by Poe · Cluster: Sleep · Sleeper Awakes · Resurrection
Abstract
Pseudo-scientific dialogue in which a dying mesmerized man reveals a metaphysics of God as ‘unparticled matter,’ the soul’s immortality, and death as metamorphosis; ends with the sleep-waker’s death.
Testo / Text
Parti / Parts
Connections
Topoi: Sleeper Awakes Motifs: Death, Sleep, Stars Themes & Concepts: Immortality, Self-Knowledge, Faith and Doubt, Mortality, Sublime, Beauty Forms & Genres: Short Story Characters: Death Personified
Testo integrale / Full text
Whatever doubt may still envelop the rationale of mesmerism, its startling facts are now almost universally admitted. Of these latter, those who doubt, are your mere doubters by profession—an unprofitable and disreputable tribe. There can be no more absolute waste of time than the attempt to prove, at the present day, that man, by mere exercise of will, can so impress his fellow, as to cast him into an abnormal condition, of which the phenomena resemble very closely those of death, or at least resemble them more nearly than they do the phenomena of any other normal condition within our cognizance; that, while in this state, the person so impressed employs only with effort, and then feebly, the external organs of sense, yet perceives, with keenly refined perception, and through channels supposed unknown, matters beyond the scope of the physical organs; that, moreover, his intellectual faculties are wonderfully exalted and invigorated; that his sympathies with the person so impressing him are profound; and, finally, that his susceptibility to the impression increases with its frequency, while, in the same proportion, the peculiar phenomena elicited are more extended and more pronounced.
I say that these—which are the laws of mesmerism in its general features—it would be supererogation to demonstrate; nor shall I inflict upon my readers so needless a demonstration; to-day. My purpose at present is a very different one indeed. I am impelled, even in the teeth of a world of prejudice, to detail without comment the very remarkable substance of a colloquy, occurring between a sleep-waker and myself.
I had been long in the habit of mesmerizing the person in question (Mr. Vankirk), and the usual acute susceptibility and exaltation of the mesmeric perception had supervened. For many months he had been laboring under confirmed phthisis, the more distressing effects of which had been relieved by my manipulations; and on the night of Wednesday, the fifteenth instant, I was summoned to his bedside.
The invalid was suffering with acute pain in the region of the heart, and breathed with great difficulty, having all the ordinary symptoms of asthma. In spasms such as these he had usually found relief from the application of mustard to the nervous centres, but to-night this had been attempted in vain.
As I entered his room he greeted me with a cheerful smile, and although evidently in much bodily pain, appeared to be, mentally, quite at ease.
“I sent for you to-night,” he said, “not so much to administer to my bodily ailment, as to satisfy me concerning certain psychal impressions which, of late, have occasioned me much anxiety and surprise. I need not tell you how sceptical I have hitherto been on the topic of the soul’s immortality. I cannot deny that there has always existed, as if in that very soul which I have been denying, a vague half-sentiment of its own existence. But this half-sentiment at no time amounted to conviction. With it my reason had nothing to do. All attempts at logical inquiry resulted, indeed, in leaving me more sceptical than before. I had been advised to study Cousin. I studied him in his own works as well as in those of his European and American echoes. The ‘Charles Elwood’ of Mr. Brownson, for example, was placed in my hands. I read it with profound attention. Throughout I found it logical, but the portions which were not merely logical were unhappily the initial arguments of the disbelieving hero of the book. In his summing up it seemed evident to me that the reasoner had not even succeeded in convincing himself. His end had plainly forgotten his beginning, like the government of Trinculo. In short, I was not long in perceiving that if man is to be intellectually convinced of his own immortality, he will never be so convinced by the mere abstractions which have been so long the fashion of the moralists of England, of France, and of Germany. Abstractions may amuse and exercise, but take no hold on the mind. Here upon earth, at least, philosophy, I am persuaded, will always in vain call upon us to look upon qualities as things. The will may assent—the soul—the intellect, never.
“I repeat, then, that I only half felt, and never intellectually believed. But latterly there has been a certain deepening of the feeling, until it has come so nearly to resemble the acquiescence of reason, that I find it difficult to distinguish between the two. I am enabled, too, plainly to trace this effect to the mesmeric influence. I cannot better explain my meaning than by the hypothesis that the mesmeric exaltation enables me to perceive a train of ratiocination which, in my abnormal existence, convinces, but which, in full accordance with the mesmeric phenomena, does not extend, except through its effect, into my normal condition. In sleep-waking, the reasoning and its conclusion—the cause and its effect—are present together. In my natural state, the cause vanishing, the effect only, and perhaps only partially, remains.
“These considerations have led me to think that some good results might ensue from a series of well-directed questions propounded to me while mesmerized. You have often observed the profound self-cognizance evinced by the sleep-waker—the extensive knowledge he displays upon all points relating to the mesmeric condition itself; and from this self-cognizance may be deduced hints for the proper conduct of a catechism.”
I consented of course to make this experiment. A few passes threw Mr. Vankirk into the mesmeric sleep. His breathing became immediately more easy, and he seemed to suffer no physical uneasiness. The following conversation then ensued:—V. in the dialogue representing the patient, and P. myself.
_P._ Are you asleep?
_V._ Yes—no; I would rather sleep more soundly.
_P._ [_After a few more passes._] Do you sleep now?
_V._ Yes.
_P._ How do you think your present illness will result?
_V._ [_After a long hesitation and speaking as if with effort_.]
I must die.
_P._ Does the idea of death afflict you?
_V._ [_Very quickly_.] No—no!
_P._ Are you pleased with the prospect?
_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
nihility. The only consideration which restrains us is our
conception of its atomic constitution; and here, even, we have to
seek aid from our notion of an atom, as something possessing in
infinite minuteness, solidity, palpability, weight. Destroy the
idea of the atomic constitution and we should no longer be able
to regard the ether as an entity, or at least as matter. For want
of a better word we might term it spirit. Take, now, a step
beyond the luminiferous ether—conceive a matter as much more rare
than the ether, as this ether is more rare than the metal, and we
arrive at once (in spite of all the school dogmas) at a unique
mass—an unparticled matter. For although we may admit infinite
littleness in the atoms themselves, the infinitude of littleness
in the spaces between them is an absurdity. There will be a
point—there will be a degree of rarity, at which, if the atoms
are sufficiently numerous, the interspaces must vanish, and the
mass absolutely coalesce. But the consideration of the atomic
constitution being now taken away, the nature of the mass
inevitably glides into what we conceive of spirit. It is clear,
however, that it is as fully matter as before. The truth is, it
is impossible to conceive spirit, since it is impossible to
imagine what is not. When we flatter ourselves that we have
formed its conception, we have merely deceived our understanding
by the consideration of infinitely rarified matter.
_P._ There seems to me an insurmountable objection to the idea of
absolute coalescence;—and that is the very slight resistance
experienced by the heavenly bodies in their revolutions through
space—a resistance now ascertained, it is true, to exist in
_some_ degree, but which is, nevertheless, so slight as to have
been quite overlooked by the sagacity even of Newton. We know
that the resistance of bodies is, chiefly, in proportion to their
density. Absolute coalescence is absolute density. Where there
are no interspaces, there can be no yielding. An ether,
absolutely dense, would put an infinitely more effectual stop to
the progress of a star than would an ether of adamant or of iron.
_V._ Your objection is answered with an ease which is nearly in
the ratio of its apparent unanswerability.—As regards the
progress of the star, it can make no difference whether the star
passes through the ether _or the ether through it_. There is no
astronomical error more unaccountable than that which reconciles
the known retardation of the comets with the idea of their
passage through an ether: for, however rare this ether be
supposed, it would put a stop to all sidereal revolution in a
very far briefer period than has been admitted by those
astronomers who have endeavored to slur over a point which they
found it impossible to comprehend. The retardation actually
experienced is, on the other hand, about that which might be
expected from the _friction_ of the ether in the instantaneous
passage through the orb. In the one case, the retarding force is
momentary and complete within itself—in the other it is endlessly
accumulative.
_P._ But in all this—in this identification of mere matter with
God—is there nothing of irreverence? [_I was forced to repeat
this question before the sleep-waker fully comprehended my
meaning_.]
_V._ Can you say _why_ matter should be less reverenced than
mind? But you forget that the matter of which I speak is, in all
respects, the very “mind” or “spirit” of the schools, so far as
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 will have a distinct idea of the ultimate body by
conceiving it to be entire brain. This it is _not_; but a
conception of this nature will bring you near a comprehension of
what it _is_. A luminous body imparts vibration to the
luminiferous ether. The vibrations generate similar ones within
the retina; these again communicate similar ones to the optic
nerve. The nerve conveys similar ones to the brain; the brain,
also, similar ones to the unparticled matter which permeates it.
The motion of this latter is thought, of which perception is the
first undulation. This is the mode by which the mind of the
rudimental life communicates with the external world; and this
external world is, to the rudimental life, limited, through the
idiosyncrasy of its organs. But in the ultimate, unorganized
life, the external world reaches the whole body, (which is of a
substance having affinity to brain, as I have said,) with no
other intervention than that of an infinitely rarer ether than
even the luminiferous; and to this ether—in unison with it—the
whole body vibrates, setting in motion the unparticled matter
which permeates it. It is to the absence of idiosyncratic organs,
therefore, that we must attribute the nearly unlimited perception
of the ultimate life. To rudimental beings, organs are the cages
necessary to confine them until fledged.
_P._ You speak of rudimental “beings.” Are there other rudimental
thinking beings than man?
_V._ The multitudinous conglomeration of rare matter into nebulæ,
planets, suns, and other bodies which are neither nebulæ, suns,
nor planets, is for the sole purpose of supplying _pabulum_ for
the idiosyncrasy of the organs of an infinity of rudimental
beings. But for the necessity of the rudimental, prior to the
ultimate life, there would have been no bodies such as these.
Each of these is tenanted by a distinct variety of organic,
rudimental, thinking creatures. In all, the organs vary with the
features of the place tenanted. At death, or metamorphosis, these
creatures, enjoying the ultimate life—immortality—and cognizant
of all secrets but _the one_, act all things and pass everywhere
by mere volition:—indwelling, not the stars, which to us seem the
sole palpabilities, and for the accommodation of which we blindly
deem space created—but that SPACE itself—that infinity of which
the truly substantive vastness swallows up the
star-shadows—blotting them out as non-entities from the
perception of the angels.
_P._ You say that “but for the _necessity_ of the rudimental
life” there would have been no stars. But why this necessity?
_V._ In the inorganic life, as well as in the inorganic matter
generally, there is nothing to impede the action of one simple
_unique_ law—the Divine Volition. With the view of producing
impediment, the organic life and matter, (complex, substantial,
and law-encumbered,) were contrived.
_P._ But again—why need this impediment have been produced?
_V._ The result of law inviolate is perfection—right—negative
happiness. The result of law violate is imperfection, wrong,
positive pain. Through the impediments afforded by the number,
complexity, and substantiality of the laws of organic life and
matter, the violation of law is rendered, to a certain extent,
practicable. Thus pain, which in the inorganic life is
impossible, is possible in the organic.
_P._ But to what good end is pain thus rendered possible?
_V._ All things are either good or bad by comparison. A
sufficient analysis will show that pleasure, in all cases, is but
the contrast of pain. _Positive_ pleasure is a mere idea. To be
happy at any one point we must have suffered at the same. Never
to suffer would have been never to have been blessed. But it has
been shown that, in the inorganic life, pain cannot be thus the
necessity for the organic. The pain of the primitive life of
Earth, is the sole basis of the bliss of the ultimate life in
Heaven.
_P._ Still, there is one of your expressions which I find it
impossible to comprehend—“the truly _substantive_ vastness of
infinity.”
_V._ This, probably, is because you have no sufficiently generic
conception of the term “_substance_” itself. We must not regard
it as a quality, but as a sentiment:—it is the perception, in
thinking beings, of the adaptation of matter to their
organization. There are many things on the Earth, which would be
nihility to the inhabitants of Venus—many things visible and
tangible in Venus, which we could not be brought to appreciate as
existing at all. But to the inorganic beings—to the angels—the
whole of the unparticled matter is substance—that is to say, the
whole of what we term “space” is to them the truest
substantiality;—the stars, meantime, through what we consider
their materiality, escaping the angelic sense, just in proportion
as the unparticled matter, through what we consider its
immateriality, eludes the organic.
As the sleep-waker pronounced these latter words, in a feeble
tone, I observed on his countenance a singular expression, which
somewhat alarmed me, and induced me to awake him at once. No
sooner had I done this, than, with a bright smile irradiating all
his features, he fell back upon his pillow and expired. I noticed
that in less than a minute afterward his corpse had all the stern
rigidity of stone. His brow was of the coldness of ice. Thus,
ordinarily, should it have appeared, only after long pressure
from Azrael’s hand. Had the sleep-waker, indeed, during the
latter portion of his discourse, been addressing me from out the
region of the shadows?