[The following was written for, and published in the _Christian
Union_. It was reprinted in THE PHRENOLOGICAL JOURNAL in 1870. We
present it here, as in some measure explanatory of all the matter
which precedes it. There are many who do not accept all that is
claimed to be true, in Modern Spiritualism, who will entertain the
moderate views expressed by The Author of Uncle Tom's Cabin.
EDITOR.]
It is claimed that there are in the United States four million
Spiritualists. The perusal of the advertisements in any one of the
weekly newspapers devoted to this subject will show that there is a
system organized all over the Union to spread these sentiments. From
fifty to a hundred, and sometimes more, of lecturers advertise in a
single paper, to speak up and down the land; and lyceums--progressive
lyceums for children, spiritual pic-nics, and other movements of the
same kind, are advertised. This kind of thing has been going on from
year to year, and the indications now are that it is increasing rather
than diminishing.
It is claimed by the advocates of these sentiments that the number of
those who boldly and openly profess them is exceeded by the greater
number of those who are _secretly_ convinced, but who are unwilling to
encounter the degree of obloquy or ridicule which they would probably
meet on an open avowal.
All these things afford matter for grave thought to those to whom none
of the great and deep movements of society are indifferent. When we
think how very tender and sacred are the feelings with which this has
to do--what power and permanency they always must have, we can not but
consider such a movement of society entitled at least to the most
serious and thoughtful consideration.
Our own country has just been plowed and seamed by a cruel war. The
bullet that has pierced thousands of faithful breasts has cut the
nerve of life and hope in thousands of homes. What yearning toward the
invisible state, what agonized longings must have gone up as the sound
of mournful surges, during these years succeeding the war! Can we wonder
that any form of religion, or of superstition, which professes in the
least to mitigate the anguish of that cruel separation, and to break
that dreadful silence by any voice or token, has hundreds of thousands
of disciples? If on review of the spiritualistic papers and pamphlets we
find them full of vague wanderings and wild and purposeless flights of
fancy, can we help pitying that craving of the human soul which all this
represents and so imperfectly supplies?
The question arises, Has not the Protestant religion neglected to
provide some portion of the true spiritual food of the human soul, and
thus produced this epidemic craving? It is often held to be a medical
fact that morbid appetites are the blind cry of nature for something
needed in the bodily system which is lacking. The wise nurse or mother
does not hold up to ridicule the poor little culprit who secretly picks
a hole in the plastering that he may eat the lime; she considers within
herself what is wanting in this little one's system, and how this lack
shall be more judiciously and safely supplied. If it be phosphate of
lime for the bones which nature is thus blindly crying for, let us give
it to him more palatably and under more attractive forms.
So with the epidemic cravings of human society. The wise spiritual
pastor or master would inquire what is wanting to these poor souls that
they are thus with hungry avidity rushing in a certain direction,
and devouring with unhealthy eagerness all manner of crudities and
absurdities.
May it not be spiritual food, of which their mother, the Church, has
abundance, which she has neglected to set before them?
Now, if we compare the religious teachings of the present century with
those of any past one, we shall find that the practical spiritualistic
belief taught by the Bible has to a great extent dropped out of it.
Let us begin with the time of Jesus Christ. Nothing is more evident
in reading his life than that he was acting all the time in view of
_unseen_ and spiritual influences, which were more pronounced and
operative to him than any of the _visible_ and materialistic phenomena
of the present life. In this respect the conduct of Christ, if
imitated in the present day, would subject a man to the imputation of
superstition or credulity. He imputed things to the direct agency of
invisible spirits acting in the affairs of life, that we, in the same
circumstances, attribute only to the constitutional liabilities of the
individual acted upon by force of circumstances.
As an example of this, let us take his language toward the Apostle
Peter. With the habits of modern Christianity, the caution of Christ to
Peter would have been expressed much on this fashion: "Simon, Simon,
thou art impulsive, and liable to be carried away with sudden
impressions. The Jews are about to make an attack on me which will
endanger thee."
This was the exterior view of the situation, but our Lord did not take
it. He said, "Simon, Simon, Satan hath desired to have thee that he may
sift thee as wheat; but I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail
not." This Satan was a person ever present in the mind of Christ. He
was ever in his view as the invisible force by which all the visible
antagonistic forces were ruled. When his disciples came home in triumph
to relate the successes of their first preaching tour, Christ said, "I
beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven." When the Apostle Peter
rebuked him for prophesying the tragical end of his earthly career,
Christ answered not him, but the invisible spirit whose influence over
him he recognized: "Get thee behind me, Satan! Thou art an offense unto
me."
When the Saviour's last trial approached, he announced the coming crisis
in the words, "The prince of this world cometh, and hath nothing in me."
When he gave himself into the hands of the Sanhedrim, he said, "This is
your hour and that of the powers of darkness." When disputing with the
unbelieving Jews, he told them that they were of their father, the
devil; that he was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the
truth; that when he spoke a lie he spoke of his own, for he was a liar,
and the father of lies.
In short, the life of Christ, as viewed by himself, was not a conflict
with enemies _in the flesh_, but with an invisible enemy, artful,
powerful, old as the foundations of the world, and ruling by his
influences over evil spirits and men in the flesh.
The same was the doctrine taught by the Apostles. In reading the
Epistles we see in the strongest language how the whole visible world
was up in arms against them. St. Paul gives this catalogue of his
physical and worldly sufferings, proving his right to apostleship mainly
by perseverance in persecution. "In labors more abundant, in stripes
above measure, in prisons more frequent, in deaths oft; of the Jews five
times received I forty stripes save one; thrice was I beaten with rods,
once was I stoned; thrice have I suffered shipwreck--a night and a day
have I been in the deep. In journeyings often, in perils of water, in
perils of robbers, in perils by mine own countrymen, in perils by the
heathen, in perils in the city, in perils in the wilderness, in perils
among false brethren."
One would say with all this, there was a sufficient array of physical
and natural causes against St. Paul to stand for something. In modern
language--yea, in the language of good modern Christians--it would be
said "What is the use of taking into account any devil or any invisible
spirits to account for Paul's trials and difficulties?--it is enough
that the whole world has set itself against what he teaches--Jew and
Gentile are equally antagonistic to it."
But St. Paul says in the face of all this, "We are not wrestling with
flesh and blood, but with principalities and powers and the leaders of
the darkness of this world, and against wicked spirits in high places;"
and St. Peter, recognizing the sufferings and persecutions of the early
Christians, says, "Be sober, be vigilant." Why? "Because your adversary,
the devil, as a roaring lion, goeth about seeking whom he may devour."
In like manner we find in the discourses of our Lord and the Apostles
the recognition of a counteracting force of good spirits. When
Nathaniel, one of his early disciples, was astonished at his spiritual
insight, he said to him, "Thou shalt see greater things than these!
Hereafter ye shall see heaven open, and angels of God ascending and
descending on the Son of man." When he spoke of the importance of little
children, he announced that each one of them had a guardian angel who
beheld the face of God. When he was transfigured on the Mount, Moses and
Elijah appeared in glory, and talked with him of his death that he was
to accomplish at Jerusalem. In the hour of his agony in the garden, an
angel appeared and ministered to him. When Peter drew a sword to defend
him, he said, "Put up thy sword. Thinkest thou that I can not now pray
to my Father, and he will give me more than twelve legions of angels?"
Thus, between two contending forces of the invisible world was
Christianity inaugurated. During the primitive ages the same language
was used by the Fathers of the church, and has ever since been
traditional.
But we need not say that the fashion of modern Protestant theology and
the custom of modern Protestant Christianity have been less and less of
this sort.
We hear from good Christians, and from Christian ministers, talk of this
sort: A great deal is laid to the poor devil that he never thought of.
If men would take care of their own affairs the devil will let them
alone. We hear it said that there is no _evidence_ of the operation
of invisible spirits in the course of human affairs. It is all a mere
matter of physical, mental, and moral laws working out their mission
with unvarying certainty.
But is it a fact, then, that the great enemy whom Christ so constantly
spoke of is dead? Are the principalities and powers and rulers of the
darkness of this world, whom Paul declared to be the real opponents that
the Christian has to arm against, all dead? If that great enemy whom
Christ declared the source of all opposition to himself is yet living,
with his nature unchanged, there is as much reason to look for his
action behind the actions of men and the vail of material causes as
there was in Christ's time; and if the principalities and powers and
rulers of the darkness of this world, that Paul speaks of, have not
died, then they are now, as they were in his day, the _principal_ thing
the Christian should keep in mind and against which he should arm.
And, on the other hand, if it is true, as Christ declared, that every
little child in him has a guardian angel, who always beholds the
Father's face; if, as St. Paul says, it is true that the angels all are
"ministering spirits sent forth to minister to those who shall be heirs
of salvation," then it follows that every one of us is being constantly
watched over, cared for, warned, guided, and ministered to by invisible
spirits.
Now let us notice in what regions and in what classes of mind the modern
spiritualistic religion has most converts.
To a remarkable degree it takes minds which have been denuded of all
faith in spirits; minds which are empty, swept of all spiritual belief,
are the ones into which any amount of spirits can enter and take
possession.
That is to say, the human soul, in a state of starvation for one of its
normal and most necessary articles of food, devours right and left every
marvel of modern spiritualism, however crude.
The old angelology of the Book of Daniel and the Revelation is poetical
and grand. Daniel sees lofty visions of beings embodying all the grand
forces of nature. He is told of invisible princes who rule the destiny
of nations! Michael, the guardian prince of the Jews, is hindered
twenty-one days from coming, at the prayer of Daniel, by the conflicting
princes of Media and Persia. In the New Testament, how splendid is the
description of the angel of the resurrection! "And behold, there was a
great earthquake, and the angel of the Lord descended from heaven and
came and rolled back the stone from the door and sat upon it! His
countenance was as the lightning, and his raiment white as snow, and
for fear of him the keepers did shake and become as dead men." We have
here spiritualistic phenomena worthy of a God--worthy our highest
conceptions--elevated, poetic, mysterious, grand!
And communities, and systems of philosophy and theology, which have
explained all the supernatural art of the Bible, or which are always
apologizing for it, blushing for it, ignoring and making the least they
can of it--such communities will go into spiritualism by hundreds and
by thousands. Instead of angels, whose countenance is as the lightning,
they will have ghosts and tippings and tappings and rappings. Instead
of the great beneficent miracles recorded in Scripture, they will have
senseless clatterings of furniture and breaking of crockery. Instead of
Christ's own promise, "He that keepeth my commandments, I will love him
and manifest _myself_," they will have manifestations from all sorts of
anonymous spirits, good, bad, and indifferent.
Well, then, what is the way to deal with spiritualism? Precisely what
the hunter uses when he stands in the high, combustible grass and sees
the fire sweeping around him on the prairies. He sets fire to the grass
all around him, and it burns _from_ instead of _to_ him, and thus he
fights fire with fire. Spiritualism, in its crudities and errors, can be
met only in that way. The true spiritualism of the Bible is what will be
the only remedy for the cravings of that which is false and delusive.
Some years ago the writer of this, in deep sorrow for the sudden death
of a son, received the following letter from a Roman Catholic priest,
in a neighboring town. He was a man eminent for holiness of life and
benevolence, and has since entered the rest of the blessed.
DEAR MADAM: In the deep affliction that has recently visited you I
implore you to remember well that there is a communion of spirits of
the departed just, which death can not prevent, and which, with
prayer, can impart much consolation. This, with the condolence of
every parent and child in my flock, I beg leave to offer you,
wishing, in the mean time, to assure you of my heartfelt regret and
sympathy.
Yours, very truly, JAMES O'DONNELL,
Catholic Pastor, Lawrence.
What is this communion which death can not prevent, and which with
prayer can impart consolation? It is known in the Apostles' Creed as
"THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS."
When it is considered what social penalties attach to the profession of
this faith, one must admit that only some very strong cause can induce
persons of standing and established reputation openly to express beliefs
of this kind. The penalty is loss of confidence and being reputed of
unsound mind. It is not an easy thing to profess belief in anything
which destroys one's reputation for sanity, yet undoubtedly this is the
result.
It must also be admitted that most of the literature which has come into
existence in this way is of a doubtful and disreputable kind, and of a
tendency to degrade rather than elevate our conceptions of a spiritual
state.
Yet such is the hunger, the longing, the wild craving of the human soul
for the region of future immortality, its home-sickness for its future
home, its perishing anguish of desire for the beloved ones who have
been torn away from it, and to whom in every nerve it still throbs and
bleeds, that professed words and messages from that state, however
unworthy, are met with a trembling agony of eagerness, a willingness to
be deceived, most sorrowful to witness.
But any one who judges of the force of this temptation merely by what is
published in the _Banner of Light_, and other papers of that class, has
little estimate of what there is to be considered in the way of existing
phenomena under this head.
The cold scientists who, without pity and without sympathy, have
supposed that they have had under their dissecting knives the very
phenomena which have deluded their fellows, mistake. They have not seen
them, and in the cold, unsympathizing mood of science, they never can
see them. The experiences that have most weight with multitudes who
believe more than they dare to utter, are secrets deep as the grave,
sacred as the innermost fibers of their souls--they can not bring their
voices to utter them except in some hour of uttermost confidence and to
some friend of tried sympathy. They know what they have seen and what
they have heard. They know the examinations they have made they know the
inexplicable results, and, like Mary of old, they keep all these sayings
and ponder them in their hearts. They have no sympathy with the vulgar,
noisy, outward phenomena of tippings and rappings and signs and
wonders. They have no sympathy with the vulgar and profane attacks on
the Bible, which form part of the utterances of modern seers; but they
can not forget, and they can not explain things which in sacred solitude
or under circumstances of careful observation have come under their
own notice. They have no wish to make converts--they shrink from
conversation, they wait for light; but when they hear all these things
scoffed at, they think within themselves--Who knows?
We have said that the strong, unregulated, and often false
spiritualistic current of to-day is a result of the gradual departure
of Christendom from the true supernaturalism of primitive ages. We have
shown how Christ and his Apostles always regarded the invisible actors
on the stage of human existence as more powerful than the visible ones;
that they referred to their influence over the human spirit and over the
forces of nature, things which modern rationalism refers only to natural
laws. We can not illustrate the departure of modern society from
primitive faith better than in a single instance--a striking one.
The Apostles' Creed is the best formula of Christian faith--it is common
to the Greek, the Roman, the Reformed Churches, and published by our
Pilgrim Fathers in the New England Primer in connection with the
Assembly's Catechism. It contains the following profession:
"I believe in the Holy Ghost; the Holy Catholic Church; the
Communion of Saints; the Forgiveness of Sins," etc.
In this sentence, according to Bishop Pearson on the Creed, are
announced four important doctrines: 1. The Holy Ghost; 2. The Holy
Catholic Church; 3. The Communion of Saints; 4. The Forgiveness of Sins.
To each one of these the good Bishop devotes some twenty or thirty pages
of explanation.
But it is customary with many clergymen in reading to slur the second
and third articles together, thus: "I believe in the Holy Catholic
Church, the communion of saints"--that is to say, I believe in the Holy
Catholic Church, which is the communion of saints.
Now, in the standard edition of the English Prayer Book, and in all the
editions published from it, the separate articles of faith are divided
by semicolons--thus: "The Holy Ghost; The Holy Catholic Church; The
Communion of Saints." But in our American editions the punctuation is
altered to suit a modern rationalistic idea--thus: "The Holy Catholic
Church, the Communion of Saints."
The doctrine of the Communion of Saints, as held by primitive
Christians, and held still by the Roman and Greek Churches, is thus
dropped out of view in the modern Protestant Episcopal reading.
But what is this doctrine? Bishop Pearson devotes a long essay to it,
ending thus:
Every one may learn by this what he is to understand by this part of
the article in which he professeth to believe in the Communion of
Saints.
Thereby he is conceived to express thus much:
"I am fully persuaded of this, as a necessary and infallible truth,
that such persons as are truly sanctified in the Church of Christ,
while they live in the crooked generations of men and struggle with
all the miseries of this world, have fellowship with God the Father,
God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost ... that they partake of the
kindness and care of the blessed angels who take delight in
ministrations for their benefit, that ... they have an intimate
union and conjunction with all the saints on earth as being members
of Christ; NOR IS THIS UNION SEPARATED BY THE DEATH OF ANY, but they
have communion with all the saints who, from the death of Abel, have
departed this life in the fear of God, and now enjoy the presence of
the Father, and follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth.
"_And thus I believe in the Communion of Saints._"
Now, we appeal to the consciences of modern Christians whether this
statement of the doctrine of the Communion of Saints represents the
doctrine that they have heard preached from the pulpit, and whether it
has been made practically so much the food and nourishment of their
souls as to give them all the support under affliction and bereavement
which it certainly is calculated to do?
Do they really believe themselves to partake in their life-struggle
of the kindness and care of the blessed angels who take delight in
ministrations for their benefit? Do they believe they are united by
intimate bonds with all Christ's followers? Do they believe that the
union is not separated by the death of any of them, but that they have
communion with all the saints who have departed this life in the faith
and now enjoy the presence of the Father?
Would not a sermon conceived in the terms of this standard treatise
excite an instant sensation as tending toward the errors of
Spiritualism? And let us recollect that the Apostles' Creed from which
this is taken was as much a standard with our Pilgrim Fathers as the
Cambridge Platform.
If we look back to Cotton Mather's Magnalia, we shall find that the
belief in the ministration of angels and the conflict of invisible
spirits, good and evil, in the affairs of men, was practical and
influential in the times of our fathers.
If we look at the first New England Systematic Theology, that of Dr.
Dwight, we shall find the subject of Angels and Devils and their
ministry among men fully considered.
In the present theological course at Andover that subject is wholly
omitted. What may be the custom in other theological seminaries of the
present day we will not say.
We will now show what the teaching and the feeling of the primitive
church was on the subject of the departed dead and the ministrations of
angels. In _Coleman's Christian Antiquities_, under the head of Death
and Burial of the Early Christians, we find evidence of the great and
wide difference which existed between the Christian community and all
the other world, whether Jews or heathen, in regard to the vividness of
their conceptions of immortality. The Christian who died was not counted
as lost from their number--the fellowship with him was still unbroken.
The theory and the practice of the Christians was to look on the
departed as no otherwise severed from them than the man who has gone
to New York is divided from his family in Boston. He is not within the
scope of the senses, he can not be addressed, but he is the same person,
with the same heart, still living and loving, and partners with them of
all joys and sorrows.
But while they considered personal identity and consciousness unchanged
and the friend as belonging to them, as much after death as before,
they regarded his death as an advancement, an honor, a glory. It was
customary, we are told, to celebrate the day of his death as his
birth-day--the day when he was born to new immortal life. Tertullian,
who died in the year 220 in his treatise called the _Soldier's
Chaplet_, says: "We make anniversary oblations for the dead--for their
birth-days," meaning the day of their death. In another place he says,
"It was the practice of a widow to pray for the soul of her deceased
husband, desiring on his behalf present refreshment or rest, and a part
in the first resurrection," and offering annually for him oblation on
the day of his _falling asleep_. By this gentle term the rest of the
body in the grave was always spoken of among Christians. It is stated
that on these anniversary days of commemorating the dead they were used
to make a feast, inviting both clergy and people, but especially the
poor and needy, the widows and orphans, that it might not only be a
memorial of rest to the dead, but a memorial of a sweet savor in the
sight of God.
A Christian funeral was in every respect a standing contrast to the
lugubrious and depressing gloom of modern times. Palms and olive
branches were carried in the funeral procession, and the cypress
was rejected as symbolizing gloom. Psalms and hymns of a joyful and
triumphant tone were sung around the corpse while it was kept in the
house and on the way to the grave. St. Chrysostom, speaking of funeral
services, quotes passages from the psalms and hymns that were in common
use, thus:
"What mean our psalms and hymns? Do we not glorify God and give him
thanks that he hath crowned him that has departed, that he hath
delivered him from trouble, that he hath set him free from all fear?
Consider what thou singest at the time. 'Turn again to thy rest, O
my soul, for the Lord hath rewarded thee;' and again: 'I will fear
no evil because thou art with me;' and again: 'Thou art my refuge
from the affliction that compasseth me about.' Consider what these
psalms mean. If thou believest the things which thou sayest to be
true, why dost thou weep and lament and make a pageantry and a mock
of thy singing? If thou believest them _not_ to be true, why dost
thou play the hypocrite so much as to sing?"
Coleman says, also:
"The sacrament of the Lord's Supper was administered at funerals and
often at the grave itself. By this rite it was professed that the
communion of saints was still perpetuated between the living and the
dead. It was a favorite idea that both still continued members of
the same mystical body, the same on earth and in heaven."--_Antiq.,
p. 413._
Coleman says, also, that the early Christian utterly discarded all the
Jewish badges and customs of mourning, such as sackcloth and ashes and
rent garments, and severely censured the Roman custom of wearing black.
St. Augustine says: "Why should we disfigure ourselves with black,
unless we would imitate unbelieving nations, not only in their
wailing for the dead, but also in their mourning apparel? Be
assured, these are foreign and unlawful usages."
He says, also: "Our brethren are not to be mourned for being
liberated from this world when we know that they are not _om_itted
but _pre_mitted, receding from us only that they may precede us, so
that journeying and voyaging before us they are to be _desired_ but
not lamented. Neither should we put on black raiment for them when
they have already taken their white garments; and occasion should
not be given to the Gentiles that they should rightly and justly
reprove us, that we grieve over those as extinct and lost who we say
are now alive with God, and the faith that we profess by voice and
speech we deny by the testimony of our heart and bosom."
Are not many of the usages and familiar forms of speech of modern
Christendom a return to old heathenism? Are they not what St. Augustine
calls a repudiation of the Christian faith? The black garments, the
funeral dreariness, the mode of speech which calls a departed friend
lost--have they not become the almost invariable rule in Christian life?
So really and truly did the first Christians believe that their friends
were still one with themselves, that they considered them even in their
advanced and glorified state a subject of prayers.
Prayer for each other was to the first Christians a reality. The
intimacy of their sympathy, the entire oneness of their life, made
prayer for each other a necessity, and they prayed for each other
instinctively as they prayed for themselves. So, St. Paul says "_Always_
in _every_ prayer of mine making request for you always with joy."
Christians are commanded without ceasing to pray for each other. As
their faith forbade them to consider the departed as lost or ceasing to
exist, or in any way being out of their fellowship and communion, it did
not seem to them strange or improper to yield to that impulse of the
loving heart which naturally breathes to the Heavenly Father the name of
its beloved. On the contrary, it was a custom in the earliest Christian
times, in the solemn service of the Eucharist, to commend to God in a
memorial prayer the souls of their friends _departed_, but not _dead_.
In Coleman's _Antiquities_, and other works of the same kind, many
instances of this are given. We select some:
Arnobius, in his treatise against the heathen writers, probably in 305,
speaking of the prayers offered after the consecration of the elements
in the Lord's Supper, says "that Christians prayed for pardon and peace
in behalf of the living and dead." Cyril, of Jerusalem, reports the
prayer made after consecrating the elements in Holy Communion in these
words:
"We offer this sacrifice in memory of those who have fallen asleep
before us, first patriarchs, prophets, apostles, and martyrs, that
God by their prayers and supplications may receive our supplications
and those we pray for, our holy fathers and bishops, and all that
have fallen asleep before us, believing it is of great advantage to
their souls to be prayed for while the holy and tremendous sacrifice
lies upon the altar."
A memorial of this custom has come into the Protestant Church in the
Episcopal Eucharistic service where occur these words: "And we also
bless thy Holy Name for all thy servants departed this life in thy faith
and fear, beseeching Thee to give us grace so to follow their good
examples, that we with them may be partakers of thy Heavenly Kingdom."
It will be seen here the progress of an idea, its corruption and its
reform.
The original idea with the primitive Christian was this: "My friend is
neither dead nor changed. He is only gone before me, and is promoted to
higher joy; but he is still mine and I am his. Still can I pray for him,
still can he pray for me; and as when he was here on earth we can be
mutually helped by each other's prayers."
Out of this root--so simple and so sweet--grew idolatrous exaggerations
of saint worship and a monstrous system of bargain and sale of prayers
for the dead. The Reformation swept all this away--and, as usual with
reformations, swept away a portion of the primitive truth--but it
retained still the Eucharistic memorial of departed friends as a
fragment of primitive simplicity.
The Church, furthermore, appointed three festivals of commemoration of
these spiritual members of the great Church Invisible with whom they
held fellowship--the festivals of All Souls, of All Angels, of All
Saints.
Two of these are still retained in the Episcopal Church the feast of
St. Michael and All Angels, and the feast of All Saints. These days
are derived from those yearly anniversaries which were common in the
primitive ages.
[Here we have a formal deprecation of the tendency of modern orthodoxy
to withdraw from what was once regarded as a proper religious belief and
sentiment, and which modern Spiritualists warmly accept, and make one of
the chief grounds for their doctrine of intercommunication between the
departed dead and the living. We expect to give our readers other papers
by Mrs. Stowe in continuation of her discussion on the subject.
* * * * *
In the following letter, or extract from a letter, from Mr. Andrew
Jackson Davis, one of the leading lights and exponents of Spiritualism
at the present day, we have a voice from the _inside_, furnishing some
information with regard to the state of spiritualistic affairs in
America, and some of the expected results of the movement.]
"Spiritualism, for the most part, is a _shower_ from the realm of
intelligences and uncultured affections. It is rapidly irrigating and
fertilizing everything that has root and the seed-power to grow. It
is starting up the half-dead trees of Sectarianism, causing the most
miserable weeds to grow rapid and rank, and of course, attracting very
general attention to religious feelings and super-terrene existences.
"As an effect of this spiritualistic rain, you may look for an
immense harvest of both wheat and tares--the grandest growths in great
principles and ideas on the one hand, and a fearful crop of crudities
and disorganizing superstitions on the other. There will be seen
floating on the flood many of our most sacred institutions. Old
wagon-ruts, long-forgotten cow-tracks, every little hole and corner in
the old highways, will be filled to the brim with the rain. You will
hardly know the difference between the true springs and the flowing
mud-pools visible on every side. Many noble minds will stumble as they
undertake to ford the new streams which will come up to their very
door-sills, if not into their sacred and established habitations.
Perhaps lives may be lost; perhaps homes may be broken up; perhaps
fortunes may be sacrificed; for who ever heard of a great flood, a storm
of much power, or an earthquake, that did not do one, or two, or _all_
of these deplorable things? Spiritualism is, indeed, all and everything
which its worst enemies or best friends ever said of it;--a great rain
from heaven, a storm of violence, a power unto salvation, a destroyer
and a builder too--each, and all, and everything good, bad, and
indifferent; for which every one, nevertheless, should be thankful, as
eventually all will be when the evil subsides, when the severe rain is
over, and the clouds dispersed--when even the blind will see with new
eyes, the lame walk, and the mourners of the world be made to rejoice
with joy unspeakable.
"Of course, my kind brother, you know that I look upon 'wisdom'
organized into our daily lives, and 'love' inspiring every heart, as the
only true heaven appointed saviour of mankind. And all spiritual growth
and intellectual advancement in the goodnesses and graces of this
redeemer I call an application of the Harmonial Philosophy. But I find,
as most likely you do, that it is as hard to get the Spiritualists to
become Harmonial Philosophers as to induce ardent Bible-believers to
daily practice the grand essentials which dwell in the warm heart of
Christianity."
* * * * *
It is not long since the writer was in conversation with a very
celebrated and popular minister of the modern Church, who has for
years fulfilled a fruitful ministry in New England. He was speaking of
modern Spiritualism as one of the most dangerous forms of error--as an
unaccountable infatuation. The idea was expressed by a person present
that it was after all true that the spirits of the departed friends were
in reality watching over our course and interested in our affairs in
this world.
The clergyman, who has a fair right, by reason of his standing and
influence to represent the New England pulpit, met that idea by a prompt
denial. "A pleasing sentimental dream," he said, "very apt to mislead,
and for which there is no scriptural and rational foundation." We have
shown in our last article what the very earliest Christians were in
the habit of thinking with regard to the unbroken sympathy between the
living and those called dead, and how the Church by very significant and
solemn acts pronounced them to be not only alive, but alive in a fuller,
higher, and more joyful sense than those on earth.
We may remember that among the primitive Christians the celebration of
the Lord's Supper was not as in our modern times a rare and unfrequent
occurrence, coming at intervals of two, three, and even six months, but
that it occurred every Sunday, and on many of the solemn events of life,
as funerals and marriages, and that one part of the celebration always
consisted in recognizing by a solemn prayer the unbroken unity of the
saints below and the saints in heaven. We may remember, too, that it was
a belief among them that angels were invisibly present, witnessing and
uniting with the eucharistic memorial--a belief of which we still have
the expression in that solemn portion of the Episcopal communion service
which says, "Wherefore with angels and archangels, and with all the
company of heaven, we laud and magnify thy Holy Name."
This part of the eucharistic service was held by the first Christians
to be the sacred and mysterious point of confluence when the souls of
saints on earth and the blessed in heaven united. So says Saint
Chrysostom:
"The seraphim above sing the holy Trisagion hymn; the holy
congregation of men on earth send up the same; the general assembly
of celestial and earthly creatures join together; there is one
thanksgiving, one exultation; one choir of men and angels rejoicing
together."
And in another place he says:
"The martyrs are now rejoicing in concert, partaking of the mystical
songs of the heavenly choir. For if while they were in the body
whenever they communicated in the sacred mysteries they made part of
the choir, singing with the cherubim, 'holy, holy, holy,' as ye all
that are initiated in the holy mysteries know; much more now, being
joined with those whose partners they were in the earthly choir,
they do with greater freedom partake of those solemn glorifications
of God above."
The continued identity, interest and unbroken oneness of the departed
with the remaining was a topic frequently insisted on among early
Christian ministers--it was one reason of the rapid spread of
Christianity. Converts flocked in clouds to the ranks of a people who
professed to have vanquished death--in whose inclosure love was forever
safe, and who by so many sacred and solemn acts of recognition consoled
the bereaved heart with this thought, that their beloved, though
unseen, was still living and loving--still watching, waiting, and caring
for them.
Modern rationalistic religion says: "We do not know anything about
them--God has taken them: of them and their estate we know nothing:
whether they remember us, whether they know what we are doing, whether
they care for us, whether we shall ever see them again to know them, are
all questions vailed in inscrutable mystery. We must give our friends up
wholly and take refuge in God."
But St. Augustine, speaking on the same subject, says:
"Therefore, if we wish to hold communion with the saints in eternal
life we must think much of imitating them. They ought to recognize
in us something of their virtues, that they may better offer their
supplications to God for us. These [virtues] are the foot-prints
which the blessed returning to their country have left, that we
shall follow their path to joy. Why should we not hasten and run
after them that we too may see our fatherland? There a great crowd
of dear ones are awaiting us, of parents, brethren, children, a
multitudinous host are longing for us--now secure of their own
safety, and anxious only for our salvation."
Now let us take the case of some poor, widowed mother, from whose heart
has been torn an only son--pious, brave, and beautiful--her friend, her
pride, her earthly hope--struck down suddenly as by a lightning stroke.
The physical shock is terrible--the cessation of communion, if the
habits of intercourse and care, if the habit, so sweet to the Christian,
of praying for that son, must all cease. We can see now what the
primitive Church would have said to such a mother: "Thy son is _not_
dead. To the Christian there is no death--follow his footsteps, imitate
his prayerfulness and watchfulness, and that he may the better pray for
thee, keep close in the great communion of saints." Every Sabbath would
bring to her the eucharistic feast, when the Church on earth and the
Church in heaven held their reunion, where "with angels and archangels,
and all the company of heaven," they join their praises! and she
might feel herself drawing near to her blessed one in glory. How
consoling--how comforting such Church fellowship!
A mother under such circumstances would feel no temptation to resort to
doubtful, perplexing sources, to glean here and there fragments of that
consolation which the Church was ordained to give. In every act of life
the primitive Church recognized that the doors of heaven were open
through her ordinances and the communion of love with the departed blest
unbroken.
It has been our lot to know the secret history of many who are not
outwardly or professedly Spiritualists--persons of sober and serious
habits of thought, of great self-culture and self-restraint, to whom it
happened after the death of a friend to meet accidentally and without
any seeking or expecting on their part with spiritualistic phenomena of
a very marked type. These are histories that never will be unvailed to
the judgment of a scoffing and unsympathetic world; that in the very
nature of the case must forever remain secret; yet they have brought to
hearts bereaved and mourning that very consolation which the Christian
Church ought to have afforded them, and which the primitive Church so
amply provided.
In conversation with such, we have often listened to remarks like this:
"I do not seek these things--I do not search out mediums nor attend
spiritual circles. I have attained all I wish to know, and am quite
indifferent now whether I see another manifestation." "And what," we
inquired, "is this something that you have attained?" "Oh, I feel
perfectly certain that my friend is not dead--but alive, unchanged, in
a region of joy and blessedness, expecting me, and praying for me, and
often ministering to me."
Compare this with the language of St. Augustine, and we shall see that
it is simply a return to the stand-point of the primitive Church.
Among the open and professed Spiritualists are some men and women of
pure and earnest natures, and seriously anxious to do good, and who
ought to be distinguished from the charlatans who have gone into it
merely from motives of profit and self-interest. Now it is to be
remarked that this higher class of spiritualists, with one voice,
declare that the subject of spiritual communication is embarrassed with
formidable difficulties. They admit that lying spirits often frequent
the circle, that they are powerful to deceive, and that the means of
distinguishing between the wiles of evil spirits and the communications
of good ones are very obscure.
This, then, is the prospect. The pastures of the Church have been
suffered to become bare and barren of one species of food which the
sheep crave and sicken for the want of. They break out of the inclosure
and rush, unguided, searching for it among poisonous plants, which
closely resemble it, but whose taste is deadly.
Those remarkable phenomena which affect belief upon this subject are
not confined to paid mediums and spiritual circles, so called. They
sometimes come of themselves to persons neither believing in them,
looking for them, nor seeking them. Thus coming they can not but
powerfully and tenderly move the soul. A person in the desolation of
bereavement, visited with such experiences, is in a condition which
calls for the tenderest sympathy and most careful guidance. Yet how
little of this is there to be found! The attempt to unvail their history
draws upon them, perhaps, only cold ridicule and a scarcely suppressed
doubt of their veracity. They are repelled from making confidence where
they ought to find the wisest guidance, and are drawn by an invisible
sympathy into labyrinths of deception and error--and finally, perhaps,
relapse into a colder skepticism than before. That such experiences
are becoming common in our days, is a fact that ought to rouse true
Christians to consideration, and to searching the word of God to find
the real boundaries and the true and safe paths.
We have stated in the last article, and in this, what the belief and the
customs of the primitive Christians were in respect to the departed. We
are aware that it does not follow, of course, that a custom is to be
adopted in our times because the first Christians preached and taught
it. A man does not become like his ancestors by dressing up in their old
clothes--but by acting in their _spirit_. It is quite possible to wear
such robes and practice such ceremonies as the early Christians did
and not to be in the least like them. Therefore let us not be held as
advocating the practice of administering the eucharist at funerals, and
of praying for the dead in the eucharistic service, because it was done
in the first three centuries. But we do hold to a return to the _spirit_
which caused these customs. We hold to _that belief_ in the unbroken
unity possible between those who have passed to the higher life than
this. We hold to that vivid faith in things unseen which was the
strength of primitive Christians. The first Christians _believed_ what
they said they did--we do not. The unseen spiritual world, its angels
and archangels, its saints and martyrs, its purity and its joys, were
ever before them, and that is why they were such a mighty force in the
world. St. Augustine says that it was the vision of the saints gone
before that inspired them with courage and contempt of death--and it is
true.
In another paper we shall endeavor to show how far these beliefs of the
primitive Church correspond with the Holy Scripture.