|
[page 602, full page, continued:]
|
|
|
THE POWER OF
WORDS.
BY EDGAR A. POE.
[column 1:]
Oinos. — Pardon, Agathos, the weakness of a
spirit
new-fledged
with
immortality!
Agathos. — You have spoken nothing, my
Oinos, for
which pardon
is to
be
demanded. Not even here is knowledge a thing of intuition. For wisdom
ask
of the angels freely, that it may be given!
Oinos. — But in this existence, I
dreamed that I
should be at
once
cognizant
of all things, and thus at once happy in being cognizant of all. [column
2:]
Agathos. — Ah, not in knowledge is
happiness, but
in the
acquisition
of
knowledge! In for ever knowing, we are for ever blessed; but to know
all
were the curse of a fiend.
Oinos. — But does not The Most High
know all?
Agathos. — That (since he is
The Most
Happy) must
be still the one
thing
unknown even to HIM.
Oinos. — But, since we grow hourly in
knowledge,
must not at last all
things be known? [page 603:]
Agathos. — Look down into the abysmal
distances! —
attempt to
force
the
gaze down the multitudinous vistas of the stars, as we sweep slowly
through
them thus — and thus — and thus! Even the keen spiritual vision, is it
not
at all points arrested by the continuous golden walls of the universe?
— the walls of the myriads of the shining bodies that mere number has
appeared to blend into unity?
Oinos. — I clearly perceive that the
infinity of
matter is no
dream.
Agathos. — There are no dreams
in
Aidenn — but it
is here
whispered
that,
of this infinity of matter, the sole purpose is to afford
infinite
springs,
at which the soul may allay the thirst to know which is for
ever
unquenchable
within it — since to quench it would be to extinguish the soul's
self.
Question me then, my Oinos, freely and without fear. Come! we will
leave
to the left the loud harmony of the Pleiades, and swoop outward from
the
throne into the starry meadows beyond Orion, where, for pansies and
violets,
and heart's-ease, are the beds of the triplicate and triple-tinted
suns.
Oinos. — And now, Agathos, as we
proceed, instruct
me! speak
to me
in the earth's familiar tones! I understood not what you hinted to me,
just now, of the modes or of the methods of what, during mortality, we
were
accustomed to call Creation. Do you mean to say that the Creator is not
God?
Agathos. — I mean to say that the
Deity does not
create.
Oinos. — Explain!
Agathos. — In the beginning only,
he
created. The
seeming
creatures
which
are now, throughout the universe, so perpetually springing into being,
can only be considered as the mediate or indirect, not as the direct or
immediate results of the Divine creative power.
Oinos. — Among men, my Agathos, this
idea would be
considered
heretical
in the extreme.
Agathos. — Among angels, my Oinos, it
is seen to be
simply
true.
Oinos. — I can comprehend you thus far
— that
certain
operations of
what
we term Nature, or the natural laws, will, under certain conditions,
give
rise to that which has all the appearance of creation. Shortly
before
the
final overthrow of the earth, there were, I well remember, many very
successful
experiments in what some philosophers [column 2:] were weak
enough to denominate
the
creation of animalculæ.
Agathos. — The cases of which you
speak were, in
fact,
instances of
the
secondary creation — and of the only species of creation which
has
ever
been, since the first word spoke into existence the first law.
Oinos. — Are not the starry worlds
that, from the
abyss of
nonentity,
burst hourly forth into the heavens — are not these stars, Agathos,
the
immediate handiwork of the King?
Agathos. — Let me endeavor, my Oinos,
to lead you,
step by
step, to
the
conception I intend. You are well aware that, as no thought can perish,
so no act is without infinite result. We moved our hands, for example,
when we were dwellers on the earth, and, in so doing, we gave vibration
to
the atmosphere which engirdled it. This vibration was indefinitely
extended,
till it gave impulse to every particle of the earth's air, which
thenceforward, and for ever, was actuated by the one movement
of
the hand. This fact
the
mathematicians of our globe well knew. They made the special effects,
indeed,
wrought in the fluid by special impulses, the subject of exact
calculation — so that it became easy to determine in what precise
period an
impulse
of given extent would engirdle the orb, and impress (for ever) every
atom
of the atmosphere circumambient. Retrograding, they found no
difficulty,
from a given effect, under given conditions, in determining the value
of
the original impulse. Now the mathematicians who saw that the results
of
any given impulse were absolutely endless — and who saw that a portion
of these results were accurately traceable through the agency of
algebraic
analysis — who saw, too, the facility of the retrogradation — these
men
saw, at the same time, that this species of analysis itself, had within
itself a capacity for indefinite progress — that there were no bounds
conceivable to its advancement and applicability, except within the
intellect
of him who advanced or applied it. But at this point our mathematicians
paused.
Oinos. — And why, Agathos, should they
have
proceeded?
Agathos. — Because there
were some
considerations
of deep
interest,
beyond.
It was deducible from what they knew, that to a being of infinite
understanding — to one whom the perfection of the algebraic [page
604:] analysis lay unfolded —
there could be no difficulty in tracing every impulse given the air —
and the ether through the air — to the remotest consequences at any
even
infinitely remote epoch of time. It is indeed demonstrable that every
such
impulse given the air, must, in the end, impress every
individual thing
that exists within the universe; — and the being of infinite
understanding — the being whom we have imagined — might trace the
remote undulations
of the impulse — trace them upward and onward in
their influences upon
all particles of all matter — upward and onward for ever in their
modifications
of old forms — or in other words, in their creation of new —
until
he
found them reflected — unimpressive at last — back from the
throne of
the Godhead. And not only could such a being do this, but at any epoch,
should a given result be afforded him — should one of these numberless nebulæ,
for example, be presented to his
inspection, — he could have no
difficulty in determining, by the analytic retrogradation, to what
original
impulse it was due. This power of retrogradation in its absolute
fulness
and perfection — this faculty of referring at all epochs, all
effects
to all causes — is of course the prerogative of the Deity alone
— but
in every variety of degree, short of the absolute perfection, is the
power
itself exercised by the whole host of the Angelic Intelligences.
Oinos. — But you speak merely of
impulses upon the
air.
Agathos. — In speaking of the air, I
referred only
to the
earth: — but
the
general proposition has reference to [column 2:] impulses upon
the ether — which,
since it pervades, and alone pervades all space, is thus the great
medium
of creation.
Oinos. — Then all motion, of whatever
nature,
creates.
Agathos. — It must: but a true
philosophy has long
taught that
the
source
of all motion is thought — and the source of all thought is —
Oinos. — God.
Agathos. — I have spoken to you,
Oinos, as to a
child of the
fair
Earth
which lately perished — of impulses upon the atmosphere of the Earth.
Oinos. — You did.
Agathos. — And while I thus spoke, did
there not
cross your
mind some
thought of the physical power of words? Is not every word an
impulse on
the air?
Oinos. — But why, Agathos, do you weep?
— and why —
oh why do
your
wings
droop as we hover above this fair star — which is the greenest and yet
most terrible of all we have encountered in our flight? Its brilliant
flowers
look like a faëry dream — but its fierce volcanoes like the
passions
of
a turbulent heart.
Agathos. — They are! — they are!
This
wild star —
it is now three
centuries
since with clasped hand [[hands]], and with streaming eyes at the feet
of my
beloved — I spoke it — with a few passionate sentences — into birth!
Its
brilliant
flowers are the dearest of all unfulfilled dreams, and its
raging
volcanoes are the passions of the most turbulent and
unhallowed of hearts. |
|
|
|
|
|