torments himself, and shuns the world; who like an owl, delights only
in solitude, abstains from all pleasure, and seems frightened of every
object, which may divert him from his fanatical meditations. Is this
virtue? Is a being of this type, kind to himself, or useful to others?
Would not society be dissolved, and man return to a savage state, if every
one were fool enough to be a Saint?

It is evident, that the literal and rigorous practice of the divine
Morality of the Christians would prove the infallible ruin of nations. A
Christian, aiming at perfection, ought to free his mind from whatever can
divert it from heaven, his true country. Upon earth, he sees nothing but
temptations, snares, and rocks of perdition. He must fear science, as
hurtful to faith; he must avoid industry, as a means of obtaining riches,
too fatal to salvation; he must renounce offices and honours, as capable
of exciting his pride, and calling off his attention from the care of
his soul. In a word, the sublime Morality of Christ, were it practicable,
would break all the bonds of society.

A Saint in society is as useless, as a Saint in the desert; his humour is
morose, discontented, and often turbulent; his zeal sometimes obliges him
in conscience to trouble society by opinions or dreams, which his vanity
makes him consider as inspirations from on high. The annals of every
religion are full of restless Saints, intractable Saints, and seditious
Saints, who have become famous by the ravages, with which, _for the
greater glory of God_, they have desolated the universe. If Saints, who
live in retirement, are useless, those who live in the world, are often
very dangerous.

The vanity of acting, the desire of appearing illustrious and peculiar in
conduct, commonly constitute the distinguishing character of Saints. Pride
persuades them, that they are extraordinary men far above human nature,
beings much more perfect than others, favourites whom God regards with
much more complaisance than the rest of mortals. Humility, in a Saint,
is commonly only a more refined pride than that of the generality of men.
Nothing but the most ridiculous vanity can induce man to wage continual
war against his own nature.

163.

A morality, which contradicts the nature of man, is not made for man.
"But," say you, "the nature of man is depraved." In what consists this
pretended depravity? In having passions? But, are not passions essential
to man? Is he not obl