THE PONDERER. No. 22. O genus attonitum gelidæ formidine mortis OVID. Why, mortals, do ye embitter existence by the terror of death? why are ye filled with apprehensions at empty names? IT has frequently been observed that human happiness is entirely the creature of imagination; and consequently, that, it will always be more or less complete, in proportion as that faculty is preserved pure from false associations. Without admitting this principle in its utmost latitude, it must be acknowledged, that many of our acutest pains, as well as some of our finest, and most ecstatic pleasures, have their origin in the imagination. It must, consequently, be a considerable part of the province of wisdom, not only to preserve this source of happiness, and misery from such false associations, as give rise to superstitious terrors, but to bring it so completely under the direction of a well-informed judginent, that its very wanderings may be converted into sources of enjoyment. Among the various objects which, being con templated through the medium of a distorted imagination, become so insupportably terrific, as to tinge the fairest portions of life with gloomy sadness, none exert so extended an influence as death; and it must be acknowledged that, abstractedly considered, there is none in the extensive catalogue of human evils so truly formidable. It presents at first view, the destruction of every thing which had been contemplated as desirable or excellent, annihilates all the distinctions which wealth bestowed, or intellect conferred, and summoning reason from her godlike employments of measuring the distances of the stars, or speculating on eternity and infinity, reduces her to a level with unorganized or inanimate matter, and apparently blots her from existence. Affecting, however, and inexplicable as death may appear, when thus contemplated, a more enlarged view will render it less terrific, and when this view is perfected by the discoveries of christianity, death will not only lose its terror, and be contemplated with dignified composure, but may always be regarded as a consummation "most devoutly to be wished." One of the causes, which appear to me to render the contemplation of death terrific, is derived from considering it as a punishment, rather than as the necessary result of the present constitution of things. If the creation of this world, and the production of the beings which inhabit it, must be ascribed to benevolence, and if this may be demonstrated from the uniform tendency of all the laws of nature to produce happiness, as well as from an immense preponderance of happiness actually enjoyed,-to be consistent with these conclusions, death ought always to be contemplated as a part of the divine plan; as the necessary result of the laws originally established by infinite wisdom, and consequently as resolvable into perfect benevolence. But to descend from the enchanting region of abstraction to the more humble province of illustration, it may be proved that death is not that formidable evil it appears, when viewed through the medium of imagination, because it is productive of important advantages to the individual, and more especially to the species. It must, however, at the same time be admitted, that without acknowledging a future state, death appears an evil of awful magnitude to the individual, while it is eminently beneficial to the species-except we admit, with some philosophers, that their interests are inseparable, and that the highest possible improvement of the human race, is the object of creation. - Death is beneficial to the species, because it weakens the empire of prejudice, and opens à path for the progress of intellect, and of science. If the prejudices of the age are inveterate, death will soon sweep them with their subjects into the grave, and afford the next age a chance of being wiser. It is thus that death wages a constant war with ignorance, and thus is death the gradual, but sure, reformer of all political and religious establishments. Fancy may assist this argument, if we imagine the Supreme Being had arrested the ordinary progress of nature, and conferred immortality upon man in the beginning of the fourteenth century. If we suppose that the human race had continued to increase, and the laws of the human mind had remained unaltered, it requires no vigorous exertion of the imagination to conjecture, that Descartes would have been the first monk of a convent, Newton provincial of the order of St. Francis, or perhaps, imprisoned by the holy inquisition for dealings with the devil; that Spinoza, Voltaire, and Darwin, would have obtained immortal reputation for the fervours of their devotion to the ever-blessed Mother of God; that Gibbon and Hume would have composed eloquent treatises upon the worship of relicks; and instead of enjoying the blessings of the British Constitution, we should now have been cringing under the despotism of an Eighth Harry, or trembling from an apprehension of the various horrors of an interdict. From these the present age is saved by the benevolence which designed the improvement, and final perfection of the human race; and which has appointed death as an important means for the amelioration of the species. It is not supposed, that these speculations render death desirable: they are designed merely to prove that death is not the evil, which the imagination, under the influence of false associations, contemplates; and that so far from being a punishment, it is in perfect unison with all the other laws of nature, the object of which is uniformly the perfection and happiness of the human race. If our patriotism would lead us to die for our country, the recollection that our dissolution will promote the wisdom and virtue of distant generations, will reconcile us to its appointment, enable us to contemplate it with serenity, and finally to die, if not with triumph, at least with composure. L. |