volume, sound sense, clear statement, direct argument, in which there is but a link or two between the first premiss and the final conclusion, a knowledge of human character in its practical operations, and, above all, genuine faith, an attachment to the truth, and love to God and man, will do vastly more than metaphysical subtlety or lengthened deduction, in explaining, enforcing, and defending Divine truth.

But are metaphysics therefore to be absolutely banished from theology? I lay down no such stringent rule; the very objections of the heretic and the rationalist, and the cavils of the infidel and the scoffer, compel divines, whether they will or no, to enter the regions of metaphysics. The God who gives to all men their gifts, is to be praised because he has raised up from time to time persons of great intellectual stature, who have defended the grand essential doctrines of Christianity in learned and elaborate philosophical treatises. Philosophy should acknowledge that some of the works of which she has most cause to be proud were constructed with the avowed design of deepening the foundations or strengthening the fortresses of religion.

But in professedly theological works there should be a studious distinction drawn between the philosophy and the religion. This is needful, in order that we may satisfactorily examine both, and be able, on the one hand, to determine whether the author has laid hold of a correct metaphysical principle, and been legitimately applying it; and, on the other hand, to view the religious doctrine apart from the philosophic speculation. The caution now enforced will not forbid philosophy from attempting to aid religion, to furnish to it evidences, to confirm its doctrines, and systematize its scattered truths: but it will secure that the two be not confounded; in particular, that philosophy do not represent itself as religion but as metaphysics; that it do not claim for its speculations the authority of the Bible or of God, or advance them as an essential part of religion, or place them on the same level as the truths of the Divine Word; and, above all, that it do not make religion lean upon them, so that, if they should break down, religion would be supposed to be in danger of falling with them.

The rule laid down demands that the two be seen to be different.

Not that it should insist that they be discussed in separate treatises, or each in distinct chapters of one treatise; this might look too like that formal accuracy of demeanour and character which often conceals the worst improprieties. But it rigidly exacts that the two be distinguished in the mind of the writer, and that the discussion be conducted so that the difference cannot be lost sight of by the most careless reader; so that the philosophy may be recognized simply as philosophy, and the religion be seen to be independent of the philosophy; and so that, should the philosophy be set aside by new systems, the religion may remain entire and uninjured. Bishop Butler, I may remark, has set a noble example in this respect both in his Analogy and in his Sermons: his philosophy, whether employed in illustration or defence, is always so brought forward that it can never be confounded with the religious truth, which it is meant to aid, and never to injure. As neighbours, the two may have much pleasant and profitable communion, and many interchanges of good offices; but still, they should keep their separate domiciles; without this there will sooner or later be misunderstandings, jarring, and disputes, and in the end suspicions and cruel separations.

These restrictions, I am aware, lay the axe to the root of many a tree which those who planted it will be unwilling to see cut down; but they are necessary to the clearing of a dreadfully intertangled forest, and to allow the trees which are entitled to remain to have free breathing-space, and thus attain their full growth, and stand out in their proper form.

SECT. VII.-MAN AS A RELIGIOUS BEING.

There is a sense in which man is certainly not a religious being. He is inclined to avoid God, and to live unmindful of Him; and when constrained to look at His purity, his eyes are so dazzled that he pays Him a blinded and superstitious prostration. When left to himself, he has ever been degrading the Divine nature and character, and whether blessed or not with a supernatural revelation, he has ever been breaking the commandments of God. But there is a sense in which man is a religious being. All nations have had a religion of some kind, and the number of professed dis

believers in God is so small, that some have doubted whether there has ever been such a monster as a sincere atheist. The Psalmist seems to give the true account, when he describes the fool as saying in his heart, "There is no God." There are intuitions, processes of thought, natural observations, and deep feelings, which all tend, even when restrained and degraded, towards a conviction of the existence of a Supernatural Being, to a faith in Him, or a fear of Him, to adoration, and a sense of responsibility. Every deeper intuition of the soul goes out towards God. Created being, as we follow it down, is felt to be fixed and permanent only in uncreated being. The objects around us are felt to be so fleeting that our conviction of reality is satisfied only when we reach self-existent substance. Our conviction of substance is not content till it comes to One who has all power in Himself. Infinite time and space are felt, after all, to be only infinite emptiness, till we fill them with a living and loving Being. All the beautiful relationships in nature, all the order in respect of form, time and quantity, all the adaptations of means to end, seem but the rays scattered from an original and central wisdom. The impulse which prompts us to search after causes will not cease its cravings till it carries us up to a first cause in a self-acting substance. Earthly beauty is so evanescent that we rejoice to learn that there is a Divine beauty of which the other is but a flickering reflection. Especially do our moral convictions mount towards God as their proper sphere, their source, and their home. Our sense of obligation connects us by stronger than physical bonds with Him who is the Author of our moral nature, the Sanctioner of the moral law, and who is at last to be our Judge. I do not go so far as to say that any one of these does of itself prove the Divine existence. I do not even affirm that all of them together would enable us to construct a logical argument in behalf of the being of God. These intuitions are expected to look to certain very obvious facts pressing themselves on the attention of all; but I maintain that, being thus evoked and supported, they tend to produce certain deep feelings and impressions in the minds of all, and a most reasonable belief in God. Every one of them, like the plant, is sending down roots towards this ground, is shooting out points towards this

light. We feel that this world has no stability till we make it rest on God. In particular, we feel as to ourselves that we are in a state of dependence: as having derived our being from another; as needing a supply for our ever-craving wants; as having our destiny swayed by events arranged without consulting us; as being ever under an eye that inspects us; and as having at last to appear at a judgment-seat-and we cannot be satisfied till we learn that we hang on a Great Central Power and Light, round which we should revolve, as the earth does round the

sun.

These convictions, and the feelings growing on them, are deep down in the bosoms of all; and like waters which have descended from the heavens and penetrated into the hills, they will ever tend to burst out, and if restrained in their legitimate channels, they will find vent in others. Ever craving for something, there will be pain and uneasiness till the appropriate object is presented. But as the appetite of hunger in its eagerness may lead us to grasp at a sad mixture of food and earth, nay of food and poison when it is presented, so our natural religious faiths may often be taken in with a sad medley of truth and error, of earnest godliness and debasing superstition. Still, while they eagerly devour such, they will not be satisfied there with, but feeling restless and troubled, they will still crave for something, they know not what, and cry for a remedy to their experienced ills.

It follows from this account that these instincts and sentiments may be perverted and abused. Man is invited, not compelled, to be religious. True piety is always a holy act, to which there is the consent of the will. Man, if he is bent upon it, may become unbelieving or superstitious. As having committed sin, he will ever be prompted, like Cain, to go out from the presence of the Lord, and to strain after a forgetfulness of Him. Or, as oppressed with a secret consciousness of sin, and as unable to look on the holiness of God, he will ever be tempted to form a god to his own taste, and who may not dazzle and blind him by the brightness of his purity. The majority of mankind flit between these two states; between a stubborn forgetfulness of God and desire to be independent of Him, and a superstitious prostration before a god

or more frequently gods, fashioned by them according to the crude cravings and cherished wishes of their hearts.

But in this state of half-conscious sin there is a powerful intuition awakened, which, though to a large extent blind, and to some extent incapable of hearing, will at times cry terribly for its object. The longing may be indefinite-"an infant crying in the night" when its mother is gone, because it wants it knows not what; the want is positive, the object cried for is unknown, but there is a terrible cry for it when at any time it awakes. There will rise up a conscience of guilt, and an apprehension of an unknown danger, like the sullen roar of ocean waves evidently at hand, but not seen in a murky and stormy night; and this will be followed by an anxious, though possibly very ignorant and perplexed looking round for a way of escape. While men While men are engrossed with the cares and gratifications, with the climbings and falls of this world, these apprehensions may, to a large extent, be suppressed; still they are there deep down in the heart, and at times they will breathe out in yearnings after some help, to come they know not whence, or burst forth in dreadful cries and alarms; or if these natural outlets be closed by a cherished unbelief, it will only be to make the restrained feelings spread like a disease, and burn like an internal fire. It is this sentiment which keeps alive a sense of sin and a fear of God and of a judgment-day among all nations, and which so far prepares the Heathen to listen to the tidings of a provided Saviour. But this instinct may likewise be misled, because of its blindness, and may be directed to objects which seem fitted to gratify it, but which in the end disappoint it. It may tempt the man who is moved by it to picture God as a vindictive Being, or it may prompt to acts of laceration, supposed to be fitted to appease the Divine anger. But the anxious spirit, even after the most horrid and excruciating acts have been performed, will not be satisfied, for it will still be in doubt whether, after all, that terrible Divinity be pacified. These cravings will always make us feel that there is nothing to meet them in a deistic or rationalistic creed, and that there is nothing to give them peace in Pagan ritual and sacrifices. I believe they can be met, and gratified, and brought to peace and composure only by the