Such is the grand historic duty done by doubt for truth, against tradition. But not alone in history does its salutary might appear. In that other domain of con sciousness, the world within, more real and more precious to the soul than the world without, are its reiterated and constant triumphs. We question whether history can show us any sublimer warfare than those hard contests that were fought in the brain of the one man Des cartes. To make up his mind, to attune his judgments to the concord of the universe, is each man's work; and to this end all principles are to be reviewed, all opinions, however hallowed by general and long_acceptance, are once more to become open questions. To him there is allowed no easy and tolerant acquiescence. From the dust and heat of combat he may take shelter under the shadow of no untrue creed. False and heartless is that assent which is but a refuge for weakness or cowardice of soul. My doubts, poor and meagre as they are, shall surrender to no poorer and more meagre dogmas. But, thank God, over against the dogmas of the schools stand the soul and nature, fountains, always pure and fresh, of enduring certainties.

In the normal sequence of development, as ordained by God and expressed through providence, belief is primary, doubt subsequent. In history and in consciousness, those two great witnesses of truth, the declaration. and record of this law are found: for the race in history; for self in consciousness. In history the order is, first, faith as the original and instinctive mental state; next doubt, as the corrector of error, the shrewd questioner of falsehood. Faith earliest, when the world is new and humanity is young. Then, generations later, after centuries of speculation, with their accumulated fallacies, and their mass of traditionary and random tenets, doubt a radical and iconoclastic doubt-doubt with its prudent scruples and suspicions. In consciousness, too, the order is the same: first, faith as an instinct,the strong impulse of the child,-the disposition to take on trust the doctrine of his teachers. Later, in like manner as in the historic order, comes the age of doubt, of the careful and thorough revision of opinions.

Belief, thus prior in appearance, is likewise first in

worthiness; and continually reasserts itself, until its empire is resumed. After all departures from it, to it we must unfailingly return. For it has its basis in our moral structure. There is a sentiment, perhaps I might say an implanted affection, of belief, deeply underlaying the rational persuasion, forming the sure substratum of all convictions. This sentiment is an innate prepossession, a spontaneous and controlling tendency within us to detect the outward and objective-that existence which subsists apart from our conceptions and mental images. Something more is it than what Malebranche calls "the wandering idea of being." It mounts at times to an almost overmastering passion. Under its impelling influences, we wildly pursue the actual and real, seeking the substance behind phenomena, the thing which is external to us, amidst its presentations which are internal.

So, too, in the higher region of principles and laws, found when we ascend from nature to the soul. Here we grope, still, after outward and objective being. We seek realities, and cannot rest content with mere notions and impressions ;-realities, which are not resident in us, but self-subsistent, which are absolute and not subjective. Belief, in its twofold sphere of exercise, thus hinges upon realism. It rejects, by a stringent law of its action, the theory that all truth which we perceive, whether by sense or logic, is purely relative to us. It cannot confess, with the German Metaphysic, that the postulates of mathematics and of ethics are merely notions, which, from the constitution of our minds, command our reception of them, although they are not, for that reason, true. It rather sides with Plato, and recognizes in them independent and eternal verities.

To this great, fundamental sentiment, doubt is no antagonistic force. For doubt is but reason in revolt against tradition,-reason in the attitude of combat-, reason fighting for a sure belief. It has, therefore, a worthy function, and a special fitness to an exigent need of our nature. Against a false and arrogant authority it is the trustiest of mental agencies. As the precedent condition of all beliefs, it is the first step towards a substantial certitude. It is the resolute guardian of conviction, like a watchful sentinel, keeping away intrudingand sus

VOL. XIV.

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pected opinions, and allowing to none an unquestioned passage. Esteeming the credence as something too sacred to be lightly given, it falls into no narrow and precipitate conclusions, but discriminates, in every judgment, with wary hesitancy. That belief which rests merely upon an arbitrary choice is hollow and deceptive. It is a spurious semblance of persuasion; and is powerful, only as it denies and dishonors reason. The satisfaction of a belief like this, is but a passing and poor prosperity; for close upon it there follows the retribution of a still profounder discontent, and yet more wearisome unrest. For the treachery to truth cannot go always, or long, unpunished. And the soul can be loyal to her, only by the most exacting scrutiny, by a stern and unsleeping vigilance.

But the state of doubt, needed as it is, is transitory, not ultimate. It is not final any more than a battle or a race is final. Doubt is militant, but belief triumphant. Before belief, at length, doubt must reverently bow. Persuasion, positive and steadfast, grounded solidly in truth, is the welcome end of the thinker's heroic toils. But towards this goal of spiritual agonies and efforts, there is no short nor easy road. Doubt, though by no means the universal and exclusive method in inquiry, has yet no narrow province. The whole sphere of the empirical and probable lies clearly within its scope. Descartes, that unmatched thinker and yet loyal Christian, debates not only the soundness of opinions, but the veracity of his own experience. Not even the testimonies of this honored witness, with him, shall go unquestioned. In ascetic solitude, away from men and books, he unclothes his thought of its biases and bigotries of study. He casts by all postulates, that he may take counsel of pure reason. Thus radical is the Cartesian doubt. But while thus sweeping, it is antecedent and provisory only. It is mediate, not ultimate. It is taken as an instrument, to be abandoned when its work is done.

There is, however, it must be agreed, a perverse and impious development of doubt, which not even certainties can satisfy. It is not a provisional withholding of assent, but a confirmed and inveterate suspension of the judgment. This false and monstrous doubt is the cease

less torment of some souls. They track the round of Pyrrhonism with tired feet forever, without contentment, without hope. Under the clearest verities there yet lie, to them, dark possibilities of error. A fell and insatiate distrust is the demon which everywhere follows them, with malignant suggestions of mistake. All effort after truth is, for such poor souls, a fruitless quest. The ruddiest Eschol grapes are to these but dust and ashes. Their hearts are haunted by strange and ghastly shapes. Fearful indeed it is, if for these phantoms there shall be never any exorcism!

The lapse to such a doubt, thus traitorous towards God, thus faithless towards self, is terrible with tortures. And the pursuing footsteps of this fear, sound they ever so distantly and dully, might well affright one into the sanctuary of a creed, even if that creed were a prison with grates and bars.

But this a creed-is not the true deliverance from doubt. There is no escape frorn it in that infidel and suicidal contempt of reason, which despises so good a gift from God, because he does not endow us with his own prerogatives; which shuts the eyes against all light that is not full revelation. None, certainly, is there through a blind and despairing faith, bought at the dear price of freedom. Such a faith is only another word for death.

The real rescue from this abysm of gloom and terror, is in a new and humble search. The soul must confess, in all humility, the rigorous limitations of its forces; it must acknowledge frankly the moveless barriers which circumscribe its highest energies. It must seek modestly for so much truth as it may gather in scattered morsels; not asking, at the very outset, to know the cardinal and central laws of things. It must not essay to grasp the total plan of the Supreme, nor to rend away the mysteries and glories that encircle him. It must be willing to to accept, with thanks, the smallest certainties. For if they be really certainties, this kingly quality alone redeems them from any meanness. The single sure fact or law, once ascertained, is at least one solid foothold. And better, far better, this which comes of one's own agonizing efforts, won by the patient labor of his bowed spirit, -better, even in its seeming poverty, than any shallow

and conventional belief, however proud its claim, or broad its statement. For it, at least, is fastened in indestructible assurance. The humblest verity is so much out of chaos for a Tou σt; so much that is absolute amidst the relative, steadfast amidst restless changes.

The issue out of doubt becomes, then, clear. In our lowly, but not unhoping effort, some certainties we shall surely find. In the study of the world and man, we need not fear lest our vision shall be blighted by the revenging lightnings of the uncreated One. For this is no forbidden search. We may examine, without profaneness, our souls and nature, irradiated as they are by glimmerings of the Divine presence, vocal as they are with the lingering echoes of celestial harmonies.

And clearer, higher revelations, which are hidden in them now, will be unfolded, gradually, to the mind, thus chastened in their cravings, thus persistent in its labor. To the reverent but courageous quest of the humble seeker, fresh certainties shall open daily,-certainties of rich and deep suggestion. As the heavenly cross gleamed upon the intent, upward gaze of Constantine, so to the faithful student, the tokens of an evident and overarching Deity, in time, shall be disclosed. Following these tokens, he may make the noblest conquests. Through them he may mount, finally, to the absolute,-to the entrancing vision of Him, in whom, in the sublime speech of Paul, we live, and move, and are.

God is thus the last and crowning problem in our inquiry. To catch one glimpse of Him is the uttermost attempt of human science. Ascending thus far steadily, she here halts and returns shrinkingly to earth, seeking not at all to explore his attributes, nor penetrate his essence. For here is the threshold of a presence too august for a communion with human reason. That He is, while we his creatures but become; that He endures, while we pass onward and away with this perpetual flow of things, must be the height and sum of the theology of

reason.

But that reason may attain to this one conception is her sufficient glory. It matters not although the conception be vague and dim. Under even the faintest outline, in even the most shadowy type, it is crown enough for human thought.