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[page 47:]
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MESMERIC
REVELATION.
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WHATEVER
doubt may still envelop the rationale of mesmerism, its
startling facts
are now almost universally admitted. Of these latter, those who
doubt,
are your mere doubters by profession — an unprofitable and disreputable
tribe. There can be no more absolute waste of time than the
attempt
to prove, at the present day, that man, by mere exercise of
will,
can so impress his fellow, as to cast him into an abnormal condition,
of
which the phenomena resemble very closely those of death, or at
least resemble them more nearly than they do the phenomena of any other
normal condition within our cognizance; that, while in this
state,
the person so impressed employs only with effort, and then feebly, the
external organs of sense, yet perceives, with keenly refined
perception,
and through channels supposed unknown, matters beyond the scope of the
physical organs; that, moreover, his intellectual faculties are
wonderfully exalted and invigorated; that his sympathies with
the
person so impressing him are profound; and, finally, that his
susceptibility
to the impression increases with its frequency, while, in the same
proportion,
the peculiar phenomena elicited are more extended and more pronounced.
I say that these — which are
the laws of
mesmerism
in its general features — it would be supererogation to demonstrate;
nor shall I inflict upon my readers so needless a demonstration
to-day. My purpose at present is a very different one
indeed. I am impelled, even in the teeth of a world of prejudice, to
detail
without
comment the very remarkable substance of a colloquy, occurring between
a sleep-waker and myself.
I had been long in the habit of
mesmerizing
the person in [page 48:] question, (Mr. Vankirk,)
and
the usual acute susceptibility and exaltation of the mesmeric
perception
had supervened. For many months he had been laboring under confirmed
phthisis,
the more distressing effects of which had been relieved by my
manipulations; and on the night of Wednesday, the fifteenth instant, I
was
summoned
to his bedside.
The invalid was suffering with
acute pain
in
the region of the heart, and breathed with great difficulty, having all
the ordinary symptoms of asthma. In spasms such as these he had
usually
found relief from the application of mustard to the nervous centres,
but
to-night this had been attempted in vain.
As I entered his room he
greeted me with a
cheerful smile, and although evidently in much bodily pain, appeared to
be, mentally, quite at ease.
"I sent for you to-night," he
said, "not so
much to administer to my bodily ailment, as to satisfy me concerning
certain
psychal impressions which, of late, have occasioned me much anxiety and
surprise. I need not tell you how sceptical I have hitherto been
on the topic of the soul's immortality. I cannot deny that there
has always existed, as if in that very soul which I have been denying,
a vague half-sentiment of its own existence. But this
half-sentiment
at no time amounted to conviction. With it my reason had nothing to
do. All attempts at logical inquiry resulted, indeed, in leaving me
more
sceptical
than before. I had been advised to study Cousin. I studied
him in his own works as well as in those of his European and American
echoes.
The 'Charles Elwood' of Mr. Brownson, for example, was placed in my
hands.
I read it with profound attention. Throughout I found it logical,
but the portions which were not merely logical were unhappily
the
initial arguments of the disbelieving hero of the book. In his
summing
up it seemed evident to me that the reasoner had not even succeeded in
convincing himself. His end had plainly forgotten his beginning,
like the government of Trinculo. In short, I was not long in
perceiving
that if man is to be intellectually convinced of his own immortality,
he
will never be so convinced by the mere abstractions which have been so
long the fashion of the moralists of England, of France, and of
Germany. Abstractions may amuse and exercise, but take no hold [page
49:]
on the mind. Here upon earth, at least, philosophy, I am
persuaded,
will always in vain call upon us to look upon qualities as
things.
The will may assent — the soul — the intellect, never.
"I repeat, then, that I only
half felt, and
never intellectually believed. But latterly there has been a
certain
deepening of the feeling, until it has come so nearly to resemble the
acquiescence
of reason, that I find it difficult to distinguish between the
two. I am enabled, too, plainly to trace this effect to the mesmeric
influence. I cannot better explain my meaning than by the hypothesis
that the
mesmeric
exaltation enables me to perceive a train of ratiocination which, in my
abnormal existence, convinces, but which, in full accordance with the
mesmeric
phenomena, does not extend, except through its effect, into my
normal
condition. In sleep-waking, the reasoning and its conclusion — the
cause
and its effect — are present together. In my natural state, the
cause
vanishing, the effect only, and perhaps only partially, remains.
"These considerations have led
me to think
that some good results might ensue from a series of well-directed
questions
propounded to me while mesmerized. You have often observed the
profound
self-cognizance evinced by the sleep-waker — the extensive knowledge he
displays upon all points relating to the mesmeric condition itself; and
from this self-cognizance may be deduced hints for the proper
conduct
of a catechism."
I consented of course to make
this
experiment.
A few passes threw Mr. Vankirk into the mesmeric sleep. His
breathing
became immediately more easy, and he seemed to suffer no physical
uneasiness.
The following conversation then ensued: — V. in the dialogue
representing
the patient, and P. myself.
P. Are you asleep?
V. Yes — no;
I would
rather
sleep more soundly.
P. [After a few more
passes.]
Do you sleep now?
V. Yes.
P. How do you think
your present
illness
will result?
V. [After a long
hesitation and
speaking
as if with effort.] I must die.
P. Does the idea of
death afflict
you?
V. [Very quickly.]
No — no!
P. Are you pleased with
the
prospect? [page 50:]
V. If I were awake I
should like to
die, but now it is no matter. The mesmeric condition is so near
death
as to content me.
P. I wish you would
explain
yourself,
Mr. Vankirk.
V. I am willing to do
so, but it
requires
more effort than I feel able to make. You do not question me
properly.
P. What then shall I
ask?
V. You must begin at
the beginning.
P. The beginning! but
where
is
the beginning?
V. You know that the
beginning is GOD. [This was said in a low,
fluctuating tone, and with every sign of
the
most profound veneration.]
P. What then is God?
V. [Hesitating for
many minutes.]
I cannot tell.
P. Is not God spirit?
V. While I was awake I
knew what
you
meant by "spirit," but now it seems only a word — such for instance as
truth, beauty — a quality, I mean.
P. Is not God
immaterial?
V. There is no
immateriality — it
is
a mere word. That which is not matter, is not at all — unless
qualities
are things.
P. Is God, then,
material?
V. No. [This
reply
startled
me very much.]
P. What then is he?
V. [After a long
pause, and
mutteringly.]
I see — but it is a thing difficult to tell. [Another long
pause.]
He is not spirit, for he exists. Nor is he matter, as you
understand
it. But there are gradations of matter of which man
knows
nothing; the grosser impelling the finer, the finer pervading
the
grosser. The atmosphere, for example, impels the electric
principle,
while the electric principle permeates the atmosphere. These
gradations
of matter increase in rarity or fineness, until we arrive at a matter unparticled
— without particles — indivisible — one; and here the law of
impulsion
and permeation is modified. The ultimate, or unparticled matter,
not only permeates all things but impels all things — and thus is
all things within itself. This matter is God. What men
attempt
to embody in the word "thought," is this matter in motion.
P. The metaphysicians
maintain that
all action is reducible [page 51:] to motion and
thinking,
and that the latter is the origin of the former.
V. Yes; and I
now see the
confusion
of idea. Motion is the action of mind — not of thinking.
The unparticled matter, or God, in quiescence, is (as nearly as we can
conceive it) what men call mind. And the power of self-movement
(equivalent
in effect to human volition) is, in the unparticled matter, the result
of its unity and omniprevalence; how I know not, and now
clearly see that I shall never know. But the unparticled matter,
set in motion by a law, or quality, existing within itself, is
thinking.
P. Can you give me no
more precise
idea
of what you term the unparticled matter?
V.
The matters of which
man is
cognizant,
escape the senses in gradation. We have, for example, a metal, a piece
of wood, a drop of water, the atmosphere, a gas, caloric, electricity,
the luminiferous ether. Now we call all these things matter, and
embrace all matter in one general definition; but in spite
of this, there can be no two ideas more essentially distinct than that
which we attach to a metal, and that which we attach to the
luminiferous
ether. When we reach the latter, we feel an almost irresistible
inclination
to class it with spirit, or with nihility. The only consideration
which restrains us is our conception of its atomic constitution; and
here, even, we have to seek aid from our notion of an atom, as
something
possessing in infinite minuteness, solidity, palpability, weight.
Destroy the idea of the atomic constitution and we should no longer be
able to regard the ether as an entity, or at least as matter. For
want of a better word we might term it spirit. Take, now, a step
beyond the luminiferous ether — conceive a matter as much more rare
than
the ether, as this ether is more rare than the metal, and we arrive at
once (in spite of all the school dogmas) at a unique mass — an
unparticled
matter. For although we may admit infinite littleness in the
atoms
themselves, the infinitude of littleness in the spaces between them is
an absurdity. There will be a point — there will be a degree of
rarity,
at which, if the atoms are sufficiently numerous, the interspaces must
vanish, and the mass absolutely coalesce. But the consideration
of
the atomic constitution being now taken away, the nature of the mass
inevitably
glides into what we conceive [page 52:] of spirit.
It is clear, however, that it is as fully matter as before. The
truth
is, it is impossible to conceive spirit, since it is impossible to
imagine
what is not. When we flatter ourselves that we have formed its
conception,
we have merely deceived our understanding by the consideration of
infinitely
rarified matter.
P. There seems to me an
insurmountable
objection to the idea of absolute coalescence; — and that is the
very slight resistance experienced by the heavenly bodies in their
revolutions
through space — a resistance now ascertained, it is true, to exist in some
degree, but which is, nevertheless, so slight as to have been quite
overlooked
by the sagacity even of Newton. We know that the resistance of
bodies
is, chiefly, in proportion to their density. Absolute coalescence is
absolute
density. Where there are no interspaces, there can be no
yielding. An ether, absolutely dense, would put an infinitely more
effectual stop
to the progress of a star than would an ether of adamant or of iron.
V. Your objection is
answered with
an
ease which is nearly in the ratio of its apparent
unanswerability.
— As regards the progress of the star, it can make no difference
whether
the star passes through the ether or the ether through it.
There is no astronomical error more unaccountable than that which
reconciles
the known retardation of the comets with the idea of their passage
through
an ether: for, however rare this ether be supposed, it would put a stop
to all sidereal revolution in a very far briefer period than has been
admitted
by those astronomers who have endeavored to slur over a point which
they
found it impossible to comprehend. The retardation actually
experienced
is, on the other hand, about that which might be expected from the friction
of the ether in the instantaneous passage through the orb. In the
one case, the retarding force is momentary and complete within itself —
in the other it is endlessly accumulative.
P. But in all this — in
this
identification
of mere matter with God — is there nothing of irreverence? [I
was forced to repeat this question before the sleep-waker fully
comprehended
my meaning.]
V. Can you say why
matter
should
be less reverenced than mind? But you forget that the matter of
which I speak is, in all respects, the very "mind" or
"spirit"
of the schools, so far as [page 53:] regards its
high
capacities, and is, moreover, the "matter" of these schools at the same
time. God, with all the powers attributed to spirit, is but the
perfection
of matter.
P. You assert, then,
that the
unparticled
matter, in motion, is thought?
V. In general, this
motion is the
universal
thought of the universal mind. This thought creates. All
created
things are but the thoughts of God.
P. You say, "in
general."
V. Yes. The
universal mind is
God. For new individualities, matter is necessary.
P. But you now speak of
"mind" and
"matter"
as do the metaphysicians.
V. Yes — to avoid
confusion. When
I say "mind," I mean the unparticled or ultimate matter; by
"matter,"
I intend all else.
P. You were saying that
"for new
individualities
matter is necessary."
V. Yes; for
mind, existing
unincorporate,
is merely God. To create individual, thinking beings, it was
necessary
to incarnate portions of the divine mind. Thus man is
individualized. Divested of corporate investiture, he were God. Now,
the
particular
motion of the incarnated portions of the unparticled matter is the
thought
of man; as the motion of the whole is that of God.
P. You say that
divested of the
body
man will be God?
V. [After much
hesitation.]
I
could not have said this; it is an absurdity.
P. [Referring to my
notes.]
You did
say that "divested of corporate investiture man were God."
V. And this is
true. Man thus
divested would be God — would be unindividualized. But he can
never
be thus divested — at least never will be — else we must
imagine
an action of God returning upon itself — a purposeless and futile
action. Man is a creature. Creatures are thoughts of God. It is the
nature of thought to be irrevocable.
P. I do not
comprehend. You
say
that man will never put off the body?
V. I say that he will
never be
bodiless. [page 54:]
P. Explain.
V. There are two bodies
— the
rudimental
and the complete; corresponding with the two conditions of the
worm
and the butterfly. What we call "death," is but the painful
metamorphosis. Our present incarnation is progressive, preparatory,
temporary. Our
future is perfected, ultimate, immortal. The ultimate life is the
full design.
P. But of the worm's
metamorphosis
we
are palpably cognizant.
V. We,
certainly — but not
the
worm. The matter of which our rudimental body is composed, is
within
the ken of the organs of that body; or, more distinctly, our
rudimental
organs are adapted to the matter of which is formed the rudimental
body; but not to that of which the ultimate is composed. The ultimate
body thus escapes our rudimental senses, and we perceive only the shell
which falls, in decaying, from the inner form; not that inner
form
itself; but this inner form, as well as the shell, is
appreciable
by those who have already acquired the ultimate life.
P. You have often said
that the
mesmeric
state very nearly resembles death. How is this?
V. When I say that it
resembles
death,
I mean that it resembles the ultimate life; for when I am
entranced
the senses of my rudimental life are in abeyance, and I perceive
external
things directly, without organs, through a medium which I shall employ
in the ultimate, unorganized life.
P. Unorganized?
V. Yes; organs are
contrivances
by which the individual is brought into sensible relation with
particular
classes and forms of matter, to the exclusion of other classes and
forms. The organs of man are adapted to his rudimental condition, and
to that
only; his ultimate condition, being unorganized, is of
unlimited
comprehension in all points but one — the nature of the volition of God
— that is to say, the motion of the unparticled matter. You will have a
distinct idea of the ultimate body by conceiving it to be entire
brain. This it is not; but a conception of this nature
will
bring you near a comprehension of what it is. A luminous
body
imparts vibration to the luminiferous ether. The vibrations
generate
similar ones within the retina; these again communicate [page
55:] similar ones to the optic nerve. The nerve
conveys
similar ones to the brain; the brain, also, similar ones to the
unparticled matter which permeates it. The motion of this latter
is thought, of which perception is the first undulation. This is
the mode by which the mind of the rudimental life communicates with the
external world; and this external world is, to the rudimental
life,
limited, through the idiosyncrasy of its organs. But in the
ultimate,
unorganized life, the external world reaches the whole body, (which is
of a substance having affinity to brain, as I have said,) with no other
intervention than that of an infinitely rarer ether than even the
luminiferous; and to this ether — in unison with it — the whole body
vibrates,
setting in motion the unparticled matter which permeates it. It
is
to the absence of idiosyncratic organs, therefore, that we must
attribute
the nearly unlimited perception of the ultimate life. To
rudimental
beings, organs are the cages necessary to confine them until fledged.
P. You speak of
rudimental
"beings."
Are there other rudimental thinking beings than man?
V. The multitudinous
conglomeration
of rare matter into nebulæ, planets, suns, and other bodies which
are neither nebulæ, suns, nor planets, is for the sole purpose of
supplying pabulum for the idiosyncrasy of the organs of an
infinity
of rudimental beings. But for the necessity of the rudimental,
prior
to the ultimate life, there would have been no bodies such as these.
Each
of these is tenanted by a distinct variety of organic, rudimental,
thinking
creatures. In all, the organs vary with the features of the place
tenanted. At death, or metamorphosis, these creatures, enjoying
the
ultimate life — immortality — and cognizant of all secrets but the
one,
act all things and pass everywhere by mere volition: — indwelling, not
the stars, which to us seem the sole palpabilities, and for the
accommodation
of which we blindly deem space created — but that SPACE
itself — that infinity of which the truly substantive vastness swallows
up the star-shadows -- blotting them out as non-entities from the
perception
of the angels.
P. You say that "but
for the necessity
of the rudimental life" there would have been no stars. But why
this
necessity?
V. In the inorganic
life, as well
as
in the inorganic matter generally, there is nothing to impede the
action
of one simple [page 56:] unique law — the
Divine
Volition. With the view of producing impediment, the organic life
and matter, (complex, substantial, and law-encumbered,) were contrived.
P. But again — why need
this
impediment
have been produced?
V. The result of law
inviolate is
perfection
— right — negative happiness. The result of law violate is
imperfection,
wrong, positive pain. Through the impediments afforded by the
number,
complexity, and substantiality of the laws of organic life and matter,
the violation of law is rendered, to a certain extent,
practicable. Thus pain, which in the inorganic life is impossible, is
possible in
the
organic.
P. But to what good end
is pain
thus
rendered possible?
V. All things are
either good or
bad
by comparison. A sufficient analysis will show that pleasure, in
all cases, is but the contrast of pain. Positive pleasure
is a mere idea. To be happy at any one point we must have
suffered
at the same. Never to suffer would have been never to have been
blessed.
But it has been shown that, in the inorganic life, pain cannot be thus
the necessity for the organic. The pain of the primitive life of
Earth, is the sole basis of the bliss of the ultimate life in Heaven.
P. Still, there is one
of your
expressions
which I find it impossible to comprehend — "the truly substantive
vastness of infinity."
V. This, probably, is
because you
have
no sufficiently generic conception of the term "substance"
itself. We must not regard it as a quality, but as a sentiment: — it is
the
perception,
in thinking beings, of the adaptation of matter to their
organization. There are many things on the Earth, which would be
nihility to the
inhabitants
of Venus — many things visible and tangible in Venus, which we could
not
be brought to appreciate as existing at all. But to the inorganic
beings — to the angels — the whole of the unparticled matter is
substance; that
is to say, the whole of what we term "space" is to them the truest
substantiality; — the stars, meantime, through what we consider their
materiality,
escaping the angelic sense, just in proportion as the unparticled
matter,
through what we consider its immateriality, eludes the organic.
As the sleep-waker pronounced these latter words,
in a feeble [page
57:] tone, I observed on his countenance a singular
expression,
which somewhat alarmed me, and induced me to awake him at once. No
sooner had I done this, than, with a bright smile irradiating all his
features,
he fell back upon his pillow and expired. I noticed that in less
than a minute afterward his corpse had all the stern rigidity of
stone. His brow was of the coldness of ice. Thus, ordinarily, should it
have appeared, only after long pressure from Azrael's hand. Had
the
sleep-waker, indeed, during the latter portion of his discourse, been
addressing
me from out the region of the shadows? |
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