The

suggest, the study of poetry. I might perhaps more truly say of art;-for painting, statuary, architecture and music cultivate those emotions which the orator needs, and are themselves governed by the same principles which govern him. Other studies may be peculiarly appropriate to different professions. preacher feels his need of mental philosophy; the political speaker, his need of history; but all need the discipline and emotion produced by poetry. Knowledge is vain; of little avail profound investigation, the soundest judgment, the most subtle logic, if there be wanting a power to vivify the cumbrous mass of knowledge, to give a present reality to the past, and to abstractions, a body and a shape

The materials of the orator are, in many respects, those of the poet, their objects are different. Both seek the language of strong feeling; both avoid the terms of abstract science; both paint to the bodily eye; both demand the aid of the emotions; both aim at strong impressions. Beyond this, they differ. The poet seeks to please, and instructs only that he may please the orator seeks to convince, and pleases only that he may convince or persuade. The poet does not give a labored dissertation on the effect of a use of supernatural agencies and deep mystery in poetry and on the power of a sense of guilt, but he tells you a story of the ancient mariner,—the skinny hand, the glittering eye, the islands of ice,—the slimy sea, the dying men, the living man whose curse it was to live, the only living soul on the wide, wide sea, the splitting, sinking ship, the painful pilgrimage. The orator does not speak of unjust legislation, but of the Boston Port Bill. He does not tell you of the powerful foe, the skilful, unfriendly prince; but of Hyder Ali and his army hanging, for a while, like a cloud upon the declivity of the mountains, before it pours down its torrent of devastation and wo into the smiling Carnatic.

If the orator be a philosopher, he must for the time divest himself of the habits which long reflection has induced, and, clad like a little child, be content carefully to lead the blind in the path to wisdom. He must unweave the splendid and intricate tissue of knowledge, and patiently teach the unlearned how to reconstruct the fabric. The technicalities, so dear to him from long acquaintance, or because they express precisely his ideas, must be abandoned. Technical words are good, but not for the orator. Dark, unmeaning and repulsive are they to common ears, as the cabalistic terms of a conjuror. The

metaphysical poet may be a poet to the few "smitten with the love of song;" the metaphysical orator may please and instruct the metaphysician; but to the majority, both will speak in an unknown tongue.

Poetry cultivates the imagination. The province of the imagination is not to separate truth from error, but "to render all objects instinct with the inspired breath of human passion." It does not demand if things be true independently, but if they be true in their relation to other things. It does not discover, but enliven. It melts together, into one burning mass, the discordant materials thrown into its crucible. Like the colored light of sunset, it bathes in its own hue whatever it touches. Discarding technical rules, as from its nature averse to them, it adapts means to varying circumstances, and seizing upon the hearts of the audience, in aid of belief or in spite of belief, binds them in willing captivity. It annihilates space and time, brings the distant near, draws together the past and the future into the present. It warms the heart of the orator. He then speaks because he feels, not in order that he may feel. The influence flows from within, outward,-not from without, inward. It tears the orator from considerations of himself, bears him above himself, above rule, criticism, apology, audience, every thing but the subject. The orator stands like an enchanter, in the midst of spirits that are too mighty for him. He alone could evoke them from the dark abyss; but even he is but half their master. He alone can demand the secrets of futurity; but then he can speak only the words that they give him. He inspires others only as he is inspired himself.

Logic is necessary for that severe form of speech, which carries power in its front, and, by its very calmness, and repression of earth-born passions, seems to belong to a higher sphere. It must form the bone and muscle of an extended discourse. Imagination clothes the skeleton with beauty, breathes health into the rigid muscles, lights up the eye, loosens the tongue, excites that rapid and vehement declamation, which makes the speaker to be forgotten, the subject and the subject only to be thought of, betrays no presence of art, because in fact art is swallowed up in the whirlpool of excited feeling. Besides, there are truths with which logic has no concern; "truths which wake to perish never;" truths to be directly apprehended, as well as truths to be proved; feelings as well as facts. Love and passion and fear laugh at demonstration. "Logic," says one, Logic," says one," is good, "is

but not the best. The irrefragable Doctor, with his chains of inductions, his corollaries, dilemmas, and other cunning logical diagrams and apparatus, will cast you a beautiful horoscope, and speak you reasonable things; nevertheless, the stolen jewel, which you wanted him to find you, is not forthcoming. Often by some winged word-winged as the thunderbolt is of a Luther, a Napoleon, a Goethe, shall we see the difficulty split asunder, and its secret laid bare; while the Irrefragable, with all his logical roots, hews at it, and hovers round it, and finds it on all sides too hard for him."

Poetry not only offers us the language of emotion, but produces emotion, and emotion elicits thought. It has been well remarked of the great English dramatist, that he has been true to nature, in placing the "greater number of his profoundest maxims and general truths, both political and moral, not in the mouths of men at ease, but of men under the influence of passion, when the mighty thoughts overmaster and become the tyrants of the mind which has brought them forth." Then the mind rushes, by intuition, upon the truth; scorns subtle and useless distinctions; disregards entirely the husk, seizes and appropriates the kernel. Emotion in the speaker produces emotion in the hearer. You must feel, you must sympathize with him. Your mind darts, with the speaker's, right through the textures which cover up the subject, and grasps the heart of it. How deadening are the words of some passionless men. Like a dull mass of inert matter, their lifeless thought stretches across the path of your spirit. Different, indeed, are the words of another, to whom has been given some spark of ethereal fire. His words become to you a law of life. They start your sluggish spirit from its dull equilibrium, and its living wheels shall thenceforth move whithersoever the spirit that is in them moves. Rarely has been found that combination of qualities necessary to the greatest orator,—dignity, enthusiasm, wit, the power of sarcasm, the power of soothing, philosophy which does not despise imagination, imagination which does not spurn the restraints of philosophy.

The great orator must be a great man, a severe student in broad and deep studies. He must thoroughly know his materials, his models, the history of his race, and most of all, the heart within him. Then shall he have power to struggle in the noblest contest,—that of mind with mind, for the noblest object, the well being of his race.

1841.] The A Priori Argument for the Being of God. 273

ARTICLE II.

THE A PRIORI ARGUMENT FOR THE BEING OF GOD.

By Rev. L. P. Hickok, Prof. of Theol., West. Res. College, Ohio.

DIFFERENT methods of proof are applied to the great foundation of all religion, natural or revealed-the fact of the existence of God. Among these are some of the noblest productions of the human intellect; while a large proportion of the whole subserve the cause of theological science, with more or less efficiency. The present age has somewhat abounded in works of this nature; some of which will go down through future generations, as monuments of the pious research and deep thinking of our times.

It is, however, no part of our present object to examine and decide upon the comparative merits of works on Natural Theology; nor to attempt any new form of argument; nor to adduce any additional proof from new sources. An inquiry of greater importance and of a deeper nature is contemplated; and which, though essential to the soundness of all processes of proof, has very seldom received a distinct and formal investigation. Our design is to examine THE NATURE AND GROUND of all argumentation on the proof of the existence of God; that we may be able to estimate the force and conclusiveness of any process of demonstration, which shall be adduced by human reason. No argument is to be appreciated solely by its logical precision and exactness, but rather from the nature and ground of the argumentation itself; and to this last, far less than to the first, it is believed, has attention been directed in the various methods of proving the being of God. We assume to ourselves nothing but a capacity to see and feel the importance of such an investigation, while the merit and benefit of the attempt are left to be tested entirely by the issue.

Every proof of the being of God, aside from direct revelation, must come under the a priori and the a posteriori forms of argument. The mental discipline and habits of different persons will modify the degrees of conviction which they will feel from these distinct modes of reasoning; but from neither can the mind draw any sound and steadfast conclusion, until it has had

a clear and full perception of the nature of the argument and the ground on which it stands. To aid in this last particular is the sole object here proposed. We shall confine our attention in this article to the a priori form of argument.

I. The nature of the "a priori" argument. In general, it is the process of deducing conclusions from original and direct intuitions.

In one branch, it includes objects of sense, or any existing thing, which, in its agency or influence, is a cause producing changes or effects; and the a priori method of reasoning is the deduction of conclusions from the known inherent properties and powers of this given thing in itself. It is thus an argument from cause to effect; and is possible only as, by a direct knowledge of the inherent nature or power of the cause, we can see in the cause the specific effects, which must be produced in a given direction and manner of action. By one who knows directly all the inherent properties of heat, all the laws of combustion must be perfectly and a priori understood; and thus, antecedently to all experience, he may infallibly predict the effect of the application of flame to any combustible material. His conclusions are not at all empirical: in the very nature of the cause he sees the certainty and necessity of the effect.

It is important to discriminate the distinctions in the nature of all a priori from all inductive reasoning. Induction is the collection of many facts under one category, and from these facts deducing a general law or principle. For example, when heat is applied to a particular metal, as iron, we discover that the iron is expanded in bulk. It is again applied to silver, and we find that heat expands silver. It is successively applied to other metals as far as opportunity offers, and the same phenomenon occurs in all—the metals are expanded. By repeating the experiment on a great variety of metals, we feel warranted ultimately in deducing a general conclusion as a principle--heat expands all metals. The experiment may extend to all the multiplied forms of matter; and since the application of heat to every variety of material organization produces the same result, we come at length, with the same confidence as before, to a still more general deduction-heat expands all bodies.

Now the inquiry, as the test of inductive reasoning, is: Why are we warranted to extend our general law beyond the specific cases of experiment? Why do we feel a confidence in the general principle that heat expands all bodies, when we