THE BANNER,
i
[WEEK LY.]
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Vol. III. Abbeville C. H., S. C. May 20, 1846. No. 12.
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THE I MM OK T A LI T Y OF THE t
SOUL. t
The S11 bjctTTTiilost)])liicalTy"Tonsitlcreil. e
AN ESSAY, 1
Read before 'Tito Abbeville Jjyccnm\
12lit November, 1S45, by the Rev. A. (
H. Cornish, A. M. ' a
(i'unLisiiKD by ui:qm:.sT.) 1
Upon 110 subject, perhaps, have pliilo- 1
so pile rs speculated more largely and dis- c
cordantly than upon the nature and <lu- ^
ration of the son I. (,
But too commonly. however, has it ^
happened that, presumptuously striving j
to know what Ciod lias wisely concealed r
from the finite view, they have overstep- j
ped the limits of modest investigation,
and entered the mysterious and shadowy ^
region which lies beyond. They have ,
vainly sought to know all things and because
they could not gain a perfect t
knowledge ol the ewnr.e and mo le of existence
of the soul; or rather, because j
the soul is not, like mailer, perceptible (
to the external senses, they would whol- j f
ly discard the notioh of its immortality, I \
and betake themselves to the cheerless I .
and gloomy hypothesis, that the soul :
perishes with the bo ly in the grave, or, ^
in other and more expressive language, s
that the sleep of death if eternal. r
Such, in brief, is the creed of infideli- v
ty?such the end it assigns to man. t
But is death total extinction? Is all J
that folio.vs death mere 4t blank oblivion, j t
utter nothingness?" The mind instinc- e
tively shudders at the thought. It is too r
dismal to be for a moment indulged. a
To be laid in the narrow-house, and t
moulder back to dust, and be no more, 0
never! no never! Horrible anticipa- ?
tion! And'the rational mind would ?
fain avoid it in the belief, that, Revela
tion apart, it is nevertheless in the high- _
est degree, possible and probable that the :
spirit will su reive the wreck of its mortal ,*
tenement. That, as an old poet lias well j
and forcibly expressed it, " Regit idem y
spiritus aitus orbe alio."* j
It will then be my present aim. to x
show, that it is, in a mere philosophical
point of view, both possible and probable j
that the mini or soul of mm is capable of c
existing, and will exist after the dissolution, f
of the body. t
The existence of mind as something [
distinct from the Junctions of the body, ^
has been questioned by the hpyothesis t
which supposes the mind, or vital princi- r
nlu (n Vin nf till! cornn 6.il.0lnr.?n ?K.. t
i/?v vw uu vi inu oauio ouuokujli: as iitt; ^
body, and like the body, liable to disso- t
lution and annihilation. c
Now suppose it be, ror argument's
sake, admitted, that the mind and body
are, as to substance, the same, will it "c
follow that the mind is destructible? or, c
in other words, will be annihilated? 0
In nature, as in mechanics, perma ncncy
is known to be an universal law.
From all the teachings of science we c
learn, with respect to matter, that no j
particle of it has ever been destroyed by x
the decomposition of bodies ; and since (
annihilation supposes entire destruction, g
it follows that no particle of matter has J
ever been annihilated. The term anni- t
hilalion, therefore, is vague and un- .
meaning?denoting something of which
the human mind can form no adequate
conception. Hence, lor aught that ap- j
pears to the contrary, mailer itself may \
be imperishable immortal, and consequently
though the body and inind were, (
as to substance, the same, it would nevertheless
be true, that the mind is im- J
mortal. Annihilated then man cannot
be. The grave may cover him?the 1
worm may feed upon him?his body .
may be dissolved into us original atoms,
but no one of these atoms will be de- \
6troyed or lost while the present consti- !
tution and order of things continues.
Matter of all kinds, we know, is liable
to dissolution. Yetrall alike is contin
ued in being?entering, perhaps, into
an innumerable variety of new and fanciful
combinations; so that in the natural
process of things, the majestic oak
may, in part be composed of the atoms
of some once sensitive form laid to repose
beneath its quiet shade. Nevertheless
permanency is stamped upon ail,
all are immortal.
But, be it observed, the mind if material,
mu3t be an atomy or a combination
of atoms, and, consequently perceptible
to the external senses. But this not beinxr
the msr il follows that the mind is
o "7 ? ?
essentially different from its corporeal
* Lucan.
encmcnt. And that it is immaterial, ilislnct
from matter; and also capable of
xistirig apart fiom the hotly would seem
o result from the constant variations
vhich the latter is known to undergo,
vithout any perceptible or corresponlent
change in the former. That we
ire the same sentient, thinking beings
iow, we ever have been, or, that the
niud, through all the gradations of life,
rom childhood to old age, remains unhanged,
save by a gradual expansion
mil improvement ol its powers, is u selfivident
proposition. W" ith respect to the
>ody, however, tlie case is otherwise.
3(.'tvve?%n the years of infancy anil matu
ity, it is subject, both in texture anil
ineament to striking variations. The
[uestion then arises, in what manner i
ir by what process is this change educed
? Is it by gradual accretions to the
iriginal mass, without loss, or substituion
I or, by some secret, yet certain proess
of renewal and decay / The latter
s the view which the deductions of science
would lead us to adopt; since
mm lliPSit it nnnmirs tK;if tli? lmmm?
>ody changes, imperceptibly, indeed,
ret entirely with the increase of* years,
c that no identical part of the infantine
ir youthful frame, can with certainty be
aid to exist in the corporeal structure of
naturer years. A fact which, by the
vay, is well fitted to remind us that " jii
ho midst of life we are in death."
Hut amid these constant variations in
ae corporeal system, the mind experinces
no change, except, as before remarked,
in the gradual developement
nd maturity of its faculties. It follows
herefore, that the mind is, in its nature
>r essence, essentially different from the
material structure with which it is, in
ome mysterious manner united. And
f different, and, as we have seen, not
iu uiu uAauiai ai-uaua, iiiuii j
t must be immaterial, and if immaterial.
here is the strongest 'probability that it
s capable of surviving and existing apart
rom physical organization. For if the
nind be not so intimately connectcd
vith the body as to be affected by its
>artial change, is it not reasonable to beieve
it will not be affected by its final
lissolution 1 " In truth, the body and its
lenses, appear to be nothing- more than
he instruments which the mind employs
or the acquisition of knowledge, which,
vhen so acquired, it feeds upon without
he instrumentality of these external or
jans. As c. g. in the case of reasoning
ind reflection where the mind acts enirely
separate from the powers of perception."*
Hence arises a well grounded presumption,
that when the body shall be
lissolvcd, the mind, or immaterial principle,
will live on without interruption,
md in a progressively enlarging sphere
>f activity an-1 enjoyment.
Furthermore, it is very generally conceded
that the mind is seldom or never
nactive. And when, through weariless,
the body sinks to repose, how often
Iocs the mind, or immaterial principle,
teal forth from its little prison-house of
nortality, seemingly conscious of its present
confinement, and anxious to anticipate
its future unbounded freedom ?
And, again, when the body, enfeebled
ind wasted by disease, is just on the
ive of dissolution, how frequently does
t happen that the mind evinces an uncommon
degree of vigor and clearness
in the exercise of its powers? Sufficient
this, it would seem, in connexion with '
the foregoing, to render it in the highest
degree probable that the mind will survive
the decay and dissolution of the
body. And if it survive it at all, the
vresumplirc evidence is strong in favor of
its immortality. For, to this end, let us
briefly consider the endowments, of the
mind.
I low deep, tender, and abiding its af
tections How ardent and unbounded
its desires J How wonderful and diversified
in operation all its powers !
By memory, for instance, it calls up to
present thought objects which lie hid in
the far distant past. By imagination
it visits, with inconceivable celerity, all
places, in all tjjne. The earth whicfr
we inhabit is but the point from which
immagination ceinmences its career;
the centre only of a vast circuit c6mnrisp.rl
in its nnrvev. It snai-R fivp.n Ka
yond the bounds of the .Visible creation,
consisting of innumerable worlds and
# Abereombic, oil the intellectual
powers.
systems, and dares oven to enter the
u heaven of heavens," the upper sanctuary
of the Most High. i
In fine, contemplate the various facul <
ties and powers of the mind individually
or collectively. Observe their opera- <
tions either singly or combined. And
especially consider how luipe buoys it up
amid the trials and disappointments nf
the present, by the cheering ami conso
latory promise of bctlvr things to come.
While /car, the apprehension of future
ill, serves as a salutary restraint upon
'i'i t. i .iJ
piccLiiLu^uuu. i uuausucuu ;iiiucuons 100,
which so closely unite the hearts of kindred
spirits,and, indeed, link together the
whole extended circle of human rela- :
tionship; though frequently wounded, i
or even sundered by the hand of oppression,
or of death, how, nevertheless, do
they firmly cling to the comforting be- ;
lief of continued existence in another
state, where all the evils and inequali
lies of the present will be fully rectified.
And shall these fears be ended '? these
social affections eternally blasted by the
dissolution of the body / shall memory
then cease to instruct and please by recalling
ihe past ? or immagiualio/i to enrapture
by its ever varied, fanciful, and i
glorious representions? Sound philoso- i
phy answers no. " The diversified and
wonderful endowments of the mind, are,
of themselves, sufficient evidence of its
immortality."
And such, be it observed, is the con>
elusion to which, by a somewhat similar
train of reasoning, most heathen philosophers
and moralists have arrived.
True, the notions which the wisest
heathen sages have entertained respecting
the nature and duration of the soul
are confusedly mixed with fable and uncertainty
And some in atfeient, as in
modern times, presumed to deny the
doctrine of its immortality. But the
simple fact that it was believed bv some,
i?. i .1 ?i --?
iuasunuu liuuiu uy unifis, aim mum or
less engaged the attention of all, is sufficient
proof of the great importance ever
attached to the doctrine, and and also
illustrates and confirms the position, thai
the soul naturally longs for immortality.
Most deeply, however, was the truth of
the doctrine impressed on the minds of
the more intelligent and reflecting
heathen,* by the consideration of
the unequal distribution ol good and
evil in the present state of being.
They frequently beheld vice and tyrany
triumphant, and conscious innocence
and virtue suffering the severest indignity
and wrong. And they were led to
inquire, " What reward has virtue, that,
ior its attainment, the passions should
be subdued, the appetites curbed, and
present gratification bo forborne ?"
Were they told, " Though there is no
future, yet you ought to live a virtuous
life, since v.iluous action so greatly contributes
to the happiness of individuals
and of nations." Such a reply would
scarcely have proved satisfactory. For,
however true the admission that the permanency,
nay, existence of good society
depends on the conduct of the good; it
might again, and with reason be asked ,
" Why seek to build up, or support society
at all? Why impose restraints on
the natural freedom of man, if there be
no hereafter? Why not suffer him,like
a splendid brute, as then he would be, to
seek to the lull, the gratification of his
sensual and grovelling propensities?
" To cat and drink, since to morrow lie
must die," and be no more?
Surely little enjoyment can result
from a course of virtuous discipline;
from the enlargement of feeling and de-1
sire, from the greater cultivation of the
social affections, and improvement of the
moral and intellectual powers, consequent
on a state of society, if man be
only thereby made cap-ible of feeling
more deeply, more keenly the loss of life
?the " total extinction of the enlightened
soul."
Some higher motive to virtuous conduct
was therefore seen to be needful
I A motive oueratino- alike unon thn Im.rs
r o I' "" J ~
and the fmpes of men. And such a motive
could only be derived from a belief
in a future stnte of being, where all
things will be weighed in the balance
of justice, and vice be punished, and virtue
rewarded.
* It .follows, then, that they who, for
whatever cause, look forward to death
as the termination of their being, anticipate
d result contfary alike to the die
?? " I
Such as Ciccro, Pluto and Aristotle. I
talcs of right rcisoii and I run philosophy.
Ami hence, although they should boldly
iiflirin, in language attributed to such by
jneololil, that," iS'o man was ever known
liave returned from the grave; for wc
ire born at all adventure ; am! we shall
Iju hereafter as though \ve had never
been. For the breath in our nostrils is
us smoke ; anil a little spark in the mo
vmjr 01 our neari, which oemg extinguished,
our body shall bo turned into
ashes. and our spirit shall vanish as the
soft air: and our name shall be forgotten
in time ; and no man shall have our
works in remembrance; and our life
shall pass away as the trace of a cloud,
and shall be dispersed as a mist, that is
driven away with the beams of the sur?.
nnd overcome with the heat thereof
For o?ir time is a very shadow that pusseth
away, and alter our end there is no
returning; for it is last sealed that no
man coineth again. Come on, therel
.?. ... .i.~ i -i.:. -
ji;i. us unjuy nu: ynuu lllillgS II15U
are present. Let us fill ourselves with
costly wines and ointments ; and let no
flower of the spring pass us by : let us
crown ourselves with rose buis before
they be withered ; let us leave tokens of
our joy fulness in every place, for this is
our portion, and our lot is this." Yea.
more : " J ,et us oppress the poor righteous
man ; let us not spare the widow,
nor reverence the ancient gray hairs of
the aged " Though some should thus
reason, yet, as we have seen, such reasoning
is fallacious and delusiv<?} having
no foundation, save in the guilty fears,
or irrational hopes of those by whom it
is employed. For, continues the wise
man, " such things, they did imagine,
and were deceived ; for their own wickedness
hath blinded them. As for the
1 .1 1 .1
ui vjiuiij uicy iuiuw tut'iii nui :
neither hoped they lor the wages of
righteousness, nor discerned a reward
for blameless souls. For God created
man to be immortal, and made hitn to be
an image of his own eternity."*
*13ook of Wisdom, 2d chap.
Saturday Evening.?How seldom
one thinks of himself! The gay, busy
world as it revolves in ils ceaseless orbit
?the things of fashion and opinion as
tlioy dance before the vision?tho wild
whirl of to day, which is reckless of tomorrow,
all consume the sands of life,
and yet we never pause to reflect upon
ourselves.
It has been said, that all are foolish by
nature; and yet no remark was ever
more unjust. We will adduce for example
your brightest specimen of genius
?one who has the Promethean spark
in his soul, who looks upon the landscape
and loves it?who sees virtue and
fhlls prostrate at its shrine?and yet
practices vice. Vice is a relative term
?the Hindoo priest, who urges the widow
to mount tlio funeral pile of murder,
is less guilty of crime on account of
his ignorance, than the christian, who
breaks a less moral tie. So genius,
" which knows the right and yet the
wrong pursues," is vicious when compared
with folly.
How few of the favored sons of talent
act up to their high vocation. In all
11 i i
arts, in an sciences, genius, iikc a cornet,
is ever eccentric, and its irregularity,
comparatively "speaking, is a crime?
can it be reduced to consistency 1 Can
education and mind be led to adopt the
plain morality of an honest yeoman?
Method is every thing?a virtuous
system will prove an overmatch for evil
habits ; and a Saturday Evening should
recall one from the troubles and outward
assaults of the world to inward
communication with himself, his conduct,
his location as to here and hereafter.
It should be lilcc the cottage of the
lover and the laborer?he should sit
down beside the fire-side' of his own
hearth, call around him his children,
which are his thoughts, and with them
enter info judgement as to the past, and
from this calculate upon better things
to be performed in the future. Men
read history to be informed of the past?
they gravely calculate from prediction
what may ensue from the aspect 61 the
nr<*?pnt nnlitisvil ti'nrM_iinri v#?t fnrnrot
? *?? j ? s~
to look at the past of their own lives, and
to draw a horsescope of their future existence
even upon earth. The world is
selfish, it is said?and yet how little of
man's life is devoted to himseIC True
it is that ambition claims a part?the
love of distinction, of pleasure, of ease,
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? ???????*
are creditors which claim more?but
real selfishness, which is a side from
these outward objects, and which relates
to the settlement of our accounts with
ourselves, takes no part in the drama of
existence, and is untried before the forum
of conscience.
How seldom do we strive to be acquainted
with ourselves 1 with the
springs of action which governs us?the
COUrSe Of life' U'hirll WA nnwno?
-- ?? V j/ v?? kj v* V VliU
very detail of criminal carelessness
which marks our conduct?all is unnoticed
as we sweep onwards to death.
Is there 110 remedy?let each Saturday
night sit in judgment upon the other
six days of the week, and let the Sabbath
be devoted to virtuous resolutions,
J penitence and prayer.
!
i Tnr. Oo.NPKSsroN.?A cloud was seen
j to pass suddenly over the features of
J Maria. The lustre forsook herdarkeyes.
I Her spirit seemed troubled.
1 " Triumphs the 1 illy on that young cheek
j Where bloomed the rose."
Ten times that evening1 did Harvy
importune her to acquaint him with the
cause of her sadness?but not a word
escaped from her lips. Sadly and silently
she sat:
And now and then a sight she stole,
And tears began to flow.
Breathes there a wretch so base as to
injure you?my dearest?by word or
action? Tell me?and by thine heart,
as pure as Heaven, I will never rest till
I've redressed thy wrongs! Is an awful
mystery locked up in thy bosom, that
I must know ? Tell mc the secret?
and by the ringlets of thy hair I'll never
reveal it, though the blackest torments
rack me ! tell thine own Harvy " whit
lies heavy in thy breast!"
She blushed,she placed her fair hands
across her bosom, looked languidly into
her lover's face, and softly like the last
breathings of an expiring saint?she
thus confessed: " lis them dam green
apples llarvy.
The Country Girl's Memorandum.
?As wo were going along the
street yesterday afternoon, says
the Cincinnati Commercial, we
I nicked un a rather ninr? lnnkincr
scrap of paper, which was covered
ail over with a delicate looking
han-l writing. It was without
doubt dropped by some young lady?perhaps
young and beautiful,
who lives in the country, and is
her memorandum of things to be
done, while in town. It reads as
follows: " Call at Dr. Ilawes"
and have him look at my decayed
teeth ; get two papers of pins, and
four of assorted needles ; buy some
grass cloth for a new petticoat;
get the May Queen at Thurber's;
tell John that father wants
him to send out his sausage filler
the next time the team comes out;
go to Whitaker s and get Dumas
last novel, call at Mrs. D/s and
?ask about that worsted work pattern
; got a bottle of Camm's
Spanish Lustral to stop my hair
from coming out; ask Sarah to
lend me Mrs. Osgood's poems:
get some orris root to make my
breath sweeter, provided I do not
conclude to have my tooth out ;
try to meet Alonzo, and have a
| little talk with him about that
moonlight walk ; get some cotton
for my chemeses and Robert's
? l f 1- ?
drawers; return jaines last novel
to Matilda; tell Mr. Smith'tfcat
the old blind cow has had a'fine
calf, and that lather says he may
have it to raise." . *. . ' *" >
Demosthenes and Daniel Ifaeljster
agree iti attributing eloquence
to action. Both prov#d that'theory
trtie by their action.*!A
man, we have hearf pf,vdid toe
same thing more demortrtwrtifjr. r
u:.. :r? u .1 >'nat fip?n KunaJjiM;- . '
ni? vviic Haw uMpy "?vw.jty?MiinHw 5{'
he was closing; the
her fijave, trnti 1)) n|( flint Mr gj|
hand and* i^iPtfBfefiHyMili^Bfag^
grave * he stUd'?JBHti9H2a^^H9Rl
his
continued
: III I Willi