ough to the end, whatever that end may be.

And in the next place, I believe that quest will end in good. Why the
champions of faith should regard doubt as devil-born, rather than a
providential instrument in God's hand, is something I do not
understand. If doubt humbles the Church and acts as a thorn in its
flesh, may not such chastening be providential, quite as much as the
things which puff it up? As Luther well expressed it, "We say to our
Lord, that if he will have his church, he must keep it, for we cannot.
And if we could, we should be the proudest asses under heaven." As
Attila was the scourge of God to the Roman world, when God needed to
clear that empire out of the way, as he built his new Christendom, so
may not doubt be the scourge of God to the easy-going, sleepy, too
credulous piety of to-day, which gulps down all the husks of faith so
fast that it never gets a taste of the kernel?

Yes, doubt is often the needed preparation for obtaining truth. We
must clear out the thorny thicket of superstition before we can begin
to raise the sweet fruit of true religion.

There are times when careful investigation is rightly called for. When
doubting Thomas demanded to see the print of the nails, and touch and
handle the flesh of the risen Christ, before he would believe in the
resurrection of his Lord, his demand for the most solid proof of the
great marvel was a wise and commendable one; one for which all
subsequent generations of Christians are deeply indebted to him. To
believe without evidence, or to suppress doubt where it legitimately
arises, is both fostering superstition and exposing ourselves to error
and danger. What shall we say of the merchant who refuses to entertain
any question about the seaworthiness of his vessel, but sends her off
across the Atlantic undocked and unexamined, piously trusting her to
the Lord? Shall we commend him? or not rather charge him with culpable
negligence? And what we say of such a merchant seems to me just what
we should say of the Christian who refuses to investigate the
seaworthiness of that ship of faith which his ancestors have left him.
In astronomy, in politics, in law, we demand what business the dead
hand of the past has on our lip, our brain, our purse? Why should the
dead hand of an Augustine or Calvin be exempt from giving its
authority? Why should these mediaeval glimpses of truth be given the
right to close our eyes to-day from seeing what we ourselves can see