But as Mr. Owen cannot release us from the obligation of human laws, neither can he from that of the laws of God. Man may say, “Who is the Lord, that I should obey him?” but, even while he is saying it, he feels, whether he will or not, and is under the necessity of acknowledging to his own mind, that there is a Being above him whom he does not love, but from whose eye, and whose power he cannot escape; before whose dread tribunal he is conscious that he must stand, and be “judged according to the deeds which have been done in the body, whether they be good, or whether they be evil.” This is one of those eternal laws which are engraven, not only in the face of nature, but upon every mind and conscience, which Mr. Owen wishes to erase, and in the room of which he would write what he calls “the eternal laws of nature:” and in the accomplishment of his task, there are multitudes that would gladly help him, and contribute all the aid in their power; and, so eager are they for the accomplishment of his and their wishes, that they have even agreed to believe it, or rather, agreed to say that they believe it, and to act upon it, before it has been proved to be true. Nor is it possible for them to prove it. They might as well attempt to prove that the sun does not shine at noonday, and they would have quite as much hope of success, as attempt to prove either to themselves or others, that “there is no God,” and that there is no hereafter. They may argue with themselves upon the subject, and attempt to convince themselves of the truth of what they wish to be true; and sometimes they may think they have satisfied themselves upon the point; but the next day, or perhaps the next hour, the sight of a funeral, the hearing of the death of a fellow creature, or even a sharp pain in their own bodies, sweeps away in a moment all the cobwebs which they have been weaving, and leaves them exposed to the naked truth, unsheltered and unprepared, that there is a judgment, and that they must stand and be judged.