the supreme end to be sought; that it is yet but partially known; that doubt respecting its received forms, and the subjection of them to the most inexorable tests, is an imperative duty; and that the noblest mental occupation of man is the free exercise of his powers in questioning received beliefs, on any and all subjects, and attaining to clearer, more elevated, consistent, and valid opinions. It is the office of Science to push destructive criticism to the uttermost limit, in every direction of thought, in the steadfast faith that truth will thereby be the gainer, and views more and more clearly established, against which destructive criticism will be powerless.
Accordingly, in every thoroughly managed scientific school in the world, the students are taught, first of all, to be dissatisfied with things as they find them—are trained to skeptical habits in regard to all that of which the proof is not perfect; and are, moreover, especially required to enforce this discipline upon themselves by questioning the evidence of their own results, and by welcoming from any quarter the hostile criticism that shall overthrow the conclusions they suppose themselves to have established. This is, perhaps, an ideal to which but few scientific students fully attain, both because of its essential difficulty, and because scientific education is as yet but a very partial influence in moulding the mind; while the whole force of current and traditional culture is thrown in favor of a very different system of ideals, ethics, and objects, in the work of mental cultivation.
It is very different in the religious sphere. Theology is older than science, and, by the mass of the people, is regarded as a thousand times more important. Theological teachers have been the great pioneers of education in the past, and are still overwhelmingly in the control of it. Among the presidents of our colleges, where there is one man of science there are ten doctors of divinity. A system of education dominated by theology is one which embodies the theological spirit in its methods of culture. What that spirit is, as respects freedom of thought, and the duty of its teachers in the formation of their opinions, we have seen in the recent treatment, by large and authoritative bodies, of Blauvelt, Miller, and Smith. Truth was not permitted to be their object. The right of private judgment, and the consequent right of the free expression of its results, were made crimes to be punished. The liberty to doubt, and from that starting point to go on to something more true, is not only not encouraged, but is prohibited.
The newspapers, indeed, say, in commenting upon Mr. Blauvelt's case, that the ecclesiastical decision was right, inasmuch as he had violated his engagements with the Church: he agreed to teach certain things, and was bound by his contract. Possibly; but we protest against this degradation of the function of the teacher, especially on the most important subjects, to that of merely carrying out the literal stipulations of a bargain. Commerce may require this, but it is not favorable to the attainment of religious truth. Where would the Protestant Reformation have been, if this theory of religious contracts had been strictly adhered to? And what is the meaning of religious liberty, if those who teach religion are not to be allowed to think? Moreover, as men can no more help thinking than breathing, what is to become of the religious conscience, if they are not allowed to utter what they think?
But granting that men must fulfill their obligations, the deeper question then arises as to their right to assume such obligations. The theological policy being fixed, what right had either Blauvelt, Miller, or Smith, to subject himself to it, so that by the legitimate and independent exercise of his own
