ewise the Mysteries of the faith. The
connexion of this philosophy of religion with what is sometimes called
"Berkeleyism" has been mentioned above; I knew little of Berkeley at
this time except by name; nor have I ever studied him.

On the second intellectual principle which I gained from Mr. Keble, I
could say a great deal; if this were the place for it. It runs through
very much that I have written, and has gained for me many hard names.
Butler teaches us that probability is the guide of life. The danger of
this doctrine, in the case of many minds, is, its tendency to destroy in
them absolute certainty, leading them to consider every conclusion as
doubtful, and resolving truth into an opinion, which it is safe indeed
to obey or to profess, but not possible to embrace with full internal
assent. If this were to be allowed, then the celebrated saying, "O God,
if there be a God, save my soul, if I have a soul!" would be the highest
measure of devotion:--but who can really pray to a Being, about whose
existence he is seriously in doubt?

I considered that Mr. Keble met this difficulty by ascribing the
firmness of assent which we give to religious doctrine, not to the
probabilities which introduced it, but to the living power of faith and
love which accepted it. In matters of religion, he seemed to say, it is
not merely probability which makes us intellectually certain, but
probability as it is put to account by faith and love. It is faith and
love which give to probability a force which it has not in itself. Faith
and love are directed towards an Object; in the vision of that Object
they live; it is that Object, received in faith and love, which renders
it reasonable to take probability as sufficient for internal conviction.
Thus the argument from Probability, in the matter of religion, became an
argument from Personality, which in fact is one form of the argument
from Authority.

In illustration, Mr. Keble used to quote the words of the Psalm: "I will
guide thee with mine _eye_. Be ye not like to horse and mule, which have
no understanding; whose mouths must be held with bit and bridle, lest
they fall upon thee." This is the very difference, he used to say,
between slaves, and friends or children. Friends do not ask for literal
commands; but, from their knowledge of the speaker, they understand his
half-words, and from love of him they anticipate his wishes. Hence it
is, that in his Poem for St. Bartholomew's Day, he s