cial views, they make no distinction between the good and the bad, the fair and the deformed, and are ready to raze the whole superstructure to its foundation.

It will be asked, now, if a preference of the kind just described, for any given system of religion, is not a decisive argument against that system. In fact, it is often brought against the system which we embrace, as an unanswerable objection. It is said, that the worldly and fashionable men that are indifferent to religion, are readiest to receive it; and on the contrary, that persons the most serious and earnest in religion, feel towards it a strong repugnance. But what, let it be asked, has made them thus serious and earnest? What but a set of ideas which have taken so deep a hold on their minds, as to preclude all others; which have become so greatly endeared to them, so interesting and affecting, as of course to render them averse to progress or innovation of any kind. While those who have been less impressed with those ideas, and therefore less religious, are more accessible to new views and convictions.

But to come to the question in hand. Admit now that the preference of these last for the system, for the progress of thought in question, is a decisive objection against it, and consider what will follow. Not to urge any other reply, the simple 'inference from the principle which the objection assumes, is enough to set it aside. The principle is, that what the wordly, the indifferent in religion, (bad men, says the objection), what such prefer and admire, must necessarily be wrong. Apply this principle to common life, and it will follow that those, whom the worldly or the bad most venerate and admire, are the vicious and the unworthy. But who does not see the falsity of such a principle as this? Who does not know that this bad world, with all its bad propensities, has yet given the homage of its reverence, its gratitude, its enthusiasm, and of all its stronger and deeper sentiments, not to impiety and vice, but to worth and virtue? When did ever the character of our Saviour fail to attract the universal respect of the world? But according to the objection we are considering, this general regard would be a fatal impeachment of his greatness and purity.

Again, apply this objection to systems of opinion, to which indeed it particularly relates. We have considered in a former part of our remarks, the natural progress of thought from childhood to the maturity of reflection. Now it is certain that every mind would prefer the latter state. But if, perchance, men without religion do so, this must prove, according to the objection, that it is the worse state-that the enlightened and liberal views of mature reflection are worse than the superstitions and

crudities of childhood. Nay, this objection would stand against christianity itself, for christianity was a more liberal and inviting system than Judaism, which is represented as a yoke that men were unable to bear.

It would stand against protestantism, which imposes fewer austerities than popery. It would stand against every enlightened sect of christians, in the comparison with those which are more extravagant and fanatical; for the former require fewer singularities and outward self-denials.

Let it be admitted, and it is undoubtedly true, that the best system, the system which comes nearest to true christianity, is the one which is the most spiritually strict and pure, which involves the greatest inward self-denial, the most rigid sacrifice of all unholy passion, of all unkindness and malignity, and selfishness, which, in fine, extends most, and most scrupulously to the thoughts and intents of the heart in all the departments of duty and conscience. All this is undoubtedly true, and all this is precisely what I believe concerning the system in question. That others do not think so, that the careless and worldly do not think so, is the very evil complained of, the very danger which is feared.

I have ventured thus to speak of one class of persons, whom, it is apprehended, the progress of opinion exposes to danger; and if it has been with plainness, I trust that the case and the motive will plead my apology.

But the state of things, in which we are placed, does not exempt the most serious and conscientious from exposure. Some dangers, therefore, of general concern will now be very briefly noticed.

There is danger, then, in the progress of thought, of becoming less serious and fervent in religion. It assists the weakness of our nature to lean on forms and mystical doctrines, on the com mon consent of opinion, on venerable antiquity. Probably some of the devoutest and most earnest worshippers and believers in the world have been the most mistaken and extravagant. It is one of the excellencies of our system, and yet one of the circumstances of exposure, that it is more simple than others, that it furnishes less food for superstition and imagination, that it deals more in motives which are mild and encouraging, that it shows a greater mistrust of passion and excitement.

Besides, there is danger in mere speculation. It has a tendency to chill the heart. Even when it travels in the paths of received opinion, it has this tendency; much more, when it turns aside from them. Speculation is then too apt to grow into a passion for censure, which is unfriendly to the warm and gen

erous affections. It may even come to be a habit of contempt, which is worse still. There is danger, lest in despising intemperate zeal, we should become lukewarm. There is danger in ridiculing extravagant excitement, that we may become careless.

In the next place, we are liable in our circumstances to go too far in religion. This remark, it may be added in passing, is not more applicable to speculation, nor even so much, as to our practical views of piety.

Opinions in their progress gain an impulse that is liable, from the very nature of the case, to carry them too far. This is a danger, that results from the very imperfection of our minds. We may not know the exact bounds that separate liberty from licentiousness, belief from scepticism; and we may incautiously overstep these bounds. And we are impelled to do so by the eagerness of research, by the pride of discovery, by the natural reaction of opinions in our own minds, by the weakness of the arguments that are brought against us, and by many other

causes.

Nor is the only danger which results immediately from the progress of opinion, that of going too far; another is, that we are liable to go too fast. Not that we are liable to make too rapid a progress in pure truth, but that we may take up principles in too quick a succession, and sketch out their results too hastily, and thus embrace much error. Truths that are new to the mind, need to be slowly digested; and every progress of opinion that is rapid, is, for that very reason, hazardous. The mind is not apt to be content with its acquisitions, but is ever making excursions into the regions of discovery. It pauses not long to contemplate what is true, but quickly passes to consider what may be true. And if it does not well and cautiously arrange and digest what it has acquired, it is prone to make inferences that are rash and alarming. It is thus that some minds, on the threshold of a better system, have started back from terrific but fancied consequences, from long but imaginary vistas of speculation, from cold but visionary regions of scepticism. Their speculations have outstripped their judgment; and breathless and amazed with their hasty progress, they have turned back their steps from the threshold, have refused to examine the region before them, and proved nothing, in fine, but the infirmity of their own minds.

Finally, there is danger in the progress of thought of becoming unreasonably sceptical.

There is a feeling of insecurity necessarily attending the relinquishment of old opinions. It is not an easy thing to think much, and freely, without any bondage of fear, and yet to have the mind perfectly and substantially settled.

You will ask, perhaps, how the mind can be settled, when it is in a state of progress, and sometimes of doubt? I answer that we may be substantially settled on what is substantially and unquestionably true and important. And we may thus, and we have reason to be entirely easy and happy in the utmost freedom of inquiry.

The character of God, the office of our Saviour, the rules and the rewards of holy living, these things are certain. And it is not necessary to be disturbed and shaken, if we are in some doubt about the mode of God's existence, about the metaphysical nature of Jesus Christ, about the particular circumstances that are to attend our future state. Something it becomes our nature, our condition, our faith to receive on trust.

Now we are exposed to a needless feeling of insecurity and of hesitation, because we do not sufficiently distinguish between these two departments of opinion, the certain and the doubtful, the essential and the comparatively indifferent. We may rest with calm reliance on the great pillars of christianity, and as calmly permit ourselves to be uncertain about the intermediate spaces, and the surrounding scenery, and the exact features of the distant prospect. There is no need of doubting every thing, because we doubt some things. Nay, the very uncertainty about some points of speculation might well induce us to cling with more assurance and satisfaction to the firm pillars of our faith and hope.

The system of inquiry which we embrace, leads also to a set of opinions concerning the Bible, that are liable to produce a feeling of diffidence, not about its authority, but about its meaning. We are accustomed to think that its import has been greatly misunderstood. We enter it therefore to apply the rules of a rigid interpretation to it, and a part of the systematic and sure theology we had found in it vanishes away. When, also, the inquirer finds that not a few passages have a local and limited meaning, instead of that reference to spiritual religion, which he, in concurrence with common opinion, had attributed to them, he is apt to feel as if something of the charm was gone. And gone it surely is; and yet truth has come in its stead; and a juster way of thinking may well compensate for some gratification of the fancy or of the feelings.

These causes of diffidence and anxiety about our faith, are increased in some minds, by the weak notion, that there is more merit in believing too much than in believing too little. They, who lean on an ancient and prevalent faith, say to the more liberal inquirer, we believe as much as you do and more too; we are therefore at least as safe as you are, and perhaps more so; we have all the interest in the divine favour, from believing,

that you have, and withal something of superrogation,' as if the safety of any were in proportion to the amount of their belief, to the length of their creed-as if merit were to be measured by credulity-as if the favour of God was to be secured by paying homage to the judgment of men, or reverence for him to be expressed by the fear of inquiring into his own will. If an easy confidence, a quiet assurance of being right, were the test of truth, it were better at once to go back to the bondage of other days; it were better to join ourselves at once to the company of the most ignorant and the most bigotted.

On the whole, I trust that the remarks which have now been offered, will show that our faults as a class of christians, are owing, not to our principles, but to our circumstances. It ought to be remembered, by us for our caution, and by others for their charity, that these circumstances are a very severe trial of the character.

The moral dealings of God with the world, and the conduct of his commissioned messengers, have always recognized the danger attending this trial. Light has been opened upon the world as man was able to bear it. Witness the successive dispensations, which have been appointed for his instruction. It may well be doubted whether the mind of Abraham, with all his piety, could have borne at once the full light of christianity, true and pure as it is. And when at last it actually appeared and rose slowly upon the world, you know that it cost the most conscientious and pious Jews a severe trial to receive it. And had it not been supported by miracles, how would they have exclaimed against it, in terms like those which we hear at the present day; how would they have exclaimed against it, as rash, licentious, and impious! And yet christianity was the truth; and no more the truth for being established by miracles, though it was the more manifested to be such.

And

It is on this principle of which we are speaking-viz. that the progress of opinion is a hazardous trial of the character-that our Saviour adapted his instructions to his disciples. I have yet many things to say to you, but ye cannot bear them now.' It was not enough that any thing was true, for him to determine that it would be useful. There was needed a preparation of mind for it. Thus too the apostles treated their converts. I know not but it was on the same principle, that the church was allowed to degenerate, to fall from its simplicity and purity, into gross superstitions and a splendid ceremonial, to meet the wants of crude and uncultivated minds; to stay the deluge of ignorance and barbarism, to preserve christianity itself from destruction. The Goth and Vandal would not have bowed before New Series-vol. V.

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