will endure always, no matter what his conduct or thoughts have been.
Rather does it favor the opinion expressed so well by Matthew Arnold in
one of his sonnets:

"He who flagged not in the earthly strife
From strength to strength advancing--only he,
His soul well knit and all his battles won,
Mounts, and that hardly, to eternal life."

Not only has the received doctrine of a "soul," as an undying something
different from mind and peculiar to man, received no support from a
closer study of nature,--rather objections amounting to refutation,--but
it has reacted injuriously on morals, and through them on religion
itself. Buddha taught that the same spark of immortality exists in man
and brute, and actuated by this belief laid down the merciful rule to
his disciples: "Do harm to no breathing thing." The apostle Paul on the
other hand, recognizing in the lower animals no such claim on our
sympathy, asks with scorn: "Doth God care for oxen?" and actually strips
from a humane provision of the old Mosaic code its spirit of charity, in
order to make it subserve a point in his polemic.

(4.) As the arrogance of the race has thus met a rebuke, so has the
egotism of the individual. His religion at first was a means of securing
material benefits; then a way to a joyous existence beyond the tomb: the
love of self all the time in the ascendant.

This egoism in the doctrine of personal survival has been repeatedly
flung at it by satirists, and commented on by philosophers. The
Christian who "hopes to be saved by grossly believing" has been felt on
all hands to be as mean in his hope, as he is contemptible in his way of
attaining it. To center all our religious efforts to the one end of
getting joy--however we may define it--for our individual selves, has
something repulsive in it to a deeply religious mind. Yet that such in
the real significance of the doctrine of personal survival is granted by
its ablest defenders. "The general expectation of future happiness can
afford satisfaction only as it is a present object to the principle of
self-love," says Dr. Butler, the eminent Lord Bishop of Durham, than
whom no acuter analyst has written on the religious nature of man.

Yet nothing is more certain than that the spirit of true religion wages
constant war with the predominance or even presence of selfish aims.
Self-love is the first and rudest form of the instinct of preservation.
It is sublimed and sacrificed on the