er faculty than the understanding by which we can believe;
and the objects of faith are not those of the understanding. We can
believe only what appears to be true; and nothing can appear true but in
one of the three following ways--by intuition or feeling, as I exist,
I see the sun; or by an accumulation of probability amounting to
certainty, as there is a city called Constantinople; or by positive
demonstration, as triangles of the same base and height are equal.
Faith, therefore, being nothing at all of this description, can no
more be a belief, a persuasion, than it can be yellow or red. It can be
nothing but the annihilation of reason, a silence of adoration at the
contemplation of things absolutely incomprehensible. Thus, speaking
philosophically, no person believes the Trinity; no person believes that
the same body can be in a thousand places at once; and he who says, I
believe these mysteries, will see, beyond the possibility of a doubt,
if he reflects for a moment on what passes in his mind, that these words
mean no more than, I respect thee, mysteries; I submit myself to those
who announce them. For they agree with me, that my real reason, their
own reason, believe them not; but it is clear if my _reason_ is not
persuaded, I am not persuaded, and my reason cannot possibly be two
different beings. It is an absolute contradiction that I should receive
that as true which my understanding rejects as false. Faith, therefore,
is nothing but submissive or deferential incredulity. But why should
this submission be exercised when my understanding invincibly recoils?
The reason, we well know, is, that my understanding has been persuaded
that the mysteries of my faith are laid down by God himself. All, then,
that I can do, as a reasonable being, is to be silent and adore. That is
what divines call external faith; and this faith neither is, nor can be,
anything more than respect for things incomprehensible, in consequence
of the reliance I place on those who teach them; If God himself were
to say to me, "Thought is of an olive colour;" "the square of a certain
number is bitter;" I should certainly understand nothing at all from
these words. I could not adopt them either as true or false. But I will
repeat them, if he commands me to do it; and I will make others repeat
them at the risk of my life. This is faith; it is nothing more than
obedience. In order to obtain a foundation then for this obedience,
it is merely necessary