Animate and inanimate shall cease to be;
And no more place be found for Heaven, Earth, or Sea.—
The Mahommedan is equally subject to all the heart-rending grief and anguish, which others feel at the loss of friends; but comforts himself with the thoughts of one day gaining a paradise of sensual pleasures; where, with all his faithful friends, he expects to bask forever in all the enjoyments of sensuality. He dreams of trees loaded with delicious fruits, and bending their branches invitingly to his appetite;—and of gardens and pleasure grounds, adorned with pleasant walks—with cooling shades and with blooming sweets which perfume the air; and surrounded with fields of spices more delicious than all the productions of Arabia: while his golden palaces and seraglios are thronged with myriads of delightful virgins, more pure and beautiful than the fairest daughters of Circassia. With these he hopes to spend a life of pleasures forevermore.
The Pagan too, in turn, when bowed down with grief and sorrow, finds some relief in anticipation of a future existence—some shady forest filled with game—some delightful prairie of blooming flowers—some humble heaven behind the cloud-topped hill, where he hopes to join his wife, his children, his brothers, his fathers; and in their society to spend a peaceful eternity in all the enjoyments of domestic life, while his faithful horse and dog shall bear him company. These are the hopes and anticipations which serve to dry his tears,—to calm his heaving bosom, and to his troubled spirit whisper peace. How desirable then is a just and correct knowledge on this all-important subject. Who does not desire to become acquainted as far as possible with the nature of that eternal state of existence to which we are all hastening? We are dependent alone on the light of revelation and reason, for any just and correct information on this subject. Moses, in his account of the creation, commences thus:
[Hebrew Text]
Which may with propriety be translated thus: "In the beginning God made (or formed) the heavens and the earth, and the earth she was empty and desolate; and darkness upon the faces of the abyss; and the wind of God was brooding over the faces of the waters."
Moses did not see fit to inform us of what kind of materials the Lord formed the earth, and indeed there was no need of revelation to guide us on that subject; for we see for ourselves that it is composed of the common elements which constitute matter in general, and of course this element or matter already existed, and that too in sufficient quantity for the formation of a globe like this. From the Mosaic account of the creation, many have gathered the idea that God created all things out of nonentity,—that solid matter sprung from nothing. But this is for want of reflection, or an exercise of reason on the subject; for instance, when a child inquires of its father, saying, father, who made this house? the father replies, the carpenter made it. Again, the child inquires, who made me? the father replies, the Lord made you. Again, the child inquires, who made the earth? the father replies, the Lord made the earth, and all things upon the face thereof. Now the child might suppose that the carpenter created the house without any materials; that he brought it into existence from nothing; and so, with equal propriety, he might suppose that he was formed from nothing; when in fact he was formed of materials which grew out of the earth. And with the same degree of impropriety we might suppose that God made the earth from nothing, when in fact he made it out of self-existing element:
It is impossible for a mechanic to make any thing whatever without materials. So it is equally impossible for God to bring forth matter from nonentity, or to originate element from nothing, because this would contradict the law of truth, and destroy himself. We might as well say, that God can add two and three together, and the product will be twelve; or that he can subtract five from ten and leave eight, as to say that he can originate matter from nonentity; because these are principles of eternal truth, they are laws which cannot be broken, that two and three are five, that five from ten leaves five, and that nought from nought leaves nought; and a hundred noughts added together is nothing still. In all these, the product is determined by unchangeable laws, whether the reckoning be calculated by the Almighty, or by man, the result is precisely the same.
Here then, is mathematical demonstration that it is not in the power of any being to originate matter. Hence we conclude that matter as well as spirit is eternal, uncreated, self-existing. However infinite the variety of its changes, forms and shapes;—however vast and varying the parts it has to act in the great theatre of the universe;—whatever sphere its several parts may be destined to fill in the boundless organization of infinite wisdom, yet it is there, durable as the throne of Jehovah. And Eternity is inscribed in indelible characters on every particle. Revolution may succeed revolution,—vegetation may bloom and flourish, and fall again to decay in the revolving seasons—generation upon generation may pass away and others still succeed—empires may fall to ruin, and moulder to the dust and be forgotten—the marble monuments of antiquity may crumble to atoms and mingle in the common ruin—the mightiest works of art, with all their glory, may sink in oblivion and be remembered no more—worlds may startle from their orbits, and hurling from their spheres, run lawless on each other in conceivable confusion—element may war with element in awful majesty, while thunders roll from sky to sky, and arrows of lightning break the mountains asunder—scatter the rocks like hailstones—set worlds on fire, and melt the elements with fervent heat, and yet not one grain can be lost—not one particle can be annihilated. All these revolutions and convulsions of nature will only serve to refine, purify, and finally restore and renew the elements upon which they act. And like the sunshine after a storm, or like gold seven times tried in the fire, they will shine forth with additional lustre as they roll in their eternal spheres, in their glory, in the midst of the power of God.
When in the progress of the endless works of Deity, the full time had arrived for infinite wisdom to organize this sphere, and its attendant worlds, and to set them in motion in their order amid the vast machinery of the universe,—when first the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy, at the grand occasion of the acquisition of a new system to the boundless variety of his works, all was pronounced very good. The waters, obedient to his word, retired within their respective limits, and filled with the quickening, or life-giving principle, which we call spirit, they produced living creatures in abundance, and very soon the vasty deep was found teeming with animal life in countless variety, and in regular gradation, from the monster Leviathan to the shell-fish; or descending down the scale of existence to the minutest speck which is only to be discerned by the aid of powerful glasses. The air swarmed with an almost infinite variety of animal life, from the lofty and aspiring eagle which soars on high, and seems to dip his wing in ether blue, to the humming bird which darts from flower to flower, and hides itself amid the blooming sweets of spring, or descending still, to the puny nations of insects which swarm in clouds of blue on the summer breath of morn: all, all the air seemed life and happiness.
The Dry Land, organized in its own proper sphere, presented a surface every where well watered, abounding in springs, streams and rivulets, and uninterrupted by any of the rough, broken, rugged deformities which now present themselves on every side. Its surface was smooth, or gently undulating, and delightfully varied. Its soil enriched by the dew of heaven, and impregnated with the spirit of animal and vegetable life, soon poured forth a luxuriant growth, not of noxious weeds, and thorns and thistles, but of fruit trees, and herbs, all useful for the food of man or animal, fowl or creeping thing. And soon, too, it brought forth from its bosom every varied species of the animal race, from the ponderous mammoth or the mighty elephant, down to the mole; or descending still in the scale of existence, to the smallest creeping thing that specks the surface of the rock, or mantles the standing pool with varied life.