Whilst our soul then is thrown into motion by contemplation, and by the imperceptible modification of a fugitive idea, as well as by every thing which is opposed to material action, why should we not suppose that it is purely intelligent and spiritual? It must be confessed, that sometimes our corporeal infirmities influence our minds; but this relation is not a proof of identity, since our body may be an instrument entrusted to our soul, one of the organs which it is to make a transitory use of. The continuity of existence, considered abstractedly, certainly is in the universe a simple and natural state; and the temporary existence is perhaps the only one which is heterogeneous and accidental; the soul seems too noble to be assimilated to the latter state, it may exist in a different manner when joined to a material substance, but that connection does not make it lose its original essence. It is to be acknowledged, that it is through the medium of our senses we know all the force of our existence; and that they are those parts of our mixt being which strike us most during a little while; and it is perhaps by a law of the same kind that we see men, engrossed by a great passion, entirely strangers to every other moral affection; but, why should it be contrary to the nature of things, that the soul, once stripped of its terrestrial cloathing, should be acquainted with the nature of its existence, and at the same time perceive those truths which now are obscured by clouds. An innate fire languishes a long time unknown in a rough stone, that stone is struck, and we see issue out a splendid light; this is perhaps a faint picture of the state in which our soul is when death breaks its fetters. In short, in a matter so obscure every supposition is admissable, which assures us that the soul is not on earth in a state of enchantment, or in a kind of interruption of its ordinary existence. All that we see of the universe is an assemblage of incomprehensible phœnomena; and when we wish to discover the conclusion, through the aid of the ideas most on a level with our intelligence, we wander perhaps from truth; since, according to appearances, it is in the depths of infinity that it reposes.