Part 6

(5) He must know where all emunctoria lie and how they are to be averted; also what is in every cavity of the body, and everything about the intestines.

(6) He must with all his might and being seek to understand about life and death, what the chief organs in man mean, and what each member can and may suffer.

If we look to Paracelsus as the real founder of Homœopathy, so also must we regard him as the pioneer of magnetism and magnetic healing. Man, he maintained, is nourished through the magnetic power which resides in all Nature and by which each individual being draws its specific nourishment to itself. He called this magnetic force Mumia in his special phraseology, and he laid great stress on the healing power which resided in this Mumia. “Just as the power of the lily breaks forth in perfume which is invisible, so,” he writes, “the invisible body sends forth its healing influence. Just as in the visible body are wonderful activities which the senses can perceive, so, too, lie powers in the invisible body which can work great wonders.” To him the whole universe was one, and knit together by indissoluble bonds.

“The astral currents created by the imagination of the Macrocosmos,” he writes, “act upon the Microcosmos, and produce certain states in the latter, and likewise the astral currents produced by the imagination and will of man produce certain states in external Nature; and these currents may reach far, because the power of the imagination reaches as far as thought can go. The physiological processes taking place in the body of living beings are caused by their astral currents, and the physiological and meteorological processes taking place in the great organism of Nature are caused by the astral currents of Nature as a whole. The astral currents of either act upon the other, either consciously or unconsciously; and if this fact is properly understood it will cease to appear incredible that the mind of man may produce changes in the universal mind, which may cause changes in the atmosphere—winds and rains, storm, hail and lightning—or that evil may be changed into good by the power of Faith. Heaven is a field into which the imagination of man throws the seeds.”

Here, in a single paragraph, is the philosophy of Astrology, and the justification for the efficacy of prayer.

I have said that Paracelsus was the father of Homœopathy, and the father also of that later school of animal magnetism which was founded in France in the latter part of the eighteenth century, and the inception of which is always associated with the name of Mesmer. Unfortunately, Mesmer had neither the knowledge nor the experience, nor yet the intuitive faculties of his master, Paracelsus. But, resurrected as it was under somewhat unfavourable conditions, there is reason to believe that magnetic healing is destined to play a far greater part in the future of medical art than it has ever done in the past. Not only was Paracelsus a pioneer in Homœopathy and animal magnetism, he was also one of the first, as well as one of the greatest, of all Faith-healers. “Faith,” he says, “has a great deal more power than the physical body.” “All magical processes are based upon Faith.” “The power of Faith overcomes all spirits of Nature, because it is a spiritual power, and Spirit is higher than Nature.” “Whatever is grown in the realm of Nature may be changed by the power of Faith.” “Anything we may accomplish which surpasses Nature is accomplished by Faith, and by Faith diseases may be cured.” “Imagination,” he says again, “is the cause of many diseases. Faith is the cure for all.” “If we cannot cure a disease by Faith, it is because our Faith is too weak. But our Faith is weak on account of our want of knowledge. If we were conscious of the power of God within ourselves, we should never fail.” “The power of amulets does not rest so much in the material of which they are made as in the Faith with which they are worn.” Paracelsus’s chosen motto was:

Alterius non sit qui suus esse potest—

“Let him not belong to another who has the power to be his own”—who can, in short, be master of his own soul. Paracelsus declined to follow any leader, but formed his own conclusions from his own experience. For him the Codex Naturæ was a system which led straight to exact knowledge, and he rejected whatever could not be verified by research. He laid the foundations of a new system, built on evidence rather than on the outworn traditions of the medicine of his day. This system comprised within itself at once a practical guide to the medical art and a spiritual philosophy of life. The fatal error of divorcing the physical from the spiritual, and treating the physical as a thing apart, which has rendered abortive so much of the medical research of recent generations, would undoubtedly have been obviated, had the modern exponent of the medical art realised that in Paracelsus was to be found a pioneer who brought the life-giving genius of his intellect to bear on old truths in their relation to modern problems, rather than a quack and mountebank who deluded his contemporaries—none so easy a task—into the idea that he had accomplished marvellous cures where the medical faculty of his day could show nothing but a record of failures.

V EMANUEL SWEDENBORG

Of all the men and women whom the world has classed under the general title of “mystic,” not one certainly occupies so singular a position as Emanuel Swedenborg. If we decide to accept the world’s verdict—and it seems difficult to do otherwise—and agree to call Swedenborg a mystic, we are confronted by the fact that we can find no parallel either to his personality or to his career, though we search the roll of the mystics of all the ages. Pascal indeed was, like Swedenborg, a master mathematician, and a man of wide general learning, but he was a mystic first and foremost, and his life from an early date was given up to his calling as a leading light of the Catholic Church. Swedenborg, on the other hand, was, until the age of fifty, a man of science and a man of affairs; that is, he was a scientist of the most eminently practical kind, one whose encyclopædic knowledge was turned always into utilitarian channels, and for whom knowledge of any kind appeared to have no meaning outside its practical application. It would be difficult to instance a single one of the world’s great men whose interests were so wide, or whose mental activity was so all-absorbing. Outside art there seemed literally nothing that did not appeal to him as a field for his indefatigable investigation, and, as regards art, it was presumably its lack of utilitarian value which led to its neglect by his essentially practical mentality.

Swedenborg started his travels in the first years of early manhood, and wherever they took him there was nothing which escaped his observant eye. To whatever part of Europe he went it would seem that he could not be satisfied without learning all that was to be learnt, without seeing all that was to be seen. When he establishes himself in London he does not merely take lodgings because the price is reasonable or because the cooking is good, or because he thinks he will be comfortable. He writes from London in 1711: “I turn my lodgings to some use, and change them often. At first I was at a watchmaker’s, and now I am at a mathematical instrument maker’s. From them I steal their trades, which some day will be of use to me.” At Leyden he learnt to grind glass for lenses, so that he might furnish himself with appliances which he could not afford to buy. His brother wishes for globes for the university at Upsala. These proved too expensive, and he was asked to purchase printed maps which might be mounted in Sweden. The makers would not supply these, so Swedenborg applied himself to learning engraving, and prepared them himself. When chafing at enforced inactivity at home he turns his attention to music, and writes to his brother-in-law that he has been able several times to take the place of the organist. In travelling on the Continent he studies the fortifications of the towns, the methods of constructing fences. He visits and investigates all the manufactories. He passes critical remarks with regard to the blast furnaces, the vitriol, arsenic, and sulphur works, the copper and tin manufactories, the paper mills, and studies also the methods of mining. Not content with this, he investigates the social conditions of the people, criticises the situation of affairs in France, the wealth of the Church and the poverty of the people. “Everywhere,” he says, “the convents, churches, and monks are the wealthiest and possess most land. The monks are fat, puffed up, and prosperous. A whole proud army might be formed of them without their being missed.” Again: “The houses are miserable, the convents magnificent, the people poor and wretched.” He investigates the problem of the revenue of the French Government, obtained by the system of taxation called tithing. “It amounts,” he says, “to some thirty-two million livres, and Paris, on account of its rents, contributes nearly two-thirds of the sum.” “I am told,” he says, “that the ecclesiastical order possesses one-fifth of all the property in the State, and that the country will be ruined if this goes on much longer.” He gives the number of convents in France, actually at that date between fourteen and fifteen thousand; the number of the members of the religious orders; the number of the abbesses, prioresses, chapters, etc. He goes to hear the celebrated preachers, among them the King’s chaplain, who “gesticulates like an actor.” He discusses the adoration of saints with an abbé. He visits the hospitals and attends the opening of Parliament. Not content with this, he frequents the opera and the theatres, and passes opinions upon the most popular pieces and the most distinguished actors and actresses. In the midst of all this we find him speculating on the form of the particles of the atmosphere, and writing an introductory essay to a book which he is planning to prove that “the soul of wisdom is the knowledge and acknowledgment of the Supreme Being.” As if this were not enough, he occupies his spare moments in the study of anatomy, astronomy, magnetism, and hydrostatics.

Surely, since the world began, there was never a more versatile brain! He has even observations to make on military matters. He goes to see the Brandenburg soldiers, Frederick the Great’s famous regiment. “The men,” he says, “are tall and slender and they march erectly. They go through their drills with the greatest promptness and regularity, but their manner is a little theatrical. The whole squadron is like a machine placed there, moving instantaneously at the pleasure of the machinist.” “If,” he says, “they displayed the same uniformity in battle as in drill, they would conquer Alexander’s army, and subject a great part of Europe to Prussia, but——” He leaves it to the reader to fill in the reason of his doubt.

Others besides Swedenborg have possessed that encyclopædic type of brain which amasses vast stores of miscellaneous knowledge, but few, if any, have possessed at the same time Swedenborg’s extraordinary capacity for utilising the knowledge gained and turning it to practical account. The idea of learning as an object in itself was indeed entirely alien to Swedenborg’s type of mentality. All information acquired was merely regarded as a means towards some practical end. We thus find him founding universal principles upon the knowledge he has accumulated in explanation of the laws which govern phenomena. We see him, for example, deducing his conclusions in the field of geology from a number of observed facts. He reports on the geological conformation of Sweden, and concludes from it that the country was at one time swept over by a sea in a state of great commotion. He notices the fact that the stones on the mountain sides are worn off and rounded, in support of this. He also describes the remnants of a wrecked ship excavated far inland, and the skeleton of a whale which was discovered in West Gothland. “Swedenborg’s contributions in the field of geology,” says Professor A. G. Nathorst, “are of such significance and value that they alone would have been sufficient to have secured him an honoured scientific name.” As a mining expert he was unequalled. “We should never be able to finish,” says Professor Schleiden, “if we attempted to enumerate all the improvements which Swedenborg introduced in the working of the mines in his own country.” “The metallurgical works of this remarkable man,” says Dr Percy, “seem to be very imperfectly known, and yet none are in my judgment more worthy of the attention of those interested in the history of metallurgy.” The air-tight stove which he describes in his work on New Observations and Discoveries Respecting Iron and Fire, published in 1721, is stated to be identical in principle with one recently patented in Washington. Sir Isaac Newton had propounded the corpuscular theory of light, which was for long universally held. Swedenborg dissented, stating, in his Principia, that “motion diffused from a given centre through a contiguous medium or volume of particles of ether produced light.” This theory is the one now adopted. Swedenborg also notices that light and electricity are produced by the same efficient cause, thereby supplying the clue to the utilisation of electricity as a means of lighting. Even where in the field of science he was looked upon as a dreamer in his own days, his dreams have since taken practical shape. Among the inventions which he projected was “the plan of a certain ship which with its men was to go under the surface of the sea wherever it chooses, and do great damage to the fleet of the enemy.” He also designed a flying machine, a project which he was very reluctant to drop. Christopher Polhem, however, threw cold water on this, saying, with respect to flying by artificial means, “there is perhaps the same difficulty as in making a perpetuum mobile, or gold by artificial means.”

His philosophy recognises the synthetical as well as the analytical method as requisite to arrive at true conclusions. “Both,” he says, “are necessary in reflecting upon and tracing out one and the same thing; for in order to do so there is required both light, a priori, and experience, a posteriori.” “He who is possessed of scientific knowledge,” he says elsewhere, “and is merely skilled in experiment, had taken only the first steps in wisdom. For such a person is only acquainted with what is posterior, and is ignorant of what is prior. Thus his wisdom does not extend beyond the working of the senses and is unconnected with reason; whereas, nevertheless, true wisdom embraces both.”

Unquestionably Swedenborg, as he is known to us from the record of the first fifty years of his life (if we except the earliest years of his childhood), was about the last person one would expect to have his name associated with that Swedenborgian gospel by which eventually it came to be known to the world at large. He had, as we have seen, earned many titles to recognition, but assuredly that of a medium of communication between this world and the world of spirits was not one of them.

Swedenborg’s father was a Swedish Lutheran Bishop with leanings towards pietism, and a rather broader and more sympathetic outlook than the majority of his fellow clergy. His name, Swedborg, was subsequently changed to Swedenborg when the family was ennobled by the Swedish king. Emanuel was the second son and third child of Bishop Swedborg and his wife, Anna, of whom we know but little, and who died when Emanuel was only eight years old. The child was thus surrounded by religious influences in his early days, and it is said that his father had a guardian angel with whom he claimed to be able to hold converse on occasion. Reared under these conditions, he naturally enough evinced strongly religious tendencies in his childhood. “From my fourth to my tenth year,” he says, “I was constantly engaged in thought upon God, salvation, and the spiritual experiences of men. I revealed things at which my father and mother wondered, saying that angels must be speaking through me.” Here at least we obtain some suggestion of what he eventually became, and of which the intervening years between childhood and middle age seem to afford us little or no hint. The believer in heredity will point to the psychic temperament of the father as inherited by the son; but there appears to be no foreshadowing in his ancestry of that encyclopædic mind with which he was destined to astonish his contemporaries. His father evidently failed to understand his precocious son, and the relations between the two were far from cordial, the son considering that his father was inappreciative and failed to encourage his intellectual activities, and also blaming him for meanness in matters of finance. Bishop Swedborg had, however, eight other children besides Emanuel, and very probably he did not find it easy to make two ends meet, especially as he was something of an author himself, and published books at his own expense, which proved far from remunerative. Probably the father considered that the son ought to settle down to some regular trade or profession instead of commencing life by travelling in search of knowledge first to one country and then to another. Presumably he regarded his precocious offspring as likely to become a jack-of-all-trades and master of none, and there are doubtless many other parents who, under similar circumstances, would have thought the same. In any case the son was able to start off on his travels in spite of financial embarrassments and many dangers on the way. He was nearly wrecked when approaching England. Then the ship was boarded by pirates, and on the top of this was fired into by a British guardship, being mistaken for the pirate craft. Finally, our youthful hero narrowly escaped hanging for breaking the quarantine regulations, the plague at this time being prevalent in Sweden. Under somewhat similar circumstances the great Julius told the captain of his vessel not to be afraid, as he was carrying Cæsar. Whether Swedenborg had any such faith in a Providence watching over his future destiny, we are not told. He certainly realised his unique powers, but can hardly have suspected the channel into which they were eventually to be diverted.

The one link between Emanuel and his family was his brother-in-law, Eric Benzelius, afterwards bishop, and the sister to whom he was married. In his financial and other troubles he repeatedly appeals to him for sympathy and practical help, evidently not without response. He also asks for intercession with his father, to whom he obviously did not care to appeal direct, having met with too many rebuffs. It is interesting to note that one of the first objects that met his eyes in London was “the magnificent St Paul’s Cathedral, finished a few days ago, in all its parts.” He makes the acquaintance of Flamsteed, the most notable astronomer in England, who was concerned in the founding of Greenwich Observatory and seems to have been something of an astrologer as well. Apparently as the result of this visit, he takes up with enthusiasm the study of astronomy.

I have made such progress in it [he says], as to have discovered much which I think will be useful in its study. Although in the beginning it made my brain ache, yet long speculations are no longer difficult for me. I examined closely all proportions for finding the terrestrial longitude, but could not find a single one. I have, therefore, originated a method by means of the Moon, which is unerring, and I am certain that it is the best which has yet been advanced. In a short time I will inform the Royal Society that I have a proposition to make on this subject, stating my points.... I have also discovered many new methods for observing the planets, the Moon, and the stars. That which concerns the Moon and its parallax, diameter, and inequality I will publish whenever an opportunity arises.

He longs to go to Oxford, and investigate the Bodleian Library, but cannot, for want of money. “I wonder,” he says, “my father does not show greater care for me than to let me live now for more than sixteen months upon 250 rixdalers (something under £50).” Finally, he returns home and obtains an appointment as Assessor-extraordinary at the State Department of the Board of Mines, which was responsible for the supervision of the great mining industries of Sweden. In this connection he is fortunate in making the acquaintance of Christopher Polhem, the celebrated engineer, who recommends him for his talents and readiness of resource. By degrees he becomes an intimate guest with Polhem’s family, a circumstance which leads in the end to a tragic love affair. He falls desperately in love with Polhem’s younger daughter. The father gives his consent; but the girl, a mere child of thirteen or fourteen, cannot reconcile herself to the idea. Swedenborg, with great sorrow, relinquishes his claim, resolving never again to let his thoughts settle upon any woman. Polhem himself seems to have been almost equally distressed with Swedenborg over the incident, especially as it led to a breach between himself and the young man, whom he had come to regard in the light of his own son. A period of depression follows, which is accentuated by the death of Charles XII. of Sweden, about the same period, from whose encouragement and support Emanuel had considerable expectations. The relations between himself and the King were, indeed, singularly intimate, Charles readily appreciating the young man’s remarkable talents and mathematical knowledge. “Every day,” says Swedenborg, in writing on 14th September 1718, “I had some mathematical matters for his Majesty, who deigned to be pleased with all of them. When the eclipse took place, I took his Majesty out to see it, and talked much to him about it. This, however, is a mere beginning.”

In the summer of 1721, Swedenborg started again on his travels, his object this time being to study the mines and manufactories of other countries, so that he might be in a position to render greater services to his own in the office to which he had been appointed. On this occasion he visited all the mines in Saxony and the Hartz mountains, and was royally entertained by Duke Ludvic Rudolf of Brunswick-Lüneburg, who showed him a generosity which he doubtless appreciated after his father’s parsimony. Meanwhile his pen was by no means idle. He published a treatise at Amsterdam on Chemistry and Physics; some observations on Iron and Fire; and a work on the construction of Docks and Dykes; and later on, at Leipzig, some miscellaneous observations on Geology and Mineralogy. On his return home he settled down again for a period to his work at the Board of Mines, in the meantime gathering matter for further publications which followed in due course. The most important of these were his Opera Philosophia Mineralia, and a treatise on The Infinite. The former work met with a very favourable reception, and between one publication and another Swedenborg soon won for himself a European reputation. The Academy of Sciences at St Petersburg nominated him a corresponding member, while he was one of the first to be elected for the newly established Royal Academy of Sciences in his own country.

Everything thus seemed to open out for Swedenborg a career of great scientific and practical utility. He became, however, gradually led by his philosophical speculations to an investigation of the nature of the soul and its operation in the body, and the mutual relations of the two. This study was the subject of two important works, entitled respectively The Economy of the Animal Kingdom considered Anatomically and Philosophically, and The Animal Kingdom considered Anatomically, Physically, and Philosophically. By the “animal kingdom” must be understood the kingdom presided over by the soul. In the first of these books Swedenborg deals with the composition of the blood and its circulation, with the heart, arteries, and veins, and with the brain and its cortices. In this book Swedenborg attaches “great importance to the blood, for, as he says, nothing exists in the body that has not previously existed in the blood.” He describes it again as “a vital and most spirituous fluid, which has an immediate connection with the soul.” In the Animal Kingdom Swedenborg describes in full detail all the organs of the body and their uses, the object being in the end to track the soul home and to describe its activities. “For as yet,” he tells us, “her modes of being and her nature are absolutely unknown.” Naturally he recognises that this will be regarded by the philosophers of his day as a vain and useless quest. But he is prepared to meet their objections with the following pertinent remarks, which, now that the materialistic hypothesis has been finally discarded by the advance guard of modern Science, are likely to find a sympathetic echo in scientific as well as philosophic circles.

Inasmuch [he says] as the soul is the model, the idea, the first form, the substance, the force, and the principle of her organic body, and of all its forces and powers, or what amounts to the same thing, as the organic body is the image and type of its soul conformed and principled to the whole nature of the soul’s efficiency, it follows that the one is represented in the other.... Thus by the body we are instructed respecting the soul, by the soul respecting the body, and by both respecting the truth of the whole.

Emerson describes the Animal Kingdom as “an anatomist’s account of the human body in the highest style of poetry,” and its object as to “put science and the soul, long estranged from each other, at one again.” It was while continuing his pursuit of this apparently visionary aim that Swedenborg quite unexpectedly found himself, as he believed, in touch with another than the physical world. In writing of this extraordinary development in his life history in the Introduction to the Arcana Cœlestia, the first volume of which appeared in 1749, he gives his own account of his relationship with the spiritual realm in justification of the remarkably dogmatic statements contained in the book in question.

“It is,” he says, “expedient here to premise that of the Lord’s divine mercy it has been granted me now for several years to be constantly and uninterruptedly in company with spirits and angels, hearing them converse with each other and conversing with them. Hence it has been permitted me to hear and see things in another life which are astonishing, and which have never before come to the knowledge of any man nor entered into his imagination. I have thus been instructed concerning different kinds of spirits and the state of souls after death—concerning Hell, or the lamentable state of the unfaithful—concerning Heaven, or the most happy state of the faithful—and particularly concerning the doctrine of Faith, which is acknowledged throughout all Heaven, on which subjects, by the divine mercy of the Lord, more will be said in the following pages.” With regard to the extraordinary transformation which these experiences brought about in his life’s work, he explains to a friend that the Lord has elected him for this work, and “for revealing the spiritual meaning of the Sacred Scriptures which he had promised to the Prophets and in the Book of Revelation.” “My purpose previously,” he adds, “had been to explore Nature, chemistry, and the sciences of mining and anatomy.”

The basis of Swedenborg’s teaching which, of course, under the circumstances he did not claim in any way as original, was that the Bible must be accepted absolutely as a divinely inspired book, but must be taken in an allegorical sense. Thus where historical events are recorded they are not recorded for the sake of history, for the object of the Scriptures is to treat not of the kingdoms of the earth, but of the Kingdom of God. In other parts of the Bible, as in Genesis, there is no truth in the story from the historical point of view. The record is merely an allegory of the soul.

His doctrine of Correspondences was merely the recognition of this allegorical relationship of the spiritual and material. The universe, according to Swedenborg, is symbolical throughout, All material things are derived from their spiritual archetypes, and are representations of these. The bodily form represents the spiritual character, for the spirit forms the body in its own likeness. A man’s acts are thus the outcome of his inward nature, and there is consequently a similar correspondence between them and the inward man. The basis of these ideas is, of course, the ancient occult teaching that the universe is the macrocosm, and man the microcosm. Thus Swedenborg tells us that as there is a material sun, moon, and stars, so each of these heavenly bodies has its mental and spiritual counterpart.

Swedenborg’s doctrine of Degrees appears to follow from his doctrine of Correspondences. The three degrees of the human mind correspond to the three kingdoms of Nature: animal, vegetable, and mineral, corresponding to spirit, soul, and body. “Degrees,” Swedenborg tells us, “are of two kinds, discrete and continuous.” “All things, from least to greatest, in both the spiritual and natural worlds, co-exist at once from discrete and continuous degrees. In respect of discrete degrees there can be no intercourse between either by continuity.” It follows, therefore, with regard to the degrees of the human mind, the celestial, spiritual, and the natural, that they cannot communicate under normal conditions one with another. Thus, too, men on earth can have no sensible communication with the spiritual world or see things of that world without a special opening of the spiritual sight. Elsewhere Swedenborg tells us “to the intent that anything may be perfect it must be distinguished into three degrees. The ground and reason of this is because there must be end, cause, and effect.” Another doctrine of Swedenborg’s was that of regeneration. In order to be partaker of the higher life, man, he held, must be born again, but this regeneration was not a special occurrence of any particular date, but a continuous process. One of the orthodox doctrines which Swedenborg attacked was that of the Trinity. He denied that Jesus Christ was merely the Second Person of a Divine Trinity. He cites St Paul’s statement that “in Him dwelleth all the fullness of the Godhead bodily,” and maintains that the whole Trinity is centred in his Person. “In consequence,” he says, “of separating the Divine Trinity into Three Persons each of which is declared to be God and Lord, a sort of frenzy has infected the whole system of theology as well as the Christian Church so called from its Divine Founder.... That a trinity of gods occupies the minds of Christians, although they deny it from shame, is very evident from the ingenuity of many who contrive methods to prove that three are one, and one three, by geometry, arithmetic, and physics.... Others have trifled with the Divine Trinity as jugglers play one with another. Their juggling on this subject may be compared to those sick of a fever who see a single object, such as a man, a table, or a candle, as three; or three as one.”

The basis of this orthodox Christian teaching with regard to the Trinity is, of course, the Athanasian Creed, which attempts to explain the matter by the absurd method of a juxtaposition of contradictions. It is well to bear in mind, in view of the enormous amount of theological twaddle that has been talked on this subject, that the Athanasian Creed was in the nature of a political concordat to meet the exigencies of a time of acute religious difficulty, and in no sense an exposition of spiritual truth.