gator. Whether I am to suffer either pains or penalties for such a circumstance as this (for certainly it cannot be considered an act of mine) my country must judge.

Here follow the three articles in succession, from the (N. Y.) Free Enquirer, copied into the Boston Investigator. The first is in the Investigator of November 15; the second, of December 13; and the third of December 20; which also contains the other two articles.

COGITATIONS OF AN INFIDEL.

BY BEN KRAPAC.

No. 1. On the Soul.

A belief in the existence of an immortal soul, distinct froin the matter of the body, has long been entertained by a large portion of the human race. The origin of this doctrine it is now impossible to ascertain; nor is it a matter of much consequence in an examination of the opinion, for, at the present day, the antiquity and the truth of an opinion are considered distinct questions.

The great age of a scientific or philosophical idea, is a damper to its reception by a well cultivated mind rather than a recommendation.

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I proceed, then, to examine the truth, not the origin, of the doctrine of an immortal soul. That I may not expend my powder in the destruction of a man of straw,' I shall state what I understand by the term 'soul.' Webster's definition, I think, gives the general conception of the word. It is, he says, 'The spiritual and immortal substance in man, which distinguishes him from brutes; that part of man which enables him to think. and reason, and which renders him a subject of moral government.'

2. 'The understanding, the intellectual principle.'

3. Spirit; essence ;

chief part.'

It is the essence or phantom described in the above definition, whose existence I dispute.

The universality of the belief in a soul and a future state, or a distinct and immortal part of man, is said to be an evidence of the truth of the belief: for, it is argued, since the doctrine is entertained by so many people of different religions and nations, having little or no connexion with each other, the idea must be innate, it is the result of an instinct depending on our consti

tution; and as the general results of an instinct are always correct, we are compelled to acknowledge that the generality of the opinion in question is at least a strong argument in favor of its truth. Or, to state the conclusion in a more orthodox phraseology;-as God would not mislead his creatures by impressing them with the belief in a lie, and as the universality of the dogma shows that it is implanted in man by his Creator, we must conclude that the dogma is true.

This argument I object to, since it proves too much. Philo-` sophical, political, moral and theological errors have, for ages, prevailed throughout the most civilized parts of the world. The follies of witchcraft, magic and astrology, have received full credence among people the most dissimilar, and in nations that have had no intercourse with each other.

They have flourished in Asia, Africa and Europe, and the discoverers of the New World found soothsayers and magicians in high repute among the Indians. If the argument be true, all these exploded doctrines must be revived. But as sure as witchcraft, magic and astrology are impositions, so sure is it, that the argument for the immortal soul, founded on general belief, is a bad one.

I might oppose to the above argument, one of the same class, and, as I think, of a stronger kind. If there is any feeling to be found among all people and at all times, it is the desire of life, or dread of death.

People may be taught from childhood that death will take them to heaven; that they are miserable in this world, but will be happy in another; still they wish to live. They will often cling to life when all probability-almost all possibility-of comfort is gone. Does this show an instinctive belief in a

future state?

That there are exceptions, I do not deny.

A sick fanatic may be persuaded to believe that death is but a pleasant passage to happiness unbounded. A Mahomedan, when told by the Mufti, that all who die in a certain war will go to the land of 'houris,' will, no doubt, in his eagerness for the promised bliss, even court death. A man of strong mind may desire death, when he is convinced that life can bring him no more happiness.

But what do all these exceptions prove? Simply, that there is a mania which causes its victims to desire death which may be excited with comparative ease in the ignorant and passionate, but with great difficulty and only by the aid of violent disease in the intelligent of any nation, even among the 'elect'

Calvinists. Or, at best, it only proves that a strong mind may for good reasons overcome the desire of life.

Finally. I think I may state that the most universal maxim is this while there is life there is hope,'-but after that, God help us. This opinion I set up in opposition to the general wish to get into another world-or out of this.

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The next position which I shall examine is one of a poetical rather than of a philosophical character. 'Man,' says the imaginative defender of souls, has a constant yearning after knowledge, which increases as he is fed; he has too, an eagerness, a craving, for things which he never can obtain in this life then why is appetite given to him, if it is not intended to satisfy it hereafter. The capacities of our souls are never filled,-we learn, we hoard up knowledge,-we-suddenly die, and all is lost! Is it to be supposed that the desire and power of obtaining knowledge are given to us only to be taken away again; and are we urged to do all this labor that it may end in nothing? God forbid! Nature does not create powers that are never to be expended, or faculties never to be applied. It is contrary to all experience: nothing is made in vain. We must then believe in a hereafter, where the soul will receive nourishment suited to its increasing capacity; and this is heaven !'

Let us examine this argument. If it be a sophism we can best expose its weakness by pointing out the conclusions which may be legitimately deduced from it.

Temperate men often die before their stomachs are half worn out. Here then is a loss or waste of digestive power, unless there be another world where the force may be expended. If nature were so exact in the appropriation of means, she would have given such men stomachs that would have failed just as they died. So we might argue, from the premises, with regard to every function, however low, in man, beast, or vegetable.

The logic even holds with inorganic bodies. There is, for instance, some portion of sulphuric acid in the world which has the power of producing certain compositions and decomposition, and yet that acid will itself be decomposed before it has produced any of these effects. Now, let me ask, why was this power given to the acid if it was never to be exerted? Surely there is another world where the elements of this unfortunate acid will be reunited that they may forever exert their powers of composition and decomposition pour la gloire de Dieu.' It is unnecessary to pursue this view any further. word as to its origin.

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Nature operates by general laws, and the error in question arises from the vain system of applying the laws of man to God or Nature. Does not the grass grow where there are no cattle to eat it? Does it not rain more on the seas and lakes, than it does on the deserts of Arabia, where man and beast are choking for want of water?

There is another point, in the argument above alluded to, which requires a more careful examination, since it seems to have much weight. It is this: that our capacities or the capacities of our mind or souls, always increase by use instead of wearing out like what are termed the physical powers of man.

This opinion, though generally received by the most intelligent part of the community as an established fact, is generally believed by physiologists to be a positive error.

In opposition to it, I present the following argument.

When a child is born, it is supposed not to have a single idea except those formed by its feeling the ideas of the womb; by tasting the liq. Amn.; or by sensations attending its birth. As it exercises its senses, ideas are gradually accumulated; they 'grow with its growth and strengthen with its strength.' The perfection of the senses, the degree of their exercise, and the developement of the brain, determine the nature of the mind, or soul, which that being is to have.

Let us now suppose that the child has become a man, and that the man is in the decline of life-getting old and infirm. The old man's eyes begin to fail, he cannot see to read; he is becoming deaf, his sense of feeling is blunted. In fine, all the senses together bring him but few impressions, and those are so feeble as to produce no permanent effect. But still, you say, he has the stock which he accumulated during the prime of life, and with these he may think, reason or judge. If the soul were distinct from the body, and it had been constantly enlarging while the senses were perfect enough to convey new and lively impressions to it, it ought at least to retain its maximum capacity after the decay of the body has commenced. But alas! how far is this from being the case. The old man talks incoherently-he grows cross-his affections are gradually wizening away his judgment is going--and he is in his second childhood.

Where is the imperishable,--the unalterable soul? We will follow the old man a little farther. He is on his death bed, surrounded by his friends. He does not recognise the members of his own family. You may tell me that his sight is too imperfect! But if the soul be still perfect, he should know

that his sight is gone; his soul ought to know from the want of the usual communication by the senses, that the man is about to die.

The old man is able to talk, for he is gabbering all the time; he talks of the scenes of his past life---even of his childhood. Why does he not talk to, and of, those who are most likely to be around him. The unchangeable soul ought to tell him his family is as a matter of course about him, and that every member of it would be delighted to receive a single remark from him. But not a word of consolation does he offer.

Perhaps he cannot control his tongue? This brings us to the final argument. His tongue and breath are moved by a diseased stimulus (i. e. convulsively); or they are moved by the action of the brain; or finally by the soul.

If the action were merely convulsive, would he once in a thousand times make a distinct articulation? Still less a whole sentence? The chances are infinite against it. We might as well expect a man in a fit, with a pencil in his hand, to write a number of sentences during his random struggles, or to finish a drawing.

Does the soul produce the discourse? I think not; because the remarks are not suited to the occasion, though the man may have been unusually sensible; nor are they always connected, though the man, or soul, may have been a most acute logician. If a soul is not the agent then it must be the brain.

The actions of the brain must, then, be sufficient to produce a speech, be it good or bad. This is all I ask; for if the brain can produce such results once, it can produce all that we require, and the theory of a soul, besides being pure supposition, is entirely unnecessary.

Again; some men are born without the usual developements of the brain; they want the most important faculties of the mind or soul; sometimes they are inferior to the brutes. Have such men souls? You may answer 'yes.' So, too, should I ask you whether all dogs have horns on their heads, you might answer 'yes.' But you. have never seen or felt the horns on dogs' heads, nor have you any reason or evidence direct or indirect of their existence; and I think it just so with regard to the mind of a perfect idiot. I have seen dogs and idiots, and I have just as little reason to suppose the existence of an iron hammer or of a soul in the idiot's head, as I have to suppose the existence of a pair of horns on the dog's head. After your answer, I have the evidence of your word for the existence of horned dogs, and you, perhaps, have the evidence of a person for the existence of a mind or soul in an idiot.