sufficed to generate faith. Another spring of human influence has
been resorted to; and men have been commanded to adhere to
practices and to form habits. Man must sooner or later attach
ideas to the acts which are habitual to him, and attribute a
meaning to that which produces in him a constant effect. The mind
was led to the belief of the principles which had given birth to
certain practices and habits. A new kind of faith appeared, it
had for its principle and dominant characteristic, the submission
of the mind to an authority invested with the right at once to
govern man's life and to regulate his thought.
{158}
Finally, faith has not everywhere nor constantly been generated
in the human mind, either by the free exercise of the
intelligence, or by appeals to sensibility, or by the formation
of habits. It was then said that faith was incommunicable, that
it was not in man's power to impart faith, or to acquire it by
any exertion of his own, that for this purpose God's intervention
and the action of his grace were necessary. Divine grace became
thus the preliminary condition of faith and its definitive
character.
The word _faith_ has, consequently, in turn expressed: 1st,
a conviction acquired by the free efforts of the human
intelligence; 2ndly, a conviction acquired by way of the
sensibility, and without the concurrence of the reason, and often
even against its authority; 3rdly, a conviction acquired by man's
long submission to a power invested with a power from on high to
command conviction; 4thly, a conviction induced by supernatural
means,--by divine grace.
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What in the midst of this variety of sources from which it may
emanate is the essential and invariable character of faith? What
is the state of the soul in which faith reigns when we consider
it independently of its origin and of its object?
Two kinds of belief exist in man: the one, I will not call it
innate, for this is an inexact and justly criticised expression,
but a belief natural and spontaneous which springs up and
establishes itself in the mind of man, if not without his being
aware of it, at least without the help of any reflection or
volition on his part, by the development alone of his nature and
the influence of that external world in the midst of which his
life is passed; the other kind of belief is the result of
laborious examination and reflection, the fruit of voluntary
study and of the power possessed by man either to concentrate all
his faculties upon a certain object with the design of mastering
it, or to direct the thought inwards, and realise what is there
taking place--to render an account thereof to himself, and thus
to acquire by an act of volition and of reflection, a knowledge
which he did not before possess, although the facts which form
its object nevertheless existed as facts external--and which he
might see by his eyes,--or as facts which were taking place
within him.
{160}
Of these two kinds of belief which merits the name of
_faith_?
It seems at first sight that the name is perfectly suitable to
that kind of belief which I have termed natural and spontaneous:
such belief is exempt from doubt and disquietude; it directs man
in his judgment, in his actions, and with an empire which he
dreams neither of eluding nor contesting; it is ingenuous,
unhesitating, practical, sovereign; who would not recognise in it
the characteristics of _faith?_
Faith has in effect two characters; but it has at the same time
others which belief natural and spontaneous has not. Almost
unnoticed by the man who is yet guided by it, this natural and
spontaneous belief is to him, as it were, a law from without
which he has received, not accepted; which he obeys by instinct
without having given it any intimate and personal assent.
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It suffices for the exigencies of his life; it guides him,
admonishes him, impels him, or checks him; but without, so to
say, any concurrence on his own part, without giving birth in him
to the sentiment that any active, energetic, or powerful
principle is stirring within him, without procuring him the
profound joy of contemplating, loving, adoring the truth which
reigns over him. _Faith_, on the contrary, has this power;
faith is not science, neither is it ignorance; the mind which
faith penetrates has never yet, perhaps, rendered a true account
to itself of that in which it has faith; and, perhaps, never will
do so; but the mind is, nevertheless, certain of it; to the mind
it is present, living; it is no longer a general belief, a law of
human nature which governs the moral man, as the law of
gravitation governs bodies; it is a personal conviction, a truth
which the moral man has made his own by force of contemplation,
of voluntary obedience, and love. Henceforth this truth does much
more than suffice to his life, it satisfies his soul; it does
much more than direct him, it enlightens him.
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How many, for instance, live under the empire of a natural and
instinctive belief that moral good and moral evil exist, without
our being able to affirm that they have _faith_ in them.
Such belief is in them, as it were, a master undisputed; to whom,
nevertheless, they render no homage, whom they obey without
seeing and without loving. But if a circumstance, a cause,
however trivial, revealing, so to say, the conscience to itself,
should attract and fix their attention upon this distinction
between moral good and evil, which is a spontaneous law of their
nature; should they knowingly acknowledge and accept it as their
legitimate master, should their intelligence honour itself by
comprehending it, and their liberty do itself honour by obeying
it; should they feel their soul, as it were, the sanctuary of a
sacred law, as the focus into which this truth concentrates and
establishes itself in order thence to diffuse its rays of light;
this is no longer simple natural belief, it is _faith_.
{163}
Faith, then, does not exclusively consist of either of the two
kinds of belief which at first sight seem to share between them
the soul of man; it partakes at once of natural and spontaneous
belief and of the belief which is the fruit of reflection and
science; yet it differs from each; like the latter, it is
individual and intimate; like the former confidant, active,
dominant. Considered in itself, independently of all comparison
with any other particular and analogous state of the intellect,
faith is the full security of man in the possession of his
belief, as absolved from effort, as exempt from doubt; the path
which the mind has pursued in arriving at it is obliterated, and
a sentiment only is left behind of the natural and pre-existent
harmony between the mind of man and the truth itself. To the man
whose mind faith penetrates, his intelligence and his volition
present no longer any problems for solution as to the things
which are the objects of his faith: he feels himself in full
possession of the truth to light and to guide him on his way, and
in full possession of himself to act according to the truth.
{164}
As faith has internal characteristics which are peculiar to it,
it has also, with some strange and rare exceptions, external
conditions which are necessary to it; it is distinguishable from
other modes of human belief, not only by its nature, but by its
object. Up to a certain point these conditions may be determined
and perceived, although imperfectly, according to the nature
itself of that state of the soul and of its effects. A belief may
be so entire and sure of itself that no further effort of the
intellect seems necessary, and the believer, wholly absorbed in
the truth which in his judgment he possesses, may lose all memory
of the way by which he arrived at it. A conviction may be so
forcible as to become master of his every action, as well as of
every impulse of his mind, and may imperatively force and morally
oblige him to submit all things to its empire; a state this of
the intellect which is the fruit, perhaps, not merely of the
exercise of the intelligence, but of a strong emotion, of a long
obedience to certain practices, and in the midst of which all the
three great faculties of man, the sensibility, the intelligence,
and the will, are simultaneously in activity, and simultaneously
satisfied.
{165}
Where all this is the case, the occasion which has induced such a
situation of the soul, had need be one worthy of the soul, and of
its situation; the subject with which it is so occupied, had need
be one which embraces the entire man, which sets in play all his
faculties; responding to all the requirements of his moral
nature, it has a right in return to all his devotedness.
The characteristics of ideas proper to become really a faith
would seem _à priori_ to be intellectual beauty, and
practical importance. An idea which should present itself to the
mind as true, without at the same time striking it by the extent
or the gravity of its consequences, might produce certitude; but
the name of _faith_ would not be suitably applied to it.
{166}
Nor would the practical merit, or the immediate utility of an
idea suffice of itself to generate faith; to do so it must also
attract, it must also take possession of the human mind by the
pure beauty of truth. In other words, in order that a simple
belief, whether instinctive, or arising from reflection, may
become faith, the thing believed must be of a nature to procure
to man the united joys of contemplation and of activity, to
awaken in him the twofold sentiment, that it is of lofty origin
and of potent influence; his idea must be such as that he shall
be induced to regard it as a medium between the ideal world and
the real world, as a missionary charged to model the one upon the
other, and to unite them.
It is easy to understand why the name of faith is used almost
exclusively to characterise religious beliefs; no other belief
possesses in so high a degree the two characteristics, [Footnote
40] which provoke the development of faith.
[Footnote 40: Intellectual beauty and practical importance.]
{167}
Many principles of science are beautiful and fruitful in useful
applications; political theories may strike the mind by the
elevation of the ideas which they embody, and by the grandeur of
their results; the doctrines of a pure morality are still more
surely and more commonly invested with this double power. Nor
have these kinds of belief failed sometimes to generate faith in
the human soul. Still, to receive a clear and profound impression
at one time of their intellectual beauty, at another of their
practical importance, a certain measure of science and of
sagacity, or a certain turn for public life, or for politics, as
the case may require, is almost always necessary, and this does
not belong to all men, nor to every epoch. Religious belief, on
the contrary, has no need of such resources: it carries in
itself, and in its very nature, infallible means of effect;
having once penetrated into the heart of man, however limited and
undeveloped in other respects his intelligence may be, or however
rude and low his condition, it seems to him a truth at once
sublime and usual, a truth which addresses itself to him as an
habitant of this earth, and at the same time which opens to him
access to those lofty regions, to those treasures of intellectual
life, which without the light of faith he would have never known;
it has for him the charm of the purest truth, and exercises over
him the empire of the most powerful interest.
{168}
Can it astonish us, that the belief once existent, its transition
to a state of _faith_ should be so rapid and so general? But
it is precisely on account of its instinctive tendency to
transform itself into faith, and into a faith of extraordinary
energy, that religious belief has need to continue always free
and always subject to the tests which Liberty has the right to
impose. Legitimate faith, that is, as we understand it, the faith
which does not deceive itself as to its objects, and which
addresses itself really to the truth, is beyond contradiction the
loftiest condition to which the human mind, in its present state,
can attain, for it is that state in which man feels his moral
nature fully satisfied, in which he gives himself up entirely to
the mission prescribed to him by his thought.
{169}
But a faith may be illegitimate; it is possible for this state of
the soul to be produced by error; the chance of error (experience
proves this at every step) is even here greater, the more the
different routes which lead to faith are multiplied and the more
its effects are energetic; man may be led astray in his faith by
his sentiments, by his habits, by the empire of moral affections
or of external circumstances, as well as by the defect or the
abuse of his intellectual faculties; for his faith may spring
from any of these various sources. Nevertheless, faith once
there, it is daring and ambitious; it passionately aspires to
diffuse itself, to usurp, to reign, and constitute itself the law
of opinions and facts. Not only is faith ambitious, it is strong,
it possesses, it displays, in support of its pretensions and its
designs, an energy, an address, a perseverance, which are almost
always wanting to opinions simply scientific. So that for this
mode and degree of conviction and belief, far more than for any
other, there is chance of the individual falling into error, and
of society falling under oppression.
{170}
For these perils there is but one remedy, Liberty. Whether in
belief or in action, the nature of man is the same: not only his
will but his thought, if it is not to become absurd or culpable,
has incessantly need of contradiction and of control. Where faith
fails, moral energy and moral dignity fail equally; where liberty
does not exist, faith first usurps,--then becomes
bewildered--finally destroys itself. If human belief passes to
the state of faith, it is its progress and its glory; if, in its
efforts toward this result, and after having attained it, it
abides constantly under the control of the free intelligence; we
have, in this fact, at once a guarantee for society against the
tyranny of that faith and a pledge that the faith is legitimate.
In the co-existence and mutual respect of these two forces
consist the excellency and security of society. [Footnote 41]
[Footnote 41: Revue Française (January, 1828), Méditations et
Études Morales, par M. Guizot, pp. 143, 173-175 (edition of
1861).]
{171}
If I consider this essay, or psychological portrait, shall I
rather call it, of faith in general, and compare with it
Christian faith, I am immediately struck by two features as
characterising it. On the one side, the ideas and the facts upon
which Christian faith is founded, have evidently that twofold
merit of intellectual beauty and of practical importance which
has both the right and the power to compel faith. On the other
side, Christian faith may originate, in fact does originate, in
sources the most diverse, in study and rational meditation, in
sentiment, in authority, in an appeal to the divine grace.
What grander and more impressive to the mind of man than the
principles of Christian faith, regarded as a whole? God and Man
incessantly present the one to the other, in the life of each
man, as in the history of the human race! What more grave and
more momentous, regarded from a practical point of view? In the
present hour, it is peace to the soul of man, peace to his life;
in the future, it is his destiny throughout eternity.
{172}
The diversity of the sources of Christian faith is not less
evident than its intellectual beauty and its practical
importance. Beyond a doubt, the Christian faith of the Chancellor
de l'Hospital, of Pascal, of Bossuet, of Fénelon, of Luther, of
Calvin, of Newton, of Euler, of Chalmers, was as much the fruit
of reflection and of learning, was as freely meditated and
adopted as the scepticism of Montaigne and of Bayle, as the
sensualism of Hobbes, and the pantheism of Spinoza. It is equally
certain that all Christian communities, Roman Catholic or
Protestant, have had their mystics, their eminent and sincere
believers, whose faith was illumed and fed by sensibility and
imagination; in the former case in the emotions and practices of
fervent piety; in the latter, in empassioned transports and
strivings after a direct communication with God and with Christ.
As for the faith founded upon authority, the Church of Rome has
presented the most extraordinary example which the world has ever
seen, and if Protestantism has caused the faith of individuals to
make great strides in the direction of liberty, it has
nevertheless taken for its fixed basis the divine inspiration of
the Sacred Book, and has thus ensured a great importance and very
efficacious influence to the principle of authority.
{173}
Having thus placed Christian Faith in its true point of view, and
assigned to it its just rank in the history of the human soul,
let us see whence arises the contest in which that Faith is
engaged with natural Religion and with religious philosophy? What
is the principle of this contest, and what its character?
Here we are met by that all-important question, the question
which has been agitated during nineteen centuries, and to which
all the intellect of modern times has applied itself. Is the
Christian Faith in contradiction to human reason? Some affirm
that a contest between the two is natural and inevitable; of
these there are who tell us that reason should give way to faith,
and again others who say that faith should yield to reason:
whereas, on the contrary, there are those also who deny that such
contest is inevitable, and who maintain that faith and reason, as
they ought to do, may both live in peace with each other.
{174}
In my opinion, the difference between Christian Faith and that
which is styled natural Religion, or religious philosophy, is
profound; but I do not think that the question between the two
has been rightly put, or that the character of their opposition
has been rightly defined.
To discover what, in effect, this character is, I address myself,
first, to the philosophers.
We know how Descartes began his great philosophical inquiries, to
what state he brought his mind in order to enter upon his task:
"I persuaded myself," says he, "that I could not do better with
respect to the opinions which up to that time I had entertained,
than to begin by ridding myself of them entirely, in order then
either to replace them by better opinions, or to return to the
old ones if I should find them, on examination, to conform to the
standard of reason."
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Then proceeding to determine the precepts to be followed by him
in this recasting of all his opinions by such standard,--"My
first principle," said he, "was never to accept anything as true,
unless I could evidently recognise its truth; in other words, to
avoid carefully any precipitate judgment, to allow my mind to
follow no bias, and not to comprise anything in its judgments but
what presented itself so clearly and so distinctly to my mind as
to leave me no room for doubt." [Footnote 42]
[Footnote 42: Discours de la Méthode. Works of Descartes,
vol. i., pp. 135, 141; edition of M. Cousin.]
More than a century after Descartes, Condillac, wishing to trace
to its source the origin of human knowledge, and to write the
history of its progressive development, did far more than
obliterate from his mind its primitive ideas. He began his
labours by curtailing the human mind of a great part of its
proper proportions; he reduced man to the primitive condition of
a statue, leaving to it no other faculty than the sensation: and
then he fancied he could derive from sensations all man's ideas,
all his knowledge,--in fact, the entire man himself.
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Thus these two great systems, Spiritualism and Sensualism, have
their very commencement, each in an arbitrary assumption.
Descartes, effacing from the human mind all that it has learnt to
know or to believe, solely by its spontaneous activity, and by
the natural course of human life, has treated the mind as a
_tabula rasa_, and to fill up the void which he has so made,
he does not admit anything there unless it presents itself "so
clearly and so distinctly to his mind, as to leave him no room to
doubt respecting it." Condillac, on the other hand, suppresses
not only all that which man has learnt spontaneously and without
reflection, but the man himself; leaving in the place of man a
statue, sentient, it is true, but only sentient, and with this
statue and his sensations alone, he undertakes to reconstruct the
man--the entire man--with all the developments of his nature and
of his thought.
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I see nothing in either of these processes more than a starting
point entirely fictitious, a false step made at the very
commencement of philosophy,--in short, a mere hypothesis.
Descartes rendered admirable services to the cause of liberty and
of intellectual sincerity; Condillac contributed to the progress
of the method which I shall call, the method of anatomy and
scientific dissection applied both to the human mind and to the
material world; but from their very commencement both these
philosophers threw themselves out of the high road, the straight
road of philosophy; each from the very commencement substituted a
mere hypothesis in the place of an exact and complete
appreciation of facts. It is far from my intention to discuss
either of these two systems; I am content to put aside the two
hypotheses, the _tabula rasa_ of Descartes, and the statue
of Condillac, and I proceed, my way lighted by the facts, as they
are, naturally produced in the history of the mind of man, to
inquire what is the cause, and what the import, of the struggle
which is taking place between rationalistic religious philosophy,
and Christian faith.
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