it from their sacerdotal profession, and
were very deeply affected by a personal concern for the safety or
prosperity of their tutelar deities. The ministers of Polytheism, both
in Rome and in the provinces, were, for the most part, men of a noble
birth, and of an affluent fortune, who received, as an honorable
distinction, the care of a celebrated temple, or of a public sacrifice,
exhibited, very frequently at their own expense, the sacred games, and
with cold indifference performed the ancient rites, according to the
laws and fashion of their country. As they were engaged in the ordinary
occupations of life, their zeal and devotion were seldom animated by
a sense of interest, or by the habits of an ecclesiastical character.
Confined to their respective temples and cities, they remained without
any connection of discipline or government; and whilst they acknowledged
the supreme jurisdiction of the senate, of the college of pontiffs, and
of the emperor, those civil magistrates contented themselves with the
easy task of maintaining in peace and dignity the general worship of
mankind. We have already seen how various, how loose, and how uncertain
were the religious sentiments of Polytheists. They were abandoned,
almost without control, to the natural workings of a superstitious
fancy. The accidental circumstances of their life and situation
determined the object as well as the degree of their devotion; and
as long as their adoration was successively prostituted to a thousand
deities, it was scarcely possible that their hearts could be susceptible
of a very sincere or lively passion for any of them.

When Christianity appeared in the world, even these faint and imperfect
impressions had lost much of their original power. Human reason, which
by its unassisted strength is incapable of perceiving the mysteries of
faith, had already obtained an easy triumph over the folly of Paganism;
and when Tertullian or Lactantius employ their labors in exposing its
falsehood and extravagance, they are obliged to transcribe the eloquence
of Cicero or the wit of Lucian. The contagion of these sceptical
writings had been diffused far beyond the number of their readers. The
fashion of incredulity was communicated from the philosopher to the man
of pleasure or business, from the noble to the plebeian, and from the
master to the menial slave who waited at his table, and who eagerly
listened to the freedom of his conversation. On public occasions