LECTURE XII.

THE TELEGRAPHIC SYSTEM OF THE UNIVERSE.

In order to impress some important truth or transaction, men have sometimes represented surrounding inanimate objects as looking on and witnessing the scene, or listening to the words, and ready ever afterwards to open their mouth to testify to the facts, should man deny them. I know of no writings from which to derive so striking an illustration of these strong figurative representations as the sacred Scriptures.

Take, for a first example, the solemn covenant entered into between Jehovah and the Israelites, in the time of Joshua. To fix the transaction as firmly as possible in the minds of the fickle people, he took a great stone and set it up there under an oak that was by the sanctuary of the Lord. And Joshua said unto all the people, Behold, this stone shall be a witness unto us. For it hath heard all the words of the Lord which he spake unto us. It shall, therefore, be a witness unto you, lest ye deny your God.

In a second example, the prophet Habakkuk describes the insatiable wickedness of the Chaldeans; and addressing the nation as an individual, he says, Thou hast consulted shame to thy house by cutting off many people, and hast sinned against thy soul. For the stone shall cry out of the wall, and the beam out of the timber shall answer it. Such abominations had aroused even the most insensible part of creation, the very timber and the stone, to life and indignation.

In a third example, the whole multitude of Jews had just spread their garments upon the ground for Christ to ride over, they meanwhile crying out, Blessed be the King that cometh in the name of the Lord. Peace in heaven and glory in the highest. But some of the Pharisees said, Master, rebuke thy disciples; and he answered and said unto them, If these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out. If man refused to do homage to the King of glory, when he came among them, the rocks, more sensible, would break forth in his praises.

The discoveries of modern science, however, show us that there is a literal sense in which the material creation receives an impression from all our words and actions that can never be effaced; and that nature, through all time, is ever ready to bear testimony of what we have said and done. Men fancy that the wave of oblivion passes over the greater part of their actions. But physical science shows us that those actions have been transfused into the very texture of the universe, so that no waters can wash them out, and no erosions, comminution, or metamorphoses, can obliterate them.

The principle which I advance in its naked form is this: Our words, our actions, and even our thoughts, make an indelible impression on the universe. Thrown into a poetic form, this principle converts creation

This proposition I shall endeavor to sustain by an appeal to well-established principles of science. Yet, since some of these principles are not the most common and familiar, and have not been applied, except in part, to this subject, I must be more technical in their explanation than I could wish, and more minute in the details.

The grand point, however, on which the whole subject turns, is the doctrine of reaction. By this is meant the mutual or reciprocal action of different things upon one another. Thus, if a body fall to the earth, the earth reacts upon it, and stops it, or throws it back. If sulphuric acid be poured upon limestone, a mutual action ensues; the acid acts on the stone, and the stone reacts upon the acid, and a new compound is produced. If light fall upon a solid body, the body reacts upon the light, which it sends back to the eye with an image of itself. These are examples of what is meant by reaction, or the reciprocal action of different substances upon one another. But it is not every kind of reaction that will prove a permanent impression to be made upon the universe by our conduct. Hence we must be more specific.

In the first place, the principle is proved and illustrated by the doctrine of mechanical reaction.

From the principle, long since settled in mechanics, that action and reaction are equal, it will follow that every impression which man makes by his words, or his movements, upon the air, the waters, or the solid earth, will produce a series of changes in each of those elements which will never end. The word which is now going out of my mouth causes pulsations or waves in the air, and these, though invisible to human eyes, expand in every direction until they have passed around the whole globe, and produced a change in the whole atmosphere; nor will a single circumgyration complete the effect; but the sentence which I am now uttering shall alter the whole atmosphere through all future time. So that, as Professor Babbage remarks, to whom we are indebted for the first moral application of this mechanical principle, “the air is one vast library, on whose pages are forever written all that man has ever said, or woman whispered.” Not a word has ever escaped from mortal lips, whether for the defence of virtue or the perversion of the truth, not a cry of agony has ever been uttered by the oppressed, not a mandate of cruelty by the oppressor, not a false and flattering word by the deceiver, but it is registered indelibly upon the atmosphere we breathe. And could man command the mathematics of superior minds, every particle of air thus set in motion could be traced through all its changes, with as much precision as the astronomer can point out the path of the heavenly bodies. No matter how many storms have raised the atmosphere into wild commotion, and whirled it into countless forms; no matter how many conflicting waves have mixed and crossed one another; the path of each pulsation is definite, and subject to the laws of mathematics. To follow it requires, indeed, a power of analysis superior to human; but we can conceive it to be far inferior to the divine.

The same thing is true of the waters. No wave has ever been raised on their bosom, no keel has ever ploughed their surface, which has not sent an influence and a change into every ocean, and modified every wave, that has rolled in upon the farthest shores. As the vessel crosses the deep, the parted waves close in, and every trace of disturbance soon disappears from human vision. Nevertheless, it is certain that every track thus furrowed in the waters has sent an influence through their entire mass, such as is calculable by distinct formulæ; and it may be that glorified minds, by the principles of celestial mathematics, can as easily trace out the paths of the unnumbered vessels that have crossed the waters, as the astronomer can the paths of the planets or the comets.

The solid earth, too, is alike tenacious of every impression we make upon it; not a footprint of man or beast is marked upon its surface, that does not permanently change the whole globe. Every one of its countless atoms will retain and exhibit an infinitesimal, but a real, effect through all coming time. It is too minute, indeed, for the cognizance of the human senses. But in a higher sphere there may be inlets of perception acute enough to trace it through all its bearings, and thus render every atom of the globe a living witness to the actions of every living being.

In view of these facts, we cannot regard the glowing language of Babbage an exaggeration, when he says, “The soul of the negro, whose fettered body, surviving the living charnel-house of his infected prison, was thrown into the sea to lighten the ship, that his Christian master might escape the limited justice at length assigned by civilized man to crimes whose profit had long gilded their atrocity, will need, at the last great day of human accounts, no living witness of his earthly agony: when man and all his race shall have disappeared from the face of our planet, ask every particle of air still floating over the unpeopled earth, and it will record the cruel mandate of the tyrant. Interrogate every wave which breaks unimpeded on ten thousand desolate shores, and it will give evidence of the last gurgle of the waters which closed over the head of his dying victim. Confront the murderer with every corporeal atom of his immolated slave, and in its still quivering movements he will read the prophet’s denunciation of the prophet king.”

The distinguished mathematical professor from whom I have just quoted limits the effects of this mathematical reaction to this globe and its atmosphere. But if, as the philosophers now generally admit, there is a subtile and extremely elastic medium pervading all space, why must they not extend to other worlds, yea, to the whole universe? Without an accurate acquaintance with the facts, indeed, it will seem a mere extravagant imagination to say that our most trivial word or action sends a thrill throughout the whole material universe; but I see not why sober and legitimate science does not conduct us to this conclusion. Nay, still further, it teaches us that the vibrations and changes which our words and actions produce upon the universe shall never cease their action and reaction till materialism be no more.

We venture, then, to push this thought of the ingenious mathematician into another sphere, which he did not enter. The majority, probably, of the ablest expounders of the Bible have maintained, as previously shown, that the apostle Peter most unequivocally teaches us that the new heavens, or atmosphere, and the new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness, are merely our present earth and atmosphere, melted and burnt by the fires of the last day, and fitted up anew,—a second and a lovelier paradise,—to be the everlasting abode of holiness and happiness. Indeed, to attempt to fix any other meaning upon Peter’s language makes of it a most absurd jumble of literal and figurative expressions, and produces an inversion of chronological events. But, admitting the literal meaning of the apostle to be the true one, then those reactions, produced by our words and conduct upon the present world, shall not be destroyed by the fires of the last day, but reappear in the new economy, and modify the pulsations of the new heavens and the new earth through all eternity.

But even though heaven should be in some other part of the universe, and not this earth refitted, yet, if it be a material residence, why, on the principles already explained, should it not be reached and affected by those vibrations which the laws of mathematics assure us are now spreading from each individual, as a centre, through the whole universe? The conflagration of the earth will alter its chemical constitution, and convert matter into new forms; but the mechanical character of the atoms will not be destroyed; and when they emerge from the final catastrophe, in new and brighter forms, they may still bear and exhibit the impress of every word and every action which they now receive.

Such representations as these, I am aware, will, upon first thought, seem to most minds little better than the dreams of fancy, although founded upon the laws of mathematics. For how soon does every trace disappear from the earth of the most terrible convulsions and the mightiest human efforts! The shout of countless multitudes, the thunder and the crash of battle, and even the volcano’s bellowing, are soon succeeded by unbroken silence; and we cannot discover a trace of any of those countless scenes of noise and convulsion that have been acted upon the world’s busy stage. How practically absurd, then, to imagine that any influence goes out from the feeble efforts of individuals, that can be recognized, either now or hereafter, on the wide field of the universe!

Such objections as these, however, are based upon the impression, of which it is hard to divest ourselves, that our present means of distinguishing the effects of physical forces are as perfect as we can hope for in eternity. And yet, who will doubt that, when our present gross bodies shall be laid aside, the soul, looking forth from a spiritual body, with quickened powers and unobstructed vision, shall penetrate a new world in the infinitesimal parts of creation? What absurdity in the supposition that then the minutest movement among the atoms, which can now be discovered only by the mathematics of quantities infinitely small, may then stand out as distinctly to our inspection as do now the features of the landscape? What absurdity in the supposition that, even now, there are finite minds in the universe who possess this quickened power of perception, and, though in distant worlds, do actually know what is passing here by the vibrations which our words and actions produce upon elastic matter?

Thus far I have spoken of the influence of our words and actions only upon the material universe, although the principle with which I started includes thoughts also. But are not actions merely the external manifestation of thoughts and purposes? and, therefore, is not thought the efficient agency that impresses the universe? I shall also attempt to show that there are other modes in which the intellect may do this, aside from ordinary words and actions.

But I proceed to the second proof of the general principle. And I derive it from what may be called optical reactions; that is, the reaction of light and the substances on which it impinges. These exert such an influence upon it, that, when it is thrown back from them, and enters the organs of vision, or even a transparent lens, with a screen behind it, it produces an image of those objects; in other words, what we call vision.

Now, it is this fact, in connection with the progressive motion of light, that forms the basis of this branch of the argument. Though light moves with such immense velocity, that, for all practical purposes on earth, it is instantaneous, yet, in fact, it does occupy a little more than a second for every two hundred thousand miles which it passes over. Hence a flash of lightning occurring on earth would not be visible on the moon till a second and a quarter afterwards; on the sun, till eight minutes; at the planet Jupiter, when at its greatest distance from us, till fifty-two minutes; on Uranus, till two hours; on Neptune, till four hours and a quarter; on the star of Vega, of the first magnitude, till forty-five years; on a star of the eighth magnitude, till one hundred and eighty years; and on a star of the twelfth magnitude, till four thousand years; and stars of this magnitude are visible through telescopes; nor can we doubt that, with better instruments, stars of far less magnitude might be seen; so that we may confidently say that this flash of lightning would not reach the remotest heavenly body till more than six thousand years—a period equal to that which has elapsed since man’s creation.

Now, suppose that, on these different heavenly bodies, beings exist with organs of vision sufficiently acute to discern a flash of lightning on earth, or, rather, to see all the scenes on that hemisphere of our world that is turned towards them; it is obvious that, on the remotest star, the earth would be seen, at this moment, just coming forth from the Creator’s hand, in all the freshness of Eden’s glories, with our first parents in the beauty of innocence and happiness, and all the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air playing around them. On a star of the twelfth magnitude would be seen the world as it showed itself four thousand years ago; on a star of the eighth magnitude, as it appeared one hundred and eighty years ago; and so on to the moon, where would be seen the occurrences of the present moment. And since there are ten thousand times ten thousand worlds, scattered through these extremes of distance, is it not clear that, taking them all together, they do at this moment contain a vast panorama of the world’s entire history, since the hour when the morning stars sang together, and the sons of God shouted for joy on creation’s morning?

“Thus,” says the unknown author of a little work entitled “The Stars and the Earth,” in which these ideas were first developed—“thus the universe encloses the pictures of the past, like an indestructible and incorruptible record, containing the purest and the clearest truth; and as sound propagates itself in the air, wave after wave, or, to take a still clearer example, as thunder and lightning are in reality simultaneous, but in the storm the distant thunder follows at the interval of minutes [seconds?] after the flash, so, in like manner, according to our ideas, the pictures of every occurrence propagate themselves into the distant ether, upon the wings of the ray of light; and although they become weaker and smaller, yet, in immeasurable distance, they still have color and form; and as every thing possessing color and form is visible, so must these pictures also be said to be visible, however impossible it may be for the human eye to perceive it with the hitherto discovered optical instruments.”

This last statement of the writer every one will acknowledge is true when applied to God; for who will doubt that his eye can take in at a glance that universe which he has made? And to do that is to have before him the entire daily history of our globe; nay, probably, also, of every other world. Indeed, such a supposition affords us a lively conception of the divine omniscience, since we have only to suppose this panorama of the indefinite past to extend indefinitely into the future, and the infinite picture will also be present at this moment before the divine mind.

But is the supposition an absurdity, that there may be in the universe created beings, with powers of vision acute enough to take in all these pictures of our world’s history, as they make the circuit of the numberless suns and planets that lie embosomed in boundless space? Suppose such a being at this moment upon a star of the twelfth magnitude, with an eye turned toward the earth. He might see the deluge of Noah, just sweeping over the surface. Advancing to a nearer star, he would see the patriarch Abraham going out, not knowing whither he went. Coming still nearer, the vision of the crucified Redeemer would meet his gaze. Coming nearer still, he might alight upon worlds where all the revolutions and convulsions of modern times would fall upon his eye. Indeed, there are worlds enough and at the right distances, in the vast empyrean, to show him every event in human history.

We may proceed a step farther, and inquire whether such an exaltation of vision as we have supposed may not be hereafter enjoyed by the glorified human mind when it passes into the spiritual body. We can hardly believe such a transformation possible. But suppose an individual born blind to grow up to manhood and intelligence without ever having been told any thing about vision. Then suppose the oculist to attempt an operation for the restoration of his sight, and, to prepare him for the transition, let the wonders of human vision be described to him, and he be told that, by a few moments of suffering, he can be put in possession of this astonishing faculty; would it not appear as improbable to him as it now does to us, to imagine that our vision can be so clarified and exalted, that we can discern the events which are passing in distant worlds as easily as we now do those immediately around us.

But if such a power of reading human history, from its panorama spread out on the face of the universe, be now possessed by unfallen beings in other spheres, what idea must they form of the character of man? At one time, they must regard the race as given up to hopeless rebellion, and the inflictions of vindictive justice. And then, anon, they would see the sceptre of mercy stretched out, and a few faithful soldiers marching under the banner of virtue and fighting the battles of the Lord. Surely they would need a revelation to understand the anomalies and solve the paradoxes which passed under their eyes. They would wonder why a world so filled with tokens of divine goodness, yet so disfigured by wickedness in every form, had not long since been struck from its orbit by the hand of divine justice.

Thus far, in the present argument, I have been following, for the most part, in the track marked out by others. But I now venture to advance into regions hitherto untrodden for any such purpose; yet I trust that the light which we may find to guide our steps may not prove the bewildering gleam of an ignis fatuus, but the lamp of true science.

My third argument is based upon electric reactions.

Whatever may be the true nature of electricity, it is convenient, and probably leads to no error, to speak of it as a fluid, or rather two fluids. For we find two kinds of electricity, denominated positive and negative; and it is a general fact, that, when a body is brought into one electrical state, it throws other bodies around it into the opposite state, by a power called induction. Those bodies, whose electrical condition has been thus altered, will act on others lying in a remoter circle, and these upon others, and so on, we cannot tell how widely, for we have reason to suppose that electricity is a power that extends through all nature. It can hardly be doubted that is the force which constitutes what we call chemical affinity by which the constituent parts of all compound bodies are held together; and in those stony and metallic masses, that occasionally fall from the heavens, we have proof that this same power holds sway in other worlds; for the most reasonable supposition is, that these meteors move like the planets through the regions of celestial space, and give us some idea of the constitution of planetary worlds. If so, the same chemical laws, and, of course, the same chemical forces, prevail there as in our planet. Indeed, the uniformity of nature would lead us to such a conclusion were there no facts like those of meteors to teach it directly. It follows, from these principles, that, whenever we change the electrical condition of bodies around us, we start a movement to whose onward march we can assign no limits but the material universe. These waves of influence consist of a series of attractions and repulsions, and are independent of the mechanical reactions already considered, which are produced by onward impulses alone.

Now, a change in the electric condition of bodies is produced often by the slightest mechanical, chemical, thermal, physiological, and probably even mental change in man. The usual way of exciting currents of electricity is by friction. But chemical action, as in the galvanic battery, produces a still more energetic and uninterrupted current. The slightest change of temperature, also, may disturb the electric equilibrium perceptibly. It has been of late ascertained, likewise, that a change of physiological condition—that is, a change as to healthy and normal action—affects the electricity of the parts of the system, and consequently of surrounding bodies. Substitute a man in the place of a galvanic battery, making his two hands the electrodes, and there will go out from him an electric current, that shall sensibly deflect the needle of a galvanometer, an instrument employed for showing the presence of small portions of electricity.

Nay, further, it seems to be most probably established as a fact in science, that a man, in the condition above specified, by a simple act of his will upon his muscles, by which those of one arm only shall be braced, will thereby send an electrical current of one sort through the galvanometer, while a like volition, which shall brace the muscles of the other arm will set in motion an opposite current.

It is also ascertained, that of the two sorts of nerves which supply every muscle, the nerve of sensibility is a positive pole of a Voltaic circuit, while the nerve of motion, or the muscle into which it passes, is a negative pole. So that the sensor nerves act as electric telegraphs to carry the sensations to the brain, and inform it what is needed, while the motor nerves bring back the volition to the muscles—the brain acting as a galvanic battery, very much like the electric organs of certain fishes.

From these statements it clearly follows, that, besides the mechanical effects produced by our actions, there is also an electric influence excited and propagated by almost every muscular effort, every chemical change within us, every variation in the state of health, or vigor, and especially by every mental effort; for no thought, probably, can pass through the mind which does not alter the physiological, chemical, and electric condition of the brain, and consequently of the whole system. The stronger the emotion, the greater the change; so that those great mental efforts, and those great decisions of the will, which bring along important moral effects, do also make the strongest impression upon the material universe. We cannot say how widely, by means of electric force, they reach; but if so subtile a power does, as we have reason to suppose, permeate all space, and all solid matter, there may be no spot in the whole universe where the knowledge of our most secret thoughts and purposes, as well as our most trivial outward act, may not be transmitted on the lightning’s wing; and it may be, that, out of this darkened world, there may not be found any spot where beings do not exist with sensibilities keen enough to learn, through electric changes, what we are doing and thinking.

If there be no absurdity in supposing that even the mechanical influence of our actions may be felt throughout the universe, still less is it absurd to infer the same results from electric agencies.

It would seem, from recent discoveries, that electricity has a more intimate connection with mental operations than any other physical force. If not identical with the nervous influence, it seems to be employed by the mind to accompany that influence to every part of the system; and the greater the mental excitement, the more energetic the electric movement. It seems to us a marvellous discovery, which enables man to convey and register his thoughts at the distance of thousands of miles by the electric wires. Should it excite any higher wonder to be told, that, by means of this same power, all our thoughts are transmitted to every part of the universe, and can be read there by the neuter perceptions of other beings as easily as we can read the types or hieroglyphics of the electric telegraph? Yet what a startling thought is it, that the most secret workings of our minds and hearts are momentarily spread out in legible characters over the whole material universe! nay, that they are so woven into the texture of the universe, that they will constitute a part of its web and woof forever! To believe and realize this is difficult; to deny it is to go in the face of physical science. How many things we do believe that are sustained by evidence far less substantial!

My fourth argument in support of the general principle is based upon odylic reaction.

And what is odylic reaction? What is odyle? you will doubtless inquire. It is, indeed, a branch of science emphatically new. I know of no account of it, save what appears in a late work, of nearly five hundred pages, by Baron Reichenbach, of Vienna, entitled “Researches on Magnetism, Electricity, Heat, Light, Crystallization, and Chemical Attraction, in their Relations to the Vital Force,” translated by William Gregory, professor of chemistry in the University of Edinburgh. This writer endeavors to show, by a great number of experiments, that there exists in all bodies, and throughout the universe, a peculiar principle, analogous to magnetism, electricity, light, and heat, yet distinct from them all, to which he gives the name of odyle. It is most manifest in powerful magnets; next in crystals, and exists in the human body, the sun, moon, stars, heat, electricity, chemical action, and, in fact, the whole material universe. Those who are most sensitive to this influence are persons of feeble health, especially somnambulists; but it is found that about one third of individuals, taken promiscuously, and many in good health, are sensible of it; and it was by a series of observations on persons of all classes and conditions for years, that the facts have been elicited. The inquiry seems to have been conducted with great fairness and scientific skill, and the author has the confidence of several of the most distinguished scientific men in Europe. If there be no mistake in the results, they promise to explain philosophically many popular superstitions, and also the phenomena of mesmerism, without a resort to superhuman agency, either satanic or angelic. They yield, also, an interesting support to the principle of this lecture. Says Baron Reichenbach, “There is nothing in these observations [which he had just detailed] that, after the contents of the preceding treatises, can much surprise us; but they are certainly a fine additional confirmation of what has been stated in regard to the sun and moon, and also of the fact that the whole material universe, even beyond our earth, acts on us with the very same kind of influence which resides in all terrestrial objects; and lastly, it shows that we stand in a connection of mutual influence, hitherto unsuspected, with the universe; so that, in fact, the stars are not altogether devoid of action on our sublunary, perhaps even on our practical, world, and on the mental processes of some heads.”—P. 162.

By the experiments here referred to by this author, he had endeavored to show, that even the light of the stars exerted an odylic influence upon the human system; that is, certain effects independent altogether of their light; and if there be no mistake in the experiments, they certainly do show this. Such a fact almost realizes the suggestions already made, that beings in other spheres may possess such an exaltation of sensibilities as to be able to learn what is going on in this world, and that it is easy to conceive how our sensorium may be raised to the same exalted pitch.

My fifth argument, illustrative of the general principle, is based upon chemical reaction.

Mechanical reaction changes the form and position of bodies; chemical reaction alters their constitution. By the decomposition of some compounds, the elements are obtained for forming others; and such changes are going on around us and within us in great numbers unperceived. In the worlds above us, and in the earth beneath us, from its circumference to its centre, the transmutations of chemistry are in progress, and many of them are modified by the agency of man; so that here is another channel through which human actions exert an influence upon the material universe, and to an extent which we cannot measure. Let us look at some of the modes in which this is done.

Take, in the first place, the facts respecting photography, or the art of obtaining sketches of objects by means of the action of light. This is strictly a chemical process. In a beam of light, that comes to us from the sun, we find not only rays of light and heat, but chemical rays, which act upon some bodies to change their constitution. When these rays are reflected from a human countenance, and fall upon a silvered plate, that has been coated with iodine and bromine, they leave an impression, which is fixed and brought out as a portrait by the vapor of mercury and some other agents. Here the chemical changes produced by these rays are exceedingly perfect; but they produce effects upon many other substances, artificially or naturally prepared; such as paper, for instance, immersed in a solution of bichromate of potash, or upon vegetation, whose green color is probably the result of this action, (as is obvious from the fact that plants growing in the dark are destitute of color.) Indeed, a large part of the changes of color in nature depend upon these invisible rays.

It seems, then, that this photographic influence pervades all nature; nor can we say where it stops. We do not know but it may imprint upon the world around us our features, as they are modified by various passions, and thus fill nature with daguerreotype impressions of all our actions that are performed in daylight. It may be, too, that there are tests by which nature, more skilfully than any human photographist, can bring out and fix those portraits, so that acuter senses than ours shall see them, as on a great canvas, spread over the material universe. Perhaps, too, they may never fade from that canvas, but become specimens in the great picture gallery of eternity.

The thought may perhaps cross some mind, that, though those human actions which are performed in sunlight may be imprinted upon the universe, yet no deed of darkness can thus reveal its author, and remain an eternal stigma upon his name. But there is another phase to this subject. What is the evidence that the chemical rays of a sunbeam are rays of light? We know that they are unequally diffused through the spectrum, being most energetic at its violet extremity; but there is no proof that they are visible. They may, like heat, exert their appropriate influence, which seems to be mainly that of deoxidation, and yet not be colorific. If so, we might expect them to operate in the dark; and experiment proves that they do. An engraving on paper, placed between an iodized silver plate and an amalgamated copper plate, was left in the dark for fifteen hours. On exposing the amalgamated plate to the vapor of mercury, “a very nice impression of the engraving was brought out—it having been effected through the thickness of the paper.”—Mr. Hunt, “On the Changes which Bodies are capable of undergoing in Darkness,” Phil. Mag. vol. xxii. p. 277.—Many like experiments prove the existence; among bodies, of a power analogous to, if not identical with, that which accompanies light, and is the basis of the photographic process. Some philosophers do not regard them as identical. But this is of little consequence in my present argument. For all agree that there is a power in nature capable of impressing the outlines of some objects upon others in total darkness.

In respect to such cases, there are one or two facts deserving of special notice. And, first. We must not infer, because man has yet been able to bring out to human view but a few examples of this sort, that they are, therefore, few in nature. Rather should the discovery of a few lead to the conclusion that nature may be full of them, and that a more delicate and refined chemistry may yet disclose them. For the few known cases give us a glimpse of a recondite law of nature, which most likely pervades creation. Some regard these dark rays as neither light, nor heat, nor chemical rays, but a new element; but, whatever its nature, no reason can be given why it should operate only in a few cases, and those of artificial preparation. More probably, through this influence, all bodies brought into contact, or proximity, impress their images upon one another; and the time may come, when, touched by a more subtile chemistry than man now wields, these images shall take a place among obvious and permanent things in the universe, to the honor and glory of some, but to the amazement and everlasting contempt of more.

Of more, I say; for wickedness has oftener sought the concealment of darkness than modest virtue. The foulest enormities of human conduct have always striven to cover themselves with the shroud of night. The thief, the counterfeiter, the assassin, the robber, the murderer, and the seducer, feel comparatively safe in the midnight darkness, because no human eye can scrutinize their actions. But what if it should turn out that sable night, to speak paradoxically, is an unerring photographist! What if wicked men, as they open their eyes from the sleep of death, in another world, should find the universe hung round with faithful pictures of their earthly enormities, which they had supposed forever lost in the oblivion of night! What scenes for them to gaze at forever! They may now, indeed, smile incredulously at such a suggestion; but the disclosures of chemistry may well make them tremble. Analogy does make it a scientific probability that every action of man, however deep the darkness in which it was performed, has imprinted its image upon nature, and that there may be tests which shall draw it into daylight, and make it permanent so long as materialism endures.

There is another chemical principle, called catalysis, through which human actions may make powerful and permanent impressions on the universe, and that, too, unperceived by man. In some cases, the mere presence of a certain agent, in a small quantity, will produce extensive changes of constitution in other bodies, while the agent itself remains unaltered. Thus a strip of platinum will determine the union of oxygen and hydrogen in the platinum lamp; and sulphuric acid, in a solution of starch, will change it first into gum, and then into sugar; while neither the platinum nor the acid experiences any change. These are called catalytic changes. More often, however, the catalytic agent is itself in the process of change, and it produces an analogous change in other bodies. A familiar example is yeast, or ferment. This substance contains a principle called diastase, one part of which is capable of converting two thousand parts of starch into sugar; and this is what is done in the familiar process of fermentation, when we always see verified the scriptural declaration, A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump.

The precise manner in which the diastase operates in these cases we may not be able to explain. The particles of the diastase, being themselves in motion, possess the power of putting in motion the particles of other bodies; and these, again, operate upon others, and so on, often to an astonishing extent. In the case of the platinum and the acid, however, no change takes place in their molecules, and we can only state it, as an unexplained fact, that they do produce changes in other bodies.

We have other examples of catalytic influences in nature, exhibiting an agency still more subtile and energetic. I refer to contagious and epidemic diseases in animals and plants. An influence goes abroad, and seems to be propagated through the atmosphere, traversing whole continents, and crossing wide oceans, powerful and deadly in its effects, yet inappreciable by the most delicate mechanical or chemical tests. But the phenomena admit of explanation by supposing a movement, either in the particles of the atmosphere, or of the still more subtile and elastic medium that pervades all space; a movement started at a particular spot, as the cholera in India, and the small-pox or some epidemic from some focus, and communicating an unhealthy movement from atom to atom, till it has encircled the earth and mowed down its hecatombs.

Now, when we look at such facts, who can suppose it improbable that man, who can hardly lift a finger without producing some chemical change, should start some of these movements, that may reach far beyond his imagination? And here, as in the cases that have preceded, we must not estimate the actual change in the constitution of bodies by the apparent; for we know that multitudes of such changes are passing within us and around us, without our cognizance; and yet there may be chemical eyes in the universe quick enough to see them all, and to follow them onward to the final result; for there must be a final resultant of all such forces; nor can we doubt that, some time or other, and to some beings, if not to ourselves, it will be manifest. Here, then, is another mode in which a chemical influence may go forth from us, reaching the utmost limits of matter and of time; nay, perhaps extending into eternity, and revealing our actions to the finer sensibilities of exalted beings.

I derive my sixth argument in support of the general principle from organic reaction.

Few persons, save the zoölogist and comparative anatomist, have any idea of the great nicety and delicacy of the relations that exist between all the species of animals and plants, so that what affects one affects all the rest. Perhaps the subject may be illustrated by supposing all the species of organic beings to be distributed at different distances through a hollow sphere, while between them all there is a mutual repulsion, and the whole are retained in the form of a sphere by an attracting force directed to the centre. By such an arrangement, if one species be taken out of the sphere, or its repellency become stronger or weaker, the relative position of all the rest would be altered. No matter how many millions of species there are, the movements of one will cause a reaction among all the rest.

Now, this illustration, although an approximation, falls short of representing the actual state of things in nature. It is no exaggeration to say that a relation similar to the supposed one exists throughout the vast dominions of animate beings; so that you cannot obliterate or change one species without affecting all the rest. Often the change is effected so slowly and indirectly that the beings experiencing it are unconscious of it; or they may realize some slight disturbance of the balance in organic nature, and yet be unconscious of the cause. By the illustration above given, when one or more species is removed from the supposed sphere, or its repellent force weakened or strengthened, although an influence will reach all the other species, yet a new equilibrium will soon be established, and no permanently bad effects seem to follow. But not so in nature. There the balance originally fixed between different beings by infinite wisdom is the best possible; and every change, not intended by Providence, must be for the worse. It was intended, for instance, that man should subdue forests and extirpate noxious plants, as well as ferocious and noxious animals; and, therefore, such a change operates to his advantage, but to the injury of the inferior animals. Yet often he pushes this exterminating process so far as to injure himself also. Thus the farmer wages a relentless war against certain birds, because of some slight evils which they occasion. But when they are extirpated, opportunity is given for noxious insects to multiply, and to bring upon the farmer evils much greater than those he thus escapes.

To prevent an excessive multiplication of some species is one of the grand objects of the present balance established among the whole. Such an increase is an inevitable effect of the extinction of a species, and it often occasions great mischief. The carnivorous species, especially, were intended to act as nature’s police, to prevent a too great increase of the herbivorous races, which are rendered excessively fruitful to keep the world full. If, then, a carnivorous species become extinct, the species on which it has fed will so multiply as to prove great nuisances, and to produce wide disorder among many species, not only of animals, but of plants. And often has man, in this way, by the extermination of species, in particular districts, unwittingly brought a powerful reaction on himself.

On the Island of New Zealand, within one or two hundred years past, eight or ten species of gigantic birds—the dinornis and palapteryx—have become extinct, probably through the persecution of man. The natives, without doubt, hunted them down for food, until all disappeared: and as no quadruped of much size inhabits the island, we think there is no little plausibility in the suggestion of Professor Owen, that when the birds were all gone, or nearly gone, the natives were tempted to the practice of cannibalism, as the only means of gratifying their passion for meat. What a terrible retribution for disturbing the equilibrium of organic nature!

The records of zoölogy and botany afford endless illustration of this subject. But the great truth which they all teach is, that so intimately are we related to other beings, that almost every action of ours reacts upon them for good or evil; for good, upon the whole, when we conform to the laws which God has established; and for evil, when by their violation we disturb the equilibrium of organized nature, and produce irregular action. In this latter case, we cannot tell where the disturbance, thus introduced, will end; for it is not a periodical oscillation, like the perturbations of the heavenly bodies, nor a mere change of position and intensity by mechanical forces.

But does not this law of mutual influence between organic beings extend to other worlds? Why should it not be transmitted by means of the luminiferous ether to the limits of the universe? Who knows but a blow struck upon a single link of organic beings here may be felt through the whole circle of animate existence in all worlds? That is a narrow view of God’s work, which isolates the organic races on this globe from the rest of the universe. The more philosophical view throws the golden chain of influence around the whole animal creation, whether small or great, near or remote.

Reverting to the reasoning which we employed in tracing out the extent of mechanical reaction, we shall see that organic reaction may extend not only to other worlds, but also into eternity. For if the matter of the universe is to survive the conflagration of the last day, the future economy of life must have some connection with the present, whether this earth or some other part of the universe be the theatre of its development.

I speak here not of moral influences, which we know will pass over from time into eternity, but of a physical reaction, which may also reach beyond the same gulf. For at least a part of those creatures, who in this world have felt the modifying power of other beings, will survive the world’s final catastrophe, and occupy material, though spiritual bodies, whose germ is represented as derived from their bodies on earth. We have reason, then, to suppose some connection and modifying influence between them. And we might show, also, that moral causes, which so affect the physical character here, may exert a like power in eternity. But time will not permit the argument to be followed out.

The conclusion, then, from this argument also, is, that probably every action of ours on earth modifies the condition and destiny of every other created being in this and other worlds through time and eternity. What though human experience, dependent on the bluntness of mortal sensibilities, cannot demonstrate such an influence? Shall the gross perceptions of this disordered world be made the standard of all that exists? Rather let us listen to the suggestions of science, which tell us of the possibility of senses far more acute in other worlds, and in a future state of being—senses that can trace out and feel the vibrations of the delicate web of organic influence that binds together the great and the small, the past, the present, and the future, throughout the universe.

My seventh argument in support of the general principle depends upon mental reaction.

Mental reaction operates in two ways—indirectly and directly; indirectly through matter, directly by the influence of mind upon mind, without an intervening medium. When describing electric reactions, I have shown how our thoughts and volitions change the electric, chemical, and even mechanical condition of the body, and, through these media, that of all the material universe; and I need not repeat that argument. But to modify the inanimate world through these agencies necessarily affects all other intellects, which are connected with matter; and since man in a future world is to assume a spiritual body, we may reasonably suppose that all created beings are in some way connected with matter; and, therefore, by means of materialism, through the subtile agencies that have been named, we may be sure that an influence goes out from every thought and volition of ours, and reaches every other intellect in the wide creation. I know not whether, in other worlds, their inhabitants possess sensibilities acute enough to be conscious of this influence; certainly, in this world, it is only to a limited extent that men are conscious of it. Yet we must admit that it exists and acts, or deny the demonstrated verities of science.

But is there not evidence that mind sometimes acts directly upon other minds, without any gross, intervening media? It may, indeed, be doubted whether any created intellect operates, except in connection with some form of matter. Yet there are certain facts in the history of individuals in an abnormal state, which show that one mind acts upon another, independent of the senses, or any other material means or intercommunication discoverable by the senses. Take the details of sleep-waking, or somnambulism; and do not they present us with numerous cases in which impressions are made by one mind upon another, even when separated beyond the sphere of the senses? Take the facts respecting double consciousness, and those where the power was possessed of reading the thoughts, of others, or the facts relating to prevision; and surely they cannot be explained but by the supposition of a direct influence of one mind upon another.

Still more decided in this respect are the most familiar facts of artificial somnambulism, called mesmerism. Whatever may be our views of this unsettled branch of knowledge as a whole, it would seem as if we could not doubt that its facts prove the action of mind upon mind, independently of bodily organization, without rejecting evidence which would prove any thing else.

Now, if we admit that mind does operate upon other minds while we are in the body, independent of the body, can we tell how far the influence extends? If electricity, or some other subtile agent, be essential to this action, it would indeed transfer this example to electric reaction, but it would still be real. Yet, in the absence of all certain proof of the electric power in this case, and with certain proof of the existence of such an influence, we may place it among those marvellous means by which man makes an impression, wide beyond our present knowledge, upon the universe, material and mental; and it ought to make us feel that our lightest thoughts and feeblest volitions may reach the outer limit of intellectual life, and its consequences meet us in distant worlds, and far down the track of eternity.

Finally. I derive an argument in support of the general principle from geological reaction.

By this expression, I mean those reactions of whose existence geology furnishes the proof. They are, in fact, the reactions already considered; but geology proves that they have actually operated in past time in many instances, by evidence registered on the rocks, and thus tends to confirm our reasoning derived from other sources. I do not mean that the proof is before us of precisely such an action as our reasoning has supposed, but so analogous to that supposed as to lend it confirmation. A few examples will illustrate the argument.

The effects of mechanical reaction are, perhaps, most frequent and striking in the rocks, especially those deposited from water. Here we have, for instance, the ripple marks, which present us with a faithful register of the slightest movement of the waters, and also of the motions of the atmosphere, or of the currents in it, that agitated the waters. In the almost impalpable powder that sometimes constitutes the rocks, we can trace the slightest erosion and comminution of the strata from which the deposit was worn. In the petrified rain drops we find an indelible trace of the most gentle shower. And here, too, we can see the direction of the wind. Such facts, also, imply the operation of electricity and gravity, of heat and cold, collecting and condensing the rain, and bringing it down; and so similar to present meteorological phenomena do these ancient showers appear to have been, that we may conclude that electrical reactions, in all respects, were the same as at present.

The preservation of the tracks of numerous animals in some of the sandstones shows us how deep and permanent an impression the most trivial action of a living being may make. In these footmarks we sometimes notice a change in the direction of the animal along the surface; and, of course, an impression deeper or more shallow than usual, of parts of the foot, by the action of the muscles employed in changing the animal’s course. Here, then, we have the register of so slight an action as an increased or diminished action of a particular muscle of the leg. Nay, further, such a movement affords us an infallible register of an act of the animal’s will, since that must have preceded the change; and that implies an electric current, first inward along the sensor nerves, and then outward along the motor nerves.

Geology lays open before us a map of the changes in organic nature from the apparent commencement of life on the globe, and thus enables us to see examples of this kind of reaction. We find different economies of life to have appeared, but all of them most wisely adapted to existing circumstances. In each economy we perceive the balance between the different tribes provided for. If, for instance, one race of carnivorous species died out, new races were created to occupy their place, so that the herbivorous species should not overrun the globe. Thus, when the early sauroid fishes diminished, the gigantic and carnivorous marine saurian reptiles were introduced. And when the chambered shells, whose occupants were carnivorous, disappeared with the secondary period, numerous univalve mollusks were created to feed on other animals; although previously that family were herbivorous. It would seem, however, as if each successive economy of organic life had contained within itself the seeds of extinction. It was, indeed, mainly a change of climate which first caused some species to disappear. But their destruction so disturbed the balance of creation that others followed, until total extinction was the result, which, however, was often hastened by catastrophes.

Thus we have in the stony volume of the earth’s history actual examples of effects resulting from the acts, and even volitions, of the inferior animals, which can never be erased while the rocks endure.

If, therefore, with our imperfect senses, we can see these results so distinctly, we may safely infer that human conduct, and thought, and volition impress upon the globe, nay, upon the universe, marks which nothing can obliterate.

The thoughts which press upon the mind, in view of such a conclusion, are numerous and interesting. A few we can hardly help noticing.

In the first place, what a centre of influence does man occupy!

It is just as if the universe were a tremulous mass of jelly which every movement of his made to vibrate from the centre to the circumference. It is as if the universe were one vast picture gallery, in some part of which the entire history of this world, and of each individual, is shown on canvas, sketched by countless artists, with unerring skill. It is as if each man had his foot upon the point where ten thousand telegraphic wires meet from every part of the universe, and he were able, with each volition, to send abroad an influence along these wires, so as to reach every created being in heaven and in earth. It is as if we had the more than Gorgon power of transmuting every object around us into forms beautiful or hideous, and of sending that transmuting process forward through time and through eternity. It is as if we were linked to every created being by a golden chain, and every pulsation of our heart or movement of our mind modified the pulsation of every other heart and the movements of every other intellect. Wonderful, wonderful is the position man occupies, and the part he acts! And yet it is not a dream, but the deliberate conclusion of true science.

Secondly. We see in this subject the probability that our minutest actions, and perhaps our thoughts, from day to day, are known throughout the universe.

I speak not here of the divine omniscience, which we know reaches every thought and action; but I refer to created beings. Science shows us how, in a variety of modes, such knowledge may be conveyed to them by natural agencies; and we have only to suppose them to be possessed of far more acute sensibilities than man’s, in order to be affected by these agencies as we are by more powerful impressions. And when we consider how fettered and depressed a condition this world obviously is in, because of its sinfulness, who will doubt but the unfallen beings of other spheres may enjoy those keener perceptions that will bring our whole history distinctly before them, day by day? The thought is, indeed, startling, but not unphilosophical.

If this suggestion be true, then may we indulge the thought as highly probable that our friends, who have gone before us into the eternal world, may be as familiar with our conduct, our words, and even our thoughts, as we are ourselves. If we are acting as we ought, and so as will please them, this must be an animating idea; but if we are not, let it serve to stimulate us to our duty, if a sense of the divine omniscience is not sufficient.

We infer from this subject, thirdly, the probability that, in a future state, the power of reading the past history of the world, and of individuals, may be possessed by man.

The nature of the future spiritual body, and of the heavenly state and employments, impresses the mind with the belief that it will be a condition far more exalted than the present, and that the inlets to the soul will be cleared of all obstructions; so that no impression made on such a sensorium shall fail to give the mind a distinct perception. In heaven, such extreme sensibility might become a source of richest pleasure; in the world of despair, an instrument of severe punishment; yet in both cases it might be the natural result of a man’s earthly course. Now, such an indefinite exaltation of the perceptions in futurity scarcely any one will doubt. Why should we doubt any more that it may rise so high that man will be able to read, through the agencies we have pointed out, the minutest action and thought in human experience? If, as we have reason to suppose, angels can do it now, the Bible informs us that we shall be like the angels.

If this view be admitted, then it may be that the present world is the only spot in the universe where deeds of wickedness can be concealed. In a sinful world we can see reasons why the power of concealment should exist to some extent. For though no man should do or think any thing which he is ashamed to have known, yet, if all the plans of men for the promotion of good objects were fully known from their inception, the wicked could generally defeat them. But in a world of perfect holiness no such necessity would exist, since the universal desire would be to promote every worthy object; and, therefore, it may be that every soul will lie perfectly open to the inspection of all other souls—an arrangement that seems appropriate to such a world.

In what an aspect does this principle present the conduct of the suicide! Tired of earthly scenes, he rushes unbidden into eternity to escape them. But instead of escaping them, he goes where every one of these mortal evils—yea, and multiplied, too, a thousand fold—shall start up in his path with a distinctness of which he had no conception. And henceforth he can never find, as in this world, even a partial deliverance from their terrible vividness. It is as if, to avoid the moonlight, because too bright, a man should plunge into the sun.

Again, if this principle be true, how annoying will it be, to the man who has not acted well his part in this world, to meet in eternity the ever-recurring mementoes of his evil deeds! He will hardly be able to open his eyes without seeing some plague-spot on creation as the result of his conduct; and although infinite wisdom and power have stayed the plague, no thanks are due to him. The tendencies of his conduct on earth will be most distressing to look upon; and these shall not cease to lie open before him till the last sand in the glass of eternity is run out.

But, on the other hand, how does this principle strew the path of eternity with flowers to that man who, in this world, finds his highest pleasure in doing good! Not merely his highest and noblest deeds of benevolence here shall loom up in bright perspective there, but a thousand acts of private beneficence, unknown to the world and forgotten by himself, shall stand out distinctly on the moving panorama of that better world; and he will be amazed to see what a wide and blessed influence they have exerted, and will exert, as the catalytic influence moves on and widens in its endless march. It might have ruined him to see these fruits in this world, by exciting pride and vain glory; but it will awaken there only gratitude and love to the grace that enabled him thus, in time, to sow the seeds which should fill eternity with flowers, and fragrance, and golden fruit.

Finally. What new and astonishing avenues of knowledge does this subject show us will probably open upon the soul in eternity!

I do not now speak of the new knowledge of the divine character which will then astonish and delight the soul by direct intuition, but rather of those new channels that will be thrown open, through which a knowledge of other worlds, and of other created beings, can be conveyed to the soul almost illimitably. And just consider what a field that will be. At present we know nothing of the inhabitants of other worlds, and it is only by analogy that we make their existence probable. Nor, with our present senses, could we learn any thing respecting them but by an actual visit to each world. But let the suggestions to which our reasonings have conducted us prove true,—let our sensorium be so modified and spiritualized that every thought, word, and action in those worlds shall come to us through pulsations falling upon the organ of vision, or by an electric current through the nerve of sensation, or by some transmitted chemical change,—and on what vantage ground should we be placed! Without leaving the spot of our residence, supposing the universe constituted as it now is, we might study out the character and constitution of the countless inhabitants of at least one hundred millions of worlds, which we know to exist; nay, of ten thousand times that number, which probably exist. Every movement of matter around us, however infinitesimal, would be freighted with new knowledge, perhaps from distant spheres. Every ray of light that met our gaze from the broad heavens above us would print an image upon our visual organs of events transpiring in distant worlds, while every electrical flash might convey some idea to our mind never before thought of. Every chemical ray, too, might inform us of scenes far off in the regions of night; and then who can calculate what organic and mental influences might be transmitted to us from beings of all ranks and scattered through all worlds? To speak of organs, indeed, as the medium of perceptions in another world, may be absurd; but we mean only, by that term, whatever may be substituted for our present organs; and we assume that the properties of matter will exist forever; and, therefore, we may presume that light, and electricity, and chemical affinity, and corporeal and mental influences will, under modified forms, be the modes by which knowledge shall ever be transmitted. At least, assuming that they will be, and the magnificent conceptions we have now traced out may be hereafter realized. And surely, if they be only slightly probable, the anticipation is full of thrilling interest, and the moral effect of dwelling upon it must be salutary. It spreads out before us fields of knowledge which eternity can never exhaust, and attractive so immeasurably above all the knowledge of earth that we almost wait impatiently for the summons to break from our prison-house below, and to rise on our new pinions to celestial scenes.

If such rich means of knowledge of created things be enjoyed by celestial minds, and they can drink it in to the full measure of their faculties, then one inevitable effect must be to make them unite, ever and anon, in adoration and praise to the infinite Being who created and sustains all, and whose glory is illustrated by all his works. And we can conceive that there may be stated periods, when, from every part of the universe, the anthem of praise comes rolling onwards towards some central spot, where the divine presence is most felt. O, how gladly will each happy soul, animated by every new accession of knowledge, join in the swelling pæan as it mounts up to the third heavens! Who knows but this is the hour when the peal is beginning? O, let not this world be the only spot in the universe where it shall be unheard and unheeded. Surely we see enough of the divine glory here to begin the song, which we hope to pour forth in loftier notes on high, unto the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only wise God; to whom be honor and glory, forever and ever. Amen.