manifestation of a willingness to have it investigated and treated accordingly. It shows an honesty and sincerity, without which there is no ground for hope. This avowal is seldom made by those whose infidelity proceeds from an inward corruption. It would be a self-condemnation, which individuals of this class are not inclined to make even in their own thought. The book before us is not calculated to remove, or have much effect upon the infidelity that arises from this source. But if infidelity arises from an intellectual difficulty, then that difficulty must be intellectually met. Infidels of this class are commonly men of thought, shrewdness, and acute penetration. They are, perhaps, more acute than comprehensive in their turn of mind. There are usually two causes that operate upon the individual. They are almost always concomitants, for they have a natural connexion with each other. They are shoots from one and the same root. First; the current philosophy may be inadequate to explain the grounds of faith in the supernatural. The philosophy of an age is but the common sense, the general spirit of the age, digested and written out into a system. Hence, all persons are permeated by the philosophy of their age, even though they have never read a book upon philosophy in their lives. Some man arises and puts this unwritten philosophy into form, and it usually takes its name from him. Superficial thinkers suppose that he originated it, and that none are his disciples, or the receivers of his philosophy, except those that have studied his works. But it is not so. All are receivers of that philosophy, unless, either their souls, by the force of their original constitution persevere in rejecting it, or, by effort and study, they bring themselves to adopt another. If the principles of this philosophy tend to skepticism and infidelity, the multitude may still receive it without apparent harm, but the most acute, and those that have the most logical consistency, and who are governed by their thoughts instead of their feelings, will carry out this philosophy to infidelity. They will not believe anything. Thus in England, Berkeley professedly received Locke's philosophy, and denied the existence of the material world. David Hume, professedly receiving the same philosophy, went still further, and denied everything supernatural. It is well known, too, to every reader of English literature and history, that all the professed infidels of Great Britain, from Hume down to the present day, have accepted VOL. XXVIII. 3D S. VOL. X. NO. II. 24 the same philosophy. This philosophy was introduced into France by Voltaire, Condillac, &c. It was generally received, and was the prevalent philosophy until the lectures of Laromiguiere, professor of the faculty of literature, delivered in 1811, '12, and '13. It is also well known, that the class of infidels to which Elwood belonged, in this country, receive and believe in the same philosophy. The second cause, which usually coexists with the one just stated, as a shoot from the same root, is, that the Church, in its creeds and worship, as it is at the time that infidelity appears, does not satisfy the philosophic mind. Christianity, as represented by this Church, does not satisfy the wants of such souls. They do not distinguish Christianity from the doctrines and creeds of the Church. They, therefore, say that Christianity does not meet the wants of their souls; it does not commend itself to their reason. In this case the more timid, those who are more anxious to be saved, than to understand how or by whom it is done, conform to the Church, and sacrifice reason to revelation, believing, no doubt, in the essential depravity of the human heart. The more bold and hardy will not make this compromise. Hence they reject Christianity, and declare themselves infidels. But no one dissents from, or rejects the Church, and the idea of religion, which it embodies, if it recognise and address all the faculties of his soul, and is broad and high enough to contain all that he can see that is pure and holy in thought and faith. The idea of religion that encloses and limits the soul is one that no person will receive, except by force. If one can be made by force of argument to believe that this religion is one that God has given, and made the terms of salvation for man, so that there can be no hope unless he comply, then he may be constrained to submit. But religion is for him anything but cheerful,- a sweet and holy influence upon the soul. In proportion to the acuteness and vigor of one's mind will be his resistance to the arguments brought forward to support this religion. When, then, these two causes coexist, namely; a philosophy that is not adequate to explain to the philosophic mind, the foundations of religious faith, but rather tends to a rejection of all faith in the supernatural; and when, secondly, the Church, the popular idea of religion, does not recognise and address all the faculties of human nature, and embrace and represent all of high and pure thought and hope that is in the soul, persons of a philosophic tendency will be dissatisfied with the Church, and protest against it, as was the case in the Unitarian movement. If their logical tendency is stronger than their religious feelings, they will reject Revelation altogether. They become infidels. To this class the book before us is especially addressed. Charles Elwood was educated by Calvinistic parents. He was a young man of an ardent temperament, a keen insight, and of a decidedly reflective turn of mind. Such a mind could not grow up to maturity without seeking to render to itself an account of its faith. This it could not do, until it had a better philosophy, as a ground to proceed upon. He speaks of this state with an eloquence truly pathetic. "We do not pass from belief to doubt, nor from doubt to disbelief, without a long and severe struggle. Even after we have become confirmed unbelievers, there are many remembrances which rise up to make us weep that we are not what we were. In most cases, religion has been inwoven with all our earlier life. It has hallowed all the affections and associations which gather round the home of our childhood. Each spot, each object, each event dear to the memory, has its tale of religion. The sister who played with us, smiled when we were pleased, wept when we were grieved, above all, the mother, who stood between us and danger, and knelt with us in prayer, speak to us of religion, and endear it to our hearts. Whenever we break away from it, we seem to ourselves to be breaking away from the whole past, from all that we have loved, have hoped, feared, thought, enjoyed or suffered, and to be rushing upon a new and untried existence. It is a fearful change, which then comes over us. To be no longer what we have been, to lose sight of all that has been familiar to us, to enter upon we know not what, upon a state of being the issues of which we see not, and of which we can foretell nothing, what is this different in reality from that event which men call death? "Over every one, who once doubts the creed in which he has been reared, does this change come. The doubt once raised, the man has undergone a radical change. He can never be again what he has been. The simple faith of his childhood never returns. He may attain to conviction, but the childlike confidence, the warm trustfulness is gone forever. From that time henceforth, he must battle his way in the dark, with doubts, perplexities, insolvable problems as best we may. And to all this, of which we have at first a forefeeling, think not, that we bring ourselves to consent without a struggle. "Religion is life's poesy. It breathes a living soul into the -- universe, and gives us everywhere a bright and loving spirit, with which to hold sweet and mystic communings. On every object around us it sheds a mellow light, and throws a veil over all the stern and forbidding features of reality. Bitter is the day which raises that veil, and bids that mellowing light be withdrawn; when for the first time we look into the heavens, and see no spirit shining there, over the rich and flowering earth, and see no spirit blooming there, abroad over a world of silent, senseless matter, and feel that we are alone. I shall never forget that day; and I have no doubt that I shall see all the objects of sense, one after another, fade away and lose themselves in the darkness of death, with far less shrinking of soul, than I saw my childhood's faith depart, and felt the terrible conviction fastening itself upon me, that all must go, God, Christ, Immortality, that which my fathers had believed, for which they had toiled, lived, suffered, died, which my mother had cherished and infused into my being with the milk from her breast, all, all, even to the last and dearest article, must vanish, and be to me henceforth but as a dream, which cannot be recalled. * * * "Religion I had loved from my infancy. In my loneliness, in my solitary wanderings, it had been my companion and my support. It had been my pleasure to feel that wherever I went the eye of my Father watched over me, and his infinite love embraced me. I was never in reality alone. A glorious Presence went always with me. When I was thrown upon the world at a tender age without a friend, and left to buffet my way unaided, unencouraged, and felt myself cut off from all communion with my kind, I could hold sweet and mysterious communion with the Father of men; and when I smarted under a sense of wrong done me, I could find relief in believing that God sympathized with me, and made my cause his own. God had been to me a reality; and though I had been nurtured in the tenets of the gloomiest and most chilling of Christian creeds, I had always seen him as a father, and as a father whose face ever beamed with paternal love. I could not then lose my faith, and see all my religious hopes and consolations escape in the darkness of unbelief, without feeling that I was giving up all that had hitherto sustained me, all that it was pleasant to remember, that could soothe in sorrow, strengthen under trial, inspire love, and give the wish or the courage to live." pp. 41, 42, 43, 45, 46. But painful as it was he must give it all up. We have no doubt that most of those who are so unhappy as to be skeptical, can sympathize with Elwood. A knowledge of the fact, that they do thus feel and suffer, (which it is our fault if we do not possess,) should soften our hearts and manners towards them. It is universally true, that we can do a man's thought and character but very little good, unless we love him, and give him credit for all of good that there is in him. We had always better err on the side of charity, if on either. Mr. Brownson does not describe the process by which Elwood came to his unbelief. When he first introduces him to us he has passed from faith into utter skepticism. He describes this state in an interview with Elizabeth Wyman, to whom Elwood was engaged to be married. Elizabeth had been converted. She says to him: "Charles, Charles, have you no feeling? The whole Creation is radiant with God's glory; all creatures, even beasts, birds, and insects, join in a hymn of praise to his mercy; and are you silent, you, whom I have heard so often and so eloquently plead for the oppressed, and so warmly vindicate the rights and dignity of man? Have you no word for God; the exhaustless source of all Goodness, Life, and Love? Is your heart cold and dead?' 66 6 All No, Elizabeth, no; my heart is not dead. I want not sensibility, but I want faith. I see all things with the eyes of the unbeliever. I hear not the hymn which so enraptures you. nature is silent to me. I cannot sympathize with your present feelings. I am an unbeliever, but I do not ask you to be one. Indulge your piety, but think not unkindly of me if I cannot share it.' "Charles, you might be a believer if you would.' 666 'No, I could not. I am not an unbeliever from choice, but necessity.' "I doubt it. You are too proud to be a Christian. You are ashamed of the humility of the cross. You would be a philosopher, and follow your own reason. You will not submit to God.' "Nay, Elizabeth, you wrong me, wrong me grievously. I am not ashamed of the humility of the cross. I have tried hard to be a Christian.' "You have?' 66 6 Ay, by day and by night. I have sought God with my whole heart, with tears, entreaties, fastings, watchings, but it has availed me nothing; I am an atheist.' "O, say not so. "Why should I deceive myself or others? If I know the state of my own mind, I do not believe in the existence of God. But do not fancy that I have become what I am without a struggle. I am not ignorant of what men call religion. It has been |