of corruption which removed us so far from God, is still left us in our penitence, to serve as a continual exercise to virtue; to render us, by the continual occasions of combat it raises up for us, more worthy of an eternal crown; to humble our pride; to keep us in remembrance, that the duration of our present life is a time of war and danger; and, by a destiny inevitable to our nature, that there is only one step between relaxation and guilt.
It is true that the grace of Jesus Christ is given us to repress these corrupted inclinations which survive our conversion; but in a state of lukewarmness, as I have already said, grace offering us only common succours, and the grace of protection, of which we are become unworthy, being either more rare, or entirely suspended, it is evident that the passions must acquire new strength. But I say, that not only the passions are strengthened in a lukewarm and infidel life, because the grace of protection which checked them is more rare, but likewise by the state itself of relaxation and coldness: for that life being only a continued indulgence of all the passions; a simple easiness in granting, to a certain degree, every thing which flatters the appetites; a watchfulness, even of self-love, to remove whatever might repress or restrain them; and a perpetual usage of all things capable of inflaming them; — it is evident, that by these means they must daily acquire new force.
In a word, my brethren, we are not to imagine, that, in pushing our indulgence for our passions only to certain lengths permitted, we appease them, as I may say; that we allow sufficient to satisfy them, and not enough to stain our soul, or carry trouble and remorse through our conscience; or fancy that we can ever attain a certain degree of equilibration between virtue and sin, where, on the one side, our passions are satisfied by the indulgence allowed them; and, on the other, our conscience is tranquil, by the absence of guilt which we shun. For such is the plan adopted by the lukewarm soul: favourable to his indolence, because he equally banishes every thing, either in virtue or in sin, which can disturb him. To the passions he refuses whatever might trouble his conscience; and to virtue, whatever might be disagreeable to or mortify his self-love; but this state of equilibrium is a perfect chimera. The passions know no limits or bounds in guilt; how, therefore, could they possibly be restrained to those of the lukewarm soul? Even the utmost excess cannot restrain or fix them; how, then, could simple indulgences do it? The more you grant, the more you deprive yourself of the power to refuse them any thing. The true secret of appeasing, is not by favouring them to a certain degree; it is by opposing them in every thing; every indulgence only renders them more fierce and unmanageable; it is a little water thrown upon a great fire, which, far from extinguishing, increases its fury. Every thing which flatters the passions, renders them more keen, and diminishes the probability of being able to conquer them.
Now, such is the state of a lukewarm and unfaithful soul. It
