senses, your very faculties, both of body and mind, will perish and die, in this situation; go forth, then, into the open and fair domain of nature and life.” And this we may say, with equal force, to him who is pausing on the threshold of the dreary prison-house of scepticism. God made us not to know-not to know everything, for then must he have made us equal to himself-but to believe, to confide, to trust. And he who refuses to receive what is reasonable, because it is not certain, refuses obedience to that very law, under which he is created and must live.

1 COR. xiii. 12: "Now I know in part,"

From these words, I resume the subject of my morning discourse. The subject was the nature of religious belief, though it was my leading object to present some inferences from the admitted principles of this kind of belief. With regard to the nature of faith, however, I stated what is admitted on all hands, that it is not certainty; that believing is not knowing; that this kind of conviction is entirely to be distinguished from intuition and from the results of scientific demonstration. But in this account of faith, I said that its original principles are not to be confounded. They are certain. They are not matters of faith, but of knowledge. I do not believe that I exist; I know it. I do not believe in the difference between right and wrong; I know it. I do not believe that benevolence or the promotion of others' happiness is right; I know it. In all these cases, I assert a self-evident proposition; a truism, in fact. I am but saying in effect, that right is right, and wrong is wrong. But the moment I depart from these primary moral distinctions and first truths of religion, and take one step of deduction, that is a step of faith. Absolute certainty then forsakes me, and I stand upon the ground of faith. My deductions then, are not mathematical, but moral; they are not certain, but they take their place on the scale of logical probability. That is to say, they are accompanied with something more or less of doubt! and religious doubting, therefore, ought not to be made the monster that it has been, in the Christian world. It is giving an unwarrantable importance to doubt, thus to treat it. And this was the matter of my first inference. My next observation was, that every thinking man must have a system, and is bound to adopt that which is most reasonable; that the sceptic has a system as truly as the believer; and that in the balance of probabilities, the sceptic has adopted a system, which not only has its difficulties, like every other, but which has this special and insuperable difficulty—that it is fatal to the clearest principles and dearest hopes of human improvement.

III. In connexion with what I have said about the nature of faith, let me now observe, in the third place, that those who profess to know that they are right, who profess this not only in regard to the great points of conscience and of consciousness, but also in regard to the peculiarities of their creed, have as little to support them, in a just view of the subject, as those who give an undue importance to their doubts; or as those who choose a system of doubt (by definition, the weaker system), in preference to a system of faith.

I have heard men say, when comparing themselves with their reli

gious opponents, and I have remarked that it was said with great selfcomplacency, "The difference between us and others is, that they think indeed that they are right, but we know that we are right. They are confident that they hold the truth, but we are certain"—not confident, oh! by no means confident!" we are certain that we hold the truth." Now for any men to say this, is so very little to the credit of their discrimination, that it cannot be much to the credit of their correctness. It shows that so far from being entitled to presume that they have the right faith, that they do not know what any faith is-that they do not know what faith is, in the most generic sense-that they do not understand the definition of the term. Faith is not knowledge. Believing that we are right is not, in any tolerable use of the English language, knowing that we are right. For what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for? What he knoweth, why doth he speak of as a matter of faith? Demonstration is one thing; a creed is another, and an entirely different thing. It is so, by definition.

I do not object to a firm persuasion in any mind, that it is right, provided the point be one on which it is competent to decide. I do not object, now, to the use of the phrase (as a phrase of great emphasis and energy), "I know, or I feel, or I am sure," that a certain doctrine is true. But when any persons profess to use this expression of confidence literally and accurately, when they hold this their assurance, as a specific and triumphant distinction; when they claim to be superior to others on such ground, and would attempt to overawe and abash modest and thoughtful men, by such arrogant and irrational pretensions to infallibility, I think it a proper occasion for applying the language of the apostolic rebuke, and telling them that they know not what they say, nor whereof they affirm." They quite mistake the subject and subjectmatter of which they are speaking: and I have only to remind them that it is believing that they were talking about, not knowing.

The principle must be a very poor one too, that works so poorly in practice; that destroys itself, indeed, the moment it is brought to its application. If different classes of Christians will say, modestly, and no matter how solemnly, that they believe that they are right; and yet will concede so much to human frailty as to admit, that they may be wrong in some measure: then, their respective claims do not destroy each other entirely, nor destroy the common faith. But if every class will have it that it knows itself to be right, and knows everything differing from it to be wrong; what a picture of presumptuous, distracted, and self-destroying churches is presented to us! Here is the Calvinist, that knows he is right; and the Arminian knows he is right; and the Universalist knows he is right; and the Swedenborgian has his full measure of the same comfortable knowledge; and the Presbyterian and Episcopalian, and the Methodist and Baptist, are each and all possessed of the same undoubting assurance. Are all right, then, in the points on which they differ? No; that is impossible. To what, then, does this vaunted distinction of knowing, amount? To nothing at all. That cannot be a distinction which appertains to all classes-to individuals, that is to say, of all classes. To what, then, does the knowing itself amount? I answer once more, to nothing at all. For it is clear, that all this knowing cannot be knowledge. It may be confidence, and presumption, and positive assertion, but it is not knowledge.

But a man may say, It is a matter of experience, and therefore I know it." What, let me ask, is a matter of experience? Not that any theological system is true, not that any doctrine is revealed, not that any one mode of church order is divinely ordained. These are matters of inference, not of experience. "Nay, but my meaning," says the confident votary, "is, that my faith, or my mode of worship has had such an effect upon me; it has so delightfully wrought itself into my experience, that I am sure it must be the true doctrine, the true way. Heaven has thus sealed it to me in absolute certainty." If only one class could say this, it might amount to something like presumptive proof. But the truth is, that every form of faith and discipline can present just such instances. It is particularly true, that recent conversion to a religious system is apt to produce this kind of vivid experience. There is not a faith in Christendom, Catholic or Protestant, strict or liberal, but has converts ready to proclaim its efficiency. The argument proves too much, legitimately to prove anything.

This arrogance, too, is as unseemly as it is baseless. If the subject did not forbid it, yet the sense of imperfection ought to restrain a frail, fallible, erring human being from such presumption-presumption, too, which is commonly strong, in proportion as the doctrine is dark and doubtful, and the mind is readier to decide than to examine. Such indeed, was not the spirit of Newton, "child-like sage." Such was not the spirit of Socrates, who, against the all-knowing sophists of his day, was accustomed to say that he professed to know nothing-that he was only a seeker after knowledge. Such, in fine, has never been the spirit of deep study and patient thought. But assurance rises up to speak where modesty is silent; and a rash judgment, to pronounce, where patient inquiry hesitates; and ignorance, to say, "I know," where real knowledge can only say, "I believe."

Such was not the spirit of the author of the " Saints' Rest," nor of the good old English time. "I am not so foolish," says Baxter, "as to pretend my certainty to be greater than it is, merely because it is a dishonour to be less certain. My certainty that I am a man, is before my certainty that there is a God. My certainty that there is a God, is before my certainty that he requireth love and holiness of his creatures. My certainty of this is greater than my certainty of the life of rewards and punishments hereafter. My certainty of that is greater than my certainty of the endless duration of it, and the immortality of individual souls. My certainty of the Deity is greater than my certainty of the Christian faith. My certainty of the Christian faith, in its essentials, is greater than my certainty of the perfection and infallibility of the Holy Scriptures. And my certainty of that, is greater than my certainty of many particular texts, and so of the truth of many particular doctrines, and of the canonicalness of some certain books.

Let me add a word of caution, however, if it can be necessary, in closing this part of my discourse. Because I maintain that absolute certainty does not properly attach to matters of faith, let it not by any means be regarded as a fair inference, that the great points of our Christian faith are to be held as if they were doubtful matters. believer is, by definition, one whom belief, and not doubt, characterizes. And the Christian belief, I hold to be founded on such evidence, as to

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be put "beyond all reasonable doubt." This phrase-"beyond reasonable doubt"-is held, in the law, to describe the nearest approach to certainty that is compatible with the nature of moral evidence-to describe such a degree of confidence as lays a just foundation for decision and action. Such I hold to be the nature and strength of the Christian faith.

I have thus attempted to show that uncertainty or doubt, greater or less in degree, is a part of our dispensation, implied in that declaration of the Apostle, that we know only in part; that it is implied in the very nature of moral evidence; implied in faith; and therefore that it is not to be regarded as monstrous, nor to be magnified into undue importance, nor to be made a reason for rejecting the system of faith; unless, in the second place, it can lay claim to a strength and consistency, and an escape from difficulties, which will give it manifest superiority over the system of faith-a superiority which, on great points, is denied to it by its utter insufficiency to improve, exalt, strengthen, and bless human nature; and, finally, I have insisted, that, on the other hand no rational system of faith, when it goes beyond the principles of absolute conscience and consciousness, can pretend to be freed from doubt—can pretend to absolute certainty; and hence, that the confident assurance of the fanatic is, in this matter, as much out of place, as the overweening selfcomplacency of the sceptic.

IV. But after all, this, to some, may be a very unsatisfactory view of the subject. They may even think it injurious and unsafe. I must not leave the subject, therefore, without attempting, in the last place, to show the utility of that moral system and mental discipline, under which, as I contend, we are placed. That we are placed under it is, indeed, in my view, a sufficient answer to all objections. But it may still be asked, why is it so? Why is there one shadow or shade left on our path? Why, instead of showing brighter and brighter, can it not be, from the beginning, one track of brightness? Why are we not made just as sure of every moral truth, that is interesting and important to us, as we are that we behold the light of the Sun? Why, in fine, is not moral evidence, like mathematical demonstration, put beyond every possibility of doubt?

It might, indeed, be answered that the very nature of the subjects, and of the mind, makes the difference. And I believe that this is true. At any rate, it is inconceivable to us that moral deductions should, by any possibility, have been made as definite and certain as those of the most exact science. But I am not obliged to rest the answer on this apparent necessity of the case alone; and I proceed to offer, in further defence of that moral constitution of things under which our minds are trained up, the consideration of utility.

I say, then, that it is a useful system- a good system-the best system by us conceivable. If I am asked why we have not vision, instead of promise, to guide us; why we have not assurance, instead of trust; why not knowledge, instead of faith; I answer, because it is not expedient for us. Probably we could not bear vision, or it would be too much for our contentment or our attention to the objects around us; but I do not rest on a probability. I appeal to what is certain also; and that is, that assurance and knowledge would lessen the trial of virtue and of the intellect; and therefore would hinder their improvement.

To give an illustration of my meaning, and especially to show why it may not be expedient that we should have an actual vision of a future life-it is not best that children, for instance, should be introduced to an actual knowledge or experience of the circumstances, allurements, or interests of maturer life. That view of the future might too much dazzle or engross them, might distract them from the proper business of their education, and might, in many ways, bring a trial upon their young spirits, beyond their power to bear. Therefore, they look through a veil upon the full strength of human passions and interests. Human love and hate, and hope and fear, human ambition and covetousness, and splendour and beauty, they see through a glass darkly. Just as little might we be able in this childhood of our being, to have the realities of a future scene laid open to us.

Again, for an illustration of the general advantages of inquiry instead of certainty if a man were to travel around the globe, it might be far more agreeable and easy to him, to have a broad and beaten pathway, to have marked and regular stages, to be borne onward in a chariot under an experienced and safe conduct, and to have deputations from the nations he passed through, to wait upon him, and to inform him exactly of everything he wished to know. But would such a grand progress be as favourable to his character, to his mental cultivation or moral discipline, to his enterprise, and good sense, and hardihood, and energy, as it would be to thread out his way for himself; to overcome obstacles and extricate himself from difficulties; to take, in other words, the general chart of his travels, and to gain an acquaintance with men and things, by inquiry and observation, and reasoning, and experience? Such is the course ordained for the moral traveller in passing through this world. And certainly it is better for him; better that he should draw conclusions, though he make mistakes; better that he should reason upon probabilities, though he sometimes err; better that he should gain wisdom from experience, though the way be rough and sometimes overshadowed with uncertainty, than that he should always move on, upon the level, and easy, and sure path of knowledge.

Apply the same question to the ordinary course of life. A youth might always have a tutor, or a mentor to direct him. And then he would always be in the condition of one who knew what to do, of one who had no doubt. Yes, and he would always be a child. Can any one doubt that it would be more conducive to his improvement, to his courage and resolution, to his wisdom and worth, that he should be obliged to reason, to employ his powers, to be tried with conflicting views of subjects, to find out his own way, to grow wise by his own experience, and to have light break in upon his path as he needs it, or as he seeks it? But such is the actual course of life; and similar to this, is the course which the mind must take in the religious life.

Nor is this all. It appears to me that there is one further, more specific, and more important use of the trials of faith; and that is, that they urge us to the most strenuous self-purification, and fervent piety. I believe that it is an express law of the religious progress, that the advancement and strength of our faith, other things being equal, are always in proportion to the fervour and purity of our religious affections. This law results from the very nature of the subjects to which it relates. Our faith in Christianity, for instance, and in a future life, is not a