“I affirm,” said Fellowes, “that ‘faith’ has nothing to do with the intellect, but is a state of the affections exclusively.  I affirm, with a recent acute writer, that there is, properly speaking, no belief at all that is distinguishable from reason.  For what is meant by belief of a proposition, but the receiving that proposition true upon evidence, from a supposed preponderance of reasons in its favor?  Now, whether that preponderance be a ton weight or a single grain, down goes the balance, and reason as strictly decides that it is to be received as if it were a mathematical demonstration.  If the arguments, whether abstract or otherwise, absolutely demonstrative or only probable, are supposed to be exactly balanced, there is no reason for deciding in favor of one side more than the other; and there is, therefore, no belief, for the very reason that reason cannot be exercised.”

“Very well indeed,” said Harrington, “so far as it goes; but I forthwith see, that, so far from deriving any benefit from this ingenious reasoning, there is no such thing as either faith or belief:  belief and faith have both vanished at the same time; the first is resolved into reason, and the second becomes impossible.”

“Belief may,” said Fellowes, “but faith never.  Its divine beauty is all the brighter, when happily divorced from logic and syllogisms, its misalliance with which can only be compared to that cruel punishment by which the living was chained to the dead.  Say what you will, it still reigns and triumphs in the soul in spite of all.”

“I am perfectly convinced,” said Harrington, “that the modern spiritualist will not bring his ‘faith’ into any ignominious slavery to intellect or syllogism.  But clear up my doubts if you can.  I know that the writers you are fond of quoting very generally give an illustration of the nature of faith by pointing to the ingenuous trust of a child in the wisdom and kindness of a parent.”

“They do; and is it not a beautiful illustration?  That is genuine faith indeed!”

“I am willing to take the illustration.  The child has faith, we see, in his father’s superior wisdom and experienced kindness.”

“Yes.”

“He believes them, therefore.”

“Certainly.”

“But belief is reason.”

“Certainly; but faith is more than that.”

“No doubt; but he does believe these things.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“And if he did not believe them, he would cease to have faith.  If, for instance, he be convinced that his father is mad, or cruel, or unjust, the state of affections which you call faith will diminish, and at last cease.”

“Perhaps so,” said Fellowes.

“Perhaps so, my friend!  I really cannot receive your answer, because I am convinced that it does not express your sentiments.”

“Well, I believe that the state of affection which call ‘faith’ would be impossible under such circumstances.”