A man guiltier of credulity than
he is taken to be; for it is out of his belief of everything, that he
fully believes nothing. Each religion scares him from its contrary: none
persuades him to itself. He would be wholly a Christian, but that he is
something of an atheist, and wholly an atheist, but that he is partly a
Christian; and a perfect heretic, but that there are so many to distract
him. He finds reason in all opinions, truth in none: indeed the least
reason perplexes him, and the best will not satisfy him. He is at most a
confused and wild Christian, not specialized by any form, but capable of
all. He uses the land's religion, because it is next him, yet he sees
not why he may not take the other, but he chuses this, not as better,
but because there is not a pin to choose. He finds doubts and scruples
better than resolves them, and is always too hard for himself. His
learning is too much for his brain, and his judgment too little for his
learning, and his over-opinion of both, spoils all. Pity it was his
mischance of being a scholar; for it does only distract and irregulate
him, and the world by him. He hammers much in general upon our opinion's
uncertainty, and the possibility of erring makes him not venture on what
is true. He is troubled at this naturalness of religion to countries,
that protestantism should be born so in England and popery abroad, and
that fortune and the stars should so much share in it. He likes not this
connection with the commonweal and divinity, and fears it may be an
arch-practice of state.
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