Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine; Apologia; Grammar of Assent

; exercise of their mature judgment. Certainly, such processes of investigation, whether in. =; yo religious subjects or secular, often issue in the reversal’

of the assents which they were originals intend. od to

‘ “c nfirn: as the boy who works out an arithmetical Bd problem from his book may end in detecting, or thinking he detects, a false print in the answer. But the

inference are compatible; and my vague consciousness 4 _ of the possibility of a reversal of my belief in the course: ¢ of my researches, as little interferes with the honesty and firmness of that belief while those researches proceed, as the recognition of the possibility of my train’s oversetting is an evidence of an intention on my part of undergoing so great a calamity. My mind is not _ moved by a scientific computation of chances, nor can e any law of averages affect my particular case. To incur

_ arisk is not to expect reverse; and if my opinions are | true, I have a right to think that they will bear exa- _ mining. Nor, on the other hand, does belief, viewed in _ its idea, imply a positive resolution in the party believing | _ never to abandon that belief. What belief, as such, be _ does imply is, not an intention never to change, but the __ utter absence of all thought, or expectation, or fear of changing. A spontaneous resolution never to change _ is inconsistent with the idea of belief; for the very force _ and absoluteness of the act of assent precludes any such | resolution. We do not commonly determine not to do _ what we cannot fancy ourselves ever doing. We should f readily indeed make such a formal promise if we were 4 called upon to do so; for, since we have the truth, and ‘ _ truth cannot change, how can we possibly change in our belief, except indeed through our own weakness _ or fickleness? We have no intention whatever of 4 being weak or fickle; so our promise is but the natural guarantee of our sincerity. It is possible then, without disloyalty to our convictions, to examine their grounds, even though in the event they are to fail under the examination, for we have no suspicion of this failure. — And such examination, as I have said, does but fulfil - a law of our nature. Our first assents, right or wrong, — are often little more than prejudices. The reasonings, | which precede and accompany them, though sufficient for their purpose, do not rise up to the importance and energy of the assents themselves. As time goes on, by degrees and without set purpose, by reflection and experience, we begin to confirm or to correct the notions and ~ the images to which those assents are given. At times it is a necessity formally to undertake a survey and revision of this or that class of them, of those which relate to religion, or to social duty, or to politics, or to the conduct of life. Sometimes this review begins in doubt as to the matters which we propose to consider, that is, — in a suspension of the assents hitherto familiar to us;_ sometimes those assents are too strong to allow of being” lost on the first stirring of the inquisitive intellect, and if, as time goes on, they give way, our change of mind, be it for good or for evil, is owing to the accumulating force of the arguments, sound or unsound, which bear — down upon the propositions which we have hitherto received. Objections, indeed, as such, have no direct force to weaken assent; but, when they multiply, they tell against the implicit reasonings or the formal inferences which are its warrant, and suspend its acts and gradually undermine its habit. Then the assent goes; but whether slowly or suddenly, noticeably or imperce nd

‘IQs tibly, is a matter of circumstance or accident. How- —— ever, whether the original assent is continued on or not, the new assent differs from the old in this, that it has the strength of explicitness and deliberation, that it is ‘not a mere prejudice, and its strength the strength of prejudice. Itis an assent, not only to a given proposition, but tothe claim of that proposition on our assent as true; it is an assent to an assent, or what is commonly called a conviction. Of course these reflex acts may be repeated in a series. As I pronounce that “ Great Britain is an island,” and then pronounce “ That ‘ Great Britain is an island’ has a claim on my assent,” or 1s to ‘‘ be assented-to,” or to be “ accepted as true,” or to be “ believed,” or simply “is true” (these predicates being equivalent), so | may proceed, “ The proposition ‘that Great-Britain-is-an- _ island is to be believed ’ is to be believed,” &c., &c., and so on to ad infinitum. But this would be trifling. The mind is like a double mirror, in which reflexions of self within self multiply themselves till they are undistin- -guishable, and the first reflexion contains all the rest. At the same time, it is worth while to notiee two other _ reflex propositions:—‘‘That ‘ Great Britain is an island’ is probable ” is truc:—and “ That ‘ Great Britain is an island’ is uncertain ” is true;—for the former of these is the expression of Opinion, and the latter of formal or theological doubt, as I have already determined.

_ I have one step farther to make—let the proposition e- | F to which the assent is given be as absolutely true as er the reflex act pronounces it to be, that is, objectively

Ff re 96 Sey aera at Pronctao 201 mee true as well as subjectively:—then the assent may be. called a perception, the conviction a certitude, the pro-— position or truth a certainty, or thing known, or a matter of knowledge, and to assent to it is to know.

Of course, in thus speaking, I open the all-important question, what is truth, and what apparent truth? what is genuine knowledge, and what is its counterfeit? what are the tests for discriminating certitude from mere persuasion or delusion? Whatever a man holds to be © true, he will say he holds for certain; and for the present I must allow him in his assumption, hoping in one way or another, as I proceed, to lessen the difficul- — ties which lie in the way of calling him to account for so doing. And I have the less scruple in taking this course, as believing that, among fairly prudent and circumspect men, there are far fewer instances of false certitude than at first sight might be supposed. Men ~ are often doubtful about propositions which are really true; they are not commonly certain of such as are — simply false. What they judge to be a certainty is in matter of fact for the most part a truth. Not that there is not a great deal of rash talking even among the educated portion of the community, and many a man makes professions of certitude, for which he has no warrant; but that such off-hand, confident language © is no token how these persons will express themselves when brought to book. No one will with justice consider himself certain of any matter, unless he has sufficient reasons for so considering; and itisrare that what is not true should be so free from every circum-_ stance and token of falsity as to create no suspicion ip

Ab fx - i 197 his mind to its disadvantage, no reason for suspense of 7 judgment. However, I shall have to remark on this difficulty by and by; here I will mention two conditions of certitude, in close connexion with that necessary preliminary of investigation and proof of which I have been speaking, which will throw some light upon it. The one, which is @ priori, or from the " _ nature of the case, will tell us what is not certitude; 3 the other, which is a& posteriori, or from experience, <

_ will tell us in a measure what certitude is. Certitude, as I have said, is the perception of a truth _ with the perception that it is a truth, or the conscious-

_ ness of knowing, as expressed in the phrase, “I know | that I know,” or “I know that I know that I know,”) _ —or simply “ I know;”’ for one reflex assertion of the - mind about self sums up the series of self-conscious-

_ nesses without the need of any actual evolution of them. 1. But if so, if by certitude about a thing is to be understood the knowledge of its truth, let it be considered that what is once true is always true, and

/ cannot fail, whereas what is once known need not always be known, and iscapable of failing. It follows, _ that if I am certain of a thing, I believe it will remain ' what I now hold it to be, even though my mind should _ have the bad fortune to let it drop. Since mere argument is not the measure of assent, no one can be: called certain of a proposition, whose mind does not spontaneously and promptly reject, on their first sug-:; gestion, as idle, as impertinent, as sophistical, any objections which are directed against its truth. No man is certain of a truth, who can endure the thought —

P ‘tos Assent onstlevite as PUeidtont.

of the fact of its contradictory existing or occurring;

ly oe a, pablae r ne. ans - and that not from any set purpose or effort to reject that thought, but, as I have said, by the spontaneous — action of the intellect. What is contradictory to the truth, with its apparatus of argument, fades out of the mind as fast as it enters it; and though it be brought back to the mind ever so often by the pertinacity of — an opponent, or by a voluntary or involuntary act of imagination, still that contradictory proposition and its arguments are mere phantoms and dreams, in the light of our certitude, and their very entering into the mind © is the first step of their going out of it. Such is the position of our minds towards the heathen fancy that Enceladus lies under Etna; or, not to take so extreme a case, that Joanna Southcote was a messenger from heaven, or the Emperor Napoleon really had a star. Equal to this peremptory assertion of negative propositions is the revolt of the mind from suppositions incompatible with positive statements of which we are certain, whether abstract truths or facts; as that a straight line is the longest possible distance between its two extreme points, that Great Britain is in shape an exact square or circle, that I shall escape esi or that my intimate friend is false to me..

We may indeed say, if we please, that a man ought not to have so supreme a conviction in a given case, or in any case whatever; and that he is therefore wrong in treating opinions wide he does not himself hold, with this even involuntary contempt;—certainly, we have a right to say so, if we will; but if, in matter of fact, a man has such a conviction, if he is sure that the Vicar of Christ, nothing is left to him, if he would ‘be consistent, but to carry his conviction out into this magisterial intolerance of any contrary assertion; and if he were in his own mind tolerant, I do not say patient (for patience and gentleness are moral duties, but I mean intellectually tolerant), of objections as objections, he would virtually be giving countenance to the views which those objections represented. I say I certainly should be very intolerant of such a notion as that [ shall one day be Emperor of the French; I should think it too absurd even to be ridiculous, and that I must be mad before I could entertain it. And did a man try to persuade me that treachery, cruelty, or ingratitude was as praiseworthy as honesty and temperance, and that a man who lived the life of a knave and died the death of a brute had nothing to fear from future retribution, I should think there was no call on

‘me to listen to his arguments, except with the hope of _ converting him, though he called me a bigot and a | ~ coward for refusing to inquire into his speculations. _ And if, in a matter in which my temporal interests were | concerned, he attempted to reconcile me to fraudulent acts by what he called philosophical views, I should say to him, “ Retro Satana,” and that, not from any suspicion of his ability to reverse immutable principles, but from a consciousness of my own moral changeable- | ness, and a fear, on that account, that I might not be | - intellectually true to the truth. This, then, from the nature of the case, is a main characteristic of certitude in any matter, to be confident indeed that that certitude eland is to the West of England, or that the Pope is © the conditions of certitude; for instance:—

| sible, and that they have now an especial “boldness of — will last, but to be confident of this also, that, if it did fail, nevertheless, the thing itself, whatever it is, of which we are certain, will remain just as it is, true and irreversible. If this be so, it is easy to instance cases — of an adherence to propositions, which does not fulfil —

(1.) How positive and circumstantial disputants may be on two sides of a question of fact, on which they © give their evidence, till they are called to swear to it, — and then how guarded and conditional their testimony — becomes! Again, how confident are they in their rival accounts of a transaction at which they were present, — till a third person makes his appearance, whose word will be decisive about it! Then they suddenly drop © their tone, and trim their statements, and by provisos and explanations leave themselves loopholes for escape, in case his testimony should turn out to their disadvantage. At first no language could be too bold or — absolute to express the distinctness of their knowledge — on this side or that; but second thoughts are best, and their giving way shows that their belief does not come up to the mark of certitude.

(2.) Again, can we doubt that many a confident expounder of Scripture, who is so sure that St. Paul meant this, and that St. John and St. James did not — mean that, would be seriously disconcerted at the presence of those Apostles, if their presence were pos- speech ”’ in treating their subject, because there is no one; authoritatively to set them right, if they are wrong? (3.) Take another instance, in which the absence of certitude is professed from the first. Though it isa matter of faith with Catholics that miracles never cease in the Church, still that this or that professed miracle really took place, is for the most part only a matter of opinion, and when it is believed, whether on testimony or tradition, it is not believed to the exclusion of all - doubt, whether about the fact or its miraculousness. Thus I may believe in the liquefaction of St. Pantaleon’s blood, and believe it to the best of my judgment to be a miracle, yet, supposing a chemist offered to produce exactly the same phenomena under exactly similar circumstances by the materials put at his command by his science, so as to reduce what seemed beyond nature within natural laws, I should watch with some suspense of mind and misgiving the course of his experiment, as having no Divine Word to fall back upon as a ground _ of certainty that the liquefaction was miraculous. (4.) Take another virtual exhibition of fear; I mean _ irritation and impatience of contradiction, vehemence of © assertion, determination to silence others,—these are _ the tokens of a mind which has not yet attained the tranquil enjoyment of certitude. No one, I suppose, _ would say that he was certain of the plurality of worlds: _ that uncertitude on the subject is just the explanation,. and the only explanation satisfactory to my mind, of the strange violence of language which has before now _ dishonoured the philosophical controversy upon it. _ Those who are certain of a fact are indolent disputants; itis enough for them that they have the truth; and they | have little disposition, except at the call of duty, to > _ criticize the hallucinations of others, and much less are:

they angry at their positiveness or ingenuity in argn-— ment; but to call names, to impute motives, to accuse of sophistry, to be impetuous and overbearing, is the part of men who are alarmed for their own position, — and fear to have it approached too nearly. And in hike manner the intemperance of language and of thought, which is sometimes found in converts toa religious creed, is often attributed, not without plausi- — bility (even though erroneously in the particular case), — to some flaw in the completeness of their certitude, which interferes with the harmony and repose of their convictions.

(5.) Again, this intellectual anxiety, which is incom- — patible with certitude, shows itselfin our running back in our minds to the arguments on which we came to believe, in not letting our conclusions alone, in going over and strengthening the evidence, and, as it were, getting it by heart, as if our highest assent were only — an inference. And such too is our unnecessarily de- — claring that we are certain, as if to reassure ourselves, — and our appealing to others for their suffrage in behalf of the truths of which we are so sure; which is like our asking another whether we are weary and hungry,; or have eaten and drunk to our satisfaction.

All laws are general; none are invariable; Iam not writing as a moralist or casuist. It must ever be recollected that these various phenomena of mind, though — signs, are not infallible signs of uncertitude; they may — proceed, in the particular case, from other circum-— stances. Such anxieties and alarms may be merely emotional and from the imagination, not intellectual;

pr arallel to that beating of the heart, nay, as I have been told, that trembling of the limbs, of even the bravest men, before a battle, when standing still to receive the first attack of the enemy. Such too is that palpitating “Ss self-interrogation, that trouble of the mind lest it 4 should not believe strongly enough, which, and not a doubt, underlies the sensitiveness described in the: well-known lines,—

“ With eyes too tremblingly awake, To bear with dimness for His sake.”

And so again, a man’s over-earnestness in argument “may arise from zeal or charity; his impatience from - loyalty to the truth; his extravagance from want of taste, from enthusiasm, or from youthful ardour; and his restless recurrence to argument, not from personal disquiet, but from a vivid appreciation of the contro- _ versial talent of an opponent, or of his own, or of the mere philosophical difficulties of the subject in dis- _ pute. These are points for the consideration of those _ who are concerned in registering and explaining what | may be called the meteorological phenomena of the human mind, and do not interfere with the broad _ principle which I would lay down, that to fear argument is to doubt the conclusion, and to be certain of a truth is to be careless of objections to it;—nor _ with the practical rule, that mere assent is not certi- - tude, and must not be confused with it.

2. Now to consider what Certitude is, not simply as it must be, but in our actual experience of it. | _ It is accompanied, as a state of mind, by a specific, feeling, proper to it, and discriminating it from other |

204 Assent considered as Unconditional, co 7 2 _ states, intellectual and moral, I do not say, as its prac- a tical test or as its differentia, but as its token, and in a certain sense its form. When aman says he is certain, he means he is conscious to himself of having this spe- | cific feeling. It is a feeling of satisfaction and self- — gratulation, of intellectual security, arising out of a sense of success, attainment, possession, finality, as — regards the matter which has been in question. Asa conscientious deed is attended by a self-approval which nothing but itself can create, so certitude is united to a sentiment sui generis in which it lives and is manifested. These two parallel sentiments indeed have no relationship with each other, the enjoyable self-repose of certitude being as foreign to a good deed, as ‘the self-approving glow of conscience is to the perception ofa truth; yet knowledge, as well as virtue, is an end, and both knowledge and virtue, when reflected on, carry with them respectively their own reward in the characteristic sentiment, which, as I have said, is proper to each. And, as the performance of what is right is distinguished by this religious peace, so the — attainment of what is true is attested by this intellec-

And, as the feeling of self-approbation, which is proper to good conduct, does not belong to the sense or to the possession of the beautiful or of the becoming, — of the pleasant or of the useful, so neither is the special relaxation and repose of mind, which is the token of © Certitude, ever found to attend upon simple Assent, on processes of Inference, or on Doubt; nor on Investiga- — tion, conjecture, opinion, as such, or on any other state or action of mind, besides Certitude. On the contrary, 5 7 _ those acts and states of mind have gratifications proper to themselves, and unlike that of Certitude, as will sufficiently appear on considering them separately. _(1.) Philosophers are fond of enlarging on the pleasures of Knowledge, (that is, Knowledge as such,) nor _ need I here prove that such pleasures exist; but the repose in self and in its object, as connected with self, which I attribute to Certitude, does not attach to mere knowing, that is, to the perception of things, but to _ the consciousness of having that knowledge. The "

_ simple and direct perception of things has its own great satisfaction; but it must recognize them as _ realities, and recognize them as known, before it becomes the perception and has the satisfaction which belong to certitude. Indeed, as far as I see, the pleasure of perceiving truth without reflecting on it as truth, is not very different, except in intensity and = in dignity, from the pleasure, as such, of assent or

_ belief given to what is not true, nay, from the pleasure. of the mere passive reception of recitals or narratives, which neither profess to be true nor claim to be believed. Representations of any kind are in their own nature pleasurable, whether they be true or not, whether they come to us, or do not come, as true. ‘3 _We read a history, or a biographical notice, with Fi _ pleasure; and we read a romance with pleasure; and = pleasure which is quite apart from the question of 3 fact or fiction. Indeed, when we would persuade young people to read history, we tell them that itis as interesting as a romance or a novel. The mere _ fi acquisition of new images, and those images striking, — relations and bearings, as being parts of a whole, with continuity, succession, evolution, with recurring complications and corresponding solutions, with a crisis and a catastrophe, is highly pleasurable, quite independently of the question whether there is any truth in them. Iam not denying that we should be baulked and disappointed to be told they were all untrue, but this seems to arise from the reflection that we have been taken in; notasif the fact of their truth were a distinct element of pleasure, though it would increase the pleasure, as investing them with a character of marvellousness, and as associating them with known or ascertained places. But even if the pleasure of knowledge is not thus founded on the imagination, at least it does not consist in that triumphant repose of the mind after a struggle, which is the characteristic of Certitude.

And so too as to such statements as gain from us a half-assent, as superstitious tales, stories of magic, of romantic crime, of ghosts, or such as we follow for the moment with a faint and languid assent,—contemporary history, political occurrences, the news of the day,—the pleasure resulting from these is that of novelty or curiosity, and is like the pleasure arising from the excitement of chance and from variety; it has in it no sense of possession: it is simply external to us, and has nothing akin to the thought of a battle and a victory. —

(2.) Again, the Pursuit of knowledge has its own pleasure,—as distinct from the pleasures of knowledge, | as it is distinct from that of consciously possessing it. This will be evident at once, if we consider what a —, vacuity and depression of mind sometimes comes upon us on the termination of an inquiry, however success- _ fully terminated, compared with the interest and spirit with which we carried it on. The pleasure of a search, - like that of a hunt, lies in the searching, and ends at the point at which the pleasure of Certitude begins. Its elements are altogether foreign to those which go to compose the serene satisfaction of Certitude. First, the successive steps of discovery, which attend on an investigation, are continual and ever-extending informations, and pleasurable, not only as such, but also as the evidence of past efforts, and the earnest of success atthe last. Next, there is the interest which attaches to a mystery, not yet removed, but tending to removal, _—the complex pleasure of wonder, expectation, sudden _ surprises, suspense, and hope, of advances fitful yet sure, to the unknown. And there is the pleasure which attaches to the toil and conflict of the strong, the consciousness and successive evidences of power, moral and intellectual, the pride of ingenuity and _ skill, of industry, patience, vigilance, and perseverance. _ Such are the pleasures of investigation and discovery; _and to these we must add, what I have suggested in the last sentence, the logical satisfaction, as it may be called, _ which accompanies these efforts of mind. There is great pleasure, as is plain, at least to certain minds, in pro- _ ceeding from particular facts to principles, in general- _ izing, discriminating, reducing into order and meaning the maze of phenomena which nature presents to us.

Amery. 3) Assent considered as | Uncon ditional.. This is the kind of pleasure sihenitaast on Fike treatment q = of probabilities which point at conclusions withoutreaching them, or of objections which must be weighed and measured, and adjusted for what they are worth, over and against propositions which are antecedently evident It is the special pleasure belonging to Inference as” contrasted with Assent, a pleasure almost poetical, as twilight has more poetry in it than noon- day. Such is the joy of the pleader, with a good case in hand, and expecting the separate attacks of half a dozen acute intellects, each advancing from a point of his own. Lf suppose this was the pleasure which the Academics had — in mind, when they propounded that happiness lay, not in finding the truth, but in seeking it. To seek, indeed, - with the certainty of not finding what we seek, cannot q in any serious matter, be pleasurable, any more than the labour of Sisyphus or the Danaides; but when the result — does not concern us very much, clever arguments ano rival ones have the attraction of a game of chance or skill, whether or not they lead to any definite conclusion. (3.) Are there pleasures of Doubt, as well as of Inference and of Assent? In one sense, there are. Not indeed, ifdoubt simply means ignorance, uncertainty, or hopeless suspense; but there is a certain grave — acquiescence in ignorance, a recognition of our im- — potence to solve momentous and urgent questions, — which has a satisfaction of its own. After high —! aspirations, after renewed endeavours, after boot-— less toil, after long wanderings, after hope, effort, weariness, failure, painfully alternating and recurring, —. it is an immense relief to the exhausted mind

‘to be able to say, At length knowthat Ican know ~ nothing about any thing”—that is, while it can mains _ tain itself in a posture of thought which has no promise _of permanence, because it is unnatural. But here the _ satisfaction does not lie in not knowing, but in knowing there is nothing to know. It is a positive act of assent or conviction, given to what in the particular case is an untruth. It is the assent and the false certitude which are the cause of the tranquillity of mind. Ignorance re- _ mains the evil which it ever was, but something of the peace of Certitude is gained in knowing the worst, and in having reconciled the mind to the endurance of it.

I may seem to have been needlessly diffuse in thus dwelling on the pleasurabie affections severally attending on these various conditions of the intellect, but I have had a purpose in doing so. That Certitude is a natural and normal state of mind, and not (as is sometimes objected) one of its extravagances or infirmities, is proved indeed by the remarks which I have made above on the same objection, as directed against Assent; for Certitude is only one of its forms. But I have thought it well in addition to suggest, even at the ex- _ pense of a digression, that as no one would refuse to Inguiry, Doubt, and Knowledge a legitimate place ‘among our mental constituents, sono onecan reasonably ignore a state of mind which not only is shown to be substantive by possessing a sentiment sui generis and characteristic, but is analogical to Inquiry, Doubt, and Knowledge, in the fact of its thus having a sentiment of its own.

§ 1. Assent AND CERTITUDE CONTRASTED.

In proceeding to compare together simple assent and complex, that is, Assent and Certitude, I begin by observing, that popularly no distinction is made between the two; or rather, that in religious teaching that is called Certitude to which I have given the name of Assent. I have no difficulty in adopting such a use of the words, though the course of my investigation has led me to another. Perhaps religious assent may be fitly called, to use a theological term, ‘ material certitude rie and the first point of comparison which I shall make between the two states of mind, will serve to set me right with the common way of speaking. ‘ ae 1. It certainly follows then, from the distinctions _ which I have made, that great numbers of men must - be considered to pass through life with neither doubt y nor, on the other hand, certitude (as I have used t th _ words) on the most important ipsa which ¢ occupy their ae nat with only a ea |, tne

Such an assent is all that religious Protestants commonly have to show, who believe nevertheless with their whole hearts the contents of Holy Scripture. _ Such too is the state of mind of multitudes of good _ Catholics, perhaps the majority, who live and die in a simple, full, firm belief in all that the Church teaches, because she teaches it,—in the belief of the irreversible truth of whaiever she defines and declares,—but who, as being far removed from Protestant and other dis- - sentients, and having but little intellectual training, have never had the temptation to doubt, and never the opportunity to be certain. There were whole nations in the middle ages thus steeped in the Catholic Faith, who never used its doctrines as matter for argument or research, or changed the original belief of their childhood into the more scientific convictions of philosophy. As _ there is a condition of mind which is characterized by invincible ignorance, so there is another which may be _ said to be possessed of invincible knowledge; and it would be paradoxical in me to deny to such a mental state the highest quality of religious faith—I mean. certitude.

Tallow this, and therefore I will call simple assent _ material certitude; or, to use a still more apposite term for it, interpretative certitude. I call it interpretative, signifying thereby that, though the assent in the individuals here contemplated is not a reflex act, still the qu estion only has to be started about the truth of the vk ey Ae i ar re = iT om, aA a oN SS arn de

_is, an assent which they barely recognize, or bring home. to their consciousness or reflect upon, as being assent.

objects of their assent, in order to elicit from them an ~ is Bo erry ce ae act of faith in response which will fulfil the conditior 18 of certitude, as I have drawn them out. As to the argumentative process necessary for such an act, it is valid; and sufficient, if it be carried out seriously, and propor- — tionate to their several ‘capacities:—“The Catholic Religion is true, because its objects, as present to my — mind, control and influence my conduct as nothing else does;” or “ because it has about it an odour of truth and — sanctity swi generis, as perceptible to my moral nature as" flowers to my sense,such as can only come from heaven;” | r “because it has never been to me any thing but peace, joy, consolation, and strength, all through my > troubled life.’ And if the particular argument used in some instances needs strengthening, then let it beobserved, that the keenness of thereal apprehension with which the assent is made, though it cannot be the legitimate basis of the assent, may still legitimately act, and strongly act, in confirmation. Such, I say, would be the promptitude and effectiveness of the reasoning, — and the facility of the change from assent to certitude proper, in the case of the mul‘itudes in question, did the occasion for reflection occur; but it does not occur; and accordingly, most genuine and thorough as is the assent, it can only be called virtual, material, or interpretative certitude, if I ames above explained certitude rightly. 7 Of course these remarks hold good in secular subjects as well as religious:—I believe, for instance, that Iam living in an island, that Julius Cesar once invaded it, that it has been conquered by successive races, “a it has had ae: ea and social saps pad.

this time it has colonies, establishments, and imperial ~ dominion all over the earth. All this I am accustomed to take for granted without a thought; but, were the need to arise, I should not find much difficulty in drawing out from my own mental resources reasons sufficient to justify me in these beliefs..

It is true indeed that, among the multitudes who are thus implicitly certain, there may be those who would _ change their assents, did they seek to place them upon an argumentative footing; for instance, some believers in Christianity, did they examine into its claims, might end in renouncing it. But this is only saying that become not genuine; and again, that there is an assent which is nota virtual certitude, and is lost in the attempt _ to make it certitude. And of course we are not gifted with that insight into the minds of individuals, which enables us to determine before the event, when it is that an assent is really such, and when not, or not a deeply _ rooted assent. Men may assent lightly, or from mere prejudice, or without understanding what it is to which they assent. They may be genuine believers in Revelation up to the time when they begin formally to examine,—nay, and really haveimplicit reasons for their _ belief,—and then, being overcome by the number of views which they have to confront, and swayed by the urgency of special objections, or biassed by their imaginations, or frightened by a deeper insight into the claims of religion upon the soul, may, in spite of their habitual and latent grounds for believing, shrink back and withdraw their assent. Or again, they may once and Certitude contrasted. 21 3 eh there are genuine assents, and assents that ultimately ©

EO ee ee eS See a ee RS BLA Care ORS om. 7 have believed, but their assent has gradually become a_ | mere profession, without their knowing it; then, when by accident they interrogate themselves, they find no — assent within them at all to turn into certitude. The — event, I say, alone determines whether what is out-— wardly an assent is really such an act of the mind as admits of being developed into certitude, or is a mere self-delusion or a cloak for unbelief.

have already said, has closer relations with real than with notional. Now a simple assent need not be — notional; but the reflex or confirmatory assent of certitude always is given to a notional proposition, viz. to the truth, necessity, duty, &c., of our assent to the simple assent and to its proposition. Its predicate is a _ general term, and cannot stand for a fact, whereas the — original proposition, included in it, may, and often does, express a fact. Thus, “ The cholera is in the midst of — us ” isa real proposition; but “‘ That ‘the choleraisin the midst of us’ is beyond all doubt” is a notional. — Now assent to a real proposition is assent to an imagi- — nation, and an imagination, as supplying objects to our emotional and moral nature, is adapted to be a prin- — ciple of action: accordingly, the simple assent to “The — cholera isamong us,” ismore emphatic and operative, than: the confirmatory assent, “‘ It is beyond reasonable doubt — that ‘the cholera is amongus.’” Theconfirmationgives — momentum to the complex act of the mind, but the — simple assent gives it itsedge. The simple assentwould — still be operative in its measure, though the reflex assent 4

Assent and Certitu ¢ contraste 1. 21

“the cholera is among us;” whereas there would be no operative force in the mental act at all, though the |

_ reflex assent was to the truth, not to the probability of the fact, if the fact which was the object of the simple assent was nothing more than “ The cholerais in China.”

- The reflex assent then, which is the characteristic of certitude, does not immediately touch us; it is purely intellectual, and, taken by itself, has scarcely more force than the recording of a conclusion.

I have taken an instance, in which the matter which is submitted for examination and for assent, can hardly fail of being interesting to the minds employed upon it; but in many cases, even though the fact assented-to has a bearing upon action, it is not directly of a nature to influence the feelings or con-

_ duct, except of particular persons. And in such instances of certitude, the previous labour of coming to a conclusion, and that repose of mind which I have above described as attendant on an assent to its truth, often counteracts whatever of lively sensation the fact thus concluded is in itself adapted to excite; so that what is gained in depth and exactness of belief is lost as regards freshness and vigour.

Hence it is that literary or scientific men, who may have investigated some difficult point of history, philosophy, or physics, and have come to their own settled conclusion about it, having had a_ perfect _ right to form one, are far more disposed to be silent as to their convictions, and to let others alone, than partisans on either side of the question, who take it was, not “ It is undeniable,” but “ Ts is probable " that up with less thoayhit and seriousness. And so again, in the religious world, no one seems to look for any — great devotion or fervour in controversialists, writers” on Christian Evidences, theologians, and the like, it being taken for granted, rightly or wrongly, that such men are too intellectual to be spiritual, and are more occupied with the truth of doctrine than with its reality. If, on the other hand, we would see what the force of simple assent can be, viewed apart from its reflex confirmation, we have but to look at — the generous and uncalculating energy of faith as exemplified in the primitive Martyrs, in the youths who defied the pagan tyrant, or the maidens who were

_ silent under his tortures. It is assent, pure and simple, —

: which is the motive cause of great achievements; it is a confidence, growing out of instincts rather than arguments, stayed upon a vivid apprehension, and animated — by a transcendent logic, more concentrated in will and in deed for the very reason that it has not been sub- — jected to any intellectual development. It must be borne in mind, that, in thus speaking, I am contrasting with each other the simple and the reflex assent, which together make up the complex act of certitude. In its complete exhibition keenness in believing is united with repose and persistence. 3. We must take the constitution of the human — mind as we find it, and not as we may judge it ought — to be;—thus I am led on to another remark, which is at first sight disadvantageous to Certitude. Introspec- — tion of our intellectual operations is not the best of — means for preserving us from intellectual hesitations a en ‘Ay te;. pie aoe

«ot re a mes - igre: See —_ caer Assent and Certitude

To meddle with the springs of thought and action is really to weaken them; and, as to that argumentation which is the preliminary to Certitude, it may indeed be unavoidable, but, as in the case of other serviceable allies, it is not so easy to discard it, after it has done its work, as it was in the first instance to obtain its assistance. Questioning, when encouraged on any subject-matter, readily becomes a habit, and leads the mind to substitute exercises of inference for assent, whether simple or complex. Reasons for assenting suggest reasons for not assenting, and what were realities to our imagination, while our assent was simple, may become little more than notions, when we have attained to certitude. Objections and difficuities be _ tell upon the mind; it may lose its elasticity, and be unable to throw them off. And thus, even as regards things which it may be absurd to doubt, we may, in consequence of some past suggestion of the possibility of error, or of some chance association to their disadvantaye, be teazed from time to time and hampered by involuntary questionings, as if we were not certain, when we are. Nay, there are those, who are visited with these even permanently, as a sort of musce wolitantes of their mental vision, ever flitting to and fro, and dimming its clearness and completeness— visitants, for which they are not responsible, and which they know to be unreal, still so seriously interfering with their comfort and even with their energy, that they may be tempted to complain that even blind prejudice has more of quiet and of durability than certitude.

As even Saints may suffer from imaginations in which have witnessed, and which prejadices him in our imagi- they have no part, so the shreds and tatters of former | controversies, and the litter of an argumentative habit, 4 may beset and obstruct the intellecty—questions which — have been solved without theirsolutions, chains of reason- _ ing with missing links, difficulties which have their roots _ in the nature of things, and which are necessarily left behind in a philosophical inquiry because they cannot be — removed, and which call for the exercise of good sense and for strength of will to put them down with a high hand, asirrationalorpreposterous. Whencecomesevil? why are we created without our consent? how can the Supreme Being have no beginning? how can He need skill, if He is omnipotent? if He is omnipotent, why does He permit suffering? 1f He permits suffering, how — is He all-loving? if He is all-loving, how can He be just? if He is infinite, what has He to do with the — finite? how can the temporary be decisive of the eter- — nal?—these, and a host of like questions, must arise in — every thoughtful mind, and, after the best use of reason, — must be deliberately put aside, as beyond reason, as (so to speak) no-thoroughfares, which, having no outlet themselves, have no legitimate power to divert us from the King’s highway, and to hinder the direct course of religious inquiry from reaching its destination. A serious obstruction, however, they will be now and then © to particular minds, enfeebling the faith which they cannot destroy,—being parallel to the uncomfortable — associations with which sometimes we regard one whom ~ we have fallen-in with, acquaintance or stranger, arising 4 from some chance word, look, or action of his which we >

Aguin, when, in confidence of our own certitude, and with a view to philosophical fairness, we have attempted successfully to throw ourselves out of our habits of belief into a simply dispassionate frame of mind, then vague antecedent improbabilities, or what seem to us as such, —merely what is strange or marvellous in certain truths, merely the fact that things happen in one way and not in another, when they must happen in some way,—may disturb us, as suggesting to us, “Is it possible? who

~ would have thought it! whata coincidence!” without really touching the deep assent of our whole intellectual being to the object, whatever it be, thus irrationally assailed. Thus we may wonder at the Divine Mercy of the Incarnation, till we grow startled at it, and ask why the earth has so special a theological history, or why we _ are Christians and others not, or how God can really exert a particular governance, since He does not punish such sinners as we are, thus seeming to doubt His power or His equity, though in truth we are not doubting atall. The occasion of this intellectual waywardness may be

_ slighter still.. I gaze on the Palatine Hill, or on the _ Parthenon, or on the Pyramids, which I have read of from a boy, or upon the matter-of-fact reality of the sacred places in the Holy Land, and I have to force my imagination to follow the guidance of sight and of reason. It is to me so strange that a lifelong belief should be changed into sight, and things should be so near me, which hitherto had been visions. And so in times, first of suspense, then of joy; ‘ When the

L ation, thongh we are angry with ourselves that fe.

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Lord turned the captivity of Sion, then” (according to

‘sense with the Apostles after our Lord’s resurrection.

Christian; and if he is to persevere to the end, his — _ certitude must include in it a principle of persistence. — the Hebrew text)‘we were like unto them that dream.” Yet it was a dream which they were certain was a truth, while they seemed to doubt it. So, too, «vas it in some

Such vague thoughts, haunting or evanescent, are in — no sense akin tothat struggle between faith and unbelief, — which made the poor father cry out, “I believe, help — Thou mine unbelief!” Nay, even what in some minds seems like an undercurrent of scepticism, or a faith — founded on a perilous substratum of doubt, need not be — more than a temptation, though robbing Certitude of its — normal peacefulness. In such a case, faith may still express the steady conviction of the intellect; it may still be the grave, deep, calm, prudent assurance of mature experience, though it is not the ready and impetuous — assent of the young, the generous, or the unreflecting.

4. ‘here is another characteristic of Certitude, incontrast with Assent, which it is important to insist — upon, and that is, its persistence. Assents may and do change; certitudes endure. This is whyreligion demands — more than an assent to its truth; it requires a certitude, or at least an assent which is convertible into certitude on demand. Without certitude in religious faith there — may be much decency of profession and of observance, — but there can be no habit of prayer, no directness of devotion, no intercourse with the unseen, no generosity of self-sacrifice. Certitude then is essential to the

This it has; as I shall explain in the next Section. —

Ir is the characteristic of certitude that its object is a truth, a truth as such, a proposition as true. There are right and wrong convictions, and certitude is a right conviction; if it is not right with a consciousness of being right, it is not certitude. Now truth cannot change; what is once truth is always truth; and the human mind is made for truth, and so rests in truth, as it cannot rest in falsehood. When then it once becomes possessed of a truth, what is to dispossess it? but this is to be certain; therefore once certitude, always certitude. If certitude in any matter be the termination of all doubt or fear about its truth, and an unconditional conscious adherence to it, it carries with it an inward assurance, strong though implicit, that it shall never fail. Indefectibility almost enters into its very idea, enters into it at least so far as this, that its failure, if of frequent occurrence, would prove that certitude was after all and in fact an impossible act, and that what looked like it was a mere extravagance of the intellect. Truth would still be truth, but the knowledge of it would be beyond us and unattainable. It is of great importance then to show, that, as a _ general rule, certitude does not fail; that failures of infallible, why is he different from his brethren? unless - indeed he is distinctly marked out for the prerogative. 4 what was taken for certitude are the exception; that the intellect, which is made for truth, can attain truth, and, having attained it, can keep it, can recognize it, — and preserve the recognition.

This is on the whole reasonable; yet are the stipulations, thus obviously necessary for an act or state of © certitude, ever fulfilled? We know what conjecture is, and wnat opinion, and what assent is, cau we point out any specific state or habit of thought, of which the distinguishing mark is unchangeableness? On the contrary, any conviction, false as well as true, may last } and any conviction, true as well as false, may be lost. A conviction in favour of a proposition may be exchanged fora couviction of its contradictory; and each of them may be attended, while they last, by that sense of security and repose, which a true object alone can legitimately impart. No line can be drawn between such real certitudes as have truth for their object, and 7 apparent certitudes. No distinct test can be named, sufficient to discriminate between what may be called the false prophet and the true. What looks like certitude always is exposed to the chance of turning out to be a mistake. If our intimate, deliberate conviction — may be counterfeit in the case of one proposition, why 7 not in the case of another? if in the case of one man, why not in the case of a hundred? Is certitude then ever possible without the attendant gift of infallibility? can we know what is right in one case, unless we are secured against error in any? Further, if one man is—

SH de fecti bi deh ty of ( ‘ertitude,: a2.; a

@ s Must not aii men be infallible iy consequence, if any oe

‘man is to be considered as certain?

The difficulty, thus stated argumentatively, has only 3 too accurate a response in what actually goes on in the world. It is a fact of daily occurrence that men change their certitudes, that is, what they consider to be such, and are as confident and well-established in their new opinions as they were once in theirold. They takeup | forms of religion only to leave them for their contradictories. They risk their fortunes and their lives on impossibleadventures. They committhemselves by word and deed, in reputation and position, to schemes which in the event they bitterly repent of and renounce; they set out in youth with intemperate confidence in prospects which fail them, and in friends who betray them, ere they come to middle age; and they end their days in _ eynical disbelief of truth and virtue any where;—and often, the more absurd are their means and their ends, so - much the longer do they cling to them, and then again _ so much the more passionate is their eventual disgust and contempt of them. How then can certitude be _ theirs, how is certitude possible at all, considering it is so often misplaced, so often fickle and inconsistent, so deficient in available criteria? And, as to the feeling of | finality and security, ought it ever to be indulged? Is it not a mere weakness or extravagance, a deceit, to be _ eschewed by every clear and prudentmind? With the - countless instances, on all sides of us, of human fallidility, with the constant exhibitions of antagonist | -_ certitudes, who can so sin against modesty and sobriety of mind, as not to be content with th probebilians

| viii sei ee aad _ fase — ee = — ‘ as the true guide of life, venous te: ambitiou: thoughts, which ave sure either to delude him, or to disappoint?? This is what may be objected: now let us see what can be said in answer, particularly as'regards religious - — certitude,: pion First, as to fallibility and infallibility. It is very: common, doubtless, especially in religious controversy, — to confuse infallibility with certitude, and to argue that, — since we have not the one, we have not the other, for that no one can claim to be certain on any point, who is not — infallible about all; but the two words stand for things | quite distinct from each other. Forexample, 1 remem- — ber for certain what I did yesterday, but still my memory is not infallible; I am quite clear that two and two make four, but I often make mistakes in long addition — sums. I have no doubt whatever that John or Richard is my true friend, but I have before now trusted those who failed me, and I may do so again before Idie. A certitude is directed to this orthat particular proposition; it is not a faculty or gift, buta disposition of mind relatively to a definite case which is before me. Infallibility, on the contrary, is just that which certitude is not; it is a faculty or gift, and relates, not to some one truth © in particular, but to ali possible propositions in a given — subject-matter. We ought in strict propriety, to speak, not of infallible acts, but of acts of infallibility. A belief — or opinion as little admits of being called infallible, as a deed can correctly be called immortal. A deed is done and over; it may be great, momentous, effective, ¢ ny-

Inde fectibility of Cer thing but immortal; it is its fame, it is the work which. _ it brings to pass, which is immortal, not the deed itself. _ And as a deed is good or bad, but never immortal, so a belief, opinion, or certitude is true or false, but never infallible. We cannot speak of things which exist or things which once were, as if they were something in posse. It is persons and rules that are infallible, not what is brought out into act, or committed to paper. A man is infallible, whose words are always true; a rule is infallible, if it is unerring in all its possible applications. An infallible authority is certain in every particular case that may arise; but a man who is _ certain in some one definite case, is not on that account infallible. Iam quite certain that Victoria is our Sovereign, and not her father, the late Duke of Kent, without laying any claim to the gift of infallibility; as I may

_ do a virtuous action, without being impeccable. I _ may be certain that the Church is infallible, while I am myself a fallible mortal; otherwise, I cannot be certain that the Supreme Being is infallible, until I am infallible myself. Itis a strange objection, then, _ which is sometimes urged against Catholics, that they eannot prove and assent to the Church’s infallibility, unless they first believe in their own. Certitude, as I have said, is directed to one or other definite concrete proposition. I am certain of proposition one, two, _ three, four, or five, one by one, each by itself. I may _ be certain of one of them, without being certain of the rest; that 1am certain of the first makes it neither likely nor unlikely that I am certain of the second;

> ia F - a Ee eee eee, ee de alle but were I infallible, then I should be certain, not only of one of them, but of all, and of many more besides,; which have never come before me as yet. Therefore — we may be certain of the infallibity of the Church, while | we admit that in many things we are not, and cannot be, certain at all. It is wonderful that a clear-headed man, like Chillingworth, sees this as little as the run of every- — day objectors to the Catholic religion; for in his celebrated “ Religion of Protestants” he writes as —

follows:—* You tell me they cannot be saved, unless — they believe in your proposals with an infallible faith. — To which end they must believe also your propounder, the Church, to be simply infallible. Now how is it possible for them to give a rational assent to the Church’s infallibility, unless they have some — infallible means to know that she is infallible? — Neither can they infallibly know the infallibility of this means, but by some other; and so on for ever, unless they can dig so deep, as to come at length to © the Rock, that is, to settle all upon something evident of itself, which is not so much as pretended.”!

Now what is an “ infallible means”? It is a means of coming at a fact without the chance of mistake. It is a proof which is sufficient for certitude in the particular case, or a proof that is certain. When then Chillingworth says that there can be no “ rational assent to the Church’s infallibility”” without “some infallible means of knowing that she is infallible,” — he means nothing else than some means which is t ii, mn, 154. Vide Note I at the end of the volume.: Lia certain; he says that for a rational assent to in fallibility there must be an absolutely valid or certain proof. This is intelligible; but observe how his argument will run, if worded according to this in- _terpretation: “The doctrine of the Church’s infallibility requires a proof that is certain; and that certain proof requires another previous certain proof, and that again another, and so on ad infinitum, unless indeed we dig so deep as to settle all upon something evident of itself’? What is this but to say that nothing in this world is certain but what is self-evident? that nothing can be absolutely proved? Can he really mean this? What then becomes of physical truth? of the discoveries in optics, chemistry, and electricity, or of the science of motion? Intuition by itself will carry us but a little way into that circle of knowledge which is the boast of the present age.

I can believe then in the infallible Church without my own personal infallibility. Certitude is at most _ nothing more than infallibility pro hac vice, and promises | nothing as to the truth of any proposition beside its _ own. That I am certain of this proposition to-day, is _ no ground for thinking that I shall have a right to be certain of that proposition to-morrow; and that I am _ wrong in my convictions about to-day’s proposition, _ does not hinder my having a true conviction, a genuine certitude, about to-morrow’s proposition. If indeed 1 claimed to be infallible, one failure would shiver my claim to pieces; but I may claim to be certain of the t uth to which I have already attained, though I should arrive at no new truths in addition as iong as I live.

Let us put aside the word “ infallibility;” let us — understand by certitude, as I have explained it, nothing | more than a relation of the mind towards given propositions:—still, it may be urged, it involves a sense of security and of repose, at least as regards these in particular. Now how can this security be mine,—without which certitude is not,—if I know, as I know too well, that befure now I have thought myself certain, when I was certain after all of an untruth? Is not the very possibility of certitude lost to me for ever by that one — mistake? What happened once, may happen again. All my certitudes before and after are henceforth destroyed by the introduction of a reasonable doubt, underlying them all. Jpso facto they cease to be certitudes,—they come short of unconditional assents by the measure of that counterfeit assurance. They — are nothing more to me than opinions or anticipations, judgments on the verisimilitude of intellectual | views, not the possession and enjoyment of truths. And who has not thus been balked by false certitudes a hundred times in the course of his experience? and how can certitude have a legitimate place in our mental constitution, when it thus manifestly ministers to error — and to scepticism? q This is what may be objected, and it is not, as I think, difficult to answer. Certainly, the experience of mistakes — in the assents which we have made are to the prejudice ~ of subsequent ones. There is an antecedent difficulty in our allowing ourselves to be certain of some iis ta ic day, if yesterday we had to give up our belief of a }

‘something else, of which we had up to that time professed ourselves to be certain. This is true; but ~ antecedent objections to an act are not sufficient of themselves to prohibit its exercise; they may demand of us an increased circumspection before committing ourselves to it, but may be met with reasons more than sufficient to overcome them. It must be recollected that certitude is a deliberate assent given expressly after reasoning. If then my certitude is unfounded, it is the reasoning that is in fault, not my assent to it. It is the law of my mind to seal up the conclusions to which ratiocination has brought _ me, by that formal assent which I have called a certitude. I could indeed have withheld my assent, but I should have acted against my nature, had I done so when there was what I considered a proof; and I did only what was fitting, what was incumbent on me, upon those existing conditions, in givingit. This is the pro- _ cess by which knowledge accumulates and is stored up both in the individual and in the world. It has sometimes been remarked, when men have boasted of the 5 knowledge of modern times, that no wonder we see more

- than the ancients, because we are mounted upon their _ shoulders. The conclusions of one generation are the _ truths of the next. We are able, it is our duty, deli- _ berately to take things for granted which our forefathers had a duty to doubt about; and unless we summarily put down disputation on points which have been already _ proved and ruled, we shall waste our time, and make no advances. Circumstances indeed may arise, when a tude. question may legitimately be revived, which has already been definitely determined; but a re-consideration of such a question need not abruptly unsettle the existing certitude of those who engage in it, or throw them into — a scepticism about things in general, even though — eventually they find they have been wrong in a particu- — lar matter. It would have been absard to prohibit the | controversy which has lately been held concerning the obligations of Newton to Pascal; and supposing it had issued in their being established, the partisans of Newton would not have thought it necessary to re-— nounce their certitude of the law of gravitation itself, on the ground that they had been mistaken in their certitude that Newton discovered it.

If we are never to be certain, after having been once — certain wrongly, then we ought never to attempt a proof because we have once made a badone. Errors — in reasoning are lessons and warnings, not to give up reasoning, but to reason with greater caution. It is absurd to break up the whole structure of our knowledge, which is the glory of the human intellect, because — the intellect is not infallible in its conclusions. If in any particular case we have been mistaken in our inferences and the certitudes which followed upon them, we are bound of course to take the fact of this mistake into account, in making up our minds on any new ~ question, before we proceed to decide upon it. But if, while weighing the arguments on one side and the other and drawing our conclusion, that old mistake has already been allowed for, or has been, to use a familiar mode of speaking, discounted, then it has no_

- - Lnaefectrb lity 33 Certitude. Pag ore outstanding claim against our acceptance of that conclusion, after it has actually been drawn. Whatever be the legitimate weight of the fact of that mistake in our inquiry, justice has been done to it, before we have allowed ourselves to be certain again. Suppose 1 am walking out in the moonlight, and see dimly the outlines of some figure among the trees;—it isa man. I draw nearer,—it is still a man; nearer still, and all hesitation is at an end,—I am certainitis a man. But he neither moves, nor speaks when I address him; and _ then I ask myself what can be his purpose in hiding _ among the trees at such an hour. I come quite close to him, and put out myarm. ‘Then I find for certain that what I took for a man is but a singular shadow, formed by the falling of the moonlight on the inter-

_stices of some branches or their foliage. Am I not to indulge my second certitude, because I was wrong in my first? does not any objection, which lies against my second from the failure of my first, fade away before the evidence on which my second is founded?

_ Or again: I depose on my oath in a court of justice, _ to the best of my knowledge and belief, that!was robbed by the prisoner at the bar. Then, when the real offender __ is brought before me, I am obliged, to my great confusion, to retract. Because I have been mistaken in my certitude, may I not at least be certain that I have been mistaken? And further, in spite of the shock whic!

sat mistake gives me, is it impossible that the sight ot _ the real culprit may give me so luminous a conviction ~ that at length I have got the right man, that, were it - decent towards the court, or consistent with self-respect, _.

ae jy cele ale mn we fete, ee Sey Li I may find myself prepared to swear to the identity of

_ to the identity of the first? It is manifest that the

_ making it, be they ever so numerous or serious, have no — the second, as I have already solemnly committed myself two certitudes stand each on its own basis, and the — antecedent objection to my admission of a truth which — was brought home to me second, drawn from a hallu-— cination which came first, is a mere abstract argument, — impotent when directed against good evidence lying — in the concrete. %

If in the criminal case which J have been supposing, — the second certitude, felt. by a witness, was a legitimate — state of mind, so was the first. Anact, viewed in itself, is not wrong because it is done wrongly. False certitudes are faults because they are false, not because they are (supposed) certitudes. They are, or may be, the attempts and the failures of an intellect insufficiently trained, or off its guard. Assent is an act of the mind, congenial to its nature; and it, as other acts, may be made both when it ought to be made, and when it ought not. Itis a free act, a personal act for which q the doer is responsible, and the actual mistakes in 4 force whatever to prohibit the act itself. Weare accus- | tomed in such cases, to appeal to the maxim, ‘“ Usum non tollit abusus;” and it is plain that, if what may be © called functional disarrangements of the intellect are to — be considered fatal to the recognition of the functions — themselves, then the mind has no laws whatever and no el normal constitution. I just now spoke of the growth

Lndefectibility of Certitude. 233 f knowledge; there is also a growth in the use of those ulties by which knowledge is acquired. The intellect admits of an education; man isa being of progress; he has to learn how to fulfil his end, and to be what facts show that he is intended to be. His mind is in the first - instance in disorder, and runs wild; his faculties have their rudimental and inchoate state, and are gradually carried on by practice and experience to their perfection. No instances then whatever of mistaken certitude are sufficient to constitute a proof, that certitude itself is a perversion or extravagance of his nature. We do not dispense with clocks, because from time to time they go wrong, and tell untruly. A clock, organically considered, may be perfect, yet it may require regulating. Till that needful work is done, the moment-hand perhaps marks the half-minute, when _ the minute-hand is at the quarter-past, and the hour hand is just at noon, and the quarter-bell strikes the three-quarters, and the hour-bell strikes four, while _the sun-dial precisely tells two o’clock. The sense of certitude may be called the bell of the intellect; and that it strikes when it should not is a proof that the clock is out of order, no proof that the bell will be untrustworthy and useless, when it comes to us adjusted and regulated from the hands of the clock-maker. Our conscience too may be said to strike the hours, and will strike them wrongly, unless it be duly regulated for the performance of its proper function. It is _ the loud announcement of the principle of right in the details of conduct, as the sense of certitude is the clear witness to what istrue. Both certitude and conscience have a place in the normal condition of the mind. As a human being, I am unable, if I were to try, to live without some kind of conscience; and I am as little able to live without those landmarks of thought which certitude secures for me; still, as the hammer of a clock may tell untruly, so may my conscience and my sense of certitude be attached to mental acts, whether of consent or of assent, which have no claim to be thus sanctioned. Both the moral and the intellectual sanction are liable to be biassed by personal inclina-— tions and motives; both require and admit of discipline; and, as it is no disproof of the authority of conscience that false consciences abound, neither does it destroy the importance and the uses of certi-. tude, because even educated minds, who are earnest in their inquiries after the truth, in many cases remain under the power of prejudice or delusion.

To this deficiency in mental training a wider error is to be attributed,—the mistaking for conviction and certitude states and frames of mind which make ne pretence to the fundamental condition on which conviction rests as distinct from assent. The multitude of men confuse together the probable, the possible, and the certain, and apply these terms to doctrines and statements almost at random. They have no clear view what it is they know, what they presume, what they suppose, and what they only assert. They make little distinction between credence, opinion, and profession; at various times they give them all perhaps the name of certitude, and accordingly, when they change their minds, they fancy they have given up points of

— Indefectibility of Certitude. at which they had a true conviction. Or at least bystanders thus speak of them, and the very idea of sertitude falls into disrepute.

In this day the subject-matter of thought and belief has so increased upon us, that a far higher mental formation is required than was necessary in times past, and higher than we have actually reached. The whole world is brought to our doors every morning, and our judgment is required upon social concerns, books, per- ‘sons, parties, creeds, national acts, political principles ‘and measures. We have to form our opinion, make our profession, take our side on a hundred matters on which we have but little right to speak at all. But we do speak, and must speak, upon them, though neither we nor those who hear us are well able to determine what is the real position of our intellect relatively to those many questions, one by one, on which we commit ourselves; and then, since many of these questions chan ge their complexion with the passing hour, and ‘ma ny require elaborate consideration, and many are s mply beyond us, it is not wonderful, if, at the end of a few years, we have to revise or to repudiate our con- _ ¢lusions; and then we shall be unfairly said to have che nged our certitudes, and shall confirm the doctrine, that, except in abstract truth, no judgment rises higher than probability. 3 - Such are the mistakes about certitude among educated men; and after referring to them, it is scarcely worth while to dwell upon the absurdities and excesses of the rude intellect, as seen in the world at large; as | f any one could dream of treating as deliberate assents, =

-fanaticisms, the whims and fancies, the sudden irre- as assents upon assents, as convictions or certitudes, the prejudices, credulities, infatuations, superstitions, vocable plunges into the unknown, the obstinate determinations,—the offspring, as they are, of ignorance, wilfulness, cupidity, and pride,—which go so far 0 make up the history of mankind; yet these are often set down as instances of certitude and of-its failure.

I have spoken of certitude as being assigned a definite and fixed place among our mental acts; it follows upon examination and proof, as the bell sounds the hour, when the hands reach it,—so that no act or state of the intellect is certitude, however it may resemble it, which does not observe this appointed law. This proviso greatly diminishes the catalogue of genuine certitudes. Another restriction is this:—the occasions or subject-matters of certitude are under law also. Putting aside the daily exercise of the senses, the principal subjects in secular knowledge, about which we can be certain, are the truths or facts which are i 8 basis. As to this world, we are certain of the elements of knowledge, whether general, scientific, historical, or such as bear on our daily needs and habits, and relate to ourselves, our homes and families, our friends, neighbourhood, country, and civil state. Beyond these e elementary points of knowledge, lies a vast subject: matter of opinion, credence, and belief, viz. the fie 1d of public affairs, of social and professional life, ¢ business, of duty, of literature, of taste, nay, of ‘a a Inde fectibility of Certitude.

‘xperimental sciences. On subjects such as these the reasonings and conclusions of mankind vary,—“ mundum tradidit disputationi eorum;’’—and prudent men in consequence seldom speak confidently, unless they are warranted to do so by genius, great experience, or some special qualification. They determine their judgments by what is probable, what is safe, what ‘promises best, what has verisimilitude, what impresses and sways them. They neither can possess, nor need certitude, nor do they look out for it.

Hence it is that—the province of certitude being so a contracted, and that of opinion so large—it is common to call probability the guide of life. This saying, when properly explained, is true; however, we must not ‘suffer ourselves to carry a true maxim to an extreme; it is far from true, if we so hold it as to forget that without first principles there can be no conclusions at all, and that thus probability does in some sense pre- ‘suppose and require the existence of truths which are certain. Especially is the maxim untrue, in respect to the other great department of knowledge, the spiritual, _ if taken to support the doctrine, that the first principles and elements of religion, which are universally received, ‘are mere matter of opinion; though in this day, it is too often taken for granted that religion is one of those 4 - subjects on which truth cannot be discovered, and on 2 which one conclusion is pretty much on a level with another. But on the contrary, the initial truths of divine knowledge ought to be viewed as parallel to the initial truths of secular: as the latter are certain, so too are the former. I cannot indeed deny that a decent

_ reverence for the Supreme Being, an acquiescence in the claims of Revelation, a general profession of Christian doctrine, and some sort of attendance on sacred ordinances, is in fact all the religion that is usual with even — the better sort of men, and that for all this a sufficient basis may certainly be found in probabilities; but if religion is to be devotion, and not a mere matter of sentiment, if it 1s to be made the ruling principle of our lives, if our actions, one by one, and our daily conduct, are to be consistently directed towards an Invisible Being, we need something higher than a mere balance of arguments to fix and to control our minds. Sacrifice of wealth, name, or position, faith and hope, | self-conquest, communion with the spiritual world, presuppose a real hold and habitual intuition of the objects — of Revelation, which is certitude under another name. —

To this issue indeed we may bring the main differ-— ence, viewed philosophically, between nominal Chris- F tianity on the one hand, and vital Christianity on the other. Rational, sensible men, as they consider themselyes, men who do not comprehend the very notion of loving God above all things, are content with such a measure of probability for the truths of religion, as serves them in their secular transactions; but those who are deliberately staking their all upon the hopes — of the next world, think it reasonable, and find it necessary, before starting on their new course, to have some points, clear and immutable, to start from; otherwise, they will not start at all. They ask, asa preliminary condition, to have the ground sure under their feet; they look for more than human reasonings:

ss Indefectibility of Certitude. and inferences, for nothing less than the “ strong consolation,” as the Apostle speaks, of those “immutable things in which it is impossible for God to lie,” His counsel and His oath. Christian earnestness may be ruled by the world to be a perverseness or a delusion; but, as long as it exists, it will presuppose certitude as the very life which is to animate it.

_ This is the true parallel between human and divine knowledge; each of them opens into a large field of ‘mere opinion, but in both the one and the other the i _ primary principles, the general, fundamental, cardinal truths are immutable. In human matters we are ‘guided by probabilities, but, I repeat, they are probabilities founded on certainties. It is on no probability that we are constantly receiving the informations and | dictates of sense and memory, of our intellectual in- ‘stincts, of the moral sense, and of the logical faculty. ‘It is on no probability that we receive the generalizations of science, and the great outlines of history. Po These are certain truths; and from them each of us forms his own judgments and directs his own course, according to the probabilities which they suggest to | him, as the navigator applies his observations and his | che s for the determination of his course. Such is the main view to be taken of the separate provinces of f?p obability and certainty in matters of this world; and 80, as regards the world invisible and future, we have a direct and conscious knowledge of our Maker, His attributes, His providences, acts, works, and will, from ‘nature, and revelation; and, beyond this knowledge lies the large domain of theology, metaphysics, and ethics, on which it is not allowed to us to advance beyom probabilities, or to attain to more than an opinion, | Such on the whole is the analogy between our knowledge of matters of this world and matters of the world unseen;—indefectible certitude in primary truths, manifold variations of opinion in their application and disposition. 5. I have said that Certitude, whether in human or divine knowledge, is attainable as regards general and cardinal truths; and that in neither department of knowledge, on the whole, is certitude discredited, lost, or reversed: for, in matter of fact, whether in human or divine, those primary truths have ever kept their place from the time when they first took possession of it. However, there is one obvious objection which may be made to this representation, and I proceed take notice of it. | It may be urged then, that time was when the primary truths of science were unknown, and when in consequence various theories were held, contrary to each other. The first element of all things was said to be water, to be air, to be fire; the framework of the universe was eternal; or it was the ever-new combination of innumerable atoms: the planets were fixed in solid crystal revolving spheres; or they moved round the earth in epicycles mounted upon circular orbits; or they were carried whirling round about the sun, while the sun was whirling round the earth. About such doctrines there was no certitude, no more than there is now certitude about the origin of languages,

; {oon he amas eae i he a enn Oe the age of man, or the evojution of species, considered as philosophical questions. Now theology is at present in the very same state in which natural science was five hundred years ago; and this is the proof of it,—that, instead of there being one received theological science in the world, there are a multitude of hypotheses. We havea professed science of Atheism, another of Deism, a Pantheistic, ever so many Christian theologies, to say nothing of Judaism, Islamism, and the Oriental religions. _ Each of these creeds has its own upholders, and these upholders all certain that it is the very and the only _ truth, and these same upholders, it may happen, presently giving it up, and then taking up some other creed, and being certain again, as they profess, that it dnd it only is the truth, these various so-called truths being incompatible with each other. Are not Jews