Joseph Addison · 23 of 25

Sect. X. Immortality of the Soul, and a Future State. · Part 2

Should a spirit of superior rank, who is a stranger to human nature, accidentally alight upon the earth, and take a survey of its inhabitants, what would his notions of us be? Would not he think that we are a species of beings made for quite different ends and purposes than what we really are? Must not he imagine that we were placed in this world to get riches and honours? Would not he think that it was our duty to toil after wealth, and station, and title? Nay, would not he believe we were forbidden poverty by threats of eternal punishment, and enjoined to pursue our pleasures under pain of damnation! He would certainly imagine that we were influenced by a scheme of duties quite opposite to those which are indeed prescribed to us. And truly, according to such an imagination, he must conclude that we are a species of the most obedient creatures in the universe; that we are constant to our duty, and that we keep a steady eye on the end for which we were sent hither.

But how great would be his astonishment, when he learned that we were beings not designed to exist in this world above threescore and ten years? and that the greatest part of this busy species fall short even of that age? How would he be lost in horror and admiration, when he should know that this set of creatures, who lay out all their endeavours for this life, which scarce deserves the name of existence; when, I say, he should know that this set of creatures are to exist to all eternity in another life, for which they make no preparations? Nothing can be a greater disgrace to reason than that men, who are persuaded of these two different states of being, should be perpetually employed in providing for a life of threescore and ten years, and neglecting to make provision for that which, after many myriads of years, will be still new, and still beginning; especially when we consider that our endeavours for making ourselves great, or rich, or honourable, or whatever else we place our happiness in, may, after all, prove unsuccessful; whereas, if we constantly and sincerely endeavour to make ourselves happy In the other life, we are sure that our endeavours will succeed, and that we shall not be disappointed in our hope.

The following question is started by one of the schoolmen. Supposing the whole body of the earth were a great ball or mass of the finest sand, and that a single grain or particle of this sand should be annihilated every thousand years; supposing then that you had it in your choice to be happy all the while this prodigious mass of sand was Consuming by this slow method till there was not a grain of it left, on condition you were to be miserable for ever after; or supposing that you might be happy for ever after, on condition you would be miserable till the whole mass of sand were thus annihilated at the rate of one sand in a thouand years: which of these two cases would you make your choice?

It must be confessed in this case, so many thousands of years are to the imagination as a kind of eternity, though in reality they do not bear so great a proportion to that duration which is to follow them, as an unit does to the greatest number which you can put together in figures, or as one of those sands to the supposed heap. Reason therefore tells us, without any manner of hesitation, which would be the better part in this choice. However, as I have before intimated, our reason might in such a case be so overset by the imagination, as to dispose some persons to sink under the consideration of the great length of the first part of this duration, and of the great distance of that second duration which is to succeed it. The mind, I say, might give itself up to that happiness which is at hand, considering that it is so very near, and that it would last very long. But when the choice we actually have before us, is this, whether we will chuse to be happy for the space only of threescore and ten, nay, perhaps of only twenty or ten years, I might say of only a day or an hour, and miserable to all eternity; or, on the contrary, miserable for this short term of years, and happy for a whole eternity; what words are sufficient to express that folly and want of consideration, which, in such a case, makes a wrong choice?

1 here put the case even at the worst, by supposing what seldom happens, that a course of virtue makes us miserable in this life; but if we suppose, as it generally happens, that virtue would make us more happy even in this life than a contrary course of vice; how can we sufficiently admire the stupidity or madness of those persons who are capable of making so absurd a choice?

Every wise man therefore will consider this life only as it may conduce to the happiness of the other, and cheerfully sacrifice the pleasures of a few years to those of an eternity.

Sentio te sedem hominum ac domum contemplari, quæ si tibi parva (ut est) ita videtur, hæc coelestia semper spectato; illa humana contemnito.

Cic. Somn. Scip.

I understand, you contemplate the abode and habitation of men; which if it seem so small to you, as indeed it is, direct your views continually to heavenly objects, and contemn those that are earthly.

THE following essay comes from the ingenious author of the letter upon novelty, printed in a late Spectator; the notions are drawn from the Platonic way of thinking, but as they contribute to raise the mind, and may inspire noble sentiments of our own future grandeur and happiness, I think it well deserves to be presented to the public.

“If the universe be the creature of an intelligent mind, this mind could have no immediate regard to himself in producing it. He needed not to make trial of his omnipotence, to be informed what effects were within its reach; the world, as existing in his eternal idea, was then as beautiful as now it is drawn forth into being; and in the immense abyss of his essence are contained far brighter scenes than will be ever set forth to view; it being impossible that the great author of nature should bound his power by giving existence to a system of creatures so perfect, that he cannot improve upon it by any other exertions of his almighty will. Between finite and infinite there is an unmeasured interval, not to be filled up in endless ages; for which reason, the most excellent of God’s works must be equally short of what his power is able to produce, as the most imperfect, and may be exceeded with the same ease.

This thought hath made some imagine, (what, it must be confessed, is not impossible,) that the unfathomed space is ever teeming with new births, the younger still inheriting a greater perfection than the elder. But, as this doth not fall within my present view, I shall content myself, with taking notice, that the consideration now mentioned proves undeniably, that the ideal worlds in the divine understanding yield a prospect incomparably more ample, various and delightful than any created world can do; and that therefore, as it is not to be supposed that God should make a world merely of inanimate matter, however diversified or inhabited only by creatures of no higher an order than brutes; so the end for which he designed his reasonable offspring, is the contemplation of his works, the enjoyment of himself, and in both to be happy, having, to this purpose, endued them with correspondent faculties and desires. He can have no greater pleasure from a bare review of his works, than from the survey of his own ideas, but we may be assured that he is well pleased in the satisfaction derived to beings capable of it, and, for whose entertainment, he hath erected this immense theatre. Is not this more than an intimation of our immortality? Man, who when considered as on his probation for a happy existence hereafter, is the most remarkable instance of divine wisdom: if we cut him off from all relation to eternity, is the most wonderful and unaccountable composition in the whole creation. He hath capacities to lodge a much greater variety of knowledge than he will be ever master of, and an unsatisfied curiosity to tread the secret paths of nature and providence; but, with this, his organs, in their present structure, are rather fitted to serve the necessities of a vile body, than to minister to his understanding and, from the little spot to which he is chained, he can frame but wandering guesses concerning the innumerable worlds of light that encompass him, which, though in themselves of a prodigious bigness, do but just glimmer in the remote spaces of the heavens: and when, with a great deal of time and pains, he hath laboured a little way up the steep ascent of truth, and beholds with pity the grovelling multitude beneath, in a moment his foot slides, and he tumbles down headlong into the grave.

Thinking on this, I am obliged to believe, in justice to the Creator of the world, that there is another state when man shall be better situated for contemplation, or rather have it in his power to remove from object to object, and from world to world: and be accommodated with senses, and other helps, for making the quickest and most amazing discoveries. How does such a genius as Sir Isaac Newton, from amidst the darkness that involves human understanding, break forth, and appear like one of another species! The vast machine, we inhabit, lies open to him, he seems not unacquainted with the general laws that govern it; and while with the transport of a philosopher he beholds and admires the glorious work, he is capable of paying at once a more devout and more rational homage to his maker. But alas! how narrow is the prospect even of such a mind? and how obscure to the compass that is taken in by the ken of an angel: or of a soul but newly escaped from its imprisonment in the body! For my part, I freely indulge my soul in the confidence of its future grandeur; it pleases me to think that I, who know so small a portion of the works of the Creator, and with slow and painful steps creep up and down on the surface of this globe, shall ere long shoot away with the swiftness of imagination, trace out the hidden springs of nature’s operation, be able to keep pace with the heavenly bodies in the rapidity of their career, be a spectator of the long chain of events in the natural and moral worlds, visit the several apartments of the creation, know how they are furnished and how inhabited, comprehend the order, and measure the magnitudes. and distances of those orbs, which to us seem disposed without any regular design, and set all in the same circle; observe the dependence of the parts of each system, and, if our minds are big enough, to grasp the theory of the several systems upon one another, from whence results the harmony of the universe. In eternity a great deal may be done of this kind. I find it of use to cherish this generous ambition; for besides the secret refreshment it diffuses through my soul, it engages me in an endeavour to improve my faculties, as well as to exercise them conformably to the rank I now hold among reasonable beings, and the hope I have of being once advanced to a more exalted station.

The other, and that the ultimate end of man, is the enjoyment of God, beyond which he cannot form a wish. Dim at best are the conceptions we have of the Supreme Being, who, as it were, keeps his creatures in suspense, neither discovering, nor hiding himself; by which means the Libertine hath a handle to dispute his existence, while the most are content to speak him fair, but in their hearts prefer every trifling satisfaction to the favour of their Maker, and ridicule the good man for the singularity of his choice. Will there not a time come, when the Free-thinker shall see his impious schemes overturned, and be made a convert to the truths he hates; when deluded mortals shall be convinced of the folly of their pursuits, and the few wise who followed the guidance of heaven, and, scorning the blandishments of sense and the sordid bribes of the world, aspired to a celestial abode, shall stand possessed of their utmost wish in the vision of the Creator? Here the mind heaves a thought now and then towards him, and hath some transient glances of his pretence: when in the instant it thinks itself to have the fastest hold, the object eludes its expectations, and it falls back tired and baffled to the ground. Doubtless there is some more perfect way of conversing with heavenly beings. Are not spirits capable of mutual intelligence, unless immersed in bodies, or by their intervention? Must superior natures depend on inferior for the main privilege of sociable beings, that of conversing with, and knowing each other? What would they have done, had matter never been created? I suppose, not have lived in eternal solitude. As incorporeal substances are of a nobler order, so be sure, their manner of intercourse is answerably more expedite and intimate. This method of communication we call intellectual vision, as somewhat analogous to the sense of seeing, which is the medium of our acquaintance with this visible world. And in some such way can God make himself the object of immediate intuition to the blessed; and as he can, it is not improbable that he will, always condescending, in the circumstances of doing it, to the weakness and proportion of finite minds. His works but faintly reflect the image of his perfections, it is a secondhand knowledge; to have a just idea of him, it may be necessary that we see him as he is. But what is that? It is something that never entered into the heart of man to conceive; yet, what we can easily conceive, will be a fountain of unspeakable, of everlasting rapture. All created glories will fade and die away in his presence. Perhaps it will be my happiness to compare the world with the fair exemplar of it in the divine mind! perhaps to view the original plan of those wise designs that have been executing in a long succession of ages. Thus employed in finding out his works, and contemplating their author, how shall I fall prostrate and adoring, my body swallowed up in the immensity of matter, my mind in the infinitude of his perfections!”

Multa putans, sortemque animo miseratus iniquam. Virg. Æneid. VI. v. 332.

Revolving in his breast their fate unkind, A gen’rous pity fills his pious mind.

IN compassion to those gloomy mortals, who by their unbelief are rendered incapable of feeling those impressions of joy and hope, which the celebration of the late glorious Easter festival naturally leaves on the mind of a Christian, I shall in this paper endeavour to evince that there are grounds to expect a future state, without supposing in the reader any faith at all, not even the belief of a Deity. Let the most stedfast unbeliever open his eyes, and take a survey of the sensible world, and then say, if there be not a connexion and adjustment, an exact and constant order discoverable in all the parts of it. Whatever be the cause, the thing itself is evident to all our faculties. Look into the animal system, the passions, senses, and locomotive powers, is not the like contrivance and propriety observable these too! Are they not fitted to certain ends, and are they not by nature directed to proper objects?

Is it possible then that the smallest bodies should, by a management superior to the wit of man, be disposed, in the most excellent manner, agreeable to their respective natures; and yet the spirits or souls of men be neglected, or managed by such rules as fall short of man’s understanding? Shall every other passion be rightly placed by nature, and shall that appetite of immortality, natural to all mankind, be alone misplaced, or designed to be frustrated? Shall the industrious application of the inferior animal powers in the meanest vocations be answered by the ends we propose, and shall not the generous efforts of a virtuous mind be rewarded! In a word, shall the corporeal world be all order and harmony, the intellectual discord and confusion? He, who is bigot enough to believe these things, must bid adieu to that natural rule of reasoning from analogy; must run counter to that maxim of common sense, that men ought to form their judgments of things unexperienced from what they have experienced.

If any thing looks like a recompence of calamitious virtue on this side the grave, it s either an assurance that thereby we obtain the favour and protection of Heaven, and shall, whatever befals us in this, in another life meet with a just return, or else that applause and reputation, which is thought to attend virtuous actions. The former of these, our Free-thinkers, out of their singular wisdom and benevolence to mankind, endeavour to erase from the minds of men. The latter can never be justly distributed in this life, where so many ill actions are reputable, and so many good actions disesteemed or misinterpreted; where subtile hypocrisy is placed in the most engaging light, and modest virtue lies concealed; where the heart and the soul are hid from the eyes of men, and the eyes of men are dimmed and vitiated. Plato’s sense in relation to this point is contained in his Gorgias, where he introduces Socrates speaking after this manner:

“It was in the reign of Saturn provided by a law, which the gods have since continued down to this time, that they who had lived virtuously and piously upon earth, should after death enjoy a life full of happiness, in certain islands appointed for the habitation of the blessed; but that such as had lived wickedly should go into the receptacle of damned souls, namely Tartarus, there to suffer the punishments they deserved. But in all the reign of Saturn, and in the beginning of the reign of Jove, living judges were appointed, by whom each person was judged in his lifetime in the same day on which he was to die. The consequence of which was, that they often passed wrong judgments. Pluto, therefore, who presided in Tartarus, and the guardians of the blessed islands, finding that, on the other side, many unfit persons were sent to their respective dominions, complained to Jove, who promised to redress the evil. He added, the reason of these unjust proceedings is that men are judged in the body. Hence many conceal the blemishes and imperfections of their minds by beauty, birth and riches; not to mention, that at the time of trial there are crouds of witnesses to attest their having lived well. These things mislead the judges, who being themselves also of the number of the living are surrounded each with his own body, as with a veil thrown over his mind. For the future, therefore, it is my intention that men do not come on their trial till after death, when they shall appear before the judge, disrobed of all their corporeal ornaments. The judge himself too shall be a pure unveiled spirit, beholding the very soul, the naked soul, of the party before him. With this view I have already constituted my sons, Minos and Radamanthus, judges, who are natives of Asia and Æacus, a native of Europe. These, after death, shall hold their court in a certain meadow, from which there are two roads, leading the one to Tartarus, the other to the islands of the blessed.”

From this, as from numberless other passages of his writings, may be seen Plato’s opinion of a future date. A thing therefore in regard to us so comfortable, in itself so just and excellent, a thing so agreeable to the analogy of nature, and so universally credited by all orders and ranks of men, of all nations and ages, what is it that should move a few men to reject? Surely there must be something of prejudice in the case. I appeal to the secret thoughts of a Free-thinker, if he does not argue within himself after this manner: The senses and faculties I enjoy at present are visibly designed to repair, or preserve the body from the injuries it is liable to in its present circumstances. But in an eternal state, where no decays are to be repaired, no outward injuries to be fenced against, where there are no flesh and bones, nerves, or blood vessels, there will certainly be none of the senses; and that there should be a state of life without the senses it is inconceivable.

But as this manner of reasoning proceeds from a poverty of imagination, and narrowness of soul in those that use it, I shall endeavour to remedy those defects, and open their views, by laying before them a case which, being naturally possible, may perhaps reconcile them to the belief of what is supernaturally revealed.

Let us suppose a man blind and deaf from his birth, who being grown to a man’s estate, is by the dead palsy, or some other cause, deprived of his feeling, tasting, and smelling; and at the same time has the impediment of his hearing removed, and the film taken from his eyes: what the five senses are to us, that the touch, taste, and smell were to him. And any other ways of perception of a more refined and extensive nature were to him as inconceivable, as to us those are, which will one day be adapted to perceive those things which “eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive.” And it would be just as reasonable in him to conclude, that the loss of those three senses could not possibly be succeeded by any new inlets of perception; as in a modern Free-thinker to imagine there can be no state of life and perception without the senses he enjoys at present. Let us further suppose the same person’s eyes, at their first opening, to be struck with a great variety of the most gay and pleasing objects, and his ears with a melodious concert of vocal and instrumental music: behold him amazed, ravished, transported and you have same distant representation, same faint and glimmering idea of the ecstatic state of the soul in that article in which she emerges from this sepulchre of flesh into life and immortality.

Labitur et labetur in omne volubilus avum.

Hor. epost. II. I. 1. v. 43.

It glides, and will for ever glide along.

Mr. Spectator,

THERE are none of your speculations which please me more than those upon infinitude and eternity. You have already considered that part of eternity which is past; and I wish you would give us your thoughts upon that which is to come.

Your readers will perhaps receive greater pleasure from this view of eternity than the former, since we have every one of us a concern in that which is to come; whereas a speculation on that which is past is rather curious than useful.

Besides, we can easily conceive it possible for successive duration never to have an end though, as you have justly observed, that eternity which never had a beginning is altogether incomprehensible; that is, we can conceive an eternal duration which may be, though we cannot an eternal duration which hath been; or, if I may use the philosophical terms, we may apprehend a potential, though not an actual eternity.

This notion of a future eternity, which is natural to the mind of man, is an unanswerable argument that he is a being designed for it: especially if we consider that he is capable of being virtuous or vicious here; that he hath faculties improvable to all eternity; and, by a proper or wrong employment of them, may be happy or miserable throughout that infinite duration. Our idea indeed of this eternity is not of an adequate or fixed nature, but is perpetually growing and enlarging itself towards the object, which is too big for human comprehension. As we are now in the beginning of existence, so shall we always appear to ourselves as if we were for ever entering upon it. After a million or two of centuries, some considerable things already past may slip out of our memory, which, if it be not strengthened in a wonderful manner, may possibly forget that ever there was a sun or planets, and yet notwithstanding the long race that we shall then have run, we shall still imagine ourselves just starting from the goal, and find no proportion between that space which we know had a beginning, and what we are sure will never have an end.

But I shall leave this subject to your management, and question not but you will throw it into such lights as shall at once improve and entertain your reader.

I have, inclosed, sent you. a translation of the speech of Cato on this occasion, which hath accidentally fallen into my hands, and which, for conciseness, purity, and elegance of phrase, cannot be sufficiently admired.

ACT. V. SCENE I.

CATO solus, &c.

SIC, sic se habere rem necesse prorsus est, Ratione vincis, do lubens manus, Plato. Quid enim dedisset. Qua dedit frusta nihil, Æternitatis insitam cupidinem Natura? Quorsum hæc duelis expectatio; Vitæque non explenda melioris sitis? Quid vult sibi aliud iste redeundi in nihil Horror, sub imis quemque agens præcordiis? Cur terita in se refugit anima, cur tremit Attonita, quoties, morte ne pareat, timet? Particula nempe est cuique nascenti indita Divinior; quæ corpus incolens agit; Hominique, succinit, tua est Æternitas. Æternitas! O lubricum nimis aspici, Mixtumque dulci gaudium formidine!

Quæ demigrabitu alia hinc in corpora? Quæ terra mox incognita? Quis orbis novus, Manet incolendus? Quanta erit mutatio? Hæc intuenti spatia mihi quaqua patent Immensa: sed calignosa nox premit; Nec luce clara vult videra frugula. Figendus his pes; certa sunt hæc hactenus: Si quod gubernet numen humanum genus, (At, quod gubernet, esse clamant omnia) Virtute non gaudere certe non potest: Nec esse non beata, qua gaudet potest Sed qua beata sede? Quove in tempore? Hæc quanta quanta terra, tota est Cæsaris. Quid dubius hæret animus usque adeo? Brevi Hic nodum hic omnem expediet. Arma en imduor.

[Ensi manum admovens.

In utramque partem facta; quæque vim inserant, Et quæ propulsent? Dextera intentat necem Vitam sinistra: vulnus hÆc dabit manus: Altera medelam vulneris; hic ad exitum Deducet, ictu simplici; hæc vetant mori. Secura ridet anima mucronis minas, Ensesque strictos, interire nescia. Extinguet ætas sidera diuturnior: Ætate languens ipse sol obscurius Emittet orbi consenescenti jubar: Natura et ipsa sentiet quondam vices Ætatis; annis ipsa deficiet gravis; At tibi juventus, at tibi immortalita; Tibi parta divum est vita. Periment mutuis Elementa sese et interibunt ictibus: Tu permanibis sola semper integra, Tu cunctu rerum quassa cuncta naufraga, Jum portu in ipso tuta, contemplabere. Compage rupta, corruent in se invicem, Orbesque fractic ingerentur orbibus; Illæsa tu sedebis extra fragmina.

ACT. V. SCENE I.

CATO alone, &c.

IT must be so—Plato, thou reason’st well— Else whence this pleasinng hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality? 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 heav’n itself that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man. Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!

Through what variety of untri’d being, Through what new scenes and changes must we pass? The wide, th’ unbounded prospect lies before me; But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. Here will I hold. If there’s a pow’r above us, (And that there is, all nature cries aloud Through all her works,) he must delight in virtue; And that which he delights in must be happy. But when! or where!—This world was made for Caesar. I’m weary of conjectures.—This must end ‘em.

But in all these schemes there is something gross and improbable that shocks a reasonable and speculative mind; whereas nothing can be more rational and sublime than the Christian idea of a future state. Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered, into the heart of man to conceive the things which God hath prepared for those that love him. The above mentioned schemes are narrow transcripts of our present state: but in this indefinite description there is something ineffably great and noble. The mind of man must be raised to a higher pitch, not only to partake the enjoyments of the Christian paradise, but even to be able to frame any notion of them.

Nevertheless, in order to gratify our imagination, and by way of condescension to our low way of thinking, the ideas of light, glory, a crown, &c. are made use of to adumbrate that which we cannot directly understand. “The Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them into living fountains of waters: and God than wipe away all tears from their eyes. And there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain; for the former things are passed away, and behold all things are new. There shall be no night there, and they need no candle, neither light of the sun for the Lord God giveth them light, and shall make them drink of the river of his pleasures: and they shall reign for ever and ever. They shall receive a crown of glory which fadeth not away.”