by Edgar Allan Poe
(1850)
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 long been in the habit of mesmerizing the
person in 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 physical impressions which, of late, have occasioned me
much anxiety and surprise. I need not tell you how skeptical 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
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 acquiesence of reason, that I find it difficult to
distinguish 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 vanishes, 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?
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 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 nihilty. 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 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 rarefied 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
"mind" or "spirit" of the schools, so far as 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.
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 may 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 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 nebulae, planets, suns, and other bodies which are neither
nebulae, 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 every where 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 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 is
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 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 regions of the
shadows?