Is one that hangs in the balance with all sorts of opinions, whereof not
one but stirs him and none sways him. 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. In our differences with Rome he is strangely
unfixed, and a new man every new day, as his last discourse-book's
meditations transport him. He could like the gray hairs of popery, did
not some dotages there stagger him: he would come to us sooner, but our
new name affrights him. He is taken with their miracles, but doubts an
imposture; he conceives of our doctrine better, but it seems too empty
and naked. He cannot drive into his fancy the circumscription of truth
to our corner, and is as hardly persuaded to think their old legends
true. He approves well of our faith, and more of their works, and is
sometimes much affected at the zeal of Amsterdam. His conscience
interposes itself betwixt duellers, and whilst it would part both, is by
both wounded. He will sometimes propend much to us upon the reading a
good writer, and at Bellarmine [58] recalls as far back again; and the
fathers justle him from one side to another. Now Socinus [59] and
Vorstius [60] afresh torture him, and he agrees with none worse than
himself. He puts his foot into heresies tenderly, as a cat in the water,
and pulls it out again, and still something unanswered delays him; yet
he bears away some parcel of each, and you may sooner pick all religions
out of him than one. He cannot think so many wise men should be in
error, nor so many honest men out of the way, and his wonder is double
when he sees these oppose one another. He hates authority as the tyrant
of reason, and you cannot anger him worse than with a father's _dixit,_
and yet that many are not persuaded with reason, shall authorise his
doubt. In sum, his whole life is a question, and his salvation a
greater, which death only concludes, and then he is resolved.