ent, and inanimate body, like a flower
that fades away, a river that runs, a house that decays and falls to
ruin, a picture that is but a collection of colours to strike the
imagination, or a useless metal that glisters--they would perceive
Thee, and fondly ascribe to Thee the power of giving them some
pleasure, although in reality pleasure cannot proceed from inanimate
beings, which are themselves void and incapable of it, but only from
Thee alone, the true spring of all joy. If therefore Thou wert but
a lumpish, frail, and inanimate being, a mass without any virtue or
power, a shadow of a being, Thy vain fantastic nature would busy
their vanity, and be a proper object to entertain their mean and
brutish thoughts. But because Thou art too intimately within them,
and they never at home, Thou art to them an unknown God; for while
they rove and wander abroad, the intimate part of themselves is most
remote from their sight. The order and beauty Thou scatterest over
the face of Thy creatures are like a glaring light that hides Thee
from and dazzles their sore eyes. Thus the very light that should
light them strikes them blind; and the rays of the sun themselves
hinder them to see it. In fine, because Thou art too elevated and
too pure a truth to affect gross senses, men who are become like
beasts cannot conceive Thee, though man has daily convincing
instances of wisdom and virtue without the testimony of any of his
senses; for those virtues have neither sound, colour, odour, taste,
figure, nor any sensible quality. Why then, O my God, do men call
Thy existence, wisdom, and power more in question than they do those
other things most real and manifest, the truth of which they suppose
as certain, in all the serious affairs of life, and which
nevertheless, as well as Thou, escape our feeble senses? O misery!
O dismal night that surrounds the children of Adam! O monstrous
stupidity! O confusion of the whole man! Man has eyes only to see
shadows, and truth appears a phantom to him. What is nothing, is
all; and what is all, is nothing to him. What do I behold in all
Nature? God. God everywhere, and still God alone. When I think, O
Lord, that all being is in Thee, Thou exhaustest and swallowest up,
O Abyss of Truth, all my thoughts. I know not what becomes of me.
Whatever is not Thou, disappears; and scarce so much of myself
remains wherewithal to find myself again. Who sees Thee not, never
saw anything; and who is