very important defects, so far, at least, as it has hitherto existed.

In the first place, The system will, almost of course, be too complex to be thoroughly understood and comprehended by the teacher himself. Some of the Some of the parts he may understand,

and unfold clearly; of others he will form such inadequate conceptions, and will convey such indistinct views of them in his instructions, as will be utterly unsatisfactory to his most ingenious and learned readers. The human faculties are unequal to the exact comprehension of any very complicated scheme of truth. In such a scheme there will always be some avenues to mistake, some things not clearly seen, and others absolutely unseen. Ignorance and misapprehension concerning these will obscure and perplex the rest, and diffuse a general uncertainty over the whole. Hence, professed philosophers will not accord with each other,—as we know they never have done,— nor unite in any single scheme of doctrine.

But in subjects of such amazing importance as those which are involved in a system of religion, doubt is always distressing, and not unfrequently fatal. Satisfaction is here felt by the soul to be indispensable; and, when it cannot be found, man is ever prone either to lie down in sloth and indifference, or to become sceptical, or to yield himself up as a victim to despair. Each of these courses is ruinous; and all naturally spring out of the moral systems of philosophy.

Secondly, The great body of mankind are unable to think systematically at all; that is, in such a manner, as to perceive the evidence arising from the connection of the parts, and from their combination in a whole. Unlearned and ignorant men think chiefly in single and detached propositions, not in connected chains and schemes of thought. Many men form scarcely any general propositions, and are, by immovable habits, confined entirely to particulars. But systems are composed only of general propositions. How can they be received by such men; men who can scarcely understand even a little part of them, and cannot perceive the nature of that connection between the parts, on which all in a great measure depend for the evidence of their truth or probability? To the great body

of mankind even the plainest and simplest system must be either entirely or chiefly useless, because they can never comprehend it; and because it must, therefore, be regarded with doubt by such minds as theirs. But in a case of such magnitude,—a case, where the present and future welfare of the soul is at hazard,-doubtful precepts and doctrines can have no efficacious or salutary influence. No precept which is not believed will be obeyed. For this, as one reason, the instructions of philosophy never governed the common people at all. The traditionary doctrines and precepts of their ancestors, unattended with any other evidence than the authority of long-continued custom, controlled the worship and the moral conduct of each successive generation, while the dogmas of philosophers were treated only with listlessness or contempt.

This is an inherent and inseparable defect in philosophical teaching; and will always exist so long as philosophers themselves are so imperfect, and so long as the great body of mankind are labourers and not philosophers. Even those instructions which are true, and those precepts which are just, will have, and ever have had, little or no influence on mankind, when taught in this manner only. Neither the books of the ancient philosophers, nor those of modern infidels, have had any other influence on the common people, beside encouraging them to a greater degree of licentiousness than they would otherwise have dåred to indulge.

II. Philosophers have never been able to determine what moral and religious truths were fundamental.

By fundamental truths, I mean such as are absolutely necessary to be obeyed; or, in other words, such as, being obeyed, are followed by the divine acceptance; and such as, being disobeyed, are followed, of course, by our condemnation.

To understand all moral truths is evidently beyond the power of man. The utmost which we can do in the most favourable circumstances, or with the aid of revelation itself, is to fasten upon certain primary ones,-a few,-of all possible importance, and adhere to them, as being sufficient to ensure our salvation. This peculiarity is all that can be done by the great body

of mankind. The great body of mankind must either labour or perish. They have but little time to think, or to compare ; and without thinking or comparing, they certainly cannot form conclusions of any value. To men thus situated, it is, therefore, absolutely necessary, that they should be furnished with such truths as are fundamental and sufficient, and that they should be assured what these are beyond every reasonable doubt. But this is a work which philosophy has never accomplished, and is plainly unable to accomplish. As a source of moral instruction, therefore, it is fatally defective.

It is remarkable, that philosophers could never agree on the two greatest and most important of all moral subjects, the character of God, and the supreme good of man. The diversity of their opinions concerning them was wonderful; and the more they inquired and discoursed, the more numerous, distant, and discordant their instructions became. What, then, must have been the situation of their disciples? How perfectly must they have been at a loss concerning their whole duty, and their whole interest? At such a loss they actually were. Perplexed, despairing altogether of arriving at truth, they followed their traditions, and left the philosopher to himself; deciding, as God has decided in the text, that the reasonings of the wise are vain.

III. Philosophy was never able to determine whether all the things necessary to salvation were known by itself, or not.

Had reason been able to discover that certain truths were fundamental, it could have never determined whether there were not other truths of the same indispensable importance and necessity, which were still hidden from its view. This also was a fatal defect. It is not enough to know what is indispensable to our salvation, unless we also know that we possess all the truths which are of this absolute importance. The ignorance of one such doctrine must, of course, be fatal to us. I speak not here of ignorance which is necessary and unavoidable, but of that which is voluntary, which flows from sloth, indifference, and neglect, from the love of error and the hatred of truth. In such ignorance, philosophy left all its votaries, and all its

disciples, and in the doubt, fear, anxiety, and despair to which such ignorance conducts every serious man; or in the apathy and licentiousness, to which it prompts the thoughtless and the sensual.

IV. Philosophers have differed endlessly, and must of course differ from each other.

Their systems have been widely diverse in almost all respects, and about almost all things. They have dissented unceasingly concerning God and religion, concerning human duty and human interests, concerning virtue and vice, concerning the divine government and moral obligation, concerning the nature of the soul, and the character and destination of man. They have contended alike about fundamental and circumstantial doctrines, about expiation and acceptance, about worship and forgiveness. Nor have infidels been, in any material degree, more harmonious than their predecessors. That this discordance is a thing of course, is proved beyond all debate, by its actual existence in all ages and nations, in all the sects of philosophy, and among the individuals of each sect. This fact unanswerably evinces, that its foundation is laid in the nature of the case, and that it is inseparable from the character and circumstances of the men. None of them confided in the doctrines of others, although each pertinaciously adhered to his own. Against each his rivals argued, and pointed the shafts of contempt and ridicule. The people at large, when they gave them any attention, disbelieved sometimes one, sometimes another, and generally all. That such must be the case might easily have been foreseen; for it was impossible that they should know who was in the right, and who was in the wrong; or whether any were right, or all were wrong. Thus they accomplished, and plainly could accomplish, nothing.

V. Philosophy is necessarily defective in evidence. The evidence of doctrines, taught philosophically, is argument exhibited in a course of reasoning. In the case under consideration, such evidence is necessarily defective. In a multitude of instances, it is imperfectly discernible, even by

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the philosopher himself. In subjects so extensive, complicated, and abstruse, as those involved in a moral system, it is impossible for the human mind to comprehend, with distinctness and satisfaction to itself, even a moderate part of that which it is highly important to know. Hence the philosopher himself is very frequently at a loss, unsatisfied, and wavering. The best arguments which he possesses he will undoubtedly communicate to others, not because they are sound and satisfactory even to himself, but because they are the best which he is able to devise. But these arguments, even when they appear to him clear and convincing, will, when presented to other minds, have less force than was attributed to them by his own. He, in many instances, will doubt their solidity; they will deny it.

As many, even of those which he esteems his best proofs, will appear to others feeble and futile, so this fact will lessen the force of all. When the teacher so often halts, those who are taught will almost of course believe, that he is universally lame, and will attach to him little or no credit.

In support of these observations, I refer such as think it necessary, to the doctrines of Plato and Cicero concerning subjects of religion, and to the arguments with which these distinguished men have laboured to sustain them. How few of these doncs will now bear an examination, and how few of the arguments by which they are supported? It is ever to be remembered, that the Gentiles had no doctrines but such as theirs, and such as were worse than theirs; and no evidence to prove their truth or probability but these very arguments, and others less clear, and less conclusive.

At the same time, the people at large can never understand to any great length this kind of proof. It requires no small degree of intelligence to discern, clearly and satisfactorily, the reasonings contained in a philosophical book. Learned men are often puzzled; unlearned men know little or nothing of the subject; and at once lay it aside in despair.

Let this case be illustrated by a plain example. How few of our own uneducated countrymen would be able to comprehend the system of thought, and the arguments by which it is