It was the distractions with regard to the evidences of Christianity that ruined me; and at last condemned me to be a Christian.

I was first troubled, like so many in our day, about the miracles.  I could hardly bring my mind to believe them.  One day, talking with a jovial fellow whom I casually met (not of very strong mind indeed, but who made up for it by very strong passions) over the improbability of such occurrences, he exclaimed, as he mixed his third glass of brandy and water, “I only wonder how any one can be such a fool as to believe in any stuff of that sort?  Do you think that, if the miracles had been really wrought, there could have been any doubters of Christianity?” He tossed off the brandy and water with a triumphant air; and I quite forgot his argument in compassion for his bestiality.  I expostulated with him.  “You may spare your breath, Mr. Solomon,” said he.  “May this be my poison (as it will be my poison),” mixing a fourth glass, “if I need any sermons on the subject.  Hark ye,—­I am perfectly convinced that the habit I am chained to will be the destruction of health, of reputation, of my slender means,—­will reduce to beggary and starvation my wife and children,—­and yet,” drinking again, “I know I shall never leave it off.”

“Good heavens!” said I.  “Why, you seem as plainly convinced of the infatuation of your conduct as if miracle had been wrought to convince you of it.

“I am.” he said, unthinkingly; “ten thousand miracles could not make it plainer; so you may ‘spare your breath to cool your porridge,’ and preach to one who is not already in the condemned cell.”

I was exceedingly shocked; but I thought within myself,—­It appears, then, that man may act against convictions, as strong as any that a miracle could produce.  It is clear there are no limits to the perversity with which a depraved will and passions can overrule evidence, even where it is admitted by the reason to be invincible.  It does not follow, then, that a miracle (which cannot present conclusions more clear) must triumph over them.  If the passions can defy the understanding, where it coolly acknowledges they cannot pervert the evidence, how much more easily may they cajole it to suggest doubts of the evidence itself!  And what more easy than in relation to miracles?  Such a phenomenon might from novelty produce a transient impression; but that would pass away, just as the vivid feelings sometimes excited by a sudden escape from death pass away; the half-roused debauchee resumes his old career, just as if he had never looked over the brink of eternity and shuddered with horror as he gazed.  He who had seen a miracle might very soon, and probably would, if he did not like the doctrine it was to confirm, persuade himself that it was an illusion of his senses, for they have deceived him; unless, indeed, he saw a new miracle every day, and then he would be certain to get used to it.  How much more easily could the Jews do this, who both hated the doctrine of Him who taught, and, not thinking miracles impossible, could conveniently refer them to Beelzebub!