ART. I.—Essays on the Formation and the Publication of Opinions, and on other Subjects. The Second Edition, revised and enlarged. London. 1826. 12mo. pp. 320.

THIS is an able work. We are not about to review it, preferring rather to recommend it to our readers, than to undertake to give them an abstract of what is in it. The perusal of it, recommending, as it does, the utmost freedom of investigation, naturally raises an important inquiry, which we propose now to pursue.

The alleged tendency of free investigation to skepticism, one of the most common, and held to be one of the most serious objections against Unitarianism, was considered in our last Number. We propose now to inquire, what it is that constitutes the stability of the Christian's faith. What is the state of that mind, of which it may be affirmed, that it is reasonably established and settled in its religion?

In this day of free inquiry, of fluctuating opinions, and multiplying sects, this is a question of no common interest. It is quite evident, that the old idea of stability in the faith which prevailed in the Catholic Church, will not suffice for these times, will not suffice, in fact, for Protestantism at any time. We must find some other stability to support us, than that of implicit and unhesitating faith, or we must return to the bosom of the self-styled unerring Church. But this we cannot do. The fiction of human infallibility is gone from us for ever. Voluminous creeds, like unsubstantial shadows, are fast following that imposing phantom. We must now be 36

VOL. XI. N. S. VOL. VI. NO. III.

established in something stronger, deeper, more real and true; in individual convictions, the deep convictions of our own minds.

But still this does not answer the question. What are these convictions? What views are we to take of our doubts, of the freedom of inquiry, of the speculative questions upon which Christians are divided, and of the vital principles of religion, that may sustain the mind, amidst the conflicting statements, directions, exhortations, and warnings, that are rising on every side of us?

In our own apprehension this is a subject of great practical importance. It is not a change only from the Catholic to the Protestant faith, from the assumed infallibility of the one to the theoretical, we are afraid, rather than practical freedom of the other, that commends this discussion to us; but there is a still greater change in the religious bodies of our own country. There has been a time in our churches when, with regard to religious inquiry, the great question was, How shall men be aroused? With many that time has passed away, and the great question for multitudes now is, How shall they be established, strengthened, settled? Of not a few it may be said, that this is a question which very nearly touches their happiness. They are suffering deep anxieties on the question, What is truth? They do not put this question as Pilate did, amidst the multitude only. They do not put it as he did, with hasty indifference, or a momentary and more serious suspicion, for we scarcely know which state of mind to ascribe to him; but it is a question which they carry with them to their retirements, which mingles with their prayers, which travels with them in their journeys, which enters into their conversation and their very business. Or, having settled this question with tolerable satisfaction to their own minds, and having taken their stand as supporters of some particular explanation of Christianity, they are suffering from the treatment of those who differ from them; they are suffering from reproaches, from alienation, from the severed ties of friendship; they are suffering even from the virtues of others, from well-meant piety, and honest misrepresentation, and the strenuous opposition of misguided conscience.

The doubts, the fears, the anxieties indeed, naturally attendant on a state of free, Protestant inquiry, altogether constitute a state of mind, which has been perhaps too little considered

by our religious guides of all parties. Men who sit in their closets, who have opportunities for much research, and who, from their situation, exert a powerful influence on society, are scarcely able, perhaps, to estimate the effect of what they say upon others. They may send abroad words from the pulpit or the press, with such ease and carelessness, or with such dexterous aim, as if it were in sport, and these words, to the timid, the sensitive, and anxious, may be as 'fire-brands, arrows, and death.' It is easy with rash assertions, with loose statements, and unguarded allusions, to disturb and unsettle the minds of others; or with solemn protestations, and awful warnings, and tones of horror, to distress and affright them; but surely sober and thoughtful men, charged with the momentous trust of religious influence, and themselves fallible, should beware how they take hold of that mighty instrument, language, speech, which carries suffering or joy, fear or hope, peace or trouble, to unnumbered hearts. A respect for the minds of others, such as we all claim for our own, a generous and considerate regard for their improvement, freedom, and virtue, an unspeakable sympathy for their wants, for their inquiries, for their anxieties, should characterize all the messages of religion which man addresses to his fellow-men.

We wish to be governed by these considerations, while we make the attempt to say some things, designed to stablish and settle those, who are troubled, and suffering perhaps, with doubts and anxieties, whether on more or fewer points of their religious faith.

We do not apprehend them, among the mass of our congregations indeed, to be many. On the points that relate not only to religion in general, but to our own exposition of Christianity, as distinguished from that of others, we suppose that, as a body, we are well settled. But we confess, we should be sorry to believe, that we had no doubts, on any matters, great or small, of religious doctrine, that we had no inquiries to pursue, no obscurities or difficulties, in the loftiest theme of human contemplation, to be cleared up; that we had no solicitude left, more perfectly to understand the truth.. And there may not be wanting some among us, who are seriously anxious on some points, not only of great general interest, but of great importance, as they conceive, to their religious and future welfare.

1. With a view, then, at once to explain and further our purpose, let us offer it as a preliminary observation, and the first we have to make, that doubts and anxieties, so far from being designed to be removed from all points of religious inquiry, do themselves belong to a sound and healthful state of improvement and progress.

Inquiry does itself imply uncertainty about what is true. But inquiry belongs to the very condition of an imperfect creature. There is but one Being in 'the universe, who beholds truth with that perfect vision, that admits of no uncertainty. The man who has no doubts, has no thoughts that deserve the name. He may vaunt his assurance; but he could not fix upon himself a more certain mark of intellectual dulness.

Obvious and indisputable as these positions may seem to be, it is against these, we apprehend, that the tide of general feeling, in every Christian country, sets most full and strong. The reign of a church assuming to be infallible, is not yet over; and for a man to say, I doubt,' is still for him to make the most unpopular of all declarations. We know that there are discriminations to be made; but the evil is, that this feeling, of which we speak, makes very little discrimination. It is a general feeling;-the general and immediate presumption is against the doubter; and being thus, we hold it to be utterly wrong, -unfriendly to reason, unfriendly to freedom, unfriendly to progress and improvement, unfriendly to truth.

Let it not be said by way of reply, that we have an infallible Bible, so long as we are fallible interpreters of it. Let it not be said, that the church has always believed thus and thus; when it is well known, that the history of the church, to a considerable extent, is a history of now exploded errors. Let it not be alleged, that light has come into the world, when it is written also that the darkness comprehended it not, and when it may be inferred, that so far as darkness still prevails, it doth not yet comprehend it.

that more We do not Neither do

No; we are fully persuaded,' to use the language of the noble-minded pastor of the Pilgrim church, light is yet to break forth from God's word.' deny, that of many things we may be certain. we forget, that it will be admitted by intelligent men of all creeds, that there are some things about which we may law

fully doubt. But we contend for more than admissions. We contend for a principle for the principle, that honest doubts are to be treated with candor, with respect, with forbearance, that they are not to be overruled, nor beaten down, nor awed down; that they are not to be overwhelmed with obloquy, nor to be conjured out of men by looks, or tones of horror. We would resist, in short, this universal and violent presumption against doubt. It is closing up the very path by which imperfect beings must find the way to truth. It would, if unresisted, have left us all to be at this moment Papists. Nay, but for overwhelming miracles of power, it would have left us all to be at this moment Pagans. Not to inquire, is not to advance; to learn nothing, is to know nothing.

Neither is the world ever too old to improve, neither is an individual. The world was made, and human life was given for this very purpose. There is a singular idea prevailing on this subject, which shows how limited are the conceptions entertained of it, that persons advancing in life should rest in their religious belief, whatever it is. I am too old to change now,' is a sort of accredited answer to every suggestion of reasonable doubt. And this is said by a being, whose hope is to live and to improve for ever, and said by him in the very infancy of his existence, in the earliest dim twilight of the endless day before him. We use but the feeblest comparison, when we say, that this is as if a child should. say, concerning the wisdom and prudence of this life, I am too old to improve.' The truth is, that no man, no angel has lived too long to learn. Existence is given, and is to be lengthened out to future ages for this very end. From those bright and boundless paths of knowledge, we hear no such plea as this for an indolent faith; and he who uses it here, because he is forty or sixty years of age, might just as properly have used it in his cradle.

It is by such considerations, we think, (and they might be easily extended,) that men are to be relieved from the solicitude they feel, we do not say about their doubts, but about the bare fact of doubting. We are to be solicitous indeed to know the truth, but this solicitude is not to be a cause of anxiety; for the absence of it would be a more just ground for uneasiness. We are not to be established in assurance, but in something better in pursuit, inquiry, progress, in