the present state of man differs from that state in which he was created. The former, observing in man some remnant traces of his former greatness, and ignorant of his corruption, have treated human nature as in a healthy state, and without need of reparation—an error which has led to the most unbounded pride. The latter, sensible of man's presents misery, and ignorant of his former dignity, have treated our nature as if it were necessarily impure and incurable, and have thus been led to despair of ever attaining the true good, and have sunk from thence to the lowest moral degradation. These two states, which ought to be taken cognizance of together, in order is ascertain the whole truth, being looked at separately, have led necessarily to one or other of these vices, either pride or immorality, in one of which, all unconverted men are infallibly plunged; since either from the power of corruption, they do not avoid irregular indulgence, or if they escape, it is only through pride; so that they are always in one way or other the slaves of the spirit of wickedness, to whom, as St. Augustine says, sacrifice is offered in many different ways.

And hence it follows, as the result of this imperfect light, that one class of men, knowing their powerlessness, and not their duty, sink down in sin; the other, knowing their duty, but not their weakness, lift themselves up with pride. One might suppose, that by uniting these two classes, a perfect system of morals might be produced; but instead of peace, nothing would result from the meeting but conflict and destruction: for, since the one aimed to establish certainty, and the other universal doubt; the one, the dignity of man, and the other his weakness, they cannot possibly be reconciled; they cannot subsist alone because of their defects; nor together, because of the contrariety of their opinions.

4. But it was needful that they should come into collision, and destroy each other, in order to give place to the truth of revelation, which alone can harmonize by a principle truly divine, such manifest con

trarieties. Uniting all that is true, and setting aside all that is false, she indicates by a wisdom evidently "from above," that point at which those opposing principles unite, which, as stated in doctrines merely human, appear perfectly incompatible with each other. And here is the reason of it. The wise men of this world have placed these contrarieties in the same subject; the one side attributing strength to human nature; the other, weakness to this same nature; which things cannot be true together. Faith, however, teaches us to regard these two qualities as residing in different subjects, all the infirmity belonging to man, and all his might to divine assistance. There is the novel and surprising union which God only could teach us,-which God only could accomplish, and which is only an image and an effect of the ineffable union of two natures in the one person of the God-man Mediator. In this way philosophy leads insensibly to theology. In fact it is difficult not to enter upon it whenever we treat of truth, because it is the centre of all truth, a fact which appears here unquestionably, because it so evidently unites in itself whatever there is of truth in these contrary opinions. Moreover, we can see no reason why either party should refuse to follow it. If they are filled with notions of human greatness, what is there in all that they have imagined, that does not yield to the gospel promises, which are a purchase worthy of the inestimable price of the death of the Son of God. And if they take delight in the infirmity of human nature, no notion of theirs can equal that of the real weakness induced by sin, of which that same death is the remedy. Each party finds in the gospel even more than it has wished; and what is wonderful, they find there the means of solid union-even they who could not of themselves approximate in an infinitely lower degree.

5. Christians in general have little need of these philosophical lectures. Yet Epictetus has an admirable talent for disturbing those who seek for repose in external things, and for compelling them to discover

that they are really slaves and miserably blind, and that it is impossible to escape the error and the distress from which they endeavor to fly, unless they give themselves up unreservedly to God. Montaigne is equally successful in confounding the pride of those, who, without the aid of faith, boast themselves of a real righteousness; in correcting those who value their own opinion, and who believe that, independently of the existence and perfections of God, they shall find in the sciences infrangible truth. He exhibits to reason so convincingly the poverty of its light, and the multitude of its errors, that it is difficult afterwards to feel even the temptation to reject the mysteries of religion, on the ground that they may be contradicted; for the spirit is so humbled, that it does not even presume to judge if mysteries are possible, a point which ordinary men debate too readily. But Epictetus, in his reprehension of indifference, leads to pride, and may be most injurious to those who are not convinced of the corruption of all righteousness, but that which is of faith. Montaigne, on the other hand, is positively evil in his influence on those whose bias is to impiety and vice. And hence these authors should be read with great care and discretion, and with peculiar regard to the condition and morals of those who look into them. It seems, however, that the union of them can only have a beneficial influence, as the evil of one corrects the evil of the other. It is true that they do not impart virtue, but they disturb men in their vices. For man finds himself assailed by contrarieties, one of which attacks his pride, and the other his carelessness, and ascertains that all his reason will not enable him either to obtain peace in the indulgence of his vices, or altogether to avoid them,

CHAPTER XXX.

ON THE CONDITION OF THE GREAT.

A MAN was thrown by a tempest on an unknown island, the inhabitants of which, were seeking their king, whom they had lost; and as he had accidentally some resemblance to him, both in face and figure, he was mistaken for him, and recognized as such by all the people. At first he knew not how to act; but he resolved, at length, to yield to his good fortune. He received, therefore, all the respect with which they honored him, and allowed himself to be treated as

their king.

But since he could not altogether forget his former condition, he thought even while he received their homage, that he was not the king whom this people sought, and that the kingdom did not really belong to him. His thoughts, consequently, were two-fold.— One by which he played the king; the other which recognized his true condition, and that chance only had placed him in this extraordinary position. He hides this last thought, whilst he discloses the other. According to the former, he deals with the people; according to the latter, he deals with himself.

Think not, that by a less extraordinary chance, you possess your wealth, than that by which this man became a king. You have not in yourself any personal or natural right, more than he; and not only does your being the son of a duke, but your being in the world at all, depend upon a variety of contingencies. Your birth depended on a marriage, or rather on all the marriages of a long line of ancestry. But on what did these marriages depend? On an accidental meețing! on a morning's conversation! on a thousand unforeseen occurrences.

You hold, say you, your riches from your forefath

ers; but was it not the result of a thousand contingencies, that your forefathers acquired or preserved them? A thousand others as clever as they, have not been able to acquire wealth, or have lost it when they had. You conceive, that by some natural channel, this wealth descended from your ancestry to you. No such thing. This order is founded solely on the will of those who made the laws, and who might have had divers good reasons for so framing them; but none of which, most assuredly, was formed in the notion of your natural right in those possessions. If they had chosen to ordain, that this wealth, after having been possessed by the father during his life, should return at his death to the public treasury, you would have had no reason to complain.

Thus then, the whole title by which you possess your property, is not a title founded in nature, but in human appointment. Another train of thought, in those who made the laws, would have made you poor; and it is only this favorable contingency, by which you are born in accordance with the whim, of law, which has put you in possession of your present wealth.

I do not mean to say that your goods are not yours legitimately, and that others are at liberty to rob you of them; for God, our great master, has given to society the right of making laws for the division of property; and when these laws are once established, it is unjust to violate them. And here is a slight distinction between you and the man of whom we have spoken, whose only right to the kingdom, was founded in an error of the people; for God would not sanction his possession, and, in fact, requires him to renounce it, whilst he authorizes yours. But the point in which the two cases completely coincide, is this, that neither your right nor his is founded in any quality or merit whatever in you, or which renders you deserving of

it. Your soul and your body are of themselves no more allied to the state of a duke, than to that of a laborer; there is no natural tie which binds you to the one condition, rather than to the other.