Legend
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called up in dreams a man into the vestibule of heaven, saying, “Come thou hither and see the glory of My house.” And to the servants who stood around His throne He said: “Take him, undress him from his robes of flesh; cleanse his vision, and put a new breath into his nostrils, only touch not with any change his human heart, the heart that weeps and trembles.” It was done, and with a mighty angel for his guide, away from the terraces of heaven they wheeled into endless space. And the poet tells how they passed through eternities of twilight which revealed but were not revealed; how they passed suns and systems quickening under prophetic motions from God; how a cry arose that systems more mysterious, that worlds more billowy, other heights and other depths were coming, were nearing, were at hand. Then the man sighed, and stopped, shuddered, and wept. His overladen heart uttered itself in tears, and he said, “Angel, I will go no farther, for the spirit of man acheth with this infinity. Insufferable is the glory of God. Let me lie down in the grave and hide me from the persecution of the Infinite, for end, I see, there is none.” And from all the listening stars that shone around issued a choral voice—“The man speaks truly; end is there none that ever yet we heard of.” Then the angel threw up his glorious hands to the heaven of heavens, saying, “End is there none to the universe of God. Lo! also, there is no beginning.”
This vista could not have been opened to the mind of the poet without the previous revelations of science; and by science, and by scientific methods, plead I, must Spiritualism build itself up with strength to bring within its ranks the cultured of our race. It must patiently accumulate each little fact after fact, of which we can no more see the immediate value, than Galvani when investigating the cause of the motions of the limb of a dead frog, anticipated that his work would ultimate in the electric telegraph; or that the experiments in his kitchen would ultimate in one upon the broad Atlantic, in which the Great Eastern, laden with all the most delicate appliances which modern scientific culture could devise, set sail from the shores of Ireland, attended by two men-of-war, to place the Old and New Worlds in instantaneous communication with each other. I well remember the scene, as, on a summer’s morning, with the port of Valencia dimly visible on the horizon, the leviathan ship, with her attendants, started for America with the slender thread (just attached to the heavy shore end) running out over the stern. The excitement of those who witnessed the scene was too deep for words, and must have resembled that which agitated the minds of those present at the departure of Columbus from the little port of Palos to explore what some supposed to be to the westwards a shoreless sea.
Illogical speculators dislike that study of facts which results in scientific culture. Let Spiritualists take the decided stand of encouraging the investigating method to the utmost, and in this respect let us avowedly and practically separate ourselves from the position of the narrower religious sects.
Come we now to art culture. If new religious or scientific ideas have a tendency to degrade the fine arts, to that extent, at all events, are they reprehensible. I hope that the intolerant spirit of the Puritans which induced the British Parliament, in the time of Cromwell, to sell off the collection of valuable paintings made by Charles I., because some of the pictures represented the Virgin Mary, and expressed theological ideas not their own, will never find a parallel inside Spiritualism. Rather let us encourage art in every possible way by making it a branch of education, and by strengthening the hands of its more deserving professors. I hope that in our buildings, when we possess any, the square box style of architecture of the majority of Welsh chapels will be avoided, and think that more especially in the construction of that first public hall for Spiritualists which is looming in the distance, should care be taken to prove to the public that we are a body in whose midst art can flourish to its fullest extent. As one of our trance mediums (Thomas Lake Harris) once said, when under inspiration:—
The swallow’s nest of mud beneath the eaves |
Although art was brought to such perfection by the ancient Greeks that everything produced by the hands of that people seemed steeped in beauty, presenting a marked contrast to the numerous vulgarities of the external London of to-day—the outward expression of the highest ideals of a money-grubbing people—it does not appear that the decadence of Grecian art was due to the inroads of the vastly inferior early Christian art which overspread Europe. Greece, with its art, went down under the influence of despotism and extravagance. It may be that its culture was not really lost, but distributed over a wider area. As a case in point, I may here mention that although mesmerism has apparently died out, for it has made little external sign for ten or fifteen years, I, a few years ago, found on inquiry that in private its adherents abound, that it has all along been widely practised.
Let us have the highest moral culture in our midst, and lead lives which shall force slander and envy to shrink into their dens abashed. Let us not be afraid to run the risk of falling in a good cause, rather than by preference, rising in a bad one. Let us not make compromises between right and wrong, between good and evil, for the sake of an ignoble peace, but when the path of duty is clear, take it unflinchingly, leaving the results to a higher power. The compromising spirit never produces such men as Dunedin’s provost:—
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