diabolical agency. Tell me, is not this to 
 dissemble with God, and to offer him insult ? 
 , This, beloved heai'ers, (give me leave to apply it to you in a 
 
ON TEMPTATION. 17 
 
 particular manner) avIII make you eternally inexcusable in the pre- 
 sence of God. When we reproach you with faults, you allege for 
 excuse your situation in life, pretending that the court, at which 
 you reside, is the abode of inevitable, insurmountable temptations. 
 It is thus you discourse, and thus you ascribe to other causes, that 
 which takes its rise in your own breasts. But the ways of God 
 must be justified in a matter, in which his Providence is so nearly 
 concerned. This idle pretext being once exploded, you will be 
 necessitated to hold another language, and humbly to acknowledge 
 the iiTCgularity of your conduct. 
 
 Yes, Christians, I own it is at court, that temptations have 
 taken up their fixed habitation ; allm-ing temptations which can 
 scarce be resisted ; vehement temptations, to wliich the most reso- 
 lute are often wont to yield. But for whom are they such ? For 
 those who do not come there by the call of God ; for those who are 
 instigated by ambitious views ; for those who endeavour to advance 
 by intrigue ; for those who seek only to make a worldly fortune ; 
 for those who remain there contrary to their duty, profession, and 
 conscience ; for those who are asked, what they do, and what they 
 came for ; for those of whom it is said, they are there but shoidd 
 be elsewhere ; in a word, for those who are not led by the Spirit 
 of God. Are you of this character, and in this category ? Then 
 I agree that you will suffer shipwreck almost infallibly. It is an 
 impetuous tide that bears you away. For how can you stem it, 
 since God is not with you ? But are you stationed at court, in 
 the order of Providence ? That is, have you fixed your abode 
 there by the divine appointment ? Do you hold the rank there 
 that is given you by your biilh ? Are you there by office ? 
 Were you summoned there by your sovereign? Do you stay 
 there for a necessary and indispensable reason ? No, Christians, 
 the temptations of the court are no longer invincible temptations 
 for you. For, it is an article of" faith, not only that God had pre- 
 viously afforded you graces to overcome them, but the graces 
 wliich he affords you have a peculiar fitness to bring about your 
 sanctification in the very midst of the court. 
 
 If then your perdition be effected at court, attribute not your 
 misfortune to the many temptations which at court are unavoidable, 
 but to yourself, and to your infidelity, and to your want of reso- 
 lution, as the Holy Ghost tells you in express terms : " Thou hast 
 destroyed thyself." Osce xiii. And truly is it not at the courts of 
 
18 OM TEMPTATION. 
 
 princes, tliat, in every age, in epite of temptations, the greatest 
 virtues have been practised, the greatest victories have been 
 obtained, the greatest sanctity hath been acquired, and may still 
 be acquired ? In places equally laborious and honourable, to be 
 perpetually beset with selfish, invidious, insatiable men ; to spend 
 days and nights in examining and adjusting the affairs of others, 
 in hearing complaints, in giving out orders, in holding councils, in 
 negociation, in deliberation, all these, and a thousand other irksome 
 affairs, undertaken with a view of pleasing the sovereign Lord of 
 all things, are means suflScent for raising you to a sublime degree 
 of hoHness. 
 
 But whence oftentimes doth the evil flow ? From this, that at 
 court, where you are engaged by duty, you proceed considerably 
 beyond your duty. For, do you reckon it a duty to bestir yourself 
 80 much ? To be concerned in so many private designs ? To 
 form so many schemes ? To waste away with vexation ? To 
 draw upon yourself so many differences and quarrels ? To let 
 yourself so often be inwardly disturbed ? To indulge yom'self 
 with so many needless curiosities ? To meddle officiously with so 
 many affairs ? To run up and down in quest of divertisements ? 
 But let us be more particular on this head, and let us go on a httle 
 farther. Do you think such and such a connexion yom* duty — a 
 connexion of which passion is the only link, and which you ought 
 to break ? So great assiduity in your attendance on an object, 
 with which you sympathize, and from which you should separate ? 
 
 I cannot do it, say you. You cannot do it I But I maintain 
 that you can ; yes, I maintain, that by so saying you tell a lie to 
 the Holy Ghost, and commit against his grace a grievous outrao-e. 
 Have you a mind that I should convince you of it, and in a clear 
 and obvious manner, too, so clear and obvious, as to make you 
 dlow, that hbertinism itself hath nothing to oppose ? It is not to 
 shame you, but to instruct you as my brethren, whose salvation 
 is dearer to me than my very life. The disposition you are in is 
 favourable to me, and the Lord hath inspu'ed me to diuw advantao-e 
 from it. It suppHes me with a strong, cogent reason, which you 
 little expected, and which will be sufficient for your condemnation, 
 if you make it not, to-day, the motive of your conversion. Be 
 attentive, and judge. 
 
 There arc some among you (and I pray God they be not the 
 greater number) who, at the time of my speaking, are actually 
 
ON TEMPTATIOW. ' 19 
 
 engaged iu sinful courses : so strongly, so closely engaged, as to 
 aver they despair of ever being able to break their chains. To 
 beg of them for the sake of their souls' salvation, not to see such a 
 person, they say, would be to beg of them an impossibility. But 
 were the service of our sovereign, on a ready obedience to whom 
 we plume ourselves, to summon them away, would this separation 
 be accounted impossible ? I will be Avitnessed by themselves. Is 
 there one of them all, who, in order to give proof of his loyalty 
 and zeal, is not ready at this moment to set out and leave the object 
 of his tenderest affection behind ? When the rumour of war begins 
 first to spread, each offers his ser\ace, each thinks of going forth to 
 meet the enemy. He is detained by no tie ; he is hurt by no 
 absence, and is determined to manfully disregard its irksomeness. 
 Did I call this in question, you woidd take offence at it ; and now 
 that I lay it down as an undoubted truth, it passes for an eulogy, 
 and you are pleased with my words. I make no comparison 
 between what is requu*ed of you by worldly maxims, and what 
 you are commanded by the law of God. I know that by followin"- 
 the maxims of the world, you preserve in your hearts the same 
 passion wliich it is incumbent on you to renounce for God. And, 
 indeed, it is but just that there be a wide distance between the one 
 and the other, and that I do more for God, who reigns in heaven, 
 than for all the powers who rule the earth. But thence I infer 
 only, that you tell God an untruth, when you boldly assert, that it 
 is not in yom* power to relinquish the person who causes or occa- 
 sions your evil doings ; and, in order to try yourself, to abstain for 
 some time from her presence and conversation. For I ask you 
 again, ■will this be a hinderance, when honour shall call yon ? With 
 what speed shall we see you running, flying to arms, on the first 
 intimation of his majesty's orders ? How happy will you be in 
 your own estimation ! What transports will you leel on receiving 
 the intelhgence! Whoever should hesitate a single moment, 
 would he deserve to live ? Would he dare to show his flvce ? 
 Would he not be the scorn, the sport and mockery of mankind ? 
 
 Ah ! Christians, let us own the truth ; we have too much 
 infxinged, nay, too much disparaged, the rights of God. If the 
 service of man be the things we are about, we hold ourselves tied 
 to every engagement : everytliing is sacrificed ; and so it ought to 
 be, as it perfectly concords with the order of God. But if the 
 cause of God be the point in hand, everything is an obstacle ; it ia 
 
20 ON TEMPTATION. 
 
 flanked by difficultiea that crowd on all sides, and our courage 
 fails ua in endeavouring to surmount them. Even those who should 
 oppose this decay of morals, the priests of Jesus Christ, for all their 
 zeal, are led into error by false pretexts, with a view to moderate 
 the rigour of their decisions. They hearken to a worldling ; they 
 respect his judgment in a more than ordinary manner ; they allow 
 him time ; they say that the occasion that he is in of sinning, is 
 involuntary, though proximate, as he came to relinquish it without 
 prejudice to his honour ; and, worldling as he is, they leave it in 
 his breast to determine whether his honour be engaged, and suffi- 
 ciently to countervail that of God. They are desirous that he 
 should remain in this occasion, or that at least they should not be 
 under a necessity of obliging him to quit it, as he cannot, it is 
 supposed, quit it without spiritual detriment to himself; and they 
 refer to himself, and to his own judgment, or rather to his passion 
 and to his self-love, what is best to be done in it. They collect 
 together, for fear of disheartening him, whatever opinions of moral 
 divines seem to favour his case : that is, they authorize his error, 
 they foment his libertinism, they bring him to damnation, and 
 damn themselves with him. For I now come back to my first 
 proposition. In vain do we expect the grace of resistance, to over- 
 come temptation, when temptation is volimtary, and it depends on 
 ourselves to avoid it by flight. In vain shall we have this grace 
 of resistance, in involuntary temptations, if we be not om'selvea 
 disposed to resist them, especially in imitation of Christ our Lord, 
 by mortifying the flesh, as I am going to make appear in the 
 second part. 
 
 Part II. In order to understand my second proposition, be 
 pleased to presuppose that necessary principle, on which, as I may say, 
 is hinged the whole mystery of man's predestination, and which at 
 the opening of this discourse I have already developed in some 
 measure ; but which will appear more nobly conceived, and more 
 strongly expressed, in these remarkable words of St. Cyprian : 
 *' The virtue of the holy Spirit is not imparted to us by our own 
 choice, but by the divine appointment." That is, the grace of 
 God is not given us according to our own choice, much less 
 according to our fancy, or inclination, but by a certain rule, which 
 God hath estabUshed, and which, if we swerve from it, Avill be 
 useless and ineffectual. From this principle I shall draw three 
 consequences ; consequences extended almost to infinitude, through 
 
ON TEMPTATION. 21 
 
 our moral obligations, and which, being applied to our conduct in 
 life, are the means to be observed in the several duties we are 
 bound to fulfil, in order to answer the will of God, toward effecting 
 that important work, salvation. I beseech you be attentive to the 
 material doctrines I am going to deliver. 
 
 The first consequence : in the temptations and dangers to which 
 we are exposed, through the weakness of human nature, God 
 Almighty, whose fidelity is never wanting, is always ready to 
 assist us Avith his grace ; but he requires that we use it conformably 
 to the state to which he hath called us, and to the end for which it 
 was bestowed upon us. For, this is directly what St. Cyprian 
 meant, when he said, that it " was not given us by our OAvn choice, 
 but by the divine appointment." Now you know, beloved hearers, 
 that in quality of Christians, we all make profession of being 
 soldiers of Christ ; and among us there Is not a single person, who 
 is not Impressed with that sacred character. Whence It follows, 
 that our whole life, as the scripture witnesses, must be a continual 
 war of the spirit against the flesh, of reason against the passions, 
 of the Interior man against the exterior man ; In short, of ourselves, 
 against ourselves. And if we truly aspire to the glory of Cluis- 
 tlanlty, which consists only of solid virtues, St. Paul, who was 
 raised up by God to teach It to us, and give us of it a just and 
 adequate idea, seems constantly to conceive It under a military 
 form. For, using a metaphor, which Ave should hold In veneration, 
 as the Holy Ghost himself is the author of It, he mentions the 
 buckler of faith, the breastplate of justice, the helmet of hope ; 
 and in a thousand places of his divine epistles, he encourages us to 
 put on this spiritual armour of God, and makes us understand, that 
 we are bound to make use of It, and that without It, whatever we 
 possess which Is good, or we presume Is good in us, is an airy 
 phantom, a mere Illusion. In this situation we all of us are. 
 
 What doth God on his part do ? He applies his holy grace to 
 us ; gi'ace proportioned to this situation. We have a dIflScult and 
 dangerous war to carry on : he gives us his grace, not such as he 
 gave to the first man, for that would be unsuitable ; but the grace 
 of conflict, of defence, of attack, of resistance ; forasmuch as none 
 but such are suitable. Temptations are the assaults which the 
 enemy makes upon us, and grace is the means by which he is 
 repulsed. Consequently, to put trust and confidence in grace, and 
 not be determined to resist and to fight, is to forget wliat we are, 
 
 VOL. 11. c 
 
22 ON TEMPTATION. 
 
 to entertain chimerical notions of grace, and to render the %'iew3 
 of God abortive. This, however, is a common practice ; and may 
 heaven grant that it may be not om-s ! We are desirous of gmces 
 that may guard us against dangers of every kind ; but we would 
 have them be such as would cost us nothing, as would give us no 
 trouble, as would leave us in possession of a peaceable, quiet, agree- 
 able life. But God will have his graces be such as shall stir us 
 vip, and press us on to action, and shall oblige us to persist in sub- 
 jection to a labourious and uninterrupted application ; for " the 
 virtue of the Holy Spirit is not imparted to us by our own choice, 
 but by the divine appointment." By many well-meaning, virtuous 
 persons, seduced by self-love, a quiet life is wished for and sought, 
 even from pious motives. But I (says Jesus Christ) disavow this 
 sluggishness, because nothing is more opposite to the spirit of my 
 gospel, and because it is by violence that my kingdom is borne 
 away. It was with this view that I entered, as your leader, the 
 field of battle : " For I came not to send peace, but the sword." 
 Matt. X. This is an obvious and convincing testimony, that he 
 requires his followers should be courageous souls, indefatigable men, 
 and always in a condition to gain fresh victories. Peace and tran- 
 quillity are peculiar to heaven : on earth, our portion is war and 
 disturbance : "I came not to send peace, but the sword." 
 
 The second consequence : the first maxim in war is, to harrass, 
 as much as possible, and weaken the enemy. This stands to rea- 
 son, as moderation and indulgence would lead, inevitably, to ruin 
 and destruction. Now, Christians, which is the enemy, the most 
 powerful enemy that 'grace hath to combat with ? Let us not 
 deceive ourselves, but humbly acknowledge it in the presence of 
 God : it is our flesh, that flesh of sin ; that flesh which only con- 
 ceives criminal desires ; that flesh, a slave to libidinous affections ; 
 that flesh uninterruptedly an enemy to God. This is the enemy 
 (according to the apostle) the most to be apprehended, the enemy 
 by which we are mostly tempted ; for " each one is tempted by 
 his own concupiscence ;" (James i. ;) a dangerous enemy, which is 
 always within us, and is interwoven with om* nature ; a dreadful 
 enemy, which we naturally love ; a soothing enemy, which gains 
 upon us imperceptibly, and by insinuation. This enemy (says St. 
 Chrysostbm) must be brought under subjection, must be utterly 
 subdued by Christian mortification, if we expect that gi'ace shall 
 overcome temptation. 
 
ON TEMPTATION. 23 
 
 For I say that a Christian,^ wlio is a stranger to this kind of mor- 
 tification ; who pampers his flesh in ease and effeminacy ; who is 
 all for pleasure, and indulges in all the conveniencies of Mfe ; who 
 holds intelligence, and acts in concert with corrupt nature, and 
 on all ;occasions gratifies inclination, and relies, notwithstanding, 
 on the grace of God, as if that alone were sufficient for salva- 
 tion, knows neither what grace is, nor the first principles of the 
 religion he professes. Tliis St. Bernard proves in the follomng 
 manner : the chief effect, which ought to uphold him, and secure 
 his salvation-, is to extinguish concupiscence by means of mortifi- 
 cation. You, on the contrary, beloved hearer, you, a sensual and 
 delicate Christian, strengthen it instead of weakening it, and 
 become its abettor, instead of retrenching what gives it the advan- 
 tage in its attacks upon you. That is, instead of aiding grace 
 against the temptation, you are aiding to the temptation in oppo- 
 sition to grace, and frustrate by the one the influence of the other. 
 Never ought you, therefore, to expect that grace will have the 
 desired effect, unless you would ask contradictory things, namely : 
 that grace and concupiscence may rule you by turns ; or, that 
 God Almighty, by an extraordinary miracle, Avould create new 
 graces, which, without subduing the flesh, would make the spirit 
 prevail. But mistake not the case, and be constantly mindful, 
 that the graces of God are never dispensed according to the will 
 and liking of man, but according to the wise and invariable disjjo- 
 sition of divine Providence: for " the virtue of the holy Spirit is 
 not imparted to us by our own choice, but by the divine appoint- 
 ment." 
 
 And, indeed, how did the saints encounter temptation ? What 
 stratagem did they use, what means did they employ in opposition 
 to it ? Did not holy David, in the midst of the pomp and plea- 
 sures of a court, gird his loins Avith haii-cloth, when his thoughts 
 disturbed him, and the rebellion of his heart impelled liim to evil? 
 " As for me, (says he,) Avhen they were troublesome to mc, I was 
 clothed with hair-cloth." Ps. xxxiv. Was it not this that induced 
 St. Paul to treat his body with so much rigour ? "I chastise my 
 body, (says he,) and bring it under subjection." I Cor. ix. How 
 tlien ! Is the gi-ace we receive of a different nature from Avhat was 
 conferred on that gi-eat apostle ? Are we endued with more 
 fervour, or is om- flesh reduced to gi'eater subjection, than was that 
 of the man after God's own heart ? Are we assailed by the enemy 
 
 c2 
 
24 ON TEMPTATION. 
 
 in a diftercnt manner from so many religious, and so many solitaries, 
 tlic chosen servants and friends of God ? Not one among them 
 dm-st trust to grace, without mortifying the senses; and we, 
 without mortifying or controUing the senses ; what do I say ? in 
 the downy lap of ease and convenience, nay, softness and voluptu- 
 ousness, are so strangely presumptuous, as to hope for the influence 
 of God's grace. St. Jerom, however loaded with merits, thought 
 himself, even Avitli the assistance of grace, unable to resist, unless 
 of his body he made a victim of penitence ; and we, weak mortals, 
 pretend to bear up against the charms of the world, and all the 
 most violent efforts of hell, by making of our bodies idols of self- 
 love. Hilarion and Anthony, those heavenly men, those angels 
 upon earth, condemned themselves to watchings, abstinence, and 
 all the rigours of a painful and austere life ; because they well 
 knew that it was the best, the only method of extinguishing the 
 fire of concupiscence, and repressing its sallies ; and we expect to 
 deaden it by furnishing everything best adapted to give it life and 
 activity. St. John the Baptist, who was sanctified in his mother's 
 womb, and who might have said, that divine grace was born along 
 with him, relied on it only inasmuch as he exercised it ; or, to speak 
 more correctly, inasmuch as he exercised himself by it and with it, 
 in the constant practice of perfect abnegation ; and we, conceived 
 in sin, and living in sin, promise ourselves tlie grace of victory 
 without fighting ; or the grace of fighting without violence : the 
 grace of sanctity without penitence, or the grace of penitence 
 without austerity. But if that were the case, (concludes St. Jerom,) 
 the life and deeds of that godhke precursor, and of all those who 
 have walked in his footsteps, far from deserving admiration and 
 praise, might justly be looked upon as delusion and folly. 
 
 Thus reasoned the fathers, who were given us as teachers by 
 the divine Providence, and ought to be our guides in the way of 
 salvation. Be not, therefore, surprised, that worldlings who walk 
 (as the apostle speaks) according to the flesh, and are enemies to 
 the cross and mortification of Jesus, are so easily overcome in the 
 hour of temptation. Ask me not, whence comes it that they resist 
 so seldom, that they yield so easily, that they rise with such diffi- 
 culty ? These are the consequences of their delicacy and sensu- 
 ality ; and if souls like these, who idolize their bodies, were not 
 swayed by concupiscence, it would be the greatest of miracles in 
 the order of grace. No, no ; (says Tertullian, speaking to Chris- 
 
ON TEMPTATION. 25 
 
 tiana who Avcie persecuted in the primitive times of the Christian 
 ci-a ;) I sliall never believe that those whose flesh is nourished in 
 pleasure, liave the necessary qualifications to enter the lists with 
 torments and death. Whatever ardour a Christian may show for 
 the cause of God, and in defence of his faith, I shall always diffide 
 in, or rather despair of, liis willingness to exchange the delicacy of 
 banquets, of sumptuous apparel, of gay equipages, of a numerous 
 train, for the rigour of dungeons, of racks, of wheels, of scorpion- 
 whips. A champion, in order to get strength for the fight, must 
 previously abstain from sensual pleasures, and be constantly inured 
 to toilsome occupations; for these are the m,eans of acquiring 
 strength. In like manner, the man who prepares for the engage- 
 ment to which his religion calls him, must make trial of himself 
 by mortification, which mil put him in a condition to undergo 
 everything, and be dismayed at nothing. Now what TeiluUian 
 said Avith regard to persecutions, which were the public and external 
 temptations of Christianity, I, -with equal reason, apply to the 
 internal and particular temptations of all the faithful. It is God's 
 grace that must overcome them. But in vain do we presume that 
 grace, though all powerful, will put them to flight, if the flesh 
 which they proceed from be not curbed and kept under. And 
 whoever thinks othermse is grossly mistaken, and goes astray. 
 
 But in Avhat doth this mortification of the flesh consist ? Aud 
 to what is this exercise (according to the practice of the world) 
 reduced ? The thu-d and last consequence. Ah ! beloved hearers, 
 give me leave to wave mentioning what this vu'tue is, according 
 to the general practice of the world ; a vu'tue scarce known in it, 
 exposed to derision, and held in abhorrence. But whatever notions 
 the world may have of it, the apostolic oracle still subsists, that to 
 serve Jesus Christ, and preserve in his service an inviolable fideUty, 
 we must crucify our flesh, and die to our passions and irregular 
 desires, because " they that are Christ's, have crucified their flesh 
 with their vices and lusts." Gal. v. It will always be true, (what- 
 ever may be the opinion of the world,) that among all mankind, 
 there is no condition in which this crucifying of the flesh is not 
 necessary, absolutely necessary, because all mankind are exposed 
 to temptation. Whatever difficulty the world may have to join 
 issue with me, the sole experience of its own irregularities sufli- 
 ciently demonstrates, that the more exalted men's stations arc, the 
 more frequent ought to be the mortification of their senses, as tem^)- 
 
36 ON TEMPTATION. 
 
 tations in exalted stations are most general and most violent. 
 Whatever thoughts the world may conceive of it, at least it must 
 grant, that the more a sinner lies open to temptation, the more 
 strictly and rigorously it is incumbent on him to observe this law 
 of bodily chastisement. Were we, indeed, such Christians as we 
 ought to be, these gospel rules, however general, would be more 
 than sufficient to make us know our duty. But being overruled 
 by self-love, and our self-indulgence being so excessive, scarce can 
 we take up a settled resolution to inflict any voluntary pains on 
 ourselves, though ever so slight. What then doth the church do ? 
 This general command she hath determined and reduced to a par- 
 ticular obligation, the Lenten fast. And in doing this, she is 
 influenced by her knowledge of our weakness on one hand, and 
 necessities on the other. She is regulated by the example of the 
 ancient patriarchs, but much more by that of Christ our Lord. 
 She is authorised by the power which God hath conferred on her, 
 to promulgate laws for the conduct of her children ; and she expects 
 from our fidelity, that if we be desirous of mortifying the flesh, so 
 much as is needful for the overcoming of temptation, not only shall 
 we find that nothing is ordained by this precept too rigorous, but 
 shall do more than is ordained, because what is ordained will be 
 found insufficient, in a thousand emergencies, to bridle our affec- 
 tions, and extinguish the fire of our unruly passions. 
 
 Such, beloved Christians, was the end which the church pro- 
 posed in instituting this holy fast. But in course of time, what is 
 come to pass ? What we never can deplore with sufficient zeal, 
 being a disorder that causes such glaring scandals. The devil and 
 the flesh, perceiving themselves weakened by so salutary an 
 observance, have exerted all their strength to procure its abolition. 
 Heterodox teachers have impugned the commandment. Some 
 have maintained, that the church, by imposing it, exceeded the 
 limits of lawful power ; as if Christ liad not told her, when he 
 made her the inheretrix and depository of his authority : " What- 
 ever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven." Matt. vi. 
 Others have acknowledged the power of the church, but denied 
 her having legally enacted the law, or enforced an obligation of 
 paying submission to it ; as if tradition were not evident upon this 
 head, and St. Augustin had not spoken twelve centuries ago, 
 when he said tluit fast was at other times of counsel, but in Lent 
 of precept. Even libertine Cathohcs, devoid of conscience, rise 
 
ON TEMPTATION. 27 
 
 up in opposition to a practice so usefully and so solidly established : 
 not by starting difficulties against the law itself, or the power of 
 legislation, but by showing a contempt for the one and the other ; 
 by violating the precept Avith scandalous impunity ; by not even 
 seeking some sort of pretext to give colour to their disobedience, 
 and to save appearances. What do I say ? Shall those be deemed 
 members of the chiu'ch of Christ, and be called by a name of which 
 they are not worthy, which they infamously dishonour, the name 
 of Catholic, whereas oiu* blessed Saviour will have us look ujwn 
 them as pagans and idolaters : " He that will not hear the church, 
 let him be unto thee as the heathen and the publican." Matt, xviii. 
 But even among the faithful, of that small number who resixict 
 the church, and are seemingly submissive to her orders and 
 decisions, how many elude the rigour of the precept by false inter- 
 pretations which they give it in favour of corrupt nature ? By sup- 
 posed reasons, which they ascribe to necessity, but which flow froni 
 effeminacy? By unavailing dispensations which their superiors 
 grant them, or which they grant then^elves ? I say unavailing 
 dispensations ; and to give you a proof of it, mark what I advance : 
 you need but consider three great irregularities wliich have crept 
 insensibly into these dispensations, and relatively to Avhich I would 
 fain bring you over to my way of thinking. For, in the first 
 place, they seem commonly annexed, not to persons themselves, 
 but to states adhered to. And, indeed. Christians, is it not 
 surprising, that now-a-daye a man is no sooner possessed of an 
 ample fortune, and raised to an honourable and dignified rank, 
 than he lays aside all thoughts of complying with the precept 
 which enjoins him to fast ? That then his imagination is fertile 
 in excuses to plead exemption ? That then his strength fails 
 him, that his constitution, his health, will no longer suffer him 'to 
 do what he might, and would cheerfully have done in an humble 
 state, in a religious house, in a more regular and more Christian- 
 like course of life ? In the second place, those who think tliem- 
 selves exempt from the law of fasting, are those who the most 
 easily might comply Avith it, your rich ones of the age, who abound 
 in everything, and enjoy all the comforts and convenienciesof fife. 
 I say more : and in the thu-d place, those who lay the greatest 
 stress on an imaginary Avcakncss, in order to evade the obhgation 
 of fasting, are such as ought to use the greatest violence m order 
 to comply with it, because it is for them that it is most necessary. 
 
28 ON TEMPTATION. 
 
 For, who are they ? Sinners, who are not only responsible to God 
 for the satisfaction due for a thousand crimes heretofore committed, 
 but are fettered also by the inveterate habits, that render them 
 liable, for the time to come, to frequent relapses, which they are 
 bound to guard against. Worldlings, taken up with their lawful 
 professions, and incidental occupations; with a thousand affairs 
 that set before their eyes, without intermission, a thousand objects, 
 which for them are so many unavoidable temptations. Courtiers, 
 whom the hurry and agitation of the comi;, whom its customs and 
 maxims, its intrigues and solicitudes, its effeminacy, its pleasures, 
 its pomp and parade, expose to the most dangerous occasions of 
 sinning. Young persons, women surrounded by numberless adorers, 
 who flatter them, who idolize them, who lavishly praise them, who 
 say endeaiing things to them, who wait on them assiduously : that 
 is, who mean to dishonour them by laying snares in theu' way, in 
 which, alas ! they are too easily and too frequently taken. Fast 
 for these is particularly obligatory ; and yet these are they who 
 particularly pretend to plead exemption from it. They consign it 
 over to monasteries and cloisters. But (answers St. Bernard) if 
 in cloisters and monasteries the precept of fasting be better observed, 
 it is no just consequence, that therefore in them there is most 
 occasion for it. The reason of it is, that by retirement, and by all 
 the exercises of a rehgious profession, the dwellers in them are 
 more screened from danger. 
 
 Ah ! dear Christians, remember that you never can surmount 
 the temptation, while you obey the flesh and its sinful appetites. 
 Remember that, in the law, God makes no distinction of quality or 
 rank ; or if he doth, that it is not with regard to you or your state, 
 to relax the precept, but to make it, on the contrary, more confined 
 and rigorous. E-emember that you are Christians, as well as 
 others, and that the higher you are raised, the more rocks you have 
 to avoid, and the more enemies to engage with. By consequence, 
 that the more affluent and gi-and your situation is, the more you 
 ought to dread the loss of your souls, and make the stronger efforts 
 for their safety and preservation. Besides the pmctice of fasting 
 and penitence, be assiduous in hearing the word of God, and in 
 performing good works: in hearing the word of God, as the 
 ministers of Christ, at this holy time, dispense with most zeal this 
 holy word, which should enlighten and strengthen you ; in per- 
 forming good works, as the church of God, at this holy time. 
 
ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 29 
 
 redoubles all her fervour, and endeavours to awaken all the fbrvoui" 
 of the faithful. Provided wth these arms, you will stand secure. 
 NothAvithstanding the artfulness and subtilty of temptation, not- 
 withstanding its frequent returns and importunity, notwithstanding 
 all its strength, and most violent assaults, you will hold out steadily 
 in the ways of God, and obtain the reward of everlasting glory. 
 
 SERMON XVIII. 
 
 ON RBLAPSE INTO SIN. 
 For the Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost. 
 
 ^^ Jesus seeing their faith, said to the man sick of the ■palsy : 
 Be of good heart, son, thy sins are forgiven thee" Matt. ix. 
 
 There is no evil so great, beloved hearers, none so perni- 
 cious to mankind, as sin. And if Jesus did a favour to tliis 
 poor man sick of the palsy, by conferring his health of body on 
 him, and curing his disorder, he did him still a greater, and a 
 thousand times more estimable, by giving health to his soul, and 
 granting him the remission of his sins. AHke is the advantage 
 which we reap, ourselves, from the sacrament of penance. To no 
 purpose had this paralytic man recovered, by the interposition of 
 the divine agency, the use of his limbs, and had heard from the 
 mouth of our Saviour himself that all-powerful word, " Arise and 
 walk," (Matt, ix.,) if, so soon as he Avas cured, he had lost all 
 motion, and had relapsed again into liis former infirmity. To keep 
 within the verge of my subject ; to no pm'pose his sins had been 
 pardoned, if passion, resuming her dominion over liim, had plunged 
 him directly into the same habits ; and to no purpose he had been 
 reconciled to God, if, at the expiration of a few weeks, he had 
 returned again to his criminal practices, and had become a greater 
 enemy than ever to his heavenly benefactor. iTpon this account 
 it was, that our blessed Saviour, after having cured that other 
 palsied man at the pool, of Avhom mention is made in St. John's 
 
30 ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 
 
 gospel, admonishes him expressly to sin no more, and to beware 
 of falling back into his past ill conduct, lest he should draw down 
 upon liimsclf a chastisement from heaven more rigorous than that 
 which he hath hitherto experienced : " Behold thou art made 
 whole : sin no more, leat some worse thing happen to thee." 
 John V. 
 
 Give me leave, therefore, beloved hearers, to speak, this day, u|K)n 
 the same topic. And as the Council of Trent, among the various 
 characteristics of true repentance, repentance by which our sins are 
 forgiven, points out and specifies the stedfastness and perseverance 
 of the penitent sinner, give me leave to handle, for your present 
 instruction, an interesting subject, which I have not touched upon 
 as yet in the pulpit ; a subject, which calls upon me for all my 
 zeal, and upon you for all your attention : it is relapse into sin. 
 1 mean to let you see what notions we ought to conceive of con- 
 versions, followed by ordinary and habitual relapses. It is a 
 dreadful subject : and if it be true (as St. Augustin affirms) that 
 we should not rejoice, or hear God's grace mentioned, without 
 having our hearts at the same time filled with a salutary fear, 
 according to the prophet : " Rejoice unto the Lord with trem- 
 bhng ;" (Ps. ii. ;) with how much greater reason should we 
 tremble at hearing the doleful lot of numbers of our fellow Chris- 
 tians, which I am going to lay before you in this discourse ? 
 
 There are divers states, according to divines, both of sin and of 
 grace ; but of all these states, there arc two the most common in 
 the present Ufe. One is, to recover firom a lapse into sin by the 
 sacrament of penance ; the other, to forfeit the grace con- 
 ferred by a relapse into sin. Now the former (says St. Gre- 
 gory) constitutes the happiness of man upon earth, and gives 
 him communication with all the other states of holiness. For, 
 the sacrament of penance restores us to the state of grace, 
 and puts it in our power never more to sin ; it re-establisheth us in 
 the greatest privileges of gi*ace, as if we had never committed sin ; 
 it serves us in lieu of a confirmed grace, to preserve us from falling 
 into sin ; and it enables us to merit the state of glory, wherein it 
 is impossible wc should ever sin. Hence it follows, by a contrary 
 argument, that the latter state, wliich is that of relapse, must be 
 for man the greatest of all misfortunes, as all those advantages of 
 penance are destroyed by it, which again are reducible to two in 
 particular : namely, with regard to the past, to blot out sins com- 
 
ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 31 
 
 niitted, and with regard to the future, to corroborate our reso- 
 lution of never more sinning. Observe, therefore, two propositions 
 which I advance. 
 
 First: ordinary and habitual relapse into sin renders past 
 penitence extremely suspicious. 
 
 Secondly : renders future penitence not only difficult, but 
 according to the language of the scripture and fathers, morally 
 impossible. 
 
 What then doth the relapsing sinner do ? Two things. He 
 gives room to doubt that his past penitence was not sincere, and 
 throws himself into a difficulty, an extreme difficulty, or rather 
 an impossibility, of ever returning by a fresh and effectual peni- 
 tence to God. So that he cannot reasonably rely on the past, and 
 ia equally embarrassed with regard to the future. In a word, 
 relapse into ein is a strong presumption of false penitence con- 
 cerning the past, and a great obstacle to true penitence for the 
 time to come. This I shall evince, if you Avill but attentively give 
 ear to the arguments which I shall adduce in support of my 
 assertion. 
 
 Part I. Notwithstanding the rigorous exactness of the law, 
 which true penitence, when we are going to renounce sin, requires ; 
 far be it from me, beloved Christians, absolutely and universally to 
 condenm the penitence, however doubtful, of a sinner Avho feels in 
 his own heart a consciousness that he proceeds, or that he hath 
 proceeded, with candour and uprightness. To pass such a judg- 
 ment is the province of God, and of God only. As the ministers 
 (says St. Augustin) of the Son of God have it not in their power 
 to give sinners whom they reconcile, and whose consciences they 
 absolve, an entire assurance ; so they cannot deprive them, when 
 reconciled and absolved, of a firm confidence, whether well or ill 
 founded, that their sins are remitted, and their penitence found 
 grace in the presence of God. For, the priest, notwithstanding he 
 is God's vicegerent, and is empowered to dispense the sacrament of 
 penance, cannot answer for certainty for the dispensation thereof 
 being valid or null. None but God knows whether or not our 
 penitence have all the requisites for making it just and receivable, 
 as, next to God, none but om-selves can be certain that it wants 
 them. And the reason of tliis difference is, that to know if penance be 
 perfect and effectual, we can judge of it only from two principles, 
 which are, the grace of God and the will of man. Now both 
 
32 ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 
 
 together are known to God only. Whereas to know that it is 
 defective and void, it suffices that the sinner be convinced of his 
 own indisposedness and guilt. But no one hath a right, besides 
 God and the sinner, to conclude positively, that a man's penitence, 
 whatever appearance it may wear of unworthiness, is void and 
 ineifectual, because no one can prove it evidently and incontestably. 
 True, dear Christians : but in default of evidence, there may be 
 conjectures ; and these conjectures may be so strong and cogent, 
 as to give room for a reasonable and well-grounded presumption ; 
 and this presumption may be such as to authorise the judgment 
 which the priest, the minister of God, passes upon the penitence 
 of certain sinners, deeming it suspicious, and rejecting it as such, 
 when his duty obliges him to take cognizance of it. For, this, 
 agreeably to the spirit and laws of chm'ch discipline, is daily put 
 in practice. Now of all the conjectures which can, and which 
 should raise doubts concerning the penitence of a sinner, that 
 which appears to be the least equivocal, and by which I abide, as 
 the most convincing, and, at the same time, the most plain and 
 obvious, is a speedy relapse which usually follows the penitence of 
 a certain kind of men ; and this I prove, beloved hearers, by a 
 plain demonstration, and thus I argue the case with yourselves. 
 
 You have performed, you say — I speak to a sinner of that class, 
 of which St. James conceived him to be, whose heart being divided 
 between God and the world, is inconstant in his Avays, that is, in 
 his penitence and conversion : "A double-minded man, incon- 
 stant in his ways ;" (James i. ;) you have performed those 
 duties, to perform which your religion obliges you, and the 
 minister of the Lord, relying on the firmness of your inward dis- 
 position, says to you, as our blessed Saviour said to the penitent 
 Magdalen, thy sins are forgiven thee : go in peace. On this is 
 founded the deceitful tranquillity which possesses your mind, and 
 which heaven forbid I should now indiscreetly set about to disturb. 
 But be pleased to observe what the ground of it ought to be, and 
 the means by which such ground is ascertained. 
 
 If your penitence be really such as you suppose it, two things 
 have passed between God and you ; I say two things, things 
 inseparable from the sacrament of penance : one, on your part, 
 having engaged yourself to God by a sincere protestation of never 
 more relapsing, which lost you his favour ; the other, on God's 
 part, having reciprocally engaged himself to you, and promised to 
 
ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 33 
 
 afFt)rJ you the assistance of his grace, in order to strengthen yon 
 against future relapses. This is the declaration of the Council of 
 Trent. For we learn from the very principles of faith, that all 
 i^acraments which operate without let, besides their virtue of 
 sanctifying souls, communicate likewise special graces toward 
 obtaining the end peculiar to them. Now there is no end more 
 peculiar to the sacrament of penance, than the preserving of man 
 from a relapse into sin. It remains, therefore, to be known, 
 Avhether, when a Christian, without any visible amendment in life, 
 relapses easily, speedily, and frequentl}-, into the same trans- 
 gressions, we may reasonably suppose, that he hath received from 
 above those peculiar graces, and that he hath a sincere desire and 
 efficacious will to renounce his sin. Now I hold it, that neither 
 the one nor the other carries with it the least appearance of pro- 
 bability. And as the resolution to persevere, and to relase no 
 more, is one of the most essential parts of the sacrament ; and the 
 increase of spiritual aid, to which the justified soul acquires a kind 
 of light, is the principal fruit of it : seeing no sign of these in a 
 sinner subject to speedy and frequent relapses, I have cause to 
 apprehend, that his presence was void of the qualities requisite to 
 justify him in the presence of Almighty God. 
 
 This is the proof, this the foundation of my first proposition. 
 Give me leave to enlarge upon it. I shall not here speak of the 
 auxillarj'' graces, which, in consequence of the sacrament, Almighty 
 God would, beyond all doubt, confer upon man, if man would but 
 put himself, by being converted, in a condition to receive them. 
 This, it Is true, would evince more strongly the truth of my asser- 
 tion, but would not, perhaps, be so affecting an argument, or make 
 so deep and lasting an Impression. Let us then dwell solely upon 
 the sinner's will, which divines allow to be the very substance and 
 groundwork of penance. 
 
 In truth, beloved hearers, is it credible that a man shall have 
 a determined, fixed, and absolute will to renounce sin, and 
 that presently afterwards, a sinful object being presented to his 
 mind, he shall shamefully yield to, and, Avithout resistance, sink 
 under the temptation ? Ah ! (says St. Bernard,) nothing is more 
 forcible than the human will, when consistent with itself. Every 
 thing submits to it, every thing obeys it. There is no difficulty 
 which it doth not remove, no opposition which It doth not siu-- 
 mount ; and that which otherwise would appear impossible. 
 
34 ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 
 
 becomes feasible and easily, when undertaken cordially. Now this 
 is undeniable, in a particular manner, with regard to sin : for, 
 whatever corruption is inherent in our nature, we sin not, after all, 
 but because we have the will to commit sin ; and if the will be 
 wanting, it is undoubtedly true, that we do not commit sin. So 
 that our will, in this respect, preserves a kind of sovereignty over 
 itself, and participates, in some measure, of the divine omnipotence, 
 as in what regards sin, it absolutely acts by free choice, and, in 
 order not to sin, hath in its own option to reject or admit. I have, 
 therefore, all the reason imaginable to think, that the will would 
 not resist and renounce sin, because I see plainly, by what follows, 
 that it no way resists, nor renounces sin at all. It is St. Bernard's 
 alignment, an argument incompatible with the principles of Pela- 
 gianism, as it supposes the influence of the grace of Christ Jesus, 
 and is easily reconciled with what St. Paul said, when he com- 
 plained, that " the evil which he would not, that he did," (Rom. vii.) 
 because by that he understood the involuntary motions of his 
 heart ; whereas St. Bernard's discourse relates to the free consent 
 which is given to sin. 
 
 In like manner, Tertullian observes, that when we are apt to 
 put the tiling in execution, which, at our conversion, we promised 
 to God, it is a mistake to say, I was wilUng to do it, but I did 
 not : for, says this great man, either you were willing but by 
 halves, and this half was insufficient for penance ; or you were 
 thoroughly and efficaciously willing ; and then it was natural you 
 should put it into execution. And, indeed, (adds he,) if your 
 will was good, how comes it that it should be so very effectual, on 
 all occasions, and that it should be, on this, of none effect ? How 
 comes it that at the sight of a relapse so mortal as that which you 
 had undoubted reason to apprehend, you made no effort, nor 
 gained any victory ? How comes it that you fled not from the 
 approaching danger ? How comes it that you broke not off that 
 company, that conversation, that diversion, which you knew to be 
 for you an immediate occasion of recidivation ? Nothing, however, 
 have you done of all this ; and the very first time that the enemy 
 of man laid a bait in your way, after some slight unavailing 
 remorses which yoiu* conscience stifled, you followed its captive 
 charm and allurement ; and, notwithstanding all tliis, you would 
 have me believe, that you had the sincere and true pui-pose of 
 amending your life, which is requisite to penance. But, for the 
 
ON RELAPSE INTO SIN, 36 
 
 the credit of iienance, and for the interests of God and of his holy 
 grace, I had rather presume, that you had imjwsed upon and 
 wanted a right knowledge of yourself. It is Tertulhan's con- 
 clusion, a conclusion, in my mind, extremely just, and no less 
 solid. 
 
 Against this. Christians, three things may be urged, to which 
 it is of the utmost importance that I answer, as the removing of 
 60 many mistaken notions will serve to confirm you in the doctrine 
 I preach. Some will say : may it not so happen, that, without 
 lying to the divine Spirit, I may be inconstant and fi-ail, and my 
 will, having had, at the moment it followed the attractive of grace, 
 whatever was necessary for a perfect conversion, might have been 
 so perverted, as to commit the sin it not long before sincerely 
 detested ? Yes, I o^vn with St. Thomas, that it is possible, and 
 may come to pass. But at the same time I say, that when relapses 
 are sudden and frequent, it is impossible that the change shpuld be 
 of that nature. The reason is this, and beyond reply : because 
 your conduct, in all other respects, how weak soever you may 
 suppose yourself, cannot be charged with the like unaccountable 
 inconstancy and levity. On the contrary, as often aa in other 
 matters you have taken a resolution (if your interest be ever so 
 little concerned) you stedfastly adhere to, and pursue it with ardour. 
 If, in the undertaking, your honour is concerned, or the advance- 
 ment of your fortune depends thereon, you know not what it is to 
 desist from the pursuit ; neither do we perceive that woful fatality 
 to slacken in the accomplishment of whatever excites your ambition 
 or avarice. How can you expect, that in the one only point which 
 regards penance, we should suppose you unsteady, and subject to 
 change ? Or that we should harbour so injurious a notion of you, 
 as to imagine that your conduct, in regard to every worldly interest, 
 is of a piece and uniform ; and that those vicissitudes in your mental 
 faculties are perceived only where it is incumbent on you to be 
 faithful to God? Had you not better say, that there was no unstea- 
 diness, and that you suffered no change? That your will was always 
 the same, always inefficacious concerning good, always secretly 
 attached to evil, and by a necessary consequence, always fruitless and 
 unprofitable for penance ? This is my sentiment concerning the 
 matter; and (do yourself justice) it is hard it shoiUd not be yours too. 
 And what makes me more strongly of this opinion, is, that you fre- 
 quently relapse %vithout any pretext or colour. 1 mean, that the 
 
36 ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 
 
 occasions which you met with of sinning were not more dangerous, 
 and that the temptations into which you fell were not more violent. 
 Now is it not natural to suppose a change in the circumstance of the 
 will, wliile its object remains in the same situation, especially in 
 regard to a serious, prudent, enlightened will, such as yours must 
 have been, if your penitence had had the characteristic marks which, 
 for the remission of sin, and the justification of the sinner, God 
 requii-es. 
 
 Another difficulty. We are weak ; and that wall, though cer- 
 tainly sincere, (which true penitence always includes,) is attacked 
 b}^ those powerful enemies — our passions. I know it, Christians ; 
 and I can agree with you relatively to the violence of the attack. 
 But I know, likewise, that one of the artifices of our self-love is, 
 to suppose that these enemies are much more powerful than they 
 are in rcahty, in order to enable us to yield the victory with less 
 reproach of our own conscience. Or rather, I know that one effect 
 of the great depravity of our will is, to hold intelligence with these 
 supposed enemies, because, at bottom, we deem them not enemies, 
 but are really willing to be overcome by them. This (says St. 
 Jerom) is the inordinate manner in which we proceed. Far from 
 being abashed at our own weakness, we take the advantage of it 
 against God himself: that is, far from being mortified at it, we 
 use it as a varnish to frivolous excuses, which we allege for our 
 sins ; and what is pusillanimity, malignity, and unfaithfulness, we 
 falsely and chimerically attribute to necessity. And what St. 
 Jerom says of Christians in general, that Tertullian reproaches 
 himself withal. We are clothed (says he) mth a terrestrial flesh, 
 an animal flesh, that Impels us to sin ; but we are made amends by 
 the dignity of our soul, which is spiritual and celestial, and which 
 lifts up to God. Why, therefore, are we perpetually alleging our 
 frailty, without ever considering the force and efficacy of nature 
 and grace, of reason and law, of conscience and religion, wliich we 
 have always at command ? But granting that those passions, the 
 impetuosity of whose sallies it is incumbent on us to resist and repel, 
 arc as dreadful enemies as we can suppose them ; yet I know, 
 furthermore, that if the promise we made, of invariably persevering 
 in obedience to the law, had been real and sincere, it would have 
 been more forcible than those supposed enemies ; and its most 
 essential property was, to be able to surmount them ; and that if 
 it had not this virtue of itself, it is a very natural consequence, 
 
ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 37 
 
 that, therefore, our penitence was false. Now who shall persuade 
 me that it had this virtue, while there is no appearance of it ; and 
 I see a sinner, after his penitence, as much a slave to his passions, 
 as irregular in his hfe, as licentious in his words, as froward in his 
 actions, as he was before ? For, to lay before you the Avhole matter, 
 the purpose of amendment is not one of those mere unavailing 
 desires, which we read of in scriptiu-e, and which the soul conceives, 
 but wants strength to bring forth. It is a supernatural will, in so 
 superior a degree to all other wills of which man is capable, that 
 no other can be put in comparison with it. A will, which must 
 have Almighty God for its object ; which must make us sove- 
 reignly detest sin, and to which the smallest inducement is the 
 fear and horror of eternal justice — that justice so terrible to the 
 enemies of God I These are its qualities — qualities, (as we learn 
 from the dictates of faith,) without Avhich, penance is not only 
 imperfect, but absolutely null. Now can our purpose be supposed 
 to have had all these qualities, when (contrary to the agreement 
 which, at our return to him, we made with God, contracting an 
 obligation of persisting steadfastly in the state of grace) we suddenly 
 abandon him, and the sight of a prostitute makes us wholly 
 forgetful of our strongest resolutions and most indispensable 
 obhgations. 
 
 Give me leave, Christians, to judge of you by yourselves ; and 
 to show you, as clear as the meridian sun, the most evident of all 
 truths : let us see how you behave in matters of much inferior con- 
 sequence, in which no doubt can be had concerning the efficacy of 
 your Avill. Just recovered from a dangerous illness, you fear a 
 relapse ; and what do you do in order to prevent it ? You restrain 
 your palate, you refrain from dainties, you pay obedience to the 
 doctor who attends you, and submission to the regimen which he 
 prescribes. You are scrupulously nice, you are exact to super- 
 stition. You fast, you mortify yourselves. You spend the time 
 in silence and retirement. Whatever is most agreeable in life you 
 forego. Company, diversions, assemblies, plays, all are held at 
 naught, because your health, Avhich you would wish to recover, is 
 much more dear to you than all those ; and, cost Avhat it will, you 
 are resolved to preserve it. To tell you it is a shame that you do 
 so much less in order to avoid a relapse into sin, which brings 
 death to your soul, Avould be to tell you what you have been told 
 a thousand times. But I will tell you more ; and an admirable 
 
 \OL. 11. D 
 
38 ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 
 
 # 
 
 principle of religion it is. If your purpose of avoiding a relapse 
 into sin is not more efficacious than your natural desire[of preserv- 
 ing your health, (I do not say more lively or feeling, but more 
 solid and strong,) it is an article of faith, that your penitence is 
 invalid. And why ? Ah I beloved hearers, give ear to this : 
 because it is an article of faith, that the purpose of amendment 
 which penance includes, must exceed all the fears, and all the 
 desires with which the will is naturally affected. And, if in our 
 heart' there were one fear, or one desire, that should surpass, or 
 equal this purpose of amendment, it would no longer be that pur- 
 pose which salutary penance ^.Iways includes, and which alone can 
 eifect the sinner's salvation. This is a doctrinal point of conse- 
 quence ; and the reason given for it^ by the fathers is, that the 
 sorrow which justifies us should make us hate sin as thoroughly 
 as we love and fear God. Now to satisfy in rigour the obligation 
 of the law, it is not sufficient to love and fear God ; we must love 
 and fear him sovereignly, that is, above all things. So likewise, 
 to fill up the measure of contrition, it is not sufficient to detest sin ; 
 we must detest it above all evils whatever ; and if the detestation 
 we conceive of it be not in that degree, in vain do we expect that 
 God will approve of, or be pleased with our penitence. Now, 
 according to this, beloved Christians, you whose penitence was 
 followed by inconstancy, dare you say, that at the moment you 
 confessed to God the violation of this law, you were more deter- 
 mined never more to violate it, than you would be at this time to 
 guard against a malady that might cause your death ? And if, 
 from the knowledge which you have of yourselves, you dare not 
 presume to bear this testimony, can I hope that your penitence 
 found grace before God ? 1 shudder at the very thoughts of your 
 condition ! 
 
 You say that the passion by which you are swayed, and which 
 leads you into sin, assaults you more violently than all those toge- 
 ther which oppose your desire of preserving your life. In that, 
 Christiass, we greatly deceive ourselves ; it is a gross mistake. 
 For, to show you that it is not the spring of your relapses, it is 
 evident to me, that influenced only by human motives, and there- 
 fore inferior to those of penitence, you would renounce this passion, 
 and be masters of it. In reality, suppose any one sin, tlie habit of 
 which seems most insurmountable, and I will undertake to produce 
 a hundred motives of interest or honour that would induce you to 
 
ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 39 
 
 fiurmount it. For instance, beloved hearers, if you were sure that 
 a relapse into this sin would be the ruin of your fortune, would 
 occasion the loss of your prince's favoui;, and would put you past 
 all hopes of evermore recovering your former condition : if you, 
 woman of the world, were convinced that the irregularity of your 
 conduct would become public, and that you would be made to 
 undergo the shame and ignominy attending it ; that he from whose 
 knowledge you so artfully concealed it, would find a clue that 
 would lead him, unobserved, to the iniquitous scene, and that you 
 would be exposed to all the rage of a jealous mind, and to the 
 frantic raptures of a heart inflamed with the spirit of revenge, how 
 frail and weak soever you may be, there would need no more to 
 check you, and restrain you within the bounds of duty. This 
 motive, therefore, would effectuallystop the course of your passion. 
 Yet you say, that notwithstanding the motive to penitence", you 
 are unable to curb it. But what inference am I to draw from 
 thence ? Ought I to infer that the motive to penitence is not, of 
 itself, so powerful as that of worldly consideration ? No ; for that 
 would be an error injurious to God. I ought to infer, that in all 
 probability, you were not affected by the motive to penitence, and 
 that it had no share in actuating your heart : I mean, that you 
 did not detest sin upon account of God, sovereignly, and above all 
 things to be loved and to be feared ; and by consequence, that your 
 penitence should come under the same predicament with those 
 which God rejects. This is my inference, an inference conformable 
 to the most indubitable and incontestable maxims of religion. 
 
 The third, and last objection that I am to speak to. Those 
 sinners who are subject to relapses, humble themselves before God, 
 are moved at their own wretchedness, form acts of sorrow, are 
 racked with anguish, bemoan theu- condition, and pour forth abun- 
 dant floods of tears. Now what are all these but so many acts o^ 
 true contrition ? A false principle, repKes the learned Chancelloi 
 Gerson, treating of this subject. All these are not Avhat we call 
 acts of true contrition. What then ? The grace, and if you will 
 have it so, the desire, but seldom the fruits and acts of penitence. 
 For here we must distinguish four things : the grace of penitence, 
 the desire of penitence, an act of penitence, and the fruits of peni- 
 tence. The grace of penitence is the holy propensity, by which 
 God incites us to reUnquish sin. The desire of penitence is, as I 
 may say, the first attempt which the heart makes to disentangle 
 
 d2 
 
40 ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 
 
 iteelf from sin. An act of penitence is an effectual shaking off the 
 manacles of sin. And the fruits of penitence are the deeds which 
 Ave offer in satisfaction to our offended God for sin. A relapsing 
 sinner may easily have the grace and desire of penitence ; but it is 
 hardly credible, that, so long as he persists in his inordinate ways, 
 he hath an act and the fruits of it. My meaning is this : he had 
 the grace of penitence at the time when he poured forth tears of 
 sorrow ; for that sorrow was an internal grace which God pro- 
 duced in him ; but which, notwithstanding, destroyed not within 
 him the will to sin. The reason is, that (as St. Gregory, pope, 
 observes) the wicked are often unavailingly affected by the love of 
 God, in the same manner that the righteous are innocently impelled 
 by the force of temptation to evil ; and as temptation, barely such, 
 renders not the will of the righteous criminal ; so the grace of peni- 
 tence, barely such, confers not that holiness on the will of the 
 ■wicked. The sinner is seduced into error by confounding the 
 grace of penitence with the effect of penitence, and by attributing 
 to himself what God doth for him, as if he had done it himself for 
 God. A vciy pernicious blindness, says St. Bernard. By a kind 
 of usurpation, we attribute to ourselves what God had wrought 
 within us, taking his spiritual illuminations for our own contem- 
 plations, and his divine operations for our own co-operations. 
 
 Now this is the ordinary practice of sinners, slaves of concupi- 
 scence and of the evil spirit. And what is my proof of this asser- 
 tion ? None but that which I have borrowed from St. Gregory. 
 For if I perceive (says this great pope) that a Christian is agitated 
 by grievous temptations, but follows not the bent of his nature to 
 evil, I may presume, in his favour, that he liad but indeliberate 
 feelings of them, and that his will was pei-fectly free from consent. 
 And by the same rule, when I see a sinner, though sorely afflicted, 
 and to all appearance racked with compunction, not the less frail, 
 and addicted to relapses, I think myself sufficiently authorised to 
 say, that if he had the affection, he had not the resolution, which 
 is a necessary part of true penitence. Or if he had, it was one of 
 those resolutions, of those good desires, "with which hell abounds : 
 one of those half wills, such as the devils have, who, devils as they 
 are, detest sin, as the original cause of all their woes, although 
 through their obstinacy they never quit it. Penitence of this 
 natvu*e, is like that of the Israelites, who, going over as inconsi- 
 '^•erately from the worship of God to idolatry, as they returned to 
 
ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 41 
 
 the worship of God fi'om idolatry, did (according to the scriptures) 
 but provoke and irritate God the more. Protestations of this nature, 
 are like those of Antiochus, to wliich the divine justice remains 
 inflexible, and which cannot penetrate to the tlirone of mercy. 
 Tears of this nature are hke those of Esau, which, though accom- 
 panied Avith loud cries and roarings, are not accounted worthy the 
 blessing of heaven. All this, I say, I will grant a sinner whose 
 relapses are habitual, because in all tliis there is nothing i*epugnant 
 to the notion I conceive of suspected penitence. If, on the con- 
 trary, it be suspected, it is because all this coalesces in it, and it 
 joins relapses to the appearance of contrition, and confession in 
 words to unfaithfulness in deeds. But to have full reliance on the 
 penitence of a Christian whose disposition to relapse is such as I 
 have described it, is what cannot be done but in contravention to 
 all the precepts and rules of religion. 
 
 Thus Jesus Christ himself judged of it; and his example con- 
 cerning the discernment of the heart, as in all other things, ought 
 to be our model. Accordingly, St. John, in the second chapter 
 of his gospel, tells us, that "many of the Jews believed in him, 
 but he did not trust himself to them, for that he knew all men." 
 John ii. These Avords deserved to be remarked. They believed 
 in him, being excessively surprised at the change of water into 
 wine, which he effected at the marriage-feast at Cana, and of which 
 they had been witnesses ; " but he did not trust himself to them," 
 because he discovered in them but a superficial faith, suddenly 
 etuTcd up at the sight of that prodigy ; a faith, which would soon, 
 by the malignant impressions of then- wonted incredulity, be effaced 
 from their minds. Thus it is that God acts by us, whenever we 
 approach the tribunal of penance, only to resume, immediately 
 after, our former habits and way of life. At that moment we lay 
 open, or think we lay open, our soul to him. We are confident 
 of him, and Ave ansAver for ourselves ; and by these appearances of 
 fervom' and regret, avc impose, oftentimes, on his very ministers. 
 For (says Tertullian) it is easy to deceive them ; and if the remis- 
 sion of sin had been as absolutely in their poAver, as the Avords 
 Avhich signify it, it Avould be constantly exposed to the artifices 
 and deceits of false penitence. But Avhat doth God do on such 
 occasions? Seeing our inconstancy, that avc Avill and Avill not 
 renounce our sin ; and knoAving, by the light of his adorable pre- 
 science, that after a supposed retiurn to him, avc shall speedily fall 
 
42 ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 
 
 back into our evil practices, and be as strongly attached to the 
 world as ever, he takes heed of his treasure, which is the grace of 
 his sacrament, and suffers not that persons so unworthy as we, by 
 a fraudulent penitence, have the benefit of receiving it. 
 
 Ah I Christians, how terrible it is for a man of the world, who 
 is hurried into wickedness by the vehemence of his passions, but 
 is not destitute of religious sentiments, to think that penance, 
 which for others, after sin, is a motive of confidence, is, after 
 relapse, a motive for him of dread and horror ! That which should 
 be for him a cause of tranquillity, infests his mind with deadly 
 inquietudes ; and he ought to be disturbed, not only at past sins, 
 but at past contrition, and past penance. This is the instruction, 
 beloved hearers, which the Holy Ghost would give us, when in 
 Ecclesiasticus he gives this admonition : "Be not without fear 
 about sins forgiven." Ecclus. v. We did not understand the mys- 
 tical meaning of these words, which, seemingly, included a kind 
 of contradiction. For if sin be forgiven, why should it still give 
 us fear and apprehension ? And if it be cause of fear and appre- 
 hension, for what reason should it be looked upon as pardoned ? 
 But now, O my God, I conceive what you would thereby intimate 
 to us. You would show me that every kind of penitence is not 
 sufficient security with you, and that which I deem forgiven, is 
 oftentimes that which makes me more than ever a child of wrath ; 
 that I may be ruined by mortal sin of whatever kind ; but that 
 there is still a kind of penitence more capable of damning me than 
 my very sin, inasmuch as it foments it, instead of curing it. Now 
 it is clear beyond all doubt, that if there be any penitence of this 
 kind, it is that which Avorks no reformation of manners, nor pre- 
 serves me from my unhappy relapses. But, O my Lord, where 
 shall I place my confidence and security, if you forbid me to place 
 them in my penitence ? Have you taught me any other way but 
 that ? And have your sci'iptures, which I hold in place of oracles, 
 directed me to betake myself to any other refuge ? Such is the 
 deplorable state of a sinner, abandoned to all the fluctuations of 
 his heart, and instability of his desires ; and whose motley life is 
 a constant inconsistency, a perpetual alteration, and reciprocal 
 succession of relapse and penitence. 
 
 I know this doctrine may disturb some consciences ; and I would 
 to God Almighty it may produce so happy and salutary an effect ! 
 For I speak to those sinners whom frequent relapses have confirmed 
 
ON RBLAPSE INTO SIN. 43 
 
 in iniquity. Now their only resource is, to be disturbed in mind by 
 the word of God. Their undoing proceeds from the deceitful tran- 
 quillity which, sometimes, by the artifice of the deceitful spirit, 
 they enjoy in their sin ; and only such disturbance can awaken 
 and rouse them from the fatal supineness and spiritual lethargy in 
 which they are buried. Accordingly, far from being afraid to dis- 
 turb them, my only fear is, that I shall not be able to distm-b them 
 at all, or at most, shall disturb them only by halves. And, as St. Paul 
 heretofore " was glad, not because they [Corinthians] were made 
 sorrowful, but because they were made sorrowfid unto penance ;' ' 
 (2 Cor. vii. ;) so should I bless God for having given uneasiness to 
 so many sinners, because by such means, to the shadow would 
 succeed the reality of penance. But this, perhaps, would drive 
 them to despair. Alas ! what harm to drive them to despair for 
 a short time, in order to renew in them a never-ceasing hope ! 
 What danger in making tliem despair on their part, in order to 
 make them hope on the part of God ? 
 
 This way of speaking is boiTOwed from St. Gregory, and I do 
 but deliver the thoughts of that father. Now, it was a maxim 
 with him to raise pangs of despair in the minds of those, who, by 
 continual relapses, were hardened in sin. No, no, beloved hearers, 
 fear not being seized with that kind of despair : it must, in my 
 mind, be of great utiUty. Be afflicted at so many false penitences, 
 and rejoice in the Lord at the true penitence to which I exhort 
 you. Since you first contracted a habit of sinning, perhaps you 
 have made a hundred unworthy and sacrilegious confessions : be 
 afflicted at all that. For, all that, far from corroborating your 
 hope before God, will be the ruin and destruction of it. What 
 then must be done ? Ah ! Christians, is anything more rea- 
 sonable than what is required of you ? We require of you that 
 you act sincerely by God, in the manner you would have us act by 
 you. If we had broken our word with you over and over, you 
 would think it agreeable to the dictates of wisdom to disbelieve 
 and reject the assiu^nces we should give you, that we would act 
 upon principles of strict honour ; and can you expect, that the 
 God of heaven will pay greater regard to your protestations ? Is 
 it allowable for you to be more religious towards men than him ? 
 You pique yourself on the accuracy of your dealings with men, 
 and would be ashamed to be deficient in any particular ; and shall 
 there be an utter want of faith fulness in y om- dealings with God alone ? 
 
44 ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 
 
 Wherefore, Christians, let us holily and profitably do that at 
 last, which we have oftentimes done, perhaps fruitlessly, and to 
 our condemnation. Let us imitate those holy penitents of the 
 church, who all their life long adhered inviolably to their gracious 
 God, after they had once recovered his grace. Let us keep to our 
 resolutions, and by a steady perseverance let us ratify our peni- 
 tence. Otherwise we shall have all imaginable reason to be 
 apprehensive as well for future as for past penitence. For as 
 relapse makes past penitence much to be suspected, it makes futmre 
 penitence extremely difficult, and almost impossible, which is the 
 subject of the second part. 
 
 Part II. When I consider the terms which the sacred penmen, 
 speaking of the penitence which follows relapse into sin, make use 
 of, I am not surprised, beloved Christians, that certain heretics, in 
 former ages, should have been rigorous to an extreme, and should 
 have set, on this head, no bounds or measure to the severity of 
 this doctrine. Perhaps it may be said, that error was never better 
 founded to appearance — (I say appearance) — on the authority of 
 the word, than that of the novations, who, after baptism, abso- 
 lutely and universally excluded all sinners from the grace of peni- 
 tence. And when Tertullian, arguing from prejudice, would not 
 allow it but once only, and without hope of return, he pretended 
 to speak so conformably to the scripture, that he could not com- 
 prehend how any of the faithful should diflfer in opinion from him. 
 And truly it should seem that nothing could be spoken in more 
 express terms, than that which we read in St. Paul to the Hebrews : 
 " It is impossible — [my brethren,] — (these are his words, which 
 you have heard a thousand times, and of which I take upon me to 
 lay now before you the precise meaning)— it is impossible for those 
 who have been once illuminated, have tasted also the heavenly 
 gift, and were made partakers of the Holy Ghost, have moreover 
 tasted the good word of God, and the powers of the world to come, 
 and are fallen away, to be renewed again to penance, crucifying 
 afresh to themselves the Son of God, and making him a mockery." 
 In this manner, I say, St. Paul explained himself. What better 
 pretext could those heretics desire for carrying into execution the 
 design they had forniied of abolishing the exercise and ministry of 
 penance ? The church hatli condemned them, and we condemn 
 them with her. St. Jcrom and St. Augustin have intei-preted 
 
ON llELAPSE INTO SIN. 45 
 
 tliat passage as setting forth the impossibilitj of ever rcturmno-, 
 when once it is lost, to baptismal grace ; because baptism, which 
 was called in those days the first penance, is one of those sacra- 
 ments tliat cannot be reiterated. And this explanation, which I 
 deem the most literal, takes off, if I may venture so to speak, all 
 the hardness of the apostle's expression. St. Thomas of Aquin 
 and Hugo of St. Victor took it more plainly, and understood it of 
 that penance which we call the sacrament of reconciliation, endea- 
 vouring to reconcile the possibility of conversion for relapsino- 
 sinners with these excessively tremendous words, *'It is impossible 
 to be renewed again to penance." 
 
 Be that as it may, beloved Christians, the great rule we go by 
 is, to keep witliin the limits which the Church had determined, by 
 disallowing the pernicious tenet of Donatus. Now we know by 
 the censure which she passed on that tenet, and our faith tells us, 
 that God wills the life, not the death of the sinner ; and he invites 
 him, or rather commands and obliges him, to do penance again ; 
 and that, therefore, notwithstanding our relapses, penitence is stUl 
 possible, and grace is ready for the fulfilling thereof. This is the 
 decision of the Church of Christ. But there she stops, leaving 
 to the words of the great apostle the whole extent and the whole 
 force of which they are susceptible. And as the term impossible, 
 in common language, is applicable to things that may abso- 
 lutely be, but of which the execution is difficult, and attended with 
 great obstacles, she hath always authorised the opinion of the 
 fathers, who maintain that, especially for certain sinners, sinners 
 subject to certain relapses, as you shall see presently, it is morally 
 impossible, in some measure, that is, extremely difficult, to renounce 
 their sin, and be converted to God. If we reason like Christians, 
 should not this alone suffice to make us walk with fear and trem- 
 bling in the slippery way to eternal salvation. 
 
 But let us endeavour, as much as possible, to investigate the 
 matter, and penetrate into it ; and in order to draw from it what- 
 ever fruit it is capable of producing, let each of us apply it to 
 himself in particular. You ask me the reason why relapse into sin 
 should render penitence so very difficult ? And I, with St. Ber- 
 nard, answer that it is, because it estranges the heart of God from 
 us, because it adds strength to our natural bent and inclination to 
 evil, because it enfeebles the virtue which grace hath infused into 
 us, and because it essentially includes an opposition to the grace 
 
46 ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 
 
 which reconciles sinners to God. These four articles considered 
 separately may stand in place of a demonstration. 
 
 1st. Yes, beloved hearers, the first misfortune which relapses 
 bring on us is the alienating of God's affection from us, and the 
 exhausting, in some sort, of his infinite mercy ; which, infinite as 
 it is in itself, is limited, notwithstanding, in regard to us, and to 
 the distribution which it makes of those special graces and extra- 
 ordinary succours, on which om' conversion and amendment 
 depend : " For three crimes of Damascus, and for four I will not 
 convert it," (Amos i.,) says the Lord by his prophet. The three 
 first crimes I have borne ^vith and forgotten ; but against the 
 fourth shall my justice, my anger, and my vengeance act. As 
 how ? By my withdrawing myself from that ungodly people ; a 
 people, who, by their infidelity and wickedness have provoked and 
 exasperated me. Now, beloved Christians, the moment that God 
 withdraws himself from us, we must not be surprised that penitence 
 becomes difficult, and that such difficulty increases proportionably 
 as he -withdraws himself from us. The reason is, that none but 
 God, who by his divine presence fills the heart of man, and diffuses 
 throughout it his divine Spirit, can facilitate penance, and give us 
 a relish for it. 
 
 Of this can any more expressive figure be adduced than that of 
 the man so famed in the Old Testament, the invincible Sampson ? 
 He had, it is true, been blinded by one particular passion ; but 
 his blindness was not carried, aU at once, to that great degree, as 
 to deprive him of the strength which God had so singularly and 
 miraculously endowed him. The female foreigner, to whom he 
 was affected, by a monstrous perfidy, had frequently attempted, by 
 binding his limbs, to put him into the bands of his declared enemies ; 
 but he always found means to break his bands, and recover his 
 liberty. Upon this he flattered himself, that though she should 
 afterward play the same game over, he should never want might 
 to disconcert her measures, and said, *' I will go forth as I did 
 before." Judges xvi. In short, this artful, wicked woman employs 
 her wiles with such address, as to delude liim, to overcome him, to 
 cut off the seven locks in which lay concealed, by a secret mystery, 
 his great strength. The news soon reached the ears of the Philis- 
 tines. They surround him unawares, they fall upon him in great 
 numbers. He endeavours to rise, " not knowing (adds the text) 
 that the Lord was departed from him." Judges xvi. 
 
ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 47 
 
 This, beloved hearers, is the portrait of your soul, in that 
 wretched state in which I conceive it ; namely, in the state of 
 relapse into sin. You say to yourself, rousing sometimes from the 
 spiritual somnolency into which you are fallen, and reflecting on 
 yoiu* wretchedness, I will quit this state, as I have already done : 
 I will break my chains, I will make a vigorous effort, I wiU free 
 myself from the passion which holds me in captivity : "I will go 
 forth and shake myself." But do you not consider, that God 
 retires from you ; that proportionably as he retires, you are deprived 
 of his aid ; that penance of course becomes a heavy burden, an 
 insupportable yoke ; and that whereas heretofore it was a source of 
 comfort to you, it now creates horror and disgust in your mind ; 
 for, your frequent relapses have made a w^de separation, and almost 
 insurmoimtable, between you and your God : " Not knowing that 
 the Lord was departed from you." How often, Christians, have 
 you learned by experience what 1 now advance. 
 
 2ndly. The vriU, however, is daily perverted ; and the relapse 
 wliich enfeebles it for what is good, gives it additional strength for 
 what is evil. You know its progress : and in vain should I set 
 about to enlarge upon it, and as it is by your melancholy experience 
 that I know what it is. After the first sins begins the habit : the 
 habit once contracted leads by little and little into blindness and 
 obduracy. The vice takes root, and becomes, as it were, a second 
 nature. This second nature is what St. Augustin denominates 
 necessity. Of this necessity despair is the consequence, to which 
 succeeds a moral impossibility of doing penance. For this is the 
 notion St. Paul gives of it : " Who despairing have given them- 
 selves up to lasciviousness ;" (Ephes. iv. ;) and he produced for 
 example the sin of the flesh, because it is in it that relapse operates 
 the most infallibly, and the most commonly, these detestable effects. 
 At first, the Christian hated sin as a monster, because liis reason 
 was not as yet blinded, nor his will corrupted. But sin, by relapses, 
 a progressive course, and a natural gradation, gains a total ascen- 
 dant : he accustoms himself to it, he grows familiar with it, he 
 commits it -without scruple, he is passionately fond of it, he despairs 
 of conquering it, he abandons himself to it without restraint : 
 ** Who despairing having given themselves up to lasciviousness." 
 But whence (says St. Cluysostom) proceeds their despair ? From 
 God and from themselves (replies the holy doctor). From God, 
 because, being a God of sanctity, he cannot approve of what is 
 
48 ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 
 
 evil ; and from themselves, because they have frequently expe- 
 rienced their own inconstancy and infidelity. From God and from 
 themselves, because they perceive between God and themselves 
 infinite contrarieties. And tliis is the origin of their despair. No, 
 Christians : so far from that, it is an additional crime in the pre- 
 sence of God, as It is not, whilst in this life, allowable for the 
 sinner to despair of God's mercy and unmeasurable goodness. 
 But tliis despair, unreasonable as it is, is the chief effect of relapse 
 into sin. The reason is, that hope, Avhich is the basis and ground 
 of penitence, being thereby shaken, the whole fabric of penitence 
 is shaken, contrary to the intention of God himself; and this virtue, 
 which ought to be a resom'ce for the relapsing sinner, becomes a 
 stumbling-block against which the despau- of reforming his vicious 
 life impels him : " Who despairing have given themselves up to 
 lasciviousness." 
 
 3rdly. And to this, beloved hearers, that by frequent relapses 
 we render the most powerful and efiicacious remedies of no avail, 
 and that the words of St. Paul seem perfectly accompHshed, where 
 he says, that when we voluntarily commit sin, after having received 
 the knowledge of the faith (weigh well this circumstance) there is 
 thenceforward no sacrifice for the expiation of our sins, and there 
 only remains for us a dreadful expectation of God's judgments : 
 " If we sin wilfully after having the knowledge of the truth, there 
 is now left no sacrifice for sins." Heb. x. In fact, Clu'istians, 
 what Avould you say to a man who had cleansed himself a hundi-ed 
 times in the waters of penance, and as often plunged back into his 
 former abominations ? What would you say ? And with all the 
 ardour and spmt of zeal with which you should feel yourselves 
 animated for him, which way you would set about moving his 
 heart ? Every argument has been used ; whatever you can say, 
 he hath akeady considered ; the best examples have been set before 
 his eyes. He is convinced of all, he hath hearkened attentively to 
 all the remonstrances that were ever made him, he hath exhausted, 
 in a manner, the virtue of the sacraments ; and by his continual 
 relapses he is not only accustomed, but hardened to all that ; inso- 
 much that God might say to him as he said heretofore to his 
 people : " Thy bruise is incurable, thy wound is very grievous." 
 Jer.. XXX. Ah! sinner, what hast thou done, and to what an 
 extremity art thou reduced ! By opening thy wounds, thou liast 
 made them incurable; and the unction of ray grace, that powei-ful 
 
ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 49 
 
 remedy for the conversion of others, hath not wherewithal to effect 
 thy cure. 
 
 4thly. But let U3 trace it higher, and let us avow, Christians, 
 that the extreme difficulty of truly repenting, after having relapsed, 
 arises from the very nature of relapse, which is, of itself, pecuHarly 
 repugnant to the grace of conversion. For, to the CAalness of sin, 
 relapse adds the qualities of ingratitude and contempt : ingratitude 
 for the benefit, or first pardon, already obtained, and of contempt 
 for the Majesty of an offended God. Two obstacles to a second 
 reconciliation. Ingratitude for the benefit, which consists, (says 
 Tertullian,) not only in our forgetfulness of God's past mercy, but 
 in our turning it against liim, to make it serve the purpose of 
 sinning with impunity and greater audacity. And truly were we 
 sure that the remission of sin which hath just been granted us, was 
 the last of the graces which we had to hope for, and that the gates 
 of mercy would forthwith be shut against us for ever and for ever, 
 how prone soever we might be to passion, it were enough to restrain 
 us, and keep us from relapsing. The very remedy, therefore, for 
 penitence, is our inducement to licentiousness ; and as Tertullian 
 speaks, the excess of God's clemency foments and nourishes the 
 rashness of man. That is, we are bad, because God is good ; and, 
 totally in opposition to the advancement of his cause, and the only 
 means left for us to return to him, and to get, once more into the 
 way of heaven, encourages us to indulge the irregularity of our 
 passions. Now, beloved Christians, is it possible that God, being 
 what he is, should not, as well for the merit of his grace, as the 
 justification of his providence, have a special repugnance to be 
 reconciled with us in that state ? 
 
 Contempt for the Majesty and Sovereignty of God. For, not 
 to lose sight of TertuUian's thought, what did the sinner by his 
 first conversion, and by embracing penance ? He overturned, in 
 his heart, the dominion of Satan, that God might reign there. And 
 what doth he by relapsing into evil courses ? He expels God, to 
 make way for the dominion of Satan in his heart. It looks as if a 
 man, by his monstrous reciprocation of relapse and penitence, 
 would make a comparison of the one with the other, and after 
 trying both the one and the other, woiUd give sentence against 
 God in behalf of his enemy, and make free choice of him in pre- 
 ference to God. So that, (says Tertullian,) as his intention 
 
50 ON RELAPSE INTO SIN. 
 
 by penitence was to satisfy God, noAV by a penitence directly con- 
 trary, a penitence in some shape of his very penitence, he spurns at 
 God, and satisfies Satan. Now can anything make God more 
 iiTCConcileable than such an outrage ? Any relapse is liable to 
 entangle us in this misfortune, but particularly that which makes 
 us go so far as to quit God absolutely, to make his service dis- 
 gustful to us, to make us refuse submission to the yoke of his law : 
 I mean that kind of relapse, by which we fall not only into sin, 
 but into an attachment of it. It is a kind of apostacy : and in this 
 light it is that the learned Estius, with many of the fathers, meant 
 to represent the words of St. Paul : " It is impossible to be renewed 
 again by penance." He maintained that this, though but moral, 
 impossibility of returning to God by means of penance, was not 
 the effect of ordinary relapses, which happen through surprise, 
 through weakness, through frailty, but those glaring, those unmanly, 
 wilful, deliberate relapses, which prove of bad consequence to a 
 man's state of life, and which, after edifying and public conversions, 
 dishonovir God's worship, and scandalize piety. This you know, 
 Christians : and happy it is for you, if you have never found, by 
 your own experience, how difficult and almost impossible a return 
 to God is made by these inconstancies. 
 
 And now. Christians, let us close this discourse with a two-fold 
 inference. One regards those who have constantly persisted in the 
 state of grace, since their return to God ; and the other is addressed 
 to those sinners, who have deplorably relapsed into the way of 
 iniquity, from which they had been rescued by the sacrament of 
 penance. To the former we shall give the important advice, that 
 the teacher of the Gentiles gave the Christians of Corinth : " He 
 that thinketh himself to stand, let him take heed lest he fall." 
 1 Cor. X. Take heed, my brethren, and let the misfortune of so 
 many Christians, who have been ruined by relapses, and who are 
 every day ruined, be a moving lesson, and a powerful motive to 
 excite your vigilance ? But what is the nature of this vigilance ? 
 To know yourselves thoroughly, and to be fully apprised of the 
 dangers which surround you. To know your weaknesses, your 
 inclinations, your passions; in a word, to diffide in your own 
 strength : for, yoiu* greatest security is a diffidence in yourselves. 
 To be fully apprised of the dangers which surround you, in order 
 to avoid them ; to shun the dangerous occasions of sin, to fly certain 
 
ON DIVINE GRACE. 51 
 
 company : for nothing can preserve yon, with the divine grace, 
 more effectually than flight. We shall stir up and strengthen the 
 hopes of the latter ; neither shall we, after using the strongest 
 motives of intimidation, throw them into despondency. Where- 
 fore, I exhort them, to make greater and more generous efforts 
 than ever. Their conversion is difficult, but not absolutely impos- 
 sible ; or, if it be absolutely impossible to man, it is not so to God, 
 nor to his holy grace. Because it is possible, and moreover neces- 
 sary, it must be undertaken ; and because it is difficult, it must 
 be undertaken with a strong, a noble, and a generous resolution. 
 Above all, I would advise both the one and the other to put them- 
 selves under a faithful, clear-sighted, disinterested director ; to lay 
 open their case to him, and follow his counsel ; not to fear being 
 known by him, but rather to fear that he know them not suffi- 
 ciently. Thus shall they hold out in a penitential state, if they 
 have returned to it ; or, thus shall they return to it, if they have 
 not held out. Penance will bring them in the way of salvation, 
 and conduct them at length into the safe harbour of eternal 
 happiness. 
 
 SERMON XIX. 
 
 ON DIVINE GRACE. 
 
 " Jesus answered^ and said to her : If thou didst hut know 
 the gift of God" John iv. 
 
 This gift of God, beloved Christians, to which the Samaritan 
 woman here spoken of by St. John was an entire stranger, and 
 which the Savioiu- of men explained' and made known to her, is, 
 according to all the fathers of the Church, and interpreters of the 
 scriptm-es, the very grace of Jesus Christ. It is that grace, without 
 which we can do nothing, and Avith which nothing is impossible 
 to us ; that grace, by wliich (as the apostle says) Ave are what we 
 are, if yet we be anything in the presence of God ; that grace 
 
52 ON DIVINE GRACE. 
 
 which enlightens us, which attracts us, which persuades us, which 
 converts us ; that grace, which impels us to do good works, and 
 -withholds us from evil; that grace, which enables us to merit 
 heaven, and come to the possession of it ; that grace which operates 
 in us, and Avith us, whatever we do for righteousness' sake, and 
 which, by its efficacy, administers to us, in the order of salvation, 
 not only in power, but will and action. This, beloved hearers, is 
 the excellent gift, which it so much imports us to understand 
 thoroughly ; a perfect gift, which comes to us from above, and is 
 bestowed on us by the Father of Lights ; a gift superior to aU the 
 gifts of nature, and in comparison with which St. Paul disregarded 
 and considered as dirt all the gifts of fortune, the gift of gifts, 
 which none but Jesus Christ could merit for us, and which we 
 received from the infinite mercy and goodness of God. 
 
 Of this gift, however, we are grossly ignorant ; and through a 
 criminal ingratitude, are at no pains to come to the knowledge of 
 it. Hence it is, that we receive it so often to no purpose ; and, 
 far from employing it to the glory of God, and our own sanctifi- 
 cation, we make it instrumental to our own perversion, and a con- 
 tempt of God. For on this account it is that our Saviour says to 
 us, as he said to the Samaritan : " If thou didst know the gift of 
 God." Wherefore, Christians, let us endeavour, tliis day, to form 
 a just idea of it ; let us endeavour to penetrate into the immense 
 treasures of divine mercy, and measure, as much as in us lies, its 
 height and depth. 
 
 To dispose with sweetness, and execute with force, are the 
 excellent properties which an inspired penman attributes to wisdom. 
 But these properties (St. Augustin teUs us) are agreeable only to 
 the wisdom of God, in the degree of perfection which is expressed 
 by these words : " From end to end wisdom reacheth mightily, 
 and disposeth all things sweetly." Wis. viii. And, indeed, the 
 wisdom of men, being so very limited, is Hable to two quite con- 
 trary defects. Is she sweet in her conduct ? There is reason to 
 fear she will be weak in the execution. Is she firm in the execu- 
 tion ? There is reason to apprehend she will be harsh in her con- 
 duct. When sweetness predominates it sinks into timorousness, 
 and force degenerates into excessive severity. To the wisdom only 
 of God it appertains to unite perfectly these two virtues seemingly 
 so opposite. For, she alone hath the advantage not only of at no 
 time separating sweetness from force, but of making her force to 
 
ON DIVINE GRACE. 53 
 
 consist in her sweetness. Now what Holy Writ says of God's wis- 
 dom, I may equally say of divine grace ; as the grace I speak of 
 acts in us as in the instrument of that supreme wisdom which, in 
 God, is the piincipal cause of our salvation. 
 
 And this. Christians, is the clearest and justest idea I can give 
 you of the grace of Jesus Christ ; these are its characteristics — 
 sweetness and force : sweetness, in the engaging manner it dis- 
 poses the sinner to conversion ; force, in the victories it gains over 
 the sinner at the moment of conversion. Wherefore, Avithout 
 entering into a farther discussion, it will suffice to instance both 
 tlie one and the other in the Samaritan woman. For, you Avill 
 perceive the amiable methods of grace in gaining that sinner, and 
 its marvellous power in the admirable change which it wi-ouo-ht 
 in her heart, " from end to end reaching mightily, and disposin^r 
 all things sweetly." 
 
 First, then, you shall see how the grace of Jesus Chiist useth 
 all the delights and attractives of its sweetness, in order to convert 
 the Samaritan woman. 
 
 Secondly, how the grace of Jesus Christ, by its force and efficacy, 
 converts the Samaritan woman, and, from the gulf of sin into which 
 she was plunged, raises her, on a sudden, to the summit of 
 righteousness. 
 
 These two positions include the whole scope, and make the 
 division of the following discourse. 
 
 Part I. It is not at all surprising that sweetness should be the 
 first characteristic of grace, which is the ongin of conversion, an 
 immediate emanation from the goodness of God, and the "i-cat end 
 to Avhich liis pm-e and heavenly love for us tends. But it stands 
 us upon to know exactly in what this sweetness of grace consists, 
 which are its insinuations, what it operates in us, and in what 
 manner God would have us correspond with it. And this is evi- 
 dently what the Holy Ghost willed to make known to us by the 
 conversion of that woman, whose example it is our duty, on this 
 occasion, to apply to ourselves. For, what doth gi-ace do, in order 
 to subdue, entirely and completely, a rebellious heart, and make 
 it yield obedience to the decrees of heaven ? St. Auoaistin, and 
 other divines after him, denominate it victorious grace, and such 
 in fact, it is. But the methods thereof differ widely from those 
 of conquerors. In order to subdue us, it seems in some shape to 
 submit to our will. Take not offence at this mode of speakiiK', 
 
 VOL. II. E 
 
54 ON DIVINE GRACE. 
 
 which, as you shall see, is no way derogatory either from the dig- 
 nity or from the efficacy of divine grace, and Avhich, in my appre- 
 hension, implies its sweetness. I say, that it seems to submit to 
 our will, it waits for us, and bears mth us whole years together. 
 It is ever on the watch for favourable moments, and by a conde- 
 scension which we can never sufficiently acknowledge, improves 
 opportunities to gain us over. How much soever it is our interest 
 to seek it, we are always prevented by it. Instead of taking 
 forcibly, it asks placidly what it means to obtain ; and instead of 
 demanding haughtily and superciHously, it obtains only by solicitation 
 and invitation. It asks (says St. Prosper) in order to give ; and 
 asks but httle, in order to give much. It accommodates itself to 
 our inchnations, oiu: talents, our endowments of mind ; and often, 
 after the manner I am going to relate, to our imperfections and 
 weaknesses. It imposes no difficult obligation on us, to which 
 attractives are not annexed, and of which it creates not, notwith- 
 standing our repugnance, a desu'C in our breast ; for it commands 
 us to despise the good things of this life, in proportion only as it 
 shows their futility ; makes us undertake great things lor God, 
 only by impressing our minds with a high idea of his perfections, 
 and of the rewards which he promises ; induceth us to renounce 
 and hate ourselves, only by making us allow, from a view of our 
 misdeeds, that this renunciation at least is just, and this hatred 
 well-founded. Such, beloved Christians, is the economy of gi'ace, 
 such its sweetness ; and such we see clearly is the procedure of 
 our Saviour in the conversion of the Samaritan. A conversion 
 which Christ proposes as a plain and obvious tyi)e of that which 
 passes, day after day, by the mighty agency of his_. divine grace, 
 between God and ourselves. Give ear, while I resume each article 
 in order. There will be ample matter for your instruction and 
 edification : 
 
 1st. I say that oftentimes grace waits for sinners, so as to tire 
 out the patience of God. Behold Jesus Christ, the very force and 
 power of God himself, weary, nevertheless, his spirits exliausted, 
 in a pensive posture on the brink of a well. What doth he wait 
 for ? An infidel soul whom he means to save ; a sinner whom 
 he hath chosen. And with what is he wearied ? If we adhere to 
 the letter, Avith the length of his journey : *' wearied with his 
 jom-ney." John iv. But as this God-man declared to his apostles 
 in the same gospel, that he had meat to eat, to an infinite degree 
 
ON DIVINE GRACE. 55 
 
 more exquisite than that Avhich they presented him, mysterious 
 and divine meat, of which they were ignorant : "I have meat to 
 eat which you know not of;" (John iv. ;) so did he undergo quite 
 a different fatigue from what outwardly appeared ; a fatigue arising, 
 beyond all doubt, from having so long borne with this miserable 
 wretch in her criminal habit. For it must (says St. Augustin) 
 have tired him out, and, in a great measure, have exhausted his 
 patience. Yet he is not discouraged ; and how distant soever 
 this woman may be from the ways of God, how hardened soever 
 in her sinful courses, he determines to wait for her, using in her 
 behalf, if I may venture to employ the scripture plu-ase, those 
 adorable delays, the delays of God, which keep back his anger, 
 suspend his justice, and withhold his vengeance. On this account 
 it was, that wearied, he sat. Now this uneasiness of God, notwith- 
 standing the passions and revolts of his creature, is that which I 
 call the sweetness of grace. 
 
 Ah I Christians ! how many sinners, all over the world, and per- 
 haps among those to whom I address myself at this very time, in 
 the same situation as was that criminal and obstinate woman ? 
 That is, how many sinners, inflexible in their ways, have quitted 
 God, have spurned at his goodness, and have provoked his wrath ; 
 and, by continually accumulating sin upon sin, and lapse upon 
 lapse, and thereby increasing, -without intermission, the Aveight of 
 their iniquity, have become, as it were, a heavy burden on the 
 hands of God — but still whose return his inexhaustible mercy con- 
 descends to wait for ? To judge of the ways of God by the ways 
 of men, perhaps his patience might be deemed a scandal, as the 
 suffering on the cross was to the Jews ; perhaps we might take it 
 into our heads that he was wanting in zeal for his own glory, and 
 that he did not maintain the sovereignity of his being with suffi- 
 cient rigour. But tliis (say the fathers) is the very same thing by 
 which he maintains it, and displays his glory ; for none, but the 
 patience of a God could arrive to so great a pitch. The patience 
 of men, which is circumscribed by the narrow circumference of 
 their heart, is soon at an end ; but the measure of God's patience 
 is the gi-eatness of himself. 
 
 God is great, (says St. Augustin,) because he is eternal, because 
 lie is mighty, because he is God. And mdeed nothing, if rightly 
 considered, can be a stronger, or more convincing testimony of 
 liis dignity, than that tranquillity Avith which he beholds, and 
 
 e2 
 
56 
 
 ON DIVINE GRACE. 
 
 suffers the ofFences of mankind. But, from this principle, beloved 
 hearers, what conjecture ought to be deduced ? Doth it foUow 
 tliat the sinner can pretend to a right of putting oif his conversion, 
 and obliging the Almighty Lord to wait, because he is willing ? 
 In tills manner libertines and worldlings have reasoned in all ages, 
 and do still reason ; and it Is this false reasoning and hellish pre- 
 sumption which confii'med them in all ages, and do still confirm 
 them in their libertinism and vices. But God forbid. Christians, 
 that we should make so perverse a use of his mercies ! And when- 
 ever repentance is the point in hand, the most pernicious error we 
 fall into is, to imagine that God, in his goodness, will wait for us. 
 This is supported by a thousand arguments, strong and conclusive, 
 of which a Christian cannot be Ignorant, at the same time, of the 
 most essential and received maxims of his religion. These are they : 
 because if God waits for us, it is solely to his grace that we are 
 indebted for it. Now nothing is more impious, notliing more 
 senseless, than so to count upon that grace, as to avail one's self of 
 it against God himself: " Is thine eye evil, because I am good?" 
 Matt. XX. Because there are many for whom God waits not, and 
 on whom, in order to strike others with terror, he is pleased to 
 exercise lils avenging wrath, by letting them die in then- sin : "I 
 go, and you shall seek me, and you shall die in your sin." John vlii. 
 Because with regard even to those whom God waits for, after the 
 expiration of a certain time, he will not wait : " As yet forty days, 
 and Nineve shall be destroyed." Jonas ili. Because it is uncer- 
 tain how long God will wait, no secret being equally impenetrable 
 to us, or hidden from us: "Who knoweth that God will turn 
 and forgive." Jonas Hi. Because our presumption alone, in pro- 
 mising ourselves that God will wait for us, is a sufficient induce- 
 ment to make him not wait for us, lest his patience, (as TertuUIan 
 rightly observes,) which is one of his divine attributes, should serve 
 to authorize and foment our crimes. All these, beloved Christians, 
 are incontestable truths, which should make us observe a judicious 
 mien between fear and affiance ; truths, which indeed administer 
 hopes of a grace sufficiently constant to wait for us, but which 
 hinder us from Indulging those hopes In such a manner as to live 
 in impenitence ; truths, the wonderful concatenation of which 
 obllgeth us not to make God wait too long, persuaded, Indeed, 
 that as yet he will wait for us, but that notliing, however, is so 
 tcmble as a God, whose abused patience is wearied out with waiting 
 
ON DIVINE GRACE. 57 
 
 tlic return of a sinner, or more punishable than a presumptuous 
 sinner, who voluntarily and deliberately makes God wait for him. 
 This point of doctrine would alone require an entire discourse ; 
 but I proceed to another. 
 
 2ndly. The Saviour of the world not only waits for the Sama- 
 ritan woman, but, by a fi'esli instance of that sweetness Avhich is 
 discoverable in his grace, takes a favourable opportunity of con- 
 ferring with her ; a place separate from noise and tumult, Avhither 
 he foresees she Avill shortly repair ; a time convenient for this godly 
 design, when she came to draw water, and Avhen notliing coidd 
 inteiTupt the divine lessons which he prepared to give her. Not 
 that God hath occasion for contrivances of this nature to commu- 
 nicate his grace, nor that the grace of Jesus Christ absolutely 
 depends upon occasions and opportunities, to produce its effects ; 
 whereas, on the contrary, it is grace that seizes the precious times 
 of salvation, and opportunities to which our conversion is annexed. 
 But ought we not in this to admire the ineffable goodness of God, 
 who to draw us to his service, and to save our souls, is desirous to 
 lay hold of the fittest opportunities ; who, with that view, advan- 
 tageously makes use of those we offer him ; who gives, himself, 
 occasion to many that never could have entered into our minds ; 
 who shows, by events the most unexpected and unforeseen, his 
 providential care of us, and though equally deserving to be served 
 in all places, and at all times, thinks it not beneath him to annex 
 his grace to certain times and places. 
 
 When we read in Genesis, that Rebecca, going with her flock 
 to water, met a servant who made her good fortune known to her, 
 and mentioned the choice which God had made of her, to be the 
 consort of Isaac ; or in the Book of Kings, that Saul, going in 
 quest of his father's asses, lit upon the prophet, who declared to 
 him the views of God in his regard, and that the Lord had des- 
 tined him to be the head of his people, we bless the amiable dispo- 
 sition of Providence. But this so amiable a disposition. Christians, 
 is nothing but the type of what God would do, and what he doth 
 every day in behalf of his elect. For is it not in this manner that 
 he offers them his grace in favourable conjunctures? Is it not in 
 this manner (if I may so express myself) that he lies in wait for 
 them, and lays holy ambush, on certain occasions, wliich his infi- 
 nite wisdom hath ordained, for their conversion and sanctification ? 
 And was it not for this reason that manv virtuous and learned 
 
58 ON DIVINE GRACE. 
 
 divines (among whom is counted that incomparable doctor of the 
 church, St. Augustin) made the mystery of grace — I mean that 
 grace which we call efficacious — to consist in this partly, that it is 
 imparted to us on occasions on which Almighty God foresees it 
 will be salutary? Whereas, (continue they,) he dispenses his 
 ordinary graces indifferently ; that is, totally independent of cer- 
 tain circumstances and particular dispositions, in which we may be 
 at the time we receive them. This doctrine is agreeable to that 
 which the Holy Ghost tells the righteous man, the converted 
 sinner : " In an accepted time have I heard thee, and in the day of 
 salvation have I helped thee." 2 Cor. iv. There are, therefore, 
 (conclude they, and with great reason,) in the predestination of 
 men, times of grace and favour, in which salvation is not only more 
 possible and easy, but more infalUble and certain. 
 
 This is apparent in the Samaritan woman. But if we consider 
 it in the true light, we shall find that our own case is parallel to 
 hers. For, where is the man whom God hath moved by his holy 
 inspirations, and recalled from the ways of sin and perdition, who 
 will not attribute his conversion, in part, to some certain incidents, 
 and who doth not recollect, that it was on those occasions that God 
 opened liis eyes, and spoke to his heart? Of this St. Augustin 
 was thoroughly assured ; and the avowal he made of it was a kind 
 of homage he thought due to grace. It is in his " Confessions," 
 that he points out, himself, every particular of the conflict he 
 underwent ; the trouble and agitation of mind he was in, the soli- 
 tary garden into wliich he withdrew, the pious good friend who 
 accompanied him thither, the example of the anchorets which put 
 him to confusion, the passage of St. Paul which he read, and which 
 planted daggers in his heart ; when at last, this all-powerful gi-ace 
 transformed him into a new man, and made him yield submission, 
 and give himself up to the pressing solicitations of the heavenly 
 Spirit — thus he published it. And if we were to make a similar 
 confession, might we not, in proportion, bear a like testunony to 
 our own occurrences ? 
 
 Which then, in our regard, is the capital point, and grand maxim 
 of Christian wisdom ? Imprint it in your minds, beloved hearers, 
 and preserve the remembrance of it. It is diligently to watch, 
 and not to let slip these favourable occasions. For how many 
 things, the consequences of which are hidden from you, and wliich, 
 to judge by appearances, are owing to chance, are so many means 
 
ON DIVINE GRACE. 59 
 
 which God hath chosen to withdraw you from the world, and on 
 which, for aught you know of his will, he is pleased to make your 
 predestination depend ? For instance : the intercourse you hold 
 with that servant of God, that .pious book of which you relish the 
 reading, that edifying and convincing sermon which you hear, that 
 sudden death of your friend which terrifies you, that loss of an 
 estate which brings you to distress, that disgrace which humbles 
 you, that infirmity which obliges you, against your will, to lead a 
 regular life, and hinders you from running into former excesses. 
 If the designs of God Avere fully known to you, and you were cer- 
 tainly apprized that to this was annexed your eternal welfare, 
 would you not be careful to make the best advantage of these 
 occasions ? Now you know enough of it at least to adore the 
 secret decrees of that paternal Providence which governs you ; 
 and if you know no more, it is incumbent on you to spend your 
 days in a more absolute dependance on that grace in which you 
 place your confidence. 
 
 But you wlU teU me : if God hath annexed the grace of my con- 
 version to this occasion, I shall certainly be converted. Granted, 
 Christians : but it is equally certain, that you will never be con- 
 verted without making good use of grace, and the circumstances 
 which it hath prepared for you. For, whatever the nature of that 
 grace may be, it is an article of faith, that its effect can never be 
 separated from yom' faithfulness ; and in whatever manner it may 
 be said to act, we must always recur to these two Avords of our 
 blessed Saviour — watch and pray. Pray, because you are unable 
 to do anything without grace ; and Avatch, because grace, all-poAV- 
 erful as it is, will do nothing for you Avithout yom* concurrence. 
 Pray, to the end that there may be a day of salvation for you ; 
 and Avatch, to the end that this day of salvation may not escape 
 you. These are the two particular points — this the Avhole sub- 
 stance of a Christian's theology. But to proceed. 
 
 3rdly. I add, that the grace Avhich works our conversion, how 
 much soever it imports us to solicit it, is ever sure to prevent 
 our solicitations : and this, according to the doctrine of the 
 fathers, is its most essential quality. For, were I able to 
 prevent it, it Avould be no longer a grace, because it Avould 
 suppose in us the merit of preventing it. I knoAV that through 
 grace avc may, though sinners, seek God, and find him. But 
 never should Ave seek him (says St. Bernard) tlu'ougli gi-acc. 
 
60 ON DIVINE GRACE. 
 
 had he not himself condescended to seek us. Now this is plainly 
 seen in the conversion of the Samaritan. The Son of God waits 
 not till she makes some advances toward coming to him, but 
 accosts her, talks Avith her, engages her in such a manner that she 
 doth not perceive it, in a conversation which is to be the principal 
 cause of her salvation. Such is the mystery, and prodigy too, of 
 Almighty God's love ! He is desirous himself to prevent sinners : 
 that is, he desu*es to seek vile creatures, to call rebellious and 
 ungrateful souls to his service, criminal souls and deserving of his 
 vengeance, weak and inconstant souls, whose infidelity and relapses 
 he foresees : to seek them, I say, and be before hand with them, 
 and, at a time, too, when they think not of him : I say more ; at a 
 time when they revolt from him, when they make head against 
 him, when they have, in some shape, a disgust and horror of him. 
 Ah ! my Lord, might I cry, affected with the same sentiment as 
 the pious St. Bernard, and applying to myself that tenet of our re- 
 ligion so opposite to Pelagianism. Ah ! Lord, is it then true, that of 
 myself I am unable to love you, quite amiable as you are ; and 
 that such is my wretchedness, as to deny me the power of wishing 
 to be loved by you, if you raise not, youi'self, that desire in my 
 heart ? Is it then true, that though you are the Almighty God, 
 you are under a necessity of making the first step toward my 
 reconciliation to you, or of suffering me to remain eternally your 
 enemy? Would it not be enough that you were disposed to 
 receive me ? But at least, my God, since you are -wilUng to begin, 
 shall I not have the happiness of con-esponding vnth. your love ? 
 Shall I add to the unfortunate inability of preventing you, the 
 unpardonable crime of not siding -with you ? No, my Lord, you 
 make me too clearly see how much I am indebted to you, for my 
 heart to remain in so mortal an indifference. As it is for the merit 
 of your holy grace that it should first seek me, I will readily and 
 ■willingly submit to that law. Yes, my God, I desire to humble 
 myself with that view ; I desire to acknowledge my weaknesses in 
 your presence, and to blush at the thought, that I cannot, of 
 myself, take a single step in order to come to you ; and that, not- 
 withstanding your infinite perfections, I am incapable to love you, 
 unless you love me first. However, O Lord, it will be a powerful 
 motive of gratitude and faithfulness: and the remembrance of 
 of your infinite mercy in seeking me, notwithstanding my unwor- 
 thiness, and in bringing me back into your holy ways, will hence- 
 
ON DIVINB GRACE. 61 
 
 orward attach me so strongly to you, that neither nature, nor 
 passion, nor world with all its charms and allurements, nor any 
 thing else, be it what it will, shall ever dissolve the sacred union. 
 Such is the fruit Avhich a Christian soul must draw from a profit- 
 able and solid consideration on this point of faith. 
 
 4thly. But further : in what manner doth grace j)revent us ? 
 Authoritatively and imperiously ? No, says the prophet. On the 
 contraiy, " it prevented us Avith the blessings of sweetness." Ps. xx. 
 For if it prevent us, it is only by asking what it means to obtain ; 
 and in this (says St. Prosper) consists the difference between the 
 law and grace : the law commands, and grace invites ; the law con- 
 strains, and grace engages. Now this coalition of the law and 
 grace makes the whole mystery of the amiable and supreme domi- 
 nion which God hath over our heai-ts. Our Saviour might have 
 chosen to use liis divine power, and obliged the Samaritan to pay 
 him, instantly and without reply, a forced obedience. But as 
 it is his grace that operates in her, he will have her not only 
 obey without repugnance, but with joy and love. How then doth 
 he begin ? By desiring her to hearken to his words, and believe : 
 " Woman, believe me." John iv. For although God, by the 
 effiacy of his grace, be master of our will, and may do "vvith us 
 according to his pleasure, he is backward, however, in the use of 
 his power ; and, if I may venture to use a scripture phrase, treats 
 us with respect : that is, he inspires us, persuades us, asks us 
 to conform our will to his : " Thou, the ruler of virtue, with great 
 reverence disposest of us." Wis. xxii. 
 
 I say more : though absolute master, he asks but a little, in 
 order to give much. What doth Jesus Clu'ist ask of the Sama- 
 ritan ? A little water : " Give me to drink." And why water ? 
 In order to raise in her a desire of an infinitely more excellent 
 water, which he intends to give her ; a salutary and vivifying water : 
 " a fountain of water springing up unto everlasting life ;" (John 
 iv. ;) water that will quench om* thirst eternally, and settle us in 
 peace and felicity : " Whosoever shall drink of the water which I 
 shall give, shall not thu-st for ever." A noble idea this. Christians, 
 of what daily experience informs us of concerning the methods of 
 grace. What doth it require ? scarce anytliing : a little attention 
 to ourselves, a little regularity in our actions, a little discretion in 
 our words, a little constraint in the pei-formancc of our duty. Give 
 me this, (says God) it is certainly but little ; yet ujwn this little 
 
62 ON DIVINE GRACE. 
 
 the most abundant and efficacious graces depend. And, indeed, 
 it is often by this Httle, I mean by this little \'ictory over passion, 
 by this little violence done to humour, by this little sacrifice of 
 temporal interest, by this little effort of Clu-istian charity, by this 
 little defalcation of worldly vanity, that we put oiu*selves in a con- 
 dition to receive a plenitude of heavenly gifts, and the mercies of 
 the Lord. It is by this that great changes and conversions begin ; 
 and are we not in a high degree to blame, if we obstinately refuse 
 that which God requires, when the advantage which he promises 
 so far exceeds that which he requires ? 
 
 5thly. Proceed we, however, to a more affecting article. I 
 hold with St. Chrysostom, that grace, in order to act with more 
 sweetness, suits itself to our inclinations, to our taste, to our 
 talents, and in some shape to our weaknesses, our imperfections, 
 and our faiHngs. Of this I have proof oi" the woman of Samaria 
 already mentioned. Any one, but the Saviour of mankind, who 
 had heard her dispute, and reason upon the most important points 
 of rehgion, would have soon discouraged her, would have told 
 her that it was not her business to dive into those matters ; that 
 those knotty, those refined, those subtile questions, were not her 
 province ; that it much better became a woman to know nothing of 
 them : for vnth. this tnte, overbearing answer, have curious women 
 been at all times foiled ; an answer, on which the men are wont to 
 to lay great stress. But our Saviour knew that they were not 
 converted by such means ; and that, far from reforming them, it 
 soured their tempers, and made them more irritable. What then 
 doth he do ? He behaves in a manner directly contrary. This is 
 a vain and curious woman, and he takes the advantage of her 
 curiosity. She rates herself high for her knoAvledge and parts, 
 and he deigns to argue vnth her on the most profound and sublime 
 topics of religion. In instructing the vulgar, he made use of 
 parables, that is, of plain and familiar comparisons, adapting his 
 discourse to theu- gross understandings. But as to this woman, 
 sinner as she is, he converses with her in terms proportioned to the 
 grandeur and intricacy of the subject on which their conversation 
 turns : the natm-e of God, the perfection of his being, the purity 
 of his worship, adoration in spirit ; and thereby undeceives her, 
 without offending her, and removes the erroneous notions she had 
 conceived relating to the Deity and the homage due to him. 
 
 Now is it not thus, that our minds and hearts are influenced by 
 
ON DIVINE GRACE. 63 
 
 grace ? Is it not in this manner that it conforms itself to us, 
 scarce ever sanctifying us — (mind this I beseech you) — scarce ever 
 sanctifying us in a manner contrary to our natural inclinations, but 
 perfecting them agreeably to God's holy will, in order to sanctify 
 us. Are we quick and impetuous ? It animates us with zeal, 
 and impels us to the practice of good works. Are we tender, 
 and susceptible of being easily moved ? It inspires us with a 
 tenderness of love for God, which not infrequently occasions 
 our shedding floods of tears. Are we of a gentle and easy 
 temper? It rectifies it, and converts it into charity for our 
 neighbour. Are we of a rigid and severe disposition? It 
 converts tliis severity into penitential fervour. St. Peter tells 
 us, that it assumes as many different shapes, as it meets with 
 different dispositions in us: "The grace of God is manifold;" 
 (1 Pet. iv. ;) grace, which induces us to be holy in the manner we 
 should choose to be, did Almighty God leave it to om' OAvn option, 
 and it were to be the result of our o^vn dehberation ; to the end, 
 (says St. Chrysostom,) that under no pretext we be dispensed with 
 from following it, as it desires to make use of our own endow- 
 ments for the compassing of its ends ; as it sets whatever is in us 
 on work to bring about our salvation ; as it requu-es no other con- 
 stitution but our own, no other complexion or disposition but our 
 own, no other talents or genius but our own, to bring us to be 
 that which God would have us to be ; in short, as in a sense which 
 you sufficiently understand, we may, without ceasing to be what 
 we are, become, by means of it, what we are not. 
 
 6thly. True it is, Christians, God obligeth us by this grace to 
 despise all those things which the world esteems ; to renounce 
 from our heart the honours, the pleasures, the good things of this 
 world ; but herein " taste and see that the Lord is sweet." Ps. 
 xxxiii. He doth not oblige us to renounce the world, before he 
 hath made kno^vn to us, by his grace, its deceitfidness, and con- 
 vinced us that it is impossible it should ever make us happy. He 
 doth not oblige us to renounce the world, before he hath expelled 
 from our heart, by his grace, our esteem and love of it. Now it 
 is no hard matter to bid adieu to that which Ave neither esteem 
 nor love. This is the lesson which our Saviour gives the Sama/- 
 ritan woman: "Whoever shall drink of this water, shall thirst 
 again." John iv. That is, whoever is ambitious of honours in this 
 world, how great soever his station may be, shall never be content 
 
64 ON DIVINE GRACE. 
 
 to be what he is ; whoever endeavours to accumulate wealth, how 
 full soever his coffers may be, shall never have enough to sate his 
 desires ; whoever is a slave to sensual appetites, how willing soever 
 he may be to gratify them, shall never satisfy them. When once 
 I am persuaded of this principle, I wean my affections from created 
 tilings without reluctance. And are we not invincibly persuaded 
 of it by the divine impression and lights of grace ? Sometimes, 
 indeed, it obliges me to perform difficult and painful things for 
 God ; but at the same time furnishes me with sufficient induce- 
 ments, by the hope it gives me of the great, the inestimable things 
 it promises: "If thou knewest (says our Saviour to this woman) 
 the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, give me to drink." 
 John iv. That is, Christians, if ye knew what God is ; if ye 
 knew what he hath done and merited for you ; if ye knew what 
 ye may expect from him ; if ye knew the magnificent rewards he 
 hath reserved for the humble, for the poor, for those who suffer 
 and who mortify their senses on his account : if ye knew all this, 
 your courage would be proof against the severest trials ; and the 
 heaviest crosses, with the sole view of being pleasing in his sight, 
 would become not only supportable, but delightful. Now what 
 but the grace of Jesus Christ informs us of all this ? It cannot, 
 indeed, be denied that this grace inspires us, according to the 
 gospel doctrine, with a hatred of ourselves ; but to inspire us with 
 this evangelical hatred, it obligeth us to acknowledge our own 
 meanness, our own unworthiness, our OAvn corruption, our own 
 transgressions. Wlience we easily conclude that our true interest 
 is, to hate oiu*selves in this life, if we intend to love ourselves for 
 life everlasting. Thus the Son of God, to facilitate the repentance 
 of the Samaritan sinner, makes her confess her crime ; and by the 
 salutary shame which she conceives thereof, reduces her, almost 
 without her perceiving it, to the necessity of accusing and con- 
 demning her conduct, and by consequence of being converted, as 
 it is in a sincere accusation and condemnation of one's self that 
 true conversion consists. 
 
 Such, dear Christians, is the agency of grace. In this manner, 
 God, neither by the sovereignty of his dominion, nor by the sub- 
 lime light of his divine understanding, but by the sweetness of his 
 grace, and of his holy spirit, becomes master of our hearts. It Avas 
 necessary, in order to gain the hearts of men, that the increated 
 Avisdom of God should humble itself, and liis majesty should stoop 
 
ON DIVINE GRACE. G5 
 
 in the person of the Saviour. Now just so it is, after God's exam- 
 ple, that we shall insinuate ourselves into the souls of men, and 
 exercise in them a power the more absolute, as it Avill appear the 
 less. It will not be by authority, much less by the haughty spirit 
 of sway, or by the ascendancy which we shall take, or affect to 
 take ; no, nor by superiority of abilities or understanding, but by 
 the sage contrivances of Christian charity. To win our neighboiu-, 
 and to move his heart, we must bear with his ftiilings, compas- 
 sionate his weaknesses, submit to his humours, be affected with 
 his wants, take share in his concerns, and (according to the rule 
 and expression of St. Paul) "put on, as the elect of God, the 
 bowels of mercy." Colos. iii. This practical doctrine is applicable 
 to us all ; but to us particularly, beloved brethren, whom God 
 hath called, in a special manner, to the ministry, for the conversion 
 and sanctification of souls : to us, who, as priests of tlie heavenly 
 Lord, are the dispensers of his grace, and are bound, by conse- 
 quence, to regulate our conduct by the methods of grace. To us, 
 I say, this doctrine is addressed ; and therefore allow me to apply 
 it to you, and to myself too, as it is a perfect model for all who are 
 employed in our charitable functions. 
 
 By sweetness it is, that our zeal can affect the hearts of sinners. 
 Any other means will fail of success. What, though you were 
 endued with the knowledge of the doctors, and the eloquence of 
 the prophets ; what, though you should speak the language of the 
 apostles, and even the language of angels ; if it were not seasoned 
 with evangelical mildness, it would httle avail. Mildness it is, 
 that must open the way for us to the hearts of men ; without wliich 
 we shall instruct them, convince them, perplex them, terrify them, 
 but shall not convert them. We shall disturb consciences, drive 
 the weak to despair, and exasperate the obstinate ; but shall not 
 bring them over to the service of God. The Saviour of the world 
 appeared severe only with regard to the Pharisees ; hypocrites, 
 Avho, under the mask of piety, imposed upon the people ; and by 
 God's secret judgment, it was only with regard to them that his 
 zeal was of none effect. I would not, however, my brethren, insi- 
 nuate, that we should hide from sinners the deformity of their case, 
 (you know how much I abhor such sentiments,) or should not 
 oblige them to undergo the austerities prescribed by the gospel : 
 the rigours of penitence, the cnicifying of the flesh, the mortifi- 
 <*-ation of the senses. Wo is me, if in this doctrine I relax a tittle. 
 
66 ON DIVINE GRACE. 
 
 But to this severity, which alienates the thoughts of sinners from 
 conversion, we must join mildness, in order to reclaim them. We 
 must use it in the manner that grace adapts itself to the various 
 dispositions of various persons, and not apply it Avithout prudence 
 or discernment — to some too much, to others too little ; to some in 
 a way unsuitable to their state, to others, in a degree exceeding 
 their strength. We must not be wanting in pious addresses 
 to induce them to take up with it, and even make them 
 relish it ; showing them that it is impracticable, and never 
 carrying things to that excess, as to give the laity a handle to 
 treat them as impossible. We must then use severity in the 
 cure of souls ; but it must be a discreet, an amiable severity, a 
 severity that renders God's yoke supportable, and not a Pharai- 
 saical severity without unction, an imperious severity, a severity 
 agreeable to the condition of slaves, but no way suitable to the 
 children of God. I would to God, brethren, that this truth were 
 rooted in all their minds, as nothing could more eifectually contri- 
 bute to the sanctification of the Christian world. Be that as it 
 may, beloved hearers, one thing there is which will render us 
 inexcusable at the judgment of God, and that is, the infinite sweet- 
 ness with which he governs us. If the powers of the earth, upon 
 whom we depend, behaved so to us, they would soon be our idols. 
 God Almighty would gain us by liis holy grace, and yet we rebel 
 against him. It remains for me to show, that this holy grace, 
 though sweet in its manner of influencing the sinner, is not the less 
 forcible in its action and impulse, which will manifestly appear 
 from the sequel of the passage already mentioned, and which I am 
 going to set forth in the second part. 
 
 Part II. How obscure soever faith may be, considered in itself, 
 and in regard to its mysteries, its motives are founded (according 
 to the universal opinion of divines) in a kind of evidence. My 
 meaning is, that what it reveals is evidently credible, from the 
 quality of the motives which oblige us to believe it. Now I have 
 always thought, and still do think, that of these motives, one of 
 the most powerful and convincing is, to see what the power of 
 divine grace sometimes operates in souls, whom God (as the great 
 apostle tells us) hath chosen and predestined to be vessels of his 
 mercy. This, beloved hearers, will be a comfort to you. When 
 Pharaoh's magicians saw the astounding prodigies that Moses per- 
 tormed all o^er Egypt by the touch only of his mystical rod, which 
 
ON DIVINE GKACE. 0« 
 
 struck them with such terror, they confessed at last that " it was 
 the finger of God." Exod. viii. That is, they discovered the cha- 
 racteristic of a divine power, of which this legislator and prophet 
 was the instrument. And for my part. Christians, though I were 
 to consider no more than the conversion of the Samaritan woman, 
 as related in the gospel, I should certainly conclude Avithout demur, 
 that there is in us an active supernatm'al principle ; that God hath 
 secret invisible springs to move our hearts, and wind them as he 
 pleases ; that we receive from heaven impressions which only pro- 
 ceed from grace, and that by the divine operations of" this grace, 
 our liberty, without losing its indifferency and privileges, is per- 
 fectly submitted to the power of God. 
 
 Now in what consists the miracle of this extraordinary conversion? 
 In the relation it bears to the two powers of the soul, to which 
 internal grace is immediately communicated ; namely, to the undei- 
 standing and to the will ; or, if you like that better, to the mind 
 and to the heart. A miracle of grace, in the victory which it 
 gains over the mind of the Samaritan. A miracle of grace, in the 
 change which it works in the heart of the Samaritan. A miracle 
 of grace, attended mth circumstances which leave no room to doubt 
 that it was the work of the omnipotent hand of God. Redouble 
 your attention, beloved hearers, and thereby make up for the defi- 
 ciency arising from the necessity of contracting into a small com- 
 pass, a subject that would requu-e a whole discourse. 
 
 1st. A miracle of grace, and of its force in the victory which it 
 gains over the mind of the Samaritan woman. Only follow the 
 thread of the sacred narrative, and you will agree to this. She 
 was an infidel and a heretic, both together, as the Samaritans 
 (according to Origen's remark) were idolaters in the main, con- 
 tinuing to adore the false gods of their ancestors, and yet practised, 
 at the same time, a kind of Judaism, but a Judaism con'upted by 
 their particular opinions ; and accordingly they were separated by 
 an avowed schism from the rest of the Jews : " For the Jews had 
 no communication with the Samaritans." John iv. A heretic she 
 was, vain and self-sufficient, opinionative and untractable, prepos- 
 sessed with her error, and determined to maintain it, and pretending 
 to argue with subtility and refinement upon religious topics ; for, 
 all this appears from the conversation that passed between her and 
 Christ. Now you know the difficulty, the extreme difficulty, or 
 rather moral impossibility, of making any one submit, particularly 
 
68 ON DIVIITE GRACE. 
 
 a woman, and a woman too of this cliaracter. You know how 
 unusual it is to see a woman, prepossessed with eiTor, (1 say pre- 
 possessed, for persuaded by argiiment she scarce ever was,) take 
 proper measures to sift out the truth, and after candid researches, 
 yield ready submission to it. Whether it be that creating inflexi- 
 bility and obduracy of heart, is, by a woful fatality, peculiar to 
 heresy ; or that God, by a punishment due to this sin, which is, 
 in one sense, the most grievous and punishable of all, is accustomed 
 to overcast the mind with a cloud, which perpetually darkens it 
 more and more, and which, for that reason, St. Augustin denomi- 
 nates penal blindness : hoAvever it be, you cannot be ignorant what 
 efforts are requisite, and how it borders on a miracle, even in the 
 order of grace, to return from the pride of heresy to the humility 
 of the faith. Nevertheless, we now see, that gi-ace doth all this 
 by a divine vu'tue, a virtue beaming from the mercy of God. 
 Christ converts this woman : he induces her first to embrace the 
 purity of the Jewish worship, and fortliAvith she becomes a perfect 
 Christian. After having made her renounce the superstitious prac- 
 tice of her forefathers, and the schism she was brought up in ; 
 after liaAang made her condemn the errors which she maintained 
 with such obstinacy and zealous attachment, he makes knoAvn to 
 her what he is, and for what end he came ; the scope of his legis- 
 lation, the natm'e and quality of Messiah and Saviour, and his 
 very divinity : mysteries naturally incredible, and which she could 
 not discover but by means of the most pure and heavenly light of 
 the grace imparted to her. Not only he reveals to her all these 
 points, so important and so sublime, but convinces her of them, 
 and gives her a relish for them. Though at first she declined con- 
 versing with him, she listens to him, at length, with docility and 
 respect. Though every one, born of Jewish extraction, was hateful 
 in her sight, she is wilKng, nevertheless, to acknowledge and adore 
 him, Jew as he is, as the author of her salvation. Though what- 
 ever she sees in him hath the appearance of man, she protests and 
 firmly believes he is the Christ, and the true Son of God. Must 
 we not confess, that such a conversion was the work of the Lord, 
 and cry out with David : " This change is made by the right hand 
 of the Most High." Ps. Ixxvi. 
 
 2ndly. But grace, in subduing the mind of the Samaritan, acted 
 not more powerfully than in moving her heart. For beside her 
 obstinacy in fiilse belief, she was lewd and libertine in her moral 
 
ON DIVINE GRACE. 69 
 
 conduct. Sins, (says St. Chrysostom,) Avhich, however opposite, 
 bear a kind of affinity one to another ; because obstihacy in erro- 
 neous principles of religion is, properly speaking, a corruption of 
 the mind, in the same manner that adultery and impurity are a 
 rebeUion of the flesh. Now God, (continues the same holy doctor,) 
 the avenger and punisher of the one and the other, oftentimes dis- 
 graces the one by the other, by permitting revolts of the mind 
 against truth, to be commonly followed by depravity of manners, 
 and a fleshly life. And truly it is observable, that those so pre- 
 sumptuous and haughty souls in matters of reUgion, for the most 
 part, are not the most steadfast in their duty, nor the most resolute 
 in the horn* of temptation. 
 
 Such, with her affected knowledge and subtilty, was the sinner 
 of Samaria. She publicly cohabited with unmarried men, was 
 abandoned to concubinage, a concubinage of which she had con- 
 tracted a long and scandalous habit : " Thou hast had five husbands, 
 and he whom thou now hast, is not thy husband." John iv. Now 
 no disease is equally unsusceptible of cure vdth this. If there be 
 a demon capable of resisting God and his grace, it is beyond dispute, 
 the spirit of impurity. And yet herein, too, the grace of Jesus 
 Christ shows Its power and efficacy. This sinner, this prostitute, 
 this woman — a slave to infamous passions — is cleansed from sin and 
 robed with sanctity. It would seem as if Christ had given her 
 another heart; and after taking from her that corrupted heart, the 
 source of all her trespasses, he created in her a new heart, a heart 
 not only purified from all the filth of sin, but from earthly affec- 
 tions. She no longer is that bare-faced cause of scandal, that incen- 
 tive to wickedness, that lure held out by the ghostly enemy of 
 mankind for the ruin of souls. She is " a new creature in Christ;" 
 a soul entirely consecrated to God, and breathes nothing but his 
 love ; a soul whose thoughts are chaste, whose Avords are modest, 
 whose actions are free from inordinate passion : a soul, whose con- 
 duct is a perfect pattern of subUme virtue, that diffuses on all sides 
 the odour of her sanctity. What a prodigy, Christians ! And 
 ought we not, accordingly, to repeat the prophet's words : " This 
 change is made by the right hand of the Most High ?" 
 
 Srdly. If the grace of Jesus Christ works a miracle in the con- 
 version of this woman, the miraculous manner in which it doth 
 work it, shows very evidently its force and power. For, beloved 
 Christians, is it not astonishing, that two such prodigious changes 
 
 VOL. II. F 
 
TO ON DIVINE GRACE. 
 
 as these should be no more to our Saviour than the business of a 
 moment ? When God acts according to the laws and the ordinaiy 
 course of his providence, he proceeds, or seems to proceed with 
 caution, and accomodates himself in the natural as well as super- 
 natural order of things to our weakness. For he makes not men 
 saints all at once ; he sanctifies them gradually, and leads them by 
 progressions, sometimes imperceptible, and step by step, to the 
 summit of perfection, and a consummate sanctity. But when he 
 acts sovereignly, and as the God of heaven, it is quite otherwise. 
 He makes no previous alteration in the person Avhom he chooses for 
 the subject of his agency. By one word's speaking, he calls forth 
 myriads of beings out of naught ; expands the heavens ; fixes the 
 earth ; gives to this vast universe all its perfection : " He spoke, 
 and they were made." Ps. cxlviii. Thus, the Son of God says 
 but a word to the Samaritan, " I am He" — (John iv.) — the Mes- 
 siah whom you expect ; and behold ! all at once she is convinced, 
 she is moved ; her heart is pierced with the most holy, the most 
 lively, the most tender sentiments. A word (says St. Augustin) 
 more efficacious than that with which Almighty God created the 
 world. A word, w^hich by a second, and much more admirable 
 creation than the former, reformed in her heart the work of God 
 which sin had destroyed. I say a creation more admirable than 
 the former, inasmuch as in the former the non-existence on which 
 God operates, obeys his word without contradiction ; whereas, in 
 the latter, the nonentity of sin, nonentity as it was, was capable 
 to resist him. 
 
 I ask if anything externally appeared, that could give our Sa- 
 viour so strong an influence over the mind of the Samaritan woman? 
 Or what means did he use to obtain so easy and speedy a belief? 
 Did she see him at that moment exerting his power over storme 
 and billows, giving sight to the blind, raising the dead of four 
 days ? Ah ! beloved hearers, this is the wonder that exceeds all 
 the rest. The conversion of the world without a miracle — were 
 there such an hypothesis — would (according to St. Augustin) be 
 the greatest of miracles, would be the miracle of miracles ; and the 
 most convincing for a pagan who should obstinately disbeheve the 
 other miracles. Now we see, beloved hearers, this miracle of mira- 
 cles fulfilled in the Samaritan. The Pharisees and doctors of the 
 law, every day saw the miracles of Jesus ; they were ocular wit- 
 nesses to them ; they conversed with Lazarus AvhoTU he liad pub- 
 
ON DIVINE GRACE. 71 
 
 Hcly raised to life, and talked with innumerable incurables on whom 
 he had bestowed health; notwithstanding which, through an 
 inflexible wilfulness, they persisted to the last in their incredulity. 
 But this woman, without any miracle, not only believes in him, 
 but is attached to his doctrine, addicted to his service, and forsakes 
 everything to walk in his footsteps. And whence arises all this ? 
 From the omnipotence of grace, wliich needs only itself to gain a 
 complete victory over the heart of man. 
 
 This is not all. When our blessed Saviour converted sinners, 
 it was after havmg gained, by singular benefactions, a great share 
 of their love and confidence, and of their esteem for his sacred 
 person. To save their souls, he began by curing their bodily infir- 
 mities. He bore with their w^eaknesses, and brought them, by 
 making them see in their necessities the power he had, to believe 
 what he was. But being resolved to disj^lay in this sinner the 
 great force of his grace, he converts her ■without any manner of 
 attractive or interested inducement, save that of conversion. She 
 beHeves not in him, like the woman of Canaan, because he deli- 
 vered her daughter from the devil ; nor like the woman troubled 
 with the bloody flux, because he restored her health of body. She 
 believes in liim purely on his own account, and is attached to him 
 without any other view of advantage than that of being his fol- 
 lower, and living in his service. And here it is that I discern the 
 characteristic of a victorious and all-powerful grace : " This change 
 is made by the right hand of the Most High." 
 
 In fine, from this the miraculous power of grace appears, that by 
 sanctifying this woman, it sanctified the whole inhabitants of 
 Samaria, as it enabled her to communicate the gift of fiiith to the 
 Samaritan people. From a sinner, (according to the remark of 
 St. Gregory,) she was changed into an apostle. Ere the apostles 
 appear, she goes and announces Jesus Christ to those who know 
 him not ; and without derogating in the least degree from the 
 dignity of St. Peter, or of the other apostles, it may be said, that 
 the first apostle of Christianity was the Samaritan woman. And 
 indeed, her zeal is inflamed in such a manner, that she waits not 
 for a moment : she leaves her vessel, forgets what she came for, 
 departs from Jesus Christ for Jesus Christ's sake ; returns to town, 
 and invites all the world to come and hear his words ; choosing 
 rather to lal)0ur for his honour and glory, than enjoy any longer 
 the pleasures of his converse ; and is hurried away, already, by the 
 
 V 2 
 
72 ON DIVINE GRACE. 
 
 pacred fervency and divine impetuosity of the spirit of faith, which 
 Id never content with the knowledge of God, if it spread not as 
 wide as it can and ought to do it. 
 
 And now, Christians, what inference to be made from all this ? 
 Ah I let us not henceforward allege that our sinful state hath ren- 
 dcred us weak, and that our weakness is an insurmountable obstacle 
 to conversion ; let us own sincerely, that though weak of ourselves, 
 Ave are all-powerful with the aid and by the force of grace, inas- 
 much as we " can do all things in him who strengthened us." 
 Phil. iv. Let us diffide in ourselves, but put our trust in God. 
 I know that to free yourselves from the bondage of sin, to break 
 off that intercom'se, to wave that connexion, to stifle that inclina- 
 tion, it is requisite that you make extraordinary efforts, and undergo 
 sharp conflicts. But be of good heart, since God declares that " his 
 grace (whenever you ask it with candour) is sufficient for you." 2 Cor. 
 xii. It is chiefly in your infirmity that its virtue blazes forth in all its 
 lustre; and your return to God — a willing, a speedy, a perfect return, 
 will not be a greater miracle of his grace than the wonderful change 
 in the Samaritan sinner : " For power is made perfect in weak- 
 ness." 2 Cor. xii. 
 
 Besides — and tliis is the point of morality with which 1 shall 
 conclude : God Almighty, of his mercy, hath drawn you out of 
 the gulf; and if you have felt the impression of this grace, imitate 
 the zeal of this edifying convert. She was, in all respects, as 
 unqualified as you are to promulgate the gospel of God-made man ; 
 she bore no character that laid her under a greater obhgation than 
 you. What, therefore, should exempt you from the same duty ? 
 In quality of Christians, we all lie under an indispensable engage- 
 ment to participate, each in his own department, of the apostohc 
 ministry ; and among all the faithful there is not one, of what pro- 
 fession soever he be, who is not bound, at least by his works — by 
 good example, by an edifying hfe, and by charitable counsels, to 
 preach Jesus Christ. On a father it is incumbent to preach to his 
 children, and to take with liim in his mind that he is their first 
 apostle ; that it is liis province, as their father, to inspire them with 
 rehgion, to tincture their minds with an early sense of it ; to use 
 all his endeavours to preserve it in their souls ; otherwise, he 
 deserves not the name of father, much less that of Christian. On 
 a master it is incumbent to preach to his domestics, persuaded that 
 (lis the apostle says in express terms) if he neglect so necessary and 
 
ON DIVINE GRACE. 73 
 
 essential a duty, and suffer liis household to remain in ignorniice 
 of the law of God, or not to put it in practice, "he hath denied 
 his faith, and is worse than an infidel." I Tim. v. But converted 
 sinners ought to be, of all, the most strongly affected with this 
 duty. This obligation comes on them upon the score of gratitude 
 and justice — of charity to their neighbour, and their own interest ; 
 and because they are unable by any other means to pay due tribute 
 to Almighty God for their conversion. If, therefore, there were 
 any among those who hear me, in this predicament ; that is, who 
 heretofore led a Ubertine Hfe, but is now refonned by divine gi-ace, 
 and resolved to square his actions and conduct to the Chiistian 
 precepts : behold ! (would I say) dear Christian brother, the pat- 
 tern which God lays to-day before you — the zeal and fervour of 
 the converted Samaritan. Bring back, like her, as many sinners 
 to Christ our Lord as your example can have weight and influence 
 with, but especially the accomplices of your crimes and transgres- 
 sions. Tell them, with David, that penitent king : " Come all and 
 hear, and ye that fear God, and I will relate what great things he 
 hath done for my soul." Ps. Ixv. You need no evidence but my 
 example : I will make known the favour which his infinite mercy 
 conferred upon me. I was entangled in the same engagements as 
 you ; in the same excess and scandal as you ; but the grace of my 
 God hath broken the chains with which I was bound, hath dissi- 
 pated the clouds that had obscured my sight, hath extinguished 
 the passions with which I was transported. Like you, I regarded 
 as folly and weakness whatever was told me of eternal truths : but 
 the grace of my God hath opened my eyes, and convinced me of 
 my folly. Like you, I believed that the change would be impos- 
 sible ; that I should never be able to fomi the resolution of quit- 
 ting my criminal and inveterate habits ; that I should never be 
 able to bear the irksomeness of a well-regulated and retired life ; 
 that solitude and self-converse would be melancholy, tiresome, and 
 insupportable : but by the grace of my God, all these difficulties 
 are now removed ; I have subdued nature, and trodden custom 
 underfoot ; I am totally disengaged from the world and its charms ; 
 instead of the uneasiness and disgust which I feared, I have found 
 tranquiUity of mind and joy of heart. And oh 1 that I cannot lay 
 open my heart to you ! That I cannot discover and make you 
 feel what 1 have felt, since first it was rescued from the tyranny 
 of sin, and it began to enjoy the blessings of freedom ! " Come 
 
74 ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 and hear, and I will relate what great things the Lord hath done 
 for my soul." 
 
 Ah ! Christians, what cannot one thoroughly converted do for 
 the glory of God ! How forcible is his testimony in favour of 
 the truth ! The Samaritan alone almost converted a whole coun- 
 try : and how many sinners might reform, by their penitence, whole 
 towns and cities! Inspu-e, O Lord, inspire this audience with 
 that blessed zeal. Send down upon them your holy Spirit ; and, 
 moved by his sweetness, and impelled by his force, may they return 
 into your ways, and make those by their example retrnm into them, 
 whom they have kept away from them by the scandal of their 
 Hves ; and may we all, by these means, in due course of time, meet 
 in the enjoyment of the same glory. 
 
 SERMON XX. 
 
 ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 *' When Jesus came near Jerusalem^ lie beheld the city^ and 
 wept over it, saying : If thou hadst knoivji, even thou, the things 
 belonging to thy peace !" Luke xix. 
 
 That solemn day on which the Son of God, attended by his dis- 
 ciples, made his public entry into Jerusalem, amidst shouts of 
 acclamation : that day of the Lord's visitation, my brethren, was 
 (according to Christ's o^vn words) the day of that incredulous city; 
 as on that day of grace it was that the Saviour of men came to 
 bring it fresh light, and to try, for the last time, to work its con- 
 version. He foresaw the consequences of that unfortunate people's 
 infidelity ; the extreme blindness into which they would fall ; the 
 afflicting extremity to which too powerful an enemy would reduce 
 them ; the dreadful storm, plunder, and desolation that would ruin 
 their city, and disperse themselves throughout the globe; the 
 hatred of all nations which they would incm*. Melancholy, indeed, 
 but infallible eflfects of theu* resistance to the voice of heaven, and 
 to the pressing insinuations of the divine mercy. These are the 
 
ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. "5 
 
 things which the Redeemer of Israel had in mind, and which 
 he meant to prevent by softening and gaining their rebellious 
 hearts. 
 
 This figure, beloved Christians, excellently represents the ways 
 of God with respect to sinners. For the sinner, however immersed 
 in sin, hath days of salvation as well as Jerusalem, in which God 
 prevents him, in which God speaks to him, in which he recalls 
 him. This vigilant and sympathizing shepherd would save the 
 strayed sheep that is going to throw itself down the precipice ; 
 would bend the obstinacy of the hardened soul, and bring her back 
 in order to preserve her from his vengeance. To this end it is, 
 that he speaks to her, follows her, importunes her — not always, 
 indeed, by the voice of his ministers, nor in any manner percep- 
 tible to the eye, but secretly and by himself: I mean, by certain 
 secret reflections with which he inspires her, and which feelingly 
 strike her ; by certain inward reproaches which sting her, and give 
 her disturbance. Ah ! beloved hearer, I would to God you dis- 
 cerned, on these occasions, the gift of God ! I would to God you 
 profited by that salutary uneasiness, which only tends to give peace 
 to your souls ; "If thou hadst known the things belonging to thy 
 peace !" To show you, therefore, the fruit you must draw from 
 such uneasiness, and in the strongest terms to exhort you to 
 beware of losing such fruit, is of the utmost consequence. Accord- 
 ingly, it is what I purpose to treat of in this discourse ; I purpose 
 to enlarge upon remorse of conscience. 
 
 To intimidate the sinner by terrifying menaces, and, after sin, 
 to raise in liis breast continual alanns — to depict in his mind the 
 image of his vices, and, without intermission, to represent to him 
 the whole deformity of them ; to allow him no rest, but incessantly 
 ■to disquiet, to agitate, to torment him : is not this. Christians, to 
 treat him as a foe, and to aim at his destruction ? But by a rule 
 directly contraiy, I hold, and shall slioAv you that God, however 
 offended and exasperated, cannot give a more solid testimony of his 
 love to criminal man, than by creating and stirring up these latent 
 remorses in the bottom of his heart. AVhcnce I infer, at the same 
 time, that man, on his part, is never more culpable nor more unfor- 
 tunate, than by resisting God in this holy assault, and not submit- 
 ting to be overcome by the Master who wounds him only to cure 
 him, and throws him down only to raise him up. Here, tlien. 
 Christians, is the whole scope of this discourse. I say that remorse 
 
(b ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 is one of the most precious and most efficacious graces of God ; and 
 from thence I infer, that not to yield to it, is, in sinful man, one 
 of the greatest and justest causes of reprobation. Ne /er doth God 
 act more favourably by the sinner, than when he presses him by 
 the reproaches of his conscience ; and never doth the sinner offend 
 God more sensibly, than when he shuts his ears to these reproaches, 
 and refuses to hearken to them. In this discourse, therefore, I 
 shall endeavour to show you, 
 
 First, the mercy of God, in granting us that grace which oc- 
 casions in our hearts a remorse of sin. 
 
 Secondly, the malignity and misfortune of the man who obsti- 
 nately resists this grace, in order to persevere in sin. 
 
 These two heads are worthy of your attention. But if in this 
 audience there are any sinners (and that there are I have reason 
 to believe) at strife with their consciences, it is to them particu- 
 larly I this day address myself. And by all the concern which I 
 have, and which they themselves still more should have, for the 
 salvation of their souls, I earnestly conjure them to apply their 
 minds to a subject that regards them in a particular manner, and 
 to which, perhaps, it hath pleased the Almighty to annex their 
 conversion and eternal welfare. 
 
 Part I. In order thoroughly to make you comprehend my 
 meaning, and to give you a full knowledge of the first position 
 which I purpose to make good, I shall here reduce it to a few pro- 
 positions, which I beseech you to take exactly with you in your 
 minds, for they are linked together, and have a necessary con- 
 nexion with one another. 
 
 I say, then, that the remorse which we feel after sin, is an inter- 
 nal grace ; tha^ it is the first grace which God gives the sinner in 
 order to his conversion ; that this is one of the most miraculous 
 graces, if we duly consider the manner in which it is produced in 
 man ; that it is, of all his graces, the most worthy of the greatness 
 and majesty of God ; that there is no grace more constant, or less 
 liable to withdraw itself from us ; that it is the grace which God 
 most generally and most universally makes use of for our salvation; 
 that this grace alone makes all other graces work upon oiu: hearts; 
 that it is a grace of light more convincing and proper than any 
 other to keep the mind in subjection ; in fine, that it is the most 
 absolute and authoritative to bend the will and submit it to God. 
 Could you have thought, beloved hearers, that in the reproach of 
 
ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 77 
 
 conscience so many advantages and so great treasures had been 
 included ? This, however, I am going to demonstrate ; and you 
 shall see that this subject, how ban*en soever it may seem at first 
 view, is extremely extensive, and one of the most copious. The 
 proofs shall be drawn from principles of theology, but a theology 
 in which you shall find nothing ii'ksome, and which will give me 
 an opportimity of discussing a most edifying moral subject. 
 
 At the moment we sin, we feel within ourselves a remorse of 
 conscience, a reproach which it makes us for our having sinned. I 
 say that this remorse is a grace ; and this is the ground on whicli 
 are raised all the subsequent points of doctrine. For, what is 
 gmcc ? And how many Christians are unacquainted with it, 
 although they daily feel its influence ? Grace (say the schoolmen) 
 is an aid and assistance which God gives man, to the intent he may 
 fict and merit for heaven; and, if he be a sinner, may labour for his 
 conversion. Now all this perfectly tallies with the synderesis, or 
 remorse of conscience, which rises in the heart after sins committed. 
 For, it is very certain that God is the author of it, that it is love 
 which induces liim to stir it up in us, and that he uses it as a 
 means to work om* conversion. Whence I infer, that this remorse 
 includes all the qualities of a true grace, there is nothing more 
 certain, than that God is the source from which it arises, inasmuch as 
 the scripture declares the same thing to us in a thousand places. 
 Yes, (says the Almighty, speaking to a sinner,) it is myself 
 will reproach thee with the sinfulness of thy ci'ime. When, after 
 committing it, thy conscience shall disturb thee, attribute thy dis- 
 turbance of conscience to me, and to no other cause. A hundred 
 times, after yielding to temptation, thou wouldst have hid thy 
 shameful doings from thyself; thou turnedst away thy eyes, not to 
 see thy sin ; thou flatteredst thyself that I would do the same, and 
 fall in Avith thy notions : " Thou thoughtest wickedly that I was as 
 thyself," (Ps. xlix.,) but thou art mistaken ; for, being thy Lord and 
 thy God, I mil always declare myself to be thy accuser ; and as 
 often as thou shalt commit an offence against me, I AviU, whether 
 thou 'Nvilt or not, lay before thee thy iniquity in all its horrors : 
 " I Avill reprove thee and set them do^vn before thy face." Ps. xlix. 
 
 You see, Christians, how remorse of conscience originates with 
 God. But what induceth him to excite it in us ? Paternal love, 
 supreme goodness, and infinite mercy. And doth he not explain 
 himself to the same puqiose to liis beloved disciple in the Rove- 
 
78 ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 lation ? " Such as 1 love, I rebuke and chastise ;" (Apoc. iii. ;) 
 and it is by chastising them that I show my love for them. But 
 what occasion for other testimony than the word of our Saviour, 
 when he announced to his apostles the coming of the Holy Ghost : 
 " When he shall come, he wiU reprove the world of sin." John xvi. 
 And by whom will it be reproved ? By the Spirit of Truth which I 
 shall send to that piu'pose. And what means he by the Spirit of 
 Truth ? The substantial love of the Father and the Son, the 
 Divine Person who is charity itself. Observe, beloved hearers, that 
 it is the love of God which reproves us when we are sinners : " He 
 wiU reprove the world of sin." And now is there the least room 
 to doubt that the remorse of our conscience is not a grace ? 
 
 It is not an external, but an internal grace, as it is in the very 
 bottom of our souls that this gnawing worm of remorse is formed. 
 Wherefore the apostle of the Gentiles tells us, that God " hath 
 sent forth the Spirit of his Son into our hearts crying out." Gral. iv. 
 This divine Spirit (as St. Augustin observes) cries out, not after 
 the manner of a preacher, who speaks to us, and reproaches us 
 with the viciousness of our life : for not all the preachers in the 
 world have it in their power to probe the conscience ; and, how- 
 ever, their words may strike the ear, they are far from pervading 
 the human heart. But the Spirit of God, the better to be heard 
 by us, holds, as I may say, his place in the centre of us ; and from 
 thence, (says St. Augustin,) he incessantly cries out in opposition 
 to oiu* passions, censures our pleasures, and condemns our sins. 
 Ah ! Christians, can we carry our ingratitude to that pitch, as to 
 think the contradiction of the holy Spirit an importunate rigour, 
 and not confess, that it is a gift of his grace, a mercy on the sinner, 
 a help to salvation, and a favourable means of bringing him back 
 from the path of wickedness to the way of God ? Can we blindly 
 suppose the sting which pains us an insupportable pain, and wish 
 to be rid of it ? No, my Lord, we will never entertain such dan- 
 gerous notions ; and as we are assured that it is your Spirit, the 
 divine comforter, which raises these salutary remorses in us, we 
 will always receive them as benefactions from your hand ; and, far 
 from complaining, will only think of giving fresh proofs of our 
 love and gratitude by our constancy and fidelity. 
 
 But I proceed, and add, that of all the graces which God gives 
 the sinner to work his conversion, remorse of conscience is the 
 first and the chief. My meaning is this : only figure to yourselves, 
 
ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 79 
 
 beloved Christians, how man, by sin, relapses into a kind of anni- 
 hilation, whence God had drawn him by the grace of baptism and 
 justification. That is, at the very instant that the soul is defiled 
 with sin, she is devested of all merit, deprived of all right to 
 heavenly glory, devested of all the virtues and gifts of the Holy 
 Ghost, deserving to be despoiled of all the succours of grace, and, 
 considered in a supernatural light, finally reduced, as it were, to 
 annihilation ; so that she cannot, of herself, move a single step, in 
 order to return into the favour of God. Therefore it is requisite 
 that God prevent her, and through his gi-eat mercy be reconciled 
 with his enemy, the sinner. Now this is what is done by pre- 
 venting graces, the first of which is, by remorse of conscience ; the 
 first expedient of the divine benignity to dispose and prepare the 
 heart for repentance, and by which the Holy Ghost finds means of 
 anticipating his own entrance into our souls. It may not be 
 improper to confii-m this doctrine by an illustrious example. 
 
 David falls, becomes an adulterer, and forthwith a murderer. 
 God might have reprobated him as well as Saul, but he did not. 
 So far from it, he makes him a most singular object of liis mercy. 
 But how doth he begin ? You know it was by inspiring him with 
 a remorse of conscience, by which that prince was deeply affected. 
 At the voice of the prophet, David cries out, " I have sinned ;" I 
 am guilty of a two-fold injustice ; I have yielded to the flesh, and 
 spilt innocent blood. This was, properly, that upbraiding of 
 conscience which is its own accuser, and was the first impulse by 
 which that criminal king was induced to a thorough repentance. 
 We read not in Scripture, that he gave, till then, any signs of 
 repentance. Hitherto he had not poured forth tears, had not 
 girded his loins with rough hair-cloth, had not mortified liis body 
 with rigorous fasts. The reason of it is, that in the order of grace, 
 remorse of sin must have been a forerunner to all this ; and there- 
 fore it was, that I said remorse, in respect to the sinner, was the 
 first grace in the way of salvation, the first call of God who invites 
 us to return to him, the first fiiint glimmer of light which we 
 behold in the shades of death in which sin hath buried us. And 
 did not God likewise lay the same thing before the eyes of Cain, 
 when, after reproaching him with the un worthiness of his sacrifices, 
 and desu'ous to preserve that unfortunate wretch from the despair 
 into which he was ready to sink, he said unto him : " Why is thy 
 countenance fallen ? If thou doest ill, will not thy sin be pre- 
 
80 ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 sently at thy door," (Gen iv.,) to disturb thee with remorse? It 
 is this remorse that oppresses thy spirits ; and yet this it is that 
 ought to animate thee, and fill thee with confidence, being a sen- 
 timent of grace with which I inspire thee, and which shows I have 
 not as yet abandoned thee. This is the interpretation which St. 
 Ambrose puts on the words I have quoted ; an interpretation coin- 
 cident with the terms of the scripture. For, certain it is, that 
 God, at that time, spoke to Cain with a view to give him conso- 
 lation. But have you remarked the few words that comprise ray 
 proposition? " Presently thy sin shall be at thy door." Your sin, 
 or, as the fathers of the Church explain it, the remorse of your 
 sin, shall instantly be felt at the entrance of your heart. Which 
 plainly shows, that remorse takes the lead of all other graces, and 
 that thereby it is, that our merciful God makes the first impression 
 on a rebellious soul : " Presently thy sin shall be at thy door." 
 Ah ! Christians, ought not this alone to make it infinitely dear to 
 us ! How then ! this internal reproach which I feel of my crime, 
 is the first inquiry which God makes after me, is the origin of all 
 the graces which I have reason to hope for from him, is the com- 
 mencement of my happiness, and therefore, in how great estimation 
 shall I hold it. But to proceed. 
 
 I advanced another proposition, to wit, that of all graces, remorse 
 of conscience was the most miraculous in the manner of its pro- 
 duction. But in what doth this miracle of grace consist ? In this, 
 that sin, so opposite in itself and in its own nature, to the graces of 
 God, should yet give rise to the graces we are speaking of For, 
 it is worthy of observation, that remorse of sin is occasioned and 
 propagated by sin itself Neither can it be denied, as I have 
 already shown, that remorse is a grace. Therefore, it is certain, 
 that this grace is extracted as out of its source and origin, from 
 the nonentity of sin. Whereupon St. Chrysostom, adoring the 
 providence of the Deity, cries out : how admirable, O God, is 
 your mercy in its decrees ! how powerful in its operations ! how 
 ino-enious in its dispensation for the conversion of men ! We do 
 not perceive it. Nevertheless, O Lord, you work miracles of 
 grace with a view to save us, at the very time that our offences 
 should provoke you to work miracles of justice with a view to 
 punish us. For, from the sin which we have just committed, you 
 draw forth the grace which reproaches our heart with having com- 
 mitted it. In order to robe us with the stole of innocence, you 
 
ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 81 
 
 make use of that which rendered us culpable ; you make use of that 
 which caused our death, in order to procure us the blessing of life. 
 
 It will, perhaps, be urged, beloved Christians, that it is beneath 
 the majesty of the supreme Being, having received so flagrant an 
 injury fi'om man, to condescend so as to seek him, and prevent him 
 with his holy grace, and be desirous of attracting him ; and that so 
 to incline towards a rebellious creature would derogate from his 
 greatness. But it is a wrong notion, and your mistake proceeds 
 from your ignorance of the nature and quality of grace. For, in 
 all this, God perfectly maintains his majesty and his dignity. He 
 calls, indeed, sinful man back to his duty, but without diminution 
 of his supreme authority. He takes the first step, but he takes it 
 as the Sovereign Lord and Ruler of all things. For, you must 
 not imagine that this remorse is one of those graces by which 
 Almighty God calls the sinner to return ; of those graces by 
 which he lovingly invites the sinner ; of those graces accompanied 
 Avith sweetness and celestial unction. Know then what God doth 
 by the grace of remorse. He rises up against us Avith an indig- 
 nation equally severe and majestic, saying to our heart : " Thou 
 hast betrayed thy God." He lays us under a necessity of con- 
 fessing ourselves guilty, and by obliging the conscience to say, 
 " I have sinned," therein authoritatively spreads the terror of his 
 judgments. In short, if the manner in which he prevents us be 
 really a grace, it hath all the appearance of a real chastisement. 
 
 This, St. Chrysostom hath finely represented in the person of 
 Achab. Consider, my brethren, (says this holy doctor,) the 
 effects which the remorse of his injustice toward Naboth had on 
 that prince. Achab was a king, nay, a most absolute king. He 
 could not brook the least contradiction, and pretended that every 
 thing must be regulated according to his vdll and pleasure. Yet 
 so soon as he hearkens to the voice of his conscience, his conscience 
 that upbraids him with the violence of his procedure against one 
 of his subjects — he is melancholy, dejected, confounded, abashed, 
 extended on the ground, not daring to lift up his eyes to heaven. 
 Never did he appear so humbled and debased in the presence of 
 God. What but the remorse of his sin could operate so great a 
 change ? That remorse, therefore, was a grace of God. Yes, 
 (says St. Chrysostom,) but a commanding grace, by which God 
 treated Achab as a slave, and not as a king ; with the severity of 
 a judge, and not the endearments of a loving father. And accord- 
 
82 ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 ingly this grace completely answers the idea which we have of our 
 God, as the greatest and most powerful of all masters. 
 
 There is another very estimable advantage attending tliis re- 
 morse. Of all God's graces, there is not one so constant, or so little 
 liable to withdraw itself from us. For, Christians, there are graces 
 which St. Augustin denominates tender graces, because easily lost, 
 and because sometimes God deprives us of them for slight infide- 
 lities. But remorse of sin is a steadfast, settled, permanent grace ; 
 a grace Avhich hardly ever quits us ; which follows us into every 
 corner of the world ; with which God favours us in our own despite, 
 and which it is beyond the power of man to rid himself of. For 
 into whatever part of the world Ave should go, we should there 
 find ourselves ; and, finding ourselves, we slioutd find our sin. As 
 if Almighty God should say to the sinner : it is to no purpose that 
 thou endeavourest to escape me ; my mercy is determined to cleave 
 to thee and pursue thee wherever thou goest ; 1 have a grace that 
 is proof against all contradiction, and it is remorse of conscience. 
 Do what thou wilt, it will go in quest of thee, in the most infa- 
 mous scenes of debauchery, in the hurry and confusion of the most 
 noisy revels, in the most secret solitude and silent retirement. It 
 is then it will act with the greatest force, and wi]l be most busy 
 in delineating before thy mind's eye the two-fold image of thy crime 
 and thy duty. Such in reality is the nature of this grace, that the 
 more unworthy one renders one's self of it, the more it adheres to 
 one. It comes forth with sin, it grows up with sin, and will cling 
 to the conscience, until the conscience shall relinquish sin. And 
 is not this a very singular privilege ? A grace ahvays ready to aid 
 us on every the most desperate occasion ; and much more steady 
 in opposing our viciousness, than our viciousness is headstrong in 
 comljating against it. 
 
 This is not all. As the grace of remorse is the most constant 
 in its duration, it is in its extent the most universal. For we 
 cannot say of it what the psalmist said of the particular graces 
 which God conferred on the people of Israel, that they were not 
 for barbarous and pagan nations, and that God reserved them for 
 a small portion of the earth, Judea : " He hath not dealt so with 
 any nation." Ps. cxlvii. This grace is indiscriminately common 
 to all mankind. It is not only the righteous, like holy David, that, 
 after having yielded, through human frailty, to the blandislimcnt 
 of sin, feel remorse of conscience, but traitors like Judas, fratri- 
 
ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 83 
 
 cides like Cain, tlie reprobated like Esau, all without exception, 
 since there is, as St. Paul emphatically expresses it, " tribulation 
 and anguish upon every soul of man that doeth evil." Rom. ii. 
 Nay, (adds St. Augustin,) conscientious remorse, it should seem, 
 is the appropriate grace of sinners ; for is it not to them that God 
 communicates it the most frequently, the most abundantly, and 
 the most efficaciously ? Ah ! Christians, how comfoiiable it is for 
 a man habituated to criminal practices, to be able to say : how 
 great a sinner soever I be, I have still room to hope ; God hath 
 still graces in store for me, as weU as for saints. True it is, he 
 hath gi-aces for his saints, to which we sinners have no pretension ; 
 but he hath graces for his enemies, and these graces are remorses 
 of conscience. 
 
 What though this were all, beloved Christians, would it not 
 sufficiently demonstrate that there is not a sinner in life entirely 
 destitute of the benefit of grace ? And is it not, therefore, with 
 reason that God lays a strict command even on the ungodly, to 
 retm*n to him, as there is not one of them that hath not at least 
 the help of his grace, this reproach of sin ? For (by the way) it 
 is certain, that there is not a sinner on earth exempt from the 
 obligation of making reparation to God, and to whom God doth 
 not say : I insist that thou return by way of penance. This is 
 undeniable. Therefore, there is not a sinner to whom this precept 
 is impossible, and consequently who hath not some gi-ace of 
 repentance, when he is under an obligation of repenting. Of this 
 Ave have proofs beyond all doubt. But though we had not, what 
 more convincing would you have than this ? Is it not sufficient 
 to know that there is not a sinner unexjiosed to the stings of con- 
 science ? 
 
 Admirable, however, is another property of tlie grace of which 
 I am setting forth the value : it is the most secure for the sinner, 
 and the least liable to delusion. In other graces he runs the hazard 
 of being deceived, as the angel of darkness oftentimes tmnsforms 
 himself into an angel of light. Hence it is, that we take temp- 
 tations for the graces of God and his holy inspirations : for instance, 
 (says St. Ambrose,) a secret presumption for an impulse of hope, a 
 natural tenderness of heart for a sentiment of divine love. But the 
 remorse of sin is a certain grace, under the veil of which the enemy 
 of men is unal)le to hide himself. For, nothing (continues this 
 same holy father) is farther from his thoughts, than to show the 
 
84 ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 sinner the irregularity of hia crime. So far from it, he uses his 
 endeavours to conceal the shame of it, to diminish the heinousness, 
 and efface from his mind the very remembrance of it. Therefore, 
 Christians, when it happens that your conscience, after sinning, is 
 disturbed with remorse, say with confidence : it is God that speaks 
 to me, I know his voice — this reproach can proceed only from his 
 holy grace ; nor is there anything to be feared by hearkening to it, 
 as it will only inspire me with a hoiTor and regret of my vicious 
 life. Now, effects like these are never produced by the father of 
 lies. It is what you should say, beloved hearers, and such confi- 
 dence will be a more powerful motive toward bringing you to 
 God. 
 
 For, besides the other advantages arising from remorse of con- 
 science, one in particular is worthy of observation : that all the 
 other gifts of our God, without this grace, are steril in regard, and 
 that with it they are efficacious, because this grace makes them act 
 for our conversion and our sanctification. And, indeed. Christians, 
 to no purpose would God impress us, in the state of sin, with the 
 fear of his justice, and kindle in our hearts the fire of his love : for 
 if remorse hurts not the conscience, making it cry, " I have sinned," 
 all the rest are useless ; and when once it is felt, it commimi- 
 cates a particular and sanctifying virtue to all the rest. As if 
 you should say — I have sinned ; therefore I should fear God 
 who is my Judge : I have sinned ; therefore I will have recourse 
 to the mercy of my God, to implore his favour : I have sinned, and 
 by sinning am estranged from my God ; therefore I must return 
 and be united with him by a holy love. Without remorse, I should 
 never reason in this manner, nor even be converted. The reason 
 of it is given by Zeno of Verona. The conversion of a sinner 
 (says this holy bishop) is performed in the manner, however 
 unusual, of a judicial trial. The culprit is acquitted, if he pleads 
 guilty ; but by pleading not guilty, he is sentenced to die. As, 
 therefore ; it is certain, that in courts of judicature, every procedure 
 in criminal causes that is not grounded on the action of the prose- 
 cutor and depositions of witnesses, is null and void ; so all other 
 graces are of no force toward the sinner's justification, unless upheld 
 by the remorse of his conscience, and the testimony he bears 
 against himself. 
 
 And now. Christians, I shall make it appear, that the grace of 
 remorse is more convictive than all the rest in disposing the mind 
 
ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 85 
 
 of man to repentance. For, what is more forcible to that effect, 
 than to oblige the sinner to be his own accuser, saying, " I have 
 sinned ?" — than to produce against him an irrefragable witness, 
 which is his own conscience, saying, *' Thou hast sinned ?" — than 
 to reduce him to the necessity of pronouncing sentence of con- 
 demnation against himself, saying, " I am a sinner, and have 
 deserved hell ?" Now all this is included in the xharge which 
 conscience brings against a criminal soul. And this (says St. 
 Gregory, pope) is what renders this remorse insupportable, and by 
 consequence what renders this grace invincible. For whereas in 
 judgments instituted by men, the -witnesses may be suborned, the 
 prosecutors may be prejudiced, and it often happens that the tes- 
 timony of one is not conformable to that of another ; so that in 
 them the proof is hardly ever full. On the contrary, in a con- 
 science disturbed with remorse, there can be neither supposition, 
 nor passion, nor prepossession, because it acts in opposition to 
 itself; and moreover as it performs the three offices of accusation, 
 of judgment, and of condemnation, the sinner is absolutely neces- 
 sitated to yield to it, because its testimony is an evident demon- 
 stration, paramount to all the arguments in the world. 
 
 Hence it follows, that this grace is also the most powerful over 
 the heart of man, in making it pay submission to the orders of God. 
 And in fact, what sinner is so excessively hardened as not to feel 
 any stings of conscience ? And if he doth feel them, how can he 
 bear them so as not to exert his utmost endeavours to extricate 
 himself from so painful a situation, by relinquishing sin ? It is 
 sometimes matter of astonishment to us, that the fathers of the 
 Church, describing the nature of an irregular conscience, represent 
 it in the character of a domestic executioner tliat torments the 
 sinner. What would they insinuate by this figurative mode of 
 expression ? That remorse of conscience, although it arises from 
 the spirit of love, and is a real grace, nevertheless restrains — with 
 the force, and as it were, barbarity of an executioner — rebellious 
 souls, and subjects them to God. Ah ! Christians, this is the 
 grace that hath at all times worked the greatest conversions in the 
 Christian religion, and that constantly brings about such marvellous 
 changes all over the world. Whenever you see, in town or coun- 
 try, that a person reforms his moral conduct, and by the Ufe he 
 leads, condemns the scandal of his past misdeeds, say : " It is owing 
 to conscience ;" or, it was God that made use of conscience tocom- 
 
 VOL. II. G 
 
86 ON REMORSE OF CONSCIKMCE. 
 
 pass it." Yes, conscience it is that rends rocks and moulders stones, 
 in order to form them into the sons of Abraham. Conscience it 
 is, (as St. Jerom expresses it,) that opens sepulchres, that is, souls, 
 in order to attract, by salutary confessions, the venom hidden in 
 them. In fine, conscience it was, that gave St. Agustin to the 
 Church of God. That incomparable man renounced not sin, till 
 compelled to do so by remorse of conscience. This was the grace, 
 the victorious grace, that subdued his heart. The Almighty armed 
 him against himself, and engaged him in a conflict in which he was 
 worsted. Hitherto he had resisted every other grace ; but to that 
 of remorse he Avas forced to yield, by that of remorse he was for- 
 tunately vanquished. What treasures, O God, in a single 
 grace ! And, therefore, how a sinner is indebted to your mercy 
 for thus reclaiming him, and bringing him back to your holy 
 service. 
 
 Some there are, according to the prophet, whom passion sways, 
 and who are immersed in vices ; who boastingly talk of internal 
 tranquillity, though strangers to a truly peaceful mind : " Saying, 
 peace, peace, and there was no peace." Jerem. vi. But herein, O 
 Lord, I easily discover that they are abandoned to iniquity, and 
 that you treat them according to all the severity of your divine 
 judgments, because there is nothing more dangerous or dreadful 
 than peace in sin ; neither can it be denied, that you never exert a 
 more terrible vengeance, and that then it is the eternal reprobation 
 of a soul commences. 
 
 According to the same prophet, there are other sinners, the 
 inhabitants of Jeinisalem, who repent, and embrace a penitential 
 life, and protest it is remorse of their sins that disturbs the peace 
 of their souls, and brings them to it, as it were, by compulsion. 
 Lord, (say they,) you deceived us favourably, when, in your dis- 
 grace, and in our criminal habits, " we look for peace, and behold 
 trouble." Jer. viii. We sought out a proper remedy for the evils, 
 "a time of healing, and behold disturbance. We acknowledge our 
 wickedness, [because] we have sinned against thee our Lord." 
 Jer. xiv. For by the agitation which you raised In our consciences, 
 you made it experimentally appear to us that sin was our greatest 
 enemy, and that you yourself were our supreme good and our 
 whole felicity. 
 
 It is, therefore, true, beloved hearers, that remorse of conscience 
 hathu all the qualities of the completest grace. But, this being 
 
ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 87 
 
 granted, where lies our crime, when, in a state of sin, we despise 
 the unceasing voice of conscience. This is that which remains to 
 be discussed in few words. The mercy of God, which bestows on 
 man the grace which forms remorse of conscience, you have seen 
 in the first part ; the malignity and misfortune of the man who 
 resists this grace, to persevere in sin, you shall see in the second. 
 May I crave your attention a moment longer. 
 
 Part II. In order to discover at once the malignity and misfor- 
 tune of the man who "svill not give ear to the voice of his conscience, 
 the best method to be followed is, to resume the various qualities 
 peculiar to the grace of which I have stated the advantages, and 
 contrast them with the different degrees of resistance which may 
 be remarked in the sinner's wilfulness. This presents to me a large 
 field wherein to expatiate, but which I shall contract into naiTow 
 limits. Hearken, I pray you, to my way of reasoning. 
 
 In the state of sin, the reproach my conscience makes me of my 
 evil state, is a grace. If, therefore, I neglect this reproach, I 
 resist grace, and do all I can to stifle it in my heart. It is by no 
 means a natural emotion, but an inspiration from above, which I 
 suppress and render unprofitable to salvation. Of my this grace 
 the Holy Ghost is the author, and he it is that reproves me for my 
 sin. Whence it follows, that by resisting this grace, I resist the 
 Holy Ghost, and that then I am one of those uncircumcised in 
 heart, of whom St. Stephen spoke, when he said to the Jews : 
 " Ye stiff-necked and uncircumcised in heart, ye always resist the 
 Holy Ghost." Acts vii. How did they resist him ? St. Chrya- 
 ostom asks. By refusing to listen to the remorse of their con- 
 science, which reproached them with not receiving Christ as their 
 Messiah. You gave him up to death, and not satisfied with that, 
 instead of acknowledging the hon-or of the Deicide, which, to 
 bring you to repentance, represents its deformity to your imagina- 
 tions in its whole extent, you persist in your crime. Wherefore 
 I say that you are an unruly race, and that you harden your 
 hearts against the Spirit of God : " Ye always resist the Holy 
 Ghost." 
 
 Now is not this exactly what the sinner doth in the warmth and 
 impetuosity of the passion that possesses him ? His conscience 
 tells him : that is forbidden ; it is injustice, it is revenge, it is a 
 breach of faith. No matter, (replies he,) I AviE give scope to my 
 desires, nothing shall withhold me. Is it possible to conceive a 
 
 g2 
 
88 ON REMOIISE OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 more formal resistance, or a more express and outrageous con- 
 tempt of the law ? " Ye always resist the Holy Ghost." 
 
 This evil, however, is carried to a stiU greater length, and the 
 consequences of it are terrible indeed. For whereas remorse is the 
 first grace to promote salvation, and the chief means of the sinner's 
 conversion, what is the consequence of his not yielding to the force 
 of its impression ? He renders ineffectual, so far as he is concerned, 
 the inexhaustible fountains of divine mercy : and, if the expression 
 be not too bold, in some sort puts it out of God's power to save 
 him. And truly. Christians, how can you expect that, after this, 
 God wiU stretch forth a helping hand, and draw you from the way 
 of perdition in which you remain in spite of him ? Do you suppose 
 that he will afford you other graces ? But that he cannot do, 
 according to the ordinary rules of his providence. For, resolved 
 it is in the eternal decrees of his providence, that remorse shall 
 precede, or shall be the commencement of every other grace. Do 
 you flatter yourselves that God will proceed in a special manner 
 on your account, and will change the order of your predestination ? 
 No, he will not : and you have not the least pretension to it. That 
 as this change is no way necessary, it is your duty to conform to 
 his laws, and not to expect them to be changed a tittle on your 
 account. Consequently, to neglect this grace of remorse is to lose 
 the favourable opportunity of repenting, to ruin the foundation of 
 yom- justification, and to tear up by the roots all the fruits of 
 penance. 
 
 When Holofernes determined to make himself master of BethuHa, 
 which he besieged, it was not merely by force of arms that he 
 could at last reduce it to extremity, but by turning the waters 
 with wliich it was supplied into another channel. Now thus it is, 
 that you act against yourselves, and thus it is, that the libertines 
 of the age are mostly damned. Had they seriously attended to the 
 admonitions of theu* conscience, and tm'ned to advantage the ordi- 
 nary helps, and this first grace, God Almighty would thereby have 
 found admittance. Nor would he have stopped there : he would 
 have proceeded farther, would have gradually raised a secret dis- 
 gust of vice in their hearts, and a love of virtue, and would have 
 communicated himself to them a thousand ways. But so long as 
 they suffer him to knock at the door without opening it to him, 
 and to obstruct every passage by which he may come to them, by 
 blocking up that of remorse of conscience, there is no access to him. 
 
ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 89 
 
 And is it not natural that he should give them over, and abandon 
 them to themselves ? This, I say, is what makes them lead, to 
 the last gasp, a disorderly life, and what carries them on, almost 
 without fail, to final impenitence. 
 
 And, indeed, Christians, is it not a most inordinate way of pro- 
 ceeding, to commit sin, and in the presence of God to accuse one's 
 self of what is most abominable and hateful in sin, and to draw no 
 advantage from the only good that sin can produce, which is 
 remorse of conscience ? I have told you that remorse was a grace 
 quite miraculous, for that it takes its rise from sin itself. But is it 
 not true, that the more miraculous it is in its rise the more blameable 
 we are for not yielding to it ? God works for you, beloved hearers, 
 a miracle of mercy, by showing you in your sin the grace that 
 should destroy it, and repair all the damage of which it was the 
 cause. But you, by a contrary kind of miracle, I mean a miracle 
 of vice and obstinacy, render this grace fruitless and effectually 
 stop the course of its virtue ; as though you had presumed to enteV 
 the lists of the omnipotence of God, and, by the malignity of your 
 vitiated heart, to surpass the excess of his love and goodness. 
 
 But what conclusion is to be drawn from this ? That nothing, as 
 I have shown, being more becoming the majesty of God, or more 
 conformable to his supreme greatness, than the grace I am speaking 
 of, nothing can be more invasive of his rights, or more injurious to 
 him, than the revolt of a vile creature who rejects it — that makes 
 head against it, and uses all his endeavours to put it to flight. For, 
 the more God acts in quality of God, the more culpable I am in 
 not submitting to him, and paying him obedience. Now by these 
 remorses, God behaves to me in quality of master, as he humbles 
 me, disturbs me, frightens me, takes vengeance of me, and makes 
 me see what I am, and all my un worthiness. But I, by resisting 
 these remorses, act perfectly the part of a rebellious subject. Not 
 only I refuse to lend a favourable ear to the remonstrances of my 
 God, but am displeased that he reproves me, and I reject liis 
 menaces. Indifferent whether I am a sinner or not, whe- 
 ther I am an agreeable or disagreeable object in his divine 
 sight, whether I deserve his chastisements or rewards, I banish 
 from my mind all these reflections, and entertain none but such 
 as may contribute to my ease and content. Such is the into- 
 lerable audacity of the sinner ! He flies in the face of the author 
 of his being, and most daringly affronts the supreme arbiter of his 
 eternal lot. 
 
90 ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 His malignity, however, ends not there, and this is what en- 
 hances it : of all gi'aces remorse of sin is the most constant and 
 the most durable ; therefore resistance to this remorse implies 
 malignity the most inveterate and the most insurmountable. 
 A certain broacher of heterodox tenets in these later ages vaunt- 
 ingly declared, that, after innumerable hard assaults which he 
 was forced to sustain, he at length had so far got the better of 
 his conscience, and withstood it with such firmness, that he was 
 entirely freed from the inward reproaches which used to worry him. 
 He said so, I own : but it was rather a diabolical vanity than truth. 
 A diabolical vanity did I call it ? Was it not something worse ? 
 For, the very devils in hell are perpetually and unmercifully racked 
 and torn by remorse of conscience. And since it is not a grace, 
 what can it be but a most cruel torment ? Of this our Saviour 
 himself informs us, when he tells us, that "their worm dieth not, 
 and their fire is not quenched." Mark ix. Nevertheless, Luther, 
 the most headstrong and untractable enemy of the Church, would 
 make us believe, that he had shaken off the yoke, and soared into 
 regions beyond the reach of so importunate a censor. Be that as 
 it may, it is not the subject of the present inquiry. But thence 
 you may judge by what efforts of wickedness, and by what fire- 
 quent resistance he came at last to be fixed, or to think himself 
 fixed in that hellish disposition. 
 
 You ask me, if a sinner can really come to that pitch. I cannot 
 justly say : but I verily believe he cannot. However, if he can, it 
 is the summit of wickedness ; and if he doth, it is that abyss of sin, 
 of which Solomon speaks in the Book of Proverbs ; neither can the 
 sinner be reduced to a more irremediable and abandoned state, 
 than when he holds in contempt whatever concerns God and con- 
 science : " When the wicked man cometh into the depth of sin, he 
 despiseth." Prov. x\'iii. Although I do not take upon me to 
 decide whether this can or cannot be, whether this really is or is 
 not the case ; yet I dare afiirm, that it cannot be the case, without 
 declaring an eternal war against God ; without saying to God : you 
 are determined to attack me on every side, and on every side I 
 wiU resist ; you are determined to grant me no respite, and Avithout 
 ceasing I mil defend myself; you will make a vigorous impression 
 on me, and I, by making head, and by holding out against you, 
 shall succeed in absolutely repelling you from my heart, of which 
 you are endeavouring to gain possession. This, dear Christians, 
 
ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 91 
 
 we say not expressly, and in so many words, for we should shudder 
 in uttering it, and have a horror of ourselves ; but we say it prac- 
 tically and by our deeds, and act upon these detestable principles. 
 This undoubtedly is the state of a soul euthralled by sin, and evi- 
 dently lost Avithout resource. 
 
 What ought more fully to convince us of this, is that which I 
 have laid down as the sixth characteristic of conscientious remorse : 
 an universal gi-ace, and the most common in every condition and 
 in every state. Whereupon I make the fblloAving reflection, wliich 
 will, I think, be allowed to be a solid one : you willingly renoimce, 
 dear Christian brother, the most common grace, the most exten- 
 sive grace, the grace which is never refused the most wicked and 
 ungodly men. You give up this last, this only hope. What then 
 remains for you ? Are you not, as it were, in a state of damnation ? 
 For, one of the greatest miseries of the damned, is not the being 
 lacerated with remorse' of conscience, but the being incapacitated 
 from turning it to advantage ; the finding no aid or assistance in it ; 
 the having no more of it than the feeling and the pain. Now I 
 agree with you, that as yet you have it in your power to make good 
 use of the remorse that stings you, and that in this behalf your 
 situation is different. But as to the reality and effect of the thing, 
 what matters it, whether or not you have it in your power to make 
 good use of it, if in reality you make no use of it ? What matters 
 it, whether or not it depends upon you to draw advantage from it, 
 if in reality you draw none from it. What matters it, whether or 
 not it be a favourable influence of the divine goodness, if in reaUty 
 you profit not by it ? 
 
 The malignity of your heart, and your blind resistance are 
 the more criminal, because this grace is of all much the most certain 
 for a sinner, and the least exposed to the wiles and artifices of the 
 lying spirit. St. John, in his first epistle, wrote to his disciples 
 in these words : " Dearly beloved, if our heart reprove us not, let 
 us have confidence." 1 John iii. But Avithout contradicting the 
 apostle's admonition, 1 say now to you: when your conscience 
 reproaches you, put all your trust and aflSance in God, because it 
 is a proof beyond all doubt, that he still thinks of you, and looks 
 on you with an eye of compassion and tenderness : " Dearly 
 beloved, if om* hearts reprove us, let us have confidence." These 
 two propositions, seemingly contradictory, are not contraries. For, 
 the apostle discoursed on the affiance of the righteous, which sup- 
 
92 ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 poses innocence ; and I am speaking of the grace of repentance, 
 which is never less liable to be called in question, than when it 
 commences in a Christian soul by remorse of siu. Therefore, 
 sinner, it is for you, the only secure ground, the only ground on 
 which you may stand with entire certainty. But why do you rob 
 yourself of its wholesome effects ? Why do you not call to mind 
 St. Bernard's saying : that as remorse, of all graces, is the most 
 secure, so resistance thereto is the most immediate disposition to 
 despair ? 
 
 Dreadful despau' ! which that same conscience, the Importunities 
 of which you had so often eluded, will increase tenfold at the judg- 
 ment of God ; that conscience, on which you had so often imposed 
 a deadly silence, when it told you your duty against your will, in 
 spite of your inclinations and brutal passions, but yet with a view 
 to bring you anew to life, and bestow on you an eternal life, and 
 wholly divine ; that conscience, against which you had conceived 
 the same hatred that Achab had conceived against the prophet 
 Michaes, forasmuch as that nunister of the Lord, taking aU the 
 freedom which became a man deputed by God, declared to that 
 prince misfortunes which affrighted him, but which he might have 
 avoided by such foreknowledge : "I hate him, (says he,) because 
 he doth not prophecy unto me good, but evil ;" (3 Kings xii. ;) 
 that conscience, of which the remorse, from this time will be the 
 most irreproachable and the most convincing testimony against 
 you ; that conscience, which will bring more perceptibly than ever 
 this remorse to light, in the presence of all the hidden of Adam, 
 and will form, to your shame, and to your undoing, the most 
 afflicting conviction: "Their conscience bearing a witness, and 
 their thoughts accusing, or excusing one another." Kom. ii. As if 
 Almighty God should then say to the reprobate : " Be your o^vn 
 judges ; they are your consciences that accuse you : I cannot show 
 cause for your condemnation but from their depositions. A hundred 
 times they obliged you, in your life-time, to own, that you were 
 sinners and deserving of my severest vengeance. I meant by them 
 to recall you from your evil ways. They drew from you, how- 
 ever, but a fruitless acknowledgment. The same they draw from 
 you now after death, not for your conversion, but eternal reproba- 
 tion. By what means shall I bring you to salvation, now that ye 
 have passed sentence against yourselves ? Thus God will silence 
 them, thus will he show his own proceedings equitable. Upon 
 
ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 93 
 
 this account, O Lord, (says the royal prophet,) you call upon con- 
 sciences to bear witness against men ; upon this account you force 
 them to acknowledge to themselves that they have grievously 
 sinned, and that their sinful state admits of no excuse : "To thee 
 only have I sinned, and have done evil before thee." Ps. xxx. It 
 is, O my God, to the intent that your justice may be screened 
 from the smallest colour of blame, and that, however rigorous it 
 may seem against the sinner, nothing can be objected to your 
 determinations : " That thou mayest be justified in thy Avords, and 
 mayest overcome when thou art judged." Ps. xxx. 
 
 The inference, my brethren, from all this is, that therefore we 
 must faithiully correspond with grace, while it is in our power, and 
 yield to it without any longer resistance : I mean, to the gi-ace of re- 
 morse of conscience, wliich is, by a very extraordinary privilege, not 
 only the most forcible to bend the will, but the most powerful to con- 
 vince the understanding. What did our blessed Saviour say to St. 
 Paul, when on the way to Damascus, he dazzled his eyes with a light 
 from heaven, and thundered in his ears these dreaded words, which 
 brought him to the ground : " Hard it is for thee to kick against 
 the goad." Saul, Saul, (said this God-man,) whither dost thou go, 
 and what dost thou mean by openly declaring thyself the persecu- 
 tor of my church ? Too long hast thou withstood my grace which 
 seeks thee, and too painfvd will it be henceforward to resist its 
 attractives. 
 
 To you, beloved hearers, I address the same words. It is not 
 impossible that many years may be already elapsed since God in- 
 vited you to retm-n into the holy Uberty of his children, and wanted 
 to withdraw you from the slavery in which you were unfortunately 
 engaged. A propensity to evil is interwoven with your nature ; 
 but you have at command coercive means in the dictates of con- 
 science. Your heart hath been captivated by a perishable object, 
 and it is no easy matter to shake off your fetters. But how many 
 strokes hath conscience given to that effect ? And would it not 
 have gained the desired end if it had been seconded by your endea- 
 vours ? The senses and the flesh have a prevalence over you ; but 
 the anguish of remorse, which pierces your soul, lets you see sufli- 
 ciently, that the beastly delectation of the senses and the flesh will 
 never satisfy you, and that you will always find in them more bit- 
 terness of heart than pleasure. Only be sincere, and you will ao-ree 
 to this. Yes, you will agree, that since the fatal moment wlien 
 
94 ON REMORSE OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 your passion seduced you, and you paid submission to its tyrannous 
 sway, you have not enjoyed a day of comfort ; that if, sometimes, 
 you have been inebriated with this false delight, you paid dearly 
 for it by the regret which ensued, by the grief which you conceived, 
 by the reproaches which you felt, by the fear of divine vengeance 
 with which you were seized — by all the principles and maxims of 
 your faith, which awoke within you. You will agree that this 
 perpetual domestic conflict between passion and conscience ; that 
 this uncertainty in which you live, timorous and doubtful whether 
 to renounce your passion or your conscience ; that these vicissitudes, 
 these eternal fluctuations of your heart, give themselves a thou- 
 sand times the lie, and a thousand times contradict themselves — now 
 leaning to this resolution, and noAV to that, determining nothing — 
 at least persisting in nothing determinate ; shunning what it wishes 
 for, and seeking what it hates — for this is the case of innumerable 
 sinners. You will agree, I say, that this is a very afflicting situ- 
 ation ; and that, after all, it would cost you incomparably less to 
 follow the voice of conscience, which pressingly sohcits you, and 
 to carry, at the expense of all the rest, the holy resolution with 
 which it inspires you into execution ! " Hard it is for thee to kick 
 against the goad." 
 
 And yet, happy it were for you, if the pains you suffer were the 
 only misfortune. But there is a much more melancholy circum- 
 stance still behind. By custom, which daily takes deeper root, 
 conscience, it is true, is not reduced to a total inactivity, but acts 
 not with its primitive force and vigour ; so that remorse, at length, 
 makes but slight impressions, and loses almost its whole virtue. 
 For (I have said it, and I say it again) it is what falls out, and 
 what God permits — a tremendous punishment, with which hereto- 
 fore, he threatened his people by the prophet Ezechiel. You are 
 ever (says the Lord) in opposition to me ; and upon the defensive 
 against my grace. But know the punishment which I have in 
 store for you. Temporal afflictions I will not pour on you, neither 
 loss of property, nor bodily sickness : in this manner I chastise 
 my elect and my friends ; but ye deserve not such salutary treat- 
 ment. One chastisement, however, I have in the treasures of my 
 vengeance, more suitable to your unworthiness, and the more mor- 
 tal, because it will coincide with your desires : " My indignation 
 will rest in you." Ezech. x. How will it rest ? Because it will 
 not reproach you at all, or will not do it with the same assiduity, 
 
ON THB LOVB OF GOD. 95 
 
 nor with the same importunity. When it thundered against you, 
 and filled your souls with fright and consternation, it was a for- 
 giving anger ; but when it shall seem to subdue and grow calm, it 
 will be anger to reprobation. 
 
 Ah ! my Lord, we are sinners, and as such, deserve the utmost 
 exertion of your justice. But if you must needs take vengeance 
 of us, let it be not by that more dreadful silence than all your 
 thunder ; nor by that more dangerous rest than any disturbance 
 whatever. The chief favour I beg of you, my God, is, that in 
 this life you would show us no favour that we would not make 
 proper use of. Raise tumults in our consciences, nor suffer them 
 to sink into a supineness from which they would never revive. 
 The royal prophet earnestly beseeched you, that you would not 
 reprove him in your fury, nor chastise him in your anger. That 
 was meant for a very different world from this, and we prefer the 
 same supplication. But reproofs the most sharp and the most 
 grating we shall humbly accept as signal favours. Nature will 
 murmur, will be sorely pained, mortified, grieved — but that blessed 
 grief, which the holy apostle preferred to all the pleasm*es in the 
 world, ^vill bring us to repentance, and to the joy of the Lord and 
 everlasting happiness. 
 
 SERMON XXL 
 
 ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 
 
 " This he spoke of the Spirit, which they zvho believe in him 
 should receive." John vii. 
 
 It was not particularly on the twelve apostles, beloved Chris- 
 tians, but on the faithful in general, that this divine Spirit was to 
 liave come down ; and as the same faith was to have united us all 
 in the bosom of the same Church, so the same spirit was to have 
 inspired us with courage, and to have replenished us with his 
 graces. The Spirit of Truth (according to the testimony of our 
 blessed Saviour) was sent to teach us all things — but of all he 
 hath taught us, it will be sufficient to have learned one only, inas- 
 
96 ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 
 
 much as to that all the others refer ; one, which St. Paul meant to 
 indicate to us by these admirable words : " The love of God is 
 poured out into our hearts by the Holy Ghost." Rom. v. For this 
 spirit of light is, in a special manner, a spirit of love ; and when we 
 shall love God, we shall possess the whole science of salvation in the 
 love of him ; and, even in this life, shall enter upon .that which 
 shall be our occupation and happiness to all eternity. 
 
 But is it not amazing, beloved Christians, that although to love 
 God was the end of our creation, we should hitherto, perhaps, know 
 not in what the love of God consists ; but that, although subject 
 to the law, we should be ignorant of the first and great precept of 
 the law. It is, therefore, of importance that I give you a clear 
 and exact knowledge of it, which I purpose to do in this discourse. 
 Of all our obligations, it is the most essential ; and what the vdse 
 man said of the fear of God, I may with equal propriety say of the 
 love of God: " This is all, man." Eccles. xii. 
 
 O thou holy Spirit, thou Spirit of Love, come in aid of my zeal ; 
 inspire my breast, put words of fire into my mouth — that lieavenly 
 fire of which thou art thyself the inexhaustible source ; that sacred 
 fire which constitutes the happiness of the blessed in heaven, and 
 of the saints upon earth. 
 
 To mitigate the precepts of the law of God, by putting on them 
 constructions and glosses favourable to corrupt nature, is a maxim, 
 Christians, most dangerous in its consequences ; but to overstrain 
 these same precepts, and to understand them in a sense too rigid, 
 and beyond the bounds of truth, is an excess to be avoided with 
 equal caution. To say, this is not a sin, when it is so in reahty, 
 is a dangerous error, that may terminate in consequences fatal to 
 salvation ; but to say, this is a sin, when it is not so in fact, is ano- 
 ther kind of error — an error, perhaps, still more prejudicial. Long 
 before our days, have those strongly been opposed, who, by prin- 
 ciples too large, would save all mankind ; but long before our days 
 have those justly been condemned, who exposed all the world by 
 the severity of their maxims, to fall into despair. Fourteen cen- 
 turies and upwards are elapsed, since Tertullian reproached the 
 Catholics of his time with relaxation of morals ; but fourteen cen- 
 turies and upwards are elapsed, since Tertullian was reproached 
 with extreme rigour — rigour without bounds; rigour which, at 
 last, plunged him into heresy. We must steer a middle course ; 
 and when the point in hand is concerning the reprobation or justi- 
 
ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 97 
 
 fication of a sinner, we must equally avoid partiality and severity, 
 and be wise according to the rules of faith. 
 
 Now this I say. Christians, because as I am to treat, in this dis- 
 course, on one of the fundamental articles of religion, I would 
 gladly rectify a wrong notion \nth. which you may probably be 
 prepossessed — either, that I should exaggerate, or diminish your 
 obhgations. Of these two extremes it imports me to beware ; and 
 for that reason, I shall adduce nothing but what is universally 
 received, is evident and incontestable, and is founded on the un- 
 shaken basis of faith. I shall no more adhere to the opinion of 
 one, than to the doctrine of another, but shall tread in the foot- 
 steps of aU divines. I shall not, in preference to the less pro- 
 bable, embrace the more probable. I shall not deem it enough to 
 tell you what is true, but you shall believe what the gospel obliges 
 you to believe. This being supposed, I enter upon my subject, 
 which 1 shall lay before you in few words. I take it for granted, • 
 that the love of God which is commanded, should have three cha- 
 racteristics : one relative to God ; another relative to the law of 
 God ; a third relative to Christianity, in which we are initiated by 
 the call of God. 
 
 First, then, with respect to God ; the love of God, is a love of 
 preference, and it is the ground- work of it. 
 
 Secondly, mth respect to the law of God ; the love of God is a 
 love of plenitude, and it is the extent of it. 
 
 Thirdly, with respect to Christianity ; the love of God, is a love 
 of perfection, and it is the degi'ee of it. 
 
 I shall endeavour to throw what light is requisite on these three 
 heads ; and I earnestly request that you would favour me, in pro- 
 secuting so noble a subject, Avith uncommon attention. 
 
 Part I. It was not without reason, that Christ, explainino-, 
 himself, the precept of the love of God, reduced the whole sub- 
 stance of it to these few words : " Thou shalt love the Lord with 
 thy whole heart, and with thy whole soul ;" (Luke x. ;) as (accord- 
 ing to an excellent remai-k of St. Augustin) the one serves to deter- 
 mine the obligation of the other, and as the worship of the mind 
 should be strictly commensurate Avith that of the heart. To what 
 in fact, am I bound by this holy and adorable law, " thou shalt 
 love ?" Endeavour all you can to comprehend the whole force of 
 it. I am bound (replies the evangelical doctor, St. Thomas) to 
 have for God a love of distinction, a love of singularity — a love 
 
98 ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 
 
 which is suitable only to the Deity : that is, a love, in virtue of 
 which I prefer him to all created things. And this is the tribute, 
 the essential tribute, by which God requires that I render due 
 homage to the sovereignty of his Being, "thou shalt love the 
 Lord." He commands me not absolutely to love him with a love 
 of tenderness and feeling ; such feeling and tenderness is not alwaya 
 in my power, much less with a constrained or forced love — it were 
 not honourable for him to be loved in that manner — nor even with 
 a love of fervour to any certain degree : this degree of fervour is 
 beyond my discernment, and God, in condescension to my weak- 
 ness, is pleased to lay me under no such injunction. But he 
 requires, under pain of everlasting reprobation, that I love him as 
 God, in preference to all that is not God. 
 
 Observe, Christians, this term — preference. I mean not a vague 
 and speculative preference, which would only draw me from an 
 acknowledgment that God was superior to all created beings ; for 
 in order to that, the supernatural charity of which I speak, would 
 be in no wise requisite, as the devils themselves, who hate Almighty 
 God, have for him, notwithstanding the inveteracy of their hatred, 
 this sentiment of esteem. I mean an active and practical prefer- 
 ence ; a preference, by which I am sincerely disposed to lose the 
 ivhole world, rather than consent to lose the grace of God for a 
 single moment. A disposition so requisite, that of all the things 
 which I can desire or possess, were there but one which I pos- 
 sessed or desired at the hazard of incurring God's displeasure : that 
 is, if this act of love, which I form in my heart, at the time I pro- 
 test to God that I love him, hath not in it virtue sufficiently im- 
 pulsive to make me break all ties, and forego all connexions which 
 may separate me from him, I must pronounce sentence of condem- 
 nation against myself, for having prevaricated with respect to the 
 love of God ; I must conclude, that I am far from fulfilling the 
 commandment of the love of God ; that, therefore, I am no longer 
 in a state of grace and favour with God ; and, consequently, that 
 I walk not in the way which leads to salvation and to God. The 
 reason is this : in loving him, I fail in the most essential condition, 
 which is, of loving liim in preference to all things. 
 
 And herein, (says St. Chrysostom,) not only God requires not 
 too much, but, if rightly considered, it is not in his power to require 
 less. For, observe, my brethren, (says this holy doctor,) that God 
 commands us to serve liim, to honour him, to love him propor- 
 
ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 9^ 
 
 tionably to what he is, and in a manner that shall distinguish him 
 from what he is not. Is anything more reasonable ? A king ex- 
 pects to be served as a king, and why should not God be loved as 
 God ? Now this cannot be, unless he be loved preferably to all 
 created things ; for he is God by this — that he is above all crea- 
 tures. And if (to form a chimerical supposition) a creatm*e had 
 wherewithal to conciliate love as much as God, he would cease to 
 be a creature, and would become God. As, therefore, it is true, 
 that if I loved a creature with that love of preference, which, pro- 
 perly speaking, is the sovereign love, I no longer should love him 
 as a creature, but as God ; so also it is evident, that if I love God 
 with any other love than this love of preference, this sovereign 
 love, I love him not as God. Now not to love God as God, is to 
 commit a grievous outrage against him ; and so far is it from 
 observing his law, that it is perpetrating a crime, which, in the 
 opinion of divines, and in the intention of the perpetrator, hath a 
 direct tendency to the destruction of the Divinity. 
 
 This, beloved hearers, God himself hath revealed in a thousand 
 places in the inspired writings, and herein terminates the capital 
 duty of mankind : " Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with thy 
 whole heart." But in order to develop this material point, and 
 to comprehend it with more exactness and precision, let us consult 
 St. Paid, and give ear to St. Augustin ; and let us see, by what 
 this apostle of the Gentiles, and this doctor of the Church, have 
 delivered concerning it, whether we may, this day, bear testimony 
 in our ovsm behalf, and safely conclude that we love God. 
 
 There needed a soul well grounded in the faith, to give the 
 defiance in terms so general, and so full of confidence, to all crea- 
 tures, as did St. Paul, when he said; " Who shall separate us 
 from the love of Christ." Rom. viii. Shall affliction, shall danger, 
 shall persecution, shall famine, shall nakedness, shall the sword, 
 shall violence ? Shall injustice and the most barbarous cruelty ? 
 No, no : (replies this vessel of election) for certain I am that nei- 
 ther death, nor life, nor greatness, nor abasement, nor poverty, 
 nor riches, nor prmcipallties, nor powers, nor all creatures, shall 
 ever be able to separate us from the love which unites us with 
 our God. Thus spoke this apostolical man. What think ye of 
 it. Christians ? Doth he not seem transported with an excess of 
 zeal ? And did he not, with a view to give it greater lustre, include 
 in these words the whole perfection of dl^^ne love ? It is a great 
 
100 ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 
 
 mistake — he expressed no more than the common obligation of 
 loving God. In giving this defiance, and in making answer to it, 
 he spoke not as an apostle, but as one of the faithfid : he, indeed, 
 expressed himself by a copious enumeration ; but nothing did he 
 say, to which all mankind are not bound in rigour. So that who- 
 ever is unable to say as much, *' hath no inheritance in the kingdom 
 of God." Ephes. v. 
 
 Mind my meaning : for it is just as if each of ua should say to 
 himself — and I would that after the apostle's example we were 
 often to say it — well, of all the things which I behold in the 
 universe, and which might be the objects of my ambition or con- 
 cupiscence, is there one sufficient to make me stagger or recoU, in 
 case I were required to give a convincing proof of the love and 
 fidelity I owe to God? " Who shall separate us from the love of 
 Christ ?" Let us come to particulars as well as St. Paul. If I 
 crouched under the bloody lash of persecution, and had it in my 
 power to be delivered therefrom by revenge, permitted according 
 to the world, but condemned by God and the maxims of his gospel, 
 should I purchase my deliverance upon those terms ? If I were, 
 by a cruel reverse of fortune, reduced to indigence, wretchedness, 
 and extremity, and had it in my option to wallow in comforts, ease, 
 and affluence, by transgressing the bounds of justice and conscience, 
 should I dare to venture it ? If to gain, or to keep, the favour of 
 the greatest prince in the world, I needed only to have for him a 
 criminal complaisance, should I do so, in eflfect to the prejudice of 
 my duty ? If by once transgressing the Christian law, it were no 
 hard matter to arrive at honours, to which I could pretend by no 
 other means, would the desire of rising in the world preponderate ? 
 If the way of iniquity, on some desperate occasion, were the only 
 means of saving my Ufe, should I dare not to face the king of 
 terrors ? Ah ! my brethren, know, that if the love which you 
 imagine you bear your Almighty Maker, be not of a nature intrin- 
 sically superior to all this, how ardent and affectionate soever it 
 it may seem, it is the love which God insists upon. And let it be 
 remembered, that it is a great mistake, if placing your confidence 
 in such a love, you conclude it will clear you in the presence of 
 God. You love not God, I do not say with the superabundance 
 of charity which inflamed the breasts of the most righteous men, 
 but in the degree and measure prescribed by the law. The reason 
 is, that this supposed love gives not to God the place which he 
 
ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 101 
 
 ought to take up in your hearts : that is, it doth not place him 
 above a thousand things, which yet should be placed in a much 
 inferior degree of affection. For, granting even the reality of the 
 love which you think you entertain for God, you set still more by 
 your life, by your fortune, by your good name, by your peace of 
 mind, than by the inheritance of God, or, to speak more properly, 
 than by God himself. Whence it follows, that this love is not the 
 love of preference which God requires, and which the law com- 
 mands : " Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with thy whole 
 heart and with thy whole mind." Thus it was that the great St. 
 Paul conceived this matter ; and how great soever may be the 
 refinement of human reason, it will ever be unable to oppose the 
 evidence of this principle. 
 
 But after the apostle, let us hear St. Augustin. This holy doctor, 
 in liis accurate Commentaries on the Thirtieth Psalm, makes this 
 proposal to the faithful of his time : " Let your hearts speak, my 
 brethren." At present I shall only interrogate your hearts, not 
 daring to rely on the testimony of your mouths, and being well 
 assured, that in matters regarding the love of God, it is only the 
 heart that hath a right to speak : let your hearts, therefore, speak. 
 If God, at this moment, should make you an offer, to all appear- 
 ance the most advantageous, and the most capable of filling up the 
 extent of your desires ; if he should promise to leave you for ever 
 upon earth, in exuberance of liches, in satiety of honours, and in a 
 capacity to relish all the pleasures of the world ; if he ihould say : 
 I bestow on you all this ; you shall be rich, powerful, live comfor- 
 tably, so that nothing shall be able to disturb or afflict you ; and, 
 what you make infinitely greater account of, you shall be exempt 
 from death, nor shall there ever be an end to this human felicity. 
 But then you shall never behold my face, never shall you enter 
 into the kingdom of glory which I have prepared for my elect. I 
 ask you, (says St. Augustin,) if God should speak to you in this 
 manner, would you cheerfully enter upon such a destiny ? "Would 
 you gladly accept of such an offer ? Should it square with your 
 wishes, beloved Christians, it would be an infalUble and undeniable 
 token that you had not as yet begun to love God. It is the very 
 conclusion Avhich this father hath draAvn ; and whence hath he 
 drawn it ? From this invariable and fundamental principle, that 
 the love of God should be a love of preference ; and this it were 
 
 VOL. II. H 
 
102 ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 
 
 utterly iirtjwBsible to have, if you consented to be deprived of the 
 fruition of God, in order to enjoy the good things of this life. 
 
 But to make a supposition still more natviral, and more to the 
 point of the present subject. Figure to yourself the thing in this 
 world to "which you cleave with the greatest earnestness, and that 
 is your honour. It is deeply wounded by an atrocious calumny, 
 or an outrageous affront. You have lost all credit and esteem in 
 the world ; and such is the nature of your situation in life, that the 
 stain which dishonours you is more insupportable than death itself. 
 Nevertheless, there remains but one way to efface it, and that is a 
 criminal one. It is, however, proposed to you : and if you do not 
 accept it, you fall irretrievably into utter contempt. Hereupon I 
 ask you, beloved hearer : do you love God sufficiently to believe 
 that you would make, on such an occasion, a sacrifice of your 
 resentment to him ? Answer me not, that God Avould then afford 
 you particular succour. The question relates not to the succour 
 which God would then afford you. The point is, to knoAV with 
 what fidelity you use the succour which he now affords you. I 
 ask not what act of love you would form in those circumstances, 
 but what kind of act you now produce ; and I desire to know, if 
 it be such in its nature as would calm the tumult which the 
 received injury would raise in your breast ? For if that be the case, 
 your hopes are well-founded, and you want no just reason to be 
 satisfied with yourself. But if it be otherwise, the dread and 
 horror of never-ending anguish should overwhelm your heart, 
 because it is destitute of the vivifying charity which operates sal- 
 vation, and of which the law lays you under a strict obHgation, of 
 loving your God preferably to your honour. But is it not hard 
 for a man of the world to have this disposition ? Hard or not hard, 
 (replies St. Bernard,) it is the only scale in which you will be 
 weighed ; it is the only rule by which God mtII judge you. 
 
 The love of preference will condemn innumerable worldly souls, 
 whose attachment to frail and despicable creatures, induced them 
 to love, adore, and serve them, so as to forget the essential obli- 
 gation of loving the Creator. No mention shall be made even of 
 some certain shameful passions. The love of preference will con- 
 demn innumerable fathers and mothers, whose weakness and ill- 
 judged fondness for their children, will draw upon them the 
 reproach Avhich Almighty God made to the high priest, Heli : 
 " Since you have made greater account of your children than of me," 
 
ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 103 
 
 (1 Kings, 11.,) I win doom you to perdition. The love of prefer- 
 ence will condemn Innumerable Christian women, who, for havinof 
 carried the duty of their state beyond the due bounds, preferred 
 that to God, which they should only love for the sake of God. 
 Tlie love of preference will condemn over-zealous friends, who, 
 regarding friendship as their bounden duty, and, totally addicted 
 to the will of their associates, entered into all their Intrigues and 
 undertakings ; and, disregarding, or overlooking the pre-eminence 
 of God, became ardent abettors of their Injustices and violences. 
 
 The love of preference, the first duty of man, and It relates to 
 God. The love of plenitude, the second duty of man, and it 
 respects the law of God, and is the subject of the second part. 
 
 Part II. To Include in his essence the whole auerreafate of 
 beings, is the property of God ; and of the love of God, the pro- 
 perty is, to reduce to the unity of a single precept all the other 
 precepts, which, however different and infinite in number, are 
 comprised, notwithstanding, in the love of God. " Love," (says 
 St. Augustin,) " and do what thou wilt." It would seem by this, 
 as if the love of God abolished all the other duties of man. But 
 this is wide of that father's meaning, whereas he would give us 
 thereby to understand, that all the other duties of man, being 
 united as they are in the love of God, he may have full liberty to 
 do as he will, provided he love God, because loving God, he is 
 necessitated to do all the other duties incumbent on him, and is 
 incapacitated from desiring what clashes Avith his duty. This, 
 beloved hearers, is the whole scope of these elevated words deli- 
 vered by St. Paul : " Therefore love Is the fulfilling of the law." 
 Rom. xlii. A point of doctrine which it so much behoves you to 
 understand perfectly. For, in order to produce this act of love 
 which is the subject of the supreme commandment, " Thou shalt 
 love the Lord," we must be prepared, or, to speak more properly, 
 determined, by an absolute, sincere, efficacious will, to observe, 
 without reservation, and without exception, all the other com- 
 mandments ; and we must be persuaded, that to love God Avithout 
 this disposition is as impossible as it is to love and not to love at 
 the same time. I say all the commandments without exception : 
 for here. Christians, you should advert to a veiy material circum- 
 stance, which, perhaps, you have never comprehend thoroughly. 
 
 There is a wide distance betAveen charity and moral or natural 
 virtues : for I cannot, on fulfilling one precept, say, I have incen- 
 
 h2 
 
104 ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 
 
 tive charity ; if I fulfil more, I shall have an increase of charity ; 
 and when I have fulfilled them all, my charity will be complete. 
 No, the case is qnite otherAvise. Charity is essentially one and 
 indivisible, taking in and observing every article throughout the 
 whole compass of the law of God. If I called in question (says 
 St. Thomas) a single article of the religion I possess, whatever 
 submission I might have with regard to all the rest, it would be 
 true, notwithstanding, that I had not the least degree of faith, 
 because faith is substantially one and indivisible. In like manner, 
 it is beyond all doubt, that although I had for all the other com- 
 mandments the submission of will which the law requires, if it fail 
 with regard but of one in particular, it follows that I have not the 
 least degree of the love of God. There is (continues the angelical 
 doctor) a great love ; and in a comparative view with this, we may 
 say, that there is a less love ; but the love which is less, if true, is 
 extended, as well as the great, to all present, future, and possible 
 oblifmtions whatever. And when St. Paul loved God with that 
 extatic love, which he hath painted in colours so striking and lively, 
 he laid himself under no greater obhgation than the least of the 
 righteous who loves God the most feebly, if he love him truly. 
 Upon this account it is, that the apostle denominates this divine 
 love, " the fulfilling of the law ;" (E,om. xiii. ;) because all the 
 commandments of the love of God coalesce in charity, of whicli it 
 is composed, as of so many parts, because they concentrate in it, 
 like so many lines, which, although distinguished in their various 
 directions yet terminate and unite in the central point. 
 
 And truly among all the particular precepts, considered other- 
 ■wise than in this centre of divine love, there is no connexion or 
 natural dei>endance of one upon another. We may observe one, 
 without fulfilling another. That which forbids me to wrong my 
 neighbour, is silent with regard to perjury or adultery. That 
 which commands me to relieve the poor, makes no mention of 
 prayer or penitence. But all this is inseparably connected with the 
 love of God. The reason is, that this love, in virtue of its contents, 
 and what we call its plenitude, is a general prohibition of whatever 
 is repugnant to good order, and a universal injunction of whatever 
 is conformable to right reason. And, accordingly, to speak in the 
 language of divines, if I inwardly protest to God that I love him, 
 I promise to obey his will in all things as much as if I specified 
 each in particular ; and, disclosing my heart, I set forth my senti- 
 
ON THE LOVK OF GOD. 105 
 
 mentsby this single act, relatively to all that God knows 1 owe 
 him, or am desirous to do for him. Whereupon St. Augustin 
 makes a judicious reflection, which is to this effect. He examines 
 these words of our blessed Saviour: '* If ye keep ray command- 
 ments, ye shall abide in my love ;" (John xv. ;) he draAVS a 
 comparison between these words and this other passage in the 
 same gospel : " If ye love me, keep my commandments ;" (John 
 xix. ;) and thus he reasons upon it : Jesus Christ, on one hand, 
 assures us that if we love him, we shall obey his law ; and 
 on the other, that if we obey his law, Ave shall love him. 
 How then ! Is charity fulfilled by the law ? Or is it by 
 the fulfilling of the laAV that charity is practised ? Do we love 
 God, because we pei-form that wliich he commands? Or do Ave 
 perform that Avhich he commands, because we love him ? Ah ! 
 my brethren, (repHes this holy and incomparable doctor,) let us 
 not at aU doubt, that the one and the other are fulfilled according 
 to the oracle and meaning of the Son of God. For, whoever sin- 
 cerely loves God, hath already fulfilled the whole circle of precepts 
 in the disposition of his heart ; and whenever he carries liis resolu- 
 tion of fulfilling them into execution, he only ratifies, and confirms 
 by his Avorks, that Avhich he hath already done in affection, and in 
 the recesses of his soul. Whence we may infer, that to produce 
 an act of the love of God, without an absolute Avill to observe his 
 commandments, is an evident contradiction ; for, " love is the ful- 
 filling of the laAv." Rom. xii. 
 
 Suppose then a certain kind of person, of which the depravity 
 of these our times affords numerous instances : I mean a person of 
 limited fidelity, a person who pays submission to the laAV, but not 
 completely ; a person, if you please, who complies with every 
 article of the laAV, save one : he is neither blasphemer, nor free- 
 thinker ; neither cheat, nor unjust possessor ; neither passionate, 
 nor revengeful ; he is regular in his devotions, and upright hi his 
 deaUngs ; but his Aveakness appears from his yielding to a passion 
 which overbeai-s his reason, and Avhich, though the only one that 
 holds him in bondage, is not the less for that the scandal ol' his 
 life. Or let us consider him in another light : he is chaste and 
 abstemious, regular in his amusements, an enemy to misrule, and a 
 zealous advocate for good order and purity of manners ; but, for 
 all his zeal and purity of manners, he cannot bring himself to for- 
 give an injury ; for all his regidai-ity, he Avill not govern his licen- 
 tious tongue, but lashes his absent neighbour Avith impunit}'. I 
 
106 ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 
 
 say that this person hath no more charity, I mean that divine and 
 supernatural charity, that charity on which salvation depends, than 
 a heathen or a pubhcan ; and that God, whose discernment, though 
 severe, is just and infalUble, dooms hmi equally to destruction and 
 eternal reprobation, as if he had transgressed every article of the 
 law. The reason is tliis : by omitting one point, he is deficient in 
 that wliich is essential to charity ; namely, an efficacious and deter- 
 mined will to fulfil every article within the compass of the law. 
 
 And in this sense is to be understood that saying of St. James, 
 which in former ages appeared so obscure to the fathers of the 
 Church, and concerning Avhich, St. Augustin himself thought it 
 advisable to take the opinion of St. Jerom : " Whosoever shall 
 offend in one point, is guilty of the w^hole." James ii. What ! 
 (says this father) shall then the transgression of one precept be 
 deemed equally criminal with the transgression of them all ? Is 
 it no more wicked to violate them all, than to violate one ? Is God 
 indifferent as to this or to that ? Is he no more offended by the 
 one than by the other ? In that sense, indeed, (replies St. Jerom,) 
 the proposition would be erroneous, and pernicious in its conse- 
 quences. But in the sense of the apostle, it contains an incontest- 
 able tenet of our faith ; that whoever acts in a single point, against 
 the law of God, is as much deprived of his saving grace, loses cha- 
 rity as infallibly, hath no more pretension to the inheritance of 
 glory, in a word, is as liable to be eternally damned, as if he had 
 violated it in all parts. 
 
 And St. Bernard, ruminating on this doctrine, cries, O my God, 
 I have no reason to complain, as though the obligation which I am 
 under of loving you were too rigorous. For, can anything, on the 
 contrary, be more consentaneous with the rules of equity than this 
 law ? And should I not, by condemning it, condemn myself, 
 whereas I pretend, though but a mortal man, to a right of requir- 
 ing that my friends behave to me with the same faithfulness ? 
 Should one of them only make me an ungenerous return in an 
 important affair ; should he side with my adversary ; should he blast 
 my character ; should he affront me by insolent or contumehous 
 language, how in-eproachable soever as to everything else he may 
 be in my regard, I strike him out for ever from the hst of my 
 friends, and conclude that he is wanting to me even in that com- 
 mon charity which all mankind OAve one to another. But he hath 
 only offended me in one point. No matter : it is abundantly suffi- 
 
ON Tllli LOVE OF GOD. 107 
 
 cient to make me clearly perceive, that I cannot suppose I have a 
 share in his affection ; because if he loved me sincerely and solidly, 
 he Avould ever be careful to give me no mortification, or hiu-t mc in 
 my mind. Thus it is, my God, that I conceive this matter : and 
 if such be my judgment of it in my own case, how shall I judge 
 otherwise, Avhen the question relates to the interests of my Creator 
 and supreme Lord ? When I take a step in contravention to your 
 orders, and to the prejudice of your honour, how inoffensive and 
 irreprehensible soever I may be in all other respects, it is not to be 
 wondered at that you should blot me out of the Book of Life, for 
 having prevaricated against the law by which you require that I 
 should love you above all created things. 
 
 But to conclude from thence, beloved Christians, that being once 
 sinners, we have no farther measures to keep with our Maker ; and 
 that as charity is indivisible, it were as well we should lose it for 
 much as for little, be libertines outright as only by halves ; follow 
 the suggestions of all our passions as gratify but one ; run the 
 greatest lengths as use restraint, would be an impious and merce- 
 nary way of reasoning : impious, inasmuch as by this maxim of all 
 or naught, we should expect to gain credit by our extravagance 
 and libertinism : mercenary, for that we should have but our own 
 satisfaction in view, indifferent as to the degree or measure in which 
 God might be offended. But this, my brethren, (says St. Augus- 
 tin to his flock,) is a mistaken notion ; for although the love of 
 God and charity be convertible, and unsusceptible of division, it 
 is an undoubted truth, that the more you transgress the command- 
 ments of God, the more detestable you make yourself in his divine 
 presence — your return to grace becomes the more difficult ; you 
 increase the more that treasure of wrath, of which St. Paul speaks, 
 and you should expect to undergo the greater chastisement in a 
 wofid eternity. These considerations, if you have any principles 
 of religion left, will be more than sufficient to check the impe- 
 tuosity of your evil courses." 
 
 However, Christians, it cannot be denied, that there is a great 
 deception in the conduct of men with regard to this great precept : 
 " Thou shalt love the Lord thy God." Luke x. Notliing is more 
 easy than to say, I love God ; and yet nothing is less common in 
 practice than this love. We impose upon ourselves by not distin- 
 guishing between real and counterfeit love of God. Not oidy our 
 hy|)ocrisy leads others into error, but we deceive ourselves by volun- 
 
108 ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 
 
 tary blindness. If our soul be but actuated by the slightest senti- 
 ment of love for God, instantly we fancy that all is right, and con- 
 clude that we have a plenitude of divine love. Natural aifection 
 we often mistake for an impulse of grace ; and an impulse of grace 
 for the effect of our fidelity. We confound the inspiration which 
 compels us to love, with love itself; and that which Almighty God 
 operates within us, independently of us, we attribute to ourselves, 
 vainly imagining that thereby we have complied with all the obU- 
 gations Avliich were imposed on us by the supreme Ruler. But, 
 beloved Christians, it is a great mistake : and wo be to us, if either 
 we fall into, or remain in such gross errors. To love God, is„to 
 refrain from everything which the law forbids, and to put whatever 
 it commands in practice ; it is to war with our passions, and per- 
 petually to deny our perverse appetites ; it is to humble our minds, 
 to crucify our flesh, and to crucify it according to St. Paul's moni- 
 tion, with its vices and lusts ; it is to resist the delusions and 
 charms of the world, the torrent of custom, and the poisonous influ- 
 ence of bad example ; in a word, it is to have a strong desire, and 
 efficacious will to please God in all things, and displease him in 
 nothing. In loving him thus with a love of preference and a love 
 of plenitude, it remains that we love him with a love of perfection, 
 in respect to Christianity, as I am going to set forth in the 
 third part. 
 
 Part III. Although Almighty God be at all times the same, 
 and his unchangeable perfections make him unchangeably amiable, 
 it is true, notwithstanding, (as St. Bernard observes,) that accord- 
 ing to the various states in Avhich man may be considered, the 
 love he owes God hath manifold degrees ; and that in proportion 
 to the gifts and favours he hath received from heaven, the measures 
 of height, of depth, and of breadth, Avhich the apostle of the Gen- 
 tiles ascribes to charity, must be more or less extended. Now from 
 tliis principle, which is founded in reason, I make two deductions: 
 first, that the precept of divine love imposes on man much greater 
 obligations in the new law, than it did in the old : secondly, that 
 therefore, the act of divine love ought to be in us, Christians, much 
 more heroical, than it needed to have been in a Jew or a Gentile, 
 before the law of grace. And now, without further preface, I shall 
 enter upon the proof both of the one and of the other. 
 
 1st. From the first moment that I become a Christian, it is 
 incumbent on me to love Almighty God in a Christian manner. 
 
ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 109 
 
 Now it is much more to love him in a Christian manner, than in 
 a manner merely human. The reason is this : in lo\dng him, we 
 bind ourselves (besides the eternal and divine law, which is com- 
 mon to us all) to a particular law, of which Christ is the author. 
 Consequently, it is to add an engagement of charity which it ori- 
 ginally Avas void of, and which is, in course of time, become the sum- 
 mit of perfection : "I testify (says St. Paul) to every one who is 
 circumcised, that he is a debtor to do the whole law." Gal. v. And 
 I declare to you, Christians, conformably to the words of that great 
 apostle, that so soon as you were engaged to Jesus Christ by bap- 
 tism, you took upon yourselves a yoke abundantly more holy than 
 that which is prescribed by the law of Moses ; a yoke, which you 
 must cany all the days of your life ; a yoke, to which your sal- 
 vation is indispensably annexed ; a yoke, without which, God nei- 
 ther will nor can be the object of your love. Ah I beloved hearers, 
 what a ti-ain of reflections doth this lead us into ! Steadfastly to 
 believe that the law of Christ Jesus is a law of sweetness, a law of 
 grace, a law of liberty, a law of love — is steadfastly to believe what 
 the divine Spirit hath himself revealed, and what the sacred pen- 
 men have inculcated in every page of their writings. But to ima- 
 gine it sweet, because the duties it prescribes are not rigorous, nor 
 contrary to the senses and to corrupt nature ; to imagine that its 
 liberty consists in irregularity and looseness of manners, and that 
 it is not a law of abnegation and suffering, would be, I do not say 
 a mistaken notion, but the way to destroy it. No, no ; (says Ter- 
 tullian, setting forth his sentiments upon this head) the liberty 
 which Christ brought doAvn to us from heaven, countenances in no 
 sort, hcentiousness of manners. If that God-man put a final period 
 to the sacrifices and ceremonies of the written laAv, he hath given 
 us in return rules of Ufe more capable of sanctifying our souls ; and 
 that which was condemned in the Old Testament by the precept 
 of charity, bears a double criminality, since the God of charity 
 came, himself, to deliver his own doctrine and give us example. 
 
 This, beloved Christians, is fixed undeniably on the basis of 
 truth. For how often hath our adorable Saviour declared it in 
 the gospel? How often hath he clearly made us understand, that 
 to embrace liis religion, we must renounce the world, and ourselves 
 too, in a much superior and perfect manner than was required by 
 the Jewish legislator ? How many much more strict and severe 
 interpretations hath he given to the principal articles of the law of 
 
110 ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 
 
 God? How many dispensations, though not repugnant to the 
 law, hath he abolished ? He hath rescued us, it is true, from legal 
 observances ; but to many others he hath tied us down ? Of that 
 one commandment — that we love our enemies, is not the perfection 
 more eminent and sublime, than of all that was taught and prac- 
 tised by the Pharisees ? To how great a degree hath he raised 
 (as I may say) some certain obligations of the law of nature ? In 
 how many particular points hath he exerted his supreme power, in 
 order to lay us under new prohibitions ? It hath been told your 
 fathers, (so he spoke to the Jews,) that such and such things were 
 not forbidden ; but I declare unto you, that those things, supposed 
 then to be allowable, shall no longer be allowed for those who come 
 after them. 
 
 Some interpreters, I know, have asserted that the Son of God 
 spoke after that manner, not with a view to improve upon the law, 
 or to add to it in the least, but only to amend the erroneous glosses 
 and explanations of the Scribes and teachers in the synagogue ; but 
 I also know, that this opinion hath been canvassed and impugned 
 by most of the fathers. For if our blessed Saviour (as St. Jerom 
 observes) meant only to refute the doctrine of the Pharisees, and 
 not make new precepts, upon what ground could he command them 
 to do good to those from whom they had received evil, to pray for 
 their persecutors, to love their calumniators ? Where Avas this to 
 be found ? In what book ol' the law was such commandment 
 inserted? Is not the contrary clear and evident, as a right of 
 requiting hatred with hatred, and inimical retaliation are authori- 
 tatively set down ? It is, therefore, undeniable, that Christ in- 
 tended to outgo Moses, when he told his disciples : " But I say 
 unto you, (that his design was to enact laws of his ovni,) this is 
 my commandment ;" (John xv. ;) that what we call the Decalogue 
 is, relatively to us, more perfect than it was with respect to the 
 Jews ; and, by a necessary consequence, that to love Almighty 
 God in the Christian rehgion, greater pains must be taken than 
 was needful before the preaching of the gospel. 
 
 This, beloved hearers, is what Tcrtulhan, in his usual style, 
 called "the weight of baptism;" and this is what betrayed him 
 into a way of tliinking, which however dissonant from the spmt of 
 the Church, affords matter notwithstanding for an excellent reflec- 
 tion; let it not escape you. He spoke of catechumens Avho, 
 touched with God's grace, and impatient to be incorporated m the 
 
ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 1 1 1 
 
 church of Jesus Christ, earnestly entreated to be cleansed from 
 their sins in the laver of salvation ; wliich, however, it was thought 
 proper sometimes to postpone, in the view of procuring more cer- 
 tain and convincing proofs of their faith. This delay gave them 
 great uneasiness ; and Tertullian, on the other side, surprised at 
 the desire they so warmly expressed, expostulated with them, and 
 told them that if they kncAV what baptism was, they would rather 
 be in dread of it than wish to receive it. 
 
 I have told you. Christians, that this doctrine tallied not entirely 
 with the spirit of the Church, as it favoured a fault but too com- 
 mon already — the putting off baptism to the hour of death ; in order 
 to live at large, and enjoy the pleasure of an unrestrained licentious- 
 ness — a fault which the Church hath never tolerated, esteeming 
 it that as baptism is the first bond which unites us with Christ, 
 and the first sacrament which constitutes us members of his mys- 
 tical body, it were a crime to deprive one's self of such an advan- 
 tage, merely upon account of the obligations annexed to it. In 
 this, therefore, as in other respects, Tertullian was misled by pre- 
 sumptuously relying on his own understanding. But, inasmuch as 
 he maintained that baptism was a painful and burdensome engao-e- 
 ment, he spoke with propriety. Did not Jesus Christ himself 
 inculcate the same doctrine ? And doth he not propose to us his 
 law as a yoke ? " Take my yoke upon you." Matt. xi. 
 
 If it be urged that there are, among the Christian people, who 
 feel not the incumbrance of this yoke : ah ! brother, (rej)Hes St. 
 Augustin,) it may really be so, nay, it really is so ; but beware of 
 confounding things that ought to be accurately distinguished. For 
 you feel not the weight of the baptismal yoke, either because God 
 supplies you with strength to undergo it, or because you shake it 
 off by a base infidelity. If it be the heavenly unction of grace 
 which makes you not perceive it, blessed be God, I envy yoiu* con- 
 dition, far from making you doubtful concerning it. But, on the 
 conti-ary, if it be not burdensome, either because you cany it not 
 at all, or because you carry it only by halves ; if it be not burden- 
 some, because you suit it to your inclinations, and think you may 
 adapt it to the comforts of life ; if it be not burdensome, because 
 you reduce it to a superficial and merely seeming austerity, and 
 take upon you no more of it than just what you like, you have 
 reason to tremble with fear, and be dismayed. For the yoke which 
 you imagine you have shaken off, will one day overwhelm you ; 
 
112 ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 
 
 and the duties which you neglect, will be the cause of your condem- 
 nation at the judgment of God. 
 
 2ndly. From hence we may judge, how generous and forcible 
 ought to be in a Christian the love of his Creator, as it needs must 
 have a virtue proportioned to the holy and rigorous obHgations 
 which baptism imposes. I call them obHgations, beloved Chris- 
 tians, and not merely and in strict propriety vows ; for a vow, 
 (says St. Thomas,) in its proper signification, is a thing which is 
 left to my free option, which God commands not, and without 
 which I might obtain salvation, and arrive at my end. Now the 
 case is otherwise with the obligation of baptism. For whereas, 
 since the rise of the Christian religion, baptism is the only way that 
 leads mankind to salvation ; the obligations annexed to it are of 
 absolute necessity ; and w^hen I submit to it, whatever obedience 
 I pay to God, I make him not that entirely voluntary sacrifice 
 which a vow expresses. Thus, divines reason upon this matter, 
 not in order to take away from faithful souls the comfort of beheving 
 that they are firmly engaged to God by vows, so they allow these 
 vows to be of such a natm'c, as that God hath not left them to their 
 own disposal ; so they own that besides these vows of necessity, 
 there are others of counsel ; by which God is honoured in a special 
 manner, and by which men are raised to a greater and more emi- 
 nent degree of perfection ; such are the vows of religion and the 
 priesthood : finally, so they do not unthinkingly countenance, or 
 virtually abet the errors of certain modern heresiarchs, who, to var- 
 nish their apostacy in the eyes of the world, perpetually extolled, 
 under colour of reformation, the vow of baptism, to decry that of 
 chastity, which they had shamefully abandoned. But whether we 
 call them obligations or vows, it is undoubtedly true that they add 
 great difficulty to the first commandment, "thou shalt love the 
 Lord ;" inasmuch as it is impossible, in the law of grace, to pro- 
 duce an act of divine love, without an absolute will sincerely to 
 fulfil whatever is contained in the profession of Christianity. 
 
 I shall proceed a step farther, and shall conclude -with a reflec- 
 tion of William of Paris ; a reflection worthy of the zeal and piety 
 of that great bishop, but which I should fear communicating to 
 you if I had not reason to depend equally on your piety and under- 
 standing. It is this : for an act of divine love to have the chai*acter 
 of perfection requisite for salvation, it is not enough that it extend 
 absolutely to all the precepts, whether natural or positive, of the 
 
ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 113 
 
 Christian law, it must farther conditionally take in the counsels. 
 I say conditionally, and pray mind the term ; so that if it were 
 necessary, in order to make appear my love of God, to put in prac- 
 tice everything the most grating and mortifying in the evangelic 
 counsels, everything the most humihating and the most repugnant 
 to natute and self-love, in virtue of this single act, " I love God;" 
 I should be disposed to undertake and to suffer all. 
 
 Nor is this, though conditional, a chimerical disposition. Nothing 
 is more real. For, as there is not a gospel counsel which may not, 
 nay, which doth not, in a thousand emergencies, become a com- 
 mandment, the love of God must put me habitually in the dispo- 
 sition in which it is my duty to be, and inspire me with the 
 resolution which I ought to have, as often as I fall into these con- 
 junctures. Thus, nothing obliges me to withdraw from the world, 
 and betake myself to sohtude ; but my duty obliges me to be always 
 prepared for both the one and the other ; because such might be 
 my weakness, that the world would be for me a rock on which my 
 innocence would split, and that nothing would remain to secm-e it 
 but solitude. To quit all things for God, is a counsel only, accord- 
 ing to the doctrine dehvered by our Saviour ; but to be ready to 
 quit them, is a rigorous precept, because experience might convince 
 me that I could not retain the possession of them Avithout being 
 attached to them ; nor be attached to them without the loss of my 
 soul. God doth not command me to undergo martyrdom ; but he 
 commands me to have always a resolution to undergo it ; because 
 it is possible, that on some occasion or other, martyrdom might be 
 an indispensable proof of my faith. Hence Tertullian, speaking 
 of the faith of Christians, says that it makes us responsible to God 
 for ourselves, insomuch, that it obligeth us to suffer martyrdom 
 whenever his honour and glory are concerned. 
 
 Now this obligation is imposed on you equally by the law of 
 charity. Tell me then. Christians, when the martys were con- 
 tented, in the days of persecution, to be sacrificed like victims ; 
 when they suffered all the rage of fire and faggot ; when they were 
 stretched on wheels, and bore the lashes of scorpion- whips ; when 
 they imderwcnt patiently, and with invincible courage, for the \o\e 
 of their God, all the rigour of torments, did they perform a work 
 of supererogation, and that could be dispensed with ? No : it was 
 necessary according to the law of charity ; and had they not acted 
 with all that resolution, and all that coumge, God would hare 
 
1 14 ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 
 
 doomed them to reprobation. This the gospel evidently declares : 
 and for that reason, those were rejected from the communion of the 
 faithful who did not resist to the effusion of their blood. No sort 
 of regard was paid to their weakness. So far from it, they were 
 declared apostates, and cut off as members unworthy of Christ 
 Jesus. The martyrs who triumphed over the cruelty of execu- 
 tioners were extolled for having done their duty, and no more. If 
 a recreant fear had made them yield the palm, instead of loading 
 tliem with her benedictions, the Church would have struck them 
 with the thunder of her anathemas. 
 
 How I Is then the commandment of loving God in that extreme 
 degree of strictness ? Yes, beloved hearers ; and if it surprise us, 
 it is owing to our not as yet knowing God, or not taking care to 
 measure the perfection of divine love by the laws of the world ; for 
 we pride ourselves in the like fidelity with regard to our king and 
 country. It is looked upon among men as a duty to be in readi- 
 ness to die for men ; and this is dignified with that towering appe- 
 lation — a point of honour. Every day we see the vnse ones of this 
 world, from similar motives, sacrificing their rest, their health, 
 and their lives ; and because in all tliis they have for the most part 
 only interested views — ^they are martyrs to the world. Tell me 
 then, Avhy should it seem sti'ange that God should require a return, 
 not inferior from those who love him ? Why should it seem strange, 
 that as the world hath its martyrs, charity should have hers ? 
 
 Nevertheless, Christians, were we legally required to give to 
 God this testimony of our love, should we be disposed to do it ? 
 If, at the moment I speak, we were reduced to tliis alternative, 
 either to renounce him or to die, would many of us become mar- 
 tyrs ? Excuse me, Christians, from answering to an interrogatory, 
 which would expose me to the danger of being too forward, either 
 in presuming on your constancy or diffiding in your weakness. 
 What I know, my brethren, and what I learn from theology, is 
 this : that if our breasts be actuated with that love wliich is the 
 great commandment of the laAv, without other preparation of heart 
 or understanding, v/e are fully disposed to become martyrs to our 
 God ; and that if there be anything in our disposition which woidd 
 hinder us from becoming martyi's to our God, whatever feelings 
 we may otherwise have for him, we have not as yet that love 
 whicli the law expressly commands. Some say that it is dangerous 
 to make these dangerous suppositions : and I hold it, on the con- 
 
ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 116 
 
 traiy, that these suppositions are of infinite utility : in the first 
 place, to impress us with an enlarged idea of the excellence and 
 greatness of the God whom we serve ; in the next, to inspire our 
 minds with noble and generous sentiments, as often as we are 
 bound to obey his commands ; lastly, to humble us, and put us to 
 confusion, whenever we fail in certain easy and common duties, 
 since charity lays on us such great injunctions. 
 
 But these suppositions, formed in the imagination in a lively 
 manner, may lead to despair. Yes, Christians, they may ; but in 
 whom ? Those who put their trust in their own strength, not 
 those who depend upon the force of grace ; since notliing, on the 
 contrary, is fitter to awaken and animate our hope than the great- 
 ness and difficulty of this commandment. For, it is enough for 
 me to know, that God obliges me to it, and that it infinitely sur- 
 passes whatever I can do of my natural power, to be assured that 
 God, who is observant of his promise, will infallibly supply me Avith 
 aid proportionable to what he commands. And this is the stay that 
 upholds Christian hope ; whereas smaller precepts, on account of 
 then- facility, are but too often productive of presumption. 
 
 Ah ! my brethren, I now conceive whence arises the efficacy, or 
 rather the omnipotence of divine charity. When I was told, 
 heretofore, that there needed but an act of the love of God to blot 
 out all sin ; when I heard the example of Magdalen adduced, who 
 had expiated by this one Internal act all the wickedness of her life ; 
 when the authority of the fathers of the Church was quoted, who 
 unanimously assert, that this act, if sincere, hath virtue to justify 
 the sinner, adequate to martyrdom : though I assented to this doc- 
 trine, because authorized by faith, I could hardly relish it, because 
 I was unable to enter into the nature and spirit of it. But now, 
 my God, it gives me no surprise : for, it is but reasonable, that as 
 our love of you is a disposition to martyrdom, it should Include a 
 power and virtue equal to that of martyrdom ; and that as it com- 
 prises all the promises and obligations inherent In baptism, it 
 should sanctify and purify the soul by baptism. 
 
 But, if this be true, beloved Christians, and if all I have said be 
 requisite to produce an act of. divine love, where is the man that 
 truly loves God. This is a secret of predestination which we 
 ought to beware of examining too narrowly. Almighty God hath 
 predestinated some, and knows them. Let not the number, Avhe- 
 ther great or small, give us any uneasiness; but let us use our 
 
116 ON PENANCE. 
 
 endeavours, as far as we are able, to be one day associated with 
 that blessed host. The apostle of the Gentiles would often lay 
 himself prostrate before the Father of mercies, to beg and beseech 
 he would give him the supereminent science of his love. Let us 
 prefer the same prayer, and ask of him this science, which, among 
 all sciences, holds the first place. Let us say with St. Augustin : 
 " Ah ! my Lord, I have kno^vn you too late." I say it to my 
 shame, and own it to my sorrow, that in the coiu-se of my Hfe, I 
 have not, perhaps, formed one act of perfectly divine love. And 
 how should I form it, O my God, inasmuch as I knew not in what 
 it consisted, or what it included ? But now that by instruction I 
 am come to the knowledge of it, I am determined to love you in 
 the fidness of my heart, to love you with all the powers of my soul. 
 I am determined to love you in the manner I ought, and as you 
 require it. I am determined to love you with a love of preference, 
 with a love of plenitude, with a love of perfection. 
 
 Do this Christians, and you shall live. After loving God in 
 time, you shall love and possess him in a blessed eternity. 
 
 SERMON XXIL 
 
 ON PENANCE. 
 
 " He came into all the country round about Jordan, preaching 
 the baptism of penance unto the remission of sins." Luke ii. 
 
 How bad soever, beloved Christians, may be the condition of 
 mankind in the state of sin, if all repentance of siu were true, 
 and if true and false penitence were distinguishable on all occa- 
 sions, the sinner might have comfort in his very misfortune, 
 and might look upon his sin as an infallible resource, and secure 
 ground for tranquillity and peace. What renders his case (accord- 
 ing to St. Chrysostom) deplorable is, that although to be sure of 
 the reality of sin, the validity of his penitence must always remain 
 absolutely doubtful ; that this very penitence, or what he calls his 
 penitence, ought oftentimes as much as the sin itself to disturb his 
 mind ; that all the oracles of the scripture declare we cannot be 
 
ON PENANCE. 117 
 
 saved but by true penance ; and that a thousand others, false and 
 shadoAvy, imperfect and insufficient are productive of damnation. 
 Should he happen to deceive himself, and for want of discernment 
 in the practice of penance, take falsehood for truth, thinking that 
 sufficient which proves ineffectual, he falls into as deep and dan- 
 gerous an abyss as the most unfortimate sinners; because that 
 which should have been his justification and salvation, becomes a 
 partial cause of his damnation and ruin. And this, if he rightly 
 understands his reHgion, ought to make him tremble. 
 
 Would you set your consciences, dear Christians, as much at 
 ease as possible on so important a head ? And would you, to that 
 end, know what true penitence is ; or, rather, in what consists the 
 discernment, by which you may know what is true penance ? This 
 is what I am going to set forth and enlarge upon in the present 
 discourse, the whole scope of which I shall give you in a few 
 words. 
 
 That I call true and secure penance, which the holy precursor, 
 St. John the Baptist, preached to the people who came to seek him 
 in the wilderness, when he said : " Bring forth fruits worthy of 
 penance." Matt. iii. He was not content that they should barely 
 repent, but farther insisted, that they should judge of their peni- 
 tence by the fruits thereof. For, penitence is not solid, nor accep- 
 table to God, but as it is efficacious ; and can it in reason be 
 deemed efficacious otherwise than by the fruit it produces ? " Bring 
 forth fruits worthy of penance." These fruits I reduce to three ; 
 and I say with all the fathers of the Chm'ch, that efficacious 
 penance, 
 
 Fu'st, generously removes the cause and matter of sin : 
 
 Secondly, repairs fully the effects and consequences of sin : 
 
 Thirdly, makes the sinner submit faithfully to the remedies for 
 sin. 
 
 These three characteristics make up, on one hand, the perfection 
 of penance ; and give, on the other, a moral certainty to the peni- 
 tent sinner. If, beloved hearers, they accompany your penitence, 
 you may rely upon it without rashness or presumption ; but should 
 one of them be wanting, it is utterly unprofitable, not to say cri- 
 minal. 
 
 Replenish, O Lord, our hearts with thy spirit, that spirit of 
 zeal which fired the breast of St. John the Baptist : this I beg for 
 myself: that spirit of compunction which fceUngly touched the 
 
 VOL. If. I 
 
118 ON PENANCE. 
 
 hearts of the Jews, and disposed them to profit by the gi'cat veri- 
 ties which that faithful minister announced to them : this 1 beg, 
 not only for myself, but for all those who hear my words. 
 
 Part I. My first proposition I ground on two incontestable 
 principles, of which, if we have been at all careful to study our dis- 
 position or the motions of our heart, our own experience is suffi- 
 cient to convince us. For, how corrupt soever, (as St. Augustin 
 observes,) what by the fall of the first man, and our own trans- 
 gressions, our nature may be, we do not love sin, considered as 
 such. None but the devils have those dispositions, if even the 
 devils have ; for, it is a matter of doubt, whether they carry their 
 obstinacy and malice to that pitch. We are pleased with the 
 matter and cause of sin, but not, at bottom, with sin itself: that is, 
 we take pleasure in what God forbids, but not because it is for- 
 bidden by him. We desire the profit arising from usury, which is 
 to act unjustly ; but the profit, not the injustice, is the object of 
 our desire. We love revenge, which is repugnant to the law of 
 God, because we imagine our honour is engaged ; but not because 
 it is repugnant to the law. 
 
 Further : we would separate, if possible, the one from the other. 
 We would have what we like (an abstraction the libertine would 
 gladly admit of) to be quite unconnected with God's prohibition. 
 We would have the Almighty to be not offended at the pleasure 
 we take in gratifying our passions. In a word, we would give 
 way, -without sinning, to our perverse appetites. But as these are 
 inseparable, and as in the conjuncture in which I now suppose the 
 sinner, the vehement desire of indulo-ing the senses overrules the 
 fear of offending the Deity : hence, (says St. Augustin,) though he 
 loves not the sin, though he hath it in abhorrence, he sins not- 
 withstanding, by admitting complacency. The reason is, that he 
 loves what he knows, what he cannot but know to be the cause 
 of sin, or the matter of sin. Now this is enough, whether he 
 ■will or not, to make him a trangressor against the law of God, 
 and a prevaricator. 
 
 This is the first principle : and, observe, Christians, that it is 
 not precisely by the hatred of sin, considered as such, that we 
 ought to distinguish between reformed sinners and those who are 
 not ; a hatred the most obdurate stUl preserve, or at least may pre- 
 serve, if they have any the least traces of religion lefl. It is not, 
 I say, by this general rule, this speculative hatred that we must 
 
ON PENANCE. 119 
 
 frame our notions of the fruits of penance, as that kind of hatred, 
 it is well known, gives the sinner no trouble ; a hatred common to 
 empty and fruitless, as well as to solid and efficacious penance. 
 
 But how shall we begin to discern in ourselves this true peni- 
 tence, and what I here call a sincere and efficacious detestation of 
 Bin ? Hearken, Christians, and judge by this practical induction. 
 By actually and effectually cutting off whatever we discover in 
 ourselves to be the cause of sin, or fomenting and nourishing that 
 body of sin, (Kom. vi.,) which God, at our conversion, wills us to 
 destroy. By relinquishing a thousand agi'eeable things, the car- 
 nal man's delight, but which, for that reason, are incentives to 
 evil, and poison to the soul. By decUning those objects that 
 excite in the heart pernicious desires, which, according to the 
 scripture, " when concupiscence conceiveth, it bringeth forth sin." 
 James i. By a scrupulous carefulness of avoiding conversations, 
 of which we know how the baneful licentiousness corrupts and 
 enfeebles purity of manners, as they give occasion to the first 
 wounds, and not infrequently the most incurable, that sin inflicts. 
 By a severe, salutary, necessary resolution of giving up such inter- 
 courses, as we know by experience, are the bonds of sin : exhibi- 
 tions and spectacles, the effect of which is, to stir up in the heart 
 the most lively passions, and to diffuse in the imagination the most 
 dangerous ideas, the seeds of immorality : assemblies and routs, in 
 which the spu'it of impurity reigns, and can lay inevitable snares 
 for innocence ; romances and novels, by which oiu* cmiosity is so 
 justly punished by the malignant impression they leave behind. 
 By an unreserved sacrifice of those friendships, the unfortunate 
 tenderness of which we perceive, although covered with a veil of 
 modesty, is nothing in reality but vice in disguise. By a speedy 
 and eternal separation from the person, whose subtile artifices, as 
 well as charms, are fatal allurements to sinful courses. By a holy 
 violence which every one of us is bound to offer himself on all these 
 heads, as, according to the apostle, they are " instruments of ini- 
 quity to sin." In a word, by that evangelical circumcision, which 
 stops not at outward show and alterations, but searches the inmost , 
 recesses of the heart, and destroys radically every efficient of sin it 
 meets with. 
 
 Thus the sinner must judge of the virtue and efficacy of his 
 penance ; and thus, whenever he is under a necessity of approach- 
 ing that sacrament which Christ hath instituted for the reconci 
 
 r 2 
 
120 ON PENANCE. 
 
 liation of sinners, he must think of fulfilling the precept of the 
 scripture : " Let a man prove himself," (1 Cor. xv.) and as much 
 as may be in this life, secure his salvation. Now this he may do 
 (according to St. Chrysostom) by following the documents here laid 
 down ; and I add, that it is only by following them he can do it. 
 
 " Take away words, and return to the Lord." Osea xiv. Thus 
 spoke the prophets, exhorting the people of Israel to repentance ; 
 and this, O sinnei', to whom I address myself, this is the duty my 
 ministry obliges me, this day, to discharge. You say you detest, 
 you renounce your sin ; and what you say, you believe to be true. 
 Perhaps you deceive yourself in the testimony you bear in your 
 own favour, and your hearty contrition in the presence of God, is 
 just the reverse of what you imagine. Perhaps the dishonour 
 accruing from sin affects you more than its real malignity ; the 
 remorse and uneasiness it creates in your mind, than the atrocious 
 injury done to your Maker ; the trouble and embarrassment into 
 which it throws you, than the wrath of God Avhich it draws upon 
 you : if so, your contrition is human. Perhaps your mistake pro- 
 ceeds from this, that you confound the grace of penitence which is 
 in you, -vvith penance itself, of which you have no share, and the 
 desire of conversion with which God inspires you with conversion 
 itself, from which you are far distant : if so, your contrition is not 
 real. But you wish to be delivered from this uncertainty; would 
 you know the internal state of your soul: " Take away words," 
 always equivocal, always ambiguous. I shall lay do^vn the rule 
 by which you may steer your course with safety through the storms 
 of life and billows of temptation. Let us then discuss the point 
 minutely : I shall advance nothing unbecoming the subject, nothing 
 beneath the dignity of the pulpit. 
 
 You are a man of the world, a man distinguished by your illus- 
 trious Inrth ; but your affairs (a case at this day but too common) 
 are fallen into a distracted and confused situation : whether by your 
 fault or by your misfortune, is not material. Thus circumstanced, 
 what precipitates you into a thousand sins, is living beyond the 
 extent of your income, instigated by vanity and the apprehen- 
 sion of appearing to decline in fortune. Hence numberless injus- 
 tices : hard-heartedness to your creditors, to the industrious trades- 
 man at whose expense you live, to the poor mechanic whom you 
 keep in misery, to the faithful servant whose Avages you detain. 
 Hence these frivolous and deceitful promises, that abuse of your 
 
ON PENANCE. 121 
 
 credit, those shlilbs to put off, or elude payment. Hence that con- 
 tinual load of debts, which, by ruining the creditor, damn the 
 debtor. Retrench these expenses : and if you would convince me 
 of an unfeigned contrition, as your estate is but small, be a good 
 economist, and live within compass. Let not what you are, but 
 what you can do, be the rule of your conduct. Put away that 
 costliness of attire, that superfluity of retinue, that ostentation 
 of caniages, that excessive delicacy in the choice of furniture. Re- 
 duced to poverty and extreme indigence, undergo your distresses 
 with Christian fortitude ; bear patiently the rod of divine correc- 
 tion, and convert your necessity into virtue and merit. It is need- 
 less, other\vise, to deplore your iniquity ; it is needless to repent, 
 or rather to make a show of a fruitless repentance — a repentance 
 consisting of words only, though deeds be required, and that we 
 "take away words and return to the Lord." 
 
 You are fond of gaming, which ruins your conscience ; gaming 
 without rule, measure or limitation ; gaming, no longer your diver- 
 sion intended to unbend the mind, but your business, your trade, 
 your inclination, your passion ; gaming of which we may literally 
 gay, " deep calleth on deep :" for thence an infinity of sin proceed, 
 as forge tfulness of your duty, irregularity in your family, pernicious 
 example given to your cliildren, squandering your fortune, knavish 
 tricks, rage and despair. Put an end to this practice ; and as it is 
 much easier to renounce it utterly, than to pursue it with moder- 
 ation, make a public declaration of the resolution you have taken ; 
 give God, by laying the axe to the root, an undeniable proof that 
 your contrition is sincere ; and in order to convince yourself that you 
 are steadfastly resolved to refrain from sin, lay it down as a rule, 
 from which no persuasion shall induce you to swerve, that you will 
 never game more. In any other supposition, you may cry out to 
 no purpose with the publican in the gospel — Lord, be propitious 
 unto me a sinner, I acknowledge my crime. Your voice is the 
 voice of Jacob, but your hands are hands of Esau. " Take away 
 words and return unto the Lord." 
 
 In fine, sift your conscience, without prepossession, in the pre- 
 sence of God, and find out, by a strict and minute examination," 
 the incentive to sin ; but find it out prepared, and fully resolved, 
 to make a thorough holocaust, excepting or retaining no part of 
 the sacrifice. By these means you will know if you are ti-uly peni- 
 tent. Attack sin, not in idea, but in very deed, sapping its foun- 
 
122 ON PENANCE. 
 
 dation, and destroying its superstructure. This St. Paul calls 
 running, not a hazard, but with a determined view of arriving at 
 the goal ; this he calls fighting, not at random, nor by beating the 
 air, but by pursuing the enemy, and felling him to the ground : 
 " I so run," says he, " as not to hazard ; I so fight, as not to beat 
 the air." 1 Cor. ix. Proceed we to the other principle. 
 
 Our thoughts and the first motions of the heart are not always 
 at command ; but we are always responsible for our actions and our 
 conduct. And when, on some dangerous occasion, we yield to 
 temptation, from which we were bound by the law to retire, but 
 in which, notwithstanding, we wilfully persisted, we have no right 
 to say, we could not ; but would not manfully make head against 
 the enemy. 
 
 A sinner, I own, beloved Christians, may be thoroughly con- 
 verted, and yet be liable to some weaknesses, and may bewail his 
 misfortune for the same reason, and in the same spmt that the 
 great apostle did, and like him say : "I feel another law in my 
 members, repugnant to the law of my mind, and biinging me into 
 captivity unto the law of sin." But, observe, (says St. Chrysos- 
 tom,) that when he spoke in that manner, he at the same time 
 protested, that he was " not conscious to himself of anything ;" 
 (1 Cor. iv. ;) that he was faithful to grace : that he walked in the 
 dangerous way of salvation with fear and trembHng ; and that " he 
 chastised his body and brought it into servitude." 1 Cor. ix. Now 
 this declaration of his faithfulness, vigilance, austerity of life and 
 attention to himself, secm-ed him from delusion, when he com- 
 plained that his passions rebelled against him, and he grieved to be 
 reduced to so mortifying a situation. But the method of hypocrisy 
 is, to complain of weakness, and yet encounter temptation, to resist 
 which all the strength and vu*tue of the saints themselves would 
 scarce be sufiicient. The method of hypocrisy is, to lament the 
 violent attacks of passion, and yet rush into dangers blindly and 
 inconsiderately, in which passions the most moderate are hardly 
 governable. The method of hypocrisy is, to cry, " O unhappy 
 man that I am," (Rom. vii.,) bom so sensual and so frail ! and to 
 seek, notwithstanding this open acknowledgment, occasions of 
 sinning against God's command, in which human frailty, from a 
 mere misfortune, becomes a crime, or at least the original of all 
 crimes. Such is the nature of penitential hypocrisy : and this is 
 the judgment you ought to form of it. 
 
ON TENANCE. 123 
 
 You are weak, I grant : the law of sin pi'cvaila in you ; concu- 
 piscence rules you ; you carry with you your enemy, which is your 
 flesh. But I hold, for that reason, that you trifle with Ood, if, 
 while you lament your sinful state, you try not to remove the 
 occasion of sin ; and that you he to the Holy Ghost, and that there 
 is in your penitence an enormous contradiction — if, on one hand, 
 knowing yourself weak, you are not, on the other, more watchful 
 and circumspect. For with what face can you say, like David, 
 sighing and weeping, " I have sinned against the Lord," (1 Kings, 
 xii.,) whilst you obstinately persist in proximate danger, and ha- 
 zarding thereby both your conscience and salvation, without other 
 oflTence, are guilty of sin against God and yourself? How can you 
 allege the infirmity of your soul, as a motive to depx'ccate the 
 •vvrath of God, while to that Infirmity of soul you join infidelity 
 and malignity ? Yes, I say infidelity and malignity : to beseech 
 the Almighty to cure your illness, and not seek preservation 
 against that which destroys you ; to acknowledge your illness, and 
 act as though you enjoyed a state of perfect health ; to call upon 
 heaven to testify your anguish, and never to resolve, in virtue of 
 that anguish, to sacrifice anything, or remit of anything. AVhat 
 would you by this ? Would you not impose upon God and man ? 
 
 No, no, beloved hearers, while you act in this mannei*, your pe- 
 nitence being made up of dissimulation and falsehood, you cannot 
 apply these plaintive words, hke St. Paul, to yourself: " I do not 
 the good which I would, but the evil which I hate, that I do." 
 For whereas St. Paul was inconsolable to find, that he did not 
 the good which he wished to do, nor avoided the evil which he 
 wished to avoid, you run precipitate into the other extreme, and avoid 
 the good which you like to avoid, and perform the evil which you 
 like to perform. The efiScacy, therefore, of penance, consists in ge- 
 nerously quitting the occasion of sin, in order to overcome it ; and 
 not attempting to overcome it, by sluggishly remaining in the 
 occasion of it. And here it were needful to have all the zeal and 
 spirit of the prophet," to put the hardened sinner to confusion. 
 
 For such, in these times, is the decay of morals, that a confessor 
 shall be treated as difiicult and scrupulous, forbidding and unqua^ 
 lified, that shall suspend those who voluntarily persist in certain 
 dangers, from the grace of absolution. But what more evident 
 proof can be given of the bad disposition with which the man of 
 
124 ON PENANCE. 
 
 the world approaches the penitential tribunal, than that he is 
 determined, at all events, to return again to the same company and 
 to the same places, in which his innocence hath so often suffered 
 shipwreck ? If ever he ought to exert the poAver conferred on him 
 of binding consciences, is it not now ? He sees, and so do you, 
 that the detestable continuance of so many relapses turas on one 
 circumstance, from which no intreaty can induce you to forbear. 
 Yet should he consent to pronounce the form of absolution over 
 you, far from approving of, ought you not to be offended at his 
 weak condescension ? Would it not be diabolically perverting, 
 instead of holily dispensing, God's sacred mysteries ? 
 
 God forbid. Christians, that I should pretend to authorize the 
 severity which hath oftentimes, perhaps without grounds, been 
 imputed to some ministers of the Lord in the administration of 
 penance. But God forbid, likevdse, that I should ever countenance 
 the criminal and dangerous acquiescence of others in that divine 
 tribunal. Now can anything be more dangerous, anything more 
 criminal, than to permit a sinner to participate of the sacraments, 
 who is obstinately bent upon remaining in the occasion of so many 
 relapses ? But if we may believe you, they are occasions which it 
 is not in your power to quit ; and I say they are occasions which 
 you would readily quit, if the making of your fortune depended 
 thereon, or if some temporal affair, which you chance to have in 
 hand, might be brought thereby to the wished for issue. But, 
 say you, they are ties which cannot be broken without noise and 
 scandal. To this I answer : the great scandal is, that you do not 
 break them ; I say, admitting that such allegation is founded in 
 truth, it were better to bear with the salutary scandal which should 
 put a stop to sin, and save your soul, than keep up and foment the 
 mortal scandal which brings ruin upon you, and which is itself an 
 additional sin. 
 
 But God Avill afford me his divine protection, and it is in him 
 alone I place this confidence. An accursed confidence, (says St. 
 Chrysostom,) the sole end of which is, to 'tempt the Almighty and 
 give man a handle to persist in impenitence. Ah ! my God, that 
 this doctrine is not eternally preached ! that it is not preached in 
 season and out of season ! that it is not preached in all places and 
 to all people, as upon it depends the conversion, the reformation, 
 the sanctification, and the happiness of the Christian world ! Be 
 that as it may, beloved hearers, place not an entiie rehance on your 
 
ON PENANCE. 125 
 
 penitence ; and though it should be, seemingly, ever so fervent, 
 esteem it as unavailing, if it only retrench the matter and cause, 
 and proceed not to repair the effects and consequences of sin, as I 
 now shall make appear in the second part. 
 
 Part II. As sacramental penitence is an act of justice, and as 
 the fathers of the Church have always represented it as implying 
 in the sinner a sincere Avill to do justice to himself, to his neigh- 
 bour, and to God, it is a natural inference, that one of its principal 
 functions is to repair the effects and consequences of sin. Here, 
 then, beloved hearers, supposing the incontestable and indispen- 
 sable necessity of this reparation, we are to comprehend it tho- 
 roughly and in its full extent, as it is the only rule by which a 
 rational and exact judgment may be formed of penance. For this 
 pm-jjose, I shall adhere to two important maxims of Holy Writ, 
 that must reform two visible and dangerous abuses which we are 
 liable to fall into at the very time we are planning our conversion. 
 This doctrine is of great ^moment ; and I earnestly request you 
 would tiu-n it to advantage. 
 
 The first maxim : to be efficaciously converted, it is not suffi- 
 cient barely to repent ; we must bring forth fruits worthy of pen- 
 ance. This is what St. John the Baptist teaches, a man deputed 
 by God himself to prepare for the Lord a perfect people. This is 
 the instruction he gave those Jews who came to hear him in the 
 wilderness, and presented themselves to him Avith a view to be bap- 
 tized. This was his inference, when, replete with the spirit of 
 Elias, he bid them "bring forth fruits worthy of penance." For 
 (as St. Gregory, pope, observes) this divine harbinger thereby 
 declared, that penance and its fruits (as a tree and its fruits) were 
 distinct things ; that, not content with earnestly bewailing antece- 
 dent offences, it entered upon measures of avoiding future ones ; 
 that to bewail offences, and even to renounce them for the remain- 
 der of life, is only the root, but grace and salvation the fruits of 
 penance, which should it not bear, it is exposed to malediction. 
 By these means he worthily fulfilled his ministry, teaching the obdu- 
 rate sinner to do penance, and the penitent sinner to " bring forth 
 fruits worthy of penance." 
 
 Now which are these salutary fruits of penance ? To repair the 
 pernicious effects of sin by contrary works, according to the specific 
 differences thereof. My meaning is this : to repair, for instance, 
 the effects of unjust possession, by restitution ; of detraction and 
 
126 ^ ON PENANCE. 
 
 calumny, by retrieving your neighbour's honour and reputation ; 
 of passion and outrage, by making humble satisfaction ; of enmity 
 and hatred, by a sincere reconciliation. These (says St. Gregory) 
 are the worthy fruits, the proportional fruits, the necessary fruits, 
 the unsuspected fruits of penance. They ai*e all essential, and must 
 be severally elucidated. 
 
 Worthy fruits of penance : because the sinner, to produce them, 
 must use such efforts as true, I mean supernatural, nay, the most 
 supernatural penance is capable of. What other motive can induce 
 the rich miser to restore that which, by fraud or oppression, he 
 hath acquired or withholden, and of which he cannot give up the 
 possession without losing his place, or sinking in credit ; and the 
 restormg of which becomes, by that means, more afflicting and 
 insupportable than death itself? What other motive can induce 
 the haughty disdainful man to take mortifying steps, in order to 
 satisfy, at the expense of his pride, those whom he hath offended ? 
 And should himself be offended, what other motive can induce him 
 to stifle his rage and resentment, and be cordially reconciled with 
 his most mortal enemy ? This must be the work, O Lord, of your 
 hand ; the strength of man is unequal to such great and extraor- 
 dinary changes. Your grace must assist him — your most powerful 
 grace. By that he must conceive, by that bring forth these heroic 
 resolutions, which otherwise the corrupt spuit of the world would 
 render abortive. It is by grace, O God, that you subdue the most 
 rebellious and obstinate hearts ; that fierce and violent spirits relent, 
 and that the most untractable become mild as lambs ; that the un- 
 just possessor gives up his pretensions to another's right, and to his 
 own right too, conferring, like Zacheus, on the injured party four- 
 fold. And if, O Lord, you give a blessing to my words — words 
 which are your own, we shall see by the effects of this victorious 
 penance unexpected miracles, for which your servants Avill offer up 
 their acts of thanksgiving and gratitude, and which will give 
 greater edification to your church, than the very miracles by which 
 she was established. Then shall we see injustices repaired, calum- 
 nies retracted, enmities extinguished, hearts reunited. Worthy 
 fruits these, of which the Holy Ghost himself is the author, and 
 which are styled by St. Paul, <' the fi-uit of hght in all goodness, 
 and righteousness, and truth." Ephes. v. 
 
 Proportional fruits : to what ? To the offence. Otherwise peni- 
 tence is not only defective, but hateful ; not only reprobated by 
 
ON PENANCE. 127 
 
 the Deity, but condemned by the world ; for the world still requires 
 proportion in this case. You have grown rich at the expense of the 
 widow and the orphan, and think yourself clear of all obligation 
 by some good works from which no advantage can possibly accrue 
 to the Avidow and the orphan. You have traduced your neigh- 
 bour, and wounded liis reputation, and think it sufficient atone- 
 ment to fulfil in his regard the mere obligations of common charity. 
 You have formed devices, and run into exaggerations, to ruin your 
 enemy, and your penitence terminates in weeping and praying in 
 the presence of God. Execrable prayers ! says the wise man. And 
 I say, appljdng the same expression to the present subject, execra- 
 ble penitence ! for that the penitent, in the very act of penitence, 
 will not hearken to the Almighty and obey his laws. The same 
 reason is given for it by the divine Spirit : " He that turneth away 
 his ears from hearing the law, his prayer shall be held in execra- 
 tion." Prov. xxi. No, no, beloved hearers ; according to the invio- 
 lable and indispensable order which God hath established, defa- 
 mation can never be repaired by prayer, nor injustice by alms-deeds. 
 To have the merit, before God, of efficacious penitence, we must 
 strictly obeserve the proportions prescribed by the divine law; and 
 instead of conforming our penitence to our fancy, or even to our 
 devotion, we are obliged to conform both penitence and devotion 
 to the rules and dictates of an upright conscience. Now an upright 
 conscience will never allow us to give to God alone what we have 
 defrauded our neighbour of, nor to apply to charity what we owe 
 to justice ? To God, (it will say,) the things that are God's, and 
 to Cajsar the things that are Cajsar's. This is the law, the eternal 
 law, the invariable laAV, which it obliges us to follow. 
 
 Necessary fruits : for in vain should we wring and rack our ima- 
 gination to find out expedients, explications, and subterfuges ; wc 
 must come, at last, to St. Augustin's decision ; a decision, against 
 which neither the immoderate desires, nor the looseness of morals, 
 nor the corrupt and evil practices of the times, will ever get pre- 
 scription. If, when in your power, you refuse to restore that 
 which leans heavily and reasonably on your conscience, making 
 show of a contrite and penitent heart, you may seem, indeed, to do 
 penance, but you do it not. The sin is not pardoned, but on this 
 condition — that damage be repaired. Now if this be true with 
 regard to property, it is equally so with regard to reputation. Go 
 then, if you will ; go, lay yourself prostrate at the feet of the priest; 
 
128 ON PENANCE. "" 
 
 confess your injustice ; pour forth floods of tears ; if you take not 
 due measures to make suitable amends for the damage you have 
 done by false suppositions, or unjust animadversions — by the malice 
 of your heart, or the indiscretion of your tongue, what is your pen- 
 ance ? A phantom, and nothing else. A phantom, did I say ? 
 It is a crime, it is a sacrilege. 
 
 Certain and unsuspected fruits : there can be no doubt that a 
 sinner, who submits to this reparation, is solidly converted. It is 
 a pledge which the most rigid censors, I mean the most severe con- 
 fessors, have no right to call in question. With the other fruits 
 of penance, ostentation or hypocrisy may be blended imperceptibly. 
 But there is no fear, in this case, of either the one or the other. 
 What man (supposing his conversion fictitious) would undergo the 
 mortification of giving back what he might keep, or of retracting 
 what he had rashly and falsely advanced ? He must be effectually 
 converted, to condemn himself so rigorously, Avithout favour or 
 forgiveness. The efficacy of his penance cannot then be doubted, 
 not that he can be thoroughly assured of his estate. No one (says 
 the wise man) knoweth whether he be deserving of love or hatred. 
 It is one of those secrets which God hath been pleased to reserve 
 to himself, to make us live in a more absolute dependance on his 
 grace. But of all the signs by which we may distinguish true pen- 
 ance, the most infallible, indisputably, is the reparation of the 
 effects and consequences of sin ; a reparation, which leaves a calm 
 tranquillity in the soul, that blunts the piercing stings of con- 
 science, and that brings the blessed peace, in which (according to 
 Tertullian) consists the felicity of a justified sinner : " Bring forth 
 [therefore] fruits worthy of penance." 
 
 But, beloved Christians, what is the delusion of these times ? 
 Instead of judging of penance by its fruits, which would stand the 
 test, we judge of it by practices in themselves equivocal, which 
 often carry with them more of show than solidity. We would 
 have sinners, as of old, be humbled in ashes, covered mth rough 
 hair-cloth, and extenuated with fasting. A very captivating, but 
 deceitful outside, if the natural right of charity and justice be not 
 satisfied ! It is expected that the discipline which the church of 
 God hath in process of time thought proper to mitigate, will bo 
 strictly adhered to. I would to God it were ! but on this capital 
 and essential condition — that the fundamental laws, which neither 
 
ON PENANCE. 129 
 
 the church nor God hath ever dispensed with, be strictly observed. 
 This, however, is never thought of — that is, in the true Pharisaical 
 spirit, we keep floating on the surface, but never dive, which we 
 should do, to the bottom. 
 
 The second scriptural maxim : " We forecast says (St. Paul) 
 that which may be good, not only before God, but also before men." 
 2 Cor. viii. And I say, by the same rule, it is not enough that 
 the sinner do penance in the sight of God ; he must do it likewise 
 in the sight of men. He doth it before God, by acknowledging 
 his fault ; but he doth it before men, by taking away the very 
 appearance of sin. Otherwise — (and it is the decision of St. 
 Thomas, and of all other divines) — otherwise his penitence is ineffec- 
 tual and nidi. 
 
 I wish I had it in my power, beloved hearers, to convey this 
 doctrine to you in its full extent and full force ! The scandal of 
 sin must be repaired by penance. For, wo be to us, shoidd we fall 
 into the error of those broachers of heterodox tenets, who, under 
 the insidious cloak of reformation, corrupt the law, and reduce all 
 penance to sinning no more ! Wo be to us, should we falsely 
 imagine, that the mystery of justification is comprised in the words 
 of our blessed Saviour not rightly understood, when he said to the 
 adulteress, " Go, and now sin no more." John viii. For, according 
 to that, it were sufiicient for the unrighteous man to say : " I have 
 relinquished my sin ;" more vain, perhaps, (St. Gregory observes,) 
 at the testimony he bears to his sinning no more, than humble at 
 the remembrance of his having often sinned ; or feasting in the 
 sweets of self-complacency at the ceasing of his sin, and laying 
 claim to the unspotted innocence of the righteous, without partici- 
 pating, in the least degi-ee, of the humihation of sinners. But the 
 scandal (says this great pope and doctor) is a part of the sin ; for 
 which, if no reparation be made, though the sin itself cease, or to 
 speak more clearly, though you cease to commit it, it is not entirely 
 and absolutely destroyed. Penitence, therefore, having regulated 
 the one, must apply to the other ; and as it cannot do this, but at 
 the sinner's expense, it must, if efficacious, (according to St. Augus- 
 tin,) blot out and annihilate sin in his person, and in order to that, 
 must put him to confusion. Otherwise, (continues this holy father,) 
 what example, what edification would you give your neighbour ? 
 And if it be true that your sin was attended with these conse- 
 quences that you so much lament ; if by going astray yourself, you 
 
130 ON PENANCE. 
 
 have led others astray, is it not agreeable to right reason that you 
 should, as much as in you lies, be instrumental in reclaiming them? 
 Is it not according to the rules of justice, that as you have scanda- 
 lized them by a loose conduct, you should try to edify them by a 
 penitential life ? 
 
 This, however, is not the usual way of reasoning among man- 
 kind. And is not the world overrun with persons who judge 
 according to the desires of their heart, and who think it prudent, 
 in the teeth of all the oracles of heaven, to reserve to themselves, 
 in the very state of their supposed repentance, whatever they can 
 of their former follies, and whatever may conduce to foment and 
 flatter their self-love ; the pleasures of converse, the splendor of 
 prosperity, the pomp and peageantry of wordly vanity ; in a word, 
 all the external concomitants of sin ? Who, not content to appear 
 what they were, and by consequence, to be so in every deed, as 
 the appearance of sin hath a necessary connexion with the grounds 
 of sin : I say, not content to keep up externally the same conduct 
 and train of life, would fain persuade themselves, that in this they 
 proceed upon solid principles, and according to the dictates of 
 right reason ? Now it is to these prejudiced and deluded souls 
 that I wish to be of service on this occasion, by representing the 
 consequences of their errors to them in a clear and unequivocal 
 point of view. Was it thus — would I say, actuated with the 
 zeal with which God inspires me for their eternal welfare — was it 
 thus, that so many celebrated penitents were converted to the Lord? 
 Were these the resolute steps they took, when, led by the Spirit, 
 they first entered into the way of penance ? Did they not gene- 
 rously and openly embrace humility, austerity and holy retirement ? 
 How did yoiu" Achabs and your Nebuchadnezzars in the old law 
 appear in the presence of God and man ? Was it not in sack-cloth 
 and an humble posture, in order to retrieve, by an authentic decla- 
 ration, the mischievous effects of their scandalous lives ? In the 
 law of grace, to what did penitents without end, of all conditions 
 and ranks condemn themselves ? What restraints did they lay 
 themselves under ? Where did they tie themselves to hold their 
 abode ? In lonely places, in deserts, in monasteries. They broke 
 with the world ; which yet, without listening to flesh and blood, 
 they thought it their incumbent duty to edify by renouncing its 
 follies, pomps, and vanities. Should we have had a Thais or a 
 Pelagia, so renowned for their penitence, if this had not been an 
 
ON PENANCE. 131 
 
 invariable maxim in our religion ? How ! Did then, these saints of 
 God deceive themselves ? Are they chargeable with ignorance 
 and extreme folly ? Did they undergo willingly, and to no pur- 
 pose, a most galling yoke ? Had they no tnie knowledge of the 
 ways of God ? Or, were the ways of God revealed only to us ? 
 
 Alas ! Cliristians, let us rather conclude, that as they walked 
 in the stmight and holy ways of God, we eiToneously follow the 
 most spacious and wide — directly opposite to the state to which 
 penance should lead us. By their example, let us learn not only 
 to refrain from evil, but to remove, with all diligence, the appear- 
 ance of evil ; and to that end, let us not be content with a reve- 
 rential fear of our great Creator, let us learn furthermore to respect 
 the world ; for, sometimes the world, profane as it is, deserves our 
 respect, and never more than when it condemns, is offended at, 
 and ranks among crimes, the appearance of a crime. If in this the 
 world seem a severe censor, let the severity of its censure contri- 
 bute to edify us. If it be partial and unjust, let us turn to advan- 
 tage its partiality and injustice. If it should assail us with taunts, 
 obloquy, insult, and scorn, let us give God thanks that its very 
 malignity serves to make us more A^gilant, more regular, and 
 better Christians. Heaven be praised that, with all its corruption, it 
 hath a spark of zeal left for integrity of life and purity of manners, 
 and that vice and wickedness have not yet prevailed over the minds 
 of men, so as to obtain its sanction and approbation. Thou^-h the 
 world seem delicate on this head, let us not conclude that it is in 
 the •wrong. Let the blame be laid rather at our own door, for 
 that we perversely refused to subscribe to the judgment of the 
 world, though perfectly agreeable to the law of God. Let us 
 respect not only the wise and the strong, but (as the apostle advises) 
 the weak and the imprudent. Let us refrain, like him, not only 
 from that which is criminal and illicit, but from that Avhich to us 
 seems innocent and allowable. Why should we arrogate more 
 libei-ty in our conduct than the great apostle ? In fine, let us 
 beware of all those things that may occasion uncharitableness and 
 rash judgment ; whatever may seem, in ourselves or in others, to 
 authorize or countenance anything sinflil. Thus we shall render 
 our penitence efficacious ; and after retrenching the matter and 
 cause of sin, after repairing its eflTects and consequences, it remains 
 that Ave submit to the remedies against it, the subject of the third 
 and last part. 
 
132 ON PENANCE. 
 
 Part III. The holy fathers, with reason, have considered sin, 
 especially in cases of long contracted habits, as a dangerous illness, 
 which penance only, and that, too, by administering the most pow- 
 erful remedies, can cure. On this, according to St. Chrysostom, 
 depends the sinner's destiny. A happy destiny, if, inspired with 
 zeal for his oAvn salvation, he is firmly resolved to make use of the 
 remedies prescribed by penance ; an unhappy destiny, if the disgust 
 which they cause, and the repugnance which he feels, should 
 induce him to reject them. For, none but madmen, (continues 
 this father,) whose blind infatuation is more dangerous than their 
 very illness, would refuse to submit to an infalhble cure. We are, 
 therefore, by the law, under two obligations, relatively to two 
 remedies to be taken, in order effectually to destroy sin ; one a 
 preservative — the other a corrective ; by means of which, if we are 
 not absolutely assured of our justification, we have grounds to 
 believe, and a moral certainty, that we are returned into grace and 
 favom' with God. 
 
 1st. I am not afraid to affirm, Christians, that all those who 
 have turned their thoughts, with any degree of care and attention, 
 on what by experience they know of themselves, have clear con- 
 ceptions, from time to time, of what was sufficient to guard against 
 sin, and restrain their affections within the bounds of duty. To 
 this 1 defy the most volative mind to refuse assent. How uncol- 
 lected, or inconsiderate, or precipitate, or even blinded soever a 
 sinner may be, he is never so far hurried away but he observes, in 
 the course of his passions, the most irregular, his deviations and 
 relapses, and in the bottom of his heart bears this secret testimony 
 against himself: sin, by such and such precautions, ftu- from 
 having any ascendant over me, might have been counteracted and 
 totally destroyed. Now, beloved brethren, I say, that to take 
 these necessary precautions in the way of the Lord ; to be guided 
 by our particular lights and experience ; to be faithful on this 
 head, and hearken to ourselves ; to neglect nothing that may con- 
 tribute to uphold, direct, and defend us, is a convincing proof of 
 a sincere conversion. 
 
 Thus, beloved hearers, you have often remarked, that the best 
 preservative against the love of pleasure, is application to business ; 
 that whatever collects and fixes the mind, preserves it without 
 difficulty, or with less difficulty, in a state of innocence ; and that 
 while your days were full, as the propliet speaks, that is, fully and 
 
ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 133^ 
 
 profitably employed, sin found no entrance into your heart. This 
 you well knew : and yet as you are delighted with ease and tran- 
 quillity ; and you indulge the indolence which is grafted in your 
 nature, whatever disturbs or cramps the mind, or restrains the 
 senses, is your utter aversion. In what then consists, with regard 
 to you, the efficacy of penance ? In being constantly upon your 
 guard against yourself; in being employed in something, as em- 
 ployment is the only support of yoiu: weakness ; in being employed 
 in the spirit of religious duty, although you should be influenced 
 by no other motive ; in being employed in the spirit of penitential 
 works, for employment is a penance most pleasing to God : in 
 being employed without evading or diminishing any the least part, 
 how painful or toilsome soever it be, of the employment allotted 
 you by the divine appointment ; in a cheerful willingness to un- 
 dergo the whole burden, though it were still more heavy, though 
 you were in no doubt of being borne down and overwhelmed by it. 
 Thus you are reduced to the happy situation of that ancient soli- 
 tary, Avho was wont to say, as St. Jerom relates : "I have no time 
 to enjoy life, how should I have time to commit sin ?" So far, 
 therefore, from qualifying labour with the name of slavery, be 
 thankful to the Deity, who hath given you such honest and rea- 
 sonable means of fencing against vice, and hath enabled you in 
 your station to find a certain remedy for the conquering of your 
 passions, which idleness and inattention aJAvays quicken, and which 
 nothing but assiduity in labour can deaden. 
 
 The same I say to you, who know full well, that your frailty 
 exposes you to many relapses ; who know well that which would 
 enable you to curb the vehemence of your passions ; who know that 
 frequent recourse to the sacred tribunal of penance, is a sovereign 
 remedy against every the most violent and importunate attack ; 
 who know, that with the help of this sacrament, you encounter 
 dangers Avith more courage, and adhere to resolutions with more 
 constancy, and that by neglect and slothfulness in this duty, you 
 grow weak and lukewarm : who know, that, in order to proceed 
 steadily in the way of salvation, you should be directed by one 
 who held the place of God, and whose prudent advice might con- 
 firm you in vu'tuc ; who know, that the obligation you lie under 
 of applying and unbosoming yourself to him, is a check upon your 
 levity, and a guard to your inconstancy ; Avho knoAV, in short, that 
 God, in the penitential tribuntd, imd in the hands of his ministers, 
 
 VOL. II. K 
 
134 ON THE LOVE OF GOD. '■ 
 
 to speak with the apostle, hath deposited those arms which we 
 ought to put on, and with which, in the day of temptation and 
 conflict, we may stand om* ground and resist the enemy : this you 
 know ; this you have learned by woful experience. Nevertheless, 
 confession is irksome to you, especially if frequent. The injunction 
 laid on you by the minister of the Lord, as your spiritual physician, 
 to present yourself to him from time to time and discover the latent 
 wounds of your soul, is a burdensome law ; a law to which you 
 cannot submit but with great reluctance. If at first you accept the 
 proposed tenns, you speedily recoil, you retract your word, and 
 you shake oflT the yoke. Can I then presume that your penitence 
 was attended with that good faith, that candour and sincerity, 
 which alone would make it valid in the presence of God ? Had 
 this been the case, beloved hearers, you would gladly have been 
 cured in such an exigency, and would have sought a remedy ; and, 
 fully convinced of its utility and necessity, you would yourself, 
 without waiting for orders, have been the first to prescribe it. 
 With joy, and to the letter, you would have fulfilled the condi- 
 tion which the prudent priest, by the rules of his ministry required 
 of you. On the day appointed, he Avould have seen you return to 
 recover new strength. Fidelity and compliance would have been 
 motives not only of duty, but of consolation. 
 
 And are Ave not influenced every day by things of less moment ? 
 At the return of a disease, the consequences of Avhich you still 
 apprehend, what are you not willing to do and to suffer ? What 
 do you not abstain from ? What regimen so mortifying, what diet 
 so loathsome, which you take not -with strictness and according to 
 prescription ? What is your faith, if, when the salvation of your 
 soul is at stake, you act upon principles directly contrary ? Do 
 yovi reason like a Christian, if you do not for your soul what with 
 care and scrupulosity you do for your body ? 
 
 2ndly. I shall now proceed to the second obUgation, and with 
 that shall conclude. To be efficaciously converted, it is not suffi- 
 cient to refrain from sin : sins committed must be expiated by acts 
 of vindictive justice, such as the Lord will one day exert against 
 impenitent sinners. Now this inordination, beloved hearers, is the 
 worst of all, as it renders penance, in most Christians, unprofitable 
 and ineffectual. We use this sacrament, but are not amended, 
 because we are unwilling to exercise punishment upo7i ourselves in 
 proportion to our sins ; and, not to look out for other reasons, we 
 
ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 135 
 
 persist in iniquity, year after year, because our self-love, an enemy 
 to austerity, begets in us effeminacy, and banishes from our minds 
 the slightest notion of self-controul. 
 
 If the punishment of sin, I mean voluntary punishment, to which 
 we condemn ourselves, as arbitrators and judges in our own cause, 
 which is properly penitence, or that part of penance Avhich belongs 
 to ourselves : if voluntary punishment were speedily inflicted after 
 the sinful deed ; if such were our zeal, that avc Ibrgave ourselves 
 nothing ; if, as often as we happen to swerve from our duty, we had 
 but the courage to make due compensation by voluntary suffer- 
 ings, I cannot but without hesitation, affirm, that every vice would 
 soon be eradicated, and every passion soon subdued. 
 
 I mean not by this to insinuate that penitence is a servile virtue, 
 proceeding only from motives of fear. For we may (says St. 
 Augustin) suffer voluntary pains, influenced by love, and a desire 
 of perfection, with a view to moderate our sinful appetites, and 
 to make satisfaction for past offences. And if fear be our induce- 
 ment, it may be a filial fear — a fear arising fi-om motives of charity, 
 by wliich we oblige ourselves, in order to return into favour with 
 God, and pay him, to his greater honour and glory, a tribute of 
 satisfaction, to perform some Avorks of piety and devotion, to prac- 
 tice certain austerities, to retrench certain pleasures, and to forego 
 certam inconveniencies. 
 
 Accordingly, when the church inflicted, heretofore, canonical 
 penances to every species of sin, she did not mean that the faith- 
 ful should lose the spirit of adoption, which had been conferred on 
 them in the new law, nor to introduce among them the spirit of 
 servility which reigned in the old. Her intention by this severity 
 was, to uphold some, and reclaim others ; to flu-ther in these the 
 designs of conversion, and to maintain in those a holy perseverance. 
 Such were her views : and her conduct in this, by the divine 
 assistance, had so good an effect, that numberless Christians 
 preserved to the end their baptismal innocence ; and the pe- 
 nitence and sorrow of those who had lost it, were not to be 
 questioned, Avhen for one mortal sin they fasted whole years, 
 and without opposition submitted to laborious and mortifyino- 
 tasks. Then innocence flourished, and penance was exem- 
 plary, because sin was punished. But now we come off, and 
 desire to come off, at an easier rate. And Avhat is the conse- 
 quence ? That we commit sin the more fi-eely, remain in it the 
 
 k2 
 
136 ON THE LOVE OF GOD. 
 
 more quietly, repent of it the more slightly, discontinue it the 
 more rarely ; and that our penance is mostly of none effect, or 
 much to be suspected, and at best doubtful. These penalties, 
 prescribed by the church, in course of time were greatly moderated. 
 Hence an inundation of vice commenced ; hence discipline relaxed ; 
 hence Christianity wore another aspect. So true it is, that this 
 assistance is needful for the sinner ; and that while left to himself 
 and to his own discretion, or rather pusillanimity, he cannot be 
 deemed to be thoroughly reformed. He seeks his ease, humours 
 his disposition, and indulges the dictates of self-love. 
 
 Let Tis, therefore, do now, beloved Christians, what the church 
 did in former ages. Let us adopt the same sentiments, enter into 
 the same spirit, conform to the same practices. Let us not forget, 
 that if she hath abated of her rigour in some points, she meant not 
 to encroach upon God's prerogative, in which she neither could nor 
 would admit of relaxation ; and, that if she hath consented to 
 change regulations established by herself, she never pretended to 
 what was not her province ; namely, to mitigate the essential obli- 
 gation of making satisfaction to an offended Deity. Whence we 
 may conclude, that this condescension, rightly understood, can 
 giv^ no colour to our irresolution, as it is true to say, that the 
 more we spare ourselves, the less God will spare us ; the less we 
 punish ourselves, the more he will chastise us. For, God's pre- 
 rogative will always subsist, and be always the same. Persuaded, 
 therefore, that sin must be punished either in the present world or 
 in the world to come, either by the justice of God or by the penitence 
 of man, let us not wait till God himself shall inflict due punish- 
 ment. Let us take care to prevent the rigour of his justice by the 
 rigour of our penitence. Inflamed with zeal, let us side with the 
 Almighty against ourselves, and avenge his cause at our own 
 expense. 
 
 If those who, by Almighty God's appointment, or by our own 
 choice, are our spiritual directors, should be too indulgent, let us 
 make amends (according to a maxim laid down by St. Bernard) 
 for their indulgence by our own severity. If they be deficient in 
 rigour or exactness, let us make up the deficiency for our owa 
 sakes, as none but ourselves are personally concerned, and it be- 
 hoves us, not others, to mind our o-vvn interest. Let us ever apply 
 to our spiritual evils, the evils of our soul, specific remedies ; and 
 let us punish sins of various kinds by various means : licentious 
 
ON COMMUNION. 137 
 
 conversation, by retiring from the world ; fix3cdom of speech and 
 indiscretion of the tongue, by silence ; luxury, by moderation in 
 dress and retinue ; unlawful pleasures, by forbearing fi-om lawful 
 ones : " Who knoweth but he will return and forgive ?" Joel ii. 
 Who knows but the God of mercy will return to us ? Or, rather, 
 who can doubt it, after the authentic promise he hath given us ? 
 In a word, beloved hearers, let us relinquish the matter and cause 
 of sin, let us repair the consequences and effects of sin, let us sub- 
 mit, cost what it will, to the remedies for sin ; by doing which, 
 and by no other means, we shall return into the way of salvation 
 and glory. 
 
 SEEMON XXIII. 
 
 ON COMMUNION. 
 For the Third Sunday after Epipliany, 
 
 *' Jesus saith unto him : I ivill come and heal him. " And the 
 centurion ansioered and said: Lord, I am not worthy that thou 
 shouldest come under my roof" Matt. viii. 
 
 In this passage. Christians, we see a kind of contest between 
 Christ and the centurion ; but in this contest, which seems the 
 most to claim our admiration — the charity of a God, or the humi- 
 lity of a pagan ? I may safely say, that there never was strife 
 more holy, or more proper for instruction and edification. Our 
 Saviour, by an impulse of benificent charity is for going in person 
 into the house of the centurion, and the centm'ion accounts himself 
 unworthy of that honour. The only begotten Son of God, whose 
 mercy is unhmited, assures him that he will come, and by his pre- 
 sence will cure his paralytic servant : " I will come and heal liim ;" 
 but the centurion, confused at so signal a favour, protests openly 
 that he is unworthy of it, and acknowledges his unworthiness : 
 *' Lord, I am not worthy." Be pleased to take notice. This is 
 a Gentile, to whom om* blessed Saviom*, in quality of Messiah, 
 
138 ON COMMUNION. 
 
 heath not been as yet announced or revealed, as he hath been to the 
 Jews ; and, notwithstanding that, Gentile as he is, he is already 
 prepossessed with so high an opinion of, and so profound a respect 
 for the Messiah who accosts him, that he cannot consent to receive 
 his visit. A humility (says St. Augustin) which arose from a 
 lively and ardent faith ; and which, by an operation of our Ke- 
 deenier's grace, transformed, on this spot, this Gentile not only into 
 a veritable Israelite, but a perfect Christian. A humility with 
 which Jesus Christ was well pleased, which he very much set by, 
 and which he honoured with commendations ; but to which, not- 
 withstanding, it may truly be said that he paid no regard, whereas 
 on the contrary, upon that very account, he insisted upon going 
 into the centurion's house. 
 
 Here let us stop : and to profit, pursuant to the views of God, 
 by so great an example, let us bring this gospel narrative home to 
 our own case. For, that which passed (as St. Chrysostom remarks) 
 between Christ and the centurion, is every day repeated between 
 Christ and us. My meaning is, that this same Saviour, by insti- 
 tuting the eucharist, hath left us a sacrament by which he wills to 
 impart himself to us ; and, God as he is, to dwell corporally between 
 our breasts ; a sacrament, by which he visits us in person, with a 
 view to heal our spiritual infirmities. As often, therefore, as we 
 prepare to receive him in this adorable mystery, he still says to us 
 with as much truth as he said heretofore : " I will come and heal ;" 
 hoAV low soever you may be reduced, if, by a sincere acknowledg- 
 ment of our weakness, we answer like the centurion : no, my Lord, 
 I am not Avorthy that you should come to me and enter into my 
 breast. For, these are the venerable words which the church puts 
 into our mouths, when this God of glory, hidden under the form 
 of the elementary species, is ready to take up his abode in our 
 breasts : " Lord, I am not worthy." Efficacious words, which 
 (according to the words of St. Augustin) have the virtue to 
 operate in a Christian soul a miracle quite contrary to that which 
 they signify : for when we pronounce them, they cancel the un wor- 
 thiness we attribute to ourselves, and give us, -with regard to 
 Christ and his sacrament, a fund of merit which Ave should not be 
 able to acquire without them. Words, which by a Avonderful 
 operation of grace, direct our steps to the term from which they 
 seemingly withhold us, as according to the doctrine of all the fathers, 
 the chief, and indeed essential disposition for worthily receiving the 
 
ON COMMUNION. 139 
 
 body of Christ is, to Wicve and confess ourselves unworthy of it. 
 Words, in fine, which point out our humility to the Son of God, 
 Avitliout the least obstructing his charity ; and which, far from 
 making him keep away from us, serves as an attractive to make 
 him come to us. 
 
 But, beloved hearers, it so falls out, that often in applying these 
 words to ourselves, we strain the sense of them beyond the intention 
 of our blessed Saviour ; and, in order to square them to our o^vn 
 fancy, we run the hazard of directly counteracting the views of God. 
 In this sacrament, Christ Jesus seeks us, and we withdraw from him. 
 Through excess of love, he wishes to honour us with his holy visits 
 and we will not receive them. He asks to take up his abode in our 
 hearts, and we under specious, nay, religious pretexts refuse him 
 admittance : for, to exculpate ourselves upon this refusal, we plead 
 our unworthiness ; and we say, problably In a different spirit from 
 that of the centurion, "Lord, I am not worthy." As this is the 
 most obvious and common excuse, it is incumbent on me to con- 
 sider It particularly, not absolutely with a view to oppose and 
 decry it, nor yet to prove its rectitude, but to examine its nature, 
 which will give me an opportunity of delivering the most solid and 
 important doctrines respecting the practice and use of communion. 
 
 To abstain from communion under colour of unworthiness, Is 
 an excuse, Christians, according to the different dispositions and 
 qualities of those who allege it, susceptible of very different inter- 
 pretations ; and my design, of which this is a succinct notion. Is to 
 lay these different Interpretations before you, that you may enter 
 into the nature of this excuse, and of the good or bad consequences 
 dcducible from It. For there are among Christians two sorts of 
 people who set out on tliis principle, and may say with the centu- 
 rion, Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldest enter into my 
 breast ; the righteous, who live in the observance and practice of 
 the law of God, and sinners, who arc overwhelmed in the vices 
 and follies of a criminal life. In regard to the righteous it can 
 hardly be doubted, that they are induced by the feelings of an 
 humble heart to speak in that manner. But to know to what 
 length this humility should be carried, and whether it be reason- 
 able that it should make them keep away from Jesus Christ and 
 his sacrament : to know whether the privation of the blessed 
 cucharist, for a righteous soul, may be deemed an ordinary exer- 
 
140 
 
 ON COMMUNION. 
 
 cise of penance ; whether penance of this kind be conformable to 
 the intentions of the Son of God ; whether it accords with the 
 end and institution of this mystery ; whether it corresponds with 
 the standing usage of the earliest times of the Christian religion ; 
 whether it be received and approved by the church in later ages ; 
 whether it be countenanced by the ancient fathers, and whether it 
 may be profitable ; in a word, whether Jesus Christ, as contained 
 in the divine sacrament of his body, esteems himself honoured, 
 when the righteous, instead of approaching him, withdraw from 
 him, and whether it be rendering him true respect, as he is the 
 Bread of Life, to be contented only with reverencing and adoring 
 him, and not corporally receiving him, are questions, beloved 
 hearers, of which, for sundry and weighty reasons, general and 
 particular, I shall wave the discussion, leaving them to your own 
 particular examination. Besides, as it would be no easy matter to 
 say anything new upon this topic, perhaps it might not do so much 
 good, as may, with good reason, be hoped for from a discourse 
 solely consecrated to the edification of your souls. 
 
 I shall, therefore, speak only of those sinners, who may tell 
 Jesus Christ vnth much more reason than did St. Peter : " Depart 
 from me, because I am a sinful man." Luke v. These I divide 
 into three classes. The first are sincere sinners ; the second, 
 blind sinners ; and the last, hypocritical sinners. Sincere sinners 
 behave with candour in the presence of God, and are not deceived. 
 Blind sinners are totally ignorant of their own condition, and 
 impose upon themselves. In fine, hypocritical and dissembling 
 sinners cover their libertinism with a veil of piety, and make it 
 their business to deceive others. The first have rehgion, and are 
 actuated by the spirit of it. The second, although they have some 
 religion, have a wrong notion that they are actuated by the spirit 
 of it. The last, although they would seem to be actuated by the 
 spirit of religion, have in reality no religion at all. Now these 
 three kinds of sinners may hold the language we find the centurion 
 in the gospel held : " Lord, 1 am not worthy," and decline com- 
 municating on account of unworthiness. But, although they all 
 of them assert it equally, they are not all of them equally to be 
 credited. For, to lay still moi'e open the plan of my discourse : 
 in the first, that is, in sincere sinners, this excuse is a reason ; in 
 the second, that is, in blind sinners, this excuse is a pretext ; and 
 
ON COMMUNION. 141 
 
 in tlie last, that is, in hypocritical and libertine einners, this excuse 
 is an abuse, and even a scandal. And this is now what I under- 
 take to demonstrate. But I proceed farther : for, three things I 
 add to this, which will put the characters of these three sinners in 
 a clear point of view, and must needs convey material instruction. 
 
 First : unworthiness is a reason for the sincere sinner to abstain 
 from communion ; and I hold that this reason ought farther to be 
 explained. 
 
 Secondly: unworthiness is a pretext for the blind sinner to 
 abstain from communion ; and to remove this pretext is of the 
 utmost consequence. 
 
 Thirdly : unworthiness is an abuse and scandal in the hypocri- 
 tical sinner, and consequently a reason to abstain from commu- 
 nion ; and my duty obliges me to impugn and bear down this abuse 
 and scandal. 
 
 Part I, That my first position may appear in as clear a light 
 as possible, I must premise. Christians, that I speak of a sinner, 
 who preserves in the midst of his evil courses a fund of religion ; 
 who behaves toward God at least with openness and unfeigned 
 sincerity ; who acknowledges the unhappy state of his conscience ; 
 confesses his sin, bewails it Avith sighs, but as yet is not quite dis- 
 posed to relinquish it. To abstain in that case from the sacred 
 table, because he is unworthy, is a well-founded reason, I own, for 
 the sinner, as the doctrine of faith makes it clear and evident, that 
 so long as his sin is not obliterated, he cannot approach the divine 
 sacrament, Avithout being involved in the guilt of sacrilege. But, 
 beloved hearers, I say that this reason should farther be elucidated, 
 and this elucidation consists in showing you that he must not stop 
 there : I mean, that he must not so abstain from communion, on 
 account of unworthiness, as to think he hath fully performed his 
 duty, by declining to partake of this sacred mystery ; but that he 
 must lay do^vn another principle, equally essential, and equally in- 
 contestable : I mean, he must know the obligation he is under of 
 quitting forthwith his state of unworthiness in order to be admitted 
 to the holy repast. So that communion itself becomes a pressing 
 motive, which induces him to the necessity of working his conver- 
 sion, and obliges hlra to use his utmost endeavours, by a speedy 
 repentance, to procure admission to the adorable sacrament, from 
 which his sinful state withholds him. This is the disposition, if 
 he knows his duty, in which it is his boundcn duty to be ; and, 
 
142 ON COMMUNION. 
 
 without which, I maintain that there is nothing solid in his con- 
 duct. 
 
 For, beloved Christians, the great maxim on which is hinged 
 the whole conduct of a sinner, in regard to communion is, never to 
 separate these two points — two inviolable rules in our holy religion: 
 one, that Jesus Christ lays his commands on us to eat his flesh ; 
 the other, that he puts us under a strict prohibition of eating it 
 unworthily : one, that the flesh of this God-man is the food of our 
 souls ; the other, that this food, though wholesome in itself, is poi- 
 son for those who presume to take it in the state of sin : one, that 
 as it is not possible to support the natural life without the help of 
 ahments, so it is not possible to support the supernatural life of 
 grace, without the holy eucharist ; the other, that as aliments in 
 a diseased body, far from supplying it with strength and nomisli- 
 ment, weaken it, and destroy the source of life ; so the eucharist 
 is death to those who receive it without purifying their heart. If 
 the sinner adheres to one of these points, without joining the other, 
 he assuredly goes astray, and is lost for ever ; but if he unites them, 
 he enters directly into the way of God. Hear how he reasons : 
 Christ Jesus forbids me to eat his flesh, and keeps me at a dis- 
 tance, so long as my heart is SAvayed by sin : it is, therefore, my 
 duty to beware of eating it in my present state. But he tells me 
 that if I eat it not, I neither have, nor can have, the supernatural 
 life in which consist the sanctification and happiness of the righ- 
 teous man ; I am therefore obliged, cost what it will, to quit my 
 present sinful state, in order to render myself capable of eating it. 
 I cannot Avithdraw from the obedience due to both the one and the 
 other of these commandments ; to the former for Christ's sake, to 
 the latter for my own. If I receive communion unworthily, I pro- 
 fane the body of the Lord ; and thus I must take care of the 
 interests of Christ. If I do not receive communion at all, I murder 
 my soul, by depriving her of that which alone could nourish her 
 and keep her in union and co-operation with grace ; and thus I 
 must secure my own interests. If, remaining a sinner, I partici- 
 pate of the eucharist, I participate of it to my own condemnation ; 
 but if I do not participate of it, I shall certainly perish. There 
 remains, therefore, but one alternative; to change my life, to 
 renounce my sin, to return into the grace and favor of God, to fit 
 myself for eating this bread of life, m order that it may become for 
 me a life-giving bread. For by that means, I shall comply Avith 
 
ON COMMUNION. H3 
 
 my duty Loth In what concerns the honour of Jesua, and my own 
 advantage. Thus shall I fulfil what God requu-es, which is, that 
 I eat, and that I hvc by eating this bread with profit. Thus, I say, 
 the sinner will reason ; and this way of reasoning will be the deci- 
 sive and infallible cause of his conversion. Whereas, if he only 
 minds his unworthiness, he will spend his days in a circle of crimes, 
 not takinor so much as one resolution relative to salvation, or one 
 step in the view of returning with speed to God. 
 
 Now this piinciple, beloved Christians, which every sinner should 
 lay do-wn for liimself, is that which the ministers of the gospel 
 should adopt in delivering instruction upon this topic. Of the two 
 precepts, which I have just been explaining, they should never 
 inculcate one, without remonstrating, at the same time, the neces- 
 sity of the other. The reason is this : one without the other is at 
 best imserviceable, perhaps prejudicial. For if you perpetually 
 represent to a sinner the hon-ible danger of an unworthy commu- 
 nion, without ever mentioning the indispensable necessity of 
 communicating worthily, the consequence is, that he will never 
 communicate ; which is directly contrary to the express command 
 of our Saviour, who says: " Unless ye eat the flesh of the Son of 
 man, ye shall have no life in you." John vi. But if, on the other 
 hand, you mention only the necessity of communicating, without 
 ever making him apprehend the danger of an unworthy commu- 
 nion, you put hun in the way of making many imperfect, nay, sacri- 
 legious communions, in direct opposition to St. Paul's words: " Let 
 a man prove himself." 1 Cor. xi. And this, beloved hearers, 
 (give me leave in this place to make a natural reflection, in which 
 I am sm'C you will join issue with me,) this hath been the cause of 
 all the evils which the diversity of opinions hath produced in all 
 ages, of the Christian era, as it gave too often contrariant biases to 
 the minds of men concerning the use of the divine sacrament. The 
 zeal of some was confined to such methods of intimidation as might 
 keep the sinner from the sacred mysteries ; and they repeat to him 
 over and over again these terrible words : " He that eateth unwor- 
 thily, eateth danmation to himself," (1 Cor. xi.) which tended only 
 to ins})ire him Avith a horror of an unworthy communion. Others 
 exerted their Avhole powers in exhorting him to receive the divine 
 food ; and they invited him incessantly by that comfortable pro- 
 mise of our Saviour: " He that eateth this bread shall live for ever;" 
 (John vi. ;) by which they seemed only to aim at raismg in him 
 
144 ON COMMUNION. 
 
 an efficacious desire of holy commuiuon. They never were per- 
 fectly agreed in their manner of carrying Christ's design into exe- 
 cution. Had they gone hand in hand, and joined in sentiment, 
 very great advantage would have accrued to the church from so 
 admirable a coalition, inasmuch as it would have been a certain 
 means of sanctifying sinners. But as they disagreed, and as each 
 side was wedded to their own opinion, neither sinners nor the 
 church could receive the advantage which God intended. For 
 they who ever and anon rung in the ears of their hearers the ana- 
 thematical curse pronounced by St. Paul against the abuse of com- 
 munion, without mentioning what might serve as a motive for 
 receiving that sacrament, by little and little abolished the use of it, 
 and made the guests withdraw from the bridegroom's table. But 
 they, likewise, who endeavoured only to give a high idea of the 
 fruits of communion, and the tendency of whose speeches was 
 solely to draw a great number of guests to the table of our Saviour, 
 ran a mighty hazard (like the servants in the parable) of convening 
 indifferently the good and the bad. What was said on both sides 
 might have been very true ; and yet on neither side did they say 
 enough to produce the eiffect of the sacrament of Christ Jesus, 
 because they said on neither side but half of that which ought to 
 have been said. Upon this the holy bishop of Geneva judiciously 
 remarks, that the whole should have been said ; and that the invi- 
 tation of these should have been brought in conjunction Avith the 
 menaces of those. The sinner should be told : be afraid of 
 approaching this holy table, and be afraid of not approaching it. 
 Be afraid of approaching it, if you are not robed in the nuptial gar- 
 ment — which is divine grace ; and be afraid of not approaching it, 
 because none but the enemies of God are excluded. The food 
 which is offered you is mortal for you, if you discern it not justly 
 by the spirit of faith ; but know, moreover, that it is a wholesome 
 food, without which Christ Jesus will not abide in you, nor will 
 you in him. Wherefore, receive this food with trembling ; for to 
 receive it with trembling is one of the necessary dispositions in 
 receiving it. But tremble still more if you do not receive it, 
 because you will not be prevailed upon to receive it with the neces- 
 sary preparation. Thus they should have spoken. 
 
 And indeed, Christians, all the fathers of the church, when they 
 opened their minds upon the same subject held the same language. 
 As those great men were certainly actuated by the Spirit of God, 
 
ON COMMUNION. 145 
 
 they were far from separating those two things, which they knew 
 full well our Saviour intended should never be separated. St. 
 Chrysostom bids us examine and judge ourselves, lest in partici- 
 pating of Christ's body, we draw down upon our heads coals of 
 living fire — that is, the indignation and vengeance of God. Thus 
 he expressed himself; and the energy of his words was capable to 
 inspire the faithful who heard him with dread and horror. But 
 this he immediately softens by telling them : now this I say not 
 with intent to deter you from partaking of it — God forbid I but 
 that you may partake of it with proper dispositions, and according 
 to the sacred rules prescribed by the law of God. For, (continues 
 he,) as by partaking of it, without due consideration, we rashly 
 expose ourselves to be lost for ever ; so the not partaking of it is 
 the ruin and death of the Christian man. I observe (says St. 
 Augustin) that some among you decline communicating from a con- 
 sciousness of great and unrepented sins ; but I solemnly declare to 
 them — (an important decision this of that father) — that if they 
 stop there, and proceed not to action, they increase the weight 
 and number of their sins, by sinning anew, and depriving them- 
 selves of the most necessary and most sovereign remedy. There- 
 fore, my brethren, (concludes he,) I conjure you, if any of you 
 judge yourselves unworthy of communion, to render yourselves 
 worthy with all expedition; because whoever is unworthy of this 
 divine sacrament is unworthy of God. 
 
 Thus spoke the fathers. Now what they said in general and 
 absolute terms, is still more weighty, when considered relatively to 
 that holy time, in which the faithful are obliged by the express 
 and particular command of Christ himself, determined by the 
 church, to receive communion ; it is the Easter solemnity, which 
 cannot be celebrated but by the manducation of the Lamb, Clu-ist 
 Jesus. For, on that occasion, to threaten the sinner with the 
 ^v^ath of God if he presume to communicate in a sinful state, and 
 not to threaten him with the same wrath if he do not relinquish 
 his sinful state, in oi'der to satisfy this commandment, " Unless 
 you eat," would be to instruct him but by halves, and to afford liim 
 an opportunity of fomenting his impenitence. He must be made to 
 know the order of the Master — I mean the great Master, by telling 
 him what Christ, by two of his disciples, sent to tell the man whose 
 house he made choice of wherein to celebrate the Feast of the Pass- 
 over : " The master saith, I will keep the Passover at thy house." 
 
146 ON COMMUNION. 
 
 Matt. xxvi. He must be told : brother, it is within yourself that 
 the mystery of the Passover must be fulfilled, as the time approaches 
 in which Jesus Christ, who is the true Passover, desires to be 
 received by you in the adorable eucharist. True it is, you are 
 not in readiness ; but for that very reason it is, that we declai-e it 
 to you, to the intent you may prepare yourself seriously, speedily, 
 and efficaciously. For there is, in this case, no mean, no tempera- 
 ture betAveen the two extremes. Remaining in sin, you cannot 
 avoid either profaning or deserting the sacrament of Christ ; pro- 
 faning it, if you presume to eat this Passover, without preparing 
 for it by a sincere conversion ; deserting it, if for want of prepara- 
 tion and conversion, you are not in a condition requisite to eat it. 
 To think it not strictly agi-eeable to propriety that you should be 
 reduced to this dilemma, were to arraign the conduct of the church, 
 which is your mother, and of Christ, who is your God j and to say 
 that this dilemma may lead you into excesses, were to endeavour 
 to clear yourself by your very excesses, which consist in the abuse 
 of the most holy things. Be that as it may, this is the penalty by 
 which the church hath, in virtue of her power of binding and 
 unbinding, a canonical right to punish your disobedience ; namely, 
 to cut you off from her communion as a scandalous member, when 
 through hardness of heart, or an inveterate attachment to the object 
 of your passion, you withdraw from the communion of the body 
 Christ Jesus. By this, however, she meant not to entangle you 
 in difficulties and perplexities, or expose you to the danger of add- 
 ing sin to sin ; but, like a zealous mother, would lay on you an 
 obligation of making use of what is most salutary and sacred in the 
 Christian religion. To this end, you must break your bands, and 
 quit for ever your criminal engagements. But let it not be for- 
 gotten, that this is the object to which the precept of communion 
 tends. You must pull out the eye that gives you scandal ; that 
 is, you must break off those intercourses which are the scandal of 
 your life. But herein, you should admire the precept of commu- 
 nion, which forces you, as it were, to do that which is pleasing in 
 the sight of God. 
 
 But what were the views of the church in enacting these rigor- 
 ous laws against obdurate sinners, disobedient to her mandates, 
 and neglectful of solemnizinsj the Paschal Feast ? Slie meant to 
 lay them under a strict obligation, and compel them by necessity. 
 And, whereas, the Holy Ghost declares the legality of such pro- 
 
ON COMMUNION. 147 
 
 ceeding in express terms, " compel them to come in ;" (Luke xiv. ;) 
 she chooses to make use of compulsive methods, that, purified by 
 penance, they may deserve admittance to the table of our Lord. 
 These were the holy methods she used in former times, and this 
 was the violence she exerted against that kind of sinners. For, 
 whatever she deemed of their sinful practices, being Christians and 
 her children, their religion and faith gave her room to hope, that 
 they would never appear at the sacred table, without previous pre- 
 paration. Accordingly, being affected themselves, though sinners, 
 with a religious respect and profound veneration for the holy sacra- 
 ment, they did, to receive it, that which otherwise they would 
 never have done ; I mean, they Avere totally changed and reformed, 
 to wliicli they would never have been induced by any other motive 
 whatever. This obhgation, by which they were compelled to eat 
 the flesh of a God, and the horror they conceived of unworthily 
 eating it, was what converted them — what tore from their hearts 
 the most predominant passions, and what made them take all the 
 necessaiy measures, in order to return into favour with God. You 
 object that this method occasions sacrileges ; and I answer, that 
 there is nothing, how sacred soever, which may not be profaned 
 by the wickedness of man ; and yet that our Saviour commands, 
 under pain of eternal reprobation, every one of the faithful, without 
 exception, to eat his flesh ; and that the church, liis spouse, would 
 not have acted conformable to his intention, if, at the same time 
 that she pubhshes to the world St. Paul's anathema against unwor- 
 thy communion, she did not lay them under the happy necessity 
 of receiving communion holily and profitably. 
 
 And here, beloved hearers, are two rocks against which we are 
 usually dashed in these times by the spirit of the world. Pi'ovided 
 a sinner be induced to perform, to outward appearance, the duty 
 of a Christian, and to approach the sanctuaiy, we think much is 
 done. Upon no other gTounds we extol his religion — we make no 
 doubt that he is fully converted, and are pleased -with the thoughts 
 of his perseverance : this is the first rock. But, on the other side, 
 provided he be made (so long as he remains in his sinful habit) to 
 beware of communicating, we think all is done ; and if this sinner, 
 confessing his unworthiness, keeps away from the altar, we are 
 satisfied as though he had fulfilled all justice. And thus he is 
 suffered to range in an endless round of folHes, and to waste his 
 thoughtless days in vice. It would seem as if his not receiving 
 
148 ON COMMUNION. 
 
 communion was a cover for the rest, and he then was allowed to 
 live with impunity, and after the corrupt desires of his heart. 
 From the former of these two abuses, it follows that there are, 
 among those who receive communion, many weak, sluggish Chris- 
 tians ; or to use the great apostle's expression, there are many who 
 sleep the sleep of death : "For this cause, there are many weak 
 and sickly among you, and many sleep." 1 Cor. xi. But of the 
 latter, what is the consequence ? That among those who with- 
 draw from communion, there are innumerable multitudes who lead 
 scandalous lives, and who claim to themselves the infamous privi- 
 lege of giving to the church no mark of their Christianity, as the 
 mark by which we are essentially distinguished, in quality of Chris- 
 tians, is (according to St. Paul) the participation of the body of 
 Jesus Christ. From this decay of Christian observances — nay, from 
 this prescription to live at large, we are scarce any longer sm-prised 
 to see that worldlings are notoriously kno^vn to be involved, as it 
 were, in spontaneous excommunication ; and that those holy canons, 
 those sacred laws by which such disorders were directed to be pun- 
 ished, are no more — or seem to be no more in force. A decay, 
 which plunges the true pastors of God's church into agonies of 
 sorrow, beino- witnesses to the loss of so many souls. And all tliis, 
 because such sinners are not sufficiently instnicted in their duty — 
 because they are not made to know the whole extent of it ; because 
 they are taught only to avoid one scandal by another ; the scandal 
 of a bad communion by the scandal of impenitence, or the scandal 
 of impenitence by the scandal of a bad communion ; instead of 
 being made to understand — that it is not sufficient barely to 
 retrench either the one or the other, but that they must avoid 
 both the one and the other. 
 
 For, O my God, your holy sacrament was instituted equally for 
 sinners and the righteous. Not, indeed, for impenitent, but con- 
 verted sinners — changed, reformed, sanctified sinners. While you 
 tarried upon earth, O adorable Saviour, you disdained not to eat 
 at the table of sinners ; and now, from a very different motive, but 
 throuo-h the same spirit, you admit penitent sinners to your table. 
 And as, heretofore, you ate at the table of sinners, converted by 
 your holy grace much more willingly than at the table of the proud 
 and haughty Pharisees ; so I may say for the comfort of my audi- 
 ence and myself, that there are no Christians more favourably 
 received by you than converted sinners — sinners who renounce 
 
ON COMMUNION. 14^ 
 
 their evil practices, in order to come to you. But this, as I said, 
 is to be understood only of those sinners who act with openness 
 and a 'candid mind. For if they be worldlings, who shut their eyes 
 against their o^vn failings and impose upOn themselves, the sup- 
 posed rfe'spect which they allege for withdrawing from the sacra- 
 ment of Christ is no longer a reason that requires explanation, 
 but a pretext — which I am to remove in the second part. 
 
 Part II. There is nothing more subtile than the spirit of the 
 world in leading us to its end, nor more artful in giving to things 
 whatever colour and form it pleases when the point is to dazzle 
 and to warp the judgment in the ways of God. For then it pro- 
 poses every specious motive ; and not unfrequently we let ourselves 
 be ensnared insomuch, that we are fully persuaded and believe that 
 Ave honour God by keeping away from him. Now this is the case 
 "with those other sinners of whom I am at present about to speak : 
 they flatter themselves that they want not religion, nay, that they 
 are influenced by the spirit of religion, yet are much mistaken ; 
 they deviate widely from the straight and simple path of truth, 
 and their humility is, in fact, a gross error. My meaning is this : 
 they say,- nay think that it is out of respect they keep from com- 
 munion, because they acknowledge in the presence of God that 
 they are unworthy of it. But I shall show them, first, that it is 
 a vain respect : secondly, that considering it in the manner they 
 apply it, and in all its circumstances, it is a false respect : finally, 
 that it hath no conformity with that respect which true Christians 
 have always shown whenever they separated (according to the rules 
 and spirit of the church) from the sacrament of Christ. Three 
 important reflections these, by which I undertake, net to put them 
 to confusion but to confound, in their persons, the spirit of the 
 world — 1;hat spirit which blinds them, which, to bring them to tlie 
 precipice and work their destruction, makes a glimmer of devotion, 
 a false glimmer, play before their eyes even in their indevotion. 
 
 1st. It is a vain respect, and thus I prove the assertion. For, 
 what js understood by a vain respect ? What operates nothing ; 
 what haith no consequence ; what answers no purpose ; what tends 
 to no end ; what doth nothing to render the Christian more worthy 
 of Christ Jesus and his sacrament ; what leaves the sinner in the 
 same imperfections ; what makes him neither more regular noi* 
 more fervent, nor more holy ; in a word, what the only solid proof 
 of is — to abstain from comraimion. Now such is the respect of 
 
 VOL. II. L 
 
150 ON COMMUNION- 
 
 that kind of sinners to whom I address this second instruction ; 
 and if pride Avill permit tliem to own their weakness, they will join 
 issue with me. 
 
 And, indeed, if the respect which they have, or believe they 
 have for the Son of God were the real motive that withheld them 
 from communion, it would, by dint of instigation, and by frequent 
 impressions induce them to undertake sometliing more ; and if it 
 were ever so little effectual, they would give some sign, by their 
 outward demeanour, that they were affected with it. Noav this 
 they do not in any shape. For, to what would this motive — to 
 what would this sentiment of respect induce them ? To withdraw 
 from the world, as (by their own confession) it is the love of the 
 world that renders them unworthy of the sacred banquet. Affected 
 with their un worthiness, and OAvning that it arose from the unto- 
 ward passion they entertained for the world — ^for the false, the 
 fleeting joys of the world ; for the unchristian and dangerous diver- 
 sions of the world ; for the intrigues, the vanity, the luxury of the 
 world — what would they do ? They would wean their affections 
 from those diversions, those pleasures — ^that luxury, that vanity — 
 those intrigues ; and, by offering this perfect sacrifice to Christ, 
 from unworthy sinners would be Christians Avorthy to partake of 
 his flesh. These are the testimonies of respect which they Avould 
 give him, and AA^hich it is incumbent on them to give him. Nothing 
 however, of all this is done ; and to judge by their actions, they 
 seem to have no disposition that Avay. They themselves, if I were 
 to appeal to their own consciences, would frankly confess that they 
 are far from it. 
 
 It is, therefore, a very mistaken notion, that this respect affects 
 them as much as they would make us believe. It is not, therefore, 
 this respect that keeps them aAvay from the divine mysteries. 
 What then ? I have said it, and I say it again — an obstinate attach- 
 ment to the Avorld, and all that is called the world. They belong 
 to the world, they are part of the world ; and that Avorld which God 
 reprobates finds no relish for the things of God. They love the 
 Avorld more than Christ — and therefore, they relinquish Christ for 
 the world. This outAvard respect is a veil in Avhich their self-love 
 glories ; but it is, at bottom, the world that possesses their A^ery 
 souls, and inspires into them a coolness, an indifference, or to speak 
 more properly, a disgust of communion. 
 
 And this is what our Saviour himself Avould give us to under- 
 
ON COMMUNION. 151 
 
 stand, in the parable, by the guests who neglected to come to the 
 feast because other cares had wholly engrossed theu' thoughts and 
 affections. There is, however, (St. Augustin observes,) this 
 remarkable difference ; that the guests in the parable sincerely 
 confessed the reasons which induced them to keep away ; whereas 
 the worldlings, of whom I speak, affect to know not, nay, to hide 
 from themselves the cause of their disorder. They always allege 
 this weak pretext — that as they are unworthy to receive commu- 
 nion they cannot do better than to refrain from it ; and accordingly 
 they harbour a secret complacency, as though they honoured Christ 
 Jesus thereby, and Clii'ist Jesus would, one day, load them with 
 rewards for abandoning his altars in order to enjoy the pleasures 
 of the world -with more ease and gi-eater liberty. For their infa- 
 tuation, beloved hearers, rises to that height ; and to convince 
 them (says St. Chrysostom) — this seems unanswerable — to con- 
 vince them that this supposed respect, so far as it regards them, 
 is a pretext, and no reason, though they communicate but rarely 
 they do not communicate the more worthily. That is, when they 
 do communicate, they do not prepare themselves for it the more ; 
 they search not their hearts with more care ; they do not retire the 
 more from the world ; and, if the expression be not too bold, they 
 are at no more charge for Christ's reception. By the most falla- 
 cious of all maxims they flatter themselves, that to communicate 
 seldom, without anything else, will stand them in lieu of all merit ; 
 and by an evident error, Avhich they do not discern, they measure 
 the whole respect which they render to this divine mystery, not 
 by gi'cater attention to themselves, not by greater application to 
 their duty, not by greater exactness and regularity, but by the 
 interval — the space which elapses between one communion and 
 another. An infallible sign (subjoins St. Chrysostom) that they 
 are not influenced either by humility or respect, but are seduced 
 by the delusions and spirit of the world. 
 
 Now I say, Christians, that to remove this pretext is of the 
 utmost importance ; not by facilitating communion to them, nor 
 by prompting them to it, while they walk in tlic paths of worldly 
 folly. I am Avell aware how much the dignity of this sacrament 
 requires of the faithful ; and wo is me, if, in tlie greatest and most 
 holy of all Christian actions, and in the disposition requisite to the 
 duly performing of it, I should ever countenance the slightest 
 abatement. But what I understand by the removing of this pre- 
 
 L 2 
 
152 ON COMMUNION. 
 
 text is, that they ought to be made to speak to the purpose, fiTkl 
 not to say : I refrain from receiving the body of Christ, because 1 
 hold it in profound respect ; but, I refrain fronii receiving it because 
 I lead a debauched life, and will not submit to the sacred laws 
 which religion prescribes in order to receive it. I refrain from 
 receiving it because I lead a dissipated life, and my whole thoughts 
 arc taken up with nothing but the world and my pleasures. I 
 refrain from receiving it because I lead a pusillanimous life, and 
 have not the courage to do anything or undertake anything for 
 the salvation of my soul. I refrain from receiving it because I 
 attend to my temporal affairs with excessive eagerness, Avhicli drains 
 my heart of spiritual unction and hardens it in regard to the thinga 
 of God. I refrain from receiving it, because I am unwilling to 
 take up a resolution of mortifying my senses and offering my incli- 
 nations the least violence. I refrain from receiving it, because I 
 would live in mental emancipation, independent of submission, rule 
 and order, and after the capriciousness of my own humour. To 
 oblige the worldling to agree to all this, and to show him forthwith 
 the irregidarity of his conduct, and the flagrant injury done to our 
 Saviour by thus neglecting his adorable sacrament — to make him 
 understand that he doth not an honour but an outrage to God ; 
 to make him apprehend that he draAvs upon himself that terrible 
 curse with which our Saviour concludes the parable i " For, I say 
 unto you, that none of those men who were bidden shall taste ray 
 supper;" (Luke xiv. ;) to convince him of all this were the surest 
 means to dispel the dangerous infatuating cloud that darkens his 
 understanding and holds his mind in jxirpetual delusion. Hoav 
 often, Christians, hath this prediction of the Saviour of men, 
 though minatory only, been fulfilled to the letter ! And how 
 many Christians, for having abandoned communion in the course 
 of life, have been deprived of it, by a secret judgment of the 
 heavenly ruler, at the hour of death ! But to proceed : 
 
 2ndly. Not only it is a vain, but a false respect. The reason is, 
 that it is not accompanied vai\i the two conditions essential to it : 
 one, a piercing sorrow for being separated from the body of Christ ; 
 the other, a sincere desire of approaching it : conditions insepara- 
 ble from true respect, but of which the worldling, if he entei-s but 
 a little into himself, will find that his heart is wholly destitute. A 
 piercing sorrow for being separated from the body of Christ ; for if 
 I honour him as much as I ought to do, and have that respectful 
 
ON COiMMUNION. 153 
 
 attachment to him, of which I flatter myself with the possession, I 
 ought to look upon it as my supreme good to be united with him 
 in the present life. I say united, especially by a sacrament which 
 he hath himself instituted to keep up a holy and ineflfable union 
 between him and me. Whence it follows, that by the same rule, 
 I ought to look upon it as my sovereign evil to be separated from 
 this adorable sacrament, of which the participation is a pledge, 
 or rather an anticijmtion of my beatitude. 
 
 And this St. Chrysostom understood perfectly, when, speak- 
 ing of communion, he said to his audience : " Let your only grief 
 be, that you are deprived of this food," this heavenly food, 
 the flesh of Christ Jesus. Your only gi-ief : for in comjjarison 
 with this, what are all the other causes of affliction ? If, then, I 
 really resjjeet this sacrament in the degree it is respectable, and I 
 would be thought to respect it, nothing should be more painful or 
 afflicting to me than to see myself deprived of this divine nourish- 
 ment. And, indeed, it ought to create in my heart greater grief 
 than all the losses and crosses in the world. This consideration, 
 " I am separated from my God," if I believe the revealed truths of 
 i'eligion, ought to fill my soul with greater bitterness, and pierce 
 it with sharper stings of sorrow, than the son of Isaac felt when 
 excluded from parental benediction ; and thereby I enter, in a 
 Christian manner, into the spirit and meaning of St. Chrysostom's 
 words : " Let your ordy grief be, that you are deprived of this 
 food." 
 
 But still more piercing ought my grief to be if I have room to 
 attribute the separation to myself — a separation arising fi"om my 
 own infidelity, from my obstinate attachment to a shameful object 
 that holds me captive, from my disinclination to make to Christ the 
 sacrifice he expects : but what an increase of heart-anguish, if I 
 rightly discern the whole complication of evils caused by so woful 
 a sepai-ation ! When the church, exerting the severity of her dis- 
 cipline on the primitive Christians, deprived them for a time of the 
 sacred banquet, what did they do, and what were their feelings ? 
 The fathers informs us, that their spirits sunk, that they fell into 
 melancholy, that they sighed, that they moaned, that they shed 
 floods of tears, that they looked ujwn their state as a temporary 
 reprobation. Thus, though deprived of communication with him, 
 they retained a real respect for Christ Jesus. But have those 
 worldlings, of whom I speak, ever felt this Christian and religious 
 
154 ON COMMUNION. 
 
 sorrow ? I appeal for testimony to their own hearts, and call 
 themselves to witness. Forbidden to communicate, with what 
 tranquillity do they bear the fbrbiddance ? With what indolent 
 ease do they see themselves separated from the God of their salva- 
 tion ? With what insensibility do they bring themselves not only 
 to feel no regret at it, but to find relief by it ? Communion in 
 the course of a worldly life is a heavy burden, and they rid them- 
 selves of it. It checks, or interrupts their vain pleasures, and they 
 abandon it, to enjoy them without check or interruption. In order 
 to communicate, certain measures must be kept and restraints put 
 up with ; but they find it more convenient to keep away from it, 
 and communicate no more. With these dispositions shall they 
 persuade me that they entertain a true respect for Christ Jesus 
 and his sacrament ? And although they should persist in their 
 assevei'ations, should I not be at liberty to reject their words as 
 clashing vnth. truth and right reason ? 
 
 Again, it is a false respect, because it carries not "with it a desu'e 
 of communion. This, I presume, will appear in the sequel. For, 
 beloved Christians, the respect for Christ Jesus, which I am bound 
 to have, may induce me for a time to withdraw from communion, 
 but will never extinguish, no nor diminish, if it be real and true, 
 my desire of communion. So far from it, the more I find myself 
 unworthy to communicate, with the greater ardour I ought in one 
 sense to desbe to communicate : for, this desire is e^^ddently a 
 means of repairing my unworthiness. And, in effect, it is through 
 this desire that I return to Christ Jesus, and it is in virtue of it 
 that I endeavour to come nearer and nearer to him. It is through 
 this desire, that, to the same intent, I seek every means, surmount 
 every obstacle, and am faithful in executing every resolution. So 
 long as I am actuated by this desire, the seeds of life are still 
 within me and I am equal to any the most holy undertaking. 
 Whereas when this desire ceases, I am as it were, dead without 
 any sentiment to bring me back to Christ Jesus, or any instigation 
 to make me return to him. Whence it follows, that not only all 
 my unworthiness subsists, but that the extinguishing of this desire 
 is, in some degree, the consummation of my unworthiness. A con- 
 summate unworthiness, the consequences of which St. Ambrose 
 was not afraid of swelling to exaggeration, when he held that the 
 loss of this desire might be deemed a presage of future reprobation. 
 Ah ! my Lord, (cries out this father,) it is of this adorable eucha- 
 
ON COMMUNION. 155 
 
 ristic bread the sacred Avritlngs speak when they tells us, tliat 
 " they who estrange themselves from thee shall perish :" that is, 
 all those who lose the desire of being united with you, shall be 
 cast off by you. 
 
 Now all this coincides with the notions of the first faithful. I 
 shall dwell a little upon their example, an example that cannot be 
 too often proposed. Upon that account it was, that when they 
 were deprived of the holy mysteries, and communion was withheld 
 them, they expressed so lively, so ardent a desire of being read- 
 mitted. Upon that account it was that they asked it so pressingly, 
 and conjured the priests, prostrate at their feet, to shorten the 
 melancholy days they were ordered to live separate from their 
 Saviour. Upon that account it was, that they besought the mar- 
 tyrs to lend them their intercession ; and in this (says St. Cyprian) 
 appeared their respect, their true respect. But how doth the man 
 of the world demean himself? Content to resemble them in this 
 separation, he takes no pains to follow their example in other 
 respects ; and, confounding communion with the desire of commu- 
 nion, he renounces equally both the one and the other, and retains 
 no more for the sacrament of Christ, than an indifference of heart 
 which sliould fill him with hon'or. 
 
 This, beloved hearers, is what the fathers deplored so bitterly ; 
 this is what they looked upon as one of the wounds, and greatest 
 misfortunes of the times they lived in ; this is Avhat St. Chrysostom 
 objected with such energy to the people of Antioch. What a 
 shame, (says he,) my brethren, to see your coolness, when you are 
 spoke to about receiving the Holy of Holies ! If a pompous spec- 
 tacle be exhibited in toAXTi, it attracts your attention and you run 
 to it in crowds, but nothing can induce you to take part in the 
 august sacrifice of our altars. All your public places, all your 
 amphitheatres are filled, but the table of Christ Jesus is aban- 
 doned. In vain are we assiduous in distributing to you the celes- 
 tial gifls : no one among you is willing to receive them. Christ 
 Jesus waits for you in person, and he is forsaken. Sometimes this 
 father represented to them mth what zeal they flocked to hear his 
 discourses, while they discovered so little, to receive from his hands 
 the pledge of their salvation. Sometimes he complained of their 
 obduracy concerning this sacrament of love. Sometimes he showed 
 them the dangerous consequences of the ill-judged respect on 
 which they plumed themselves. And here, beloved hearers, 
 
|56 ON COMMUNION. 
 
 imagine to yourselves that it is St. Chrysostom that addresses you, 
 as in fact it is ; or bless kind heaven, which inspired that great 
 man, in those days, with that which should now confound your 
 pitiable, but pernicious errors. 
 
 3rdly. I have told you, and have already made appear in great 
 part, that the respect which the worldling pleads in excuse for not 
 receiving the body of the Lord, hath no conformity with that of 
 the primitive ages of the church. Of this the proof is very obvious ; 
 for in those flourishing ?iges of Christianity, the sinner, while separ- 
 rate from the body of Christ, was taken up with the exercise of a 
 laborious penance, of which he underwent the whole rigour with 
 surprising courage. And this penance, according to the laws and 
 discipline of the church, was not a mere ceremony, whereas it con- 
 sisted of painful austerities. Abstinence and fasts, sack-cloth and 
 ashes, hair-shirts and chains, and severe flagellations, were, it is 
 well known, its inseparable concomitants. And hence it appears 
 how greatly the sinner honoured Christ Jesus, since he desired to 
 undergo such rigorous practices, and make him, at the expense of 
 his ease and comfort, so signal a reparation. 
 
 And now be it owned, to om* eternal shame, that proofs of this 
 nature suit not the taste or devotion pf worldlings. In whatever 
 respect fqr Christ they may pride themselves, they "vvill not put 
 thomselves to that trouble. Infatuated with the world!", and with its 
 false joys and false delicacy, they expect to come off at an easier 
 rate. The sum total of their penance is, that they copimunicate 
 no more ; a kind of penance that gives them no trouble. So far 
 from it, it sooths their inclination, and occasions their living ill 
 greater liberty, or, more properly, in greater libertinism. For, to 
 this pass it is that things are brought by their pretext of false 
 respect ; and I would to God that the mischievous error which I 
 am now endeavouring to defeat, were a chimerical phantom, and 
 not a real truth ! But I shall dismiss this topic, and proceed to 
 show you, that this supposed respect for the sacrament is, in fact, a 
 scandal in the hypocritical sinner, the subject of the third and last 
 part. 
 
 Part III. It is a pretty generally received maxim, that what is 
 good in itself, is not always so with respect to the principle from 
 which it derives ; and one of the rules of prudence js, to look on 
 things even the most sajutary with a suspicious eye, so soon as 
 ^e find that they flow from an infected and poisoned source. Now 
 
ON COMMUNION. 157 
 
 we may, nay, we ought to apply this rule to what regards religion 
 and the practice of piety. I know not. Christians, whether you 
 have ever made a reflection that to me seems solid, and the truth 
 of which I am sure you will comprehend more easily than I do : to 
 wit, that whenever disputes arose among Christians concerning 
 relaxation or severity of discipline, certain libertines were not only 
 ready, but eager to declare for and side with the severe party : not 
 that they intended to embrace such opinion in practice and follow 
 it, a disposition from which they were very remote ; but to enjoy 
 the unaccountable pleasure of talking of it, or to make it serve as 
 a convenient veil for covering their designs. Accordingly, there 
 have been, time after time, men otherwise immersed in scandalous 
 vices, men equally wrong-headed and corrupt-hearted, vain, volup- 
 tuous, self-loving men who were the first and most zealous in 
 standing forth in behalf and support of reformation. Women 
 there have been, but too weU known for what they had been, and 
 perhaps for what they were at that present ; women, whose mouths 
 the past should have shut, who declaimed eloquently against de- 
 pravity of manners, who thought nothing sufl^iciently exact or rigid 
 in the government of the church, and who appealed incessantly to 
 the ancient canons as they were in force at their first institution. 
 But is not this zeal for the purity of morals and perfection of 
 Christianity to be commended in a Christian ? Yes : (replies St. 
 Bernard :) but the more commendable it is in a Christian, the more, 
 to say the least of it, equivocal and doubtful it is in a libertine ; 
 and I ought, according to the precept of our Saviour, to beware of 
 it as I should of the most dangerous and base hypocrisy. 
 
 Now what St. Bernard remarked in general, concerning the 
 purity and regularity of morals, is still more particularly and sen- 
 sibly verified with respect to communion. You know what came 
 to pass : much was said, .and with great reason, of abuses com- 
 mitted in the frequent use of the eucharistic sacrament, of the 
 extreme facility with which it was to be feared that sinners were 
 admitted to it, of the necessity of keeping from it for a limited 
 time — of lukewarm souls who were not amended by it — of the dis- 
 cretion and prudence which the pastors of the church were bound 
 to use in these respects. All this was good, holy, edifying ; and I 
 niake no doubt — (be pleased to mind it) — I make no doubt, that 
 true believers, affected Avith the interests of God and of his church 
 had upright intentions in tliis extraordinary display of their zeal. 
 
158 
 
 ON COMMUNION. 
 
 But to me it is amazing that persons of a quite different character, 
 I mean your libertines and loose livers, should expect to be sup- 
 posed of the same party ; and, that making a common cause mth 
 those vnth whom they had nothing in common, they should be 
 much the most strenuous and ardent in asserting the respect due to 
 the sacrament of Christ and his adorable body. It is amazing that 
 persons, thought by the most knowing to have but little religion, 
 persons addicted to the greatest vices, should take upon them to 
 talk with so much warmth against frequent communion, should so 
 openly take offence at the least abatement, whether real or imagi- 
 nary in this behalf, and should take part in the debate, as though 
 it were a thing that nearly concerned them. All this is amazing. 
 
 For, whence can all this zeal arise ? Impious as I suppose them, 
 they harbour in their minds a secret contempt for every other 
 Christian duty ; and of this they talk in the spuitual language of 
 the perfect and the godly. Therefore they must have some inter- 
 ested view, and you are too clear-sighted not immediatetly to dis- 
 cern in what this interested view consists ; for, it is easily disco- 
 verable ; and it is at least certain, that by so speaking they take to 
 themselves the privilege of being libertines, not only with security, 
 but, if I may venture to say it, wdth honour. For, these are they 
 whom St. Paul describes in his epistle to Timothy ; men of tainted 
 principles, whose faith is extinct in a great measure, and to whom 
 every religious exercise and practice is a heavy burden they Avould 
 gladly shake off. As they know, however, that communion was 
 always regarded as a special mark of Christianity, and that to 
 renounce it openly would be a kind of apostacy, the disgrace of 
 which would be painful to them : for fear of being exposed to that 
 degree, and yet to get rid of a troublesome yoke, they screen with 
 religion their want of religion, (I know not Avhether I explain my 
 meaning,) and they pass for approvers of that maxim, which, 
 through a sentiment of fear and respect, withholds us from Chiist, 
 to the end they may not be distinguished from even the most exact 
 Christians, as they speak like them, and seem equally zealous. 
 
 Now I hold that this language in the mouth of the libertine is 
 a scandal to the weak. You ask me why ? Be attentive, if you 
 please. Because it hath a tendency to two things equally perni- 
 cious ; namely, to decry, indifferently, good and bad communions ; 
 to keep away souls not only from communion but universally from 
 everything holy in religion. 
 
ON COMMUNION. 159 
 
 1 St. To decry indifferently good and bad communions. For, (as 
 St. Chrysostom rightly argues,) if at all times there is danger of 
 bringing time piety into disesteem by running down the false, 
 much more so is it, if the self-made judge is a profane wi'ctch, little 
 solicitous Avhether he confound the one Avith the other ; a "wretch, 
 who, more probably impeaches the one, for no other reason than 
 that he is a secret enemy to the other ; a wretch, who, far from 
 taking precautions to sift out and separate the truth from false- 
 hood, seems rather affected -with a pruriency to destroy the truth 
 by falsehood. Now what this father expressed concerning devo- 
 tional duties, I may safely affirm (for experience confirms it) with 
 regard to communion. If, by condemning bad communions, we 
 must always be afraid of condemning good ones ; much more so, 
 when the officious inspector's perverted reason makes him disregard 
 both good and bad, and have no scruple of prejudicing those by 
 decrying these. 
 
 And, in reality, where tends the malignant zeal of impious, 
 freethinking livers, who avail themselves of it to the great detri- 
 ment of innumerable righteous and innocent souls ? It tends to do 
 that in the church of God which the children of the high priest, 
 Heli, did in the temple of Jerusalem : they kept away the people 
 from the holy sacrifice. A crime which the Almighty held in 
 execration, and for which he cast them off: " The sin was very 
 great, because they kept men from the sacrifice of the Lord ;" 
 (1 Kings ii. ;) or, if you please, it tends to do that w^hich the Pha- 
 risees did, when the Saviour of the world for that reason told 
 with indignation : " Wo be to you, who shut out others from the 
 kingdom of heaven ; for ye neither go in yourselves, nor suffer 
 them that are entering to go in." Matt, xxiii. This typifies Avhat 
 is eveiy day done by a certain kind of men, who, having with- 
 draAvn, through obduracy of heart, from the divine mysteries, by 
 which (according to the doctrine of St. Cyril) the kingdom of God 
 is laid open to us, would, were it possible, exclude all others. To 
 this are all their endeavours directed. And truly they succeed but 
 too well, by carping and sneering at worthy men on account of 
 communion ; by censuring their lives ; by blaming their conduct ; 
 by animadverting on every the slightest of their failings ; by for- 
 ^ving nothing, but charging them with everything, St. Augustin, 
 notwithstanding his vast comprehension, did not disapprove of 
 daily communion ; but the rash worldling, bhnd and unskilled in 
 
160 ON COMMUNION. 
 
 the things of God, shall condemn it boldly and without hesita- 
 tion. It was the sincere and hearty wish of the last oecumenical 
 council, to see frequent communion restored in the church ; but the 
 rash worldling would have it on the contrary be abolished and 
 annihilated. 
 
 Think not, however, beloved hearers, that I mean by this to 
 assert the rectitude of every kind of frequent communion. Some 
 there are which 1 cannot but deplore, but the judging of which I 
 leave to God : that is, there are frequent communions, but unpro- 
 fitable, unbecoming, disedifying, and calculated to give scandal 
 rather than edification. I said I left it to God to pass judgment 
 on them ; for as I should have the greatest horror of advancing 
 aught that might seem to countenance such communions ; so should 
 1 condemn myself for prevarication, should I blame communion, 
 however frequent, if performed with fervour. Others dishonour, 
 these glorify Christ ; and as I should ever account those accursed 
 who should ever approve of imperfect communion, the same shall 
 I think of him who shall oppose what sanctifies souls, and redounds 
 to the honour and glory of Christ. Who can pretend to say what 
 numbers of righteous souls the evil spirit, by this sole artifice, 
 hath kept from our altars ? How he hath disturbed the brides of 
 Christ in their holy communications with the heavenly bride- 
 groom ? How many communions, at which the angels would have 
 rejoiced in heaven, hath he, as I may say, interdicted upon earth ? 
 
 2ndly. Further : from neglect of communion the scandal passes, 
 if care be not taken to fence against it, to the abandoning or 
 retrenching of all the most holy practices in religion ; and it is St. 
 Chrysostom's second observation : For, admitting this counterfeit 
 and mistaken humility as a rule of action, what dangerous conse- 
 quences may not be drawn from it, and to what religious duties 
 and observances is not a soul, though devoted to God, tempted to 
 renounce ? You are unworthy to present yourself at the table of 
 Christ, (it is St. Chrysostom that speaks,) and are you worthy to 
 set foot in the temple of God ? Are you worthy to pray to and in- 
 voke God ? Are you w^orthy to hear the word of God ? Are you 
 worthy to be admitted to penance, and to the tribunal of the 
 mercy of God ? Are you worthy, with his church, to sing the 
 praises of God ? Are you worthy to be present when the divine 
 sacrifice is offered up to God ? For the same reason, your duty 
 obliges you to relinquish all this, and the sight of your unworthi- 
 
ON COMMUNION. IGl 
 
 ncss, if I may so speak, sliould keep you In a kind of" excommuni- 
 cation, which would cut you off from whatever is called Christian 
 worship and duty. 
 
 Thus concluded this holy doctor ; and to say nothing of virtuous 
 souls, whose simplicity may be imposed upon by this delusion, this 
 is the advantage which libertines would draw from it. They would 
 be delighted with extending to all Christian obligations these 
 words of the centurion, explained and wrested to their own sense : 
 " Lord, I am not worthy." And as they employ them, libertines 
 as they are, to seem humble and religious in not communicating ; 
 so going a step farther, they would gladly find out a handle to 
 forsake our churches through respect, to discontinue the use of 
 prayer through respect — to rid themselves of every duty through 
 respect. Now this is the scandal that ought to have been opposed. 
 Pardon me, if I speak of it with some vehemence : it is to promote 
 the interests of Christ and religion. Let the prelates of the church 
 promulgate laws, and give pastoral charges, in order to reform the 
 abuse of communion, they do their duty, and I shall always respect 
 them. Let the priests, entrusted with the cure of souls, labour all 
 they can to find proper remedies for the growing evil, it is essential 
 to their function, and for that it was that God appointed them. 
 Let even the laity, according to the measure of the gi-ace which 
 God hath imparted to them, contribute thereunto, by beginning 
 with themselves, before they extend their zeal to others, and I 
 shall be edified at it. But that profane worldlings, bewildered 
 and sightless in heavenly matters, perhaps destitute of divine faith, 
 should take upon them to decide, to regulate, to disgi*ace with 
 their errors and impiety, a case the most important in oiu- holy 
 religion, is what I shall ahvays condemn and oppose with all my 
 might. 
 
 Let us use our endeavours, beloved brethren — (it is to you, ye 
 priests of the living God, and ministers of his altars, it is to you I 
 address myself) — let us use our endeavours to prepare for the Lord 
 a godly people. United by the sacred bond of charity, let us 
 labour indefatigably to convert sinners, to perfectionate the right- 
 eous, to purify the faithful, with a view of making them worthy to 
 receive the sacrament of Christ. This work it is that must take up 
 our time ; to this end it is, that our labours must tend. For I am 
 bold enough to aflfirm, beloved brethren, that the church of God 
 will never be sanctioned, nor Christianity reformed but by good 
 
162 ON PRaYEU. 
 
 use of lioly communion. Keason and refine aa much as you 
 please, you must always recur to these adorable words of our 
 Saviour : " Unless ye eat the flesh of the Son of man, ye have 
 no life in you." On the contrary, " he that eateth this bread, 
 shall live for ever," shall live here in grace, and hereafter in glory. 
 
 SERMON XXIV. 
 
 ON PRAYER. 
 
 " Behold a looman of Canaan, tvho came out of those coasts, 
 saying : Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou Son of David I my 
 daughter is grievously troubled by a devil." Matt. xv. 
 
 If ever the force and efficacy of prayer were discovered in a sen- 
 sible and striking manner, was it not. Christians, in the example 
 which this passage of the gospel exhibits ? It discovers (says St. 
 Ambrose) even a God surprised and struck -with admiration. He 
 confounds the powers of hell and darkness ; works miracles and 
 exerts his powers in behalf of a foreigner who hath recourse to 
 him ; and who, though an idolater, ought to serve us as a pattern, 
 and teach us hoAV to pray. Surprised he was, and struck with 
 admiration : " O Avoman, great is thy faith !" Matt. xv. Thus, 
 Christ explains himself. And do not her faith and the fervour of 
 her prayer seem to give him surprise and unusual emotion ? He 
 confounds the powers of hell and darkness, and works miracles. 
 For, what petition doth this woman make ? That he would cure 
 her daughter, who was cruelly worried by the evil spirit ; and the 
 Son of God, by one word speaking, not only restored the possessed 
 daughter to her right mind, but sanctified the mother: "Beit 
 unto thee as thou wilt." Matt. xv. 
 
 Notliing, therefore, is more efficacious with God than prayer. 
 And yet, beloved hearers, how comes it that we find liim, by daily 
 experience, not incHned to hear our petitions ? That althougli we 
 pray, lie hears us not ? And that although we ask, we obtain 
 nothing ? This is what I now am about to examine, and this is 
 
ON PRAYER. 1()3 
 
 to be the ground ol" the present discourse. It is a great subject, 
 and of extreme consequence, and therefore deserving of particular 
 reflection ; for I mean to inculcate the most excellent of all sci- 
 ences — that of using the most powerful means of salvation in a 
 proper manner. I mean to let you know the inestimable method 
 and divine art of obtaining admittance to the throne of God, and 
 prevailing -with him to send down upon us the most precious trea- 
 sures of his holy grace. But in order to receive this gift of prayer, 
 let us have recourse to prayer, and let us implore the divine aid in 
 the usual fbmi. 
 
 There is nothing more solidly established in religion, and in 
 Christian theology, than the infallibility of prayer. Such is the 
 force of it, (says St. Chrysostom,) that it renders, it should seem, 
 the word of man equally powerful in a manner with the word of 
 God. Equally powerful: for as God, with a word created all 
 things: "He said, and they were made;" (Ps. cxhiii.;) so man 
 need but ask, and all is granted him : "Ye shall ask what ye will, 
 and it shall be done imto you." John xv. Every dav Ave hear 
 Christians complain of the little advantage that accrues from prayer. 
 Nor is it surprising. For how do we say that prayer is infalHble ? 
 We suppose, to that purpose, a holy prayer : we suppose it per- 
 foi-med Avith all the conditions that ought to attend it, and that 
 God requires from us when he promises to grant Avhatever Ave shall 
 ask. NoAv this is a common defect in our prayers. They are defec- 
 tive in regard to the matter and the form : in regard to the matter, 
 which is the thing we pray for ; and in regard to the form, Avhich 
 is the manner of praying. This, St. James told the faithful of his 
 time : " Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss." James iv. 
 We ask not, in fact, for that for which God Avould have us ask ; 
 and this is a defect as to the matter of prayer. Neither do Ave ask 
 in the manner in Avliich he Avould have us ask ; and this is a defect 
 as to the form of prayer. But let us put up our prayers like the 
 woman of Canaan. Nothing more proper than her praver to 
 Christ. She asks him to cast out the devil from her dau'diter. 
 Nothing more engaging. In her prayer she puts all the virtue in 
 practice Avhich can gain upon our Saviour and move his heart. I 
 say, let us pray like this Avoman, else our prayers are fruitless. 
 Either because avc ask not for the things for which Ave ouo-lit 
 to ask : or, because Ave ask not for them in the manner in Avhich 
 Ave ouii'ht to ask for them. 
 
164 ON PRAYER. 
 
 These are two lessons on which my duty obliges me to throw 
 what light I can. Be attentive, Christians, and use your best 
 endeavours to profit by them. 
 
 Part I. It is on the nature of the things which we ask of God, 
 that the very essence, and of course the merit, the efficacy, and the 
 virtue of prayer depends ; and St. Chrysostom tells us, that it is 
 by this rule we must call ourselves to an account for the small 
 value which God sets on all the prayers we offer, and the little 
 effect they have in his sight. And this is the admirable instruc- 
 tion which the gospel affords us by the example of the woman of 
 Canaan. For observe, if you please, (and may I be allowed to 
 explain myself in this manner,) that whereas this woman, prostrate 
 at the feet of our blessed Saviour, beseeches him to deliver her 
 daughter from the power of the devil that possesses her ; we, on 
 the contrary, influenced by a spirit directly opposite, beg of God 
 every day what preserves in our souls the dominion of the devil— ^ 
 nay of many devils, of which we are unwilling to be dispossessed. 
 What more is necessaay to make you comprehend why the Saviour 
 of the world gives ear to this foreigner, and works in her favour a 
 miracle of his omnipotence ; and why, on the contrary, God is 
 deaf to our supplications and rejects our prayers for the greatest 
 part ? Apply your minds, beloved Christians, to the sublime doc^ 
 trines which this subject will give me a favourable opportunity of 
 displaying, as it includes the most important points concerning 
 your predestination. 
 
 I say we beg every day of God what preserves in our souls the 
 dominion of Satan — because we beg of him things in our prayers, 
 either prejudicial to salvation, or purely temporal and unprofitable 
 for salvation ; or even supernatural and divine graces, but which, 
 seeing the manner in which we conceive them, and in which we 
 desire them, far from sanctifying us, serve rather to seduce us and 
 withhold and divert us from the way of salvation. These three 
 positions I shall endeavour to explain with all tla« clearness and 
 precision I am able. 
 
 1st. In our prayers to God we ask for things prejudical to sal- 
 vation : the first obstacle which stops the course of the divine mer- 
 cies. For we must not imagine, beloved hearers, that we are not, 
 though Christians, addicted in practice to the irregularities of 
 paganism. Now, if we may ci'edit tlie pagans themselves, one of 
 the irregularities of the pagans was to have recourse to their gods, 
 
ON PRAYER. IG5 
 
 and to ask of them that whicli they wouhl not have asked of an 
 honest man ; which they would not have asked openly in the tem- 
 ple, or at the foot of the altar Avithout a blush — as the death of a 
 relation whose estate they longed for, or of a competitor at whose 
 credit and merit they repined and envied — the ward's inheritance 
 which they meant to embezzle, and which they beheld with a^a- 
 ricious eyes. Such was the subject of their prayers. And, to give 
 them more weight, they added the ceremonies of a superstitious 
 worship, offerings, sacrifices, and corporal lustrations. 
 
 To us, all tliis appears enormous and senseless. But, beloved 
 Christians, in condemning them do we not pronounce sentence 
 against ourselves ? If we compare their prayers Avith our own, are 
 we less culpable ? What do I say ? Are we not more culpable 
 to a great degree ? For, in short, they were pagans, and these 
 pagans adored not only vain and false, but even vicious and disso- 
 lute deities, according to their own belief. Now what Avas more 
 natural, than to ask of such deities that which favoured their vices, 
 and the corruption of their morals ? Was it not almost a necessary 
 consequence of their infidelity ? But, Christian brethren, the God 
 whom we serve is as pure and holy as he is powerful and great ; a 
 God as essentially an enemy to injustice and to all sin, as he is 
 God. And yet of this God, so pure, so holy, so equitable and 
 just, what do we ask ? The accomplishment of our wishes and 
 sensual desires, and the success of our base and criminal under- 
 takings. This is miscalled an irregular proceeding : it is, I am 
 bold enough to say it, an impiety, a sacrilege. 
 
 True it is, and I freely grant, that now a-days Christians have 
 learned the method of giving their prayers a more specious appeai- 
 ance, and a better varnish, and of expressing them in terms not 
 quite so invidious ; for, modern dissimulation and artfulness are 
 carried to the highest perfection. But, although we may impose 
 upon our own weakness, we cannot deceive God Almighty who 
 hears us, and sees us, and distinguishes betAveen the malignity of 
 our intentions and the simplicity of our expressions. To no pur- 
 pose, therefore, doth the man of the world beg of God a subsistence 
 suitable to his profession, and AvhercAvithal to support him accord- 
 ing to his rank : for as his rank, or rather the idea Avhich he 
 forms of his rank, is founded in the principles of an unbounded 
 ambition, or mther an insatiable avarice, God's infinite penetration 
 discovers his designs, counteracts his schemes, and defeats his 
 
 VOL. II. M 
 
IGG ON PRAYER. 
 
 hopes. To no purpose doth the fatlier of a family beg of God a 
 settlement for his children in the world : for, as his views and 
 schemes in their regai-d are profane and worldly, regulated neither 
 by conscience nor by divine vocation, God Almighty overlooks the 
 external appearance of an humble prayer, and knows its ten- 
 dency ; and, by a just judgment, far from raising this family to 
 dignities, permits its ruin to all intents and purposes, letting it 
 moulder away, or sink into obscurity. To no purpose doth the 
 woman of the world beg cf God health of body. For, whereas her 
 health, considering the use to which she turns it, is productive 
 only of sloth and idleness, of vicious deHcacy, perhaps of liber- 
 tinism and a disorderly life, God, who beholds it, instead of keeping 
 back the weight of his arm, strikes the more severely, and deprives 
 her in that habitual listlessness of what might feed her self-com- 
 placency, and flatter her vanity. To no purpose doth a man 
 unjustly engaged in a law-suit, in which his whole fortune and 
 dependence are at stake, beg of God to determine the cause in his 
 favour : for as this law-suit is nothing, at bottom, but a covert 
 injustice, maintained by chicanery, God Almighty, who knows it, 
 in opposition to him espouses the cause of the widow and the 
 orphan, and compels him to give up his pretensions with shame. 
 Every means possible, however, are employed to move the will of 
 God and procure his assistance. The very prayers, the very sacri- 
 fice of the church is interposed. But because this business, which 
 is carried on so warmly, is nothing but the secret machinations of a 
 junto, a wicked intrigue, which can succeed only to the detriment 
 of their neighbour, God Almighty, the protector of the innocent 
 and the poor, on this occasion rejects even the most holy prayers 
 of the church, even the most adorable sacrament of the altar. 
 These particulars, were I to set them forth in their full extent, 
 would lead me too far. But were you, beloved hearers, to apply 
 them to yourselves, you would soon perceive that hundreds of 
 times your hearts have beguiled you in the same manner, and 
 induced you to pervert the end of prayer, in order to obtain of God 
 himself the gratification of your passions. 
 
 But to return to that on Avhich I was discoursing, and to depict 
 this matter in the strongest colours of which it is susceptible, give 
 me leave, Chi'istians, to dwell a little longer on the morals of the 
 pagans. I said they were enough to work conviction ; but I said 
 too little, and I add that in one sense, even in this place, they are 
 
ON PRAYET?. 1G7 
 
 more proper to put us to the blush than the doctrine of the fathers. 
 Permit me, therefore, to make a profane author speak in this pulpit, 
 and to impeach your conduct — either for your instruction, or for 
 your confusion — as he did the manners of his own times in such 
 spirited and energetic terms. Tell me, (says he,) deploring the 
 abuses in ancient Rome, and upbraiding the false devotees of pa- 
 ganism, who importuned the gods with their unrighteous prayers ; 
 tell me your thoughts concerning Jupiter, and the place he holds 
 in your estimation. Have you the same respect for the greatest of 
 your gods as for the wisest of your magistmtes. This question 
 (continues he) surprises you. But I do not propose it without 
 reason. For would you wait on this magistrate, whose virtue you 
 revere, to offer him in his palace the infamous supplication which 
 you make to Jupiter in the most awful of his temples ? You, 
 therefoi*e, suppose Jupiter more liable to be corrupted, when you 
 think him disposed to hearken to your prayers, and even ready to 
 gi*ant them a favourable hearing. Thus spoke a pagan upon this 
 subject. In this sarcastic strain he reproached his fellow-subjects 
 wdth the scandal of their religion, and perhaps was conducive to 
 their reformation. Thus infidelity gives us wholesome lessons, 
 and condemns the impropriety of our proceedings. Let us apply 
 this to our own morals. 
 
 And what must our notions be of our God, the God of holiness ? 
 Is he the promoter of our vices ? The accomplice of our crimes. 
 Is it possible he could, or would be such? From this source, 
 however, flow all our actions, and our behaviour toAvards him. 
 For when I pray — take with you in your minds tliis remark of St. 
 Chrysostom — when I pray I expect, that God in his mercy and 
 paternal condescension will conform to my wishes ; that his divine 
 will, efficacious and all-powerful, shall coincide mth mine wliich is 
 nothing but weakness ; and that he will accomplish my desires, 
 which without his aid would be to no purpose. Put then the 
 case, that blinded by the spirit and maxims of the Avorld, far from 
 praying in a Christian manner, I pray mth a view to satisfy my 
 ambition, my pride, my resentment, my revengeful heart — what do 
 I do ? I ask God to agree with me upon these heads ; that is, I 
 wish he would be vain like myself, passionate like myself, violent 
 like myself; and that for me, who am his creature, he would 
 vouchsafe to do that which he cannot do without ceasing to be 
 God. Now to address our prayers to him in this manner, would 
 
 m2 
 
1(J8 ON PRAYEU. 
 
 not be to pray to liim as the God of heaven, but to dishonour in 
 a high degi-ee the most adorable of his attributes ; it Avould be 
 to make him, as far as on me depends, subservient to my ini- 
 quities, as he complains himself by the mouth of his prophet : 
 " Thou liast made me to serve with thy sins, thou hast put me to 
 pain with thy iniquities." Isai. xliii. The expression is remark- 
 able : " Thou hast put me to pain." As who should say : your 
 prayer hath given me uneasiness ; for, on one hand, I would gladly 
 have been propitious to it ; and, on the other, I could not give it a 
 favourable hearing ; my heart was according in a kind of fluc- 
 tuation, and, as It were, divided betAveen my holiness and my 
 goodness : my goodness which took part with you, and my holi- 
 ness which was against you ; my goodness which inclined me to 
 compassionate your distress, and my holiness Avhich obliged me 
 to reject your supplication : '* Thou hast put me to pain Avith 
 thy Iniquities." And truly. Christians, if God in that case 
 had made account of our prayers, would It not be a stumbling- 
 block ? Would it not make us call his providence in question ? 
 
 I know that we have (as St. John Informs us) the Son, a pow- 
 erful advocate with the Father, and that Ave pray through the 
 merits of this adorable Son. But to apply In particular to God 
 made man Avhat I said of God in a general Avay — Avould we make 
 him the patron of our blind desires, by Avlilch we are SAvayed ? 
 And If this be not the sentiment by Avhich Ave are Impelled, why 
 should we lay stress and dependence on his merits, In the prayers 
 which our desires alone inspire ? 
 
 Happy It is for you, that your gracious God, to obstruct your 
 perdition, Is Inflexible to your prayers. In this seeming rigour 
 you should acknowledge his mercy. What Avould become of you, 
 were he more indulgent and more conformable to our inclinations ? 
 What hath been the ruin of, and what ruins daily, such numbers 
 of families, but too vast and unlimited, nay, criminal wishes? 
 What hath occasioned the eternal reprobation of so many Chris- 
 tians ? AVas It not the having obtained whafGod could not grant 
 but in the excess of his wrath ? And whence comes the loss of so 
 many worldlings, who are damned amidst opulence, ease, and effe- 
 minacy, but from those supposed favours of God, Avho hears them 
 and Indulges the senseless desires of their heart, contrary to the 
 designs of his amiable providence ? You ask that of God which 
 sooths your passion ; and If he lends a favovu'able ear to your re- 
 quest, he Avho foresees that Avhich avIII j)ervert you, that Avhich 
 
ON I'ltAYEIl. 169 
 
 will corrupt you, that which will plunge yoni into the mighty 
 gulf, what more rigorous punishment can be inflicted ? What more 
 dreadful vengeance can be exerted ? But to proceed : 
 
 2ndly. If you do not ask always for things prejudicial, and with 
 views directly contrary to salvation, you supplicate, at least, for 
 things merely temporal and no way profitable to that end. I 
 Avould not, however, be supposed to insinuate that the good things 
 of this life are not the gifts of heaven, or that they are absolutely 
 contrary to salvation. But when are they such — and on what 
 account doth God refuse them ? When we ask for them neither 
 according to the order which himself hath established, nor rela- 
 tively to the end which he hath pointed out to us. 
 
 In the first place, regardless of spiritual favom'S, we ask only for 
 temporal ones, as the advantages of fortune, prosperity, tranquillity, 
 all which terminate in the necessaries of life. These we desire, 
 and these we seek ; and these are desired and sought by Infidels, 
 as well as by us : " For, all these things do the heathens seek." 
 Matt. vl. These are good things, I own : but they are perishable 
 things — things of an order Inferior to man, especially to a Christian 
 man ; dangerous things and liable to be perverted, though really 
 good, Into real evils. In regard to solid and Incorruptible things, 
 as purity of manners, a good conscience, humility, faith, the love of 
 our neighbour, whatever may serve to sanctify the soid, and raise it 
 to perfection, to our shame be It said, we supinely neglect and seldom 
 revolve at the foot of the altar. IVhich of you hath ever had 
 recourse to God with a view of becoming more moderate in his 
 passions and more regular in his conduct ? You visit the tombs 
 of the martyrs, but wliy ? To be cured of a distemper, not to be 
 delivered from a temptation. You Invoke the saints, but why ? 
 To be more happy and more opulent, not more humble and more 
 an enemy to pleasures. Ah ! cries Salvian, If we groan under the 
 pressure of public calamities ; if the land be threatened with famine 
 or pestilence ; If the people be swept away by a raging mortality, 
 we run precipitately and In crowds to the temple of the living God, 
 and our sighs, lamentations, and prayers are heard In every corner. 
 But though unbridled libertinism dishonours Christianity, and 
 brings grief to the church, we enjoy tranquillity and a peaceful 
 mind. Instead of praying that heaven would put a stop to scan- 
 dalous Impieties, we suffer our days to pass in quietness and a 
 dreadful indolence. 
 
170 ON PRAYEK. 
 
 Thus we pray like the wi-etched Antiochus, whose selfish prayer 
 was unable to find grace in the presence of God : " This wicked 
 man prayed unto the Lord, of Avhom he was not to find mercy." 
 Mach. ix. He prayed, neither can it be denied that he prayed 
 with all possible ardour ; he prayed, but he prayed in a worldly 
 way ; he prayed, but asked not for the spirit of penitence, or the 
 gift of piety, or respect for the sacred things he hath profaned, but 
 for health which he preferred to all the rest and of which he was 
 fond to a great degree : " This wicked man prayed unto the Lord," 
 but the Lord shut the bowels of liis mercy against him. We, too, 
 pray in the same manner ; but God never promised to warrant 
 such prayers. Examine the gospel, and you -will there find the 
 reason of it. 
 
 Christ says to his disciples: "If you shall ask the Father any- 
 thing in my name, he will give it you." John xvi. But observe 
 (says St. Augustin) these Avords, any thing, by which our Saviour 
 lets us understand that what we ask in his name should be some- 
 thing, and something worthy of him, because it were improper, in 
 the other supposition, that he should exert and manifest his power 
 in our behalf. Now all the good things of the world together, con- 
 sidered disjunctively from eternal bliss, are as nothing in the presence 
 of Almighty God. To ask, therefore, of God in this manner, is to 
 ask for nothing ; and although the promise of Christ is general, or 
 should seem to be so, they are not by themselves comprised therein. 
 In order to be convinced of it, hear what he adds, speaking to the 
 apostles : " Hitherto ye have asked nothing in my name." John xvi. 
 And, indeed, to remain in his presence on Thabor was a delight- 
 ful sensation of which St. Peter desired the continuance. To 
 possess in his kingdom the chief places, was, according to the 
 meaning of those two disciples, a vain honour which their ambition 
 grasped at, because they beheld it through a false medium. But 
 the zeal of souls, constancy in persecution, and self-denial, were 
 the essential favours of which they stood in need, as no other 
 favours could uphold and animate them, and raise them to perfec- 
 tion in their apostolic functions. For these, however, it never 
 entered into their heads to petition their Master : " Hitherto ye 
 have asked nothing." 
 
 Now, of how many Christians might I not at this day make the 
 same complaint ? And of those who hear me, to how many might 
 1 not have just cause to say for the same reason : man of the 
 
ON PRAYER. 17 » 
 
 world, thou hast hitherto petitioned thy God for nothing, forasmuch 
 as thou hast not, in thy sinful state, petitioned him lor thy con- 
 version, for an humble mind, for a contrite heart, for the grace to 
 renounce thy evil habits, and to stifle and conquer thy vicious 
 inclinations ? This, however, was the signal grace, the gi*ace of 
 graces which thou oughtest to have asked for and sought with all 
 diligence. 
 
 Fm-ther : when the Saviour of the world assures us, in the gospel, 
 that whatever we shall ask in his name shall be granted, he sup- 
 poses we sliall ask according to the rule which he hath himself laid 
 down. For, as Tertullian well observes, it is he himself who regu- 
 lates prayer, and quickens it with his Spirit, communicating to it 
 the special power and privilege of penetrating into the highest 
 heaven, and moving to compassion the heart of God, by laying 
 before his all-seeing eyes the weaknesses and miseries of mankind. 
 Now what is that rule, tliat divine rule by which Chi'ist Jesus 
 commands us to pray ? Seek first, says he, the kingdom of God 
 and his righteousness, and you shall Avant for nothing. Ask of my 
 Father the sanctification of his name, the coming of his king- 
 dom, the fulfilling of his will, not the material bread which serves 
 for aliment, and then Avill I assist you. But if you run counter to 
 this regulation, and, by an attachment to the world unbecoming 
 your profession, you seek earthly bread before the kingdom of God, 
 put your affiance no longer in my merits, however infinite, as your 
 prayer how fervent soever it may be is not calculated according to 
 the plan which I have sketched : " Seek first the kingdom of God 
 and his righteousness." Matt. vi. Not but we may ask for temporal 
 blessings : the church herself is wont to do so. But let us ask for 
 them like the church ; let us ask for them after having first, and 
 above all things, asked for spiritual favours ; let us ask for the 
 blessing conferred on Jacob and not on Esau. What a noble allc- 
 goiy doth the example of these two brothers exhibit ! Mind the 
 application I make of it to my subject. They had each to his 
 share the dew af heaven and the fat of the earth. Where lies the 
 difference ; and by what special sign doth the scripture make appear 
 the election of .lacob and rei)robation of Esau ? Ah ! Christians, 
 by this — that in the blessing conferred on Jiicob, the dew of 
 heaven is expressed antecedently to the fat of the earth : " God 
 give thee of the dew of heaven and fatness of the earth ;" whereas in 
 tlie other, the fat of the earth is mentioned previously to the dew 
 
172 
 
 ON niAYER. 
 
 of heaven : "In the fiitness of the earth and in the dew of heaven 
 from above shall be thy blessing." Gen. xxvii. 
 
 This is what every day happens among us, and Avhat discrimi- 
 nates prayers truly Christian from those which are not. A righteous 
 man and a worldly-minded man put up then' prayers in the same 
 church, and before the same altar ; but one prays righteously, and 
 the other like a worldling. How ? Doth one beg only the influ- 
 ence of grace, and the other nothing but earthly advantages ? No ; 
 for it may so happen that the righteous man, with the influence of 
 grace shall supplicate sometimes for an increase of fortune, as well as 
 the worldly man ; and that the worldly man shall ask with an increase 
 of fortune the influence of grace, as well as the righteous man. 
 But the worldly man, instigated by the spirit of the world, places an 
 increase of fortune before the influence of grace, " the fatness of 
 earth and the dew of heaven ;" but the righteous man, prompted 
 by the Spirit of God, prefers the influence of grace to an increase 
 of fortune, " the dew of heaven and the fatness of the earth." He 
 says to God : Lord, sanctify me ; make me chaste, charitable, 
 merciful, patient ; give me the dew of heaven, and grant me forth- 
 with the good things of this life, so far as they may conduce to my 
 eternal welfare ; give me the fatness of the earth. But the worldly 
 man says: "Lord, make me rich, great, powerful; give me the 
 fatness of the earth ; neither refuse me the grace which is necessary 
 to the leadinfic of a virtuous life — <nve me the dew of heaven. An 
 accursed prayer, which when Ave offer up, it is not to be wondered 
 at, that God should reject it and hold it in execration. 
 
 3rdly. But let us proceed to the fountain-head ; and, in order to 
 discover on Avliat rests the important doctrine I am expounding, take 
 this sound principle of St. Cyprian with you : that your prayers have 
 no virtue, but inasmuch as they are united ^xiih. the intercession of 
 Christ. For, it is only of Christ that we can say with St. Paul : 
 " He was heard for his own reverence." Heb. v. When the 
 Almighty hears us, it is not In consideration either of what we are 
 or of what we merit, as we are nothing of oui'selves and can merit 
 nothing ; but in consideration of his only begotten Son, who prayed 
 for us before we could pray for ourselves. Taking this for granted, 
 how can those prayers, by which we petition for the things of this 
 world in preference to heaven be acceptable to God, whereas, in that 
 case they have no conformity or connexion with the prayers of the 
 God-man who became our Mediator ? What did he ask for us ? 
 
ON PRAYER. 173 
 
 You know it well. That wc might be united by the bond of 
 charity, " that we might be one ;" (John xvii. ;) that, without osten- 
 tation or dissimulation, we might be sanctified in truth ; that, living 
 in the midst and hurry of the world, according to our vocation and 
 situation in life, we might have over ourselves a watchful eye, and 
 be fortunate enough to keep clear of its iniquity : "I pray not," 
 says our Redeemer, " that thou shouldest take them out of the 
 world, but that thou shouldest keep them from evil." John xvii. 
 But what is our practice ? We ask Almighty God for riches, 
 honours, a vain reputation, an easy life ; and without asking for 
 them after salvation, or relatively to salvation, we ask for those 
 riches, to wallow in plenty ; for these honours, to make a figure in 
 the world ; for this reputation, to be knoAvn and distinguished ; 
 for this easy life, to enjoy the sweets of it ; that is, we ask for those 
 things for which our Saviour never meant to ask. And why did 
 he not ask for them ? Mind this reason. Because (says St. Cy- 
 prian) he could not but pray conformably to the end for wliich he 
 was sent. Now he was sent as a Saviour, and his mission regarded 
 the salvation only of mankind. It was, therefore, for the salvation 
 only of mankind that he could labom*, that he could suffer, that he 
 could merit, and, by a necessary consequence, it was for the salva- 
 tion only of mankind, and for whatever bore relation thereto, that 
 he could pray. 
 
 Wherefore, Christians, you ask but obtain not, because you 
 ask not with Christ our Lord, and because, were your prayers, 
 independently of this, capable to produce the intended consequence, 
 you might say that favours were conferred on you without your 
 being indebted to your Redeemer for them, which were blasphemy, 
 according to the maxims of our religion. And on this basis it is 
 that St. Augustin rests his argument, when he proves so solidly, 
 that the things of this life are by no means the object of Chi'istian 
 hope. Let no one deceive himself, (says this holy doctor,) and 
 vainly promise himself temporal felicity, because he appertains to 
 Christ our Lord. Christ did not choose us for that end, nor call 
 us to faith on that condition. Without failing in his word, 
 he may leave us in poverty, debasement, and sufferings. Time 
 it is, he engaged his word to present our prayers before the 
 throne of God ; but he supposed we should pray, like Christians, 
 for heaven where he placed our inheritance. And this excellent 
 way of reasoning the same father made use of afterwards in oppo- 
 
174 ON PRAYER. 
 
 sition to the raillery of the pagans. You object to us, (says he,) 
 that notwithstanding our prayers, we live in indigence and want 
 of all things. But to wipe off thoroughly this reproach, and to 
 justify our God, suffice it to say, that when we put up our prayers 
 to heaven, we pray not precisely for the things appertaining to this 
 life, but to eternity. If therefore, we are poor and needy in this 
 world, the distressful situation in which we live, not only is no 
 proof that our prayers are unprofitable, but gives us an assurance 
 that the fruit of them is reserved for an immortal life. 
 
 Such was the reply of the great St. Augustin, which he con- 
 cludes with a reflection extremely affecting. In this (says he) we 
 should admire the liberality of our God. He limits not his favours 
 to the things of this world, because they are beneath us ; because 
 they are insufficient to satisfy our desires ; because they are dispro- 
 portionate to the nobleness of our being, and to the worth of our 
 prayers. He Avould not put us in the category of children, who 
 are pleased with trifles, and things of no moment ; nor in that of 
 idolaters, whose moral virtues he rewards in this life with apparent 
 happiness. He will himself be our happiness — our reward. Ah I 
 my brethren, let us therefore beware of mistaking in the choice of 
 the things we ask. Let us place our confidence in the word of 
 cm* God, who hath faithfully promised that he himself will be our 
 reward; and as he hath promised, let us only petition that he 
 would give himself to us. Many there are, St. Augustin tells us, 
 who hope in God, but who hope for everything except God. Let 
 us dread a separation so disadvantageous to us ; and, as we hope 
 for nothing but from the hand of God, let us hope for nothing but 
 God, or things relating to God. 
 
 4thly. But I ask not for temporal favours of God ; my prayers 
 are offered up for supernatm^al grace — the grace of" salvation ; and 
 yet I have it not. No, beloved hearers, you have it not I know ; 
 because even in that respect you are guilty of a third abuse in 
 prayer, which perhaps you perceive not, but which I now shall 
 make appear and lay before you. 
 
 It is this ; that instead of regarding prayer as the instrument 
 which God hath put into our hands in order to procure the true 
 grace of salvation, that is real and possible grace — grace regulated 
 and proportionally adjusted to the divine appointment ; we employ 
 it for the imploring of chimerical grace, superfluous grace — grace 
 adapted to our own taste and mistaken notions. My i^eaning is 
 
ON PRAYER. 175 
 
 this : we pray, and as we think with a true desire of obtaining sal- 
 vation ; but by a blind confidence, we rely on prayer, as though it 
 were sufficient without good works ; as though all depended on it ; 
 as though Christ Jesus in commanding us to pray, did not also 
 command us to watch and do good ; as though there were graces 
 which might and should save us without om: o^vn co-operation. 
 We pray, and ask the gi'ace of a good death, persiiaded that no 
 more than to pray is required ; and thus we remain without care 
 or solicitude, or the trouble to merit it or to prepare for it by a 
 good life. We pray, and ask the grace of penance and sanctifi- 
 cation ; but the grace we ask is for the future only ; grace which 
 should remove all difficulties and dangers, and leave no laborious 
 endeavour to be made or obstacle to be surmounted ; miraculous 
 grace which should transport us like St. Paul, and not dispose us 
 by little and little, and oblige us to proceed ; grace which should 
 accompany us wherever we went, which should be ready at hand 
 on all occasions ; which should allow us to expose ourselves to 
 every kind of hazard, and not grace which it should import us to 
 attend to watchfully, and make the best advantage of. That is, in 
 short, we ask for grace that would change the whole order of 
 divine providence, and annul the dispensation by which our eternal 
 lot is ascertained. 
 
 And now. Christians, let us close this first part with the pro- 
 phet's prayer : " One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will 
 I seek after ; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord." Ps. xxvi. 
 For (adds St. Augustin) I now perceive and thoroughly compre- 
 hend the reasons that induced you so often to reject the prayers of 
 your servant. In order to answer the designs of yoiu* mercy I 
 should have put up my prayers for things not common to me, and 
 to pagans, and to impious men. You wanted that my prayers 
 should distinguish me from the enemies of your holy name. Never- 
 theless I find that between their prayers and mine the difference 
 was, that they for the most part obtained their request, and you 
 generally refused me the things I petitioned for, either because 
 they were contrary in themselves to salvation, or I asked not for 
 them with a view to salvation. But in this, O Lord, I confess you 
 favoured me ; because those favours would have dra-mi me to per- 
 version, whereas the paternal scourge of your justice hath been my 
 amendment. By being happy in the world, I should have forgotten 
 you the more easily ; and if my wishes had been cro^vncd with 
 
176 
 
 ON PIIAYER. 
 
 prosperity, I should have trodden in the footsteps o1^ bad men. 
 Accordingly, my God, far from complaining that you gave me the 
 denial, I bless your holy name and reckon it as a favour that you 
 heard me not according to the desnes of my heart, but according 
 to the order which your wisdom had established, and my salvation 
 required. But henceforward, my God, you will hear my suppli- 
 cations, because they will only be offered up for things appertaining 
 to eternity ; because among the graces of salvation which I shall 
 ask, I shall ask only for those which may be profitable to me — 
 which may operate the most securely, and which may lead me the 
 most directly to everlasting bliss. Thus, beloved Christians, the 
 words of Jesus Christ will be fidfilled in our regard : we shall ask 
 and shall receive. Whereas we receive not, either because we ask 
 not for the things for which we ought to ask, as you have seen in 
 the first part ; or because we ask not for them in the manner in 
 which we ought to ask for them, as I shall show you in the 
 second. 
 
 Part II. If God hears my prayers, it is on certain necessary and 
 essential conditions. But, beloved hearers, in what manner soever 
 he is pleased to deal by us, and in his providential wisdom to dis- 
 pose and order things, it would be a gross error to suppose that 
 the conditions requu'ed to the due performance of prayer were an 
 obstacle to our wishes, and a motive which God used to refuse us 
 his gifts. Ah ! (cries St. Augustin) heaven forbid we should ever 
 entertain or admit such notions, as nothing is more contrary to the 
 goodness of God ! He who does not stop (according to the scrip- 
 tures) the course of his mercies, at the very time that we provoke 
 him to anger : " Will he in his wrath keep in his mercies ?" (Ps. 
 Ixxvi.) he who (according to the royal prophet) waits not for our 
 prayers but beholds them, hearkening to mere desires : " Our Lord 
 hath heard the desire of the poor ;" (Ps. x. ;) he who is so tender 
 of us as to be affected with the very preparation of the heart : "The 
 preparation of the heart thy ear hath heard ;" (Ps. x. ;) will he (if 
 I may venture so to speak) be uncomplying when we invoke him 
 with affection and sincerity ? So far is he from availing himself of 
 his greatness in the intercourse which he permits us to have with 
 him by prayer, that we ought to confide that he will too indul- 
 gently and with too great condescension pass by our weaknesses, 
 i'railties, and imperfections. It cannot be denied that prayer, to 
 be efficacious, should have certain qualities ; but herein I maintain 
 
ON PRAYER. 177 
 
 we cannot say that God withdraws his promises or withholds 
 his graces. The reason is, that of these qualities there is not one 
 which will not, on examination, be found easy in practice ; not one 
 of which the necessity is not justified by right reason; not one 
 which is not required in a proportional degree between man and 
 man ; and (as I have already observed to you) not one of which 
 the woman of Canaan hath not given us an example, and is not 
 represented as a striking model. For, in short, (says St. Chrysos- 
 tom, in the excellent homily which he composed on this subject,) 
 what conditions doth God require for the infallibility of prayer ? 
 Humility, confidence, perseverance, attention of mind, and affec- 
 tion of heart. Now is there anything in all this, I do not say 
 impracticable or impossible, but painful or burdensome ? 
 
 1st. Is anything more reasonable or even more natural, than to 
 pray with the disposition of an humble mind ? Is it possible to 
 have a just idea of prayer, and forget this fundamental rule in our 
 prayers ? Do we otherwise offer our petitions to the princes and 
 monarchs of the earth ? Do we think it a hardship when we ask 
 for favours, to pay homage and respect ? And, if by this homage 
 and this respect we compass om' designs, do we murmur or com- 
 plain as though our submission was ill bestowed ? Do we say 
 that they prize their favours too high, when they refuse them to 
 the rash avidacious man Avho demands them haughtily ? And 
 why should we make that objection to God, as it is much more 
 reasonable, and consequently more easy to humble ourselves in his 
 presence than in the presence of a man ? Did the woman of 
 Canaan make a difficulty to fall prostrate at the feet of Christ 
 Jesus, and to pay him adoration ? Was it a mighty effort to confess 
 her unwortliiness in that posture ? And did she deem it a hard- 
 ship to bear the repulse to which she was exposed ? No, no, (says 
 the Saviour of the world,) " it is not good to take the children's 
 bread and cast it to dogs." Matt. xv. Could any comparison be 
 more humiliating ? But however humiliating it may be or seem 
 to be, doth it seem to affect or afflict this woman ? What do I 
 say ? Doth she not acknowledge the truth of those words by 
 making the application of them to herself: "Yea, Lord?" 
 Matt. XV. 
 
 Such was this woman's way of praying : but which is om-s ? 
 She was a pagan, and the pagan humbles herself: we are Chris- 
 tians, and bring wdth us to prayer a spirit of pride which we 
 
178 ON PUAYER. 
 
 clierish in our breasts, at the same time that we are going to acknow- 
 ledge our miseries and wants. And because this spirit hath domi- 
 nion over us, we pray with presumption, as if God was obliged to 
 consider us particularly, to treat us with distinction, and make 
 account of our prayers. To say nothing of the ostentation which 
 too frequently accompanies our offerings, and which instead of 
 prevailing on God to hear us, induces him to punish us : to say 
 nothing of the luxury we bear about us and display even in the 
 house of God — of the grandeur and self-sufficiency we retain there ; 
 of the vain attitudes and artful negligence we affect there, directly 
 contrary to the manner of a suppliant ; all which (according to the 
 sacred text) makes our prayers abominable in the sight of God, as 
 he hates nothing more than " the poor man proud." Waving a de- 
 tail of these matters, we ask favours of God — but we ask them as 
 due ; which if he graciously deign to grant we are puffed up and 
 elated, but which if he refuse we murmur and complaiu. We ask 
 them, and having received them, forget who it was that granted 
 them. We employ them and use them without refening them 
 to liim. Can we then be surprised that he should have no bowels 
 of compassion for us ? AVould it not be to dispense his favours 
 and graces with a lavish hand — to bestow them indifferently on 
 the proud and the humble ? 
 
 2ndly. Is anything more just than to pray vnth sentiments of a 
 lively confidence ? It is our sovereign Lord, our gracious God, 
 who in his infinite mercy will be prayed to in that manner, and 
 declares himself glorified by such confidence ; who in a thousand 
 places of the inspired writings attributes rather to it than to the 
 divine mercy, (take not offence at this assertion, it is sound and 
 orthodox,) when I say rather than to his very mercy the mira- 
 culous virtue and eflficacy of prayer ; not saying to those who liave 
 recourse to him and call upon him : it is my goodness and my 
 power — but it is thy faith and thy confidence which hath been thy 
 salvation : " Thy faith hath made thee whole." How could he 
 have proposed a more advantageous condition? Did not the 
 Canaanite, though an infidel, directly accept it ? That openness 
 of heart which she discovered to Christ by speaking to him in per- 
 son: "Have mercy on me, O Lord;" (Matt, xv.;) that tender 
 and affectionate motive which she used, with a view to move him, 
 by calling him " Son of David;" those cries which she redoubled 
 in proportion as the apostles reprimanded Iicr importunity and 
 
ON PRAYER. 179 
 
 commanded her to be silent : " Send her away, for she crleth after 
 us;" (Matt, xv.;) that confidence with which she disclaimed all 
 pretensions to the bread on the table, provided they fiu-nished 
 her with the crumbs that fell from it : that is, (according to St. 
 Jerom's explanation,) to be resigned to, and content with the 
 slightest efforts of our Saviour's power, convinced that it would be 
 enough for the miraculous deed which she beseeched him to per- 
 form : " For the whelps partake of the crumbs which fall from their 
 master's table." Matt. xv. Did not all this proceed from a soul 
 that sincerely trusted in the God she invoked ? What would she 
 have done if, already a Christian, she had known Christ Jesus as 
 perfectly as we do ? If, instead of knowing him for the Son of 
 David, she had kno^vn liim for the Son of the living God ? And 
 yet is it not true that, notwithstanding all the ideas with which our 
 religion furnisheth us of this God-man, scarce ever do we pray to 
 him in that simple but heroical manner which the apostle hath 
 marked out; I mean with faith, and without any doubt : "Let 
 him ask in faith, nothing wavering." James i. 
 
 Although Christ Jesus is so powerful to assist us, and although 
 to overcome our incredulity and diffidence he engaged himself to 
 us by the most solemn oath, swearing by himself; he who could 
 not (as St. Paul testifies) have sworn by anything gi-eater than 
 himself; yet our diffidence and incredulity are more prevalent and 
 caiTy it. AVe believe a man on his bare word, and we believe not 
 the promise of God. We pray, but are inwardly at the same time 
 disturbed ; harbour vain disquietudes and carking agonies, and 
 give ourselves up to a secret despondency. We have recourse to 
 God, but always in extremity and when every other means of 
 relief hath failed. We depend not so much on God as on our- 
 selves, and place greater reliance on our prudence than our prayers. 
 A strange infatuation, Avhich St. Ambrose deplored, and which 
 thoroughly manifests God's displeasure, when he withdraws his 
 arm, and will not stretch it forth to our aid and relief. 
 
 3rdly. Is anything more expedient than to pray with perse- 
 verance ? Is not God master of his own gifts ? Who but him- 
 self hath power to dispose of them ? Cannot he ]nit them at what 
 prices he pleases ? And are not his gi*aces sufficiently precious to 
 be frequently asked and sought with perseverance ? When Christ 
 by his silence made trial of the woman I have mentioned fi*om tlie 
 gospel, " who answered not a word ;" (Matt. xv. ;) when he seemed 
 
180 ON PRAYER. 
 
 by a severe and mortifying refusal inclined to neglect her and 
 banish her from his presence ; and when in her hearing he told the 
 apostles that he was not sent for her : "I was not sent but unto 
 the lost sheep of the house of Israel ;" (Matt. xv. ;) did she cease, 
 on that account to pray, to solicit, to press with earnestness ? No, 
 Christians; the resistance of Christ increased her perseverance, 
 and her perseverance outdid the resistance of Christ. The mys- 
 tery was soon unfolded to her. She quickly comprehended the 
 designs and inclinations of tliis God and Saviour ; and seeing the 
 necessity (as I may say) she was under of m-ging him, and even 
 urging him by opposing real earnestness to seeming harshness, she 
 broke through, in some measure, the laws of Providence; she 
 deserved, though a foreigner, to be treated like an Israelite ; she 
 obtained a double miracle — the deliverance of her daughter from the 
 evil spirit, and her own conversion to the true faith. O the charity 
 of my bountiful God, (cries one of the fathers,) how adorable in 
 your dissimulations and in the stratagems which you use to com- 
 bat, in appearance, the very persons for whom in fact you combat. 
 Wherefore, despair not, (adds he,) O Christian, who have begun 
 to struggle with your God in prayer ; for that kind of violence he 
 loves to suffer, and it gives him pleasure to be disarmed by your 
 hand. Neither must we imagine, (concludes he) my brethren, that 
 this God of mercy can be invincible against us, who became, by a 
 most astonishing prodigy, "weak, even unto death," upon our 
 account. 
 
 Such were the sentiments of the ancient fathers upon this head. 
 But we, you well know, being influenced by an error directly oppo- 
 site, hurried into the devious ways by frivolousness and volatility 
 of mind, yield to God against his will. We yield to him, when 
 he wishes, himself, to yield to us. We grow weary of telling him 
 that we are poor, distressed, and in need of his assistance ; and yet 
 he is much pleased with our importunity. Assiduity of this kind 
 is tiresome to us, provokes our patience, and causes disgust. We 
 would have it be enough to present ourselves once. Delay appals 
 us ; and often on the point of obtaining our wishes, we lose all the 
 merit and advantage of them. And tell me, at whose door ought 
 the fault to be laid — at God's, or at our own ? 
 
 4thly. In fine, is anything more necessary and essential in our 
 prayers to God, than attention of mind and affection of heart ? I 
 shall conclude with this point, which of all is much the most im- 
 
ON PRAYER. 181 
 
 portant. Attention of mind and affection of heart are what I call, 
 with St. Thomas, the soul of prayer, without which it cannot any- 
 more subsist than a body Avithout a soul, to quicken it and give it 
 motion. For, what is prayer ? Let us not here examine theo- 
 logical definitions, but the dictates of reason and good sense, and 
 the common notions which mankind have of this holy exercise. 
 What, then, is prayer? A conversation with God, in which the 
 soul admitted and, if I may so express myself, introduced into 
 the sanctuary, lays her wants before the Deity, represents her 
 weaknesses, discovers her temptations, begs pardon for her unfaith- 
 fulness. And doth not all this suppose mental recollection, and 
 inward sentiment ? If, therefore, it so happen, that while I treat 
 with God, my mind so Avanders as absolutely and voluntarily to 
 lose this internal attention and devotion, whatever else I may be 
 said to do — I cannot be said to pray. Although I should sing 
 laud and glory to the Lord ; although I should spend whole days 
 and nights at the foot of the altar ; although, after the expression 
 and example of David, I should be as it were fixed and glued to 
 the ground — if I cease to be attentive, I cease to pray. And from 
 hence. Christians, the angelical doctor made three deductions, ta 
 which I shall not make any addition, but which I earnestly beseech 
 you to ponder for your edification. They will fully set forth the 
 reasons why our prayers are disregarded and inefficacious in the 
 presence of God. 
 
 The first deduction. As it cannot be denied that attention is 
 essentially requisite to prayer, we may say Avith great reason, but 
 Avith still gi'cater sorroAv, that the exercise of it is, as it were, an- 
 nihilated in the Christian Avorld ; because, if sometimes Ave seem 
 to pray, it is without reflection. For, to what is all our piety re- 
 duced ? To some prayers which Ave say Avith a dissipated and 
 almost always absent mind. We move the lips, not like the godly 
 mother of Samuel, on Avhom Heli, the high priest, passed so rash 
 a judgment, but like the JcAvish people, to Avhom God objected 
 that their hearts Avere far from him Avhile they praised him Avith 
 their mouths. Thus our prayers are mostly hypocritical, and our 
 blessed Savioiu- might avcII say to us Avhat he said to the pharisees : 
 "Ye hypocrites, avcII did Isaias prophecy of you, saying; this 
 people honoureth me Avith their lips, but their heart is far from 
 me." Matt. xv. This disorder is not peculiar to the loAvcr sort of 
 people, Avhose intellectual coarseness is unhappily such, that day by 
 
 VOL II. N 
 
182 ON PRAYER. 
 
 day they say their prayers Avithout praying, that is, without thinking 
 either of what they say or of what they ask ; nor to the devout sex, 
 who, though addicted to prayer, make it tlicir business to say a 
 great deal without fixing the natural levity of their minds, or being 
 at much pains to apply attentively. Men the most enlightened 
 and the best instructed, men consecrated to God, the very minis- 
 ters of God, by a deplorable perversion, from a habit of praying, 
 pray not at all, and, instead of perfecting, corrupt and destroy so 
 holy a practice. 
 
 The second deduction. As prayer essentially includes attention, 
 it follows that attention is, itself, of precept in those prayers which 
 are strictly enjoined us. So that to pronounce the words is not 
 then sufficient, but that a remarkable and voluntary evagation of 
 mind should be looked upon as a grievous and deadly offence. 
 Now this, my brethren, I say both on your account and my OAvn, 
 for that one of the principal engagements of your profession and 
 mine consists therein, and for that vocal prayer is a kind of attri- 
 bute which the church requires of us every day. And, indeed, it 
 were strange that this action, in itself so holy — an action tliat na- 
 turally leads to holiness — should serve to condemn us, and that the 
 origin of grace should be the source of reprobation. Nor let it be 
 forgotten, that when we submitted to the obligation of reciting the 
 Divine Office, we bound ourselves to perform an act of religion ; 
 that an act of religion is not a practice merely external ; and that 
 as the church, by enjoining confession enjoins contrition, so she 
 enjoins attention by enjoining prayer. Whether this obligation 
 arises from the precept of the chm-ch immediately, as some very 
 able divines maintain, or from the precept naturally conjoined Avitli 
 that of the church, in virtue of which God commands us to perform 
 holily and worthily the thing prescribed, as others imagine : hoAv- 
 cver it be, the difference is only a scholastic question ; and In either 
 opinion we equally violate the laAvs of religion. Ah ! my brethren, 
 let us not draw down that curse upon us AA-ith Avhich the prophet, 
 in the excess of his zeal, threatened the sinner, Avhcn he said: "Let 
 his prayer become sin." And is it not probable that tliis is appli- 
 cable to numbers of those Avho attend at the altar ? With far 
 greater reason ought we to accuse oiu'sclves than the great St. 
 Augustin, who condemned himself for negligence in this behalf. 
 
 The third and last deduction. God, therefore, Avith justice, re- 
 jects our prayers, as they resemble nothing so little as prayer — and 
 
ON PRAYER. 183 
 
 as, far from honouring him, they are offensive to him and irritate 
 him against us. For, what an injustice, beloved hearers ! You 
 expect that God "will take heed of your prayers, when you chose to 
 pray, and are heedless yourself of the words you utter. You say 
 with the prophet: "O Lord, give ear unto my words, hearken to 
 the voice of my prayer, (Ps. v.,) and suffer your mind at the same 
 time to rove through various and useless objects. You desire him 
 to speak to you, and you speak not to him ; you desire him to 
 hearken to you, and you hearken not to him : you hearken not to 
 yourself, you wilfully distract yourself. 
 
 Let us only reform, beloved Christians, in this one point, and a 
 thorough reformation of life will ensue ; for, according to St. Au- 
 gustin, "he knows how to live well who knoAVshowto pray well." 
 Why are we subject to so many lapses ? Either because we pray 
 not at all, or not as we shoiild ; and this, because we are unwilling 
 to relinquish our inordinate ways, and fear to be led into the right 
 path. Let us ask things of God worthy both of him and of our- 
 selves, and in a manner worthy both of him and of ourselves. In 
 a word, let us ask him as we ought to do, for graces and favours 
 and we shall obtain them ; but, above all, let us ask for the gift of 
 prayer. Let us say like the apostle, Lord teach us to pray ; our 
 weakness is such that we cannot, without you, lay our wants before 
 you, or implore your assistance in a proper manner. It is only 
 yourself that can make us efficaciously feel our wants, that can 
 bring us to the foot of your altar with a view to represent to you ; 
 that can inspire us with words and sentiments proper to move your 
 heart. Give us, therefore, my God, yourself, that knowledge so 
 necessary for us ; and by a special grace in which are included, as 
 in their origin, all the other graces, teach us to use prayer in order 
 to procure the graces of conversion, of sanctification, of salvation, 
 which may lead us to the mansions of eternal repose. 
 
 N 2 
 
184 ON THK THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 
 
 SEEMON XXV. 
 
 ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 
 
 Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return. Gen. ill. 
 
 This is the end, beloved Christians, to which all the designs of 
 mankind, and all the pomp of worldly greatness must come at 
 last ; this is that which at all times and on all occasions should 
 engross our thoughts. Remember this, whoever ye be, rich or 
 poor, great or vulgar, kings or subjects — in a word, ye men all in 
 general and each in particular : remember, that ye are but dust, 
 and that unto dust ye must return. This remembrance AviU be 
 displeasing to you ; this thought will hurt, will disturb and afflict 
 you ; but by hurting you, it will cure you — by disturbing and 
 afflicting you, it will be salutary, and, perhaps, as salutary AviU at 
 length be supportable, nay comfortable and agreeable. Be that 
 as it may, I purpose to show you in this discourse, the chief ad- 
 vantages accruing from it. 
 
 O thou holy Spirit, who with fire didst purify the prophet's lips, 
 and madest them serve as" an organ to the adorable word, purify 
 my tongue, and make me worthily fulfil the sacred ministry with 
 which thou hast entrusted me. Banish far from me whatever 
 bears no relation to thee. Inspire me Avith no thought but what 
 is proper to affect, to persuade, to convert. Give me as thou 
 gavest the apostle of the Gentiles, not a fruitless eloquence, an 
 eloquence of Avhich the end is to satisfy the curiosity of men ; but 
 a Christian eloquence, Avhich drawing its virtue from the precepts 
 of the Gospel hath energy sufficient to work upon consciences, to 
 sanctify souls, to gain sinners over, and to make them yield to the 
 dominion of the law. Prepare the minds of my hearers to receive 
 the lights of grace which thou shalt please to communicate to me. 
 And whereas in speaking to them, I should have nothing in view 
 but the salvation of their souls, grant that they hearken to me 
 with that sincere desire of salvation which I am endeavouring to 
 inculcate : an essential disposition for the receiving of all those 
 graces and blessings which they must expect from thy bountiful 
 hand. 
 
ON THE THOUGHTS OF DE.VTH. 185 
 
 The very papjaii plnlosophcrs are agreed in this, that the capital 
 ficience or study of life, is the science or study of death ; and that 
 it is impossible for man to lead a regular life, or walk steadily in 
 the path of virtue, unless he frequently revolve in his mind, that 
 die he must. Now I find that our life, or to speak more properly, 
 whatever is susceptible of perfection in our life by reason and faith, 
 is reducible to our passions, our deliberations, and our actions. 
 My meaning is this : in the course of life we have passions to 
 govern, we have resolutions to take, and we have duties to fulfil. 
 And this to use a Scripture phrase, is every man : I mean every 
 rational and Christian man. We have passions to subdue, by 
 repressing their sallies, and moderating thoir violence ; avc have 
 resolutions to take, by which we must guard against present mis- 
 takes and their natural consequence — future repentance ; we have 
 duties to fulfil, the performance of which must be speedy and fer- 
 vent. Now for all this, Christians, I hold tliat the thoughts of 
 death are sufficient, and to that purpose I advance the three fol~ 
 loAving propositions, which I earnestly recommend to your serious 
 attention, as they make the division of this discourse. 
 
 First, th« thoughts of death are the most eflScacious and sove- 
 reign remedy for curbing our passions- Secondly, the thoughts 
 of death are the best and surest rule to direct us in our deliberar- 
 tions. Thirdly, the thoughts of death are the most effectual and 
 powerful means to inspire us Avitli a holy fervour in oiu- actions. 
 
 Of these three verities I purpose to convince you, by making 
 you perceive the whole force of these words of my text, " dust 
 thou art, and unto dust thou shall return." You are hurried and 
 borne away by the tide of passion, which you cannot stem, but seem 
 to yourself unable to connnand your ambition and lust : remember 
 what in reason ought to be the ambition and lust of a man who 
 must yield to death. You deliberate upon a matter that nearly 
 concerns you, a matter of consequence, and are unsettled in mind 
 as to your resolution : remember the resolution which befits a man 
 that must yield to death. You find religious observances fatiguing 
 and disgustful, and you acquit yourself but negligently and tepidly 
 of your duty : remember how important the jierformance of his 
 duty is for a man who must yield to death. This is the use to 
 which we must turn our thoughts upon death, and is the subject 
 of your present instruction. 
 
 Part I. In order to extinguish the fire of our passions, we must 
 
186 ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 
 
 begin by knowing them ; and to know them perfectly, St. Chrys- 
 ostom tells us, no more is requisite than that we comprehend 
 three things ; namely, that they are vain, that they are insatiable, 
 and that they are unjust. That they are vain, with respect to 
 the objects to which they tend; that they are insatiable and 
 without bounds, and therefore incapable of being satisfied them- 
 selves, or of satisfying us ; that they are unjust in the presumptuous 
 sentiments with which they inspire us, when thinking arrogantly 
 of our own worth, we pretend to be distinguished and raised above 
 others. You see what the passions, according to St. Chrysostom, 
 particularly consist of. In order, therefore, to repress their sallies 
 and irregular motions, there was something wanting which might 
 display their vanity to us in a clear manner ; which, submitting 
 them to the law of a sovereign necessity, might limit them within 
 us against our will; and which, by overlooking all distinction, 
 might reduce them to the laudable principle of modesty, that is, 
 to that equality which God hath ordained among all mankind, and 
 might oblige us, whoever we be, to do ourselves justice, and to do 
 others the duties of charity. Now these, beloved hearers, are the 
 wonderful effects which the remembrance and thoughts of our final 
 dissolution produce infallibly in our souls, actuated by the spirit of 
 God. Give attentive ear, and let no part escape you of so edifying 
 an instruction. 
 
 1st. Our passions are vain; and to be convinced of it, there 
 needs no more than to form an idea of the vanity of the objects to 
 which they tend. This alone must extinguish the fire of bad 
 inclinations which they kindle in our hearts, and it is the great 
 and important lesson which the Holy Ghost dictates in the book 
 of wisdom. For let us own. Christians, although to our shame, 
 that so long as the baubling things of this world seem great in our 
 eyes, and we think them such, it is morally impossible not to have 
 a love for them — and by making them the object of om' love, not 
 to make them an incentive to our passions. Though reason should 
 oppose, though the law should forbid, though conscience and 
 religion should combine to dissuade, our inordinate affections get 
 the better in the strife ; and, prepossessed with the specious 
 appearance of what flatters and seduces us, we pass over unnoticed 
 every other consideration, following only the attraction of that 
 which beguiles us. If sometimes Ave resist, and if, in obedience 
 to the will of heaven, we gain over ourselves occasional victories, 
 
ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 187 
 
 they Jire no more, on account of the violence they cost us, than 
 forced victories. Our passion still subsists ; and the mistake that 
 the things v^liich the world idolizes are solid and capable of 
 jnaking us happy, inspires us -with an extreme desire of acqumng 
 them, with immoderate complacency in the possessing of them, 
 and Avith a deadly lear in the apprehension of losing them. To 
 have but little afflicts us ; to have much delights us ; we" are 
 alarmed and dejected, in proportion as we are deprived of these 
 worldly enjoyments. The reason is, that our imaginations, being 
 deceived and perverted, represent them as things essentially good, 
 things on which our happiness depends. 
 
 In order to wean our affections from them, according to Saint 
 Chrysostom, the sure and infallible method is to undeceive our- 
 selves. For, the moment we have a clear conception of their va- 
 nity, this weaning of our affections becomes easy to us, and in some 
 shape natural. We are out of the reach, if I may so speak, of 
 ambition and avarice. Far from endeavourinc; Avith eagerness and 
 assiduity to procure advantages by indirect means, and illicit prac- 
 tices, being convinced of their futility, it is with some difficulty 
 vro ])revail on ourselves to give a reasonable attention to the things 
 of Avhich Ave are laAvfuUy possessed ; and of this the ground is, that, 
 taking for granted such conviction, the things of this Avorld scarce 
 deserve our care, much less our disquietude. Noav Avhence arises 
 such salutary conviction ? From the remembrance of death, 
 painted in the mind, and piously considered in the principles of 
 faith. For, in our regard, continues St. Chrysostom, death evi- 
 dently and plainly displays the inanity of the sublunary things 
 which so strongly move us and engage our solicitude. It Is death 
 that makes us sensible of It ; all other things deceive us. Death Is 
 the mirror which represents, Avithout disguise, the general insta- 
 bility, the constant fluctuation, the daily decay of all earthly things ; 
 and the darksome grave makes a source of light by AvhIch our 
 intellectual poAvers and our sensesare f eellngly affected. In that 
 day, says the Scripture, speaking of those worldly and carnal men 
 who give the reins to their passion, "all their thoughts shall 
 perish." Ps. xlv. That day of death Avhich avc uoav imagine to 
 be full of obscurity, will enlighten their understandings and dlssl- 
 jmte the clouds In AvhIch the truth had lain hidden from them. 
 They Avill cease to believe Avhat they had ahvays believed, and Avill 
 begin to see what they had never seen. What they once esteemed 
 
188 ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 
 
 they will hold in contempt, and Avliat they passionately admired 
 will put them to the blush. They Avill be seized, {with astonish- 
 ment, fright, and consternation at so general a change in their 
 mental faculties. The chimerical notions Avhich they had had of 
 the world and of its supposed happiness will vanish from their eyes, 
 and come to nothing. All their thoughts shall perish. And 
 whereas their passions had no foundation except in their thoughts, 
 and whereas their thoughts, according to the expression of the 
 prophet, shall perish in the same manner then- passions shall perish. 
 That is, they will lose their ardour for promotion, and their thirst 
 of riches, because in that day they will see the inanity, and, if I 
 may so speak, the extravagance of all that. Now, what is the case, 
 when our life is taken up with the thoughts of death ? We anti- 
 cipate this last, this fatal moment ; and, without waiting till the 
 catastrophe and final unravelling of worldly intrigues disclose, in 
 spite of us, this ill -understood vanity, we disclose it ourselves by 
 holy cogitations. For, when I contemplate, in the presence of 
 God, the image of death, I forthwith behold all the things of this 
 life in the same point of view in Avhicli death will represent them ; 
 I pass now the same judgment which I then shall pass on them ; I 
 now acknowledge, as I then shall, how despicable they are ; I now 
 reproach myself, as I then shall, with my attachment to them ; I 
 now deplore, as I then shall, my intellectual bhndness. My passion 
 then subsides, the tumult abates, a tranquillity ensues, everything 
 perishable and transient palls. In a word, I now die in thought 
 and affection, because I foresee I must soon unavoidably die in 
 reality. 
 
 This, beloved hearers, was the admirable secret wliich David 
 found out, and by which he kept his passions in subjection. And 
 that he might preserve in the midst of the court, where worldliness 
 centres, this perfect disengagement from all thatjjis worldly, what 
 was his practice — what was this holy king's manner of proceeding? 
 He was content to beg of God, as an extraordinary favour, that he 
 would " make him know his end ;" (Ps. xxxviii. ;) and that he would 
 even make him sensible how near it was, to the intent he might 
 know (but by an efficacious and practical knowledge) " the number 
 of his days, and Avhat was wanting to him." Ps. xxxviii. He made 
 no doubt that this thought alone — we must die — would be suffi- 
 cient to extinguish the violence and fire of liis passions the most 
 ardent : and " behold, (adds he,) O Lord, thou hast made my days 
 
ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 189 
 
 as an hand breadth ;" (Ps. xxxvlii. ;) and for that reason, whatever 
 I am and Avhatever I desire or hope to be, " my whole substance 
 is as nothing before thee." Ps. xxxviii. To my way of tliinking, 
 this nothing is something, nay, everything ; but in your divine pre- 
 sence, what I denominate everything is blended with — is absorbed 
 and lost in this notliing ; and death, Avhich every man living must 
 regard as his inevitable destiny, makes of all the fortunes which they 
 possess, of all the pleasures which they enjoy, of all the titles on 
 which they plume themselves, as it were, an unfathomable abyss 
 of vanity, because " every man living is altogether vanity." Ps. 
 xxxviii. The worldly-minded man agrees not to this, and even 
 affects to be ignorant of it ; but it is true, notwithstandino-, that 
 his life is no more than a shadow and a figure, for that " every man 
 passeth as a vain show." Ps. xxxviii. He is disturbed, and as a 
 worldhng, in continual agitation ; but he is disturbed to no pur- 
 pose, inasmuch as death will disconcert his measures, "will coun- 
 teract his schemes, will defeat his hopes : " He is disquieted in 
 vain." Ps. xxxviii. He wearies himself out and exhausts his spi- 
 rits in scraping together and hoarding up money ; but his misfor- 
 tune is, that he knows not so much as for whom he accumulates, 
 or who will have the benefit of his toil and labour, whether his own 
 children or relations, or no relations — whether prudent economists 
 or extravagant squanderers : " He heapeth up treasures, and 
 knoweth not who shall gather them." Ps. xxxviii. In so lively 
 -a manner Avas the royal prophet affected with these sentiments, 
 that they repressed in him every — the most impetuous of his pas- 
 sions ; and of a king upon the throne, made him a pattern of 
 moderation. 
 
 This we experience in om'selves every day. For, let us own the 
 truth, beloved hearers ; were we not doomed to die, or had we the 
 power of warding off this fatal necessity Avhich makes us tributaries 
 to death, how vain soever our passions might be, Ave should never 
 be Avilling to acknoAvledgc their vanity; avc should never be Avillino- 
 to renounce the objects Avhich are pleasing to them, and Avhich they 
 make us seek with so much eagerness. It were to little purpose 
 to make us long exhortations upon that head, to recapitulate Avhat- 
 €ver the sages have said of it ; to exert all the poAvers of reason and 
 demonstration ; Ave should construe all that into subtilities more 
 vain than the very vanity Avhich they meant to evince. Divine 
 faith, Avith all her motives of credibilit)', Avould have no effect. 
 Disengaged as we should be from the thoughts of death, Avhich 
 
190 ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 
 
 keep us, like a severe and punctual master, within the bounds of 
 duty, we should account it an innocent, nay, a wise maxim to give 
 scope to our desires ; the false glitter of worldly pomp would seem 
 real and true ; and our own reason, in opposition to us, Avould coin- 
 cide and act in concert with passion. 
 
 But when we are told we are doomed to die, and in our own 
 mind^we revolve the same thought, ah ! Christians, our self-love, 
 however ingenious in its own cause, is disarmed and at a loss how 
 to make a defence. Reason gets a powerful ascendant over it, 
 obliging it to submit, Avithout resistance, to the precepts of faith. 
 The reason is that it can no longer diso^vn its own weakness, 
 which the view of death not only discovers to it, but makes it 
 thoroughly sensible of. This distinction between the thoughts of 
 death and other Christian thoughts is taken from St. Chrysostom. 
 For why (he asks) do the thoughts of death make a deeper impres- 
 sion and show more evidently than other considerations the vanity 
 of all created things ? Mind his answer : because every other 
 consideration includes at most but the testimonies and proofs of 
 their vanity ; whereas death is their essence, the very thing which 
 constitutes their vanity. It is not, therefore, at all surprising that 
 death should have the vu'tue and peculiar quality of disengaging 
 us from all things. And such was the inference which St. Paul 
 made with a view of inducing the primitive Christians to struggle 
 for freedom and emancipation from the slavery of their passions, 
 and to live in the practice of tliis holy and blessed disengagement, 
 which he recommended to them with so much earnestness. For 
 (says he) "the time is short ;" and what should be the consequence ? 
 " That they who rejoice be as though they rejoiced not, and they who 
 buy as though they possessed not, and they who use this world as 
 though they used it not." (1 Cor. viii.) This, says St. Augustin, 
 is an admirable inference ; because in reality, to rejoice and have 
 riches, and receive honours, and be obliged to die, is as if you 
 received honours and received them not, as if you possessed riches 
 and possessed them not, as if you rejoiced and rejoiced not. For 
 this term " to die," is a term of privation ; a term which destroys 
 and annihilates every worldly thing ; a term, the import of which 
 is diametrically opposite to the essence of God, making tilings 
 appear to us as though they were not, whereas Almighty God, 
 according to the Scriptm-e, denominates things which have no being 
 as though they had existence. 
 
ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 191 
 
 2ndly. Our passions are vain, and, even so, are insatiable and 
 without bounds. For, did ever the concurrence of a splendid for- 
 tune and worldly honours satisfy and give ease to the towering 
 spirit of an ambitious man ? Was ever the heart of an avaricious 
 man contented -with prosperity, accumulated acquisitions, and the 
 overflowings of 'riches ? What voluptuary, a slave to the senses, 
 was ever willing to make an end of his pleasures ? Nature (as 
 Salvian ingeniously observes) is satisfied with necessaries ; reason 
 bends her view to the profitable and the decorous ; self-love goes 
 in quest of the agreeable and the delightful ; but passion is impe- 
 tuous for superfluities and excess. Now this superfluity and excess 
 are infinite ; yet notwithstanding their infinitude may be contracted, 
 if we please, -within narrow limits by the remembrance of death, as 
 it will, in spite of us, by death itself. For at present I need only 
 make use of the words adopted by the church : " Remember, man, 
 thou art but dust, and unto dust thou shalt return." I need only 
 address this decree to every one in this audience who is swayed by 
 passion, in order to divest him of those vast and unmeasureable 
 desires which perpetually torment him, and which are never satis- 
 fied. I need only give him the same invitation which the Jewish 
 people gave the Saviour of the world, when they willed him to 
 approach the tomb of Lazarus : " Come and behold ;" come cove- 
 tous man, " come and behold." You inwardly burn with an insa- 
 tiable desire of amassing treasures, a desu'e of which nothing can 
 allay the ardour ; and because it is insatiable, it makes you perpe- 
 trate a thousand iniquitous deeds — steeling your heart to the mise- 
 ries of the poor, and throwing you into an utter forgetfulness of 
 salvation. Consider well this dead body : " Come and behold." 
 This was a man of fortune like you ; and like you became rich in 
 a few years. He had, like you, the folly to conceive a strong 
 desire of leaving behind him an opulent family, and his cliildren 
 provided to the best advantage. But do you see him now ? Do 
 you see the nakedness, tlie poverty to which death has reduced 
 him ? Where are his revenues ? Where are his riches ? Where 
 is his sumptuous and magnificent furniture ? Hath he anything 
 more than the dregs of mankind have ? Six feet of earth, a shroud 
 to wind him up in, but which will not keep him from rotting and 
 becoming the food of w'orms. What is all the rest come to ? This 
 should be sufficient to contract your avarice into a smaller compass. 
 Come, man of the world, " come and behold," vou, who are infa_ 
 
192 ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 
 
 tuated with false greatness. Ambition possesses your very soul, 
 and inwardly devours you ; and, because this ambition is excessive 
 and unlimited, it extinguishes in your heart every sentiment of 
 religion. It engages your thoughts, it enchants and intoxicates 
 you. Consider this sepulchre. What do you see in it ? This was, 
 like you, a man of note and rank, perhaps more so than you ; dis- 
 tinguished by his quality, like you ; and in a fair way of gaining 
 everything that his heart could Avish. But, do you know him again? 
 Do you see the condition to which death hath reduced him ? Do 
 you see how it hath limited his extensive projects? Do you see 
 how it sports with his airy views ? This ought to be a rule for 
 regulating yours. Come, woman of the world, " come and behold ;" 
 you, who are so vain of your person, and so pleased with yourself. 
 Your darling passion is the care of your beauty ; and because this 
 passion hath no measure, it subjects you to an unbecoming and 
 vicious delicacy ; it produces criminal desires of pleasing ; it makes 
 you an accomplice to a thousand scandals, and induces you to co- 
 operate to a thousand sins. " Come and behold :" this was a 
 young person, as well as you ; was the idol of the men, as well as 
 you ; was as sprightly as you ; was as much courted, and had as 
 many and as obsequious admirers as you. But do you see her at 
 present ? Do you see those sightless eyes — that hideous face — that 
 frio^htful countenance ? Tliis is enough to restrain that unmea- 
 sureable love of yourself : " Come and behold." 
 
 3rdly. In fine, our passions are unjust ; Avhether as to the senti- 
 ments Avith which they inspire us to our own advantage, or as to 
 those they give us to the disadvantage of others. But death (says 
 the philosopher) reduces us all to our just level ; and by its remem- 
 brance obliges us to condemn our own proceedings, and do justice 
 to others. And, indeed, when we neglect to think of death, and 
 regard only certain distinctions in life, we are puffed up, Ave are 
 dazzled, Ave are full of ourselves — we become haughty and high- 
 minded, disdainful and supercilious, testy and exceptions, envious 
 and revengeful — assuming, violent, passionate. We speak Avith 
 ostentation, contempt, or acrimony ; are easily offended ; pardon 
 Avith difficulty, provoke some, and bring others to ruin. EA^ery 
 one must yield to us ; and Ave expect that all the world Avill behave 
 to us with respect, though regardless ourselves of all the Avorld, and 
 negligent of good manners and decorum. Is it not this that, on 
 some occasions, makes the power of the great so heavy and insup- 
 
ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 193 
 
 portable ? But let us ruminate upon death, and speedily shall Ave 
 learn to blame our own conduct, and make others amends for our 
 haughtiness and pride ; for our disdain and contempt ; for our sen- 
 sibility and touchiness ; for our envy, our revenge, our moroseness, 
 our violence, our transports of passion. As, therefore, (according 
 to the decree and word of the Almighty ruler,) there needs no 
 more than a grain of sand to stop the fury of the roaring billows : 
 *« Here shall thy proud waves be stayed ;" there needs only the 
 ashes which are sprinkled on our heads, and which call back to our 
 minds the idea of death, in order to assuage the swellino-s of our 
 heart, to bring down all its ferment, to preserve it in humility and 
 sage moderation. The reason is, that death lays before us the per- 
 fect equality which God hath ordained between us and the rest of 
 mankind ; an equality we so willingly consign to oblivion, but the 
 prospect of which is so necessary for us, in order to the rendering 
 us more impartial and more tractable. 
 
 When we revolve in our minds what Solomon said, and when 
 we say like him : " How Avise and enlightened soever I may be, 
 I must nevertheless die, like the greatest fool — as the death of the 
 fool and mine shall be one." Eccles. ii. When Ave say of oui- 
 selves, like the royal prophet ; you are deities upon earth, you are 
 children of the Most High, but you are false deities, you are mor- 
 tal men, you must really die like those Avhose adulation you are 
 glad to receive, and from Avhom you require a kind of homage and 
 adoration: "Ye are gods, and all of you children of the Most 
 High, but ye shall die hke men ;" (Ps. Ixxxi.;) Avhen (according 
 to the expression of the sacred penmen) Ave descend alive and in 
 spirit into the grave, and the man of learning and knoAvlcdge mixes 
 Avith the illiterate and the ignorant ; the nobleman Avith the trades- 
 man ; the most renoAA'ned conqueror Avith the meanest slave ; all 
 covered Avith the same earth ; all surrounded Avith the same dark- 
 ness ; all eaten by the same Avorms ; aU liable to the same corruj)- 
 tion, the same rottenness — the same dust : " The small and great 
 are there, and the servant free from his master." Job. iii. I say, 
 Avhen Ave make these reflections, and consider that those men above 
 Avhom Ave place ourselves so A'cry high in our OAvn estimation ; that 
 those men Avho Ave so desire should feel the Aveight of our poAver, 
 and over Avhom Ave Avould exercise an absolute sway ; that those men, 
 for Avhom avc entertain neither compassion, nor cliurity, nor conde- 
 scension, nor regard ; that those men, at Avliose hands Ave bear not 
 
194 ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 
 
 with the smallest slight, and against whom we proceed with such 
 rigour and animosity, are yet men like om'selves, of the same nature 
 and species as ourselves ; or, if you please, that we ourselves are 
 men like them, as weak as they, as subject to death and to all its con- 
 sequences as they : ah ! beloved hearers, then it is that we fall into 
 very different dispositions ! We are no longer filled with an over- 
 weening notion of our own excellence, because we see ourselves in 
 a clear perspective. We no longer exert our authority in so high 
 and domineering a manner over those whom birth or fortune have 
 placed in a station of life inferior to our own, because we perceive 
 that there is not, after aU, such a mighty difference between man 
 and man. We no longer contend with so much vivacity for our sup- 
 posed right, because we perceive that in many respects our preten- 
 tions and claims are not so well founded as we once imagined. We 
 are no longer so grievously offended in particular cases and emer- 
 gencies, nor so ardent and headstrong in demanding reparation and 
 exorbitant satisfaction ; because we set ourselves not so high in our 
 own mind above the aggi'cssor, whether real or imaginary ; nor are 
 persuaded that he must, in everything, yield to our humour, and 
 bow the head to our wiU and pleasure. We become more gentle, 
 circmnspect, civil, complaisant, patient; and we learn to com- 
 passionate, to prevent, to excuse, to relieve, to do good, and 
 to behave obligingly. These are the holy and salutary effects of 
 the thouglits of death ; the most sovereign remedy to extinguish 
 the fire of our unruly passions, and the most infallible rule to direct 
 our judgment in our dehberations, as I shall proceed to let you see 
 in the second part. 
 
 Part II. How clear and penetrating soever may be our intel- 
 lectual faculties, and whatever strength of rational powers we may 
 pride ourselves in, it is an article of faith that " our thoughts are 
 fearful, and our counsels uncertain." Wis. ix. Our thoughts (says 
 St. Augustin, explaining this passage) are fearful ; because not 
 infrequently, even as to those things which regard salvation, we 
 know not that we take the best resolution ; nay, know that om* 
 resolution is absolutely good, and that we are possessed of suffi- 
 cient evidence to discern it exactly, much less to discern it with 
 certainty and infiilUbility. Whence it follows, that notmthstanding 
 all our sagacity we are afraid of being deceived, and have reason 
 to be afi-aid of it, as the step we take, how safe soever it may ap- 
 pear to be, may be otherwise in reality ; and the contracted and 
 
ON THE THOUGHTS OF DBATH. 195 
 
 limited powers of weak reason keep us not from being exposed to 
 deplorable accidents, against which the apostle meant to preserve 
 us when he emphatically admonished us to work out our salvation 
 with fear and trembling : " The cogitations of mortal men are 
 fearful." As our thoughts are fearful — the sacred text adds — that 
 our counsels are uncertain ; because the depths of futurity being 
 out of our reach, and God reserving the knowledge of it to himself, 
 whatever preventive measures we may take, we are ever in uncer- 
 tainty whether or not what we undertake, though with a pure and 
 seemingly Christian intention, be rightly undertaken ; whether we 
 shall not one day or other have reason to repent of it ; whether our 
 conscience will never reproach us with it ; and whether that which 
 we thought innocent in the course of Hfe, will not be the cause of 
 bitter reflections and despair at our death : " And our providences 
 are uncertain." 
 
 An unfortunate situation ! A situation which the wisest of men 
 deplored, and which he looked upon as the fatal consequence of sin. 
 It is therefore of importance that Ave find out the means by which 
 we may be delivered from such uncertainty, and from the fears and 
 terrors so opposite to the internal peace of our souls ; by which we 
 may be put, whenever our duty is the point in question, in a con- 
 dition always to conclude with certainty; and by which in a thou- 
 sand critical conjunctures, in which conscience and salvation arc 
 united together, Ave may be equally preserA^ed from error and 
 remorse. Now I hold that the most eftectual means for this pur- 
 pose are the thoughts of death ; because the thoughts of death are 
 a lively and feeling application to ourselves of our last end, Avhich 
 ought to be the ground- work and solid foundation of all our deli- 
 berations ; and because it is certain, that by frequently practising 
 this holy exercise of the remembrance of death, Ave obviate all 
 those remorses and disquietudes Avhich otherAvise might be con- 
 sequent to our resolutions. Engaged as we are, indispensably 
 engaged to regulate our conduct after God's appointment, is there 
 anything more instrvictive — anything more edifying than such a 
 truth ? Hearken to this argument : 
 
 1st. In order to deliberate and resolve Avisely, aa'C must, l)cloved 
 hearers, have this last end perpetually in vicAV, as it ought to be 
 the rule to direct us in all things, and to Avhich, by consequence, 
 all things Avc propose to ourselves in this Avorld should tend like 
 so many lines to the centre. By our last end, I mean that 
 
196 ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 
 
 supremely desirable good, that one thing necessary, tliat eternal 
 salvation, which we must never lose sight of, and on which our 
 actions must have all an essential and immediate dependence. In 
 Christian morals, this is laid down as an indubitable axiom, an 
 invariable principle universally admitted. But by what means 
 shall we always be able to keep so sublime an object in view, and 
 so strict a watch over our own conduct, and with such assiduity, 
 as to observe each action, and what is its tendency, I do not say 
 with respect to the particular and immediate end, which induceth 
 us to act, but to that which is common and more remote, and to 
 which it imports us all to aspire ? It is, beloved hearers, to medi- 
 tate upon, and take a survey of death ; death, which represents, 
 whether we will or not, the eternity that ensues; which brings 
 nearer to our eyes a lively and piercing ray of light, that illumines 
 our minds, and thereby discovers to us whatever in our undertakings, 
 or in our designs is good or bad, safe or dangerous, advantageous 
 or hurtful. 
 
 And, indeed, being affected with this thought, " I must die," 
 I begin to form a much sounder, and much more rational judgment 
 of all things. Freed from a thousand delusions, dissipated by 
 death and eternity, I see, on all occasions, much more clearly and 
 much more speedily, whatever may retard me, or whatever may 
 further me, in prosecuting the end for which I was created ; and 
 having once perceived it, I take the resolution, without hesitation, 
 which is proper to be taken, as to that which is salutary or 
 prejudicial for me in the way of God. Without hesitation, I say : 
 This is pernicious, this is advantageous, this will bring me into 
 danger, this Avill be my destruction ; and because it is pernicious, I 
 ought to reject it ; and because it is advantageous, I ought to accept 
 of it ; and because it is dangerous, I ought to apprehend it ; and be- 
 cause it is destructive, I ought to avoid it. Without a veiAV of 
 death, the bare consideration of my last end would make on me, at 
 most, but a slight impression ; nor would it keep me from splitting 
 upon a thousand rocks, nor hinder me from taking a thousand 
 false steps. This is Avhat we learn from daily experience. But 
 when death, and eternity, which is insejjarable from it, are 
 the subject of my meditation, they affect my mind and all the 
 powers of my soul : I am no longer perplexed with mental 
 evagations ; I am perfectly recollected, and my thoughts are 
 fixed on that blessed end to which 1 am called, and for which I 
 
ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 197 
 
 was created. I am determined to have an eye to it in all my 
 projects, concerns, and pursuits. And because this end, applied 
 in this manner, is an infallible rule whereby I am taught to avoid 
 evil and to do good, the contemplation of death becomes for me, 
 according to the Scripture, a large fund of prudence and under- 
 standing : "0 that they were wise, and understood, and would 
 provide for their last end." Deut. xxxii. 
 
 Accordingly, why did the very pagans oiFer a kind of worship 
 at the tombs of their ancestors ? Why had they recourse to them 
 as to so many oracles ? Why did they hold at them their councils 
 and meetings in their important treaties and negociations ? It was, 
 doubtless, a superstition; but this superstition, as Clemens of 
 Alexandria rightly remarks, was nevertheless founded in a secret 
 instinct of reason and religion. For they seem by it to acknowledge 
 that their councils and designs could not be regularly and constantly 
 carried on according to the dictates of true wisdom, without the 
 remembrance and vicAV of death, and of its fatal consequences. 
 For this reason, they held not their meetings in places of public 
 resort and rejoicings, but in solitude and the abodes of affliction 
 and tears ; because there it is, as Solomon observes, that Ave are 
 authoratatively warned of the end of all men, and consequently 
 more capable of consulting and deciding : " For in that the end of 
 all men is signified." (Eccles. v.) Now what they did may serve 
 us as a model, if rectified and sanctified by Christian faith. 
 
 In truth, beloved hearers, every day of your lives you ought, as 
 I may say, to confer with God and with your own hearts, whether 
 about chosing a state of life, or governing your fiimilies, or dis- 
 posing of your property, or adjusting your affairs, or limiting your 
 diversions, or regulating your devotions, or taking proper measures 
 for your ovm conduct and that of others for whose souls you are 
 responsible. For wo be to us, if, leaving all this to chance, we 
 act inattentively without rule or principle. In vain should we 
 alledge, that we have not sufficient penetration to discover, amidst 
 all the embarrassments of worldly concerns, the fixed and im- 
 moveable point of true wisdom. It is a great mistake, beloved 
 Christians, as avc want not efficacious means for that purpose. Give 
 me leave to prove it beyond a doubt or reply. 
 
 You are about to make a choice of a state of life : make choice 
 of it as knowing you must one day or other submit to death, and 
 you will see if the temptation and desire of aggrandizement will 
 
 VOL. II. o 
 
198 ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 
 
 induce you to attempt too high a flight. To regulate your dis- 
 bursements is tlie point in hand : regulate them as knowing you 
 must shortly lose every kind of possession, because you must 
 shortly submit to death ; and you will see if an exorbitant love of 
 riches will confine your heart within the narrow bounds of a sordid 
 avarice. A proposal is made to you respecting your interest, or 
 gain, or profit : examine it as knowing you must give a strict 
 account to God, and die — and you will see if the maxims and 
 customs of the world Avill make you run any hazard of acting in 
 contravention to the laws of conscience. You are deeply engaged 
 in an intricate affair, you have a quarrel to make up : put an end 
 to them both as you would chuse to have done, were you now 
 reduced to the brink of eternity — and you will see if obstinacy, 
 pride, or presumption, -will tempt you to overlook the laws of equity 
 or induce you to forego the duties of charity. No, Christians, you 
 will have nothing to fear. This thought alone, that die you must, 
 will rectify your mistakes, will dissipate your prejudices, -will 
 restrain your impetuosity, will check your vivacity, and will serve 
 as a counterpoise to your levity and inconstancy. 
 
 And was it not this that, in every age, directed the saints, 
 without deviating or falling, in the path of virtue ? Was it not 
 this that made them so frequently take generous resolutions, which 
 the world condemned as the height of folly, but which were 
 inspired by the snblime wisdom and spirit of the Gospel. Was it 
 not this that induced them to embrace humiliating labours and 
 painful vocations, against the bent of natiure, which nothing but 
 the efficacy of grace could support ? The road, which, for fear of 
 being lost for ever, they were determined to follow, was one of the 
 secret ways of predestination, but which, in other respects so 
 undiscemible, preceptibly came in view as they contemplated death. 
 Dangers they met with and snares in their way : for who can 
 help meeting with them ? But the prospect of death preserved 
 them against dangers and snares of all kinds ; and it depends upon 
 you and me to draw from them the same advantage. 
 
 If, therefore, we want sufficient discernment to conduct ourselves 
 properly ; if, for want of knowledge, we fall into great and 
 irreparable faults ; if we rashly bind ourselves in important cases ; 
 if we enter u})on a state to which God hath not called us, and in 
 which he deprives us of a thousand gi'aces, which he would in other 
 circumstances, have imparted to us ; if we accept of employments 
 
ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 199 
 
 for which we are unfit, and in which we commit innumerable sins, 
 through want of capacity ; if we contract alliances productive of 
 vexations, rancorous aversions, family feuds, and scandalous di- 
 vorces; if we run mto projects, which bring on us misfortunes, 
 and of which the issue turns to our shame and ruin ; if we engage 
 in partnerships, in business or in trade, in which conscience is 
 concerned, and in which salvation is in some shape impossible (for 
 you know hoAV common all these things are ; and God only knows 
 what numbers of souls will be eternally miserable for having acted 
 in this manner Avithout thought or discretion), if, I say, all this 
 should come to pass, let us not, dear Christians, impute it to God ; 
 neither let us impute it to our infirmity. God hath taken care to 
 provide agfiinst it ; and notwithstanding our infirmity, the remem- 
 brance of death might and ought to have screened us, and made 
 us stand secure. But let us lay the blame on our own unfaithfulness, 
 which banishes from our minds, and dispels, as a troublesome and 
 disagreeable object, this necessary remembrance of our final de- 
 parture, as by an inevitable consequence it leads us into all those 
 errors and that ill conduct into which we unthinkingly let our- 
 selves be drawn. 
 
 2ndly. From hence arises another advantage, which is in some 
 measure a consequence of the former. For, to deliberate wisely, 
 we should prevent the disquietudes, and, with still greater reason, 
 the repentance and despair which might otherwise be the result of 
 our deliberations ; because (says St. Bernard) whatever is the 
 source or cause of repentance, could not have been suggested by a 
 wise man. Now whence can flow so advantajreous an affect ? 
 What can enable us to say if we will, every moment of our life : 
 what I am going to do, I sliall never repent of — what I am going 
 to do, I shall to all eternity be glad to have done? Notliing 
 Christians, but the frequent use of what I call the practical know- 
 ledge of death. The reason of it is excellent, and given l)y St. 
 Augustin : death being the term, says this holy doctor, to which 
 all the designs of mankind tend, in death their repentance and 
 anguish commence. But to prevent this, we must antedate as 
 much as in us lies the moment of death by putting the question 
 to our own breast: what will be at the moment of death my 
 sentiments relatively to my present undertaking ? Will it disturb 
 or comfort me ? Will it give mc confidence, or rack me with 
 sorroAV? Shall I approve or disapprove of it? For to each of 
 
 o2 
 
200 ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 
 
 these questions there is within ourselves a decisive answer, how- 
 ever general, upon which we may depend ; and that answer, to 
 apply in this place the apostle's words, is the answer of death : 
 " And we in ourselves have the ansAver of death." 2 Cor. ii. 
 
 As long as we reason upon principles regarding life only, the 
 answers we give ourselves keep us in a constant irregularity of 
 conduct ; and this makes us repent of what ought to comfort us, 
 and induceth us to applaud what ought to afflict us. But the 
 thoughts of death by a contrary virtue, redress if I may so speak 
 all these sentiments. They make us joyful for that which ought 
 to be, and which ever will be a true motive to joy. They make 
 us sorrowful and repentant for that which ought to be — and which 
 will be more at our death than it was in the course of our life — a 
 true motive to repentance and sorrow. By attachment to life, 
 we entertain but transient and variable repentances, Avhich makes 
 us one day approve of what we blamed another. And hence it is, 
 that our very repentance cannot produce in us that uniformity of 
 demeanour which is the chief characteristic of Chi'istian prudence. 
 But as often as we ruminate on death w^e foresee it, and thereby 
 prevent eternal repentance, of which the invariable horror hath 
 power sufficent to quell our inward tumults, and to hinder passion 
 from blinding reason. 
 
 Now here it is, that the prudence of the righteous exults and 
 triumphs over the rashness of the wicked. For, in short brother, 
 would I say with St. Jerom to a libertine of the times : hoAvever 
 hardened you may be in your sin — however unconcernedly you 
 may seem to commit it ; Avhatever fortitude of mind you may dis- 
 play in taking the resolution, this still is your misfortune, that you 
 cannot reflect upon your past conduct without pronouncing against 
 yourself this dreadful sentence : I am taking a step which will throw 
 me into all the pangs of despair, at least at my death, and for which 
 at that time I Avould atone by the sacrifice of a thousand lives. 
 
 I knoAv you endeavour as much as possible to stifle this senti- 
 ment ; but I also know that it is not at all times in your power to 
 stifle it ; I know that whether you will or not, this reflection in- 
 trudes itself upon you, and teizes and perplexes you, even when 
 you exert your utmost endeavours to expel it from your mind. I 
 knoAv that it haunts you in the midst of your pleasures, in the 
 midst of the diversions and joys of the world, at times taken up, 
 to outward appearance, with unalloyed happiness — it seizes you, it 
 
on TIIK THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 201 
 
 troubles you, and in the bottom of your soul makes you pay with 
 costs for that false tranquillity which consists only in a deceitful 
 outside. But I who would guard against these latent frights, 
 these secret agitations — what do I do ? I give free admittance to 
 the remembrance of death, in order that a stinging and importu- 
 nate remorse may not stir it up in me against myself. By the 
 thoughts of death, I prevent the repentance which I should feel 
 when it came ; and, instead of postponing them to that last hour, 
 I turn them to account at the present moment : I am now desirous 
 of being affected with them, that they may not bring me to despair 
 at my death — that is to say, that I may never repent — I am now 
 desirous of being impressed with an idea of future repentance. I 
 say with the prophet, " That the sorrows of death have encompassed 
 me around (Ps. xvii) ; its grief, its regret, its despau* have invested 
 and closely besieged me on every side ; and, far from putting 
 myself on the defensive, I regard them as my greatest happiness 
 and security. And, indeed, what can there be more desirable for 
 me than to have within myself that which answers for me to 
 myself — that which serves to regulate all my proceedings, direct 
 all my steps, and how to discover their pernicious consequences, 
 and how to avoid them ? With this, what can I fear ? Nay, Avith 
 this, what may I not undertake ? Thus the thoughts of death are 
 the most sovereign remedy for extinguishing the fire of our unruly 
 passions, and the most infallible rule to conclude securely in our 
 deliberations. That they are the most efficacious means to inspire 
 us with a secret fervour in our actions shall be the subject of the 
 third and last part. 
 
 Part III. It is upon the fervour of our actions that our pro- 
 gress in holiness of life depends ; and it is hoHness of life that must 
 make our death precious in the sight of God. This, says Saint 
 Chrysostom, is the natural order which the wisdom of God hath 
 ordained for his elect, and from which we may say that his provi- 
 dential care cannot even excuse us. That Avhich confounds, or 
 rather say destroys this fine disposition, is a large fund of sloth and 
 tepidity ; tepidity, which God so highly condemns in the sacred 
 page ; tepidity which corrupts our best actions — I say those actions 
 which religion and Christianity oblige us to perform — insomuch 
 that, however good in themselves, our life, far from being sanctified 
 by them, becomes often more imperfect, and even more criminal, 
 and finally terminates in that kind of death which should make us 
 
202 
 
 ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 
 
 tremble, if we form our judgment from the views of God and the 
 extreme rigour of his sovereign justice. This sloth, Christians, 
 we must manfully encounter, which is capable of itself, without 
 other irregularity, to effect our ruin : this we must conquer ; and 
 it is Avhat our Saviour' would particularly inculcate, and to which, 
 if we jionder it, he seeras*to have directed the scope of his Gospel. 
 For, what did that divine Redeemer of men come to do upon earth? 
 He came to diffuse the fire of charity and the zeal of good works 
 in the hearts of men : " I am come to send fire on the earth." 
 Luke xii.'S' Such wasHhe ultimate view of his mission. Now of all 
 the motives which he could propose to us, or did really propose to 
 us, in order to ', excite' this fervour in our breasts — this heavenly 
 fire — the two most powerful, without dispute, are, the proximity 
 of death, and the uncertainty of death. The proximity of death, 
 of which he laboured to make us sensible, as the strongest incen- 
 tive, and the most capable to impel us; the uncertainty of death, 
 which he hath so often represented to us as an inducement to vigi- 
 lance and continual attention. To these two motives this divine 
 Master directly refers his adorable instructions ; motives, in which 
 we shall'" find wherewithal to awaken our ardour and animate our 
 zeal to do the good works which his heavenly grace inspires us 
 to do. 
 
 1st. Yes, Christians, we must labour with diligence and that 
 fervour of spirit which ought to be the soul of all our actions, be- 
 cause we draw near ' to our final dissolution ; and it is the first 
 motive which confounds om* sloth. Walk, says the Saviour of 
 mankind, while the sun shines, because the night will come when 
 no one shall have it in his power to act. Be upon the watch, be- 
 cause the Son of Man, whom you expect not, is already at the gate. 
 Traffic and profit by the talent you are possessed of, because the 
 Master who entrusted you wath it is on the point of returning, and 
 calling you to a severe account for it. Keep yoiu- lamps lighted, 
 because the bridegroom is already arrived. Make what haste you 
 can to produce fruits, because the time is at hand for getting in the 
 harvest. What would he give us to understand by all this ? Ah ! 
 Christians, these, though quite mysterious parables, sufficiently 
 explain themselves, and clearly discover to us, in spite of our folly 
 when, placing death at an imaginary distance, though, according 
 to the Scripture there is but a point between us, we believe, or 
 fancy wc have a right to relax in the practice of our duty. Such 
 
ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 203 
 
 is our blindness ; and of this error Jesus Christ would disabuse us. 
 This walking, is neither more nor less than laying on us his com- 
 mands to advance and make pi-ogress in the Avay of salvation ; this 
 watching, than attention to ourselves ; this trafficing, than the 
 good use of time ; these lighted lamps, than the edification of a 
 pious and exemplary life, "Let your light shine before men" 
 (Matt. V.) ; these fruits, than the works of penance and sanctifi- 
 cation, " Bring forth fruits worthy of penance ;" (Luke iii.) and 
 this day of gathering in the harvest, this return of the master, this 
 arrival of the bridegroom, this night which draws near, were no 
 more than symbols in the ordinary language of the Son of God, 
 but natural symbols of an approaching death. As if Christ had 
 declared to us that his infinite wisdom could furnish us with nothing 
 more proper to inflame us with a holy zeal, and to withdraw us 
 from a lukcAvarm and languid life than the nearness of death. 
 
 And, indeed, Chiistians, although we should live for ages 
 together, and God, exerting either his severity or his goodness, 
 should suffer us to equal in length of years the patriarchs of old — 
 those founders of the world, we should still have a thousand reasons 
 to reproach ourselves with sloth and remissness. At what distance 
 sowevcr death may be from us, as all our actions have a reference 
 to eternity, as they necessarily must stand the test of God's unerring 
 judgment, as they are capable to merit for us eternal glory — it is 
 but just that the manner in which we die, as God should always 
 be served in the manner worthy of him, and of the reward which, 
 we expect from his bountiful hand ; and wo be to us, if even then 
 we misuse so precious a time, and negligently perform, as the 
 Scripture speaks, the Avork of the Lord. But to be at the eve of 
 appearing befoi-e the judgment-seat of God, and persist contentedly 
 in a negligent life ; to be near the time when we shall be ever after 
 unable to act, and not redouble our care and vigilance by a more 
 active life, to have death full in view, and, like the Apostle, to 
 " die daily," and not endeavour with all earnestness to arrive at 
 hoUncss, by the compendious method of a devout Ufe, can be 
 attributed only, beloved hearers, either to gross stupidity or to 
 infidehty, if not consummated, at least in its commencement. Yet 
 such is our situation — a deplorable situation ! Ah ! Christians, 
 Christ Jesus tells us in express tenns, " Behold I come quickly, 
 and my reward is with me," (Apoc. xxii.) that each may be 
 rewarded accordin;jc to his works. Weijih well these words. He 
 
204 ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 
 
 says not, I will come, or, I am getting ready to come ; but he 
 says, " I come," nay " I come quickly." Make haste, therefore, 
 concludes the Lord, addressing himself to the lazy, torpid soul, and 
 load yourselves with spoils ; make a rich booty of so many virtuous 
 deeds which you omit, which you neglect and of which you lose 
 the merit: "Hasten to take spoils, make haste to take booty" 
 (Isai. viii.) God, I say, both in the Old and New Testament, 
 by his own words, by the mouths of his prophets, by the dictates 
 of his priests, speaks to us, warns us, and presses us in this manner. 
 Fruitless, however, are all his admonitions with us : the time 
 glides on, and we remain in the same insensibility, in the same 
 languid state, because we never ponder with sufficient attention 
 the shortness of life. 
 
 For, in short, brethren, if you and I were fully convinced that 
 our time was restrained to a few days ; if we should often say with 
 the great St. Paul, and in a manner to be deeply affected with this 
 thought, "the time of my dissolution is at hand" (2 Tim. iv.); 
 I am like a victim that hath received the aspersion in order to be 
 immolated ; the time approaches, and it should seem that I was 
 already in the bosom of death : if, by the ministry of an angel, the 
 Almighty declared to us that this was foredoomed to come to pass 
 to-morrow, what should we do ? Or, rather, what should we not 
 do ? This sole idea which I propose for your reflection, and which 
 after all is only a supposition, carries with it although a mere sup- 
 position, I know not what, that affects, that strikes, that rouses, 
 that impels to action. We should do all in our power, and still 
 lament that we had done too little. Far from relenting, we shoiUd 
 run into an excess that would need be moderated. Neither diversions 
 nor pleasures, neither public meetings nor private company, neither 
 hope nor interest, neither passion nor connexion ; nothing could 
 interrupt or take off our attention. Recollected, and as it were 
 absorbed in ourselves, or, to speak more properly, recollected and 
 as it were absorbed in God, dead to the world and to all things in 
 it, to all its vanities, to all its amusements, our thoughts, our de- 
 sires would every moment be devoted to him, and every action of 
 our life would be sanctified by the merit of fervent charity. And 
 as the velocity of a body proportionally increases as it returns to 
 its centre; so should we perceive, that our zeal and activity 
 increased every moment as we drew nearer to our last end. This 
 is the miracle, the visible miracle, which the presence of death 
 
ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 205 
 
 would operate in us. And why should it not operate the same in 
 lis now ? Hath not Christ spoken with sufficient precision ? or is 
 the word of an angel more powerful and effectual than the word 
 of God? 
 
 Would you wish to know, beloved hearers, what the words and 
 works are of one Avho beholds approaching death and makes it the 
 subject of his contemplations ? Give ear to the holy king Heze- 
 kias, and learn to amend by his example : "I shall go (says he) to 
 the gates of hell ... I shall behold man no more . . . my life is cut 
 off." Isai. xxxviii. Now these principles being thus settled — for 
 they were, in reality, so many principles which he laid down — what 
 were the deductions wliich he made fi'om thence, and the practical 
 inferences for the reformation of life ? They are truly admirable, 
 nor can I lay before you a finer model : "I -will cry (says he) like 
 a young swallow, I will meditate like a dove ; my eyes are weak- 
 ened with looking upwards ... I will recount to thee all my years 
 in the bitterness of my soul . . . The living shall confess to thee, as 
 I do tliis day." Isai. xxxviii. Thus this religious monarch spoke : 
 and hence. Christians, we learn that method, so solid, so tho- 
 roughly known to the saints, so little practised among us, and yet 
 so practicable, and on which depends the sanctification of our lives, 
 namely, to perform all our actions as if each were to be the last and 
 to be followed by death ; to pray as we should pray at our death ; 
 to examine our conscience as we should examine it at our 
 death ; to bewail om* offences as we should bewail them at our 
 death, to receive the blessed sacrament as we should receive it at 
 our death. Thus shaU we reform all our lukewarmness and all our 
 remissness, and give spirit and life to all oiu: Avorks by calling to 
 our remembrance, that death draws near. 
 
 2ndly. If objection be made, that it is uncertain, whether death 
 be near us or at a distance : I grant it, beloved hearer ; but what 
 gather you from thence ? Because it is uncertain when and what 
 day you shall die, ought your vigilence, therefore, and your fer- 
 vour to relax in the observance of your duty ? And is not this 
 uncertainty, which perhaps you allege in the vindication of youi- 
 negligence, a fresh and cogent reason to condemn you ? For, why 
 doth our Saviour command us to watch ? Not only because death 
 is not fiir off, but because it is uncertain ; that is, " Because we 
 know not the day nor the hour." Matt, xxviii. 
 
 And truly if we knew exactly the hour and the day we should 
 
206 ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 
 
 die, the penitence of life, and the exercise of piety would be at an 
 end. Everything would be put off to the last year ; and in the 
 last year, to the last month ; and in the last month, to the last 
 week ; and in the last week, to the last day ; and in the last day, 
 to the last hour — or even to the last moment. Therefore no sal- 
 vation — because the moment of death is neither the time for pen- 
 ance nor for good works ; and because mthout penance and good 
 works, salvation is impossible. But Almighty God, equally 
 wise and merciful, keeps us with regard to this last moment 
 in absolute imcertainty, that at every moment we may be upon 
 our guard. For, what thought is so capable of perpetually 
 renewing us in spirit as this : perhaps the present day may be the 
 last of my days ; perhaps after this confession, or communion, or 
 sermon, or conversation, or businesss, death will come, and on a 
 sudden will snatch me out of this Avorld, and wafl me to the 
 bar of an all-powerful judge ? When once we are habituated to 
 this idea, and the traces of it are strongly impressed on our me- 
 mory, far from relenting, or falling into dejection, we recoil at 
 nothing, we are dismayed at nothing ; we proceed with spirit, and 
 surmount obstacles seemingly insurmountable. We are now (and 
 it is a fine sketch of a fervent life, which the apostle himself hath 
 dehneated for us) we are laborious and assiduous, stirring and 
 zealous, indefatigable in God's service, disengaged from the world, 
 attentive only to the things of heaven ; patient in suffering, 
 addicted to prayer, charitable to our brethren, always delighted 
 with the works of mercy ; in a word, we are faithful in the execu- 
 tion of that which we owe to God, to our neighbour, and to our- 
 selves : "In carefulness not slothful, in spirit fervent, serving the 
 Lord ; rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation, instant in prayer, 
 communicating in the necessities of the saints, pursuing hospitality, 
 providing good things not only in the sight of God, but also in the 
 eight of all men." Rom. xii. 
 
 But let us proceed to something more urgent, and more suitable 
 to that which the Deity requires of us, in this holy time especially 
 on which we are entered. It is a time of penitence ; and the most 
 important and necessary action of our life is, to return into the 
 favour of our God by a sincere and perfect conversion. Now is it 
 not in this that we chiefly experience our own weakness, and 
 discern our inactivity and want of resolution ? The imcertainty 
 of death must make us break our connexions by a generous effort 
 
ON THE THOUGHTS OF DEATH. 207 
 
 and infuse into our minds that fervour of conversion which enrap- 
 tures the soul, which disunites her from the world, and which lifts 
 her up to heaven without delay. For, tell me, sinner, can anything 
 move you, if you are not moved by the emminent danger to which 
 it exposes you ? If you die in yom* sin, you are lost — and lost 
 without resource. And may you not die while you remain in it? 
 And may you not die at every moment, as nothing is more uncertain 
 than the moment of death ? 
 
 But I am mistaken. Christians : there is one certain thing in 
 death, that it will take us unawares. The Saviour of the world 
 was not content to say : " Watch, because ye know not the day 
 nor the hour when the Son of Man will come." He stops not 
 there, but expressly adds : " Watch, because the Son of Man will 
 come at the hour you do not expect him." Can words be expressed 
 with more clearness and precision ? And doth not the infallibility 
 of him who spoke them, enhance the crime of living in sin and 
 neglecting a speedy retiim to God ? Had this divine Master 
 mentioned only the uncertainty of the time when I must die, it 
 had been some extenuation, perhaps, of my guilt, I should say : 
 as it is uncertain, I have some light to hope. To run the hazard 
 of it I own is rash, but my rashness destroys not absolutely my 
 confidence. I may be surprised, and I may not; and for this 
 extravagant manner of proceeding, such as it is, I have some pre- 
 text. But after the word which Christ hath spoken, I am not 
 allowed to reason in that manner — and I ought to reckon that I 
 shall die at the hour I think not of it. These are the means, the 
 only means, by Avhich the Son of God Instructs me concerning this 
 fatal hour. All that I know in a manner to preclude all doubt is, 
 that the day of my death will be a deceitful day for me : " At 
 what hour ye think not" (Luke xii.) Do not I therefore conspire 
 my own ruin, if in this situation, and seeing myself exposed to all 
 the hatred and vengeance of my God, I take not just and speedy 
 measures to return into his favour, and to prevent by penance the 
 stroke with which he had so loudly and so frequently threatened 
 me ? Have you ever. Christians, made on this head, I do not say 
 all the necessary reflections, but any reflections ? Even now while 
 I am speaking to you on the topic of death, do you think of death ? 
 Do you think of it justly ? Do you think of it attentively ? Do 
 you think of it like Christians ? Do you think of it efficaciously ? 
 But if you do not think of it — of what do you think ? And if at 
 
208 ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 
 
 present you think not of it, when will you think of it ? Or who 
 will ever think of it in your stead ? Happy those who defer not 
 to think of it till it be too late ! Happy those who think of it 
 during the coiu-se of life ! Thus shall death, the punishment of sin, 
 be in our regard a remedy against sin. By sin it first made its way 
 into the world : but if we contemplate it like the saints, it will, by 
 grace, introduce us like them into a bhssful eternity. 
 
 SERMON XXVI. 
 
 ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 
 
 For the fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost. 
 
 When he came near unto the gate of the city^ behold^ there was 
 a dead man carried out, the only son of his mother : and she teas 
 a tvidoiv, and many people of the city were with her. And ichen 
 the Lord saw her, being moved with compassion he said unto her : 
 Weep not. Luke vii. 
 
 This passage, beloved Christians, exhibits in one ^^ew many mo- 
 tives to compassion : a mother bereft of her only son ; a woman, 
 deprived of her most pleasing hope ; a young man cut oif in the 
 bloom of his years ; a sole heir of his family divested all at once of 
 his whole pretensions ; in fine, a great multitude of people that 
 follow the corpse to the grave, and that take part in the doleful 
 ceremony. Here was undoubtedly, says St. Gregory of Nice, 
 wherewithal to affect the Saviour of men : and it is hardly credible, 
 that the God of mercy should not be moved at a sight so lugubri- 
 ous and deserving of pity. But, after all, he was touched more 
 feelingly, in the opinion of St. Chrysostom, with another object. 
 The loss of a son, the wailing of a mother, the death of an heir, 
 the affliction of a widow, were but hmnan considerations, too in- 
 significant to make a deep impression on the heart of a God : but 
 that which he could not behold without grief, was the excessive 
 and quite natural attachment of this mother to the person of her 
 son ; the infidelity of tliis woman, who contemplated death with 
 the eyes of flesh, and not of faith ; the misfortune of this young 
 man, surprised by an unforeseen accident, and seized on by death 
 without preparation. 
 
ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 209 
 
 Now to dwell upon this last article only, which seems the most 
 essential and the most important, is it not in this manner that 
 nmnberless Christians die every day, I mean without thinking of 
 or preparing for death ? And what is more deplorable than the 
 condition of a man who perceives himself going the way of all flesh, 
 and that, too, at a time Avhen he is least prepared for it, having 
 taken no measures to provide for a change, of which the conse- 
 quences are great and eternal ? Wherefore, Christians, it is of 
 the utmost importance to lay before you such documents as may 
 enable you to prevent so dreadful a disaster, and therefore it is that 
 I have chosen for the subject of your present entertainment, prepa- 
 ration for death. 
 
 St. Chrysostom, giving proper rules of life, and by them desi- 
 rous to dispose a Christian soul for death, makes this prepai'ation 
 to consist particularly in three things, to wit, persuasion of death, 
 watchfulness against death, and the practical knowledge of death ; 
 three dispositions necessarily connected with one another, which 
 shall make the division of this discourse. The first rule, says this 
 holy doctor, to prepare for death is to be thoroughly persuaded of 
 it ; the second, to be always upon the Avatch against its surprises ; 
 the third and last, to make life itself, as it were, a continual 
 apprenticeship to it. Now, in regard to us, what is it that moves 
 our Saviour to compassion ? It is this, beloved hearers, that 
 although we fear death to so great a degree, we live, notwith- 
 standing, supinely neglectful and profoundly forgetful of its ap- 
 proaches. First, we are afraid to die ; and yet, how certain and 
 near soever death may be, scarce are we persuaded that we must 
 die. Secondly, we are afraid to die ; and yet how certain and 
 deceitful soever death may be, we take as little precaution as if 
 we were informed of the time and state in which we shall die. 
 Thirdly, we are afraid to die ; and yet in spite of the daily, the 
 plain and obvious experience which we have of death, by our way 
 of life we never effectually learn to die. 
 
 These three heads require severally to be elucidated, and for 
 that reason I entreat you to favour me with all yoiu' attention. 
 
 Part I. The great, the holy, the divine exercise of prepa- 
 ration for death, must arise from persuasion. For, as St. 
 Chrysostom ol)serves, it is hard that I should seriously prepare for 
 a thing of which I am not as yet thoroughly persuaded ; neither is 
 it possible, if I am thoroughly persuaded, when the consequences 
 
210 ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 
 
 of it must be as irreparable and terrible as are those of death, that 
 I should not use my utmost endeavours to prepare for it. There- 
 fore, beloved hearers, look not upon what I am now going to 
 advance as a paradoxical proposition, or at least an instruction of 
 no utility. Nor tell me that death is so very certain that there is 
 nothing of which we are more fully convinced ; for I hold it, on the 
 contrary, that there hardly is anything of which mankind are less 
 convinced. The assertion will surprise you, and would surprise 
 me, too, if I knew not in what sense it should be understood ; an 
 assertion invariably fixed on the solid basis of truth, which I 
 purpose to make appear in the following exposition. 
 
 True it is, Christians, we are all persuaded that an irreversible 
 sentence of death is passed in the supreme court of God's justice 
 against sinful man: "It is decreed unto all men once to die." 
 Heb. ix. But, by a strange infatuation of our self love, we forget 
 that this sentence must be executed in our persons, and we live in 
 reality, as though we were persuaded that we should never die. 
 "We well know, in general, that all men shall die ; but, deluded by 
 a thousand chimerical hopes, we find means of excepting ourselves 
 in particular. To speak more properly, we have a theoretic evi- 
 dence, and are fully convinced that we ourselves shall die ; but a 
 thousand practical errors, at the same time, induce us to believe 
 that we shall not. That is to say, we easily allow that we are 
 doomed to die one day or otlier, and that it is a rigorous law with 
 which we are necessitated to comply ; but we comfort ourselves in 
 the groundless thought that it mil not be soon, that as yet we have 
 time, that the fatal hour is not yet come, that Ave shall not die of 
 this disorder ; and this persuasion hinders us from entering upon 
 the disposition requisite to prepare for death. For let it be remem- 
 bered, beloved Christians, that to know in speculation that we are 
 destined to die, is not what disposes us to a good death ; but to be 
 actually affected and penetrated with this internal sentiment — I 
 shall die, and my hour of dissolution approaches. I shall die, and 
 it will be in one of those years which I promise myself in vain. I 
 shall die, and it will be in the manner and at the time I least 
 foresee. This is what determines us to take generous resolutions 
 of reforming our lives, and to think efficaciously and solidly of 
 death. 
 
 What then doth the enemy of our salvation do ? Observe, 
 beloved hearers, the artifice he uses to keep us in imj)enitcnce. 
 
ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 211 
 
 He leaves us the possession of all those thoughts respecting death, 
 which he knows we shall turn to no advantage, and robs us of the 
 only one capable to convert us. He offers not to persuade us that 
 we shall never die ; this would be too gross, too palpable an error, 
 and indeed unnecessary in order to work our destruction and wo ; 
 but he makes us believe that we shall not die either to-day or to- 
 morrow, or dm-ing that whole time, when the charity which each one 
 owes himself should press us to return to God ; and that is all he 
 wants. For, by these crafty means, never thinking on death, we 
 never draw from it those salutary consequences on which depends 
 our conversion to God. And it is in this sense, that St. Chrys- 
 ostom, explaining these words, " Ye shall surely die" (Gen. iii.) 
 understands it. The remark of this father is worthy of your atten- 
 tion. He says then that the devil, that lying spirit, still employs 
 to seduce us, the same wiles which he employed in paradise against 
 our first parents ; and that when he attempts to make us fall into 
 sin, or withhold us from penance, one of the most ordinary means 
 he makes use of to secure success is, to suggest to us, as he did to 
 the first man and woman — that " we shall not surely die." But 
 how can he blind us to that excess ? Though God should not tell 
 us, nor reason convince us, would not experience alone be sufl5- 
 cient, nay, more than sufficient, to extort a behef that die we must? 
 What likelihood that we should ever be able to contradict not only 
 our faith and reason, but the incontestable and evident testimony 
 of our senses ? To judge by this test, it were perhaps less aston- 
 ishing, that the father of men should be surprised in that snare : 
 for as yet he had seen no example of death, and the state of inno- 
 cence in which God had created him endued him with unalterable 
 health of body, and even rendered him immortal. Accordingly, 
 so long as he was observant of good order, feeling no weakness 
 that admonished him of mortality, he might with much more case 
 be duped by the empty promises of the tempter, and vainly flatter 
 himself that " he should not surely die." But, beloved Christians, 
 to tell us, whose eyes are continually struck with the image of 
 death ; whom death (as I may say) surrounds on all sides ; who 
 behold it in others, and have melancholy proofs of it from the 
 infirmities we feel in our own persons : to teU us, " ye shall not 
 surely die," would be, it should seem, the last temptation by which 
 our ghostly enemy would attack us, much less deceive us. It is 
 that, however, by which he attacks us the most frequently, and 
 
212 ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 
 
 what is still more strange, it is that by which he mostly succeeds. 
 It is a clmnsy artifice, I own ; but our blindness is so much the 
 more to be lamented, when we cannot see tlu-ough it. Now this 
 is the case at every moment. For, the spiritual foe, who, on all 
 occasions, is contriving our ruin, and who knows our weakness, 
 need but take the advantage, and insinuate that " we shall not 
 surely die," and we believe him. He need but give us to under- 
 stand, that we are young, that the case is not urgent, that we shall 
 be able to think of ourselves in good season, and without farther 
 examination we put confidence in him ; and in this strange confi- 
 dence we live undisturbed, in the same dispositions, in the same 
 inordination of a worldly life — in the same state of an irregular 
 conscience. The reason is this : we are never persuaded, I mean 
 efficaciously — that die we must. 
 
 Nay, it would seem as if a good understanding was kept up, in 
 this, betAveen us and our enemy. For, so far are we from being 
 convinced of the uncertainty of death, that we would not be so, that 
 we fear to be so, that we banish from our minds whatever considera- 
 tions might make us be so; and these considerations, which ought 
 to sanctify us, for the most part disturb us, afflict us, dispirit us, 
 sometimes even exasperate us, when the least insinuations, at the 
 approach of death, are thrown out respecting our desperate situation. 
 Hence it arises, according to a wise remark of St. Chrysostom, 
 that most men die without thinking they shall die, and almost 
 always with a presumptuous assurance that they shall not die. 
 Hence it arises, that those very people who constantly and visibly 
 have the shortest time to live, are those, notwithstanding, who 
 toil and strive the most for a livelihood. Hoav many do you see 
 tottering under the pressure of a mortal illness, and already given 
 over by the voice of the public, yet who form new projects, under- 
 take fresh business, and make themselves uneasy about a thousand 
 affairs, as if they were of all men the most interested in providing 
 for the time to come ? How many old men, sinking under the 
 dead-doing weight of years, and with one foot in the gi-ave, are as 
 covetous of earthly possessions and advantages as if a life of Avhole 
 ages had been ensured to them ? Hence it arises, that the great 
 ones of the world by a fatality, as I may say, annexed to their con- 
 dition, are never made to know to what pass they are come, even 
 when they are come almost to death's door ; the notion being 
 general, that they Avould not Avillingly be made to know it. Hence 
 
ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 213 
 
 it arises, tliat every one conspires to dcecive them in conjunctures 
 in which it so much imports them to have their eyes opened. They 
 are bid to be assured that all goes well, when it is very evident 
 that all goes iU ; they receive congratulations upon a slight success, 
 and a tolerable favourable alteration to appearance, but which is 
 nothing, at bottom, but the last effort of exhausted nature ; they 
 are imposed upon with regai'd. to symptoms and presages of 
 approaching death, which are dexterously and carefully concealed 
 from them ; they are told of the force and virtue of remedies in a 
 strain of exaggeration, but not one word do they hear of the 
 sovereign remedy — penance. In this manner they are fed with 
 destiiictlve hopes, but from what motives ? From motives merely 
 human ; by a wife, through excessive fondness ; by children, 
 through respect, or interested views ; by strangers, through com- 
 plaisance ; by servants, through fear. Thus the truth is always 
 kept from them : and accordingly, though grasped in the claAvs of 
 death and on the point of expiring, they hold it for certain that 
 they shall not die. Hence it arises that those Avhom the duty of 
 their office obliges to prevent this mischief, and speak without 
 reserve, have so great a difficidty to disclose their minds ; that 
 they leave it to each other, the priest to the doctor and the doctor 
 to the priest ; that they are each unwiUing to deliver a message, 
 disagreeable, indeed, yet of the utmost Importance, with which 
 God entrusted them — and sacrifice to Aveak and worldly con- 
 siderations the salvation of a soul, of which the eternal destiny 
 depended on then- faithfulness. Hence it arises, that if the case 
 must at last be declared, and the patient be pressed in such great 
 extremity to recur to the sacraments, so many precautions, so many 
 circumlocutions are generally used. He is assured that as yet 
 there is no reason to despair, and that although they exhort 
 him to this act of religion, they mean not that the danger is so 
 imminent as to admit of no delay, but that it Is advisable for him 
 to take proper measures in good time, and to set his mind at rest. 
 That Is, they deprive him of one of the most powerful inducements 
 to penance, and perhaps the only one capable at that time to move 
 his heart — the prospect of God's approaching judgment. 
 
 Very different from this was the conduct of the prophet, when 
 in the name of the Lord, and with a holy freedom, he warned the 
 King of Juda that his dissolution was at hand, and that he must 
 depart in order to give an account of his conduct to the supremo 
 
 VOL. II. p 
 
214 ON PREPARATION FOPt DEATH. 
 
 Judge : " Set tliine house in order, for thou shalt die, and not 
 live." Isai. xxxviii. This decree he pronounced peremptorily, and 
 without extenuation : Thou shalt die. He had no regard either to 
 royal grandeur or to the trouble which the thoughts of death would 
 create. You shall die, O King, you in person — ^monarch as you 
 are — an absolute monarch. Alas ! Christians, where are there 
 now-a-days prophets to be found, I do not say for princes and 
 crowned heads, but for persons in subordinate stations in life, espe- 
 cially those Avho are distinguished by their birth or their rank in 
 the world ? I am not astonished that men die by unforeseen and 
 unusual accidents, without being persuaded that they are going to 
 die. Such is the dreadfvd chastisement of God, when, to punish 
 the sinner, he permits death to surprise him in his sin. But this 
 comes not within the verge of my subject. What I deplore, and 
 what I condemn at present is, that dying persons, whom Almighty 
 God summons the most common ways ; persons whom death, to 
 the last gasp, indulges with the freest use of reason ; persons in 
 whose behalf the divine justice abates of its rights by conforming 
 to their need, and alloAving them to enter into themselves ; that 
 such persons should die, notwithstanding, without being convinced 
 of the actual necessity and vicinity of death, and that this want of 
 conviction should not arise from a rigorous vengeance of chastising 
 heaven, or an unexpected accident that defeats their measures, but 
 from an insurmountable, perverse, infatuating wilfulness ; that they 
 should make it their business, themselves, as I may say, to deceive 
 and mislead themselves, imagining things to be not as they are, 
 but as they would have them to be, to me seems deserving not of 
 compassion but of indignation. 
 
 Now which is the remedy, beloved Christians ? I shall give 
 it you as I find it in the doctrine and maxims of St. Gregory, 
 pope, than whom none of the fathers seem to have sounded and 
 discussed this subject vnth. greater clearness, accuracy, and pre- 
 cision. 
 
 The fii'st maxim — To entertain habitually, within ourselves, a 
 general conviction, that die we must, would rectify our mistaken 
 notions ; that is, continually to counteract, with a lively idea of it, 
 our presumptuous security respecting death, and often call to mind 
 that Ave are destined to die, and at an hour, too, when Ave shall 
 not apprehend that our hour is come. This CA'en the oracle of 
 truth hath declared to me ; and wo l)e to me, if, in spite of the 
 
ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 215 
 
 express terms of the Gospel, In spite of the formidable menace of 
 Jesus Christ, I still hesitate to give my assent to it. A salutary 
 remembrance this of death, which Moses recommended in such 
 strong terms to the children of Israel, not doubting that so incon- 
 stant and refractory a people, so long as they should have this 
 object before them, would pay submission to the rulers whom God 
 hath appointed over them. " O that they were wise, and under- 
 stood, and would consider their latter end." Deut. xxxiii. 
 
 The second maxim — To have a sincere, upright, open-hearted 
 friend, who, not over-delieate, or fearful of offending, nor used to 
 listen to the suggestions of a weak or interested friendship, would 
 come to us with an artless, ^gnificant countenance, would acquaint 
 us with our danger without hesitation or circumlocution, and would 
 bespeak us with the zeal and energy of the prophet : " Set thy 
 conscience in order, for thou shalt die, and not live." To require 
 of him, as the greatest favour he could do us, that he would speak 
 his mind without delay, and that by so doing he need not appre- 
 hend he shall give us uneasiness. To make him thoroughly 
 sensible that thereby we shall judge whether he be perfectly devoted 
 to us ; that thereby we shall discriminate him from false friends ; 
 that thereby we shall be indebted to him for the most precious of 
 graces, the persuasion that we shall die, when on the point of dying. 
 This is the friendly office we should wish for. Eveiy other kind- 
 ness is trifling, is despicable, is oftentimes dangerous. But to turn 
 one's thoughts to a dying man's salvation, to take care of his soul 
 and his eternal doom, to dispose him, by sage and timely advice, 
 to finish like a Christian a life which must terminate in supi'cme 
 happiness or supreme misery, is, properly speaking, to be a friend 
 till death. But where shall we find this faithful friend ? Not 
 among worldlings. If these be friends (and hoAv few of them are 
 so ?) it is according to the deceitful spirit of the world, it is in 
 regard to the frivolous advantages of the Avorld, it is to settle, to 
 promote a friend in the Avorld. We shall find him in the number 
 of virtuous men, the small number of zealous servants, whom 
 Almighty God favours with his special protection, and whose piety 
 is known to us. We shall find him among the ministers of Christ 
 our Lord — friends the more solid, as, after helping us to live well, 
 they will lend us their assistance to die well. 
 
 The third maxim — To keep up our courage against the fear of 
 death, because it is the immoderate fear of death that renders the 
 
 V 2 
 
21G ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 
 
 thoughts of it so very odious, and the persuasion of it so very diffi- 
 cult. That which we fear, we gladly conceive to be at a great 
 distance, and endeavour to lose all remembrance of it, as a thing 
 not likely to come to pass. Now which is the way to overthrow 
 tliis fear ? By the arms of faith, by the motives of hope, by the 
 holy ardour of divine love. With that view, to say to ourselves 
 in silent meditation : " The bridegroom cometh" (Matt, xxv.), 
 let us go, my soul, let us go and meet him. Behold he advances, 
 he will not come, no, he actually comes, yet not to destroy you, 
 but to snatch you from the miseries of this mortal life, and put you 
 in possession of his heavenly kingdom. He comes, not to cast you 
 away from his presence, but to clasp you in his bosom, and unite 
 you to himself for evermore. True it is, that this kind of lan- 
 guage is too sublime for sensual souls, but conveys the genuine 
 and usual feelings of godly persons. With these dispositions they 
 cheerfully contemplate approaching death ; and the more atten- 
 tively they consider its approaches the better prepared they are to 
 receive it, by redoubling their care, their assiduity, their fervovir : 
 " The bridegroom cometh, go ye out to meet him." For, to what 
 doth this persuasion incline us ? To be watchful against death, 
 which I shall make the subject of the second part. 
 
 Part II. Could any one imagine, beloved Christians, that it was 
 possible to find out a preservative against death ; to bring it over 
 to our interest, notwithstanding its uncertainty ; to make it, in 
 some measure, assume another nature ; and whereas it is deceitful, 
 to make it faithful to us, or, at least, to put it out of its power to 
 betray us ? The Saviour of the world, however, took care to re- 
 veal this important secret to us ; and St. Chrysostom tells us that 
 it is included in this admonition — " watch ;" a word to which the 
 Son of God hath annexed innumerable blessings ; a word, with 
 which he hath almost universally terminated the divine instruc- 
 tions he hath left us ; a word, the practical knowledge of which 
 is, as it were, an epitome of all Christian wisdom. For, to what 
 doth the Avisdom of the Gospel tend ? To the great, the impor- 
 tant business of salvation. On what doth this essential, this one 
 thing needful rest ? On death. And what more infallible and 
 necessary means to forewarn us of death, and guard us against its 
 surprise, than watchfulness ? 
 
 And truly, (says St. Bernard,) the particular circumstances 
 attending death will always be hidden fi-om mc ; but be thoy ever 
 
ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 217 
 
 SO hidden, I may so take my mcasm'es as to be never Bm-prised by 
 them. In spite of whatever reflections and researches I should 
 make through the mazy walks of futurity, I should still be igno- 
 rant of the time, the place, and the manner of my death, because 
 these are secrets which the heavenly Father hath put not only in 
 his own power, but in his divine prescience. But without knowing 
 tlie time of my death, I may live at all times with such attention 
 to my own conduct, that at whatever moment death shall come, 
 it will find me in readiness ; without knowing the place of my 
 death, I may in all places await its coming, so as to be nowhere 
 unprepared for it ; without knomng the manner of my death, that 
 is, "without knowing whether it will be sIoav or sudden, tranquil or 
 accompanied with violent pains, whether it will leave me the free 
 use of reason, or cloud my understanding, I may take my measures 
 60 properly, so cautiously, that it will never be unforeseen. And 
 this was the difference between the prudent and foolish virgins 
 of whom mention is made in the Gospel. The former were not 
 more fully apprised of the moment in which the bridegroom would 
 come than the latter ; but in this uncertainty they had the precau- 
 tion to keep their lamps continually lighted, whereas the others 
 slept, and in their sleep let their lamps go out. 
 
 And in this. Christians, we ought to adore the divine provi- 
 dence : I mean, in this dreadful incertitude of death, and in the 
 salutary effects which it always produces. For, by these means, 
 God keeps us to order, and obliges us to have a watchful eye upon 
 ourselves ; to measure all our steps, to weigh all our words, to 
 purify all our thoughts, and to regulate all the views and desires 
 of our heart. If it were made known to me when I should die, 
 where I should die, and how I should die, I should live, it may 
 be, in greater tranquillity, but not in equal dependance on God : 
 whereas the uncertainty of the time, the place, and the manner of 
 my death, reduces me to the happy necessity of studying my duty 
 carefully, and endeavouring regularly and constantly to fulfil it. 
 To be wanting one moment in this disposition, I mean, to be 
 wanting in this Christian watchfulness, is (says St. Jerom) to act 
 in contradiction to all the principles and lights of reason, because 
 it is to commit a whole eternity to a single moment. 
 
 But if that be the case, it follows that men the most wise and 
 clear-sighted in the common opinion of niankind, are, in reality, 
 blind and stupid. Ah ! my brethren (replies St. Chrysostom) the 
 
218 ON PJIEFAHATION l-'OR DEATH. 
 
 inference, I own, is but too true ; and hath not the Scripture 
 declared it to us in express terms ? Hath it not charged openly, 
 on this head, the prudence of the most refined ages with folly ? 
 How can we otherwise judge, when we see, to the utter disgrace 
 of the Christian name, such men as we see in every station ? Men 
 who prize themselves for their vigilance and dexterity above all 
 others, and neglect the sole business in which it imports them to 
 be vigilant and dexterous ; men so attentive to worldly concerns, 
 who abandon to chance the capital concern on which death must 
 decide ; men v?ho plod and pore over books, and spend whole 
 months, whole years, in settling and stating accounts, with which 
 they are entrusted by men like themselves, and yet never think of 
 settling or stating the great account which they are bound to lay 
 before the Lord their God ; men who never think they can have 
 sufficient security in matters regarding the present life, yet leave 
 all to chance in matters regarding their eternal welfare. Such, 
 however, is the sad infatuation of many Christians ; and may it 
 please kind heaven that you be not among them ! For, according 
 to the words and expresssion of our Saviour, " Who is that wise 
 and faithful steward" (Luke xii.), who is ever on the watch to be 
 ready to receive the master whom he expects, and by whom he is 
 in dread of being one day surprised ? But to drop all figurative 
 modes of speech, and to insist only on some particular points : do 
 we watch, when we defer, till death approaches, to acquit ourselves 
 of duties equally indispensable before God and man ? For in- 
 stance — ^to discharge debts which increase every year, and leave 
 them to the good or bad faith of an heir, an avaricious heir, who 
 will easily contest them, and elude payment by a thousand chica- 
 neries ; to make certain restitutions of which care should be taken, 
 but which are deposited in the breasts of children, for whom they 
 will be a fresh occasion of sin and a cause of damnation ; to pay oif 
 servants whose wages are most detained from them, and who break 
 in by their importunate, yet reasonable representations, upon the 
 dying person, and upon the zeal of God's ministers who lend him 
 their assistance ; to discuss perplexing and intricate points ; to clear 
 up difficulties and resolve doubts, the doing of which depends on 
 various and complicated circumstances, which ought to be known, 
 but on which there is not time to dwell ; to see an enemy, and be 
 reconciled with him, when we cannot prevail upon ourselves to 
 pardon him, because we have lived in an inveterate hatred, and 
 
ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 219 
 
 send for hiiu only by the way of cercaiony, rather than from any 
 religious motive. This detail I shall carry no farther. But to say 
 something more general and essential : do Ave watch by performing 
 so few good works, by applying so little to Christian observances, 
 by committing sin with such facihty, by persisting in it with such 
 indifference, by recurring so seldom to the sacrament of penance, 
 and by laying ourselves open to the consequences of an unforeseen 
 and reprobated death ? 
 
 Alas ! my Brethren, let us try to ward off so dreadful a mis- 
 fortune. Let us fear death, but let it be in such a manner, that 
 our fear shall be a fence against death itself; and because the most 
 solid advantage we can reap from it is, to be always on the watch, 
 let us watch while we fear, and as much as we fear. Let us often 
 call to mind those familiar but convictive comparisons of St. Chrys- 
 ostora, by which he intelligibly conveyed to his audience the 
 doctrine I deliver. For, said this father, no one ever waits to 
 refit a vessel, Avhen in open sea she is tossed by the tempest, 
 and beaten by the surges, and in immediate danger of bulging and 
 sinking. No one ever thinks of providing a fortress with military 
 stores, Avhen the enemy hath invested it with lines of circumvallation, 
 and Avith a formidable army. No one ever sets about furnishing a 
 palace when the prince is at the gates, and on the point of coming 
 in. These natural figures more forcibly demonstrate the necessity 
 of a prompt and assiduous vigilance tlian the most elaborate dis- 
 courses and most accurate ratiocuiation. No, no, adds St. Gregory, 
 it Avill be too late to prepare for God's judgment Avhen the signs, 
 forerunners of the Son of Man's coming, shall appear, I do not say 
 in the heavens or upon the earth, but within ourselves : Avhen the 
 sun shall be obscured — that is, when our reasoning faculties shall 
 be in the darkness into which the presence and horror of death for 
 the most part throAV them : when the moon shall be eclipsed ; that 
 is, when our will, emblematically represented by the inconstancy of 
 that luminary, shall be enfeebled, and unable to form any resolution : 
 when the stai's sliall fall — that is, wlien our senses shall be disturbed 
 and we shall lose the use of them. Let St. Augustin's excellent 
 reflection be remembered, which, if thoroughly pondered, is worth 
 a whole discourse : that, to die like a Christian, it is not sufficient, 
 when death draAVS near, to think of it, or even prepare for it, but 
 that Ave must already have thought of it and prepared for it. The 
 reason is, that the Son of God, Avhose Avords are all oracles, and 
 
220 0^f PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 
 
 who includes in one word tlie most profound mysteries respecting 
 salvation, did not say "prepare," but "be ye prepared." Luke 
 xii. Whereupon, I make this terrible inference : that there is a 
 time when we may sincerely prepare for death, and be reprobated 
 by God. Thus it happened to the foolish virgins already mentioned. 
 They bestirred themselves, they hastened to fetch oil in order to 
 fill their lamps, but too late ; the bridegroom was come, and at 
 their return they found the door shut. How many sinners doth ' 
 the Almighty doom to everlasting perdition, at the very time that 
 they prepare to die, whose actual preparation, by a just judgment, 
 is no impediment to their eternal damnation, forasmuch as it is not 
 an entire and consummate, but only an imperfect and inceptive pre- 
 paration ? They awaken from their lethargy, and take in hand the 
 lamp of faith ; but as the divine unction of charity is wanting they 
 are disturbed in mind, are torn with anxiety, and in strong agitation. 
 The bridegroom comes, death snatches them away, the gate of 
 mercy is shut against them, and God declares to them — that " He 
 knows them not." 
 
 Let us, therefore, be ready, beloved hearers, let us always be 
 ready; "be ye prepared." However, let not this preparation 
 consist merely of some vague and fruitless projects, in which all our 
 disposedness often terminates at our death, but of deeds and effects, 
 of serious examinations, of frequent confessions, of fervent com- 
 munions, of holy retirements, of profitable reading, of alms-deeds 
 and prayer, and all the exercises of Christian piety: for in any 
 other supposition it is all delusion. Let us not rely on the vigi- 
 lance of others. God, It is true, according to the apostle, hath 
 appointed pastors to watch over and direct us ; pastors responsible 
 to him for our souls. But, after all, we ourselves must watch ; 
 and the vigilance of the pastors of the church would be insufficient 
 to stay the perils of death, if not accompanied and supported by 
 our own. If they neglectfully withold their care and suffer us to 
 perish, the Almighty will call them to an account for our loss, but 
 we shall not be lost the less for that. The rigorous justice with 
 which he will punish them for neglecting their duty will no way 
 diminish that with which he will punish us for neglecting ourselves. 
 For, if he hath threatened them in entrusting them with our souls, 
 to require them from their hands, " I will require his blood from 
 thy hands" (Ezech. xxxi.) ; I may justly apply to you the same 
 menace, and tell you on the part of the living God : that as he 
 
ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 221 
 
 hath charged you in a special manner with the care of your soul, 
 he will require your soul from your hands. 
 
 But which is the method to be used in this so necessary a vigi- 
 lance ? I reduce it to the three following points, which com- 
 prise, in brief, the whole doctrine of the Gospel, and are, as I 
 may say, the fundamental principles of our whole conduct respect- 
 ing death. 
 
 First, always to keep ourselves in the state in which we should 
 Avish to die ; never, at least, to be in a state in which Ave should have 
 a horror of dying. The reason is, that we are liable to die in every 
 place and at every moment. Now this being laid down as a settled 
 rule, if, beloved hearers, I should address myself to you, and ask 
 you are you ready? what answer would you make? But that 
 which I cannot ask each of you in particular, each of you in parti- 
 cular may ask himself: should I be Avilling to die in this criminal 
 habit, and carry to the judgment-seat of the Almighty Lord such 
 a number of sins which it hath made me commit, and which it 
 makes me every day commit ? Should I be willing to die with 
 this resentment rankling in my heart, at which God is offended, 
 and even the Avorld scandalized ? Should I be willing to die with 
 the weight of a certain injustice on my conscience, for which I can 
 expect no forgiveness of God, so long as I have it in my power to 
 repair it, but will not, by making suitable amends? Are you 
 willing, dear brother, are you Avilling, I say, to die in this manner ? 
 If not, it behoves you to quit that state will all possible alertness. 
 For, as many moments as you remain in it, so many times are you 
 liable to die in it, as there is not a moment that you are not exposed 
 to the shafts of death. 
 
 Secondly, to perform all our actions Avith a view to death : that 
 is, to do all things as Ave should Avish at the hour of death to have 
 done. For this end, to set about nothing, to settle nothing, as to 
 the business of the day, Avithout first placing ourselves mentally on 
 om* death-bed, and seriously reflecting, in the presence of God, 
 what Ave then shall think of" the present affair, of the design we 
 form, and of the means Ave use in order to compass it ; what will 
 meet A\nth our approbation or disapprobation ; what Avill give us 
 comfort or embitter our thoughts ; the manner in Avhich Ave shall 
 wish to have demeaned ourselves on this occasion, to have spoken 
 our nnnds in this conA'crsation, to have discharged this duty, this 
 office, this trust, to have complied Avith the uuIa ersal obligation of 
 penance, charity, and religion. These ideas thus preconceived — 
 
222 ON PREPAIIATION FOR DEATH. 
 
 we esteem nothing, we wish nothing, we say nothing, we do 
 nothing but what is consonant to the law of God ; and whatever 
 we esteem, whatever Ave wish, whatever we say, whatever we do, 
 we esteem it, wish it, say it, do it, in a Christian manner, and Avith 
 zeal and fervour. 
 
 Thirdly, to enter into ourselves, and search our hearts by frequent 
 meditation and self-examination, with a view of coming to a know- 
 ledge of ourselves. But what do I mean by a knowledge of 
 ourselves ? To know our obligations — the good we should practise 
 but do not practise, and the evil Ave should shun but do not shun ; 
 what ought particularly to be guarded against in our state of life ; 
 the lets and helps Ave meet Avith in our progress to eternal bliss ; 
 what progress we make, and to what deviation we may be subject. 
 To have stated periods, yearly, monthly, Aveekly periods, for these 
 so solid and important researches. To meditate thereupon, to 
 deliberate Avitli ourselves, to take ncAv resolutions, to bewail the 
 past, to make sure of the future, and Avithout delay to resume fresh 
 ardour. In this manner, according to the expression of the royal 
 prophet, our fear becomes our firmest and sio-est support, inasmuch 
 as it serves to excite our vigilance : " Thou hast made fear his 
 support." Ps. Ixxxviii. Such was the fear Avhich possessed the 
 saints, and such Avas the fruit Avhich they drcAv from it. They not 
 only prepared for death by contemplation, but applied their intel- 
 lectual faculties to the attaining a knowledge of ^^it, by making life 
 itself, as it were, an apprenticeship and exercise of death. And 
 this is what remains for me to explain in the third and last part. 
 
 Part III. To serve one's time to learn, as I may say, all the 
 days of one's life, the business of death, and to come by so doing 
 to a perfect knowledge of it, and be an adept in it, seems not a 
 paradox but a contradiction. For, waving refinements on a topic 
 so solid and important as this, every apprenticeship implies tAvo 
 conditions : namely, a frequent repetition of the same thing, and 
 the power of beginning it over again and rectifying it, if at first it 
 failed of success. Now of these two conditions, neither the one or the 
 other is found in death, since we die but once, and since after death, 
 Avhether holy or criminal, there is no redress : Avhich made the 
 great St. Augustin say that of all faults the most irreparable were 
 those which we commit at our death. Nevertheless, Christians, it 
 is a maxim of all the fathers that Ave may learn to die, and that of 
 all kinds of knowledge this holds the first place, except the know- 
 ledge of God — if yet it be distinguished from the knoAvledge of 
 
ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 223 
 
 God. There is, say they, an apprenticeship to be made for the 
 learning of death : and it was in this apprenticeship that the saints 
 became proficient. They applied their minds during the course of 
 life to the study of death : and as it is natural to do that in perfec- 
 tion of which one hath a knowledge, nay to which one is habituated 
 by long practice, they breathed out their souls in the odour of 
 sanctity, because they possessed and were thoroughly conversant 
 in the science of death. 
 
 Now it depends upon us to follow their example ; for I shall lay 
 before you three positions, which concern us as well as them, and 
 which we ought each of us to apply to himself. First, we die 
 daily, according to the Avords of the divine Spirit ; therefore it is 
 easy for us to learn to die. Secondly, the very creatures that 
 isurround us do actually teach us, or, to speak more properly, train 
 us up to die ; therefore our ignorance is without excuse if we know 
 not how to die. Thirdly, the Christian life to which God hath 
 called us, is in some sort a continual practice of death ; therefore 
 we are highly culpable for not being more skilled and more expe- 
 rienced in the art of dying. The deductions are evident, and the 
 premises I shall prove in the order I have mentioned them. 
 
 1 St. No, Christians, it is not true, in a certain sense, that we 
 die but once. We die every moment ; and every moment we 
 have it in our power to die. I do not say without a crime, but 
 with merit, voluntarily and spontaneously. And, indeed, when 
 the Almighty threatened the first man, that death should be the 
 consequence of his disobedience, "In the day that thou eatest 
 thereof thou shalt surely die" (Gen. ii.), the dreadful sentence, as 
 St. Irena2us remarks, was executed in Adam the instant he trans- 
 gressed the precept of the Lord. Other^vise, subjoins the same 
 holy Father, little would have been the efficacy and sincerity of 
 God in the judgment he pronounced. For he did not say to our 
 first parent, thou shalt one day die, thou shalt die at a certain tune, 
 thou shalt die after so many years and ages ; but he said to him 
 absolutely-.— thou shalt surely die in the day, at the instant, thou 
 shalt disobey my orders ; and it fell out accordingly. From that 
 time forward, Adam, in punishment of liis disobedience, became 
 subject to every kind of infirmity : from that time forward, he 
 perceived his constitution grow weaker and Aveaker, and his body, 
 degraded, if I may so speak, from the privilege of innocence, began 
 to decline, and consequently to die. Now that which was verified 
 
224 ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 
 
 in Adam is equally verified in us ; and of this the pagans them- 
 selves were sensible. We are greatly mistaken, says one of their 
 sages, in always supposing that death is to come. That is so far 
 from being the case, that a great part of it is already past ; and we 
 ought to hold it for a certain truth, that the part of our life which 
 is now elapsed, is under its dominion. But St. Paul expresses it 
 in much clearer terms, and the words of that apostle should be 
 deemed of infinitely superior authority : " I die daily, my brethren," 
 says he, writing to the Corinthians (1 Cor. xv.), "and the gloiy 
 I receive from you makes me die every daywdthjoy andpleasm'e." 
 
 Now taking it for granted that Ave die daily, can it be said with 
 propriety that the science of death is not easily acquired ? And 
 forasmuch as we die every moment of necessity, what can hinder 
 us from accustoming ourselves to die every moment by choice and 
 of our OAvn accord ? I alloAV, says St. Augustin, improving upon 
 this thought, that om- eyes are, as I may say, bewitched with the 
 sight of present objects ; but, for the charm in our eyes, a remedy 
 must be sought in our understandings, and that remedy is, 
 thoroughly to comprehend that this body Avhich appears to be 
 alive, is falling actually to decay and mouldering aAvay. You live, 
 continues he, but the very cause of your life brings on your death ; 
 and Avhatever your senses may say to the contrary, it is fit that your 
 reason should rectify their errors, by representing to you that this 
 life, Avhich you take to be life, is only the commencement and 
 progress of death. 
 
 2nd. The same father adds : who shall teach us to die, and to 
 what school shall Ave go, in order to be taught this incomparable 
 lesson ? Who shall teach us to die. Christians ? All the creatures 
 of the universe, and those especially by Avhich we subsist, and by 
 which Ave Ihe. For, as the apostle of the Gentiles tells us, it is 
 Avithin ourselves that Ave shall find all the proofs of a certain death. 
 We need no more tlian put ourselves the question, and every thing 
 in us Avill teach us, Avith a secret but unanimous voice, that die we 
 must ; and whatever we may allege in our OAvn behalf, the only 
 answer we shall receive Avill be — that die Ave must. You are rich 
 and enjoy an opulent fortune — but you are doomed to die. You 
 have credit and reputation — but you are doomed to die. You are 
 young, and in a Avay of tasting and enjoying the pleasm*es of life — 
 but you are doomed to die. You are the idol of mankind — but 
 you arc doomed to die. This is the only language avc shall hear, 
 
ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 225 
 
 because God, in creating us, engraved in our very essence this 
 general reply, which is made us by all the elements we are com- 
 posed of ; elements at variance among themselves, which destroy 
 one another, and by destroying themselves destroy us too. But let 
 us not stop there : let us cast our eyes around, and we shall find by 
 every being which surrounds us, and Avhich helps to preserve us, 
 we are not only minded that death is our doom, but brought up 
 and practised in the art of dying : for they relinquish us, they 
 break off all intercourse with us, they will have no more communi- 
 cation with us ; and this, as St. Augustin ingeniously observes, is 
 a practical death. For, how many things are there with respect 
 to which it may justly be said that we are already dead, and that 
 we die incessantly ? The pleasures of youth have forsaken us, and 
 we have forsaken them ; the honours which heretofore were paid 
 us are no more, and oblivion, which itself is a kind of death, hath 
 annihilated them in the memory of mankind ; and these honours 
 and these pleasures have already abandoned us, so all the rest, I 
 do not say will abandon us, but do actually abandon us, according 
 as we use them. Must we not, therefore, be grossly stupid, i^ 
 after so many trials and experiments, we become not proficients in 
 the science of death ? 
 
 3rd. But that which principally and essentially imposes on us 
 an obligation of this practical knowledge of death, is the profession 
 of Christianity to Avhich God hath called us, as, according to all 
 the rules of Scripture, a Christian life is, properly speaking, neither 
 more nor less than a continual death. Upon this account, St. Paul, 
 who admirably comprehended tlie truth I speak of!, gave the primi- 
 tive Christians no other conception of Avhat they were than this : 
 " Ye are dead, and your Hfe is hidden with Christ in God." Colos. 
 iii. " Ye are buried mth Christ by baptism imto death." Rom. 
 vi. And this, says St. Chrysostom, is not to be understood in a 
 figurative sense, but according to the letter, and in the strict sense 
 and propriety of the terms ; for, all the maxims of a Christian 
 life tend only to disengage the soul ft'ora the body; that is, to 
 disengage her from the pleasures of the body, from the sensuality 
 of the body, from the slavery of the body. Now, says St. Chrys- 
 ostom, to disengage the soul from the body is, in other words, to 
 teach her to die. Let us break, says Seneca, that shameful attach- 
 ment which holds down the spirit in subjection to the flesh, and 
 thereby we shall learn the art of dymg. But what the philosophers 
 
226 ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 
 
 said unprofitably, though indeed magnificently — our religion makes 
 a law, which we are bound to comply with, holily and generously : 
 for, it disengages us from the body by mortification, and by so 
 doing makes us enter upon the sacred practice of that death, in 
 which the whole merit of life consists. 
 
 Let us follow, therefore, beloved Christiana, the holy impulse 
 and attractive of its spirit. Let us manfully disengage ourselves 
 from this body of flesh, which the Scripture so frequently styles 
 the body of death, and not sluggishly wait till the hand of death 
 strips us of it by force, since it is in our power to deprive ourselves 
 of it by virtuous means. The soul that is uuwiUing to renounce 
 the body till the instant of death is unworthy of God. You would 
 learn the practical methods of dying : one I will impart to you ; 
 one without which I fear not to affirm that all the rest are vain and 
 chimerical — disengage your soul from every object you love but 
 God : this, in few words, is the science of death. By voluntary 
 mortification prevent the dolorous operations of death. Death -will 
 take from you the use of the senses ; make them die beforehand by 
 retrenching whatever is displeasing to God — as freedom of speech, 
 curiosity of the eyes, delicacy of the palate. Death will strip you 
 of your worldly substance : resign it now in mind and affection. 
 Far from endeavouring to gratify that insatiable thu'st of accumu- 
 lating treasure upon treasure, take a holy pride, in the presence of 
 God, in distributing them to the needy. Far from wishing for 
 what you have not, give away Avithout reluctance that which you 
 possess. Death wiU separate you from your dearest friends ; 
 withdraw from them betimes in a Christian manner, and bid adieu 
 for ever to libertine company, dangerous conversation, reciprocation 
 of tenderness, suspected intercourses. Make no partial defalcation, 
 and let it not be forgotten that mortification, to fulfil the office of 
 death, and to have its proper qualities, must be absolute and 
 universal ; as it cannot be said that a man is dead because he hath 
 lost his speech or his sight, but must, for that, lose all the powers 
 of action and sensation ; so we cannot affirm that a Christian is 
 mortified for having bridled some few of his sensual appetites, but 
 it is farther requisite that he curb them all, and submit them all to 
 the Almighty will. When misfortunes, afflictions, calamities, 
 losses, shall fall to your share, raise your mind to God, and inwardly 
 tell him in the spirit of faith — Blessed be thy holy name, O Lord I 
 This is but so much anticipated of wlint I must have done at my 
 
ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 227 
 
 death ; what you noAv take from me would have been a tribute 
 to death, but I am happily rid of it ; by it I should have been 
 held in subjection to the worid ; but you have broken my chains, 
 and your infinite mercy hath so well contrived it, that if I but 
 ever so little answer your wise designs, I shall find nothing dreadful 
 or stingino; in death. 
 
 If these, beloved hearers, be your dispositions, thank heaven, 
 they are neither more nor less than preparation for death. Nor 
 tell me that this is a melancholy life. What though it should be 
 so, this melancholy life is closed by a death replete with conso- 
 lation, the death of those Avho die in tlie Lord. Noav a holy life 
 is a blessing that cannot either be prized too high or purchased too 
 dear. I proceed farther, and am bold enough to say, that the life 
 of a Chi'istian, dead to the world and to all things calculated to 
 create in the heart an attachment to the world, is a thousand times 
 more easy and tranquil, and of course more happy than that of 
 worldlings, so eager in the pursuits of worldly enjoyments, and in 
 such fear and apprehension of losing them by being sent out of 
 their beloved world. This one reflection, I have nothing to stop 
 me, and am ready to depart whenever it shall please the Almighty 
 to call me, is the most pleasing tranquillity and substantial happi- 
 ness of which an immortal soul is susceptible. 
 
 But to live in this manner is not to live ; or, if it be to live, it 
 is to live in such a manner as if one did not live. Alas ! Christians, 
 do I require more of you than did St. Paul of the fiiithful in his 
 time? " It remaineth," says he, " that they who use this world 
 use it as though they used it not." 1 Cor. 7. That is, my brethren, 
 it is your duty to Uve as if you lived not — to live without loving 
 either life or the things appei'taining to life. Live in a conformity 
 to the vfiW of God, to the end you may live with him in eternal 
 glory. 
 
228 ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 
 
 SERMON XXVII. 
 
 ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 
 
 ^^ Jesus said unto them: I go, and you shall seek me, and 
 you shall die in your sin" John viii. 
 
 Sin and death, beloved Christians, are two great evils : sin, by 
 which death made its way into the world, and death by which God 
 takes vengeance for sin ; sin which degrades us in the order of 
 grace, and death which destroys us in the order of nature ; sin 
 which made man fall from the blessed state in which God had 
 created him ; and death which takes from him the good things of 
 this world, of which, after sin had worked his destruction, God 
 had allowed him the use. But after all, neither death nor sin, 
 considered disjunctively, can be accounted the greatest evil. For, 
 death without sin may be holy and precious in the sight of God. 
 Death without sin was in Jesus a source of graces and merits ; and 
 sin without death, as we learn from theology, was in the predes- 
 tinate both a cause and efficient of their predestination. Death 
 without sin put the finishing hand to Mary's sanctification, and sin 
 without death became to Magdalen a motive of conversion. But 
 the sovereign evil, and the most to be dreaded, is sin and death 
 united together ; death, which stamps the sinner's final impenit- 
 ence with eternal reprobation, and sin, which impresses its indelible 
 character of evilness on death. Death, wliich makes sin for ever 
 irremissible, and sin, which makes death everlastingly criminal. 
 This strikes me, Christians, and should likewise strike you, with 
 horror and dismay ; for the Almighty God hath nothing more ter- 
 rible than this in the treasures of his wrath ; with this our blessed 
 Saviour threatened the Jewish people ; and from this it imports 
 us, as well as the Jews, to catch at every possible means of pre- 
 servation. 
 
 It was a very melancholy truth for the Jews, founded on our 
 Saviour's OAvn words, that after having spent their days in sin, 
 " they should die in their sin." Now in what sense must this ora- 
 cle of God be understood ? for, it is fit Ave should understand it, 
 as the Saviour of the world addresses himself to us in the persons 
 
ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 229 
 
 of the Jews, and on a subject, too, of no less importance than that 
 of reprobation. Was this a threat only, which Jesus Christ, with 
 a view of making them acknowledge him for the Messiah, uttered 
 against that incredulous nation ? or, was it a definite decree by 
 which he would notify that the measure of their crimes was 
 already filled up, and that there Avas no pardon or indulgence to 
 be hoped for them on the part of God. St. Chrysostom intei-preta 
 it in the favourable sense, deeming it no more than a simple com- 
 mination, which declared to the Jews what they had to apprehend 
 if they persisted any longer in their obstinacy and infidelity ? In 
 like manner as Jonas, preaching to the Ninevites, announced to 
 them, that " As yet forty days, and Nineve should be destroyed." 
 Jonas iii. St. Jerom adheres to the literal exposition ; and his 
 opinion is, that the Son of God spoke not only as a prophet to in- 
 timidate the Jews, but as a judge and sovereign pronounced their 
 condemnation. That is, he not only pointed out the danger they 
 were in of immediate reprobation, but in express terms declared 
 that their reprobation was already completed. For, Avhen God, 
 in the Scriptures, means only to threaten, he always subjoins con- 
 ditions to his threats, which suspend their eflfect, and which soften 
 and moderate them. Thus he tells Adam : " In the day that thou 
 eatest thereof, thou shalt surely die." Gen. ii. Whereas the pro- 
 position of our Saviour is absolute, when he tells the Jews that 
 " They shall die in their sin." 
 
 But, beloved Chiistians, whether it be a decree, or a menace 
 only, is it not enough to fill the mind with hon-or, that it is the 
 menace of a God, who never speaks in vain, who never speaks 
 from passion, who never speaks without unbounded knowledge, 
 but who penetrates into the secret recesses of the heart, beholds 
 the whole prospect of futurity, and foresees the catastrophe of oiu- 
 mortal life ? We must not, hoAvever, bo satisfied Avith this ; Ave 
 must learn from experience, and see if it verifies, with regard to 
 sinners, this prophecy of our Saviour : for, next to God's word, 
 the most convincing, the most plain and obvious proof is experi- 
 ence. HoAv then do almost all sinners die ? I mean those sinners, 
 who are such by profession, who are obstinate in their enquiries, 
 Avho never in tlicir life did true penance : Iioav do they die ? Ah ! 
 my brethren, Ave must here acknowledge, that as a most amiable 
 and benificcnt Providence Avatchcs over the righteous, so a A^ery 
 severe and terrible one observes the Avays of the Avicked. They 
 
 VOL II. Q 
 
230 ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 
 
 die, these inveterate sinners, as they lived. They lived in sin — 
 and tliey die in sin. They lived in God's hatred — and they die 
 in God's hatred. They lived like pagans — and they die like repr6- 
 bates. This is what we learn from experience. 
 
 But in order to convey a more clear and accurate idea of this 
 matter, and to form the plan of this discourse, I shall divide them 
 into three different classes. For some die in their inordination ol° 
 actual impenitence ; others without any sense or show of repentance ; 
 and others in the performance, or, rather delusion of false repent- 
 ance. Of these, the first are far the most criminal, as they add to 
 all the sins of their life past that of final impenitence. The second 
 are more unfortunate, and, for that reason, the more deserving of 
 compassion, as, against their will, and without thinking of it, they 
 receive no aid or advantage from penance. The last participate 
 in the said condemnation of the one and the other ; and though 
 neither so criminal as the first, nor so unfortunate as the second, 
 they are, nevertheless, unfortunate, because blind and criminal — 
 being impenitent. Thus I call the impenitence of the first a crimi- 
 nal impenitence; the impenitence of the second an unfortunate 
 impenitence ; and the impenitence of the last a secret, or latent 
 impenitence ; or, if you will, a false repentance, which is nothing 
 at bottom but a real impenitence. This is not all : for, after hav- 
 ing observed these three characteristics of sinners who die in the 
 guilt of their sin I must add three reflections, in order to let you 
 see how the impenitence of life leads to final impenitence : be atten- 
 tive to this. First, I say, that an impenitent life leads to a death 
 criminally impenitent, and that by way of disposition. Secondly, 
 I say, that an impenitent life leads to a death unfortunately im- 
 penitent, and that by way of punishment. Thirdly, I say, that 
 an impenitent life leads to a death secretly and knowingly impeni- 
 tent, or to false repentance, and that by way of delusion. 
 
 Part I. We may die in the actual inordination and sin of final 
 impenitence, two different Avays — either by a deliberate will abso- 
 lutely to give up all thoughts of repentance, and that even at the 
 time of our approaching dissolution, or by a criminal omission of 
 the ordinary means which God hath pointed out, in order to the 
 recovering of his lost favour and to the doing of penance. Noav, 
 I say that deaths of these two kinds are so common in the 
 world as to justify the prediction of the Son of God, " You shall 
 die in your sin." Let us fathom, dear Christians, this gulf of ini- 
 
ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 231 
 
 quity ; let us use our endeavours to find out its depth, and to make 
 this consideration of greater utility, let us not be afraid to enter 
 upon a detail wliich alone will suffice to prove the most terrible of all 
 Christian verities. 
 
 1st. When I speak of dying with a " deliberate will" absolutely 
 to give up all thoughts of repentance, do not, I pray you, take my 
 meaning wrong. I speak not here of that which may happen, and 
 which sometimes happens, through an affected impenitence, when 
 the sinner, being under an absolute necessity of quitting life, re- 
 fuses to acknowledge the existence of him from whom he received 
 it, and to whom he is on the point of giving a strict account of it ; 
 and, ready to appear before the judgment seat of God, says, like the 
 perverse, unbeHeving Jcavs, " I will not serve," I will not humble 
 myself; for although we have instances of this nature, and those 
 who pass for atheists, or appear such at least by their manners and 
 conduct, are liable to terminate their lives in that manner ; yet 
 such examples (as St. Chrysostom observes) are so very monstrous, 
 that of themselves they fill the mind with horror ; and a minister 
 of the Gospel, rather than offend the piety of his audience, had 
 better suppress than set about to expose them. Thus died the in- 
 famous apostate Julian, vomiting against heaven ten thousand 
 blasphemies, while with liis blood he vomited out his sacrilegious 
 soul. Thus have died so many enemies of God, whose manner of 
 dying, as deplorable as impious, hath often against their will, borne 
 •witness to the sovereign power and divinity of that First Cause 
 and Supreme Being, whom they had always disavowed, or whom, 
 more probably, they had always endeavoured but in vain to dis- 
 avow. Thus every day die I know not how many worldlings, 
 who, after having lived without faith, Avithout law, without reli- 
 gion, without conscience, are still so rash, perverse, and headstrong, 
 as to crown the work by a diabolical perseverance in their libertine 
 ways. But these are monsters in the order of grace ; monsters on 
 whom we should not cast our eyes, any more than is needful in 
 order to detest them and hold them in execration. 
 
 It is not, therefore, by such examples that I would make good 
 the oracle of our blessed Saviour. I speak of numberless other 
 sinners, in whom the state of impenitence, such as I have described 
 it, proceeds as well from the weakness of their heads as from the 
 wickedness of their hearts, or, more properly, from both together. 
 And in order that you may the more distinctly and precisely com- 
 
 q2 
 
232 ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 
 
 preliend my meaning, I speak of a man whose heart is filled with 
 gall and bitterness, and who after living in rancour, hatred, and 
 scandalous animosity, dies without desiring, but protesting his 
 utter inability to be reconciled ; or, if he should be reconciled to 
 outward appearance, saying within himself that he will not. Wit- 
 ness that Christian, who, even upon the point of undergoing mar- 
 tyrdom, obstinately refused to embrace his enemy, though his 
 enemy, on his knees and in an humble posture, implored his for- 
 giveness. Now Avithout descanting on these circumstances, how 
 many similar deaths do we see all over Christendom ? Deaths 
 unattended with reconciliation ; deaths accompanied Avith all the 
 sourness of resentment and revenge ; deaths at which all those 
 accommodations, and all those interviews, which are often brought 
 about with much parade, and almost always with little fruit, are 
 nothing but mere deceitful ceremonies ; deaths, at which, by a 
 pohtical maxim, and an ill-judged fortitude, men are more untrace- 
 able and inflexible than ever, with a view to gain esteem for their 
 past conduct, and for that inveteracy in which they were grown 
 old ; or, in other words, to execute the decree pronovmced by our 
 Saviour, " You shall die in your sin." 
 
 I speak of a man, Avho, finding at his death his unjust acquisi- 
 tions to lean heavily on his conscience, acquisitions wherewith he 
 raised a great fortune, and purchased large estates, cannot even 
 then be induced to restore them ; on the one hand, groaning under 
 the weight of the sin that oppresses and overwhelms him, and on 
 the other refusing to divest himself of anything ; divided between 
 the torments of hell which he dreads, and avarice — the ruling pas- 
 sion of his heart ; but otherwise chosing rather to abandon his soul, 
 than to repair his injustices — than to provide for the idemnification 
 of those he hath imposed on — than to acknowledge the debts which 
 a dishonest mind forbad him to allow of — than to fulfil the obliffar- 
 tions of which he is convinced, and of which by the secret stings 
 and remorses of a guilty conscience he is sufficiently reminded ; in 
 a word, than to part with the prey, for a short space of time, of 
 which God will shortly deprive him for ever. Now what is more 
 common among "mankind, than this blind obstinacy to retain 
 that Avhich cannot be laAvfully possessed ? Among so many of the 
 rich, Avho are unjustly possessed of the property of others, Avhere 
 is the man, who, to die like a Christian, is Avilllng to die poor ? 
 And doth not, therefore, the curse in the Gospel, " You shall die 
 
ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 233 
 
 iu your sin," seem annexed to their condition in a special manner? 
 I speak of a man, who, enslaved by a passion, carries it with him 
 to the end, and dies in adoration of an earthly object ; an object, 
 I'rom Avhich there is no disengaging him, even when upon the point 
 of being disengaged by death from all sublunary things : a man, 
 Avho, influenced by a hellish faithfulness, or rather by a sacrifice 
 the most horrid and abominable, without any regard to the eternal 
 flames with which his God threatens him, is finally consumed by 
 the heat as it were of an impure fire. Now you know, beloved 
 hearers, that this is the fate of numberless sensual and voluptuous 
 Christians. For this I appeal to your OAvn experience. What is 
 the consequence of those criminal engagements but such a death — 
 a death worse than pagan, at Avhich, to the last, the expiring sin- 
 ner pants after that with Avhich he had been long so strangely in- 
 fatuated ? A death, at which constant, to a degree of extrava- 
 gance, to a degree of frenzy, he applies all his care, and conse- 
 crates his last wishes to an infamous passion of which he scarcely 
 makes a matter of conscience. A death, at which, though sunk 
 in its bosom, the violent, the only grief that affects him is, not his 
 having sought by the suggestions of inclination the mischievous 
 cause of his disorderly life, but his being by necessity compelled 
 to relinquish it. 
 
 In fine, I speak of a man, who, after having long been a rebel 
 to his God, after having lived without fear of his judgments, dies 
 without placing any hope in his mercy ; who, Avlicn the priests, 
 by pious exhortation, would stir him up to confidence, passes judg- 
 ment on himself, a judgment (says St. Augustiu) not exact and 
 rigorous, but cruel and stupid, as he doth it independently of the 
 grace and redemption of Christ our Lord, and thereby, like Cain, 
 falls into despair, and concludes Avilh that treacherous fratricidious 
 brother, " My iniquity is too great for me to deserve pardon" (Gen. 
 iv.) ; if there be a God in heaven, I am doomed eternally to abide 
 in hell. Now is not this the rock on which an innumerable nml- 
 titudc of sinners split, especially those who by frequent relapses 
 have not only lost all hopes of forgiveness, but would even be 
 ashamed, if I may so speak, to turn towards God and put confi- 
 dence in him. For that shame, which all their life long they could 
 not get the better of, redoubles its force and overpowers them at 
 their death ; and then, strongly affected with their own unwor- 
 thiness, and feelingly struck with God's greatness and justice, they 
 
234 ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 
 
 are disturbed in mind, they despair of salvation, they make, like 
 Judas, even their sorrow and repentance the means of reprobation. 
 This, I say, is dying with reflection, is dying with design, in final 
 impenitence. 
 
 2nd. There is another kind of death equally common, and equally 
 lamentable, when by a criminal omission, though not directly vo- 
 luntary, a person is precluded from the grace of repentance and 
 debarred fi"om the necessary means of obtaining it. For, says St. 
 Augustin, reasoning with a sinner, if, when death draws near, and 
 Almighty God calls you, you put not yourself as soon as possible 
 in the best condition to appear before him ; if, when so safe a har- 
 bour as that of a speedy and sincere repentance is open to receive 
 you, you enter not into it and anchor not in safety ; if you slip the 
 precious moments, the favourable opportunities which Providence 
 afforded you during the course of yom^ illness ; if by too great 
 attention to the relief of your body you forget to make due provision 
 for yoiu' soul, and reject instead of asking for the wholesome reme- 
 dies which are charitably offered you ; if you banish from your 
 mind, through servile fear, the thoughts of death as much as pos- 
 sible, unwilling to lend an ear to pious admonitions, but willing to 
 be flattered and deceived in the thing in which it was requisite in 
 a special manner you should be dealt with sincerely — if you make 
 no effort, through a natm'al infirmity, to surmount the frights 
 arising therefrom, and to attend properly, at least at this crisis, in 
 this last extremity, to the greatest and most important of all affairs ; 
 if you hearken to relations and false friends, who dissuade you from 
 it ; if you still let your thoughts, by a deplorable perversity, be 
 taken up with your family, while you have scarce wherewithal to 
 provide for eternity, ah ! brother, concludes St. Augustin, change 
 then your language and reform your notions. In this state of im- 
 penitence, to say that death is the greatest of misfortunes is to speak 
 improperly ; we must say that it is the greatest and most inex- 
 cusable of all crimes. To say that you die in j^our sinful state is 
 to explain yourself by halves ; you must say that you die in your 
 sinful state by a final sin Avhich surpasses all others. For, what 
 are all the sins of life together if put in comparison Avith this alone ? 
 In what can one carry one's injustice farther against God and one's 
 self? To see one's self reduced to that fatal time, that time after 
 which there is no more time, and yet procrastinate ; to be at the 
 gates of licll and yet take no pains to withdraw from them ; to be 
 
ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 235 
 
 on the point of perishing and yet hesitate to do one's self the most 
 pressing duty, by taking wise measures to avoid perishing — can 
 this be conceived ? Can this be forgiven ? Nevertheless, Chris- 
 tians, it is thus we are misled by the spirit of the world whenever 
 we follow it. Men are surrounded, as the Scripture speaks, with 
 the sorroAvs of death and the perils of hell, and yet they venture, 
 they temporize, they keep a good heart, they put off till the mor- 
 row ; they deceive themselves by fetches, evasions, and subterfuges ; 
 in a word, they die in the disfavour and aversion of God. A death 
 doubly criminal — by the impenitence of the life which preceded it, 
 and by the final impenitence which now attends it. 
 
 I have further added, that there is between the impenitence of 
 life and final impenitence so great a connexion as to make the one 
 almost infallibly lead to the other. As how ? By way of dispo- 
 sition ; that is, by inveterate use, by strong attachment, and by 
 hardness of heart ; a gradual progress, which the fathers lay down 
 in the description they give of this first class of impenitent sinners ; 
 a constant truth, the sole exposition of which will be sufficient to 
 force conviction. 
 
 By inveterate use : for, to expect that habits contracted in life 
 shall suddenly vanish at the approach of death, and that another 
 mind, heart, and will shall be acquired in a moment is the gi'ossest 
 of errors. I have said, and you know it well, that we die as we 
 have lived ; and the presence of death is so far from weakening 
 habits and customs already contracted, that it seems to awaken 
 them still more, and give them fresh strength ; for if ever we act by 
 custom and habit, it is particularly so at the hour of death. A 
 thousand times in your life you put off your conversion — you will 
 put it off at your death. A thousand times in your life you said 
 in a month, in a year — at your death you will say in a day, in an 
 hour. In your lifetime you have been a man of desires, resolutions, 
 and promises, without execution — at your death you -will desire, 
 resolve and promise, but will do nothing. And say not that you 
 will be determined by the extremity of the danger — it is a great 
 mistake. It will determine you to desu'e, because you have a habit 
 of it ; it Avill determine you to resolve and promise, because such 
 is your custom ; but in desiring by custom, in resolving and pro- 
 mising by custom, and by custom carrying nothing into execution — 
 *' You shall die in your sin." 
 
 By strong attachment : for the impenitence of life, according to 
 
236 ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 
 
 the wiseman, forms a chain of sins, which keeps us, almost against 
 our will, in perpetual bondage : " His o^vn iniquities take the 
 wicked man, and he is fast bound with the cords of his sins." 
 Prov. V. I know that God may use his absolute poAver, and at 
 the instant of death may break every link ; but I know, likewise, 
 that without a mu'aculous operation of grace they are not broken 
 in a moment, and that he rarely condescends to work such miracles. 
 And, in fact, we see an inveterate sinner on the point of expiring 
 in that rueful state — that state in which St. Augustin represents 
 himself, when he says : "I sighed, hard-held, not with outward 
 chains, but by my own will." Convinced, my God, that there 
 Avas no time left for deliberation or choice, and that to be effectually 
 converted to you I must renounce my sin, I sighed and panted after 
 the happiness of the righteous. But, though I sighed and panted, 
 I Avas bound and shackled, not with outward chains, but by my 
 own will. My Avill the enemy still held in his power ; and that 
 concatenation of habitual orders, like so many rings linked one 
 within another, kept me, notwithstanding all the terrors of death, 
 under the yoke of sin. 
 
 By hardness of heart : for the Avill being, as I suppose, un- 
 interruptedly criminal, and never repenting, in process of time 
 becomes hardened in sin. If the unhappy sinner, afflicted and 
 sorrowful at his OAvn wretchedness, had from time to time turned , 
 his heart to God, and had recovered from his fall by generous 
 efforts, as oflen as he yielded to the allurements of the world and 
 suggestions of the flesh, notwithstanding his inconstancy he Avould 
 have drawn advantage from the use of penance : penance, though 
 followed by weaknesses and relapses, would have destroyed that in 
 him which sin hath occasioned ; but having all along added iniquity, 
 to iniquity, hoAv is it possible he should not arrive to the sunuiiit 
 of wickedness, and contract that callousness which criminal habits 
 are capable of producing? And Avhat likelihood is there that, 
 hardened in this manner, he should all at once become pliant and 
 flexible to the attractives of grace ? People, therefore, die in sin 
 because they lived in sin ; and they die in it, as I have said, com- 
 mitting a fresh sin, because that same impenitence is the very 
 consummation of all sins whatever — and this is what I called a 
 criminal impenitence. Proceed we now to the unfortunate impe- 
 nitence which shall be the subject of the second part. 
 
 Part II. In order to die in the favour of heaven, it is not enough 
 
ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 
 
 237 
 
 that the sinner be resolved, one day or other, to have recourse to 
 penance, and tliat he purpose, at least at the hour of death, to re- 
 linquish sin. For whereas the grace of final repentance depends 
 not absolutely on the will of man, and by a secret judgment of the 
 supreme Ruler is connected mth a thousand various circumstances 
 which are out of his power, it is necessary, to the end he may enjoy 
 the happiness of asking and obtaining the Almighty's pardon, that, 
 to effect his conversion, all these circumstances concur at his death. 
 Should one only be wanting, his hopes are frustrated ; and though 
 ten thousand times he should beseech God that '' His soul might 
 die the death of the righteous" (Numb, xxiii.), his desires are 
 unprofitable and his hopes unavailing. The reason is this : in the 
 ordinary course of divine Providence an obstacle arising, to all 
 appearance, from natural causes, but yet of a divine and superior 
 order, made the repentance impossible on which he relied, and 
 which he regarded as his last resource. It may, therefore, so 
 happen that without being guilty of a fresh sin, one may die in his 
 sins, because one may die in an involuntary, nay unavoidable want 
 of repentance. And this is what I call an unfortunate impenitence, 
 and what I consider as another abyss, not of the corruption of the 
 human heart, but of the adorable and impenetrable justice of God ; 
 a justice which appears in all its lustre at the death of these sinners, 
 taken unawares, deluded, cast off, excluded even in this life from 
 the way of salvation — sinners in whom this Gospel truth is most 
 palpably fulfilled — " You shall die in your sin." Renew, Chris- 
 tians, renew your attention. 
 
 When an account is brought you of a sudden death, and, in the 
 consternation with which such events are wont to fill the mind, you 
 are told that this man, who enjoyed perfect health, was deprived 
 of utterance and snatched away all at once ; that such a one, in 
 the midst of sports and revels, or engaged in a fray, dropped doAvn 
 upon the spot without motion or life ; that one fell, unsuspecting, 
 by the hand of an assassin — or that another, overwhelmed by the 
 fiill of an edifice, lay buried in its ruins : when a recital is made of 
 these and many other kinds of death, and when, for the best reasons 
 that can be drawn from probability, they not only seem sudden, 
 but unforeseen and unsuspected, as these were notorious and 
 scandalous sinners, you are amazed and terrified ; and, Avithout 
 pretending to pass judgment on them, doubt not that the menace 
 of our blessed Saviour, " You shall die in your sin," is verified to 
 
238 ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 
 
 the letter. But at the same time, Christians, you comfort your- 
 selves mth the thought that these accidents are uncommon and 
 extraordinary ; and accordingly, how frequent soever they may be, 
 you find means to invalidate the salutary impressions which they 
 might and which they ought to make on your hearts. But give 
 me leave to tell you that you are greatly mistaken. Deaths like 
 these are neither so rare nor so singular as you would persuade 
 yourselves ; and I maintain, in the strictest acceptation of the 
 word, that so far as it relates to conscience and salvation, there is 
 nothing more common than a sudden death. The proof shall follow 
 the assertion. 
 
 That I call, with St. Augustin, a sudden death when the sinner, 
 all at once, falls into a situation which renders him incapable of 
 conversion or repentance. Now what in the world is more ordi- 
 nary than this ? Nay, what more universal ? Have we not before 
 our eyes innumerable instances of it every day ? Though a deadly 
 fall, an apoplectic fit, a stab in the dark makes a greater noise and 
 raises more astonishment ; how many other causes, which affect us 
 less, reduce us to this unfortunate state of impenitence ? Light- 
 headedness in the heat of a burning fever, an uninterrupted deli- 
 rium, an aberration of mind, a mortal somnolency. Do not all 
 these incessantly produce the same effect ? Do not they, by de- 
 priving the dying man of the use of reason, deprive him of all 
 possible means of conversion ? Put a sinner in any one of these 
 circumstances, is it not true that he is already dead as a Christian, 
 though not as yet absolutely dead as a man ? I grant he may 
 struggle whole days together for the poor remains of an animal life, 
 which can serve to make him languish in wretchedness, but can 
 naught avail him, as the rational and supernatural life is extinct. 
 What can grace do, all powerful as it, when nature, which ought 
 to co-operate with it, is unable to act ? 
 
 To say nothing of those symptoms, by which it appears that the 
 reasoning faculty is entirely clouded, the loss of strength and pain 
 of body are sufficient of themselves to deprive the mind of all re- 
 flection, and consequently to shut us out from the ways of repent- 
 ance. How many sinners, even during the progress of the most 
 regular diseases, thus die a sudden death, not indeed in the opinion 
 of mankind, but in the eyes of God ? They die, says St. Chrys- 
 ostom without a fresh sin, because they are no longer in condition 
 to commit it ; they die without incurring the reproach of misusing 
 
ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 239 
 
 the time which God gives them, because, properly speaking, they 
 are unable to misuse it, or to make any use of it ; they die in an 
 impenitence, which, however final is not imputed to them, because 
 unknoAvn and not free. Yet they die in their sin, and the male- 
 diction of Christ Jesus, " You shall die in your sin," is not con- 
 summated the less for that. 
 
 - What shall I say of those who die, not indeed in a culpable, but 
 deplorable ignorance of the immediate danger to which they are 
 exposed ? For thence the same consequences and effects come, 
 thence comes reprobation. Had the sick man been admonished 
 that the time being short he must take heed of himself, he would 
 have regulated his conscience and have died like a Christian. But 
 inasmuch as they gave him to understand the contrary, and by an 
 ill-judged caution led him into error, he dies unrepenting, he dies 
 unconverted. Was it a crime to be ignorant of the impending 
 danger? No, Christians; for he would gladly have known it. 
 To what then must it be ascribed ? To the weakness of a con- 
 fessor; to the injudicious and deceitful conjecture of a physician; 
 to the respectful hesitation and indiscretion of a servant ; to the 
 ill-timed circumspection of a fond wife ; to the interest of some ; to 
 the negligence of others ; to what ever you please, my brethren . 
 St. Augustin says : however it be, the dying man suffers for it ; 
 and being ignorant of the extremity to which he is reduced, he dies 
 in God's hatred, and in a state of damnation. How then ! say you. 
 Was it just that he should perish through another's fault ? Ah ! 
 replies this father, as he doth not perish tlu'ough the fault of 
 another, he is not condemned for another's fault, but for his own 
 sin. God, on whose supreme Avill it depends, permits the sin 
 which might have been expiated at the hour of death to remain 
 unexpiated through another's fault, and the sinner — instead of 
 enjoying the gifts of grace and mercy to wliich he might have 
 aspired — to be doomed to undergo never-ending stripes. 
 
 But although the sinner, now laid on his death-bed, pants after 
 the remedy ; though he asks for it and shc-\vs that he ardently 
 ■wishes for it, what is often the case ? Ah ! Christians, this is to 
 be unfortunate in the last degree ; and here we must cry out, O the 
 depth of God's counsels ! This dying sinner, like the unfortunate 
 Esau, who, as the apostle says, "Found no place of repentance, 
 though with tears he sought it" (Hob. xii.) ; this dying sinner, 
 eager as he is to have recourse to the pubUc fountains of grace, 
 
240 ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 
 
 that is, to the sacraments of Christ our Lord, may still be one of 
 those on whom the curse of the Saviour of mankind falls ; and as 
 these fountains, which are open and accessible to all the world, 
 are not so to him — "he dies in his sin." 
 
 Of this we have been witnesses, of this we have heard mentioned 
 a thousand times : a man is taken unawares, and when he least 
 expects it. At the gates of death, and in the horror which is 
 caused by so pressing a danger, he would turn to account the short 
 remains of life. All his faith is awakened. He is terrified at the 
 image of an angry God, and by his looks conjures all those who 
 approach him, to lend him their aid. He would cry, like Job, 
 " Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, at least O ye my friends" 
 (Job xix.), and while others are busy about a body which death 
 will soon lay in the grave, give me your assistance towards the 
 saving of my soul. In fact, they bestir themselves, they spare no 
 pains: a priest, a confessor, is sought for on all sides; but this 
 priest, this confessor, is no where to be found ; a thousand cross 
 accidents concur to retard him ; what never before delayed him 
 delays him now : at last he comes, but comes too late, when the 
 sick-man, senseless, speechless, and gasping, neither knows what 
 he says, nor can give him an answer. And whence comes this ? 
 To fulfil the other part of our Lord's prediction, " You shall seek 
 me," although not in my own person, but in the persons of my 
 ministers and dispensers of my sacraments, "and you shall not 
 find me ;" and because you shall not find me in the persons of my 
 ministers, nor shall have wherewith to make up the deficiency by 
 a pure and perfect act of love — " You shall die in your sin." 
 
 I say more : this priest, the vicar and minister of Christ Jesus, 
 will be found ; but by another still more terrible means that leads 
 to reprobation, with all the power which the church hath conferred 
 on him, he will want the talent, the divine gift, requisite for the 
 assisting of a dying person. Instead of moving him, he will give 
 him disgust ; instead of instructing him, he \vill perplex and disturb 
 him. The keys of heaven, he will hold in his hand, but Avill want 
 the key that should open a passage to, and soften his heart. For 
 God, beloved hearers, doth not use instruments of every kind to 
 perform miracles. As he doth not convert by every kind of gi'acc, 
 so neither doth he chose that we be converted by every kind of 
 person. If, seeing the disposition of this sick man, he had had an 
 experienced, zealous director, full of the spirit and unction of God, 
 
ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 241 
 
 he would have died a saint ; but being destitute of such a man, antl 
 having cause to complain, like the man in the Gospel sick of the 
 palsy, " I have no man" (John v.), he dies impenitent. Now I 
 ask again, did all these misfortunes make him more criminal in the 
 sight of God ? No : but his past crimes, of which he was guilty, 
 joined to these misfortunes, of which he was innocent, without a 
 fresh sin, made him die in impenitence, made him " die in his sin." 
 
 A dreadful, but just chastisement of heaven ! Thus an impeni- 
 tent life leads to an impenitent death by way of punishment, and 
 how often hath God declared this in the Scriptures ? How often 
 hath the Saviour of men admonished us of it in the Gospel ? For 
 what other construction can be put on those threats so express, so 
 clear, and so often repeated ? I have called upon you, and you 
 have shut your ears to my voice, you have despised me ; but the 
 day Avill come, when in my turn I shall despise you, when without 
 warning you I shall strike you. What means those figures so 
 remarkably expressive of the fooKsh virgins who are buried in sleep, 
 and whose lamps are out at the coming of the bridegroom ? Of 
 the master who suddenly appears in his house, and perceiving the 
 revelry and oppression of a servant orders him to be cast into outer 
 darkness ? Of the thief who hides himself, and comes in the night ? 
 Have Ave reason to complain when the Lord punisheth us in this 
 manner ? May he not make use of his supreme right, and take us 
 in wliatever conjecture he pleases*? May he not, especially after 
 having long and patiently waited, after having strongly pressed 
 and solicited ? You have not turned the time he gave you to 
 advantage : he Avill deprive you of it ; you have wearied out his 
 patience ; his anger v/ill break forth ; you would not return to him 
 when it was in your power ; it will not be in your power, though 
 you would return to liim ; you have forgotten him in your life, he 
 will forget you at your death. For this requital, as St. Augustin 
 remarks, is just and natural, and hoAV fatal soever, it is but your 
 desert : contempt for contempt, inattention for inattention. Not 
 but that God oftentimes aifords whatever is necessaiy, as to time 
 and means, to the greatest sinners. But, on such occasions, they 
 die neither in a criminal nor unfortunate impenitence ; it generally 
 happens that the impenitence they die in is secret and hidden : and 
 this is the subject of the third and last part. 
 
 Part III. It must be allowed. Christians, and experience shows 
 us, that God sometimes grants to the sinners of this world, after 
 
242 ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 
 
 having spent their lives in wickedness, both time and means to 
 repent at their death. I know moreover, and I grant that, in 
 fact, many then have recourse to the mercy of God, and address 
 themselves to him, and seemingly retm-n to him by a sincere 
 repentance. But what I have to add, ought to appear to you as 
 it doth to me, dreadful and mortifying : namely, that every repent- 
 ance is not acceptable at God's tribunal. The reason is, that every 
 repentance is not efficacious, as there are thousands and thousands 
 which are false and deceitful, on which it were folly to place any 
 dependance, and from which we can expect no fruit of salvation. 
 If, therefore, the sinner, misguided and led astray by specious 
 appearances, should form wrong notions in his very repentance, 
 what is he to come to ? A most deplorable situation ! To know 
 that he is guilty, and not know that he is penitent f To have all 
 the external appearance of penitence, and pernaps not the sub- 
 stance ! Hence it follows, that what should be a som^ce of comfort 
 to the sinner is the cause of his uneasiness ; that what to appear- 
 ance ought to be his salvation is often what ruins him ; and that 
 although he dies in the exercise of penance, he is liable, notwith- 
 standing, to be lost for ever, because he is liable to die in his sin. 
 This, beloved hearers, we learn from religion ; and on this is 
 founded the advice of the wiseman, who bids us be afraid for sins 
 forgiven ; because, says St. Chrysostom, in our regard they can 
 only, at most, be presumed such ; " Of sins forgiven be not with- 
 out fear." Eccles. v. 
 
 Now if this be the case, with regard to sinners of all denomina- 
 tions, we must say with truth, that it Is properly the characteristic 
 which distinguishes those who return not to God for a long course 
 of years, and till death approaches. For, far from depending on 
 the efficacy of their repentance, they should positively mistrust it. 
 In support of my assertion, I shall adduce three reasons, which arc 
 borrowed from St. Augustin. First, because nothing, in itself. Is 
 more difficult for man than true repentance. Secondly, because 
 true repentance is at no time more difficult than at the hour of 
 death. Thirdly, because of all those who find it hard to repent at 
 the hour of death, it is hardest for those who have neglected it 
 totally during the course of life. Three incontestlblc propositions, 
 which, if duly pondered, must necessarily induce the sinners of the 
 age to set about a speedy and sincere conversion. Let nothing of 
 what I shall advance escape you ; it is all worthy of your serious 
 attention. 
 
ON FINAL IMPENITENCE. 243 
 
 1st. Nothing is more difficult than true repentance : for, in 
 order to obtain it, a man must work a total change in his heart. 
 He must hate himself, must renounce himself, must divest himself of 
 every thing, must destroy in himself the old man, and must reduce 
 himself, as it were, to a state of annihilation : that is, he must 
 cease to be what he was, and must become a new man. He must 
 conceive an abhorrence of what appeared most pleasing, and must 
 conceive an affection for what he most abhorred. He must indulge 
 no passion but for inward resistance. All the senses must be held 
 in captivity. His mind must be reduced to perfect submission, 
 and his body exercised in spiritual warfare and mortification. For 
 in this consists, I do not say the perfection, but the essence and 
 groundwork of Chistian penitence. Noav I leave you to judge if 
 tliis be attainable without great difficidty. 
 
 2nd. True repentence is at no time more difficult than at tlie 
 hour of death : for, says St. Augustin, at the hour of death it is not 
 you that abandon sin, it is sin that abandons you ; it is not you that 
 quit the world, it is the world that quits you ; it is not you that 
 break your chains, your chains are broken by the general dissolubi- 
 lity of human nature. Now that your repentance may be such as it 
 ought to be in the presence of God, this separation, this disen- 
 gagement, this disunion must come from yourself. You Avill tell 
 me that the one is subservient to the other, and that we forsake 
 tilings more easily when they forsake us. But I answer with St. 
 Ambrose, that the case is quite otherwise, and that we are never 
 more passionately, more ardently fond of the object of our desires, 
 than when by some superior power avc are dissevered from it, and 
 it is in-ecoverably lost to us. On such occasions, to bear our 
 mortification is all we can do. But to wean our affections from 
 such an object, and wean them voluntarily, Avhich nevertheless is 
 essential to true penance, is repugnant to the nature of the hiunan 
 heart, and requires the greatest efforts to compass it. 
 
 3rd. But who are they, particularly, that find at tlieir death 
 insurmountable obstacles to true repentance, and for whom it is 
 sometimes, in some sort, impossible ? Ah ! Christians, for those 
 sinners, who, obstinate in their viciousness, arc utterly unaccus- 
 tomed to it, and persist in a habit and state of impenitence. For, 
 what is the consequence of that obduracy in which they have lived, 
 and that presumption of mind which induces them to believe, at 
 the hour of death, that they are desu'ous of conversion ? It is, that 
 
244 ON FINAL IMPENITBNCE. 
 
 their repentance, to say nothing worse, is mostly insuflicient. The 
 reason is this : it is neither voluntary in its principle nor superna- 
 tural in its motive. A forced repentance, a repentance purely 
 natural, two qualities peculiar to the repentance of the devils in 
 hell, and of sinners at their death. 
 
 A forced repentance : I am bold enough to defy the most pre- 
 sumptuous sinner not to agree to this. For where is the liberty 
 when the heart is moved by no spring but that either of servile 
 fear or of inevitable necessity ? Can it be said to be a free renun- 
 ciation to sin, when we only renounce it because we are no longer 
 in a capacity to commit it ? Can it be said to be a free submission 
 to God, when we only submit to him, because we crouch under 
 the sword of his justice, and are incapable of defence ? Can it be 
 said to be a free separation from the world, when we only separate 
 from it because it is no longer in our power to enjoy it ? Never- 
 theless, repentance, to be efficacious and true, must be voluntary 
 and free ; and if it be not^ though it were as lively and feeling as 
 that of Esau, which, according to the Scripture, made him " Roar 
 out with a loud voice" (Gen. xxvii.), it is the repentance of a cast- 
 away, of a sinner doomed to eternal destruction. Hence the fathers 
 are unanimous in decrying a death-bed repentance, in terms suf- 
 ficient not only to fill the sinner with consternation, but to drive 
 him to despair. Hence the church, being authorized to judge in 
 such cases, had so little reliance, heretofore, on repentances of this 
 nature, that, Avithout absolutely rejecting them, for fear of setting 
 bounds to the mercy of God, she exerted her discipline to the 
 utmost rigour with regard to such penitents, in order to convince 
 us how much she suspected the sincerity of their repentance. 
 Hence, according to the ancient canons, cited in the councils, those 
 who neglected to ask for baptism till the end of their days, were 
 not acknowledged, it seems, to be Chi'istians, but with reserve, 
 insomuch that they Avere accounted to have incurred irregularity ; 
 and for this St. Cyprian gives the following reason : they were 
 looked upon as men who served God by constraint, and only gave 
 themselves to him because they could not help it. And truly, 
 says St. Augustin, Avhoever condemns the in-egularities of his life, 
 merely because reduced to the necessity of quitting it, shews but too 
 plainly that his condemning them proceeds not from good will, but 
 from mere necessity. 
 
 A natural and quite human repentance ; that is, a repentance 
 
ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 245 
 
 which hath neither God nor sm, for its object. For, adds St. 
 Augustin, what are these supposed penitents afraid of? Are they 
 afraid of losing God, of displeasing God, of incurring the unpro- 
 pitious regard of God ? No, my brethren, answers this holy 
 doctor, nothing of all that ; and the proof is evident, because so 
 long as they had nothing beside to fear, they entertained not a 
 thought of their conversion to him : they are afraid of burning, but 
 not of sinning. Now it hence appears that their i*epentance is 
 ineifectual because they are not instigated either by the grace of 
 God, or by the spirit of God, but by self-love. To repent in this 
 manner, it is fully sufficient, without loving God, to love one's 
 self. But to repent like a Christian, to recover the gi-ace and 
 favour of God, it is not sufficient to love one's self. We therefore 
 may die in the exercise of repentance, and yet die in our sin, 
 because sin is not destroyed by every repentance ; and if any 
 repentance is unable to destroy it, it is that which we are speaking 
 of. This made St. Gregory, pope, conclude, that more sinners 
 perished in the Christian religion by false repentance, than by 
 utter impenitence ; and consequently that the prediction of our 
 blessed Lord comprises more than we are generally aware of, when 
 he says in clear terms, that " We shall die in our sin." 
 
 This inference disturbs you. But is it I, Christians, who make 
 it ? Or could I suppress it or weaken it, without prevarication 
 and betraying my ministry ? Could I make the holy fathers speak 
 otherwise than they have spoken ? Or blot out of the Gospel what 
 is written therein ? Affi'ighted as I am, should I let you slumber 
 in a deceitful security, and not share the fright with you which I 
 feel myself? I knoAv, beloved hearers, that what is impossible for 
 man is not so for God ; and that he hath it in his power, being 
 master of our hearts, to work a perfect repentance in the most 
 impenitent heart. I know that in this manner the celebrated 
 criminal who was crucified with Jesus, did penance on the cross, 
 and tliat having lived in sin, he died in grace. But I know, like- 
 wise, that, as St. Ambrose observes, those were the days of 
 miraculous operations, when God was engaged to perform wonders 
 in order to do honour to the death of his Sou ; that the Saviour 
 of the Avorld needed such prodigies to prove his divinity ; and that 
 this conversion, wliich hath passed in all ages of the Christian a;ra 
 for a singular example, ought, for that same reason, far from com- 
 forting and encouraging sinners, to fill them, on the contrary, with 
 
 VOL, II. B 
 
246 ON PREPARATION FOR DEATH. 
 
 a holy fear. This is Avhat I know, and this is Avhat confirms me 
 still more in the belief of this melancholy truth, that almost all 
 sinners who postpone their repentance to the time of death, not- 
 withstanding their repentance, " die in their sin." 
 
 If the question he asked, how this last mystery of reprobation 
 is accomplished, and by what means an impenitent life leads to 
 false repentance at the hour of death : I answer — and I earnestly 
 conjure you to have it always in mind, being a material point, and 
 of the utmost importance — I answer, and I say, that an impenitent 
 life leads the sinners of this world to false repentance at the time of 
 death, by way of delusion ; and there is no one, I believe, but 
 takes my meaning clearly. I shall explain it, hoAvever,^ and I say 
 that the sinner unaccustomed as he is to the exercise of penance, 
 and having never practised it dming the course of life, is unskilled 
 in the nature of it. Whence I conclude, that he is deceived at his 
 death, and that by a natural consequence, he mistakes an imperfect 
 and defective sorrow for true repentance. How should he judge 
 rightly of what he never understood ? And if he cannot judge 
 rightly, how will he be able to avoid mistakes, especially in a matter 
 so delicate as this ; a matter, jn which the most secret and internal 
 motions of the soul must be nicely discerned ? If this unfortunate 
 man, in the course of life, had made any acts of repentance he 
 would by little and little have formed some idea of it ; and by dint 
 of application, would have learned to distinguish between efficacious 
 and inefficacious sorrow for sin. But he never made trial of it ; 
 and he is now on the point of breathing out his last Avithout use or 
 experience. Is it then surprising, that the enemy imposes on him ? 
 That his own sense misleads him ? That he takes the figure for 
 truth, and the shadow for the body? Is it surprising, that he 
 fancies his desires of salvation to be saving effects, and the inspi- 
 rations of heaven to be acts of contrition ? Is it surprising, that, 
 prepossessed by so fatal an error, penitent as he is to all appearance, 
 in reality " he dies in his sin." 
 
 And now. Christians, it behoves you to deliberate, or rather, is 
 there room for a moment's dehberation ? Is not this the most just 
 conclusion which can be draAvn — that, in order to die a truly peni- 
 tent death, you must prepare for it by leading a truly penitent 
 life ? To expect that all at once you will be complete masters of 
 a difficult science in which delusions are so frequent, so subtle, and 
 so dangerous, and to believe that your intended trial of skill will 
 
ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 247 
 
 be a masterpiece in its kind, is blind temerity. You will weep — 
 but you will not be converted ; you will sigh and moan in the pre- 
 sence of God — but you will not be converted ; you will lift your 
 hands up to heaven, you will stretch forth your arms and embrace 
 the crucifix, the moving image of your dying Saviour — but you 
 will not be converted. And Avhy? Because, notwithstanding 
 this specious outside and seeming grief, you retain your obduracy 
 and a heart of stone ; nor can I here refrain from making applica- 
 tion of David's words : " Out of the midst of rocks thou shalt 
 send forth voices." Ps. ciii. You -will deceive, undesignedly, those 
 who shall see you and those who shall hear you. You will deceive 
 the priest, who will piously suppose that his care and attendance 
 are well bestowed. You will deceive yourself — but you will not 
 deceive God ; and in quitting this world, you Avill find to your great 
 disappointment and astonishment, not a GoA of mercy, but a God 
 of justice. Seek the God of mercy all your life long — you will find 
 him at your death, and enjoy him in glory to all eternity. 
 
 SERMON XXVIII. 
 
 ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 
 
 For the second Sunday of Advent. 
 
 *' There shall he signs in the S7in and in the moon, and in the 
 stars ; and 7ipnn the earth distress of nations . . . men XDitherinq 
 atoay for fear and expectation of lohat shall come upon the ichole 
 tvorld." Luke xxi. 
 
 It is from the completion, beloved Christians, of this prophecy, 
 pronounced by our Saviour, that the destruction of the universe 
 will commence ; and it is by exhibiting these prodigies, that the 
 Gospel represents in such lively colours a most astonishing revo- 
 lution. There shall be signs in the heavens and on the earth : 
 venerable signs, which Christ himself points out as the forerunner 
 of his last coming ; salutary signs, by which he would awaken and 
 rouse our faith from the profound lethargy in which it is buried ; 
 formidable signs, which will not only dry men up with fear, but 
 will shake the very powers of heaven. 
 
 All this (says St. Chrysostom) is undoubtedly true ; and yet 
 
 r2 
 
248 ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 
 
 these signs, these venerable, these sahitary, these formidable signs 
 will be (Mily preparatives to a scene infinitely more worthy of our 
 reflection, more essential to our salvation, and in itself more dread- 
 ful — which is the judgment of God. And it is of this judgment 
 that I design to speak on the present occasion ; a judgment of 
 which the thoughts alone made the saints tremble ; a judgment 
 from which (to use the apostle's Avords) the righteous themselves 
 shall scarce be saved ; a judgment of which I undertake to demon- 
 strate the equity and sanctity by showing on Avhat ground will be 
 founded its extreme and inevitable severity. 
 
 Give me, O Lord, your aid and the necessary grace to acquit 
 myself properly in discussing so solid and important a subject. 
 But give to my hearers, at the same time, the submission and 
 docility which your word requires : your word to which I shall 
 stiictly adhere, and on Avhich shall be hinged every proof that I 
 shall adduce throughout this discourse : replenish me with your 
 spirit, and let the great truth I have engaged to display make the 
 impression it can and ought to make on their minds. 
 
 It is an article of faith that God, who is the sole, absolute, and 
 sovereign Being, hath made all things for himself; and the same 
 faith teaches us, that without derogating in any degree from the 
 sovereignty of his Being, he hath likewise made all things for his 
 chosen servants. Therefore (says St. Chrysostom, arguing on 
 this subject), when God was determined to judge mankind at the 
 end of ages, in the last resort he had two pi'incipal objects in view : 
 one to do justice to himself, another to do justice to his elect. I 
 shall pursue this inference, being a proper foundation for the im- 
 portant subject which I am going to handle, and of which I shall 
 lay before you the order and disposition. 
 
 First : Almighty God, jealous of his glory, will judge the world 
 to do justice to himself; and for that reason Jesus Christ, who as 
 Son of God will preside at this judgment, will come with all the 
 marks of power and majesty. Secondly : faithful to those who 
 serve him faithfully, he will judge the world to do justice to his 
 elect ; and for that reason Jesus Christ spoke always of this judg- 
 ment to his disciples and followers as of a thing that ought to ante- 
 date their comfort, by assuring them that it would be the day of 
 their glory and salvation : " When these things shall begin to 
 come to pass, look up, and lift up your heads, because your redemp- 
 tion is at hand." Luke ii. 
 
ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 24*9 
 
 Adorable truths ! which comprehend in few words Avhatever is 
 most essential in the judgment of God. All the rest are no more 
 than prognostics, which must, however, if we have but ever so 
 little rehgion, be very terrible. But why do they appear so very 
 terrible, and on what account are they so in fact ? I have given 
 already the two reasons : they will terminate in a judgment, which 
 is the last act of justice that God Avill do to himself; and a judg- 
 ment will succeed them which Avill be to the cost and shame of 
 the reprobate, the most complete and shining act of justice that he 
 will do to his elect. Otherwise, neither the darkness of the sun, 
 nor the lidling of the stars, nor all the other forerunning signs of 
 the last judgment would be so very tremendous and ominous for 
 the sinner. Otherwise, I should look, without disquietude, for 
 this genei-al revolution, which will precede the coming of the Son 
 of Man. But to be unavoidably necessitated to undergo a judg- 
 ment which Avill, to the confusion of the world, avenge God and 
 the elect of God : ah ! beloved hearers, this should be the constant 
 object of our meditations as Avell as of om* fears. Noav these are 
 tlie two great points of faith which the Gospel proposes respecting 
 this subject. Endeavour all you can to comprehend them tho- 
 roughly. A judgment by which God will be avenged for the in- 
 justices of the world as fully and authentically as he ought to be. 
 This is my plan, and I request that you favour me with particular 
 attention. 
 
 Part I. As the world will be arrived to the summit of iniquity, 
 and as mankind will have filled up the measure of their crimes, 
 "The day of vengeance will come" (Jer. xlii); and God, who- 
 hitherto abounded in mercies, unable to put up with the horrible 
 wickedness with Avhich the whole earth will be overspread, will 
 begin at length to exert his power. On this was founded by the 
 royal prophet the propriety and necessity of a general judgment :. 
 " Arise, O Lord (says he), and judge thy own cause." Ps. Ixxiii. 
 lie goes on : " Remember the reproaches with which the foolish 
 man hath reproached thee." Two suggestions these of the Holy 
 Ghost, by which it appears in what will consist the rigour of God's 
 judgment — he will take vengeance for the outrages of mankind in 
 general: "Arise, O Lord, and judge thy own cause;" and for 
 those in particular of certain scandalous sinners, insolent in their 
 impiety, and whose character it is to insult the Almighty with 
 superior pride : " Remember the reproaches with Avhieh the foolish 
 
250 ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 
 
 man hath reproached thee." Let us draw from hence consequences 
 worthy of our faith, good and practical consequences for the refor- 
 mation of our lives. 
 
 1st. Ahnighty God will arise to judge his D"\vn cause. For, 
 content in this life to dispense his favours, making the sun to shine 
 equally on the wicked and the righteous, he leaves to those whom 
 his providence hath vested with proper authority, the management 
 of his cause, and the maintaining of his rights. To tliis end he 
 hath established higher powers upon earth. " The prince (saya 
 St. Paul) is the minister of God, to execute "wi'ath on him that 
 doeth evil." Rom. xiii. As many sovereigns, magistrates, supe- 
 riors, prelates and judges as are appointed to rule us, so many there 
 are in whose hands are deposited the rights of God, and who are 
 intrusted with the execution of the divine] law. If his name be 
 blasphemed or his worship profaned, as they are accountable to 
 him, he strictly requires that they redress the abuse. Upon this 
 account it is that he hath given to the priests of the new law so 
 absolute a jurisdiction. The priests (says St. Chrysostom), in 
 virtue of the power which they have of retaining or forgiving sins 
 in the tribunal of penance, are the arbiters of the cause and most 
 sacred rights of God, who, in granting them that power, told them 
 to the letter and without restriction, "Judge between me and my 
 vineyard" (Isai. v.) ; that is, judge between me and my people, 
 between me and those sinners, who, prostrate at your feet, disclose 
 their consciences and declare their offences. Oblige them to make 
 me just and reasonable reparation, and impose, to that intent, pro- 
 portional punishment — whatever ye shall loose on earth shall be 
 loosed in heaven. But in judging this cause, remember that it is 
 mine as well as theirs, and even more than theirs : " Judge be- 
 tween me and my vineyard." 
 
 For the same reason, whenever we meditate a reconciliation to 
 God, he condescends in his infinite goodness that we be, though 
 the''[adverse party, our own judges between him and ourselves. 
 For, penance, as St. Augustin judiciously observes, considered 
 relatively to the smner only, is neither more nor less than an act 
 of justice Avhich he doth to God at his own cost. As if God should 
 say — and that he hath said it is beyond dispute — render to me 
 voluntary justice yourselves ; wait not till I come to procure it in 
 spite of you in the day of my wrath. Convinced by the dictates 
 and testimony of your consciences, that you are culpable in my 
 
ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 251 
 
 sight, ai-m yourselves witli zeal, condemn and punish yourselves, 
 to the end that you may escape the terror of my judgment. This 
 is the condition he proposes. Whence the apostle concluded with- 
 out hesitation, that "If Ave would judge ourselves, we should not 
 be judged." 1 Cor. xxxi. Such in this life is God's method of 
 proceeding : he giveth us permission to judge his cause and is Avil- 
 ling to conniiit his concerns to our care. 
 
 But what is the consequence ? Ah ! beloved Christians, what 
 Ave shall never be able sufficiently to deplore, and what we ought 
 always to look upon as an undoubted foretoken of the rigour of 
 God's judgment. Tliis cause of God, entrusted to men, is, on ac- 
 count of their unfaithfulness, uuAvorthily managed, feebly sup- 
 ported, shamefully abandoned, and basely betrayed. How many 
 crimes, enormous crimes, arc tolerated in the Avorld through the 
 negligence, the connivance, the corruption, and the prevarication 
 of those Avhom God hath empowered and appointed to stop, by just 
 and legal punishment, the torrent of iniquity ? How many sacri- 
 leges, scandals, vices, sins the most monstrous and the most shame- 
 ful, are overlooked and unrestrained, and tlie authors of wliich, to 
 the disgrace of religion, Avalk the street barefacedly and without 
 controul? How many Avrctchcs, noted for impiety, are gently 
 dealt Avith, are respected and honoured, and in their impious deeds 
 are seconded and applauded ? And all this in contempt of the law, 
 and of God himself. If a great man be but slightly offended, every 
 spring is instantly set in motion to procure linn satisfaction : the 
 execution of justice can scarce be sufBciently speedy in repairing 
 the injury he pretends to have received. But is an offence com- 
 mitted against the majesty of God ? in a thousand conjunctures all 
 is weak and languishing. Whatever obligation men may be under 
 of usmg their endeavours to eradicate libertinism, Av^hen Almighty 
 God only, or his cause is concerned they dissemble, they tempo- 
 rize, they mollify circumstances — and libertinism, notAvithstanding 
 the sanctity of the laAvs, gathers daily strength and obtains the 
 ascendant. 
 
 Where, at this time, is that holy zeal for the cause of God Avhich 
 inflamed the breast of the royal psalmist, and should inflame the 
 breast of every Christian Avho Avould approve himself Avorthy of 
 the name he bears ? On hoAv many occasions is it made to give 
 Avay to selfish policy, and is quite enervated by Avorldly motlAcs ? 
 Shall 1 say it? Is not God's cause exposed in the very tribunal 
 
252 ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 
 
 of penance to a similar hazard ? What abuses are committed in 
 it ? With what facility is absolution imparted to infamous livers 
 and hardened sinners ? How their persons are distinguished and 
 their delicacy indulged ! The severity of discipline which was 
 heretofore exerted, did honour to God at the expense of the sinners ; 
 but now it would seem as if the whole design was to favour the 
 sinner at the expense of God. As iniquity increases penance is 
 mitigated : in comparison with those fervent ages when it was in 
 full force, unfortunately it is now, and that by prescription, no 
 more than the shadow of what it hath been. Scarce remain the 
 traces of those venerable canons, which, for sins at this day too 
 common in the world, enjoined whole years of rigorous satisfaction. 
 God, notwithstanding, hath suffered no change, and his immutable 
 prerogative subsists for ever. Let us impute, however, to none 
 but ourselves this melancholy relaxation in the administration of 
 penance. It is ourselves, Christians, let us own it to our sorrow, 
 who, by our hardness of heart, compel, in some measure, the mi- 
 nisters of Christ to conduct themselves towards us with that con- 
 descension for which we shall be responsible more than they, and 
 which cannot but end in our ruin and perdition. It is ourselves, 
 who by artifices find out the means of slackening their zeal and 
 corrupting their faithfulness. It is ourselves who induce them, 
 against their will, to foment our disorders, and, of course, it is our- 
 selves who are the chief prevaricators in the cause of God. 
 
 With this view it w^as, that the royal prophet besought the Al- 
 mighty to take his own cause in hand : " Arise, O Lord, judge thy 
 own cause." Ps. Ixxiii. Hitherto you have approved yourself a 
 forgiving God, " A God strong and patient." Ps. vii. As such, 
 with amazing tranquillity, you have suffered those to betray you 
 whose duty it was to vindicate your wrongs. Provide a remedy 
 for so deplorable an abuse. Remember, O Lord, that you are en- 
 gaged with rebels who turn against you your own divine attributes, 
 taking your patience for indolence and your might for weakness. 
 Arise, and let them see that, not-withstanding all your past for- 
 bearance, you know when to do yourself justice to the full. Now 
 this, dear Christians, is what God will do at the last judgment ; 
 this he himself declares in these words, equally terrible and ener- 
 getic : " When my hands shall take hold on judgment, I will render 
 vengeance to mine enemies." Deut. xxxii. That is to say, when I 
 shall take the power of judging, which is mine by right of sovc- 
 
ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 253 
 
 rcignty, into my own hands — when I shall deprive those of it who 
 are used to turn it to evil purposes ; when, tired with seeing it in 
 wicked hands, I shall confine the privilege of exerting it to myself — 
 " When my hand shall take hold on judgment" — then, says the 
 Lord, will I resume my right ; then shall my cause be victorious 
 and shall triumph ; then shall mine enemies feel the weight of that 
 ■\vrath which I have in store for them without mercy ; " Then shall 
 I render vengeance to mine enemies." 
 
 Hence it is, that the fatal day, pre-ordained for the snmmoning 
 of mankind to judgment, is emphatically termed by two of the 
 prophets "the day of the Lord." Zac. xiv. Mai. v. On that day, 
 forgetful of others, he will act entirely for his own interests. All 
 other days are, as I may call them, the days of men, for Avhose sakes 
 alone the power, the goodness, and the zeal of God, appear to be 
 exerted ; but on this great, this tremendous day, he will be power- 
 ful, good, and zealous for himself only ; and therefore he declares it 
 to be liis own day, " the day of the Lord." 
 
 " This is your hour," says our Saviour, addressing himself to 
 those Jews who had conspired against him, " this is your hour, 
 and the power of darkness." Luke xxii. In like manner, I say to 
 the generality of mankind : these are your days, and, as you tliink, 
 your best days, your days of happiness ; days consecrated to diver- 
 sions and pleasures ; days, in which, inebriated with the good things 
 of this life, your attention is taken up with the vain pursuits of 
 fleeting enjoyments ; days, in which, forgetfid of whatever concerns 
 your salvation, all your designs, and all your views have no other 
 tendency than to gratify your ambition; days, which you pass 
 away in idle amusements, vain contrivances, and needless inter- 
 courses. These are your days ; and as you erroneously imagine 
 that they w^ere intended for you, instead of spending them in good 
 works, and fulfilling your duty, you employ them entirely in works 
 of darkness, and gratifying your desires : " This is your hour, and 
 the power of darkness." But when that woful day shall come, in 
 which these days of joy must terminate, as you have your time, 
 God will have his ; and the time of God is that which he will take 
 to pass sentence on you. " When I shall take a time," says he, 
 " I will judge justices." Ps. Ixxiv. I will judge not only the 
 injustice, but the false justice they have done me ; not only their 
 crimes, but their false penance; not only their sins, but their 
 inefficacious contritions, their fruitless confessions, their unavailing 
 
254 ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 
 
 satisfactions. 1 will judge even judgments, those erroneous judg- 
 ments with which the sinner is but too apt to deceive his conscience, 
 to excuse his guilt, and to vindicate his conduct. " When I shall 
 take a time, I w^ill judge justices." 
 
 Moreover, Christians, to be in the last resort, and without appeal, 
 plaintiff and judge in his own cause is peculiar to God. No earthly 
 monarch, hoAV absolute soever, can claim such power. If a differ- 
 ence arise between him and his subject, the decision depends on a 
 free, disinterested, unsuspected verdict. Such is the constant 
 practice of princes truly religious : and we have seen, to our com- 
 fort, recent instances of this kind that deserve our encomiums ; and 
 thus they imitate the King of kings. 
 
 For, says St. Chrysostora, God will judge his own cause, because 
 by him alone it can be judged perfectly ; because he alone is 
 capable of discerning the immense injury done to him by sin ; 
 because none but himself can comprehend how far the malignant 
 quality of sin reaches, and what are the punishments proportioned 
 to it, the infinite dignity of his essence being the measure of the 
 one and the other. As God, he will take vengeance for himself, 
 because none but himself is thoroughly capable of taking vengeance ; 
 because none but himself hath the power of revenging him more 
 than by halves ; because his court is infinitely superior to all courts ; 
 lie is the judge of judges, and only knoAvs that complete vengeance 
 which is due to his justice. He will take vengeance for himself, 
 continues St. Chrysostom, because, in taking vengeance, himself 
 only can act holily, laudably, and irreprehensibly. For this reason 
 he said, " Vengeance appertaineth to me" (Horn, xii.) ; to me, 
 who am capable not only to moderate it, but moreover to sanctify 
 it ; and not to man, who in no wise can practise it withouta crime. 
 And truly, when man presumes to take vengeance he is transported 
 with passion, he frets and chaffs, he gratifies his malice, he is violent 
 and outrageous, he observes in liis revenge no manner of proportion ; 
 to retort a slight injury he commits a great one, for wliich he 
 applauds himself. It is fit therefore, that he be revenged by 
 another, as he is too blind, and too unjust, to revenge himself 
 properly ; so that vengeance appertains to God alone. Holy ven- 
 geance, that will amend and reform the excess of oiu's I Adorable 
 vengeance, the sole object of Avhich will be to punish sin ! Ven- 
 geance, Avliich, formed in the heart of God, will equally with his 
 sanctity, demand om' respect. Not influenced, therefore, concludes 
 
ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 255 
 
 8t. Clirysostoin, by ostentation of authority, but by absolute neces- 
 city, he "vvill at length " arise, and judge his OAvn cause." 
 
 2nd. Let us now proceed farther, and pursue the prophet's 
 thought. "Remember," says he, "the reproaches with Avhich 
 the foolish man hath reproached thee." Let us examine in 
 particidar which are the outrages that God, when he shall come to 
 judge the world, will remember to have received, and for which he 
 will justly take vengeance of the impious and foolish man. They 
 are written in the nineteenth and tliirtieth Psalms. And here I 
 must beg of you to redouble your attention. " Wherefore," says 
 David, "hath the wicked man provoked God?" Psal. ix. Because 
 these three things he hath said in his heart, injurious to God, in 
 direct opposition to the light of reason, and contrary to the inward 
 suggestions of his conscience, to which his impiety, in spite of his 
 penetration, prevailed on his will to give full assent. 
 
 The foolish and impious man hath exasperated God, because 
 " He said in his heart, there is no God" (Ps. xiii.) ; an affront to 
 the Divinty which he will not acknowledge. He hath exasperated 
 God, because he said in his heart, " God hath forgotten, he turned 
 away his face not to see" (Ps. ix.) ; an affront to the divine provi- 
 dence which he calls in question, and to whose universal dominion 
 he will not submit. He hath exasperated God, because "he said 
 in his heart, he will not require it" (Ps. ix.) ; an affront to the divine 
 justice, which he contemns and spurns at, and of which he endea- 
 vours to shake off the yoke. Exasperated at these three outrageous 
 affronts, which he will not forget. Almighty God will disco\'er to 
 all manldnd the greatness of his resentment. He will come to 
 convince the impious man that there is a God, obliging him to ac- 
 knowledge that this same God Avas ignorant of nothing, but knCAV 
 all his thoughts, his most hidden practices and clandestine vices ; 
 and to confound him by showing himself an enemy to sin equally 
 incapable of suffering the sinner to remain for ever unpunished as 
 of changing his own essence, or of ceasing to be God. What are 
 our thoughts if Ave think not perpetually of these important truths ? 
 
 God Almighty', from a zeal for the justice he oavcs himself, Avill 
 call back into the heart of the impious man that notion of tlie Deity 
 which had long been effaced by intellectual blindness consequent 
 on sin. Upon this accoimt it is, that after having been a hidden 
 God in the mystery of his incarnation, Avhich is the mystery of his 
 huniility, he will shew himself to all men on that tremendous 
 
25G ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 
 
 judgment seat on which tlie Gospel represents him, with all the 
 appearance of splendour and majesty ; that he Avill be accompanied 
 by the whole host of angels, and will call forth all nations to as- 
 semble before him ; that fear and astonishment will seize, in his 
 presence, the minds of men ; and that the planets by their eclipses, 
 and the elements by their confiision, will pay homage and adoration 
 to his supreme power. And why will he come with such splendid 
 attendance and with so much majesty ? In order, says St. Chrys- 
 ostom, to tell the real atheist, if such there be, or the atheist in 
 conduct, with which the world abounds, what he hath told them 
 already by the mouth of INIoses, and what he then will repeat Avith 
 more visible authenticity : " See ye that I alone am, and that there 
 is no other God besides me." Deut. xxxii. Acknowledge at length 
 that I am God, as on my side, in spite of you, the universe forms 
 a general combination, and brands with infamy the extreme folly 
 which made you call in question so palpable a truth. Acknow- 
 ledge that I am your God, as, with all the haughtiness attending 
 your libertinism, you could not avoid falling into my hands and 
 undergoing the inflexible rigour of my judgment. Acknowledge 
 that I alone am God, as all the princes and potentates of the earth, 
 who have been idolized by the rest of mankind, are now vanished 
 as smoke and are as nothing before me. " See ye that I alone am." 
 Words of Deuteronomy, which will in the day of universal doom 
 be verified to the letter, and will never be so aifectingly convictive 
 as then. 
 
 In this life the great (it is God himself that says it) are as gods 
 of the earth : " I have said ye are gods." Ps. Ixxxviii. And these 
 gods of the earth are they, St. Chrysostom tells us, who obstruct 
 the true knowledge of the God of heaven. Dazzled with the 
 splendour of their own greatness they forget him whose image they 
 are ; and taken up only with the thoughts of themselves and their 
 own concerns, are supinely neglectful of him who reigns over them. 
 But at the general judgment, these gods of the earth, brought down 
 upon a level with their fellow mortals, will be a demonstrative 
 proof to the unbelieving libertine that there is a God superior to 
 these supposed gods: "A God, the king of all the earth, that 
 reigneth over the heathen, and sitteth upon the throne of his holi- 
 ness" Ps. xlvi. ; a God absolutely God, solely God, eternally God. 
 " The Lord alone," says Isaias, " shall be exalted in that <lay." 
 Isai. ii. Whatever is not God will be little, low, mean, and des- 
 
ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 257 
 
 picable ; a mere atom, a mere nothing, before this sovereign Being. 
 All human greatness will be humbled, all fortunes destroyed, all 
 thrones overturned, all titles effaced, all ranks confounded — " The 
 Lord alone shall be exalted." 
 
 This is not all : as the wicked man hath said, either God did 
 not know, or hath not remembrance of, the evil I have done, God, 
 to justify his providence, will show that nothing hath escaped his 
 knowledge, and that he remembers all things. For this reason, 
 on that great day of universal discovery, he will bring to light, 
 and display to the view of all mankind what the wicked man ima- 
 gines to be buried in oblivion. He will openly reveal to all the 
 nations of the earth the baseness of the sinner, and the ignominy 
 of his deeds : those shameful and mortifying sins ; those sins, which 
 at the moment he committed them, covered him with confusion ; 
 those sins, to have been suspected of which would have driven him 
 to despair ; those sins which he durst not lay open to the most 
 trusty and discreet among all his friends ; those sins, which would 
 have blasted his reputation, which would have ruined his honour, 
 and of which the reproach would have been more insupportable 
 than death itself: God will make them known. No, no, Avill he 
 say, I have not turned away my face from thy crimes. Horrible 
 as they appeared, I wrote them doAvn in indelible characters in the 
 book of life and death which I this day produce. So many base 
 actions, infamous dealings, mean artifices, ungenerous deceits, dark 
 treacheries ; so many abominations and so disorderly a life : " Are 
 not these things stored up with me, and sealed up in my treasures?" 
 Deut. xxxii. Now these are the treasures, the treasures of wrath 
 which when he shall come to judge the Avorld, God -will display ; 
 and it is in this manner that he will take vengeance for the injus- 
 tice which the sinner hath done him, by believing, or rather by 
 affecting to believe that he was a blind God, a God without pro- 
 vidence, a God like those idols that have eyes, but see not. 
 
 In fine, the senseless man hath said in his heart — whatever know- 
 ledge God may have of my crimes he will not call me to an account, 
 he will not reprobate me eternally for so small a transgression. But 
 God, beloved Christians, will screen his justice and holiness from 
 so horrid a blasphemy. As how ? By condemning the crimes of 
 the impious man with the utmost rigour ; by pardoning none — but 
 punishing them Avithout remission, as far as they are punishable ; 
 in a word, by making him feel the whole weight and force of that 
 
268 ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 
 
 judgment, of which the very thoughts fill the mind "with horror, 
 and to represent which in its full extent and full severity, is infi- 
 nitely above the reach of all human knowledge. A judgment 
 without mercy, which God will then exert against the woi'ldling 
 and Hbertine, who, to sin with impunity, had the insolence to form 
 a religious system to their own minds, imagining God to be as 
 they would have him, a condescending and indulgent God, a God 
 to whom they should never be accountable : " For he said in his 
 heart, he •will not require." But this outrageously assuming pride 
 he will particularly bear doAvn, by pouring forth the torrent of his 
 divine vengeance, and will vindicate the adorable attribute, his 
 holiness : " For the Lord will require truth, and repay them abun- 
 dantly that act proudly." 
 
 This, ye sinners, is what is most terrible in the judgment of God : 
 He will take satisfaction for offences, and vengeance for contempt. 
 This hath often made the most righteous to shudder, and hath 
 riven the hearts of many godly Christians. But you, whatever 
 your situation in life may be, though great sinners should not be 
 disheartened, as you have still a great and infallible resource, and 
 that is penance. Amiable penance, cries St. Bernard, by vhtue 
 of Avhich I may infallibly prevent the judgment of God ! And I 
 say, Christians, happy penance, by which I may satisfy an offended 
 Deity and appease his wrath ! So that when he shall come to 
 judge me hereafter, he will already be appeased and satisfied, and 
 not necessitated to take revenge. Our penance, it is true, must 
 not be devoid of its proper characteristics — it must be sohd, exact, 
 fervent, efficacious, and must bear proportion not only to the griev- 
 ousness, but to the multiplicity of our sins : God, on no other terms, 
 can be avenged or satisfied. And can we purchase our preserva- 
 tion from that direful judgment at too dear a rate ? Can we com- 
 plain that too much is required of us, in order to be reconciled to 
 a God whom we have irritated ? True it is, this God of gloiy will 
 judge us according to the judgment Ave shall pronounce against 
 ourselves at the tribunal of penance. If we sjiare ourselves, he 
 "will not spare us : but it follows, by a rule directly contrary, that 
 God will spare me, if I do not spare myself; that he will pardon 
 me, if I do not pardon myself; that if my penitential deeds be 
 rigorous, his judgment will be favourable ; in a word, that if I 
 punish myself sufficiently, he will entirely forgive me. Now can 
 more in reason be Avished for to mv advantage ? Ah ! Lord, I 
 
ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 259 
 
 sliould be unworthy of your mercy if the condition seemed hard ; 
 or, more properly, if I did not consider the most severe penance as 
 the chief and most desirable happiness of my life ; and I should be 
 not only the most unjust, but the most senseless of mankind, if I 
 expected by a dastardly, slight reparation, to escape the rigour 
 and terror of your judgment. 
 
 Thus it is, sinners, that you ought to reason ; and though some 
 among you should be so vitiated, and so corrupt, and then' impiety 
 should rise to such a degree as not to allow the existence of a God, 
 I could not refrain from addressing myself to them in this manner : 
 hearken, my brethren, you whose salvation is dearer to me than 
 my lii'c, and for whose refonnation and amendment I feel in my 
 breast (if I may use the expression) a zeal wholly divine ; you, for 
 wh©se sakes, after the apostle's example, I could wish myself to be 
 anathematized, hearken to-day to the voice of God, and harden not 
 your hearts. This God, of whom you have been shamefully un- 
 mindful, hath innumerable graces for you still in store. As his 
 arm is not shortened, he is ready to remit at your penitence and 
 teai's. Of this the great patience with which he hath borne with 
 you to the present time is a convincing proof and certain pledge. 
 Though sovereign judge, he still retains for you not-withstanding 
 your en'ors all the tenderness and feelings of a loving father It 
 is in gTcat sinners and libertines like you, that he is wont to display 
 the riches of his mercy. Hoav scandalous soever your lives may 
 have been — and who knows but he hath selected the most impious 
 among you for that purpose — you may, to speak in the Scripture 
 style, become vessels of election. Make advance towards him, 
 and by an humble confession of the horrible blindness into which 
 sin hath led you — though so great offenders — use the necessary 
 means to find grace in his sight. The reformation of your lives 
 Avill contribute to his glory, and to the edification of his church. 
 It is of your concerns, my God, that I speak ; nor am I afraid of 
 overstraining the notions which I impart of your divine clemency, 
 as it infinitely surpasses all the charity I have for them. And 
 noAv, Christians, you have seen how God, at the end of time, will 
 do justice to himself. It remains that I shew you what kind of 
 justice he will render to his elect, which I proposed for the subject 
 of the second part. 
 
 Part II. That God made all things for his chosen servants ; 
 and for them he created and preserves the world; that, but for 
 
2G0 ON THli LAST JUDGMENT. 
 
 them, he would reduce it to its former state of nothingness ; that 
 all the designs of his providence turn upon them ; and that in the 
 order of nature, grace, and glory, every thing terminates in them, 
 and is designed for them, is an incontestible truth, expressly 
 declared in the inspired "\vritings. It must be allowed, however, 
 that this divine word, so advantageous to the elect, will not be 
 accomplished before the great accounting day. And indeed, says 
 St. Chrysostom, were there no life to come, and the Almighty 
 never to judge mankind, it would be hard to comprehend what 
 favour or privilege had been conferred on them ; and far from 
 imagining that God had created all things for them, we should 
 often be rather inclined to think, that he seemed to have done 
 nothing, or at least but little for them. In this life their appear- 
 ance doth not distinguish them from other men ; there is nothing 
 that indicates a special care, or peculiar regard of divine providence 
 for them. So far from it by a wonderful dispensation, which 
 David acknowledges to have made him stagger and to have given 
 him uneasiness in this life, the elect, who are the righteous, far from 
 being known for what they are, are frequently cried down by the 
 malignity of the world and confounded -with hypocrites. In this 
 life, the elect, who are the humble — far from being treated with 
 honour and respect, are on many occasions despised and insulted. 
 In this life the elect — who are the poor and needy — far from being 
 relieved, are ever and anon rejected and abandoned. In this life, the 
 elect — who are mostly the weak — far from being protected, are scan- 
 dalously, and that not seldom, overwhelmed and oppressed. Now 
 all this carries with it no semblance of that favour and aifection 
 which Almighty God, according to his promise, might be thought 
 to have for them. It is very true, replies St. Chrysostom ; but it 
 is an irrefragable proof of the truth, the infaUibility, the absolute 
 and indispensible necessity of God's judgment. For, why Avill the 
 Redeemer of mankind come, at the end of ages, and appear in 
 quality of sovereign judge? To do justice to his elect on these 
 four heads : he will come to revenge the righteous, by separating 
 them from the hypocrites, and putting a period to the reign of 
 hypocrisy — he Avill come to revenge the humble, by glorifying 
 their humility and confounding the proud who used them con- 
 temptuously — he will come to revenge the poor, who by the 
 hardheartedness of the rich, pine away in misery, but to Avhose 
 sighs and tears it "svill manifestly appear he was not insensible — he 
 
ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 
 
 261 
 
 will come to revenge the weak, and take satisfaction for whatever 
 either iniquity, or violence, or abuse of authority, made them suffer 
 undeservedly. These, beloved hearers, are the principal reasons, 
 relative to the predestinate, why the Scripture declares to us, that 
 the Almighty Lord will appear in his vengeance. Listen, there- 
 fore, I pray, and as each of you in particular is deeply concerned, 
 redouble your attention. 
 
 1st. He will come to revenge the righteous by separating them 
 from the hypocrites, as the shepherd, says he himself in the Gospel, 
 separates the sheep from the goats. For now all is indiscriminately 
 confused, virtue and vice, innocence and crimes, truth and impos- 
 ture, religion and hypocrisy ; and in this confusion, the righteous 
 suffer and the wicked triumph. 
 
 Let it, however, be remembered, that in speaking of hypocrisy 
 I confine not my meaning to the particular species which consists 
 only in an abuse of piety and a fallacious devotion. I speak of it 
 in a more enlarged sense, the more conducive to your instruction, 
 as you will be under a necessity perhaps of acknowledging that it 
 is an odious vice, to which you are prone and much habituated. 
 For I call hypocrisy whatever conceals, under specious appear- 
 ances, the licentiousness and irregularities of a criminal life. Now 
 it cannot be doubted that, in this sense, hypocrisy makes its Avay 
 into all ranks, and that impostors and hypocrites are more general 
 among those persons who are addicted to the world than those who 
 are addicted to works of devotion. How many caitiffs wear the 
 mask of honour ! How many men of coi'rupt morals, and replete 
 with iniquity, step forth with all the pride of self-approbation and 
 ostentation of probity ! How many cheats with effrontery and in- 
 solence boast of their sincerity ! How many traitors assume the 
 air of veracity and friendship I How many sensualists, slaves to 
 the most vile and infamous passions, pretend to the strictest purity 
 of manners, and even affect severity ! How many prudes, though 
 nice and punctihous concerning their reputation, are strongly en- 
 cajied in shameful communications, but not Avanting in address to 
 procure esteem, and an opinion of exact and perfect regularity ! 
 On the other hand, how often are the righteous falsely accused and 
 basely condemned ! How often are the true servants of God, by 
 the wickedness of the times, run down and calumniated ! How 
 often arc upright, religious persons made the subject of laughter, 
 sneers, and derision ! How often is true virtue maliciously called 
 
 VOL. II. s 
 
202 ON THE LAST JUDGMEXT. 
 
 In question ! How often are good works made to feel, undeservedly, 
 the edije of censure and the stlntr of malevolence ! How often are 
 good intentions scandalously misconstrued, and holy actions made 
 invidious by misrepresentation ! Now all this, St. Chrysostom 
 tells us, the judgment of God will one day reveal ; insomuch that 
 each one will hold his proper station, and will be known and will 
 appear for Avhat he is. Then the hidden secrets of the heart will 
 be unfolded — then the inmost recesses of the conscience will be 
 publicly manifested — then, says the apostle, " Every man shall have 
 the praise that is due to him from God." 1 Cor. iv. By this fatal 
 and decisive separation of the good grain from the tares, the de- 
 plorable but just sentence of the divine Spirit, pronovmced against 
 the hypocrite in the book of Job, will be accomplished to the letter : 
 " The joy of the hypocrite is but for a moment . . . He shall be 
 punished for all that he did . . . According to the multitude of 
 his devices so also shall he suffer." Job xx. 
 
 The delight of the hypocrite was to deceive mankind, and be 
 honoured and respected. It was his delight to obtain reputation in 
 the world, which cost him no more than to play his part well to the 
 end of tlie farce. It was his delight to receive, by dint of dissimu- 
 lation, the homage and tribute due to real virtue, and to enjoy, 
 without merit, the advantages of merit. This Job called the pros- 
 perity, the joy, and the reign of hypocrisy. But at the last judg- 
 ment its reign will be destroyed, Its prospei'ity will vanish, its joy 
 will be converted into mortal afflictions. They were founded in 
 the mistakes of unsuspecting men, imposed on and dazzled with 
 false glitter. But this misleading of well-meaning persons hitherto 
 deceived, but now disabused by a divine illumination after being a 
 frivolous consolation to the hypocrite, "will at last turn to his dis- 
 grace and confusion. He hoped that he should never be discovered 
 to the bottom, and that the world would be a dupe to his hellish 
 policy. But he feels on the contrary, all the pangs of despair, 
 being Incapable of disguise, having no darkness wherein to hide his 
 head — seeing the veil drawn off, his artifices discovered and exposed 
 to the eyes of all mankind. The hope of the hypocrite shall perish. 
 Other sinners, known in the world for what they were, will have 
 undergone. In part, the aAvard which was consequent to their nume- 
 rous offences. But the hypocrite who is compelled to pull off the 
 mask, and discover how little he deserved the esteem for Avhich he 
 used to rate himself so high ; the woman whose virtue was so greatly 
 
ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 263 
 
 celebrated, aud whose private interviews are now made public ; the 
 magistrate who was thought an example of integrity, and whose 
 injustices are made as visible as the meridian sun ; the priest of 
 sanctified reputation, with whose dissolute life God openly re- 
 proaches him ; the man of supposed honour, who is found out for 
 a cheat ; the false friend, so much relied on, w^iosc base treachery 
 is indisputably made known ; whoever had the art of hiding his 
 iniquities, and is now under a necessity of sacrificing to truth : ah I 
 Christians, for these it is that the judgment of God hath something 
 in it inexpressibly melancholy — these it will drive to everlasting 
 despair. 
 
 All this, however, for a reason quite opposite, will make it not 
 supportable but fiivourable, nay honourable, nay desirable to the 
 righteous and predestinate. For, says St. Chrysostom, their hap- 
 piness will be that they appear w^hat they are in the presence of 
 every intellectual being ; their happiness, and even the extent of 
 their desires mil be that the uprightness of their actions and the 
 purity of their intentions are clearly discernible ; their happiness 
 will be that they are thoroughly known, as not to have been known 
 was the original cause of all their disgrace. Tliis, ye faithful souls, 
 who, notwithstanding the corruptions and vices of the age, have 
 served your God in spirit and in truth, this is what must, amidst 
 the hardships of life, strengthen your resolution, and fill you with 
 consolation. In that dreadful moment, when every conscience shall 
 be disclosed to open view in its genuine state, your hope, enlivened 
 at the siglit of your supreme judge, and on the point of being 
 completed, will strongly support you and fully indemnify you for 
 the unjust persecutions raised against you by the world. While 
 the perplexed, confounded, dispirited deist shall advance with 
 downcast looks and trembling steps, you, because that Avill be the 
 day of your justification, will appear with confidence and a secret 
 joy. Now envy and calumny direct at you, unmolested, their en- 
 venomed shafts. But envy will be silenced, or, if she should speak, 
 it will be in your favour ; calumny will be refuted, and truth will 
 shine forth in all her lustre and native beauty. Enjoy, neverthe- 
 less, the secret testimony of a good heart, a testimony preferable to 
 all the praises of men. Say with St. Paul, it matters not what 
 judgment men pass upon me at present, as I am to be one day 
 judged by my gracious God : " For he that judged me is the Lord." 
 1 Cor. vii. Or say with Jeremias : "It is you, Lord, Avho 
 
 s2 
 
264 ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 
 
 fathom souls to the bottom, and find out with certainty the most 
 secret windings and intricate mazes. To you I have laid open my 
 cause." Jer. vii. 
 
 2nd. Let us proceed : He will come to glorify humility in the 
 persons of the humble. That humility, that simplicity of the 
 righteous, that patience in suffering undeserved injuries, which by 
 worldly men is deemed Aveakness of mind, want of part and mean- 
 ness of spirit, God Avill reward Avith a croAvn of glory, convincing 
 the whole universe that it was true fortitude, true Avisdom, true 
 magnanimity. Then the humble of heart Avill arise Avith confidence, 
 in opposition to those Avho had despised and insulted them. Then 
 the wise ones of the world, freethinking unbelievers, Avill be aston- 
 ished and confounded to see those very persons, whom they had 
 used to look upon as the outcasts of men, placed on thrones of glory. 
 Then, amazed and beside themselves, they Avill cry out Avith a 
 sigh: "These are they Avhom we had sometimes in derision and 
 for a parable of reproach : Ave fools esteemed their life madness and 
 their end Avithout honour. Behold hoAV they are numbered among 
 the children of God and their lot is Avitht he saints." Wisdom v. 
 Then the Avorld Avill bear this testimony, although by compulsion, 
 to the humility and meekness of God's chosen servants ; and the 
 Avhole effect of om' Lord's promise Avill be perceived clearly, and 
 in a particular manner : " Every one that humbleth himself shall 
 be exalted." Luke xiv. 
 
 It seldom happens, in the present life, that respect and honour 
 are conferred proportionably to self-debasement. There are, Avhose 
 humility, though real and solid, is attended to the end AATith mor- 
 tifying circumstances. There are, Avho seek God in the sjiirit of 
 religion, and Avho though buried, as it Avere, to the Avorld and 
 annihilated before men, yet die in obscurity. There are, Avhose 
 solitary lives and hidden A^irtues are knoAvn only to God, and Avhose 
 heroic efforts in breaking Avith the Avorld receive no commendation ; 
 and, therefore, says St. Chrysostom, there ought to be and there 
 Avill be a general audit at the end of time. 
 
 As the world is unjust to those perfect Christians Avho are ob- 
 jects of scorn for their mastei''s sake, God, Avhose retribution is 
 ahvays abundant, will repay their forbearance a hundred fold. As 
 there are saints upon earth, whose humility, though sincere, is 
 neither knoAvn nor honoured in the degree it deserves, if the Avorld 
 Averc just, God, by making it blaze forth to the admiration of the 
 
ON THELAST JUDGMENT. 265 
 
 Avliole earth, will supply the deficiency. As the false honour, the 
 ridiculous vanity, the presumptuous ambition of the world will be 
 reprobated, homage Avill be paid to the holiness of the maxims which 
 directed the wise and humble Christian through the labyrinths of 
 life, because " lie that humbleth himself shall be exalted, and he 
 that exaltcth himself shall be humbled." Luke xiv. 
 
 3rd. Further : He will come to comfort and bless the poor ; for 
 it is an article of faith that " The poor man shall not be forgotten 
 to the end ;" as Ukewise, that " The patience of the poor shall not 
 perish for ever." Ps. ix. It is evident, however, that these two 
 oracles of the Holy Spirit are not always, nay seldom are, vei-ified 
 in this life, as many of the poor are forgotten and unassisted. A 
 forgetfulness the more deplorable, as it is mostly voluntary, and of 
 course criminal, on the part of the rich. What vast numbers of 
 wretched mortals are reduced by poverty to the utmost distress, 
 the knowledge of which is studiously avoided ? Had their want 
 been knoAvn it would have extorted sentiments, if not of charity at 
 least of humanity. Beholding their misery, the rich would blush 
 at their own excesses, would be ashamed of their delicacy, would 
 upbraid themselves with prodigality and preposterous high living, 
 and Avould judge with reason such things to be criminal in the pre- 
 sence of God. But as they know not how much these chosen 
 members of Christ endure — as their Ignorance is voluntary — as 
 they are afraid to be informed — as they banish them from their 
 presence, they think themselves, by forgetting them, free from all 
 obligation ; and to whatever extremity the poor may be reduced, 
 they have no bowels of compassion for them. How many are re- 
 jected Avithout examination, on pretence that they counterfeit a 
 state of indigence ! How many are there whose sighs and lamen- 
 tations are too weak to reach the ears of those who are possessed of 
 the means to relieve their necessity ! How many are afflicted in 
 noisome prisons or pine away in hospitals, or feel the scourge of 
 fiuiiine in their OAvn families ! and of those Avliose poverty is evi- 
 dently knoAvn, and whose miserable condition cannot be forgotten, 
 how many are neglected ! How many are browbeaten or trodden 
 under foot ! How many faithful servants of God want common 
 necessaries, while the servants of mammon Avallow in abundance, 
 in luxury, in delicacies ! Were there no last judgment, these suf- 
 ferings of the poor, aggravated by the insensibility and hardheart- 
 edness of the rich, might be termed with propriety a partiality of 
 
265 
 
 ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 
 
 Providence. But, for that same reason, as St. Chrysostom observes, 
 Providence bath preordained a severe and rigorous judgment of 
 the rich, and this David comprehended perfectly when he said : 
 " I know that the Lord Avill do justice to the needy and will re- 
 venge the poor." Ps. cxxxix. And how doth he know it ? By this 
 argument — that as the patience of the poor neither could nor ought 
 to be overlooked for ever, a judgment was necessary, a judgment 
 superior to that of men, Avhereby it will appear that it was not 
 overlooked. That is, God values and esteems it, as much as it is 
 just a sovereign and equitable master ouglit to do : " The patience 
 of the poor shall not perish for ever. Ps. Lx. A judgment by which 
 the poor will be Indemnified for the unequal distribution of emolu- 
 ments which reduced them to penury and overwhelmed them -with 
 hardships, but by which their patience, put to the utmost stretch, 
 will be fully compensated for the unjust treatment it shall have 
 undergone. Upon this account, says the Lord himself, I will rise ; 
 the sufferings of the poor, against Avhom the pitiless rich steeled 
 their hearts, have inflamed my wrath ; their cries and lamentations 
 have reached my throne ; I am exasperated to find that their com- 
 plaints are ineflfectual, and make no Impression : " By reason of 
 the misery of the needy and the groans of the poor now Avill I 
 arise, saith the Lord." Ps. cxI. Their tears are so many pressing 
 solicitations to me in their fixvour ; nor shall I think I have ren- 
 dered them that justice which I owe them, both as creator and as 
 judge till that great day when I shall pronounce a decree of sal- 
 vation for them, at the same time that I shall condemn without 
 mercy those who shall have shown no mercy to them. To hear 
 Almighty God thus speak in the Scriptures, would not one imagine 
 that his main intent, by a general judgment, was to give satisfac- 
 tion to the poor, and that his chief view was to do them justice ? 
 " By reason of the misery of the needy and the groans of the poor." 
 To see hoAv the Son of God, who is to preside there, will demean 
 himself and act, would not one Imagine that the care of the poor 
 was the point on Avhich the whole judgment of the universe turned ? 
 That the destiny of men absolutely and essentially depended 
 thereon : that is, some will be condemned only for having despised 
 the poor, and others crowned with glory for having afforded them 
 relief? Wherefore the royal prophet concludes : " Blessed is the 
 man that understandetli concerning the needy and the poor." And 
 why ? " Because the Lord will deliver him in the evil day." Pe. xl. 
 
ON THK LAST JUDGMENT. 267 
 
 4th. To conclude : He will come to relieve the weak and help- 
 less who had loug groaned under the cruel oi)pression of lawless 
 power ; for now it is interest that chiefly prevails, and that on most 
 occasions hath the upper hand. The most powerful man, what- 
 ever he undertakes, is always in the right ; and, because the most 
 powerful, thinks his undertaking just and obtains liis end. How 
 many persecutions and vexations proceed daily from the abuse of 
 authority ! How many poor wretches, how many -widows, lor want 
 of support, are sacrificed lilcc victims to the rapacity of favourites ! 
 How many estates of unprotected Avards, after numerous fbrm;i- 
 lities, are made a scandalous prey to the collusion of guardians and 
 chicanery of lawyers ! How many families, destitute of protection 
 and subverted by sway, are fallen to ruin ! How many lawsuits 
 are unjustly terminated by solicitation, cabal, and the prevalence of 
 party ! Notwithstanding the justness of the laws and the vigilance 
 of the legislature, it is almost certain that the weak must yield. If 
 corruption makes its way to the judge's heart the moneyless plain- 
 tiff, not the rich defendant, is sure to be cast and to suifer Avrong. 
 From the moment he loses his power and authority, through au 
 untoward fatality, he is Crossed on all sides. But what was refused 
 him at an earthly bar he will find at last, to his comfort, in the 
 Lord. The Almighty Lord, full of equity and zeal, will defend 
 the orphan, that the powerful and the great may no longer boast 
 of their power and their greatness. He will " Judge for the father- 
 less and the humble, that man may no more presume to magnify 
 himself upon earth" (Ps. ix.) ; the man who hath hitherto, as his 
 power was irresistible, had the upper hand, and been the sub- 
 ject of admiration for the extensiveness of his capacity and the 
 justness of his claim to distinction and honours. He hath gloried 
 in and made a merit of his very violence. But the Lord will im- 
 deceive him in that great day ; and by avenging and protectino-, 
 and withdrawing from oppression the weak and distressed, will briuo- 
 doAvn his spirit and convince him of his vanity, "that he may no 
 more presume to magnify himself." 
 
 It is true then to say, that the day of God's judgment vnll be 
 for the elect, a day of redemptiod, a day of glory, a day in which 
 the iUmighty will do them cntu'C justice. Ah ! Christians, what 
 are our thoughts if thoroughly convinced of so affecting a truth, we 
 do not exert all the powers of our soul, in order to be of that happy 
 number ? What are our deeds, if, renouncing the delusive max- 
 
268 ON THE LAST JUDGMENT. 
 
 ims of the world, we do not endeavour to be in a condition of ap- 
 pearing before the bar of Christ ? Now here, beloved hearers, is 
 the important secret which I would impart to you, as the fruit to 
 be gathered from this whole discourse. Begin to do now, in your 
 o-^vn regard, what the great judge will do at the last day in regard 
 to his elect. He will separate them from hypocrites and impious 
 men : separate yourselves now from them by the practice of solid 
 and true piety. He will glorify the humble : " Humble your- 
 selves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, that he may 
 exalt you in the day of his visitation." 1 Pet. v. He will bless the 
 poor : now assist and comfort them to the utmost of your power. 
 Procure their intercession at God's tribunal, that they may con- 
 duct you at length into the eternal tabernacles. He will avenge 
 the weak and oppressed ; protect them, and according to the mea- 
 sure of your ability, be guardians, after God's example, to the 
 fatherless and the widow. And you, righteous, humble, poor, 
 defenceless, the beloved of God, in yoiu* righteousness, in your 
 obscurity, in your poverty, in your weakness, bear up in expec- 
 tation of that great day which will be at once, the Lord's and yours. 
 Not but that all should fear God's judgment : yet fear it so, that 
 it be the subject of your desire, of your love, and of your hope. 
 And why should you not love that which will deliver you from 
 the miseries and vexations of the present life ? Why should you 
 not desire that which will rescue you from the slavery of the world? 
 Why should you not hope for that which will introduce you into 
 everlasting happiness ? Fear the judgment of God ; but let your 
 fear be blended with love and confidence : fear it as you fear God. 
 It is not allowable to fear God without loving him ; love must 
 accompany, nay, outgo your fear ; else your fear is but servile, and 
 insufficient for salvation. Now may not the same be reasonably 
 said with respect to God's judgment? Let us all fear, beloved 
 hearers, tliis dreadful judgment ; but let our fear be efficacious ; a 
 fear that will reform us — that will restrain our irreo-ularities — that 
 will redouble our vigilance — that will kindle our fervour — that will 
 impel us to the practice of all Christian good works. Thus shall 
 Ave deserve to be placed at the right hand, and to hear from the 
 mouth of our sovereign judge these comfortable words : " Come, 
 ye blessed of my father, possess the kingdom prepared for you from 
 the foundation of the world." ]\Iatt. xxv. 
 
ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 260 
 
 SEKMON XXIX/ 
 
 ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 
 
 "The rich man also died, and teas buried in hell." Luke xvi. 
 
 This is the end, beloved Christians, the melancholy fate of a rich 
 man. His fortune was affluent, he Avallowed in all the good things 
 of this life, and was loaded with honours even after death : for, it 
 may be supposed that his funeral obsequies were very magnificent, 
 that his corpse was earned in pomp and ceremony, and that a su- 
 perb monument was erected to his memory ; and, in all probability 
 (though a public sinner), there was not wanting panegyrists who 
 publicly spoke his praises, blazoned his achievements, and ascribed 
 to liim the glory of the gi'eatest virtues. But his misfortune — his 
 extreme misfortune was, that Avhile honours were paid him in this 
 world, he groaned under the lash of justice in the otlier ; and that 
 his soul being brought before God's tribunal received sentence of 
 death and everlasting sufferings, and was instantly buried in the 
 pit of hell. A frightful image this of what happens but too fre- 
 quently to the rich ones and great ones of this world : " The rich 
 man died, and was buried in hell." 
 
 I would to God, beloved Christians, that, endeavouring to set 
 forth the horrible effects of tliis eternal damnation, I may have the 
 happiness to make you conceive a horror of it, and induce you to 
 avoid it ! To preach at court, upon hell, is a duty annexed to the 
 Gospel-ministry ; and God forbid that a false prudence, or a timid 
 and unbecoming compliance with the depraved taste of his audi- 
 ence, should induce the preacher to pass over unheeded so essen- 
 tial a subject — one of the fundamental points of religion. He 
 should reflect, however, in whose j)resence he speaks, and to whom 
 he announces it. To the vulgar this doctrine might justly be ex- 
 plained by sensible figures — lakes of brimstone, fiery gulfs, hideous 
 spectres, gnashing of teeth. But to you, beloved hearers, who, 
 though worldly and carnal, are tlie wise ones of the world in ano- 
 ther sense, to you it must be explained in the simplicity of faitli, 
 in a manner to convey to you an exact knowledge of it, in a man- 
 ner calculated to give you edification. 
 
270 ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 
 
 God heretofore put this question to Job : " Have the gates of 
 death been opened unto thee, or hast thou behekl the darksome 
 doors ?" Job. xxxviii. It is not improbable that this holy man, 
 however clear-sighted, Avas unable to give an answer to this inter- 
 rogatory : for the Scriptures infoi'm us, that none but Jesus Christ 
 was to have opened the gates of hell and of death ; and accord- 
 ingly he tells us himself in the Apocalypse, that "he hath in his 
 hand the keys of hell and of death." Apoc. i. But now that he 
 hath brought us these mysterious keys ; that he hath opened to us 
 the gates of those gloomy regions ; and that he hath revealed to 
 us by the divine oracles of the Gospel what passes in the dark 
 abodes of the damned, it depends upon ourselves to have a tho- 
 rough knowledge of them. If, therefore, God should ask us this 
 question : "Have the gates of death been opened unto you, or 
 have you beheld the darksome doors ?" Have you seen the abyss 
 in which the wicked are shut up, and in Avhich they suffer all the 
 rigours of my vengeance ? We should be much to blame did Ave , 
 not make answer : Yes, O Lord, I have seen it, I have considered 
 it, I have made it the subject of my serious reflections, and I have 
 drawn from it the mental illumination requisite for the conduct of 
 my life. And this, beloved hearers, is Avhat I mean this day to 
 place before your eyes for the edification of your souls. I mean to 
 let you see Avhat hell is, of what its torments consist, and the essen- 
 tial properties of infernal pains. And as this subject is copious to 
 infinity, I shall confine myself to the reflection of Pojae Innocent 
 the Third, in his excellent treatise " On contempt of the World," 
 Avhere he says that the damned suffer three different Avays ; namely, 
 by remembrance of the past, by present sufferings, and by despair 
 of obtaining God's grace in future. To come, therefore, to the 
 division of your present instruction : the situation of the damned 
 is unhappy for the three folio Aving reasons. Fu'st, they are racked 
 by the remembrance of the past. Secondly, their present sufter- 
 ings overpower them with anguish. Thirdly, the prospect of futu- 
 rity throAvs them into despair. 
 
 Part I. The first sufferings of the damned Avill be the remem- 
 brance of the past ; a remembrance that will torment them sharply, 
 that Avill torment them eternally, that Avill torment them Avithout 
 interruption or diminution, that Avill torment them in every man- 
 ner of Avay that the justice of God, in conjunction Avlth his omni- 
 potence, decrees to inflict ; but what is still more dejilorable, that 
 
ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 271 
 
 it will have no other effect in tormenting them, than to make them 
 undergo punishment, and to torment them. This, Christians, is the 
 primary notion which I conceive of the state of the damned in hell, 
 and of their reprobation. " Son (says Abraham to the rich glutton), 
 remember that in thy life-time thou receivest thy good things" 
 (Luke xvi.) ; but call to mind, at the same time, the ill vise thou 
 madest of them. Two afflicting considerations these, St. Chrys- 
 ostom tells us, for a damned soul ; one, on the good things of 
 which he made an ill use ; the other on the wicked deeds which 
 he pei'petrated. Both the one and the other, according to the in- 
 tention of Christ our Lord, are necessary in order to restrain the 
 impetuosity of our passions, and make us steady in the ways of 
 Christian wisdom. 
 
 1st. The first thing that will torment the reprobated sinner, 
 will be the remembrance of the good things which he once pos- 
 sessed, and in wliich he placed all the happiness of life, but which, 
 by a melancholy reversion, will rack him, and harrow up his heart 
 with the deepest sorroAV. Not for having lost them ; for hoAV great 
 soever had been his attachment to them, he is no longer capable of 
 being affected with them, and is but too well convinced of their 
 vanity and futility ; but for having loved them preferably to his 
 eternal salvation ; for having turned them to purposes dishonour- 
 able to the Deity ; for having employed them to his own ever- 
 lasting destruction. Ah ! Avill the rich man say, torn with the 
 most cruel and lively repentance, for these are the perpetual plaints 
 of the damned, according to the Scripture : if I had disposed of 
 my fortune after the will of God ; if, conformably to the hiAvs and 
 spirit of Christianity, and to the obligations of ray state, I had 
 assisted the poor ; if, influenced by a religious and charitable zeal, 
 I had divided it between Jesus Christ and myself; if, looking on 
 it as a talent, of which I was entrusted Avith the disposal only, I 
 had applied it to the works of mercy and piety ; if, like a faithful 
 steward, I had made the profits arising from it subservient to the 
 honour and glory of the master who committed it to my care, 
 what death hath deprived me of, would be for me at this present 
 a treasure of merit, and a store of happiness to all eternity. I should 
 merit the praises of men on earth, and receive in heaven the re- 
 ward of God. But because an insatiable desire of accumulatincr 
 and enjoying Avcalth made me unmercifully Avithhold it, notwith- 
 standing their distresses, from the needy and the poor ; because an 
 
272 ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 
 
 immoderate luxury, regulated only by the spirit of the world, made 
 me squander it in idle and superfluous expenccs ; because a shame- 
 ful attention to gratify the senses made me lavish it in excess and 
 criminal intemperance ; because a detestable ambition to rise in the 
 world, or a bhnd passion to enrich my children — libertine, and per- 
 haps ungrateful heirs — made me seek it against all the laws of jus- 
 tice and at the expense of my conscience ; this same fortune, in 
 which I place all my hope and felicity, must be my tormentor. 
 
 A thought the most afflicting, as making forthwith a most 
 melancholy comparison, he will form to himself an idea of the 
 supreme and eternal good, Avhich he hath lost for perishable and 
 fleeting enjoyments. This plain conviction which Asdll never quit 
 him, but will always be distinctly present to his mind, that he hath 
 lost his true happiness, his only happiness, for a filse happiness, 
 false even in the opinion of mankind, a frivolous lucre that blinded 
 him, an imaginary honour that infatuated him, a brutal pleasure to 
 which he abandoned himself; the grevious vexation, which, upon 
 this account, he will conceive against himself, and which will make 
 him say with much more reason than the son of Saul : "I did but 
 taste a little honey, and lo I die" (1 Kings xiv.), a few pleasures 
 which my reason condemned, and of Avhich the stings of my con- 
 science destroyed almost all the relish — and now I am condemned 
 to drink the cup of divine wrath, a cup of gall and bitterness, filled 
 up in the day of the Lord's anger, which he keeps for his enemies]: 
 all this, I say, will create in his soul an internal worm, which Avill 
 gnaw him for evew, but never devour him. " Son remember that 
 in thy life time thou receives thy good things." Thus we use the 
 gifts of God against God himself; but God in his turn, will use 
 them against us. And St. Gregory tells us, that as we make 
 them the instruments of our mckedness to offend him, he will make 
 them the instruments of his justice to punish us, and that by 
 thought and remembrance. 
 
 But if the ill use of natural gifts, and earthly things, will make 
 so violent and deep an impression on the soul of the sinner, how 
 great an impression will the ill use of graces and supernatural gifts 
 make, which, considered as they regarded the service of God, and 
 relatively to damnation, will be attended Avitli consequences much 
 more deplorable? What words can express the aflliction of one 
 everlastingly reprobated, when he shall attentively recollect (and he 
 will attentively recollect it to all eternity) how often he tm'ned the 
 
ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 273 
 
 means of salvation and special assistance to no purpose ? How 
 often he extinguished supernatural lights ? Hoav often he rejected 
 divine inspirations ? How often neglected, or profaned the sacra- 
 ments ? How often he hardened his heart against the influence 
 of holy instructions ? How often he overlooked good example, 
 through an affected disbelief of a revealed will, upon which he 
 valued himself, or from a natural sluggishness and criminal deli- 
 cacy, Avhich he never sufficiently tried to overcome ? Alas ! had I 
 faithfully corresponded with the graces which God bestowed upon 
 me : had I renounced the slavery of the world and the flesh, to 
 folloAV the voice which called me, and called me so often and so 
 pressingly, I should have been robed mth sanctity, I should have 
 shared in the inheritance of the children of God, I should have 
 possessed the kingdom which they possess ; but, because I turned 
 those precious favours to no account, because I ungratefully made 
 no return for them, because I held them in contempt, because I 
 even resisted them, and by my obstinacy hindered them from 
 bringing me to God and working my conversion, they rise up 
 against me, make me feel the stripes of unremitting persecution, 
 and take vengeance for God. Instead of those salutary and quick- 
 ening contritions which they ought to have occasionally stirred up 
 in my heart, they cause remorses that rack, sadness that overAvhelms, 
 repentance that piei'ces, that transports, that rises into fury, into 
 rage. 
 
 2nd. Now as God will make use of his very graces to torment 
 the sinner, you may imagine how much the sinner will suffer from 
 the remembrance and sight of his ci-iminal deeds, of which the 
 most natural property is, to become the punishment of those who 
 committed them. No, says St. Chrysostom, there need no devils, 
 no spectres, to make hell a scene of torments. The devils to which 
 each one will be delivered up, will be his own crimes which he 
 brought with him thither. His abominable impurities, his enor- 
 mous injustices, his profanation of lioly things, his avowed contempt 
 of the Supreme Being, his rancours and animosities, his deceits 
 and treacheries, his hypoci'itical artifices, his scandalous atheism, 
 his sallies of anger and his vindictive designs, his refined obloquy, 
 his dark designing, insidious calumny, so many other iniquities, to 
 number up which is beyond my power, will invest him, will besiege 
 him, will seize him with tlie most lively, with inexpressible terror. 
 
 Nor is it absolutely necessary to call Christian faith in aid of 
 
274 
 
 ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 
 
 this belief, since the pagans themselves have believed the same 
 thing, and have many times made it the subject of their fables. 
 Now what we call their fables, as St. Augustin remarks, were at 
 bottom the most sublime mysteries of their theology, and the best 
 established principles of their ethics. They proposed them to the 
 people under the veil of fiction, but which included the same 
 doctrine that Ave are taught by faith : and notwithstanding the 
 licentiousness of unbelievers who live among us, these infidels give 
 us a strong testimony, conformable to that of the prophets and 
 apostles : namely, that there is a hell, and that one of the greatest 
 punishments of this hell will be, to have committed sin, and to have 
 been defiled with crimes in the course of life. 
 
 But these crimes will exist no longer. True, replies St. Bernard, 
 they will exist no longer in the reality of their being, but they will 
 still exist in thought and remembrance. Now it is in remembrance 
 and thought that the soul reprobated by God will suffer. They 
 will exist no longer, says this holy father, but they mil have had 
 existence ; neither will it be in the poAver of the sinner or of any 
 other to hinder them from having had existence. Now they will 
 not torment, either in hell or upon earth, but because they had 
 existed : and therefore they torment when their existence ceases ; 
 or, rather, they do not begin to torment before the ceasing of their 
 existence. And as not to be, and to have been, are two infinite 
 terms, terms which will equal the eternity of God, and "will subsist, 
 according to their manner of subsisting, while God is God, those 
 crimes Avhich have been, and which are no more, Avill have, if I may 
 venture the expression, an eternal activity in hell to torment the 
 damned soul. They contented him but a moment, the moment he 
 committed them : they will torment him eternally, when he will 
 not commit them. St. Augustin gives the reason for it, and a 
 good one it is, because, says he, every thing acts in proportion to 
 the extent of its duration. Now the present which affords the 
 whole pleasure of the sinner, how long is it so ? An instant and 
 no more : and upon this account it is, that he relished it so little : 
 whereas the past, which will always torment him, will be always 
 past, and, as past, having no end, of indispensable necessity must 
 always be felt. 
 
 This, says St. Bernard, is what every day happens to weak 
 souls, when, through the unfortunate weakness of human nature, 
 they forget God and themselves too. Suppose a person of tlie 
 
ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 275 
 
 other sex, tenacious of her honour, and scrupulously nice in all her 
 duties, but whom frequent temptations of opportunity and impor- 
 tunity make yield at last. What repentance ! what grief! what 
 shame of her weakness ! what hon*or of her crime ! She would 
 cancel it at the expense of a thousand lives ; and were the matter 
 again to be brought under dehberation, there is no sort of death 
 to which she would not submit, rather than give so criminal and 
 shameful a consent. But there is no remedy ; and it will always 
 be true, that she abandoned herself to the infamy and disgrace of 
 sin. It is this that produces, and that feeds the bitterness which 
 fills her soul, and which usually abides by her to her dying moment. 
 Observe what happens to a choleric man, when in the heat of 
 passion he imbrues his hands in his neighbour's blood. Scarce 
 hath he given him his death wound, but he is disturbed in mind 
 and disordered in his senses. His peace is flown, snd his reason 
 almost lost. What would he not do, what would he not give, what 
 would he not suffer, to have it still in his power to perpetrate that 
 which he noAV hath perpetrated, but wdiich he will never be able 
 to repair ? Now this is but a figure and shadoAV of hell. Inasmuch 
 as to have sinned implies something eternal, the torment by a just, 
 though dreadful, sentence, will also be eternal ; and the soul will 
 be unhappy without end or intermission, that it was a moment 
 culpable. Whoever should be affected with this thought, in what 
 a light would he view the enormity of sin and what pains would he 
 not take to guard against it ? 
 
 Further : all the crimes and disorders of their life will appear 
 together before the eyes of tlie damned, and will torment them 
 together. They committed them only one after another, and at 
 certain intervals ; one day, one ; another day, another. Whatever 
 satisfaction, therefore, they drew from them, it was only piecemeal. 
 But in their torment there will be neither succession nor division : 
 God Almighty will collect it all together at every instant ; and 
 all those ci'imes, which, considered as present, are widely diffused 
 through a scries of days, of months, and of years, will unite in the 
 past, because it will be true, at the same time, to say that they are 
 past. Thus they will all, by an invisible virtue, concur to the 
 melancholy purpose of damnation. You may, therefore, imagine 
 what altogether will do, since one of them is itself a hell. 
 
 Alas ! Christians, be not disgusted with a supposition I shall 
 make. I doubt it will hurt the delicacy of your minds. I would 
 
276 ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 
 
 to God it may inspire you, by that very means, with a holy horror 
 of the corruption of your hearts ! Should a miry, stagnant water 
 be stirred up, and you should be compelled perpetually to behold 
 its filth, it would be a deadly, gi-evious, punishment for you, a 
 martyrdom equally rigorous and humiliating. Now such, and still 
 much more insupportable will the sufferings be which are stored in 
 hell, in order to punish, for instance, a sensual and unchaste man. 
 God will make him see, with the cast of an eye, the most obscene 
 objects, and foulest ideas that the lusts of the flesh created in him : 
 secret consents, criminal desires, hopes entertained, opportunities 
 sought after, scandalous communications, lacivious conversations, 
 freedoms, looks, dissoluteness, effeminacy, all this and more he 
 Avill place before him ; and, tying him down to this one object. 
 Behold, will he say every moment of eternity, these are the lasting 
 fruits of thy incontinence — these the productions of thy corrupted 
 heart. 
 
 What is is possible to conceive more intolerable than this mon- 
 strous heap of impurities ? You may form a judgment of it by 
 what we experience from a more general and exact review of our 
 consciences. What shame do we feel, when, all at once, that 
 innumerable multitude of sins is laid open before our eyes ? But 
 if this shame, wholly supernatural and divine as it is ; if, even 
 when it arises from divine grace, even when it occasions our 
 reconciliation with God, it is yet painful to us, so painful that we 
 studiously endeavour to avoid it, what words can express the shame 
 of the damned, or their sentiments touching their Avretched situa- 
 tion ? Ah ! my Lord, cries holy David, in the fervour of his 
 peijitence, I can live no longer, I am out of my mind, when I view 
 my iniquities, and perceive them midtiplied to an infinite degree : 
 " There is no peace in my bones, because of my sins." Ps. xxx\di. 
 He was a king, my brethren, a king in prosperity, a great king, 
 raised up to the zenith of human falicy. Nevertheless, he Avas 
 disturbed, affected, thunderstruck, at the sight of that frightful 
 scene which discovered to him his misdeeds and relapses. Hence 
 we may infer Avhat will be the condition of those souls, who, 
 snatched from the earth, and excluded, too, from the mansions of 
 bliss, shall be totally absorbed in the remembrance of their sin ; 
 shall uninterruptedly have this thought — I have sinned ; shall say 
 to themselves incessantly — I have sinned ; shall think of it, and 
 shall express it, without ever being able to destroy this sin, which 
 
ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 277 
 
 they will hate, will abhor, as fhe irremediable source of all our 
 woes. 
 
 This, dear Christians, is a lesson lor us. The rich glutton was 
 desirous that his brethren upon earth should profit by his example, 
 but God would not have it so. Perhaps they had rendered them- 
 selves unworthy of that favour. Probably one of the greatest 
 chastisements which God inflicted on them was, to debar them 
 from the knowledo;e of the calamitous situation of their brother in 
 hell. But what God would not grant them he now grants us : 
 he would have us take warning by this damned soul ; would liave 
 us learn prudence, as I may say, by his folly ; and would have the 
 regret which he feels for the past be of use to us in reforming 
 the present and the future. True it is, God sends us neither 
 Lazarus nor any of the dead for that purpose, because he hath 
 given us his sacred words written in the Gospel and declared by 
 his ministers, that will be more convincing and infalHble to us, than 
 the report which Lazarus and all the rest of the dead might make. 
 
 We fancy sometimes that- the dead raised to life, and the words 
 of a soul returned from hell would have great weight with us, and, 
 in order to conversion, would make an impression sufficiently deep 
 on our minds. But this. Christians, is a mistaken notion: and 
 since we do not give ear to Moses or the prophets, that is to the 
 words of Christ Jesus or his preachers, we still should find num- 
 berless reasons to call in question and reject such testimony. Nor 
 should it be forgotten that the providence of God is not wont to 
 make use of extraordinary means, while ordinary and sufficient 
 means may be found. For this reason, as St. Augustine remarks, 
 God never wrought a miracle to refute the doctrine of atheism, 
 which is sufficiently refuted by the universal voice of nature. Ac- 
 cordingly, he is contented to give us for instruction the example of 
 the rich man doomed to reprobation. But we, beloved hearers, 
 (mind, I beseech you, tliis observation) far from being advantaged 
 by this example, are not advantaged by our ovm experience. For 
 in the present life we plaiidy experience the repentance of the 
 damned, by the trouble and remorse of sins cpmmitted. Trouble, 
 remorse — at once the image and pain of hell. For what is that 
 remorse, that shame which we conceive, that self-condemnation 
 against our will, that heai't^felt sorrow Avhen condemned by others ? 
 What is all this but a voice that secretly wliispers — there is a hell ? 
 a hell which Ave carry in some sort within us ? 
 
 VOL. II. T 
 
278 ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 
 
 But here, beloved hearers, lies the inordination. In order to be 
 able to sin the more freely and with greater impunity, we by little 
 and little get rid of this anticipated, and, if I may so call it, temporal 
 hell, which worries our consciences, and which yet might be salutary 
 for us, by preserving us from the eternal hell. That is, we stifle the 
 remorse which, according to St. Chrysostom,'is the last grace in 
 the order of salvation and predestination. And because this re- 
 morse is inseparable from the idea of a God, of a providence, of an 
 immortal life — I mean because it is impossible to believe a God, a 
 providence, an immortal life, and not feel this remorse — to free 
 ourselves from it we try to set a traverse '^between us and these 
 capital points of religion ; at least we endeavour to call them in 
 question, and not to believe them but by halves. We cannot find 
 peace in sin without coming to that pass. But let us make what 
 eflrarts soever we please, let us reason and dispute as much as we 
 will, the Avorm of sin Avill not die notwithstanding that ; nor shall 
 we ever have the advantage of being totally delivered from it even 
 in the present life. At certain times it will retm'n unexpectedly, 
 and gnaw us afresh in the midst of our pleasures at the moment 
 seemingly devoted to joy. MilKons of others more hardened in 
 wickedness, and more impious than you are, have, thousands of 
 times, and by daily experience found tliis to be true. What do I 
 say, not even the princes and potentates of the earth can tear it 
 from their breasts. Against everything else they are able to de- 
 fend themselves — but against themselves they cannot defend them- 
 selves. 
 
 How deplorable, my brethren, is the case of a sinner, since whe- 
 ther in the state of reprobation after death, or in the way that leads 
 to it in the course of life, he cannot help finding the guilt of his 
 conscience an inevitable hell to him ! But what is the remedy ? It 
 is, as I have said, to take advantage from the present remorse of 
 sin, of which the rich glutton can no longer make use ; for if we 
 please, our conversion depends upon this remorse. Therefore, 
 Christians, in supposition that I am faithful to the impulse of grace, 
 what is my practice ? Instead of smothering the remorse of sin I 
 awaken it, on the contrary, and stir it up by frequent and solid re- 
 flections. That which the damned will eternally do of rigorous 
 necessity — by always considering, in spite of them, the dreadful 
 consequences of sin — the same I do, influenced by a wise and Chris- 
 tian precaution. In the bitterness of my soul I ponder every day 
 
ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 279 
 
 of my life before God, like the pious Ezechias, upon the number 
 of my years. I say to him, ah ! Lord, if my sin be at present so 
 painful to me, what must it be in hell ? Not satisfied with this, I 
 beseech him to grant me those iuAvard stings as one of the most 
 particular favours he grants his chosen servants when passion hath 
 plunged them into the gulf of sin. I beg of liim to reprove me, 
 not in anger but in the spirit of his mercy, Avhicli is not only the 
 comforter but the censurer of the world, and which, as censurer, 
 is its reformer : " He Avill reprove the world of sin," John xvi. I 
 proceed still farther — I antedate these stings — I reason with myself, 
 and put myself the question — what good will accrue to me from 
 this sin ? shall I be pleased, when I have committed it, with what 
 I have done ? What shall I get by it but remorse and shame ? 
 Why should I do noAv Avhat I then would wish to have never 
 done ? Thus it is that my mind is improved, and that I am en- 
 couraged to make head against all the temptations of the world and 
 the flesh, to resist manfully on dangerous occasions and at critical 
 moments ; to spare no labour or pains in fencing against that dreadful 
 damnation in which the damned not only are pierced with the most 
 deadly sorrow for the past, but undergo the most excruciating 
 punishment at the present, which I have proposed for the subject 
 of the second part. 
 
 Part. II. — There was nothing St. Bernard more ardently wished, 
 explaining these words of the royal psalmist, " Let them go down 
 Kving into hell" (Ps. liv.), than that sinners would descend in 
 thought into hell ; not doubting that the sight of that frightful 
 abode, and of the torments undergone there would make a lively 
 and lasting impression on their hearts ; and convinced that the most 
 certain means of escaping it after death would be to go down there 
 frequently in one's Hfetime by the power of imagination. But, 
 Christians, it were necessary, for the perfectly accomplishing of 
 St. Bernard's wish, that we should descend with the same know- 
 ledge as the damned, and, if possible, with the same experience, 
 to the end we might form the same judgment that they do, and 
 draw consequences to them henceforth unavaiUng, but which might 
 be to us of the utmost utility. For, to descend mentally into the 
 regions of the damned with an understanding so weak, an imagina- 
 tion so dissipated, and, above all, an insensibility to the things of 
 heaven so prodigious as ours, is to do almost fruitlessly Avhat St. 
 
 t2 
 
280 ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 
 
 Bernard proposed as one of the most efficacious remedies for re- 
 -claiming us from our evil ways and reforming our conduct. 
 
 Alas ! says St. Augustin, who can now comprehend what the 
 damned comprehend ? Who can form to himself, in the depth of 
 meditation, the ideas which they form in the midst of flames ? Let 
 us endeavour to form them, beloved Christians ; and since it is not 
 enough to go down intellectually into the place of woes, let us en- 
 ter, lor we may, into the sentiments of the damned ; let us substi- 
 tute their experimental knowledge to our own ; and let us sincerely 
 acknowledge how " horrible it is to fall into the hands of the living 
 .God." What do those miserable wretches do, or what is their 
 conditions ? They see themselves separated from the God of hea- 
 ven, and surrounded with fire to which they are made victims — a 
 double punishment, two kinds of suifering, both of which are per- 
 fectly exempUfied by our Saviour in the case of the rich glutton. 
 They see themselves separated from the God of heaven : this is 
 the essential, and as it were fundamental part of their reprobation. 
 " He lifted up his eyes, being in torments, and beheld Abraham 
 afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom." Luke xvi. He espied the 
 holy patriarch " afar off," at an infinite distance, and that was what 
 afflicted him. He saw himself separated from him by a great gulf, 
 that is, by a vast remoteness, insomuch that no communication 
 could be held between him and Abraham : " Between us and you 
 there i^ a great gulf fixed." Luke xvi. If then he perceived him- 
 self, as St. Ambrose observes, so distant fi-om Abraham, how great 
 must he have perceived the distance to be between him and God? 
 And this separation was a punishment still infinitely more grievous 
 for him. 
 
 1st. For, what is it. Christians, to be separated from God? 
 Alas ! who can comprehend so dreadfully significant an interroga^- 
 tory ? Separated from God — that is, absolutely deprived of God. 
 Separated from God — that is, condemned to have God only as an 
 enemy ; an avenging God. Separated from God — that is, having 
 forfeited the possession of the first of all beings, the most excel- 
 lent of all beings, the Supreme Being — which is God. A punish- 
 ment, says St. Bernard, which cannot be measured but by the in- 
 finitude of God ; a punishment, which is the privation even of God ; 
 a punishment, which of consequence must be great proportionably 
 to the greatness of God. Thus, as God said to the righteous man, 
 " I Avill be thy reward exceeding great" (Gen. xv.), by giving my- 
 
ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 281 
 
 self to thee, because I have iiothlng greater or better than myself- 
 to give thee ; he may also say to the reprobated sinner : it is my- 
 self Avill be thy punishment, by banishing thee from me, for I have 
 nothing more formidable in the treasures of my wrath, than this 
 banishment, this eternal separation from myself. 
 
 And indeed, Christians, will not this thought, this galling reflec- 
 tion, "no more communication between God and me," which the 
 reprobated sinner will always have in mind, be a complete hell to 
 him ? Now this will be verified, this will be accomplished in every 
 creature whom God shall reprobate. The moment he shall pro- 
 nounce this dreadful sentence, " Begone, thou accursed !" he will 
 divest himself, as it were, of his power over the wretched soul 
 (that only excepted Avhich the necessity of his dominion will not 
 suffer him to alienate), and the wretched soid will become not only 
 imworthy to possess him, but even to belong to him. God will 
 repudiate her for ever ; and this divorce will be the consummation 
 of her wo. This dreadful case, this loss of a God commences even 
 in this life in the persons of sinners. God and the soul are sepa- 
 rated by sin, and to that degi'ce that they renounce one another. 
 The Lord tells the prophet : " Call his name, not my people." 
 Osee i. They have ceased to be my people ; and the quality thou 
 shalt henceforward affix to them shall be, that "they are not my 
 people." This is their name, this is the characteristic by which 
 thou shalt distinguish them ; for, since they have forgotten me to 
 follow strange gods, they have renounced me as their God, and I 
 have renounced them as my people. 
 
 And this mode of speaking is so usual with God in the sacred 
 page, that when the children of Israel, by a monstrous idolatry, 
 sacrificed to the golden calf in the wilderness. Almighty God, 
 moved to anger and irritated against them, spoke to jMoses only in 
 these words : " Away, get thee down, thy people hath sinned" 
 (Exod. xxii.) ; where it is observable, beloved Christians, that he 
 styles them not his own people, but the people of Moses ; as if this 
 people, since their relapsing into infidelity, belonged not to him, 
 nor he to them. But these words, which are only minatory as I 
 may say in this life, and Avhich are carried into execution at most 
 but partially, since they take not away from the soul either the 
 hopes or the means of retricAang the loss which she hath suffered, 
 Avill be totally and to the letter accomplished in the damned. No 
 more alliance, no more union between God and them. As if God 
 
282 ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 
 
 should say to them : your libertinism made you wish that there 
 were no God, and no God you shall have. You would not know 
 your God, and your God you shall never see or know. You were 
 never at the pains to seek God — you shall seek him to no purpose, 
 you shall never find him ; and that which made you impious shall 
 henceforward make you wretched. 
 
 But herein it is that their wo will be placed. Could they be 
 totally deprived of, and separated from God, they would be miser- 
 able but in part. But the highest aggravation of their wretched- 
 ness will be, to be deprived of him one way, and not another ; to 
 be separated from him one way, and inseparable another : to be 
 deprived of him inasmuch as he was the object of their felicity, 
 and pierced with him inasmuch as he shall be the eternal cause of 
 their most violent transports, will fill them with amazement and 
 pangs of despair. He will renounce them in quality of father, of 
 protector, of last end : that is, as he is benevolent, mild, and ami- 
 able ; and he will adhere to them in quality of judge, of enemy, 
 of avenger, of persecutor ; that is, every way that renders him se- 
 vere and dreadfiil. Wherefore the damned wiU be doubly unhappy : 
 in having yet a God, and in having one no more ; in having yet a 
 God declared and armed against them, and in having one no more 
 favourable, propitious, and merciful to them ; in having yet a God 
 to inflame their hatred and most deadly aversions, and in having 
 one no more to satisfy their desires and most ardent inclinations. 
 For, in tliis -wiU consist their punishment — to reflect eternally that 
 God had created them for himself, and that they could not be 
 happy but in the possession of him, and through his means ; and 
 to receive from him eternally repulse and contempt, and to find 
 eternally an insurmountable obstacle between him and them. They 
 wiU esteem him in spite of themselves, will have a natural inclina- 
 tion for him, and will hate him notwithstanding ; they will esteem 
 him in the manner they can never possess him, and will hate him 
 in the manner he must always be present to them. Now this col- 
 lision of esteem and hatred, of desu^e and aversion, of recession and 
 pursuit, relatively to one and the same object is that very thing 
 which we denominate the pain of loss in hell. 
 
 2ndly. After all this, in vain should I expatiate on the sensible 
 pains with which this separation from God is accompanied ; pains, 
 of which the preachers have endeavoured a thousand times, to no 
 purpose, to make you comprehend the horror. In vain should I 
 
ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 283 
 
 set about depicting that fire, which will exercise, according to St. 
 Augiistin's expression, in a manner equally real and surprising, ita 
 Avhole activity on substances material and immaterial ; that fire, 
 wliich obliges, even at this moment, the rich glutton to utter that 
 lamentable outcry, " I am tormented in this flame" (Luke xvi.), 
 and of wliich eveiy one of the damned might say with much more 
 reason than the good man Job, "Thou tormentest me wondrously." 
 Job. X. Ah ! my God, will you then work miracles to increase 
 my torments ? Will you break through the established laws of 
 natm'c, giving to a material being — ^to make it the instrument of 
 your vengeance — the virtue to act upon a spiritual substance? 
 Should I tell you, Chi'istians, that the most frightful objects which 
 the world can produce, or imagination represent ; that the greatest 
 cruelties which the tyrants of old could ever devise ; that whatever 
 the patience of God's holy martyi's was capable of enduring ; that 
 all this, and ten thousand times more, were not so much as the 
 shadow of this fire ; that is to say, that the most accute pains, the 
 most protracted punishments, tortures, racks, the most unheard of 
 kinds of death, compared with this fire, did not deserve to be called 
 torments, I should tell you nothing but Avhat St. Augustin, from 
 whom this is borrowed, hath said abeady. I should tell you no- 
 thing but what St. Jerom hath said already on this menace of God 
 to liis people : " My wrath shall be poiu-ed down upon this place." 
 2 Paral. xxxiv. For, says this father, what then Avill it be, when 
 he shall pour do-svn whole torrents of his wrath in hell ? I should 
 tell you nothing but what Peter Damian hath said ah'eady, speak- 
 ing of the scourges Avith which Egypt was afflicted. For accord- 
 ing to the remark of that learned cardinal, it was the finger only 
 of God that struck the Egyptians ; but it will be his very arm, 
 nay, his whole arm that will strike the damned. I should tell you 
 nothing but what all others have already said, as well as these ; 
 and their authority — especially so constant and unanimous — though 
 there were no other pi'oof, should be abundantly sufficient for us 
 to renounce whatever the hbertinism of the world opposes to a 
 truth so solidly established. 
 
 But now. Christians, I shall quit this topic, in order to join with 
 you in a material reflection — a reflection from which, if it possessed 
 your minds, I might reasonably expect the most happy conse- 
 quences. This is what we learn from fiiith : an eternal fire and an 
 eternal separation from God ai-e declared to us throughout the in- 
 
284 OM THE PAINS OF HELL. " 
 
 gpired writings. What astonishes me, and what would greatly 
 disturb me, did not the Scriptures disclose the mystery, is that a 
 doctrine so affecting affects us so little, and that of those who hear 
 me there are perhaps some who have never been thoroughly affected 
 with it. What astonishes me is, that being so very selfish, such 
 lovers of ourselves, so uneasy under pain — this fire, which was 
 kindled by God in his anger to punish our crimes, makes so feeble 
 and unavailing an impression on us. What astonishes me is, that 
 although Ave well know the loss of God is our sovereign evil, and 
 that this loss, irreparable in hell, depends on that loss of him which 
 we voluntarily suffer in the present life, we should consent freely 
 every day to lose him ; that we should lose him without any dis- 
 turbance or grief; that often we should lose him even with a secret 
 joy ; and that of all the losses which we suffer in the world this 
 should be the most indifferent to us. What astonishes me is, that 
 the same faith which informs me there is a hell in which the damned 
 burn, and are deprived of God, informs me that a single sin exposes 
 us to the one and the other, and that God hath no smaller ven- 
 geance to punish it than the one and the other ; and yet that a sin 
 the most grievous and deadly should be looked upon among us as 
 youthful frolic, excusable frailty, and not unfrequently as a jest, as 
 mirth, as "\vit, as humour and good fellowship. 
 
 Is this stupidity ? is it inadvertence ? is it madness ? is it en- 
 chantment ? Do we believe this fundamental point of Christianity 
 or do we not ? If we belive it where is our wisdom ? If we do 
 not believe where is 'our religion? I proceed farther: if Ave do 
 not believe it what then do Ave believe, since nothing is more cre- 
 dible, nothing revealed in more express terms by the divine word, 
 nothing more solidly found on the basis of human reason, nothing 
 of Avhich the belief is more necessary to restrain us within the 
 bounds of duty — nothing of which to doubt is more pernicious, 
 since it naturally precipitates into vicious courses and all kinds of 
 Avickedness. But though we do not believe it, or though we be- 
 lieve it but imperfectly, are we therefore in the least the more 
 remote from the danger of it ? Shall avc be able to exculpate our- 
 selves in the presence of God, by telling him. Lord, I did not 
 believe it. Shall Ave stave off thereby its consequences ? And if 
 it prove true, though we did not believe it, Avhat will become of 
 lis ? Is it reasoning like men to run any hazard in such a case ? 
 What do Ave not every day do to avoid an uncertain evil, for no 
 
ON THE PAINS OF HELL. . 285 
 
 other reason than that it is uncertain ? Have we made, like those 
 sinners of whom the prophet speaks, a contract "\vith hell ? Or 
 have we a demonstration and perfect evidence that there is no hell ? 
 Is what the ungodly allege to oppose it to be put in comparison 
 with what faith teaches ? Is it acting wisely to refuse to join issue 
 "vvith faith ? Is it not, I do not say the most secure, but the most 
 plausible and reasonable determination ? "VVliat more natural pun- 
 ishment for a soul that hath revolted against God than the loss of 
 God ? What more just chastisement than fire for a sensual soul, 
 addicted to infamous beastly pleasures strictly forbidden by the law 
 of God I Though the torment of fire, which is an evil to the crea- 
 ture, be in itself so dreadful, is it any way comparable to the 
 giievousness of sin, which is an evil to the Creator ? and is it not 
 consentaneous with the dictates of reason that what is evil offered 
 to the Creator should be avenged by that which is evil to the 
 creature ? , 
 
 Alas ! Christians, we must now take up an invariable resolution, 
 and declare ourselves relatively to this point. David said to God : 
 the fire of your justice, applied to me by your mercy, hath purified 
 me in such a manner that my crimes are all vanished : " Thou hast 
 examined me with fire and iniquity was not found in me." Ps. xvi. 
 Let us enter. Christians, into the spirit of these words concerning 
 hell fire, and let us ruminate upon them with serious attention. 
 Before God punisheth us, or rather lest he punish us with this fire, 
 let us try what power and effect it hath ; let us search our hearts 
 to the end we may be able to say to the Almighty : " Thou hast 
 examined Ave with fire and iniquity was not found in me." Let 
 hell fire, says St. Augustin, serve to stir up within us another fire, 
 and again to extinquish a third fire : that is, let it awaken the fire 
 of charity, and put out that of lustful desires. When the spirit 
 of impurity would kindle in our hearts the fire of concupiscence, 
 let us put ourselves the question, like that holy anchorite attacked 
 in the wilderness by a violent temptation : how now, thou sinful 
 flesh, thou voluptuous and unmortified flesh, wilt thou be able to 
 endure the scorching flames to which thou shalt be condemned for 
 thy criminal pleasures ? There is no passion which this thought 
 would not subdue. Instigated and encouraged by this reflection 
 what have not the saints done ? " They have quenched," to use 
 St. Paul's expression, " the violence of fire." Ileb. xi. I mean, 
 that, surrounded by the scandals of the world, in which they were 
 
286 ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 
 
 engaged by their condition in life, they preserved their innocence ; 
 that in spite of the corruption and profligacy of the world they 
 remained pure and unspotted ; that the contagion of bad example 
 had no effect on them, because they had in view that devouring 
 fire with which they were threatened, and which they essayed to 
 escape with all diligence. Would it not be strange if it were not 
 equally active in us, and after working such miracles in the saints 
 it had not the virtue to repress the irregular desu'cs of our hearts ? 
 
 When once we shall quench the fire of concupiscence it wiU be 
 no hard matter to light up in our souls the fire of charity, that 
 sacred fire which the Son of God brought down from heaven, and 
 which he came himself to send upon the earth; that "fire which 
 he ardently wishes may be kindled" Luke xii. ; that fire of divine 
 love Avhich it is hardly possible, being so imperfect and selfish as 
 we are, we should cherish in this life, if the fire of hell, by a salu- 
 tary fear, help not to preserve it. 
 
 Let us fear, beloved Christians, the one in order to dispose our- 
 selves for the other. Let our minds be filled with the thoughts of 
 the one that we may not undergo the pains of the other. Let us 
 often beg of God that he would deign to inflame us with the fire 
 of his love, to the end we may escape the fire of his justice. In a 
 word, let hell, by a wonderful agency, be a preservative for us 
 against hell itself. And now I shaU enter upon the thu'd and last 
 part, wherein I shall shew you the unhappiness of the damned with 
 regard to the futm-e, through despau' of ever feeling the divine 
 clemency. 
 
 Part III. To seek in futurity comfort and remedies for present 
 evils is an instinct natural to persons in pain. As happiness is 
 always the object of our wishes, and a necessary inclination, it 
 supports itself in the midst of the greatest sufferings, or rather in 
 some measure supports us. Om' hope is an anodyne that alleviates 
 the pain with which we are oppressed. Though it frequently 
 happens that there is nothing favourable to us in futurity, we see 
 in it, notwithstanding, ten thousand things w^hich fancy creates 
 and which -will never exist, but Avhich it is sufiicient to represent 
 to ourselves, in our mind, as possibly contingent to find in them 
 wherewith to feed the imagination. The very uncertainty of future 
 contingencies is useful to us, since it enables us to hope not only 
 for the things which we have reason to hope for and expect, but 
 for those which we have no reason either to hope for or expect. 
 
ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 287 
 
 The case is otherwise with the damned in hell ; they suffer, I do 
 n^t say without a glimmer of hope, but are in an actual and per- 
 petual state of desperation. That which as yet hath no existence 
 is a torment to them, and aggravates their wretchedness more than 
 that which exists ; or rather that which exists torments them not 
 only because it exists, but because it will never cease to exist ; so 
 that the future is to the present an additional pain, which exaspe- 
 rates it, which carries it to the utmost height, and which is the 
 proper characteristic of reprobation : for, according to the opinion 
 of the angelical doctor, hell is not, properly speaking, hell but as 
 it bears a relation to an hereafter. This, then, is what overwhelms 
 the damned in hell, and what you have not as yet, perhaps, tho- 
 roughly comprehended — that they despair of ever obtaining any 
 favour from God, though they should offer up their prayers to all 
 eternity — that they despair of ever moving God by repentance, 
 though they should detest their sins to all eternity — that they 
 despair not only of discharging but of ever diminishing their debts 
 by sufferings, though they must suffer to all eternity. These, 
 indeed, are three infallible resources in life, but absolutely unavailing 
 to a damned soul, namely — prayer, repentance, and sufferings. 
 
 Ist. Of this we have an instance in the rich glutton. What 
 doth he do ? — he prays. What doth he ask ? — he beseeches 
 Abraham, as a special favour, to grant him one drop of water, but 
 it is refused him. All the interpreters are agreed, that this circum- 
 stance is parabolical and figurative ; that the intention of Jesus 
 Christ is, to give us thereby to understand that in hell there is no 
 favour or redemption to be hoped for ; that from the ocean of the 
 mercy and goodness of God, there never -will fall on these hapless 
 creatures one drop to comfort them, as there never will fall on them 
 one drop of the blood of the Redeemer to save them. The reason 
 is, that the time of mercy and salvation is no more. In vain, there- 
 fore, shall the reprobated sinner, like the rich man in the Gospel, 
 eternally cry out, not indeed to Abraham, but to God himself, 
 " Have pity upon me." Luke xvi. O heaven ! O heaven ! a little 
 respite, a little compassion. But God to his cries will answer eter- 
 nally, Avill answer in all the rigour of the letter, as he answered his 
 people : " Why cricst thou for thy afflictions ?" Jer. xxx. To 
 what purpose these plaints, these dolorous accents ? They strike 
 my car, but they reach not my heart : no remedy no, redress lefl. 
 And would you know the reason ? It is this, that you have been 
 
288 ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 
 
 SO long deaf to my entreaties ; that I have called upon you a 
 thousand and a thousand times, but you Avould not hearken to me ; 
 that you so outrageously, so Avilfully, so constantly held out against 
 me. Thus shall be accomplished that Gospel declaration, " That 
 God hears not sinners." But what sinners ? not the sinners of this 
 life : for, in this life, they are ever in a condition to turn their 
 hearts to God ; not repenting sinners — for, repentance in this life is 
 ever all-poAverful in the presence of God — but sinners unrepenting 
 at the horn* of death, sinners consummated in theu' evil ways, sinners 
 eternally doomed to hell. 
 
 2nd. What do I say ? Even in heU is there not such a thing 
 as repentance ? yes Christians : and it is there that the penetrating 
 eye of wisdom discovers sinners oppressed with pain, sighing and 
 moaning, and pouring forth uninterrupted torrents of tears. Alas ! 
 it is not these acts of repentance, but the principle which sanctifies 
 it, that is wanting to them. That is (and in a few words it com- 
 prises the whole of this reprobation), they shall moan eternally, 
 they shall weep eternally, they shall eternally suffer in a state of 
 repentance, but a forced repentance, a repentance pecuHar to the 
 devils and the damned. Now the repentance of this sort, St. 
 Augustin tells us, will never have efficacy to blot out sin : conse- 
 quently sin wiU endure for ever, and while sin endures, they will 
 be equally responsible to God's justice, and exposed to his 
 vengeance. This Abraham, fi-om his seat of glory, explains by 
 that mighty impassible gulf interposed betAveen him and the rich 
 glutton : " Between us and you there is a great gulf fixed" (Luke 
 xvi.) ; so that from those mansions of eternal bliss in which 
 Abraham rests, it is impossible to fall into the place of everlasting 
 torments in which the rich man suffers ; and from the place of 
 everlasting torments in Avhich the rich man suffers it is impossible 
 to rise to the mansions of eternal bliss in which Abraham rests. 
 The reason is, that in tlie one it is impossible to lose divine grace, 
 and in the other to make due reparation for sin. " They," says 
 Abraham, " who would pass from hence to you, cannot ; neither 
 can they pass to us who wovild come from thence." Luke xvi. 
 
 3rd. How then ! to suffer everlastingly, and by such long, such 
 painful and cruel sufferings to make no atonement : can this be 
 comprehended? "Wliether, beloved hearers, you comprehend it 
 or not, this is indubitable, and one of the fundamental articles of 
 your faith. Origen questioned it; and others, treading in his 
 
ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 289 
 
 footsteps, reduced the eternity of hell to a certain number of ages. 
 To maintain their error, they alleged that it was incompatible with 
 God's goodness or justice to punish for ever creatures which he 
 formed, and to require for the sins of so short a life a satisfaction 
 without end. Thus they reasoned. But I, with Tertullian and 
 St. Augustin, shall draw from their very principles a conclusion 
 quite different. For God is good, and who doth not know it? 
 But this goodness, Tertullian observes, is not only mercy, but 
 sanctity in God. Now this sanctity always subsisting, must needs 
 be always an enemy to sin, and by a necessary consequence, must 
 always hate sin, always prosecute sin, always punish sin, if the sin 
 always last. As there is nothing, therefore, in hell to abolish and 
 destroy sin, there will never be anything to withhold its chastisment. 
 The case is parallel with respect to God's justice. For so many 
 ages the rich glutton hath been frantic and outrageous in the midst 
 of flames, in Avhich he was buried, and cries out incessantly, " I 
 am tormented in this flame." Luke xvi. But what he said so 
 many ages ago he says at this present, and will always say, because 
 he still feels, and shall always feel the same torments. Yes, these 
 ten-ifying and afflictive words, "Now thou art tormented," will 
 ever ring in his ears." " Now!" How extensive is this " now," 
 since it takes in and comprises a whole eternity ! " Now :" that 
 is — to-day and always ; that is — to-morrow and always ; that is — 
 for a year, for an age, for millions of ages, and always still more. 
 Think then, if possible, what impression such dreadful despair 
 must make on a reprobated soul. 
 
 I do not take upon me to convey to you a just conception of 
 eternity. Such abilities are not allotted to our limited faculties. 
 The more we endeavour to fathom this gulf the more we are per- 
 plexed and lost in the search. You may use what figures and com- 
 parisons you please : for my own part I shall wave comparisons and 
 figures, and restrict myself to faith ; and, seized with a reasonable 
 and salutary fear, shall lay myself prostrate before that justice 
 which as yet may be moved to shew us some favour, but which 
 will be inflexible after death. O my Lord, if ever I offered up at 
 the foot of your altar my most fervent prayers for my hearers and 
 for myself, this is the most sincere, this the most ardent: that 
 your grace may enlighten us, and break the chann by which we 
 are infatuated. Often have you sent me to this court, in order to 
 set forth your divine doctrines ; but of all your doctrines, what 
 
290 
 
 ON THE PAINS OF HELL. 
 
 other should excite my zeal like this ? There I see worldlings 
 taken up Avith the world, possessed with the world, enchanted with 
 the world. I see them afflicted, abashed, thunderstruck^ at every 
 the least reverse of fortune, at every thing that obstructs their 
 ambitious projects, at every thing that disconcerts their criminal 
 intrigues — but in regard to eternity, no disquietude, no attention. 
 "Whether it proceeds from an affected freedom of thought and 
 impiety, or from a presumptuous confidence and blind temerity, or 
 from forgetfulness, or neghgence, or insensibility; be that as it 
 may, they live in peace, and without uneasiness. Hundreds of 
 times have we described the horror of an eternal damnation ; but 
 they hear our words as the sons of Lot heard those of their father, 
 who rebuked them, and threatened them on the part of God, with 
 a general conflagration : " He seemed unto them as one that 
 mocked," Gen. xix. Fired with indignation, might we not justly 
 pray you, after the example of your prophets, to make yourself 
 known to them, and to hurl down upon them the thunder of your 
 justice ? But, O my God, we reflect that if once they fall into the 
 hands of that inexorable justice they can never be withdraAvn from 
 it ; that if once they are damned, or if once they force you to declare 
 their damnation, it must last for ever, it is irreversible. And this 
 is what awakens all our compassion. Otherwise we know that 
 they are precious souls, souls redeemed at the price of your blood, 
 souls invited to partake of your glory. And shall they, O my God, 
 be lost eternally to you, and shall you be eternally lost to them ? 
 
 These are matters, beloved hearers, which cannot be thought of 
 with too much attention. And if you tliink not of them noyv, 
 when will you think of them ? WiU it be at that moment, that 
 melancholy moment, when you first shall feel the inexpressible 
 heat of those devouring flames ? But what will it avail you to 
 think then of them ? Nay, will not such a thought, far from saving 
 you, be your very torment ? O eternity ! how salutary in life, 
 how afflictive in hell, is this reflection ! If we would not have it, 
 beloved Christians, be the cause of our despair let it move us to 
 penitence. Instead of exposing ourselves to eternal pains for a 
 temporal felicity, let us try to deserve eternal felicity by temporal 
 pains. 
 
ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 291 
 
 SERMON XXX. 
 
 ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 
 
 " Then the King said to the waiters : hind him hand and foot^ 
 and cast him into outer darkness. There shall be weeping there 
 and gnashing of teeth " Matt. xxii. 
 
 This is the sentence, beloved Christians, which an earthly king 
 passes upon a person at whose behaviour he is oiFended ; and thus 
 he punishes this man's temerity, who, regardless of majesty and 
 the respect due to his royal master, is present at his banquet, but 
 not attired in the wedding garment. However, this earthly king, 
 rigorous as he seems, is but a faint image of the King of heaven, 
 who, if we have had the misfortune to incur his displeasure, and 
 fall into the hands of his justice, will one day summon us to appear 
 at his bar, there to take our trial, and hear the decree of our repro- 
 bation. The most powerful monarchs of this world, when all their 
 punishments are carried to the highest pitch of severity, have after 
 all no power, and can exercise their vengeance only upon bodies, 
 of themselves already perishable and mortal. But to extend his 
 vengeance to the very soul ; to make the soul undergo the weight 
 of his wrath ; to reprobate her, and ruin her, and involve her in 
 the same damnation with the body, is the essential difference that 
 distinguishes this dreadful, all-powerful judge, whose avenging 
 arm falls so heavily on his enemies, hurls them into the shades of 
 eternal death, and plunges them into the deepest pit of hell. And 
 yet, shall I say it, beloved hearers ? It is not precisely on this 
 account, it is not for the actual and present pain, which the repro- 
 bated sinner is constrained to suffer, but for its infinite duration, 
 that this sovereign master seems most to be dreaded. If the pain 
 were not eternal, there would be hopes of an end ; and these hopes, 
 in the extremity of anguish, would be a relief and support. But 
 a pain without end, "\vithout hope, without remedy, is what I pur- 
 pose to set forth as the height of ■wretchedness, and the most afflict- 
 ing situation. This is the inexhaustible source of those tears, this 
 the cause of that gnashing of teeth mentioned in the Gospel : 
 
292 ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 
 
 " There shall be weeping there and gnashing of teeth." You see, 
 Christians, the Important subject I have undertaken to handle. I 
 mean to expatiate, for your present instruction, on the eternity of 
 hell. And because it is one of those capital verities which are but 
 too evident, I shall only lay before you the most common notions 
 that are given of it, without borrowing assistance from art or 
 study. 
 
 In every age since the church was established people have dis- 
 coursed on the eternity of hell ; and to say nothing of your unbe- 
 lievers and your professed libertines, who have refused to subscribe 
 to this fundamental article of our faith, there have been heretofore 
 as there are at this time, in the midst of Christianity, weak, Avaver- 
 ing irresolute Christians, whose minds have been disturbed with 
 doubts and uncertainties relative to this eternity of hell, and whom 
 their disturbance hath cooled in the exercise of religious duties. 
 The soul no sooner begins to give way in this point of faith than 
 she loses the apprehension of God's judgment, and relaxes propor- 
 tionally in the practice of her duties, till at last she sinks into a 
 total neglect. Therefore, Christians, it is absolutely necessary to 
 put you upon your guard against doubts and uncertainties which, 
 however involuntary, are oftentimes liable to have bad effects; 
 and, to counteract and dissipate them, I need only propose the very 
 principles of the faith we profess. But in order to enlarge the plan 
 of my subject, I take upon me to oppose, in this discourse, another 
 inordination, equally common and not less blameable — it is, to be- 
 lieve the eternity of hell, or at least to persuade yourselves that 
 you believe it, and with a perfect faith too, in all that regards the 
 submission of the understanding ; and, notwithstanding all that, 
 to take no resolution, I say no solid and efficacious resolution, 
 towards the regulating of yom- lives and applying Avith more zeal 
 to Christian works. For, is not this the most untenable of all 
 contradictions ? Thus, my brethren, to lay in a few Avords my 
 design before you. 
 
 First, I shall show you how faith should confirm us in the stead- 
 fast belief of the eternity of hell. Secondly, how the steadfast 
 belief of the eternity of hell should excite us to practise the Avorks 
 of faith. Both the one and the other are Avell deserving of your 
 particular attention. 
 
 Part I. The eternity of the torments, beloved Christians, 
 Avhich the damned in hell suffer is a mystery, the belief of Avhich 
 
ON THE ETERNITY OS HELL. 293 
 
 seems to involve great difiieiilties. But I add that faith, in all 
 that regards the truth of this article, should rectify our eiTors and 
 fully and clearly inform our understandings. Now this it doth ; 
 and endeavour, I beseech you, to take my meaning thoroughly. 
 Almighty God communicates to mankind a mysterious truth, re- 
 plete with terror, and that shoidd keep us in awe ; namely, that 
 every sin, in its nature deadly, deserves to be punished with eter- 
 nal torments ; and this article he enforces and confirms with the 
 Avhole weight and strength of his authority, as by the mouths of 
 his prophets — for their fire, says Isaias, shall never be extinguished; 
 by the mouths of his apostles — those who resist the Gospel, says 
 St. Paul, shall suffer paitis eternally ; by the divine oracles of the 
 incarnate AVord — go, ye accursed, says our blessed Saviour, into 
 everlasting fire, which was prepared for you from the beginning of 
 the world ; by the unanimous consent of the whole Church, which 
 at all times hath interpreted the sacred text in this sense ; by the 
 decisions of the councils, which have declared it to us in express 
 terms ; by the tradition of both laws, the old and the new, which 
 hath always, on these important heads, held the same language 
 in short, by all the maxims of faith, which declares to us a punish- 
 ment, eternal in its duration, as due for a single and momentary 
 sin, if such be its malignity as to cause a disunion between us and 
 our God, and break the tie that should unite us with him. Is any 
 doctrine more solidly established ? Nevertheless, against this doc- 
 trine, against this revelation, so authentically delivered, the mind 
 of man hath often raised difficulties, that is, errors ; and Avhen it 
 submits, It seeks out for reasons to justify to itself this astonishing 
 proportion betAvecn eternal punishments and momentary sins. Now 
 to what purpose is faith applied ? Or to what purpose ought it to 
 be applied ? I have said it, and I repeat it — to rectify these er- 
 rors, as opposed to the primitive and infallible truth, and to corro- 
 borate and perfect the light of our understandings, by which we 
 conceive some idea of this mystery, so remote from our mortal 
 knowledge or senses. Such is the scope of this first part, which 
 you w ill find includes many necessary instructions. 
 
 1st. I speak not of atheism, which, by denying a God, denies 
 the author of eternal torments. Neither do I speak of the im- 
 piety of Epicurus, which, by teaching that the soul dies together 
 with the body, destroys Avhatever is capable of undergoing eternal 
 torments. There are, however, three errors not quite so gross, 
 
 VOL. II. u 
 
294 ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 
 
 and seemingly more reasonable, which have vehemently impugneil 
 the eternity of torments with regard to tlie proportion between that 
 and sin. Some have maintained that eternity of sufferings for one 
 sin, how enoiTOous soever, was utterly repugnant to the goodness 
 of God ; others have imagined it derogatory from his justice ; and 
 others again have outgone these by supposing it beyond the reach 
 of his omnipotence. God is too good to torment eternally a sinful 
 soul ; he is too just to inflict punishment through endless ages for 
 a momentary crime ; he wants the poAver to make a created being 
 subsist in anguish to all eternity. This is their way of reasoning. 
 But I, my brethren, imdertake to show that our faith, in her prin- 
 ciples, hath wherewith to strengthen us against these errors, and 
 thus she proceeds. 
 
 Now replies she to the first — eternal sufferings for one sin are 
 not incompatible with the divine justice ; and what deceives you 
 is the groundless notion you conceive of this sovereign goodness of 
 God. You would have it to consist of a weak induln;ence in tole- 
 rating and authorizing moral evil ; but it is that would destroy it, 
 as it would be no longer that which it is, the moment it left off to 
 hold sin in abhorrence in the same degree in Avhich it abhors it. 
 Why do we say that Almighty God is sovereignly good (it is a 
 remark of TertulUan), but because he abhors and detests evil in a 
 sovereign degree ? And what is it with regard to Almighty God 
 to have a sovereign abhorrence and detestation of evil but to be its 
 unrelenting prosecutor and avenger ? Thus he argued against 
 Marcion. Know then, O man ! (it is the same Tertullian that speaks) 
 knoAv what that good God is. He is a God essentially opjiosed to 
 sin, a God everlastingly an enemy to sin, and, by a necessary con- 
 sequence, a God an eternal prosecutor of sin — ^so that the moment he 
 should cease to prosecute sin, in order to condemn it, and bring it 
 to due punishment, he would cease to be God, good in the manner 
 in which he is and must be. But Avhat would the sinner have ? 
 He would have, by adapting his notions of goodness to the bent 
 of his passions, a God that would suffer the crimes of men in pro- 
 cess of time to be unmolested, and would think him good because 
 he would render man wicked, by giving him assurance of futm'e 
 forgiveness. Hence, continues the same Tertullian, you will not 
 acknowledge this goodness of God, the essence of which is that it 
 never can possibly coincide with sin or desist one moment in the 
 hatred it bears it. But if you will not acknowledge it, all the 
 
ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 295 
 
 sfdnts and true believers that were any Avay versed in the science 
 of God have unanimously acknowledged it. They have confessed 
 it openly, they have published and glorified it, because enlight- 
 ened with wisdom superior to yours, and quite celestial, they saw 
 that God must be good in that manner, and by the regular and 
 unaltered course of his holiness in no other. 
 
 To trace the error I oppose to its source ; Origen was the first 
 who would have God more merciful than he really is ; or rather, 
 as St. Augustin observes, who would appear himself more merciful 
 than God, when he asserted that after a certain limited space of 
 time a period would be put to the pains which the reprobated souls 
 endure. Of this heresy he became the ringleader, for which he 
 was excluded from the fellowship of the faithful. Accordingly, 
 Christians, observe, I beseech you, the prodigious infatuation in- 
 cident to man when once destitute of the light of faith. This same 
 Origen, who, through a presumptuous opinion of God's goodness, 
 denied that the pains of the damned were eternal, through another 
 error directly contrary, setting bounds to the infinite mercy of God, 
 went such lengths as to maintain that the glory of the blessed 
 would one day have an end, and that as the reprobate would in 
 time pass from the state of suffering to that of repose, so the saints 
 who reign with God would change from time to time by a mon- 
 strous vicissitude, their state of repose for that of suflTering, to purify 
 themselves still more and more, and discharge more fully the debts 
 contracted in the course of life. Behold, says St. Augustine, how 
 this man who, on one side so strenuously contended in behalf of 
 the divine mercy, so contumehously, on the other, injures and 
 aflfronts it, and loses the advantage he enjoyed of being its chief 
 asserter and most zealous advocate ; whereas if he alloAved the re- 
 probate a false hope of beatitude he took from the predestinate the 
 solid assurance of an eternity of happiness. But, after all, might 
 Origen say, why then should Ave so much extol the goodness and 
 mercy of God, the creator of the universe, if whole ages of satis- 
 faction and pains be not sufficient to expiate, in his presence, a single 
 crime and extinguish the ardour of his divine vengeance ? Ah ! 
 cries St. Gregory, how ingenious is man at deducing consequences 
 from the goodness of God against God himself! And I say for 
 answer, why, therefore, doth the Scripture so loudly thunder out 
 its menaces and decrees, by which the sinner is condemned to this 
 dreadful eternity of torments, if there be any room left to suppose 
 
 V 2 
 
20G ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL, 
 
 that he is not to be eternally tormented ? Strange, says this great 
 pope and doctor, that people should take such pains to ascertain 
 the goodness of God, and to vindicate his mercy, and should not 
 fear to make him the author of falsehood, as if there were more 
 favour in his judgments than veracity in his Avords. 
 
 In fact, the same Scripture by which I learn that God hath 
 bowels of mercy for men, at the same time declares to me in the 
 most express terms that in hell there are flames enkindled for the 
 eternal torment of sinners. My faith allows me to doubt no more 
 of the one than the other. But I am by the one obliged to rectify 
 the wrong notions I may have imbibed with regard to the other. 
 For instead of saying God is the origin all good, therefore he will 
 not eternally punish the sins of men ; I should say God Avill eter- 
 nally punish the sins of men, although he is the origin of all good, 
 and goodness itself, because such is the doctrine which faith deUvers, 
 and it is one of the fundamental truths of religion. Thus neither 
 the goodness of God excludes an eternity of pains nor is an eternity 
 of pains exclusive of God's goodness. But how and by what means 
 to reconcile in God this supreme goodness and extreme severity is 
 a province into which I am not to penetrate ; but it is an undoubted 
 article of religion, to which my duty obliges me to assent. It is 
 enough that I know both the one and the other, and that I know 
 them, as I do, without any the least alloy of doubt, as both the one 
 and the other are revealed to me by the unerring spirit of God. 
 There I stop and advance no farther. 
 
 Not but that without diminishing in the least the duration of 
 the pains which the damned undergo, I can absolutely conceive, 
 relatively to God's eternal goodness, whatever I know and what- 
 ever I believe. It is easy to conceive how a goodness so much an 
 enemy to sin as to make a God come down from heaven in order^to 
 destroy it, and to make him clothe himself with oiu* flesh, take upon 
 him our miseries, and die upon a cross — it is not hard, I say, to 
 comprehend how such a goodness should determine this God, so 
 holy and so good, never to pardon sin. But the shortest way, and 
 the safest too, is to respect this mystery without examing it, and 
 to rest contented Avith the testimony of my faith which I cannot 
 belie : its knoAvledge is infallible and beyond the reach of our weak 
 understandings. If, therefore, by obliging me to revere in God a 
 supreme goodness, it at the same time announces an eternity of 
 woes — or if^ by announcing an eternity of woes, it at the same 
 
ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL 297 
 
 time obliges me to revere in God a supreme goodness — it is more 
 than sufficient to resolve all my douljts. And thus it is, Chris- 
 tians, that faith rectifies the first ei'ror concerning the eternity of 
 the j)ains to which an impenitent and reprobated sinnner is doomed. 
 Proceed Ave to tlie second eiTor : it is that an everlasting pun- 
 ishment is inconsistent with the justice of God. And why? 
 Because it is the pro])erty of justice to square the chastisement to 
 the offence, so that the offence by its grievousness shall not be 
 greater than the punishment, nor the punishment by its rigorous- 
 ness be greater than the offence. Noav where is the equality, where 
 the proportion between an eternity of sufferings and a sin that lasted 
 but a few days, a few hours, or even a single moment ? If it Avere 
 my business, beloved hearers, to vindicate otherwise than by faith 
 itself this article of our faith, I might answer that if there be no 
 proportion of duration between eternity and sin, there may be, and 
 there is in fact, betAveea the evilness on one haad and the punish- 
 ment on the other. But to be more explicit : Ave are deceived by 
 this, that we Avould measure the duration of the satisfaction which 
 God hath decreed by the duration of the crime Avhich made the 
 sinner culpable. A fallacious principle, according to St. Augustin ; 
 and to see the deceit of it there needs but to consider Avhat 
 CA'ery day passes in the common forms of judicature. A\^hat dis- 
 honour arises from an ignominious punishment and the indelible 
 stain it leaves behind ! What sorroAV and disquietude from perpe- 
 tual slavery, banishment, or captivity ! Is not all this, as much as 
 may be, a kind of eternity ? NcA^erthelcss, Ave see that the laAv of 
 the land exerts all this against misdemeanours that scarce are sooner 
 attempted and begun than perpetrated and finished. And when 
 to afflict Avith punishment crimes committed Avith so httle reflection, 
 and sometimes so speedily, the laAv doth all this, Ave see nothing in 
 the punishment that exceeds the crime. It goes still farther ; 
 forAvhat is death? (St. Augustin asks) death, of all terrible things 
 to nature the most terrible ; death, which deprives us of all tem- 
 poral blessings by depriving us of that Avhich is most precious, and 
 that is life ; death, the effects of Avhich are irreparable, and of 
 Avhich, therefore, the consequences are, as it Avere, eternal. Yet 
 if the chastisement be for certain crimes, hoAv sudden and transitory 
 soever they may be, Ave cannot but approve of it, and therein ad- 
 mire the Avisdom and equity of human institutions. It is true, 
 continues the tame fither (and the observation quadrates to mv 
 
298 ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 
 
 subject) that the sensation passes, but the effect remains, and this 
 is what is principally proposed by the law. For be pleased to 
 observe that the first and most direct intention of the law is not 
 for some time to torment the criminal, against whom the iiTCvo- 
 cable sentence is pronounced, but to penetrate into futurity, and 
 cut off for ever from all intercourse and society with the living, 
 those whom she judges unworthy of them. Whence it follows, 
 that to measure the proportion of the punishment and the offence 
 we must not, at all times, lay doAvn the duration of the one and the 
 other as a certain rule ; and that on account of a punishment which 
 never ends, for a single sin which ends so speedily, and the pleasure 
 of which is so veiy short, no exception can be justly taken to the 
 divine justice. 
 
 This, my brethren, is the answer I would make ; an answer 
 which if it did not amount to a convincing proof would at least 
 result from the strongest, the most plain and obvious conjectures. 
 But this is not what I proposed to myself ; and to keep within the 
 limits of my subject I return to faith. What doth she tell me ? 
 Two things — that God is just, and that his vengeance is eternal. 
 She cannot deceive me with respect to either of these two truths, 
 as they are so many oracles pronounced by the origin of all truth. 
 Therefore I must look upon them as incontestable truths. There- 
 fore these two truths clash not, but perfectly coincide with one 
 another. Therefore the punishment of the damned subsists to all 
 eternity, and the justice of God preserves all its integrity — nay it 
 is this same eternity that so conspicuously sets forth the divine 
 justice, as the punishment of the damned is not eternal but because 
 God is just. Therefore, when this eternal punishment is repre- 
 sented to me, I must not conclude that God is unjust ; for nothing, 
 says St. Augustin, is unjust which is determined by the origin of 
 all justice. But the deduction to be made is that of St. Ambrose, 
 namely, that sin must be the greatest of all evils, inasmuch as a 
 God infinitely just infiicts for it the greatest of all penalties ; that 
 it must include an inexhaustible fund of malignity, inasmuch as by 
 the judgment of the sovereign justice it requires a whole eternity 
 to repair it ; that the world must be insufferably involved in dark- 
 ness Avhen it beholds sin with so great indifference, and fears it so 
 little, inasmuch as one sin leads infallibly to the deepest abyss of 
 wretchedness, without the least hope that it will ever have an end. 
 All this is founded in the unquestionable and unidterablc principles 
 of religion. 
 
ON THE ETERNITY OF IIKLL. 29^ 
 
 What more now remains for faith so just and so clcaA- to do ? 
 To rectify the third error, which denies tliat God hath the power 
 of exercising his eternal vengeance on the same person, and making 
 liim perpetually and invariably feel the cruel assaults and lively 
 impression of the fire that burns him. An error of all errors the 
 most frivolous and despicable for any one that possesses the slightest 
 notion of an omnipotent God. As if God could not communicate 
 peculiar qualities — qualities above the course and laws of nature — 
 to the fire which he choscs to be the instrument of his wrath ; as 
 if God, Avho made all things out of nothing, and supports by the 
 sole act of his will all created things, as we learn by faith, wanted 
 might and efficacy to maintain the activity of this fire without fuel 
 or matter. As if it were a difficult task for God, after having 
 formed the body and the soul, to make the one incorruptible as well 
 as the other, Avithout making it impassible any more than the 
 other, and to keep them in flames, which operate upon them with 
 inexpressible violence and without alteration. As if this were 
 a greater miracle for God than so many prodigies which our faith 
 places before our eyes, and to perform Avliich she tells us that there 
 needed but " the finger of God." What then will it be when 
 he shall stretch forth his arm and make the weight of it fall on re- 
 bellious creatures, the objects of his hate ? Who can comprehend 
 it ? And what a horrible thing it is to learn it by fatal experience ? 
 " To whom is the ai-m of the Lord revealed ?" Isai. liii. Ah ! 
 beloved hearers, let us not try by unprofitable interrogatories and 
 dangerous researches to diminish the fear, the salutary fear, which 
 the spirit of Christianity exercises •snthin us. Let us believe, and 
 with a holy apprehension of his judgments, let us render due 
 homage to the justice, the goodness, and the power of our God. 
 Let us not fondly listen to our heart, which deceives itself and would 
 impose upon us. As it is disturbed at the sight of everlasting tor- 
 ments, and this disturbance importunes and checks it in the hurry 
 and precipitance of irregular passions, it endcavoiu-s by every means 
 it can to break through this obstacle, and is ingenious at finding 
 out a thousand subtleties whereby to elude the most essential truths. 
 Let us reason less and proceed to action. Neither our philosophy 
 nor our reasoning can secure us against these so tremendous judg- 
 ments ; but what Avill preserve us is docility of faith and hoKness 
 of Avorks ; and this is, beyond disi)ute, the wisest resolution, be- 
 cause evidently the safest. 
 
800 ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 
 
 2nd. I pretend not, however, that reason in this case ought not 
 to be consulted, according as it submits to and agrees with faith. 
 I shall not even fear to make it speak in this place, and collect 
 together whatever she hath discovered to vindicate God's will and 
 the irrevocable decree which condemns the sinner to eternal pains. 
 For this, dear Christians, is the ten'ible mystery which in every 
 age hath employed the pens of the greatest men in the church of 
 God, and the most learned and experienced in divine things ; and 
 though the judgments of God do not stand in need of being justified 
 by men, as of themselves they are sufficiently justified, according 
 to the prophet : " The judgments of the Lord are true, justified 
 in themselves" (Ps. xviii.) ; nevertheless those holy doctors have 
 thought it proper to discuss the justness of this dreadful eternity, 
 and for that purpose have made use of all the lights and arguments 
 within the narrow limits of the human mind. Perhaps you arc 
 already no strangers to them ; but perhaps I shall place them in 
 another point of \ievf than that in which you have hitherto seen 
 them ; for my design by producing them is not so much to display 
 the whole force of them, as to show you in what manner they are 
 improved by faith. This is what 1 am engaged in and what I have 
 reason to presume will rencAV your attention. 
 
 The first argument is borrowed from St. Jerom and St. Augustin. 
 Yes, my brethren, says St. Jei'om, the sinner must make eternal 
 satisfaction to God, because he had the will to resist God eternally. 
 This thought is equally solid and true ; but that we may take the 
 right meaning of it let us hear St. 'Augustin, who "hath throAvn 
 upon this subject all the light it would admit. This holy doctor 
 excellently remarks that in a perverse and criminal will we must 
 not precisely consider the eflTect, but much more the Avill itself, the 
 ^ection of tlie heart ; and although the effect, which depends not 
 on man, should fail, it is just and reasonable that the will should be 
 punished, and that the punishment should be proportioned to its 
 evil disposition. For the justness of this I appeal to conscience. 
 And what is more evident than that those' lovers of themselves and 
 of the world, those slaves of pleasure and of sensual desires, so 
 many sinners intoxicated with sin, appear before God, the searcher 
 of their souls and most hidden intentions, disposed in such a 
 manner that they would never forego the good things of this life, 
 Ji)ut would eternally enjoy the same objects of their passions, and 
 y/ould gladly resign all otlicr felicitv ? If tb.c act of sinning, 
 
ON THE ETEKNITY OF HELL 301 
 
 therefore, doth not endure, the love of sin and the attachment to 
 isin are in some shape eternal ; so that in the disposition of the sin- 
 ner is included a secret will, or rather, to v«pcak in the language of 
 the schools, an interpretative "will to be for ever a sinner, as he 
 would enjoy for ever that which foments and cherishes sin. Thus 
 (and it is a reflection of St. Gregory, pope) to consider w^ell your 
 imbelievers and whatever is comprised under the name of sinner, 
 they cease to sin only because they cease to live ; and they could 
 wish to live for ever that they might sin for ever ; and if they de- 
 sire to enjoy life, it is not, properly, for the sake of life but for the 
 sake of sinning. For life, which to them is so dear and precious, 
 would Avithout sin be insipid and irksome. The necessary propor- 
 tion, therefore, is observed between the etei'nity of their pains and 
 the malignity of their hearts. Nor is it matter of astonishment 
 that the punishment should be endless since the Avill was unlimited. 
 This is not all : for to this argiunent St. Thomas adds another. 
 In whatever disposition, says he, the will of man when he sins 
 may be, it is evident to me that the sin he commits is irreparable 
 in its nature ; that it is irreparable, it is in that sense eternal, and 
 therefore deserving of eternal punishment. A mortal sin cannot 
 be obliterated but by one or other of these two means : either the 
 sinner must make satisfaction to God, worthy of acceptance, or 
 God a gratuitous and absolute resignation of his right to man. 
 That the sinner, I mean the reprobated sinner, being destitute of 
 grace, should satisfy God is an impossibility. That God should 
 resign his right to man is what he is not obliged to, and what cannot 
 be demanded or expected from him. Therefore this sin, in the 
 strictest justice, will not be repaired to all eternity, but Avill appear 
 as a sin in the eyes of God. Now so long as sin remains uneffaccd 
 by any reparation, it must, concludes the angelical doctor, undergo 
 punishment, and the duration of the punislimcnt must be perfectly 
 correspondent with the duration of the sin. 
 
 Further : divines, with St. Augustin, di'aAV a third argument 
 from the natm'C of sin. For, Avhat is sin ? It is a voluntary 
 estrangement from God, an open contempt of God, a love of crea- 
 tures in pi'cference to God, a great, an atrocious injury done to the 
 majesty of God. This being laid doAvn as an uncontroverted and 
 universally received truth, let us measure, says St. Gregory, the 
 gi'ievousness of the Injuiy by the gi-eatness of the master to Avhom 
 it is offered, and avc sluill find tliat in its object it is infinitclv 
 
302 ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 
 
 grievous, being offered to a master of infinite greatness. Now a 
 sin of infinite grievousness requires an infinite punishment. And 
 how will that be ? Will it be in itself, and in its own essence ? 
 That clashes with the nature of a created being. It must, there- 
 fore be infinite, as far as punishment is susceptible of infinitude, 
 and must extend into the immensity of ages to come. By no other 
 means can God do himself justice. Without this eternity, there 
 would always remain an infinite distance between the offence and 
 the punishment. But though Almighty God, by this eternity, be 
 not fully satisfied, as the punishment being eternal is never fully 
 accomplished, there is, notwithstanding, all possible equality be- 
 tween the punishment and the crime. 
 
 Such, beloved hearers, have been the productions of the human 
 mind, relative to the subject of eternal woes. Thus far arrived 
 those sublime reasoners, whom God had replenished Avith his 
 heavenly wisdom, and with the gift of comprehension. These are 
 the discoveries which they made and the lights which they followed. 
 Let us revere their opinions so solidly enforced, and tlieu' aim, 
 upon examination, will prove just and holy. It must, however, 
 be owned, that faith must come in aid to improve and confirm 
 them. But to know in what manner she confirms and improves 
 them, ah ! Christians, this is one of those secrets known only to the 
 humble and truly faithful soul. She doth it not by elevating our 
 minds, but rather by depressing their elevation ; not by leaving 
 them a presumptuous liberty of examining and debating, but by 
 submitting them to the authority and mysterious obscurity of the 
 w^ord of God ; not by drawing off the veil which it places before 
 our eyes, and representing the truth to us in a clear light, but by 
 making us rest satisfied, whatever difficulties and embarrassments 
 may arise, with this answer of St. Paul, which resolves all doubts 
 and removes all difficulties : " O tlie depth !" (Rom. xi.) O the 
 judgment of my God ! O the inexhaustible and hidden treasure 
 not only of his wisdom, and of his mercy, but moreover of his 
 justice ! I can easily perceive some faint appearance of them ; but 
 it behoves me not to search into them too narrowly. " How 
 incomprehensible are his judgments, and how unsearchable are his 
 ways !" Rom. xi. And which of us can read in the word of God, 
 what, and to what end, are all his designs ? " For who hath 
 known the mind of the Lord ? Or who hath been his counsellor?" 
 Rom. xi. Though I should, therefore, in order to sound this 
 
ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 303 
 
 abyss, make a thousand efforts, if I would not be bewildered in 
 mazes and intricacies, I must perjjetually recur to the fimdamental 
 principle, and in all humility cry out, " O the depth." 
 
 HoAV admirable is this, beloved brethren ! Our hearts have 
 no sooner received from faith this previous disposition and inward 
 submission, than ready to make a sacrifice of all our reasonings, 
 and totally to renounce them, our reasoning faculty gets collateral 
 assistance, of which I shall give you this demonstration. As we 
 are no longer influenced by particular prejudices, but wholly 
 divested of our own opinions, to which we obstinately adhered, wc 
 comprehend and judge with a more refined understanding and 
 sounder sense, those sublime ideas which faith gives us of the 
 majesty, the goodness, the justice, and the holiness of God, and 
 consequently of the audacity of man, who, by sinning, rises up 
 against this infinite majesty ; of the ingratitude of man, Avho, by 
 sinning, turns against this sovereign goodness ; of the malignity 
 and corruption of the heart of man, who, by sinning, offends this 
 inflexible justice, and this holiness eternally and necessarily an 
 enemy to evil doings : these grand objects not being enfeebled, 
 either by the "vvrong prepossessions of an untractable mind, or the 
 blind desires of an impassioned heart, appear in their genuine 
 strength and power, and make, irresistibly, the due impression. 
 We comprehend them with less difficulty, and it would seem, at 
 certain moments, as if Ave had a distinct knowledge of them, and I 
 knoAv not Avhat feeling that takes up and possesses the Avhole soul. 
 It Avould seem as if all eternity were displayed before our eyes, and 
 we surveyed, in some sort, the unbounded prospect. We behold 
 it as much as it is possible for our Avcak minds to behold it, in all its 
 horror ; and instead of employing our thoughts and time in fruitless 
 disquisitions, Ave think only of humbling ourselves under the omni- 
 potent hand of God, and thereby preventing his dreadfid decrees. 
 We say with holy Job, " Verily I knoAv it is so" (Job. ix.) ; for this 
 is the assurance Avhich I have from my God ; and the Avisest thing 
 I can do is, not to enter into empty disputes and stubborn contests 
 concerning the truth of this divine word, but to follow the most 
 safe and effectual method of avoiding the disaster Avith Avhich I am 
 threatened. All, therefore, that remains for me to do is, to lay 
 myself prostrate at the feet of my judge, to be always before him 
 in a holy apprehension, and by the humility, fervour, and constancy 
 of my prayer, to move him to clemency. Were I the most 
 
B04 ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 
 
 righteous of men, tliis is the disposition in which I should be, and 
 in which I ouglit to remain to my latest hreath. This is the 
 salutary effect of faith ; a prudent, yet docile fiiith, a thousand 
 times more enlightened, than all the knowledge, and all the wisdom 
 of a profane world ; a submissive faith, Avhich God maintains by 
 stirring up secret affections in the heart, affections which he 
 cherishes and strengthens by infusing the light of grace, and to 
 which he discovers the most impenetrable mysteries. 
 
 Such was the faith of the saints. Was it superstition ? was it 
 narrowness of understanding ? But which of us knoAvs not in how 
 great esteem those extraordinary persons have been held by 
 antiquity, Avhich respected them as theu- teachers, and whom we 
 continue to this day to propose to ourselves as our gTiides and 
 models ? What they believed, cannot we believe ? And should 
 we be justified at God's tribunal, if we said : Lord, I made no 
 account of this eternity, I heedlessly passed it over, because I did 
 not believe it. No, you did not believe it, but why ? Because 
 you Avere uuAvilling to believe it ; because you affected to believe 
 it not, that it might not be a check upon your evil courses. This 
 is the usual motive to incredulity. Nevertheless, beloved hearers, 
 it is not the less real, whether you believe it or disbelieve it ; the 
 proofs that shall convince you are not the less solid ; and this will 
 be the cause of your condemnation. But let us not stop there. 
 We have seen how faith shall confirm us in the belief of the eternity 
 of hell ; and Ave shall noAv see hoAv the belief of the eternity of hell 
 should induce us to put in practice the Avorks of faith, and Avhat 
 that holiness of life is Avhich it requires of us ; it is the subject of 
 the second part. 
 
 Part II. There is no consequence so justly deduced, as that 
 which is to be the groundAvork of this second part, in Avhich I shall 
 shoAV you hoAV the steadfast belief of the eternity of hell should 
 excite our fervency in the practice of good AA'orks, and should 
 thoroughly and speedily induce us to set about a reformation of 
 manners. For that eternal fire, that fire of hell, or, if you please, 
 that fire of the other world, should extinguish a fire in us Avhich 
 devours and destroys us — the fire of our irregular passions — 
 and should kindle in us another, Avhich is an etiScacious charity 
 iuid holy zeal for the regulation and management of our Avhole 
 conduct. This consequence is founded on tAVO principles : the 
 one is, the love of ourselves, that reasonable, that Christian love, 
 
ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 305 
 
 wliicli God commands, an<l wliicli obliges us to preserve our- 
 selves, by every means possible, from the greatest and most 
 dreadful of all misfortunes ; the other is, according to the maxims 
 of our faith, the indispensable necessity of a holy life, that is, of a 
 life cither innocent or penitent, in order to ward off the sovereign 
 evil, and not to fall into the horrible and irreparable state of 
 damnation. 
 
 In fact, if we love ourselves ever so little, in the manner we arc 
 commanded, Avhat shoidd we fear more, and what should we avoid 
 with greater care, than the entire and irreparable loss of ourselves ? 
 Let us but examine what we do exevj day, to preserve the natural 
 life of our bodies. As we are attatched to tliis frail and mortal 
 life, is there any difficulty too great to preserve it ? Are we not 
 alarmed and startled at every danger ? Have we not recourse to 
 every remedy ? what precaution do we not use ? wdiat undertaking 
 is thought too expensive ? what do we not submit to ? what atten- 
 tion, what vigilance, what resolution, to attempt everything and 
 bear everything? And why all this? To save a life in its 
 nature transitory, and to retard a death at least inevitable, and the 
 pain of which is only the sensation of a few moments. We may 
 therefore judge how great an impression, and with how much more 
 reason, the dreadful apprehension of an eternal death, and an 
 eternal reprobation ought to make on our hearts, by which a sinner, 
 being rejected by God without hope or resource, and being 
 delivered over to all the scourges of his most rigorous justice, will 
 subsist eternally, and to no other end than to endure torments. 
 Unless such be our infatuation and blindness of mind, that we are 
 absolutely forgetful of our own real good, to Avhat should we apply 
 ourselves Avith greater ardour than to the securing of our souls 
 fi-om so irrcA'ocablc a sentence ? Now this, you know, cannot be 
 affected but by avoiding sin, renouncing the world, serving God 
 faithfully, observing the law of God, putting all those Christian 
 exercises in practice which sanctify us, and preserve us in the gi-ace 
 of God. Thus is verified the proposition I advanced, that to firmly 
 believe an eternity of pains, is the greatest and most powerful 
 motive of bringing us back to our duty, of maintaining us in a 
 steady course of regularity, and of inducing us to lead a life con- 
 formable to the law of Christ. How obstinate soever the sinner 
 may be, I defy him, if his faith be not totally dead, to withstand 
 the cogency of these arguments. 
 
306 ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 
 
 But the better to unravel this Important matter, the contem- 
 j-ylation of which is so advantageous to us, I hold, that in the belief 
 of everlasting pains Ave want not, in order to reform our conduct, 
 to omit nothing that may help us agreeably to the precepts of the 
 gospel, and to persist and make progress in the ways of God, I say 
 a motive, at once the most universal and the most affecting — I do 
 not say the most perfect, but only, in the first place, the most 
 universal : for of all the motives which are capable to make im- 
 pression on a Christian soul, and which can conduct and direct her 
 and induce her to act, this I own, though holy and supernatural, 
 as expressly defined by the Council of Trent, is, after aU, the least 
 elevated. But although inferior to other virtues in degree of 
 excellence, I affirm, likewise, that it hath over the rest the pecu- 
 liar advantage of extending its efficacy to more purposes. This 
 will clearly appear in the sequel. 
 
 1st. True it is, to rcHnquish vice, and after a long series of evil 
 courses, influenced only by pure love to return to God ; to engage 
 in the practice of religious duties, and to preserve in it, in hopes 
 of obtaining the promised reward — which is God himself — are 
 superior motives, and much more worthy the spirit of Christianity. 
 It were indeed to be wished, that every soul was raised to this 
 height ; and they should, as much as may be, aspire to it. But 
 it is no less true that all are not equally disposed to adopt those 
 noble sentiments, or capable of being affected by vicAvs so subhme 
 and wholly divine. Some there are who have arrived at righteous- 
 ness, at fervency, at perfection ; who, like children in the house of 
 the heavenly Father, strive to please and possess him, in expectation 
 only of pleasing and possessing him ; and Avho, being incessantly 
 animated by these very means, inviolably adhere to his divine pre- 
 cepts, and lay it down as a rigorous and unalterable rule, to obey 
 with submission and the utmost readiness the least intimation or 
 sign of his Avill. They serve him Avith an affection entirely filial. 
 But there are also dastards, Avorldhngs, sinners, terrestrial and quite 
 sensual men, Avho are scarcely susceptible of any other impressions 
 than those of the judgments and vengeance of God. Talk to them 
 of his greatness, of his perfections, of his benefits, or even of his 
 rcAvards, and they Avill hardly listen to you ; and if they are pre- 
 vailed upon to pay some attention and respect to your words, they 
 will sound in their ears but not reach their hearts. The reason 
 is, that their hearts being darkened by the thick clouds Avhich tlieir 
 
ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 307 
 
 pass»ions spread in them, and being filled -with gross ideas, arc, 
 according to the apostle, become perfectly sensual. "But the 
 sensual man," adds the same teacher of the Gentiles, " perceiveth 
 not the things that are of the spirit." 1 Cor. ii. Therefore to 
 move them, to stir them up, to awaken and rouse them from the 
 lethargic sleep with which they are overwhelmed, the thunder of 
 divine wrath, and the decrees that condemn them to eternal flames 
 must resound on all sides : " Depart from me, ye accursed, into 
 everlasting fire." Matth. xxv. Make them consider attentively, 
 and represent to them with all the force of grace, the consequences 
 and hon'or of this word eternal. Ask them, with the prophet, how 
 they will be able for ever and ever to suffer, to burn, to be 
 tormented, without ever, I do not say coming to an end of their 
 anguish, but receiving any relief, or feeling any abatement: 
 " AVhich of you can dwell with devouring fire, -vvith everlasting 
 burnings?" Isai. xxxiii. Describe the grief, the regret, the 
 affliction, what do I say ? the rage, the despair of so many wretches, 
 who now lie oppressed with the weight of God's arm, and his 
 dreadful curse with wliich he had threatened them, and the whole 
 rigour of which they are doomed to undergo eternally. Prevail 
 with them to reflect on then- unhappy situation, and remind them 
 that the damned, Avhose condition appears so inexpressiby deplorable, 
 and for whom henceforward no hope remains, were not during life, 
 more criminal than they are, and that many among them were not 
 so criminal ; that they follow the same com'se, that they walk in 
 the same track, and by consequence that they are going to the 
 same perdition, and that they must expect to fall headlong in the 
 same gulph, never more to rise. Give them reason to judge 
 what the damned would do were any resource left to procure 
 their release ; what they woidd undertake, Avhat they Avould 
 endiu-e, what they would sacrifice, what habits they would quit, 
 what penance they would perform, what extremities they would 
 go through ; and declare to them that the only advantage they 
 enjoy at present is that they have it in their power to do what 
 the damned have no power to do, but that shortly — if they are not 
 aware — what they now may do, will not be practicable even for 
 them. In a word, conjure them to have pity on their souls. Hold this 
 language and you will be heard more easily. As one who is over- 
 powered with a mortal lethargy gives signs of sensation and opens 
 his eyes on the close application of a red hot iron — so the sinner, 
 
308 ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 
 
 unless he be fallen into the utmost obduracy of heart, AviU hardly 
 resist these just and frightful reflections. They will damp his 
 spirits, they will fill him with consternation. Conscience will de- 
 pict them over and over in his mind, and in lively colours, on 
 certain favourable occasions. This man, at last, will come to him- 
 self, Avill confess his crime, will ask pardon of heaven, and the 
 words of the Holy Ghost will be fulfilled in him : " The beginning 
 of wisdom is the fear of the Lord." Ps. ex. Innumerable multi- 
 tudes of worldlings and libertines have been withdrawn by these 
 means from their corrupt ways to the way of salvation. We need 
 but reflect on the history of all ages, and we shall see how effica- 
 cious Avas at all times the thought of a woful eternity, and what 
 fruits of penance and sanctification it produced. It was this thought 
 that led to the tops of mountains and into gloomy cavei-ns so many 
 sensualists, lovers of the world, and still greater lovers of them- 
 selves and of their flesh. It was this thought that made them break 
 the chains of sin and strongest passions — that made them change 
 the softest sensuality into all the exercises of corporal mortifica- 
 tion ; that reduced them to fastings, watchings, continual tears, 
 and self-denials. It was this thought that filled cloisters and mo- 
 nasteries with religious persons of both sexes ; that made them all 
 undergo the yoke of a most austere and burthensome regularity ; 
 that brought them, like so many" victims, to immolate themselves, 
 not sparing either goods or fortune, either pleasure or liberty, either 
 health or life. 
 
 Nor must we imagine that this contemplation of eternal unhap- 
 piness suits only souls immersed in crimes, such as are covered over, 
 if I may use the expression, with the dust of the world and all the 
 impurities of their vicious Inclinations. I have said, and I say It 
 'again, that it is suitable to every degree of perfection ; and sup- 
 posing I might, with some show of probability, entertain hopes of 
 being ranked among the number of God's elect, yet Avould I not 
 cease, in order to support, strengthen, and raise myself, to place 
 before my mind and attentively meditate on the infinite vengeance 
 of an offended Deity. I should think it presumptuous in me to 
 believe, as some persuade themselves, that it would be to degene- 
 rate in some measure from the state of perfection, to employ one's 
 mind in such meditations. Ah ! beloved hearers, we are not more 
 perfect than the inspired king,'Avho, according to the testimony he 
 bears of himself, in his deepest reflections contemplated eternity. 
 
ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 309 
 
 and, 30 far aa he was able, took a survey of its immense extent. 
 " 1 thought upon the days of old, and I had in my mind the eternal 
 years." Ps. Ixxvi. We are not more holy than the devout St. 
 Jerom, who, on recollecting eternity, struck his breast incessantly, 
 to draw down upon him the mercy of God and avert the di^eadful 
 effects of his anger. We are not in a more elevated degree of god- 
 liness than so many solitaries and holy anchorites who, from the 
 most sublime and rapturous contemplations, in which it would seem 
 as if God had wrapt them up to the third heaven, descended in 
 spirit from time to time to the bottom of hell, and lost themselves 
 in the mighty gulf of eternity. Happy Arsenius ! this was your 
 occupation both day and night — it was this that made you pour 
 forth uninterrupted floods of tears — it was this that made you offer 
 up uninternipted prayers to heaven — it was this that made you 
 practise uninteiTupted fasts and austerities. Happy, if we thought 
 of it like you ! we should speedily draw from it the same fruit. 
 
 2nd. For, if this motive be the most universal, I may add that 
 it is also the most affecting. Nothing upon earth affects us more 
 lively, or moves us more powerfully than pain and the notions we 
 conceive of it. The edge of pleasure, in proportion as it lasts, is 
 blunted ; so that by too long continuance even pleasure as it is, it 
 becomes insipid, palls upon the senses, and grows tiresome and in- 
 convenient. But pain, on the contrary, how sUght soever, far 
 from diminishing, increases with time and is at last insupportable. 
 Hence those terrors and frights arise with which we are seized, 
 from a dread of misfortunes, to which we are exposed as well as 
 others, and against which common prudence bids us take precau- 
 tion. If the mind be but thoroughly possessed with the danger, 
 the senses anticipate almost all the pangs it usually creates. Now 
 if this be the case as to temporary evils, how much more so must it 
 be as to evils that last for ever ? If, therefore, I would manfully 
 withstand the assaults of an impure passion which begins to rise in 
 and corrupt my heart — if I would repress the propensity that un- 
 fortunately draws me towards certain objects, which I cannot avoid 
 with too much care, and the contagion of wliich I am too well ap- 
 prized of — if I am to renounce an attachment or criminal habit 
 which tyrannizes over me, and to resist the violent attacks to which 
 I am perpetually exposed — if I would rouse from a sluggish and 
 fiiint-hearted inactivity which induces me to postpone and neglect 
 my duty, and might insensibly allure me into vicious ways — if I 
 
 VOL. 11. X 
 
310 ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 
 
 would reform my life, and be more exact, more fervent, more labo- 
 rious, more mortified, notwithstanding the frequent revolts of cor- 
 rupt nature and the conflicts I am necessitated to carry on against 
 her — what should I then do ? Collect all my attention and consider 
 eternity an endless eternity of pain and woes. Struck with horror 
 at so dolef ill a decree, I apply to this eternity all the powers of my 
 mind ; I examine and scrutinize it in all its parts ; and I take, as 
 it were, its whole dimensions. Moreover, to express it in more 
 lively colours, and to represent it in my mind more conformably 
 to the senses and the human understanding, I borrow comparisons 
 from the fathers of the church, and I make, if I may so speak, the 
 same computations. I behold in thought all the stars of the firma- 
 ment ; to this innumerable multitude I add all the drops of water 
 collected together in the collections of the ocean — and if this be 
 not enough I reckon, or at least endeavour to reckon, all the grains 
 of sand it displays on its shore. Then I interrogate myself, I 
 reason with myself, and I put myself the question — although I had 
 for as many ages, and a thousand times as many undergone tor- 
 ments in that glowing fire w^hich was kindled by the breath of the 
 Lord in his anger to take eternal vengeance, would eternity be at 
 an end ? No : and why ? Because it is eternity, and eternity is 
 endless. To number up the stars that shine in the heavens, to 
 count the drops of water that compose the sea, to tell the grains of 
 sand that he upon the shore is not absolutely impossible ; but to 
 measure in eternity the number of days, of years, of ages is what 
 cannot be compassed, because the days, the years, and the ages are 
 without number ; or, to speak more properly, because in eternity 
 there are neither days, nor years, nor ages, but a single, endless, 
 infinite duration. 
 
 To this I adhere, with this is taken up my whole attention. I 
 fancy I see, I fancy I rove through this same eternity, and discover 
 no end, but find it to be always a boundless tract. I fancy the 
 wide prospect lies open on all sides, and encompasseth me around ; 
 that if I rise up, or if I sink down, or what way soever I turn my 
 eyes, this eternity meets them, and that after a thousand eflTorts to 
 get forward I have made no progress, but find it still eternity — I 
 fancy that after a long continuance of revolving time, I behold in 
 the midst of this eternity a damned soul, in the same state, in the 
 same afiliction, in the same misery ; and putting myself mentally 
 in the place of this soul, I fancy that in this eternal punishment I 
 
ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 311 
 
 feel myself continually devoured by that fire which nothing extin- 
 guishes ; that I continually shed those floods of tears wliich nothing 
 can dry up ; that I am continually gnawed by the worm of con- 
 science, which never dies ; that I continually express my despair 
 and anguish by that gnashing of teeth and those lamentable out- 
 cries which never can move the compassion of God. This idea of 
 myself, this representation amazes and terrifies me. ]\Iy whole 
 body shudders, I tremble with fear, I am filled with horror, I have 
 the same feelings as the royal prophet, '\vhen he cried, "Pierce 
 thou my flesh %vith thy fear, for I am afraid of thy judgments." 
 Psal. cxviii. A happy disposition against all the assaults of the 
 most dangerous temptations and all the charms of the most en- 
 gaging pleasures ! Seized in this manner with dread and appre- 
 hension, I am determined to undertake, to undergo, to practice 
 whatever is prescribed by the laws of religion — for I conceive the 
 necessity of it, and I conceive it by the dismal prospect of eternity ; 
 so that faith, by this prospect, and by the grace which accompanies 
 it, exercises over me a kind of absolute sway. It keeps me in sub- 
 jection to the most rigorous obligations of Clu^istian justice ; it 
 encourages me to overcome all the difliculties I meet "with, and 
 therefore to oflEer myself salutary violence : it curbs all my passions, 
 it directs and governs me, and makes me willingly and entirely 
 submit to God. 
 
 But if it be urged that eternity is incomprehensible, and who 
 can fear what he cannot comprehend ? my ansAver is this, beloved 
 Christians : this woful eternity is incomprehensible, it is true, but 
 it is on that account the more to be dreaded. If I comprehend it 
 I should fear it the less, because it would be limited, and I can 
 comprehend nothing but what is limited. If I comprehended it, 
 there would in its duration, as in my mind, be an assignable point 
 without farther progression ; and therefore I should feel not so 
 terrifying a shock from it, because I might hope to arrive at tliis 
 point, and should still have a resource in the state of damnation. 
 But an evil so great as to be inconceivable strikes ten*or into all 
 the faculties of my soul — a terror from which I can never recover. 
 If it be an evil which I cannot conceive, therefore it is greater than 
 all the evils which I conceive ; and though I should conceive 
 them all united together to afflict one person, and should compre- 
 hend them all, I should conclude they were all, tliough united to- 
 gether, infinitely short of that sovereign caII which I did not com- 
 
 x2 
 
312 ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 
 
 preliend. And licnce I should further draw this conclusion — a 
 conclusion which Is the necessary consequence of It — that although 
 I were obliged to suifer all other evils, I should, without hesitation, 
 nay ■with joy consent to such, to be rescued from an evil that cannot 
 be equalled by all other evils. Now with how much greater reason 
 ought I cheerfully submit to a slight penance, ought I to form a 
 resolution of making some effort and sacrifice that Is required of 
 me, ought I to bear the restraint of spiritual exercises, the reason- 
 ableness and practicability of which are undeniable, in the view of 
 reforming my whole conduct and leading a life conformable to the 
 maxims of the Gospel ? 
 
 Thus every man of true wisdom ought to reason who preserves 
 in his heart any seeds of religion. Thus he will reason, thus in- 
 fallibly conclude when futurity shall be the object of his serious 
 reflection, and he shall sincerely follow the impulse arising from an 
 intellectual view of an eternity of woes. But we conclude nothing, 
 we aim at nothing, because we have only a vague and superficial 
 remembrance of it from time to time. We think sufficiently, and 
 oftentimes too much, of what may befal us during the course of 
 years which we promise ourselves we shall run upon earth. We 
 are but too attentive to the disappointments, mischances, crosses, 
 accidents, and losses that may interrupt our designs and ruin our 
 fortunes. We examine but too narrowly what may be our condi- 
 tion In the wane of life, and we are but too solicitous in taking 
 precautions and concerting measures upon that account. We are 
 so wholly taken up and our minds are so filled with this thought 
 alone, that we are distracted with a thousand chimerical notions, 
 and we are agitated with a thousand painful anxieties in order to 
 prevent Imaginary evils which a timorous forecast sets before our 
 eyes. We live, nevertheless, in a profound forgetfulness of our 
 eternal lot ; we remain so, undisturbed ; life glides on, and eternity 
 approaches ; and like those victims that went blindfold to the altar, 
 on which their blood was shortly to reek, we blindly advance, and 
 fall down the precipice. Alas ! my brethren, are we Christians ? 
 are we men ? If we be Christians, where Is our faith ? If we be 
 men, where is our reason ? When will you think of this du'cful 
 eternity if you think not of It now ? Will it be in eternity ? Yes, 
 you will think then of it, you Avill think of it to all eternity. But 
 will It be then a time to think of It ? And how will you think of 
 it ? What a torment will It be to think of it ! What daggers will it 
 
ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 313- 
 
 plant in your breast, and Iioav you will reproach yourself that you did 
 not sooner think of it ! For this reason it is that we so often re- 
 mind you of it ; and I would it were in my jwwer, for the refor- 
 mation of men and the salvation of the world, at every hour of the 
 day, and in every corner of the earth to resound this single word — 
 Eternity ! This alone were sufficient to operate the most extra- 
 ordinary miracles of conversion. 
 
 Not only we think not of this woful eternity, but I know the 
 progress that hath long been made through an excess of blindness, 
 and is every day made by the licentiousness of the times, even sO' 
 as to scoff at so profitable a thought ; so as to hold in contempt 
 the man who seems to be affected with it and Avould profit by it ; 
 so as to say to him in the most scandalous derision, " He is afraid 
 of hell ;" for such is the language of an infinity of libertines. Ah ! 
 beloved hearers, however you may rally I shall not be for that the 
 less afraid of hell. I fear it, I own — and I would I were so happy 
 as to transfuse my fear into all your breasts ! I fear it sovereignly, 
 I fear it constantly, and may it please kind heaven that I fear it 
 efficaciously ! I fear it sovereignly, inasmuch as my fear should be 
 proportioned to its object ; and as hell, which I fear, is the sove- 
 reign misfortune, if my fear were not sovereign, I shovdd not fear 
 it in the degi'ce I ought to do. I shall fear it constantly ; and to 
 keep up this fear, I will be careful to renew it by incessant medi- 
 tation, and by repeatedly exhibiting to my intellectual faculties the 
 judgments of God. While I live in this world, I shall not know 
 with certainty whether, before God, I deserve love or hatred — his 
 eternal rewards or eternal vengeance. Though I had reason, rela- 
 tively to the past and the present to enjoy tranquillity, and be easy 
 in mind, I could never, in the midst of so many snares that sur- 
 round me, and so many shocking falls of Avhich the Avorld hath been 
 witness, answer to myself for my future conduct ; and in this double 
 incertitude my surest preservation will be vigilance and fear. In 
 fine, one of the greatest favom*s I can obtain from heaven is, that 
 my fear be efficacious ; for there is a fruitless lear of hell as there 
 is an unavailing desire of salvation. We fear and desire, or at least 
 we believe that we fear and desire ; but w^c are still unwilling that 
 this fear and desire should cost us anything. A reprobated fear ! 
 By fearing, I should act, 1 should reform, I should advance, I 
 should amend, I should omit nothing of whatever might conduce 
 to ward off the blow with which I am threatened, and the misfor- 
 tune into which I am afraid of faUine;. 
 
314 ON THE ETERNITY OF HELL. 
 
 These are my sentiments, and may they never, I pray God, be 
 effaced from my mind ! If, with the deist, this passes for weakness 
 and superstitious timidity, I shall prefer my weakness to his sup- 
 posed fortitude. He will laugh at my simplicity and 1 shall pity 
 his folly, as he fears not that which so many have feared a thou- 
 sand times more wise and more knowing than he is ; his insensi- 
 bility, as he is so preposterously incurious on so material a point, 
 and concerns himself so little about that which is the greatest of all 
 concerns ; his rashness and audacity, as he exposes himself incon- 
 siderately and without emotion to everlasting reprobation and finds 
 no difficulty in running all hazards. If he steeled his heart to the 
 charitable advice which I should give him on that head, and if 
 notwithstanding the strongest remonstrances he persisted in his 
 obdm'acy, I would abandon him and give him over to a reprobate 
 sense, after the example of those angels that retired from Babylon, 
 and turn my thoughts upon myself. I would Hft up my hands to 
 the God of heaven, and would prefer him my prayer in the words 
 of the prophet : " Take not away my soul, O God, with the 
 wicked." Ps. xxv. Save it by your mercy. Assist me in saving 
 it myself by good works. It is spiritual, it is immortal, it is my 
 only soul ; and, O my God, should it once be lost — it is lost 
 for ever. 
 
 Let us beware, beloved hearers, of so great a loss. We are all 
 embarked, and each for himself, in this great affair — an affair that 
 comes home to us, and regards us more nearly than any other. 
 The success of it depends upon God and ourselves. God, on his 
 part, will not be wanting to us ; let us yield to his grace, and dis- 
 pose ourselves, by a perfect observance of his commandments, to 
 receive his glory in a blessed eternity. 
 
ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 315 
 
 SERMON XXXI. 
 
 ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 
 For tbe feast of All Saints. 
 
 Rejoice and be exceeding glad, for lo ! your reward is very great 
 in heaven. Matth. v. 
 
 These words were spoken, beloved Christians, by the Sonof God> 
 by which he proposes heavenly glory to us, not merely as an 
 inheritance we have a light to claim, but as a rcAvard that must 
 cost us some pains to deserve. He knew, says St. Chrysostom, 
 how nearly it concerned us ; and through a condescension worthy 
 of so gracious a God, would draw us to his service by making our 
 welfare to depend upon serving him : maintaining his right, and 
 making no abatement in his absolute command — that we love him 
 as our God, for his own sake, and more than ourselves — he is 
 •willing that our love should have an eye to self; and, provided 
 that the regard to our own interest be not servile and unfilial, he 
 consents that we love him on our own account ; or, rather, that 
 we find our account in loving him. For, to this end, he promises 
 a reward, the sole contemplation of which is sufficient to raise us 
 to that pure and perfect love which unites our interest, as St. 
 Chiysostom adds, holily and divinely with that of heaven. 
 
 Wherefore, Christians let us enter into the meaning of our 
 Saviour's words, and without attempting a more sublime degree of 
 spirituality than hath been taught us already by that adorable 
 IMaster, let us be attentive only to the reward which he promises, 
 and to which he bids us aspire, when he says " Our reward is very 
 great in heaven." That it is in our power, and that we ought to 
 merit it, is an article of faith which I here lay down as a settled 
 principle that cannot, without blaspliemy, be called in question ; 
 and I mean to show, supposing this principle, how deserving it is 
 of our wishes and our care. In order to impel you the more 
 strongly to the pursuit and attainment of it, I shall endeavour to 
 demonstrate its excellence and advantage : by contrasting it with 
 the rewards which this world affords, I would fliin make you relish 
 it, and stir you up by that means to a zeal of acquiring it. 
 
316 ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 Now that this may appear in the clearest light, I need only 
 adhere to the words of my text, the literal exposition of which will 
 unfold my whole design: "Lo your reward is very great in 
 heaven." A certain reward, which God hath prepared for his own 
 elect, and of which you cannot fail, if you seek it with candour and 
 a willing mind : " Lo ! your reward." A plentiful reward, which 
 hath no other measure than the immensity of God, and which alone 
 will complete the extent of your desires: "Lo! your reward is 
 very great." In fine, an eternal reward which you will never lose, 
 being reserved for you in heaven, where there is no apprehension 
 of change or revolution : " Lo ! your reward is very great in 
 heaven." Fit qualities these to make on your minds a lasting 
 impression ; especially if you judge by a comparative view of them 
 with the rewards of this life : that is, by the three essential differ- 
 ences, which I beseech you to observe, between worldly rewards 
 and the rewards allotted to the elect of God ; for to me it appeared 
 that nothing could more effectually engage your attention or awaken 
 your faith. First, the reward of the elect is certain ; but Avorldly 
 rewards are doubtful and uncertain. Secondly, the reward of the 
 elect is plentiful ; but worldly rewards are empty and defective. 
 Thirdly, the reward of the elect is eternal ; but worldly rev/ards 
 are frail and perishable. 
 
 These are three motives of comfort and joy Avhich the church 
 proposes, by laying before our eyes the glory of the saints, and 
 exciting us thereby to imitate their sanctity. " Rejoice and be 
 exceeding glad." If you conform to their example, rejoice, inas- 
 much as you will be certainly, plentifully, and eternally rewarded. 
 On the other hand, weep and be sorely afflicted, if, notwithstanding 
 so many and so great advantages, enamoured Avith this life you 
 feel within yourself neither relish nor inclination for the reward of 
 the saints. Not only weep, but tremble for fear, if your hardness 
 of heart makes you incurious and insensible to such affecting 
 truths. 
 
 Give me, O Lord, the necessary grace to handle worthily and 
 profitably so great a subject, and make those who hear me, being 
 penetrated with the virtue of your divine word, conceive in their 
 hearts an ardent desire, a lively hope, a holy foretaste of the good 
 things which you design tlicm. Make them, with that view, 
 disengage themselves frum creatures, think only of I'uturity, quit 
 the paths of vanity, and seek nothing but truth. Make them, like 
 
ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 317 
 
 your saints, as being hereafter to partake of your heavenly glory, 
 overthrow the ill maxims and practices of the world. 
 
 Part I. To toil and strive, oftentimes at the expense of health 
 and happiness, for a doubtfiil acquisition which it is hard to come 
 at, and perhaps in the end be unjustly disappointed is the usual fate 
 of worldly-minded persons. On the other side, to be at pains for 
 a certain reward, and to serve a master who neither can nor will 
 overlook merit is the peculiar happiness of God's elect and the 
 predestinated saints. They served a God faithful to his promise, 
 and they had a reward in view that could never fail. Tliis enabled 
 them, as St. Chrysostom observes, to undertake every thing, and 
 to undergo every thing. I suffer, says one of them, filled with 
 that heroical and superior force, which so comfortable a truth is 
 wont to insphe, it is St. Paul : "I suffer but am not confounded." 
 2 Tim. i. Far from being afflicted at, I glory in my sufferings, 
 *' Because I know whom I have believed, and am sure he is able 
 to keep that which I have deposited with him unto that day" (2 
 Tim. i.), when all shall be rewarded according to their works. 
 AVhat understands he by that which he hath deposited? The 
 store of merit which he had taken such care to lay up in heaven : 
 that is, what he had done and suffered for the Almighty, in hopes 
 of that glory with which his labours, he was fully convinced, would 
 at length be rewarded. It is the literal sense of this passage : "I 
 have fought a good fight (says he in the same epistle to Timothy), 
 I have finished my course, I have kept the faith. For the rest, 
 there is laid up for me a crown of justice, which the Lord, the just 
 judge, will render to me at that day." 2 Tim. i. Thus spoke the 
 apostle ; and thus eveiy Christian hath a right to speak after him, 
 as he owns himself that the crown of justice was not reserved for 
 him in particular, but in general and without exception, for all 
 God's servants. " Not only to me, but to them also that love his 
 coming." 2 Tim. i. 
 
 Thus we ought all of us, beloved hearers, to proceed rationally, 
 making a personal application of these words to ourselves : "I know 
 whom I have beheved ;" and this is the important mystery of 
 religion, on which should be hinged our whole conduct in life with 
 regard to God. Whether or not I shall ever be so happy as to 
 deserve the reward Avhicli God hath pi'cpared for those who love 
 him I knoAV not ; but I know that ii" I deserve it, I shall infallibly 
 obtain it : 1 know that in the degree 1 shall deserve it I shall pos- 
 
318 ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 sess it ; I know that whatever I do or suffer for righteousness sake 
 is a sacred deposit which God lays up for me, for which in his 
 goodness he is ■\vilhng to be answerable, and which it is impossible 
 should be lost in his hands. " I know whom I have beheved" — 
 that is, I am not sure of myself, but I am sure of God, in whose 
 service I labour ; I am sure of his goodness, his faithfulness, his 
 power ; and I am encouraged and animated by the security I receive 
 from these his attributes. This it was that supported the zeal of 
 those blessed spirits who now reign in heaven after sanctifying the 
 earth with their virtues. They depended on God and made sure 
 of all those things which they expected from his bountiful hand. 
 Not only they hoped in him, but they infallibly knew that hoping 
 in him they should not be confounded. 
 
 It is not in the power of the Avorldly man to hold this language 
 with regard to the world and worldly rewards. As his judgment 
 rests on the testimony he bears to his o"wn conduct, he may say on 
 the contrary, lamenting his fate : I know I have performed every 
 point of my duty •with respect to the world — but I know not 
 whether the world will make me proper amends ; I know not how 
 far it will acknoAvledge my service; I know not whether my 
 service be acceptable to it. Concerning the rewards which this 
 life affords, he may say without presumption : I am sure of myself 
 but I am not sure of those who have it in their power to distribute 
 favours ; I am not sure of meeting with their friendly disposition ; 
 I am not sure but their views may be fraught Avith iniquity. He 
 may say in a sense directly contrary to that of St. Paul, speaking 
 of the world : "I knoAV whom I have believed." 1 know, and but 
 too well, what the world is, that world to Avhich I am unfortunately 
 wedded ; that world in Avhich I obstinately confide. And for that 
 reason, having been long in its service, I am still in uncertainty, 
 because fatal experience hath taught me and convinced me, against 
 my will, that I neither could nor should have put any trust in so 
 treacherous a Avorld. Now to be destitute of certainty, to have 
 nothing to depend on, is a mortification to the worldling, a grievous 
 affliction ; and if eagerness and vivacity ever so little actuate his 
 ambition, he falls into agonies and pangs of despair. Such is the 
 first difference which I proposed to observe between the rewards 
 of God and the those of the world. But let us examine it to the 
 bottom, and come to particulars, as notliing can more powerfully 
 incline us to adore the mercies of our God, or excite in our hearts 
 
ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 319 
 
 that love and fervour, which are the necessary means of acquirmg 
 hohness. 
 
 There ai-e in the world unfruitful merits, and the reasons for it 
 are given by St. Chrysostom — because there are mei'its unknoAvn 
 to men ; because there are merits, which, though known to men, 
 are displeasing to them ; because there are merits which indeed 
 men esteem, and w^ith which they are affected, but which they 
 cannot reward for want of abihty. Three causes of the incertitude 
 of worldly rewards, which show at the same time the certainty and 
 infallibility of the reward prepared for the elect of God. 
 
 1st. Merits unknown to men, how much merit by this alone is 
 lost to the world ? how much destroyed by unfriendly offices ? how 
 much stifled and annihilated in the crowd ? To pursue this induc- 
 tion would be an endless task. No such treatment is apprehended 
 from God, Of what nature soever the merit may be, which we 
 acquire in his presence, he knows, distinguishes, and clearly discerns 
 it ; he considers it maturely ; he preserves the remembrance of it ; 
 and keeps it always in view. 
 
 By the Hving light of his divine understanding, he discovers 
 merit of every kind, whether obscm'e or shining, hidden or ap- 
 plauded. How many saints are there now in heaven, who never 
 appeared to be what they were, and whose sanctity though perfect 
 gained them no admiration while they lived upon earth ? 
 
 As the searcher of kearts, God seeks for merit to the very 
 bottom, which is the heai't. This merit of the heart unknown to 
 men, is knoAvn to him, entirely knoAvn. Hence it is, that he 
 requitest us not only for our actions and works, but for our inten- 
 tions and desires ; not only for what Ave do, suffer, or relinquish, 
 but the Avill to do, suffer, or relinquish, for his sake. Thus, 
 according to the Scripture phrase, he hears, and by the same rule 
 recompenses even the preparations of the heart : " The preparations 
 of the heart thy ear hath heard." Ps. ix. That is, he is pleased, 
 if we have the Avill to please him ; and if he is pleased he will load 
 us with favom's. What number of the predestinate had, in the 
 sight of God, the merit only of good Avill ! As he is a God of in- 
 finite penetration, whose unlimited knoAvledgc nothing can escape, 
 the most insignificant of our actions, provided it be performed with 
 a vicAV to serve him, will not be void of its price and value. A 
 cup of Avater, as himself assures us, merits special glory. The 
 AvidoAv's tAvo mites received equal praise from the mouth of our 
 
320 ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 Saviour with tlie magnificent oiferings that were made in the 
 temple. 
 
 As he is sovereignly and strictly just, for every degree of merit 
 and holiness which we acquire, he hath ordained, in proportion, 
 beatitude and glory. And it is the proportion of these degrees 
 that constitutes for the saints, as well as for the angels, the admi- 
 rable order of the heavenly hierarchies. On earth, the greatest 
 merit is not always the best rewarded. Moderate qualifications, 
 through the incapacity, or incompetency, or malignity of man, 
 oftentimes prevail ; but in heaven, merit and glory keep equal pace. 
 It is a God that regulates the one by the other ; a God incapable 
 of deceiving, incapable of being imposed upon, incapable of esteem- 
 ing aught but what is estimable, namely, piety and pious deeds. 
 
 Merit in the Avorld of every sort is effaced by time. Whatever 
 we do for the honour of God, the moment we have done it, it is 
 instantly written down in indelible characters in the book of life. 
 Men not only forget, but are willing to forget the services we do 
 them ; and God himself declares to us, that our services are locked 
 up in the treasures of his mercy. He tells us in express terms 
 " that om' sacrifices are always before his eyes" (Ps. xlix.), and 
 that our " Prayers and alms deeds ascend to heaven in his sight, 
 •and are held in remembrance." Acts. x. No, he can no more be 
 forgetful of our good works than he can be that he is our God, or 
 that we are his creatures. Do we believe all this ? If we do not 
 beheve it, we know not the master whom we pretend to serve ; or, 
 if we believe it, why all this tepidity and negligence in his service ? 
 
 2nd. Add to this, in order that you may have a better relish for 
 the happiness of the saints which I have laid down in the second place 
 as an original cause of human misfortunes, and of the uncertainty 
 attending the rewards of this life, namely — that there is known 
 merit, but displeasing to men. And tell me, Avhat is there in the 
 world more common ? How often, by such means, do we see 
 among men, unfortunate, discarded, and, if I may venture so to 
 express myself, reprobated merit, which by change of affection, or 
 clashing of interests, instead of love and benevolence, causes jea- 
 lousy and hatred ? They who take pains to act meritoriously in 
 the presence of God are not liable to this. As God hates sin, and 
 by an unalterable consequence, cannot but hate it ; so he cannot 
 but love the merit of good works, and crown it Avith glory. There 
 arc in the elect, different kinds of sanctity ; but all, says St. Chrys- 
 
ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 321 
 
 ostom, are pleasing to him, as they arc so many emanations from 
 the original sanctity, which is himself, and are his own work and 
 his o"svn gift. To have merit in the world, to have conspicuons 
 merit, Is oftentimes a bar to places and employments, originally 
 designed as the reward of merit. With God, the more merit the 
 more love. Now to be beloved of God, whose love is essentially 
 the happiness of the blessed, the predestinate, and the saints, is to 
 be already rewarded. 
 
 3rd. In fine, however just and grateful, however liberal and 
 magnificent, men may be, it is not always in their power to reward 
 deserts ; deserts, which they sincerely acknowledge, and with 
 which they are affected ; deserts, which, in number and quality, 
 exceed all the favours, though great and numerous, that are at 
 their disposal ; deserts, which, notwithstanding their esteem, are 
 inconvenient and irksome. The case is quite different with 
 Almighty God. Forasmuch as there are no bounds to his magnifi- 
 cence, which Is inseparable from his omnipotence, though our merit 
 should fructify ever so long, it is never exhausted. The more we 
 have of it, the greater treasures of grace and glory hath he to 
 bestow on us. " He Is rich," says St. Paul, " for all that invoke 
 him." Rom. x. St. Bernard goes on : " and more so for all that 
 serve him faithfully." As we may pray repeatedly, but never 
 importunately, so we cannot be troublesome by multiplying our 
 merits. 
 
 We may then rely on him ; and Avhcn we labour for him, In 
 hopes of that glory which the saints enjoy, sinners as we are, we 
 have this consolation that we say with St. Paul, " Hope bringeth 
 not shame." Rom. v. All other hope Is deceitful,' but this is not. 
 A hundred times I might justly have repented of having trusted 
 to and conceived too sanguine expectations of mankind — but I dare 
 not say, much less complain, that ever my gracious God abandoned 
 me ; and were I so ungrateful as to entertain the thought, not his 
 justice only but his very mercy would rise up against me In his 
 behalf. 
 
 I am sure of my God — an adorable principle ! whence the royal 
 prophet drew those holy and edifying conclusions on Avhich a Chris- 
 tian, especially at court, ought seriously to meditate all the days of 
 his life : " It is good to confide in the Lord, rather than In man ; 
 it is good to trust in the Lord, rather than in princes." Ps. cxvli. 
 It Avas a king that said it, and he in Avhose presence I now speak 
 
322 ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 is too religious not to give assent to so divine a testimony. I am 
 sure of my God — an affecting principle ! capable, of itself, to make 
 my life happy. My hope, so far as it relates to God, can give me 
 no dismay. It is true I may, by my ^'presumption, abuse it, and 
 make it a void, and unavailing. But as it is infallible with respect to 
 God, provided that on my side there be no deficiency, I have an 
 undoubted right to expect everything from his bountiful hand. 
 
 Are we not then inexcusable, beloved Christians, what do I say ? 
 are we not unworthy of the protection of God, if we act not openly 
 by him ; if we are afraid of doing too much for him ; if we serve 
 him in a manner unsuitable to the Deity ? Forbid it heaven, that 
 I should blame what I cannot sufficiently extol, your desire of 
 deserving the fayour of your sovereign, whom the Almighty in his 
 wisdom hath appointed to rule over us, and commanded us to obey. 
 But I could wish that your services were more holy, and more 
 conformable to the spirit of the Gospel. On him, in this world, 
 your fate and fortune depend ; and I agree that your attachment 
 to his person and service may very lawfully arise from interest in 
 conjunction vnth. duty. He is the image of God. Under God, 
 your confidence cannot be better placed. But if such be your 
 eagerness in the pursuit of rewards, the failure of which you have 
 reason to apprehend, how can you palliate the supine negligence 
 in which you slumber, concerning the reward for which you have 
 the promise and surety of a God ? What answer will you make, 
 when seated on his judgment- seat, he shall reproach you with so 
 monstrous and criminal a forgetfulness ? This, however, is your 
 crime ; which, if you bewailed not, I might justly pronounce those 
 tremendous words thundered out by the prophet : " Cursed is the 
 man who trusteth in man, and maketh flesh his arm" ( Jerem. xvii.) ; 
 and still more cursed, if, having trusted in man, he cannot persuade 
 himself to rely on God. This will better appear from the second 
 quality of the recompense which is promised to the saints. That 
 it is not only certain and infallible, but plentiful and abundant. 
 " Behold your reward is great," which I proposed for the subject 
 of the second part. 
 
 Part II. In order to make you take my meaning the more 
 clearly, give me leave to premise that by a plentiful and abundant 
 reward I mean a reward which surpasses, or at least which equals 
 the services we have performed, or endea-\^oured to perform in 
 hopes of attaining it. This is the first notion Avhich St. Jcrom 
 
ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 323 
 
 gives of it, when he applies to the blessed what our Saviour in the 
 Gospel promised to the righteous, -with a view to excite them to 
 fervour by the motive of Christian hope : " Good measure, and 
 pressed down, and shaken together and running over, shall they 
 give into your bosom." Luke vi. In fact, it is in the persons, or 
 rather in the state of the glorified saints, that this promise of our 
 Saviour is accomplished to the letter. But to consider the matter 
 in a more moral sense, and of course more suitable to the present 
 subject — I call a plentiful and abundant reward, a reward of itself 
 capable to satisfy the heart of man ; capable to fill up the vacancy 
 in his heart and the extent of his desires ; capable to make him 
 completely happy and thoroughly satisfied : and it is thus that St. 
 Ambrose understands it in his " Exposition of the Evangelical 
 Beatitudes." Now in both the one sense and the other, the Son 
 of God alone hath an absolute right to tell us what he tells us in 
 such expUcIt terms, " Lo ! your reward is very great," because he 
 alone hath the power of conferring rewards on men which have the 
 two properties I have just mentioned ; or, in other words, because 
 the reward only of God's elect can be looked upon, relatively to 
 these two properties, as plentiful and and abundant. 
 
 1 st. For is it not true (I begin by the first of these two charac- 
 teristics, and for this appeal, Avithout farther proof to your own 
 experience. Give ear to what I say, and ruminate upon it) is it 
 not true that whoever would attempt to make his way in the world 
 must submit, if he would not deceive himself, to be at great pains 
 to gain a little ? And is it not, on the contrary, evident and in- 
 contestable that by labouring for God, how little soever, we gain 
 immensely. Let this parallel be of advantage to us, an inducement 
 to relish the precepts of religion. 
 
 What do not people undergo daily for the favours of the world, 
 which that same world is privileged to dispose of at a dear rate ; 
 favours which they ardently desu'C, expect with impatience, obtain 
 with trouble, and which, when possessed, fall infinitely short of 
 the pains they cost ? How they drudge and slave to get into an 
 office by which they expect considerable advantages, but of which 
 the attainment too soon undeceives them and gives them disgust ! 
 What will they not do at the hazard of their lives, in pursuit of 
 fame, an airy phantom, of which, when enjoyed, they clearly per- 
 ceive the vanity and emptiness ? With what eagerness and emotion 
 do they aspire to the favour of the great and powerful, cringing and 
 
324 ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 glozing, and meanly sacrificing their repose and liberty, which 
 mostly but answers some paltry end ? To how many Christians 
 all over the world might I say with reason what God said hereto- 
 fore by his prophet to the Israelites, suggesting the horrid and in- 
 evitable consequences of their infidelity : " You have sowed much 
 and brought in little." That is, you have given yourselves unea- 
 siness, you have made great eflPorts, you have fawned and paid court 
 to a degree of meanness — and all this terminates in a wretched for- 
 tune that falls far short of^ and utterly defeats, your high expecta- 
 tions; because, toiling for the world, you have sow^n in a soil 
 incapable of producing a plentiful harvest. " You have sowed 
 much and brought in little." It would take up no less than a whole 
 discourse to expatiate fully upon this topic ; a topic which perhaps 
 you would understand but too well, and by the ill use which you 
 would probably turn it to, might serve as a pretext to authorize 
 your vexation at past disappointments and groundless and unjust 
 complaints of the world. I resume my comparison. 
 
 Very diflferent was the lot of the saints, the elect of God. They 
 suffered, I own, by labouring for him, and led an austere, peni- 
 tential, mortified life ; but in the midst of their austerity, penitence, 
 and mortification, they could say with the apostle : " The sufferings 
 of this time are not to be set in balance with the glory to come 
 which shall be revealed in us." Eom. viii. We suffer, it is true — 
 but besides our suffering for justice sake, which is itself no small 
 reward — besides our suffering for Almighty God, which is itself 
 an'anticipated bliss — all our sufferings bear no proportion to the 
 heavenly glory which is prepared for us, and the least degree of 
 which will make ample amends for the hardships which we endure 
 in the way of the Lord. 
 
 It is in this that the happiness of the saints consists. The Scrip- 
 ture informs us that they walked in the spirit of salutary compunc- 
 tion, and in tears sowed the precious seeds of their merits : " They 
 went, and wept, casting their seeds." Ps. cxxv. But they reflected 
 with comfort, that, returning soon triumphant and filled with joy, 
 they should gather and bring with them an abundant harvest — 
 that is, immense treasures of glory, the price of the small sacrifices 
 they made to Almighty God : " They shall return with joy, 
 bringing home their harvest." Ps. cxxv. In patience and longa- 
 nimity they possessed their souls, and founded their hopes in the 
 promise of our Saviour : " Since thou hast been fixithful over a lew 
 
ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 325 
 
 things, I will appoint thee over many : enter into the joy of thy 
 Lord." ]\Iatth. xxv. Thus the contemplation of that heavenly 
 glory which the saints enjoy should animate and inspire us. I 
 serve a God faithful to his promises, in his requitals bountiful — a 
 God that recompenses like a God ; a God that, even in this life, re- 
 pays my services a hundred fold by the consolation I feel in having 
 done my duty ; and this I mention as the second notion of a plen- 
 tiful reward. 
 
 2nd. I say then, with St. Augustin, that no other, alone, is suf- 
 ficient to satisfy the heart of man ; and I add, that this character- 
 istic was suitable only to the reward of the saints. Need so palpable 
 a truth be supported by argument ? Is it not in some measure 
 capable of impelling us, whether we will or not, to seek the king- 
 dom of God ? True it is, some are rewarded in this world beyond 
 their services and deserts, beyond their own most sanguine hopes ; 
 but are they therefore content ? Do you see any such ? have you 
 seen any such ? do you ever expect to see any such ? And if not 
 what good purpose can their rewards answer ? They wallow in 
 riches and are cloyed with honours, and it would seem as though 
 the world and every thing in it made a point of raising them and 
 completing their prosperity — but is their heart satisfied ? Do not 
 they pant after more ? Do they think themselves happy ? Even 
 in tlieu- prosperity and height of good fortune, do they in reality, 
 and not merely in appearance, enjoy felicity ? On the contrary, 
 says St. Chrysostom, is it not in those stations that happiness is 
 most rare, or rather impossible ? Are not fortunes always attended 
 with great vexations? What vast numbers, by accumulating 
 wealth, have become more and more unhappy, and have felt more 
 piercing stings of sorrow ! The world, however, failed in no 
 point to satisfy their ambition, and load them with its favours, 
 but with those favours it mixed the seeds of bitterness, which 
 are inseparable from them, and which produce plentifully heart- 
 corroding cares. The world, by making them powerful and opu- 
 lent, conferred on them every thing within its own precincts, but 
 could not bestow that plenitude of happiness without which neither 
 power nor opulence can fence off the afflictions peculiar to their 
 state. However happy they appeared to be, much was still wanting 
 to make them so eft'ectually. You will tell me that the fault must 
 be ascribed to themselves, as they were only unhappy because they 
 were insatiable. But I answer — why, notwithstanding the smiles 
 
 VOL. II. Y 
 
326 ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 of fortune, were they still insatiable, but because, as St. Chrysos- 
 tom -wisely remarks, it is an undoubted, constant, eternal truth, 
 that the favours of this world, how extraordinary soever we may 
 think them to be, are inadequate to the desires of the human heart. 
 But be that as it may, beloved Christians, I infer from thence 
 the excellence and perfection of the reward predestined to God's 
 elect. It will fill, as we learn by the rules of religion, the immen- 
 sity of our hearts ; it will satisfy the boundless extent of our de- 
 sires ; it will be a consummate beatitude, being deficient in no part, 
 n a word, insatiable as we are, Ave shall be replenished with de- 
 light, immersed in a perpetual flood of joy, and thoroughly content. 
 *' I shall be satisfied," says the man after God's own heart, " When 
 thy glory shall appear." Ps. xvi. As who should say — till then, 
 
 Lord, though the world should smile on me, I shall hunger and 
 thirst ; tired out and disgusted with my present state I shall wish 
 for another ; my heart, destitute of solid enjoyments, and full of 
 vain desires, is in trouble and agitation ; but a calm and tranquil- 
 lity, when I shall participate of your heavenly glory, will ensue. 
 
 1 shall feel no longer the thirst of avarice that burns me up, nor 
 the cruel hunger of that secret ambition which inwardly consumes 
 me. My desu-es will cease, because I shall find, in the fruition of 
 thy glory, a completion of happiness, repose, and joy. Guarded 
 against evils of every sort, and confirmed in the possession of all 
 that is good, " I shall be satisfied when thy glory shall appear." 
 
 Thus spoke the inspired king. Was it exaggemtion or the effect 
 of extatic transport ? No, Christians, his words proceeded from 
 his inward feelings and a secret impulse. Neither is it surprising 
 that, affected with the truth of the present subject, he made use of 
 so significant an expression as this : "I shall be satisfied." He 
 knew that the glory and reward of the righteous, after which he 
 sighed, was God himself; God, who said to Abraham, I am thy 
 reward exceeding great — I myself, who am thy lord and thy 
 master. Nothing beside myself could content thee, as all my 
 glory, without myself, would be insufficient to satisfy the unbounded 
 desires of thy heart. Myself was necessary to make thee happy, 
 and therefore I promise thee no other reward — I am thy reward : 
 and no more, beloved hearers, is meant by that incomprehensible 
 felicity which the saints will enjoy in the heavenly mansions. They 
 will possess God, they will be replenished with him — " They shall 
 be inebriated," says David, " -with the plenty of thy house, and 
 
ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 327 
 
 thou shalt make them think of the torrent of thy pleasure." Ps. 
 XXXV. And he immediately subjoins this convincing reason : 
 *' Because with thee is the fountain of life." Ps. xxv. This, be- 
 loved Chi'istians, will be your future lot ; this, in the^midst of the 
 miseries which oppress us in this valley of tears, is what we believe 
 and what we hope. But being rendered dim-sighted by flesh and 
 blood I doubt we comprehend it but by halves. And perhaps 
 you, to whom I address myself, may require that your faith be sup- 
 ported and strengthened on this head by a farther elucidation, that 
 will bring the thing home to each one's breast. Well, then, as a 
 minister of the word, I will endeavour in this to conform to your 
 weakness. 
 
 You vnsh me to illustrate the doctrine of faith, relatively to all 
 that I have been saying, by a particular instance. That I shall 
 readily do. All that I have been saying will not only be fulfilled 
 hereafter in heaven, but is actually fulfilled in the righteous upon 
 earth. " Behold your reward is great ;" an evident proof that the 
 elect of God will be thoroughly replenished with the possession of 
 liim is, that even in this life we see men, who through a'spirit of 
 religion bid adieu to every earthly enjoyment, and place their 
 whole happiness in the possession of their Creator. To say nothing 
 of the glorified saints in heaven, we see saints upon earth who enjoy 
 in some sort the same happiness. There are but few, I must 
 needs own, in tliis sublime degree of perfection ; but there are a 
 few, and some possibly of your acquaintance — men disengaged from 
 the world, who have quitted all for God, and find all in God ; 
 men satisfied with their God, who say with holy David : " Besides 
 thee, what do I desire upon earth." Ps. Ixxii. Or even who outgo 
 holy David, and might say, not like him, " I shall be satisfied," 
 but am actually satisfied with the foretaste you give me of your 
 heavenly bliss. Yes, there arc such examples, Avhich the Almighty 
 is pleased for our edification or confusion to set before our eyes. 
 
 This, notwithstanding the iniquity of the times, is what the grace 
 of Jesus Christ works frequently in the hearts of fervent Chris- 
 tians — Christians who live up to the precepts of the Gospel, and 
 sanctify the earth with meritorious deeds. We see no Avorldlings 
 content with the world, but the servants of God are content with 
 God. What more is requisite to awaken our zeal ? The rich man 
 is never content with his riches, but many arc content with evan- 
 gelical poverty. The ambitious man is never content with his for- 
 
328 ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 tune, but many are humble and content with humiHation. The 
 sensual man is never content with his pleasures, but many are dead 
 and crucified to the world, and thoroughly content Avitli austerities 
 and crosses. In a word, those beatitudes of our Saviour Jesus 
 Christ, however paradoxical and incredible they may seem, are 
 palpably made appear and authentically verified ; I mean there are 
 men who fijr heaven's sake, and from a vehement desire of pleasing 
 God, are happy to suffer, to weep, to possess nothing, as, notwith- 
 standing all that, they possess God ; while the world with all its 
 prosperity and false joy can neither be happy nor content. Can 
 anything be opposed to so evident a demonstration ? 
 
 To partake of the divinity and have God for reward is an advan- 
 tageous lot,' the lot only of those Avho seek him ■with candour and 
 a pure intention. Shall I say it, and may I give attestation in my 
 own case ? Sinner as I am, an unworthy sinner, my merciful God 
 by the influence of his grace hath many times soothed and " en- 
 larged my heart." Ps. ex. How often, O Lord, have I tasted with 
 delight and in great abundance those heavenly consolations of Avhich 
 you are the origin, and which are upon earth an anticipated para- 
 dise ? How often, taken up with yourself only, have I heartily 
 despised all sublunary things and deemed the world as naught ? 
 Vain, fleeting pleasures you banished from my heart, and lest it 
 should regret them, you took yourself their place. Hence the pri- 
 vation of them was more delicious than had ever been the enjoy- 
 ment or could ever have been. Now if in this place of banishment 
 and misery, where I cannot behold you but through the darksome 
 clouds of faith, you fill my heart already, how will it be in that 
 blessed country in which I shall see you face to face ? If in virtue 
 of having dedicated, by a solemn profession, myself and my labours 
 to your divine majesty when I renounced the world, I am already 
 enriched with your holy poverty, how will it be when I shall possess 
 the riches of your heavenly abodes ? If it be so very good to suffer 
 for your sake even a short time, what must it be to live and reign 
 with you for endless ages ? And what shall I be in the partici- 
 pation of your glory, since it is so honoi;rable and comfortable to 
 partake of your humiliations ? That this reward is certain, that it 
 is also plentiful hath now been shown, I sliall proceed to expatiate 
 on its eternal duration, with which I shall conclude. 
 
 Part III. To enter the lists like the champions of old, and 
 after their example to run the course which lies open to us, and to 
 
ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 329 
 
 run in such a manner as to obtain the prize, is, according to St. 
 Paul, that which we are called to and that which the saints have 
 practised before us. Now these champions, says this gi-cat apostle, 
 to be um'estrained in the race and unincumbered in the fight stripped 
 off everything ; by which we are taught to be disengaged from the 
 things of this life. "Every one that striveth for the maytery re- 
 fraineth from all things." 1 Cor. ix. The difference, continues he, 
 between them and 'us is, that they follow this practice and submit 
 to the severity of the rules prescribed them in order to obtain a 
 corruptible crown. An essential difference, that should make us 
 blush if we do not take care, and watch not every opportunity of 
 imitating their example. " And they indeed that they may receive 
 a corruptible crown, but we an incorruptible one." 1 Cor. ix. 
 This, beloved hearers, is the third and last motive which inspired 
 the saints Avith resolution and courage, and perfectly disengaged 
 them from the enjoyments of life : the immortality, the eternity, 
 the incorruptibility of the crown which Avas reserved for them in 
 heaven, compared Avith the instability, the frailty, and the short 
 duration of earthly fruitions. 
 
 And to pursue a parallel so copious, and so abounding in edi- 
 fying matter and important documents, and which the apostle hath 
 made use of to so good purpose, all earthly recompenses are fleeting 
 and perishable. As such, not only they will perish but do conti- 
 nually perish and vanish from our sight. Hoav many have you and 
 I seen perish ? Of hoAv many fortunes, raised on this foundation, 
 on these supposed recompenses, do we see at this day but the me- 
 lancholy ruins ? Hoav often, since you became spectators and Avit- 
 nesses to the revolutions of the Avorld and the gTcat scenes of life, 
 might you not have said in the language of the prophet — I have 
 seen that man of tlie world raised high like the cedars of " Leba- 
 non, and I passed by, and lo ! he Avas not ; I sought, and his place 
 Avas not found." Ps. xxxvi. Are we not furnished Avith similar 
 examples by daily experience ? Which of those distinguished 
 favourites of fortune, AA'hose exalted stations put them, to all ap- 
 pearance, beyond the reach of danger, hath the confidence to be 
 assured of permanent happiness and uninterrupted prosperity ? 
 Who dares to affirm that ho Avho is noAv in the zenith of his glory 
 is not ready to fall, and to shoAV by his fall that the Avorld hath 
 nothing in it lasting for its folloAvers, much less eternal ? Without 
 waiting for death, Avliere all must terminate, are not its smiles and 
 
330 ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 favours changed frequently, and suddenly too, into disappointment 
 and sorrow ? 
 
 Now this it would seem, beloved Christians, were sufficient of 
 itself to wean your affections from them, and prevail with you to 
 seek, steadily and efficaciously, the reward of the righteous and 
 elect of God. The instability of wealth, the difficulty of preserving 
 it, the danger and fear of losing it, the despair and affliction conse- 
 quent to the loss of it, the many vexations and inevitable miscar- 
 riages to which those are always exposed who possess it, should 
 induce the worldling to tiu-n his thoughts to a much more solid 
 and lasting happiness. 
 
 Admonitions would be needless, were people but frequently to 
 make these reflections ; nor would the divine word be absolutely 
 necessary in order to expel the poison of ambition that Avorries 
 them to death. Convinced on this head of their false maxims, and 
 ill-judged proceedings, they would receive more light from their 
 own hearts, and from a secret consciousness than it is possible for 
 me to impai-t by words. If those whom we have known to be the 
 most vehemently desirous of worldly rewards, could have foreseen 
 events, and how soon the fortunes, which they always regarded as 
 the fruit of their industry, would be ruined and dissipated ; if the 
 term of duration could have been clearly ascertained ; if by telling 
 them peremptorily, you will enjoy all this, and all this will last 
 only a few years which you have still to Kve, they could have been 
 made to see their folly and extravagance, alas ! my brethren, ^they 
 would never have beeni nfluenced by that dangerous passion, that 
 destructive temptation, the desire of preferment and advancing in 
 the world ; nay more, they could never have brought themselves 
 to do what they did, nor to take so much pains, for so very 
 little. Let us deplore their infatuation and turn it to advantage. 
 They were swayed by ambition, because they never reflected 
 seriously on the narrowness of the boundaries by which those sup- 
 posed great fortunes were cu^cumscribed ; and they made interest 
 with such assiduity for earthly acquisitions, because they were unwil- 
 ling to ponder witli attention on their short duration, but were 
 desirous of forgetting it, and used all their endeavours to put the 
 very thoughts of it out of their minds. If they had, insensible to 
 these rcAvards, considered the end and consequence of them, they 
 would not have made use of them otherwise than according to St. 
 Paul's maxim, that is, as if they made no use of them, because this 
 
ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 331 
 
 would have Incessantly run in their minds, that the world passes 
 away, and worldly rewards along with it. " The world passes 
 away, and the concupiscence thereof." 1 John ii. 
 
 Far different is the case of the righteous man, who, as the wise- 
 man says, "shall live for evermore, and his rewai'd Is with the 
 Lord" (Wisd. v.) ; an unchangable, invariable, unalterable, re- 
 ward ; a reward that will consist in the happiness of seeing, loving, 
 and possessing God eternally. As the torment of the damned will 
 be, to be deprived of God for ever, and for ever to feel the privation 
 of him, the beatitude of the saints will be, to be for ever certain 
 of not losing him, and to be united with him to all eternity. A 
 kingdom is prepared for them, an eternal kingdom, a kingdom In 
 no danger of succession or revolution. A crown is prepared for 
 them, the property of which, incommunicable to other croAvns, is 
 to be everlasting. They will reign, but their reign, like that of 
 God, will be without end. They avIII be filled with joy, an unin- 
 terrupted joy, a joy that will last while God exists. They will 
 share in his glory, a glory that will never diminish or fade, but 
 will be always fresh, will for ever continue, and the splendour of 
 which will by continuance perpetually increase. 
 
 Without insisting on that essentially beatifying glory which 
 the saints enjoy in heaven, we may perceive some rays of it in the 
 honour which Is paid to them by the church upon earth ; an honour, 
 which may be accounted, in some shape, eternal. To the end of 
 ages will the faithful celebrate In the church of God the victories 
 and triumphs of those glorious champions. To the end of ages 
 the church militant will canonize them, by publishing their merit, 
 conversion, virtue, fervour, and austerity. Their festivals were 
 instltued for that purpose ; and their great achievements for the 
 service of God are annually solemnized, that from age to age, from 
 generation to generation, they may be held In remembrance. 
 While the church of Christ shall last (and the gates of hell shall 
 not avail against her) this respect and honour -will subsist, and be 
 paid to the saints. This I call a ray of the eternity of their 
 glory, and as It were an anticipation of the eteniity of their reward. 
 The glory of worldlings, like worldlings themselves, dies away by 
 degrees : both are buried at the same time, the one In oblivion, 
 the other in the gi-avc. They may have acquired In their lifetime 
 applause and acclamations ; but " their memory" says David, 
 *' hath perished with a noise." Ps. xi. How many heroes, the 
 
332 ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 admiration heretofore of mankind, are no longer spoken of, no 
 longer thought of ! Their glory, which was temporary, vanished 
 like smoke, but that of the saints shall last for ever. Their memory 
 for endless ages shall be held in veneration : " The righteous man 
 shall be in everlasting remembrance." Ps. xi. Eternally, God, 
 your friends will be honoured, because, being your friends, by in- 
 defeasible connexion, they will everlastingly be deserving of the 
 honour we pay them, and of infinitely more than we are able to 
 pay them. " Thy friends, O God, are made exceeding honour- 
 able." Ps. cxxxvi. 
 
 A precious reAvard ! Is it possible we should hold it in sufficient 
 esteem ? If we be really Christians, ought not our hearts to teem 
 with consolation at the thoughts of that which our God hath pre- 
 pared for us in heaven ? but wo be to us, if our reward be confined 
 to this transitory life, and we be numbered among those wdio 
 "Have received their rcAvard." Matth. vi. Wo be to us, if our 
 names, instead of being written in heaven, be written in the earth ; 
 since to be written in the earth, according to the prophet, implies 
 malediction : " O Lord, all that forsake thee shall be confounded ; 
 they that depart from thee shall be written in the earth." Jerem. 
 xvii. Though we were, on the contrary, the most wretched, the 
 most debased of all mankind, if we be in God's grace and spotless 
 in his sight, let us rejoice that our names art ■wiitten in heaven : 
 and let us not forget that one of the most certain signs of it is, to 
 be tried in this life by afflictions and crosses. " Rejoice that your 
 names are written in heaven." Luke x. However we may languish 
 under the pressure and weight of pains and sufferings, let us ever 
 have recourse to the method by Avhich St. Paul was supported 
 under grievous calamities ; and let us apply to ourselves the elevated 
 sentiments with which he Avas penetrated, when he said : " Our 
 tribulation, which at present is momentary and light, worketh in 
 us above measure an exceeding and eternal weight of gloiy." 2 
 Cor. iv. That is, the sickness "with which it hath pleased God to 
 visit me, the injustice which distresses me, the ill office which is 
 done me, the persecution raised against me, the loss of my estate, 
 which the misfortune of the times hath brought upon me (for all 
 this, according to the apostle, is but light and momentaiy) will 
 produce in me an eternal weight of glory. You desire to have an 
 urgent, moving, prevalent inducement to Christian patience. But 
 was it possible to produce one, with all those qualities, in a more 
 
ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 333 
 
 eminent degree, than the eternity of glory which is the reward of 
 the elect. 
 
 Thus the blessed saints triumphed over the world ; thus Avere 
 they in the midst of multiplied conflicts, unshaken and invincible ; 
 thus, says St. Paul, they surmounted torments, fire and faggot, 
 and every thing the most terrible and cruel in death. It is this 
 that upholds them at this day, oppressed under the heavy weight 
 of trials, by which God displays their constancy and fidelity. — 
 They suffer all, says the sacred text, not only with patience but with 
 joy, because "Their hope is full of [the promised] immortality." 
 Wisd. iii. Why shudder we at the thoughts of following their 
 example ? Have we as fierce engagments to go through as they 
 had ? have we resisted like them to the shedding of our blood ? 
 Why then are we so dastardly ? How comes it that we degenerate 
 from the severe virtue of those glorious saints who are proposed to 
 us as patterns ? Why do we betray so much sloth and weakness 
 on sundry occasions, on wliich their example should inspu'e us with 
 fortitude, and make us gain victories over corrupt nature ? Because 
 we consider in a different light, from what they did, that glorious 
 immortality to which they aspired, and the hope of which en- 
 couraged and impelled them through every obstacle. 
 
 How melancholy and unfortunate doth the difference appear 
 between them and us ! Let there be no more of it, bnt let us join 
 to their example, which God proposes to us, the same reasons 
 which influenced their conduct; and let us like them gather 
 strength and holiness by lively hopes of a blissful hereafter. 
 Otherwise, Christians, in vain do we celebrate with the universal 
 Church the festivals of the saints. In vain presuming on the 
 disposition of the Almighty to grant their request, do we implore 
 then- intercession. St. Augustin tells us, that to practice what we 
 solemnize, and make the object of our reverence the rule of our 
 lives, is an epitome of religion. The prospect of glory disengaged 
 their affections from created things, and should produce in us the 
 same effect. Convinced of immortality by scriptural documents, 
 they attained to godliness ; and we, conducted by the same guide, 
 ought to walk in their footsteps. 
 
 This, O all ye predestinated saints, whose glorious memory wc 
 honour this day, wc humbly ask and beseech you to ask of the 
 Father of Mercies. AVhat wc now are, you once have been, and 
 what you now ai'c, wc hope one day to be. You have lelt our 
 
 z 
 
334 ON THE REWARD OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 wretchedness, and we pant after your blessedness. ThougK sinners, 
 we are your brethren. Though at a distance we are united with 
 you by the greatest intimacy and freest intercourse, the communion 
 of saints. Though inhabitants of the earth, yet as true believers 
 we " are not strangers and foreigners, but fellow-citizens with the 
 saints, and the domestics of God." Ephes. 11. Though distressed 
 and sorrowful in this valley of tears, yet we claim a right, as the 
 sons of God, to be your joint heirs, and "joint heirs with Jesus 
 Christ." E-om. vlli. Look down upon us as invested Avlth these 
 titles, and therefore objects not unworthy of your charity. Look 
 down upon us as those Avho are to fill up the number of the elect, 
 and in the sanctlficatlon of whom your wishes will henceforward 
 be concentrated. Lend a favourable ear to our humble petitions, 
 and present them to the Deity, who is pleased to hearken to you, 
 and whose throne you surround. Take us under your protec- 
 tion, and exert your zeal and love in our behalf. Be our patrons 
 and intercessors, as we are your imitators. Enjoy your happiness, 
 but be not forgetful of our wants and indigence. 
 
 They remember us, Christians, they remember us and think of 
 us. Their zeal for our good, according to St. Cyprian, is equal to 
 their tranquUUty in their own regard ; and as they are certain of 
 their own happiness, so are they solicitous for our salvation. Let 
 us, therefore, rely on their protection and intercession, and let us 
 be fully determined to follow their example, which otherwise would 
 be the source of our reprobation ; let us live like the saints, let us 
 labour like the saints, let us suffer like the saints, let us die like 
 the saints — if we would reign with them in heaven and partake of 
 their glory. 
 
 END OF VOL. II. 
 
 Hanc novam Editionem hujus Ojjeris Auctoritate et Approhatione 
 Ordinarii jierlegi atque recensui. Duhlinii die llndjidii,, 1794. 
 
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