THE DWELLER IN THE TEMPLE.
IT is almost needless to observe, that the Scriptures repeatedly speak
of man as a tripartite being, consisting of spirit, soul, and body: and
that, according to St. Paul, we have two bodies—a natural body and a
spiritual body; the former being designed as our means of communication
with the external world—an instrument to be used and controlled by our
nobler parts. It is this view of it, carried to a fanaticism, which has
led to the various and extraordinary mortifications recorded of
ascetics. As is remarked by the Rev. Hare Townshend, in a late edition
of his book on mesmerism, in this fleshly body consists our organic
life; in the body which we are to retain through eternity, consists our
fundamental life. May not the first, he says, “be a temporary
development of the last, just as leaves, flowers, and fruits, are the
temporary developments of a tree? And in the same manner that these pass
and drop away, yet leave the principle of reproduction behind, so may
our present organs be detached from us by death, and yet the ground of
our existence be spared to us continuously.”
Without entering into the subtle disputes of philosophers, with regard
to the spirit, a subject on which there is a standing controversy
between the disciples of Hegel and those of other teachers, I need only
observe that the Scriptures seem to indicate what some of the heathen
sages taught, that the spirit that dwells within us is the spirit of
God, incorporated in us for a period, for certain ends of his own, to be
thereby wrought out. What those ends are, it does not belong to my
present subject to consider. In this spirit so imparted to us, dwells,
says Eschenmayer, the conscience, which keeps watch over the body and
the soul, saying, “Thus shalt thou do!” And it is to this Christ
addresses himself when he bids his disciples become perfect, like their
Father in heaven. The soul is subject to the spirit; and its functions
are, _to will_, or _choose_, _to think_, and _to feel_, and to become
thereby cognizant of the true, the beautiful, and the good;
comprehending the highest principle, the highest ideal, and the most
perfect happiness. The _Ego_, or _I_, is the resultant of the three
forces, Pneuma, Psyche, Soma—spirit, soul, and body.
In the spirit or soul, or rather in both conjoined, dwells, also, the
power of _spiritual seeing_, or _intuitive knowing_; for, as there is a
spiritual body, there is a spiritual eye, and a spiritual ear, and so
forth; or, to speak more correctly, all these sensuous functions are
comprised in one universal sense, which does not need the aid of the
bodily organs; but, on the contrary, is most efficient when most freed
from them. It remains to be seen whether, or in what degree, such
separation can take place during life; complete it can not be till
death; but whoever believes sincerely that the divine spirit dwells
within him, can, I should think, find no difficulty in conceiving that,
although from the temporary conditions to which that spirit is
subjected, this universal faculty is limited and obscured, it must still
retain its indefeasible attribute.
We may naturally conclude that the most perfect state of man on earth
consists in the most perfect unity of the spirit and the soul; and to
those who in this life have attained the nearest to that unity will the
entire assimilation of the two, after they are separated from the body,
be the easiest; while to those who have lived only their intellectual
and external life, this union must be extremely difficult, the soul
having chosen its part with the body, and divorced itself, as much as in
it lay, from the spirit. The voice of conscience is then scarcely heard;
and the soul, degraded and debased, can no longer perform its functions
of discerning the true, the beautiful, and the good.
On these distinct functions of the soul and spirit, however, it is not
my intention to insist, since it appears to me a subject on which we are
not yet in a condition to dogmatize. We know rather more about our
bodies, by means of which the soul and spirit are united and brought
into contact with the material world, and which are constructed wholly
with a view to the conditions of that world; such as time, space,
solidity, extension, &c., &c. But we must conceive of God as necessarily
independent of these conditions. To Him, all times and all places must
be for ever present; and it is _thus_ that he is omniscient and
omnipresent; and since we are placed by the spirit in immediate relation
with God and the spiritual world, just as we are placed by the body in
immediate relation with the material world, we may, in the first place,
form a notion of the possibility that some faint gleams of these
inherent attributes may, at times, shoot up through the clay in which
the spirit has taken up its temporary abode; and we may also admit, that
through the connection which exists between us and the spiritual world,
it is not impossible but that we may, at times, and under certain
conditions, become cognizant of, and enter into more immediate relation
with it. This is the only postulate I ask; for, as I said before, I do
not wish to enforce opinions, but to suggest probabilities, or at least
possibilities, and thus arouse reflection and inquiry.
With respect to the term _invisible world_, I beg to remind my readers,
that what we call _seeing_ is merely the function of an organ
constructed for that purpose in relation to the external world; and so
limited are its powers, that we are surrounded by many things in that
world which we can not see without the aid of artificial appliances and
many other things which we can not see even with them; the atmosphere in
which we live, for example, although its weight and mechanical forces
are the subjects of accurate calculation, is entirely imperceptible to
our visual organs. Thus, the fact that we do not commonly see them,
forms no legitimate objection to the hypothesis of our being surrounded
by a world of spirits, or of that world being inter-diffused among us.
Supposing the question to be decided that we do sometimes become
cognizant of them, which, however, I admit it is not, since, whether the
apparitions are subjective, or objective, that is, whether they are the
mere phenomena of disease, or real out-standing appearances, is the
inquiry I desire to promote—but, I say, supposing that question were
decided in the affirmative, the next that arises is, how, or by what
means do we see them; or, if they address us, hear them? If that
universal sense which appears to me to be inseparable from the idea of
spirit, be once admitted, I think there can be no difficulty in
answering this question; and if it be objected that we are conscious of
no such sense, I answer, that both in dreams and in certain abnormal
states of the body, it is frequently manifested. In order to render this
more clear, and, at the same time, to give an interesting instance of
this sort of phenomenon, I will transcribe a passage from a letter of
St. Augustine to his friend Evadius (Epistola 159. Antwerp edition).
“I will relate to you a circumstance,” he writes, “which will furnish
you matter for reflection. Our brother Sennadius, well known to us all
as an eminent physician, and whom we especially love, who is now at
Carthage, after having distinguished himself at Rome, and with whose
piety and active benevolence you are well acquainted, could yet,
nevertheless, as he has lately narrated to us, by no means bring himself
to believe in a life after death. Now, God, doubtless, not willing that
his soul should perish, there appeared to him one night, in a dream, a
radiant youth of noble aspect, who bade him follow him; and as Sennadius
obeyed, they came to a city where, on the right side, he heard a chorus
of the most heavenly voices. As he desired to know whence this divine
harmony proceeded, the youth told him that what he heard were the songs
of the blessed; whereupon he awoke, and thought no more of his dream
than people usually do. On another night, however, behold! the youth
appears to him again, and asks him if he knows him; and Sennadius
related to him all the particulars of his former dream, which he well
remembered. ‘Then,’ said the youth, ‘was it while sleeping or waking
that you saw these things?’—‘I was sleeping,’ answered Sennadius. ‘You
are right,’ returned the youth, ‘it was in your sleep that you saw these
things; and know, O Sennadius, that what you see now is also in your
sleep. But if this be so, tell me where then is your body?’—‘In my
bed-chamber,’ answered Sennadius. ‘But know you not,’ continued the
stranger, ‘that your eyes, which form a part of your body, are closed
and inactive?’—‘I know it,’ answered he. ‘Then,’ said the youth, ‘with
what eyes see you these things?’ And Sennadius could not answer him; and
as he hesitated, the youth spoke again, and explained to him the motive
of his questions. ‘As the eyes of your body,’ said he, ‘which lies now
on your bed and sleeps, are inactive and useless, and yet you have eyes
wherewith you see me and these things I have shown unto you; so after
death, when these bodily organs fail you, you will have a vital power,
whereby you will live, and a sensitive faculty, whereby you will
perceive. Doubt, therefore, no longer that there is a life after death.’
And thus,” said this excellent man, “was I convinced, and all doubts
removed.”
I confess there appears to me a beauty and a logical truth in this dream
that I think might convince more than the dreamer.
It is by the hypothesis of this universal sense, latent within us—an
hypothesis which, whoever believes that we are immortal spirits,
incorporated for a season in a material body, can scarcely reject—that
I seek to explain those perceptions which are not comprised within the
functions of our bodily organs. It seems to me to be the key to all or
nearly all of them, as far as our own part in the phenomena extends.
But, supposing this admitted, there would then remain the difficulty of
accounting for the partial and capricious glimpses we get of it; while
in that department of the mystery which regards apparitions, except such
as are the pure result of disease, we must grope our way, with very
little light to guide us, as to the conditions and motives which might
possibly bring them into any immediate relation with us.
To any one who has been fortunate enough to witness one genuine case of
clairvoyance, I think the conception of this universal sense will not be
difficult, however the mode of its exercise may remain utterly
incomprehensible. As I have said above—to the great Spirit and Fountain
of life, all things, in both space and time, must be present. However
impossible it is to our finite minds to conceive this, we must believe
it. It may, in some slight degree, facilitate the conception to remember
that action, once begun, never ceases—an impulse given is transmitted
on for ever; a sound breathed reverberates in eternity; and thus the
past is always present, although, for the purpose of fitting us for this
mortal life, our ordinary senses are so constituted as to be
unperceptive of these phenomena. With respect to what we call _the
future_, it is more difficult still for us to conceive it as present;
nor, as far as I know, can we borrow from the sciences the same
assistance as mechanical discoveries have just furnished me with in
regard to the past. How a spirit sees that which has not yet, to our
senses, taken place, seems certainly inexplicable. _Foreseeing_ it is
not inexplicable: we foresee many things by arguing on given premises,
although, from our own finite views, we are always liable to be
mistaken. Louis Lambert says: “Such events as are the product of
humanity, and the result of its intelligence, have their own causes, in
which they lie latent, just as our actions are accomplished in our
thoughts previous to any outward demonstration of them; presentiments
and prophecies consist in the intuitive perception of these causes.”
This explanation, which is quite conformable with that of Cicero, may
aid us in some degree as regards a certain small class of phenomena; but
there is something involved in the question much more subtle than this.
Our dreams can give us the only idea of it; for there we do actually see
and hear, not only that which never was, but that which never will be.
Actions and events, words and sounds, persons and places, are as clearly
and vividly present to us as if they were actually what they seem; and I
should think that most people must be somewhat puzzled to decide in
regard to certain scenes and circumstances that live in their memory,
whether the images are the result of their waking or sleeping
experience. Although by no means a dreamer, and without the most remote
approximation to any faculty of presentiment, I know this is the case
with myself. I remember also a very curious effect being produced upon
me, when I was abroad, some years ago, from eating the unwholesome bread
to which we were reduced, in consequence of a scarcity. Some five or six
times a day I was seized with a sort of vertigo, during which I seemed
to pass through certain scenes, and was conscious of certain words,
which appeared to me to have a strange connection, with either some
former period of my life, or else some previous state of existence. The
words and the scenes were on each occasion precisely the same: I was
always aware of that, and I always made the strongest efforts to grasp
and retain them in my memory, but I could not. I only knew that the
thing _had been_; the words and the scenes were gone. I seemed to pass
momentarily into another sphere and back again. This was purely the
result of disorder; but, like a dream, it shows how we may be perceptive
of that which is not, and which never may be; rendering it, therefore,
possible to conceive that a spirit may be equally perceptive of that
which shall be. I am very far from meaning to imply that these examples
remove the difficulty: they do not explain the thing; they only show
somewhat the mode of it. But it must be remembered that when
physiologists pretend to settle the whole question of apparitions by the
theory of spectral illusions, they are exactly in the same predicament.
They can supply examples of similar phenomena; but how a person,
perfectly in his senses, should receive the spectral visits of, not only
friends, but strangers, when he is thinking of no such matter—or by
what process, mental or optical, the figures are conjured up—remains as
much a mystery as before a line was written on the subject.
All people and all ages have believed, more or less, in prophetic
dreams, presentiments, and apparitions; and all historians have
furnished examples of them. That the truths may be frequently distorted
and mingled with fable, is no argument against those traditions; if it
were, all history must be rejected on the same plea. Both the Old and
New Testaments furnish numerous examples of these phenomena; and
although Christ and the apostles reproved all the superstitions of the
age, these persuasions are not included in their reprehensions.
Neither is the comparative rarity of these phenomena any argument
against their possibility. There are many strange things which occur
still more rarely, but which we do not look upon as supernatural or
miraculous. Of nature’s ordinary laws, we yet know but little; of their
aberrations and perturbations, still less. How should we, when the world
is a miracle and life a dream, of which we know neither the beginning
nor the end! We do not even know that we see anything as it is, or
rather, we know that we do not. We see things but as our visual organs
represent them to us; and were those organs differently constructed, the
aspect of the world would to us be changed. How, then, can we pretend to
decide upon what is and what is not?
Nothing could be more perplexing to any one who read them with
attention, than the trials for witchcraft of the seventeenth century.
Many of the feats of the ancient thaumaturgists and wonder-workers of
the temples might have been nearly as much so, but these were got rid of
by the easy expedient of pronouncing them fables and impostures; but,
during the witch-mania, so many persons proved their faith in their own
miraculous powers by the sacrifice of their lives, that it was scarcely
possible to doubt their having some foundation for their own persuasion,
though what that foundation could be, till the late discoveries in
animal magnetism, it was difficult to conceive; but here we have a new
page opened to us which concerns both the history of the world and the
history of man, as an individual; and we begin to see that that which
the ignorant thought supernatural, and the wise impossible, has been
both natural and true. While the scientific men of Great Britain, and
several of our journalists, have been denying and ridiculing the reports
of these phenomena, the most eminent physicians of Germany have been
quietly studying and investigating them, and giving to the world, in
their works, the results of their experience. Among the rest, Dr. Joseph
Ennemoser, of Berlin, has presented to us in his two books on “Magic,”
and on “The Connection of Magnetism with Nature and Religion,” the
fruits of his thirty years’ study of this subject—during the course of
which he has had repeated opportunities of investigating all the
phenomena, and of making himself perfectly familiar with even the most
rare and perplexing. To any one who has studied these works, the
mysteries of the temples and of the witch-trials are mysteries no
longer; and he writes with the professed design, not to make science
mystical, but to bring the mysterious within the bounds of science. The
phenomena, as he justly says, are as old as the human race. Animal
magnetism is no new development, no new discovery. Inseparable from
life, although, like many other vital phenomena, so subtle in its
influences, that only in abnormal cases it attracts attention, it has
exhibited itself more or less in all ages and in all countries. But its
value as a medical agent is only now beginning to dawn on the civilized
world, while its importance in a higher point of view is yet perceived
by but few. Every human being who has ever withdrawn himself from the
strife, and the turmoil, and the distraction, of the world without, in
order to look within, must have found himself perplexed by a thousand
questions with regard to his own being, which he would find no one able
to solve. In the study of animal magnetism, he will first obtain some
gleams of a light which will show him that he is indeed the child of
God! and that, though a dweller on the earth, and fallen, some traces of
his divine descent, and of his unbroken connection with a higher order
of being, still remain to comfort and encourage him. He will find that
there exists in his species the germs of faculties that are never fully
unfolded here on earth, and which have no reference to this state of
being. They exist in all men, but in most cases are so faintly elicited
as not to be observable; and when they do shoot up here and there, they
are denied, disowned, misinterpreted, and maligned. It is true that
their development is often the symptom and effect of disease, which
seems to change the relations of our material and immaterial parts; it
is true that some of the phenomena resulting from these faculties are
stimulated by disease, as in the case of spectral illusions; and it is
true that imposture and folly intrude their unhallowed footsteps into
this domain of science, as into that of all others; but there is a deep
and holy well of truth to be discovered in this neglected by-path of
nature, by those who seek it, from which they may draw the purest
consolations for the present, the most ennobling hopes for the future,
and the most valuable aid in penetrating through the letter into the
spirit of the Scriptures.
I confess it makes me sorrowful when I hear men laughing, scorning, and
denying this their birthright; and I can not but grieve to think how
closely and heavily their clay must be wrapped about them, and how the
external and sensuous life must have prevailed over the internal, when
no gleam from within breaks through to show them that these things are
true.