Transcriber's note: The following Table of Contents has been added for the convenience of the reader.
[THOUGHTS ON IMMORTALITY.]
[THE 'RICH POOR MAN:' A FRAGMENT.]
[AN EVENING HYMN.]
[THE DOOMED SHIP.]
[THE DEITY.]
[MIND OR INSTINCT.]
[OCTOBER.]
[THE INFLUENTIAL MAN.]
[THE BROKEN VOW.]
[CHRONICLES OF THE PAST.]
[SUNDAY AT PLYMOUTH, MASSACHUSETTS.]
[THE TOP OF NEW-YORK.]
[THE BIRTH-DAY.]
[THE EXILE'S SONG.]
[THE ELEMENTS OF A RELIGIOUS CHARACTER.]
[GEORGE WASHINGTON.]
[SKETCHES OF EAST-FLORIDA.]
[SEED OF CONTENTMENT.]
[TO A FAYRE PERSONNE]
[THE QUOD CORRESPONDENCE.]
[THIS TO THEE, LUCY.]
[NATURE'S MONITIONS.]
[GRAVE THOUGHTS ON PUNCH.]
[HER NAME.]
[THE STORY OF ABUL CASSIM'S SHOES.]
[TO A HUMMING-BIRD.]
[LITERARY NOTICES.]
[EDITOR'S TABLE.]
[LITERARY RECORD.]
THE KNICKERBOCKER.
Vol. XXII. NOVEMBER, 1843. No. 5.
[THOUGHTS ON IMMORTALITY.]
BY A NEW CONTRIBUTOR.
There are those who reject the idea of a future state; or, at least, who deny that they ought to be convinced of its reality, because reasoning, in the method of the sciences, does not appear to prove it to them; although they acknowledge how natural it is for man to anticipate a future existence. I have thought that such persons might be included in a similitude like the following. Let us suppose a young bee, just returning from his first excursion abroad, bearing his load of honey. He has been in a labyrinth of various directions, and far from his native home; winding among trees and their branches, and stopping to sip from numerous flowers. He has even been taken, by one bearing no good-will to the little community of which he is a member, and carried onward, without being permitted a sight of the objects which he passed, that he might estimate aright his new direction. Notwithstanding, he is winging his way with unerring precision to the place where his little load is to be deposited. Not more exactly does the needle tend to the pole, than the line he is drawing points toward his store-house. But in this he is governed by no such considerations of distance and direction as enable the skilful navigator so beautifully to select his way along the pathless ocean. He has no data, by reasoning from which, as the geometrician reasons, he may determine that his course bears so many degrees to the right or so many to the left. He has never been taught to mark the right ascension of hill-tops, nor to estimate latitude and longitude from the trees. He is governed in his progress by that indescribable and mysterious principle of instinct alone, which, although developed in man, produces its most surprising effects in the brute creation. But here, as he is going onward thus swiftly and surely, by some creative power a vast addition is made to his previous character. All at once he becomes a reasoning being, possessed of all the faculties which are found in the philosopher. He is endowed with judgment, that he may compare, and consciousness and reflection, to make him a metaphysician. Nor is he slow to exercise these newly-acquired faculties.
Among other things, his consciousness tells him that he is impressed with a deep presentiment of something greatly desirable in the far distance toward which he supposes his course to be fast and directly tending. Perhaps he has a memory of the place he left, of the business there going on, and of the part which he is taking in it. Probably his strong impression is, that he is fast advancing toward that place; that he expects the greeting of his friends of the swarm. Possibly he finds his bosom even now beginning to swell in anticipation of the praise which shall be bestowed on his early manifestation of industry and virtue. Perhaps his recollections are more vague; and accordingly his consciousness only tells him that he thinks of something requiring him to urge onward in that particular direction, but of which he realizes no very definite idea.
But here Reason interrupts him: 'Why are you pursuing this course so fast? I see nothing to attract your attention so strongly.' 'I am going to a place lying this way,' says the bee, 'where I can deposite my load in safety, which I am anxious to do quickly, that I may return for another.' 'But,' says Reason, 'what evidence have you that the place lies this way?' Here Philosophy whispers: 'You should not act without evidence; it becomes no reasonable creature to do so;' but Reason continues: 'There are many points in the horizon beside that you are making for; and I see not why one of them is not as likely to be the place as another.'
This rather staggered the bee at first; for he had no recollection of courses and distances taken, by a comparison of which he could prove his true direction; but suddenly he said: 'Why, I am so strongly impressed that this is the course, that I cannot doubt it.' 'But what signify your strong impressions,' says Reason, 'if they are not founded on any evidence? Were you ever led to such a place as you seek by the aid of impression alone?' 'I never was,' said the bee; for in fact he had never before been out of sight of the place where he was born. 'Then again,' says Reason, 'I ask what is your evidence?' And Philosophy again, as a faithful monitor, replies: 'Bee, you must not act without evidence.'