are equally certain. They are both intuitive propositions, first truths, which need no proof; which indeed are so certain, that they cannot be proved. They are believed, alike, "immediately, universally, irresistibly." They are felt to be true, equally true, and even by those who affect to doubt; and who, under a sort of hallucination, or through a reckless habit of perverting language, deny their truth. Let me ask your attention to a brief illustration of this statement: I have in my hand a portion of that substance, which we call matter. This book is matter or material substance. If now, you ask, what this matter is; I can only answer, something, which is solid and extended; something, which resists pressure, and occupies space. If then you ask, what that something is, which is thus solid and extended, I can only answer, in a circle, something, which contains or exhibits or combines these properties of solidity and extension; or confess my ignorance at once, with the Indian philosopher, who had sought in vain for something to support his tortoise, which supported the elephant, on which the earth rested; and say with him, “something, I know not what." Thus concerning the nature of matter, or the real essence of material substance, we can give no account, nor form any abstract and positive conception; and yet we can have no doubt of its existence. The result of an inquiry into the nature of spirit, or immaterial substance, would be precisely the same. Let any one reflect on the operations of his own mind. He will immediately discover, that there is something, which thinks, remembers, wills, and directs the movements of his body. What this something is, abstracted from these properties, he does not, indeed, know. But of its properties, united and permanently combined, he has clear and distinct ideas; and of the existence of the mind itself he has, and can have, no doubts. Thus this objection of materialists operates as forcibly against the existence of matter, as of spirit; but our acquaintance with the properties of both, destroys the whole force of its operation. Something, in which these respective classes of properties meet, and on which they depend, certainly does exist. Something surely exists, which thinks and wills; and something, which is solid and extended. The one we discover by other by consciousness sensation and perception, the and reflection. The one we denominate matter, the other spirit. The one is material, the other immaterial; and our knowledge and ignorance of both are bounded by the same lines. If now, with this view of the different natures, or rather of the different properties, of the soul and body, we consider the effects of death, so far as they fall within our observation, the common objections against the immortality of the soul will immediately vanish. The tendency of death is not to destroy, but to change. By it the matter, which constitutes an organized body, is modified, but not annihilated; the parts are separated, but not destroyed; the whole frame is dissolved and crumbled into dust, but the substance still remains. Now analogy would teach us, if death has any direct influence on the soul, to expect the same effect, as on the body. But the total difference in the nature and properties of matter and mind, forbids the expectation; and cuts off all conclusions from analogy. For, if according to all our notions, derived from consciousness, the soul is a simple, uncompounded substance, it is not subject to dissolution, cannot be separated into parts; and the supposed analogy fails entirely. It may, indeed, be true, that the same Almighty Power, who called us into being, can speak us back into nothing; that he who created, can destroy the human soul. But, I say, there is nothing in the tendency of death, so far as we can trace it, which would lead us to suppose, that this effect is actually produced. As we see nothing destroyed by death, the most natural and probable conclusion is, that there is no absolute destruction, either of matter or mind, connected with it; that it annihilates neither material nor immaterial substance; that when "the earthly house of this tabernacle is dissolved," the soul or intellectual part of man is sent, unembodied, into the world of spirits. Thus far our argument is merely negative. It is designed only to prove, that death has no necessary connection with the destruction of the soul, and furnishes no analogy indicative of such destruction. It tends merely to remove objections against immortality, and dissipate the influence of early prejudices and first impressions. Let us now proceed on positive ground; and attend to the considerations, which reason suggests in favor of our actual existence beyond the grave. The progressive nature of the human mind raises, at least, a slight presumption of its immortality. Man is, or may be, constantly in a course of moral and intellectual discipline; enlarging his experience, establishing his principles and even increasing his knowledge, from the cradle to the grave.* He comes into the world perfectly ignorant. Opening his eyes on the objects around, he perceives and learns. Every day acquaints him with something new; and every acqui The apparent exceptions to this statement, which arise from a view of the phenomena of old age and diseases of the brain, are easily and fully accounted for by the simple and natural supposition, that in these cases the connection between the body and mind is weakened or deranged, while the powers of the mind, as in the case of sleep, remain unimpaired. sition in knowledge, opens before him a new field of inquiry, and at the same time enlarges his powers of acquisition. At his birth, his intellect is nothing but a capacity, a power to contain. It is a blank book, in which are to be recorded the occurrences of life and the results of experience and investigation. But it is a book, whose pages are never full. It expands with time; it grows with its contents; it increases with the events and discoveries and maxims recorded. In this respect, man differs essentially from the rest of the animal creation. Beasts and birds are brought into existence with powers greatly superior to the helpless babe. In a short time they reach the summit of their improvement. Their Creator, by giving them at once all the knowledge and skill which are necessary to answer the end of their existence, leaves them nothing to learn. Beasts know, without a teacher, the most healthful and nutritive food; and birds, the climate most congenial to their several natures. Without study or instruction, they are practical navigators, mechanics, physicians and philosophers. Instinct in them is permanent; but reason in man is progressive. Hence they appear to be formed for time, but he for eternity. They seem to reach the perfection of their nature, and answer the end of their being in the present state. But this life seems to be only the dawn of man's existence. He just begins to learn; he has just acquired the use of reason; his desire of knowledge has just become vigorous and active, when death cuts short his earthly career, calls him from the stage of life and closes the scene below. My hearers, have we not here presumptive evidence of the immortality of the soul? Has our Creator, without design, distinguished us from the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air? Is it in vain, that we are made capable of endless improvement? Shall we, after all, lie down in everlasting silence, with the beasts that perish? In a word, is not the wisdom of God a pledge of immortality to man? The general expectation, which everywhere prevails, furnishes another argument, at least affords an intimation of the reality of a future state. For, if in this life only men have hope, they are of all creatures most miserable. The brutes enjoy the present, unconcerned about the future. They have nothing of that anxious solicitude for their future welfare, nor of that fearful looking for of judgment, which reflecting men experience. Why, then, has the wise and benevolent Author of all our hopes and fears, given to his rational creatures this expectation, if it has no foundation in truth, no real object, no tendency to secure a wise end and prepare for a benevolent and happy result? Similar to this consideration is that of an almost universal desire of continued existence. A sober mind can scarcely, for a moment, support the idea of annihilation. The very thought of sinking into nothing fills the mind with horror. Nor is the supposition admissible, that a wise and benevolent Creator would have implanted in man this universal desire, if the object of it were not real. This whole argument of ancient philosophy has been beautifully expressed in modern poetry: Plato, thou reasonest well! Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, Or whence this secret dread and inward horror of falling into nought? why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction. "Tis the Divinity that stirs within us; 'Tis Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man. The strongest argument, however, for the immortali |