章节正文
would be essential; so also would the liver;
but at least half of the intestines might be
dispensed with, and of course all of the limbs.
And as to the nervoussystem, the only parts
really necessary to life are a few small ganglia.
Were the rest absent or inactive, we should
have a man reduced, as it were, to the lowest
terms, and leading an almost vegetative
existence. Would such a being, I asked myself,
possess the sense of individuality in its usual
completeness, even if his organs of sensation
remained, and he were capable of consciousness?
Of course, without them, he could
not have it any more than a dahlia or a tulip.
But with them--how then? I concluded that
it would be at a minimum, and that, if utter
loss of relation to the outer world were capable
of destroying a man's consciousness of
himself, the destruction of half of his sensitive
surfaces might well occasion, in a less
degree, a like result, and so diminish his
sense of individual existence.
I thus reached the conclusion that a man
is not his brain, or any one part of it, but all
of his economy, and that to lose any part
must lessen this sense of his own existence.
I found but one person who properly appreciated
this great truth. She was a New England
lady, from Hartford--an agent, I think,
for some commission, perhaps the Sanitary.
After I had told her my views and feelings
she said: ``Yes, I comprehend. The fractional
entities of vitality are embraced in the
oneness of the unitary Ego. Life,'' she added,
``is the garnered condensation of objective
impressions; and as the objective is the
remote father of the subjective, so must
individuality, which is but focused subjectivity,
suffer and fade when the sensation lenses, by
which the rays of impression are condensed,
become destroyed.'' I am not quite clear that
I fully understood her, but I think she
appreciated my ideas, and I felt grateful for
her kindly interest.
The strange want I have spoken of now
haunted and perplexed me so constantly that
I became moody and wretched. While in
this state, a man from a neighboring ward
fell one morning into conversation with the
chaplain, within ear-shot of my chair. Some
of their words arrested my attention, and I
turned my head to see and listen. The
speaker, who wore a sergeant's chevron and
carried one arm in a sling was a tall, loosely
made person, with a pale face, light eyes of
a washed-out blue tint, and very sparse yellow
whiskers. His mouth was weak, both
lips being almost alike, so that the organ
might have been turned upside down without
affecting its expression. His forehead,
however, was high and thinly covered with sandy
hair. I should have said, as a phrenologist,
will feeble; emotional, but not passionate;
likely to be an enthusiast or a weakly bigot.
I caught enough of what passed to make
me call to the sergeant when the chaplain
left him.
``Good morning,'' said he. ``How do you
get on?''
``Not at all,'' I replied. ``Where were you
hit?''
``Oh, at Chancellorsville. I was shot in the
shoulder. I have what the doctors call paralysis
of the median nerve, but I guess Dr.
Neek and the lightnin' battery will fix it.
When my time's out I'll go back to Kearsarge
and try on the school-teaching again.
I've done my share.''
``Well,'' said I, ``you're better off than I.''
``Yes,'' he answered, ``in more ways than
one. I belong to the New Church. It's a
great comfort for a plain man like me, when
he's weary and sick, to be able to turn away
from earthly things and hold converse daily
with the great and good who have left this
here world. We have a circle in Coates
street. If it wa'n't for the consoling I get
there, I'd of wished myself dead many a time.
I ain't got kith or kin on earth; but this
matters little, when one can just talk to them
daily and know that they are in the spheres
above us.''
``It must be a great comfort,'' I replied,
``if only one could believe it.''
``Believe!'' he repeated. ``How can you
help it? Do you suppose anything dies?''
``No,'' I said. ``The soul does not, I am sure;
and as to matter, it merely changes form.''
``But why, then,'' said he, ``should not the
dead soul talk to the living? In space, no
doubt, exist all forms of matter, merely in
finer, more ethereal being. You can't suppose
a naked soul moving about without a
bodily garment--no creed teaches that; and
if its new clothing be of like substance to
ours, only of ethereal fineness,--a more delicate
recrystallization about the eternalspiritual
nucleus,--must it not then possess
powers as much more delicate and refined as
is the new material in which it is reclad?''
``Not very clear,'' I answered; ``but, after
all, the thing should be susceptible of some
form of proof to our present senses.''
``And so it is,'' said he. ``Come to-morrow
with me, and you shall see and hear for yourself.''
``I will,'' said I, ``if the doctor will lend
me the ambulance.''
It was so arranged, as the surgeon in
charge was kind enough, as usual, to oblige
me with the loan of his wagon, and two
orderlies to lift my useless trunk.
On the day following I found myself, with
my new comrade, in a house in Coates street,
where a ``circle'' was in the daily habit of
meeting. So soon as I had been comfortably
deposited in an arm-chair, beside a large pine
table, the rest of those assembled seated
themselves, and for some time preserved an
unbroken silence. During this pause I scrutinized
the persons present. Next to me, on
my right, sat a flabby man, with ill-marked,
baggy features and injected eyes. He was,
as I learned afterwards, an eclectic doctor,
who had tried his hand at medicine and several
of its quackish variations, finally settling
down on eclecticism, which I believe professes
to be to scientific medicine what vegetarianism
is to common-sense, every-day dietetics. Next
to him sat a female-authoress, I think, of
two somewhat feeble novels, and much pleasanter
to look at than her books. She was, I
thought, a good deal excited at the prospect
of spiritual revelations. Her neighbor was a
pallid, care-worn young woman, with very
red lips, and large brown eyes of great
beauty. She was, as I learned afterwards,
a magnetic patient of the doctor, and had
deserted her husband, a master mechanic, to
follow this new light. The others were, like
myself, strangers brought hither by mere
curiosity. One of them was a lady in deep
black, closely veiled. Beyond her, and
opposite to me, sat the sergeant, and next to
him the medium, a man named Brink. He
wore a good deal of jewelry, and had large
black side-whiskers--a shrewd-visaged, large-
nosed, full-lipped man, formed by nature to
appreciate the pleasant things of sensual
existence.
Before I had ended my survey, he turned
to the lady in black, and asked if she wished
to see any one in the spirit-world.
She said, ``Yes,'' rather feebly.
``Is the spirit present?'' he asked. Upon
which two knocks were heard in affirmation.
``Ah!'' said the medium, ``the name is--it is
the name of a child. It is a male child. It
is--''
``Alfred!'' she cried. ``Great Heaven! My
child! My boy!''
On this the medium arose, and became
strangely convulsed. ``I see,'' he said--``I
see--a fair-haired boy. I see blue eyes--I
see above you, beyond you--'' at the same
time pointing fixedly over her head.
She turned with a wild start. ``Where--
whereabouts?''
``A blue-eyed boy,'' he continued, ``over
your head. He cries--he says, `Mama,
mama!' ''
The effect of this on the woman was
unpleasant. She stared about her for a moment,
and exclaiming, ``I come--I am coming,
Alfy!'' fell in hysterics on the floor.
Two or three persons raised her, and aided
her into an adjoining room; but the rest
remained at the table, as though well accustomed
to like scenes.
After this several of the strangers were
called upon to write the names of the dead
with whom they wished to communicate.
The names were spelled out by the agency
of affirmative knocks when the correct letters
were touched by the applicant, who was
furnished with an alphabet-card upon which
he tapped the letters in turn, the medium,
meanwhile, scanning his face very keenly.
With some, the names were readily made
out. With one, a stolid personage of
disbelieving type, every attempt failed, until at
last the spirits signified by knocks that he
but at least half of the intestines might be
dispensed with, and of course all of the limbs.
And as to the nervoussystem, the only parts
really necessary to life are a few small ganglia.
Were the rest absent or inactive, we should
have a man reduced, as it were, to the lowest
terms, and leading an almost vegetative
existence. Would such a being, I asked myself,
possess the sense of individuality in its usual
completeness, even if his organs of sensation
remained, and he were capable of consciousness?
Of course, without them, he could
not have it any more than a dahlia or a tulip.
But with them--how then? I concluded that
it would be at a minimum, and that, if utter
loss of relation to the outer world were capable
of destroying a man's consciousness of
himself, the destruction of half of his sensitive
surfaces might well occasion, in a less
degree, a like result, and so diminish his
sense of individual existence.
I thus reached the conclusion that a man
is not his brain, or any one part of it, but all
of his economy, and that to lose any part
must lessen this sense of his own existence.
I found but one person who properly appreciated
this great truth. She was a New England
lady, from Hartford--an agent, I think,
for some commission, perhaps the Sanitary.
After I had told her my views and feelings
she said: ``Yes, I comprehend. The fractional
entities of vitality are embraced in the
oneness of the unitary Ego. Life,'' she added,
``is the garnered condensation of objective
impressions; and as the objective is the
remote father of the subjective, so must
individuality, which is but focused subjectivity,
suffer and fade when the sensation lenses, by
which the rays of impression are condensed,
become destroyed.'' I am not quite clear that
I fully understood her, but I think she
appreciated my ideas, and I felt grateful for
her kindly interest.
The strange want I have spoken of now
haunted and perplexed me so constantly that
I became moody and wretched. While in
this state, a man from a neighboring ward
fell one morning into conversation with the
chaplain, within ear-shot of my chair. Some
of their words arrested my attention, and I
turned my head to see and listen. The
speaker, who wore a sergeant's chevron and
carried one arm in a sling was a tall, loosely
made person, with a pale face, light eyes of
a washed-out blue tint, and very sparse yellow
whiskers. His mouth was weak, both
lips being almost alike, so that the organ
might have been turned upside down without
affecting its expression. His forehead,
however, was high and thinly covered with sandy
hair. I should have said, as a phrenologist,
will feeble; emotional, but not passionate;
likely to be an enthusiast or a weakly bigot.
I caught enough of what passed to make
me call to the sergeant when the chaplain
left him.
``Good morning,'' said he. ``How do you
get on?''
``Not at all,'' I replied. ``Where were you
hit?''
``Oh, at Chancellorsville. I was shot in the
shoulder. I have what the doctors call paralysis
of the median nerve, but I guess Dr.
Neek and the lightnin' battery will fix it.
When my time's out I'll go back to Kearsarge
and try on the school-teaching again.
I've done my share.''
``Well,'' said I, ``you're better off than I.''
``Yes,'' he answered, ``in more ways than
one. I belong to the New Church. It's a
great comfort for a plain man like me, when
he's weary and sick, to be able to turn away
from earthly things and hold converse daily
with the great and good who have left this
here world. We have a circle in Coates
street. If it wa'n't for the consoling I get
there, I'd of wished myself dead many a time.
I ain't got kith or kin on earth; but this
matters little, when one can just talk to them
daily and know that they are in the spheres
above us.''
``It must be a great comfort,'' I replied,
``if only one could believe it.''
``Believe!'' he repeated. ``How can you
help it? Do you suppose anything dies?''
``No,'' I said. ``The soul does not, I am sure;
and as to matter, it merely changes form.''
``But why, then,'' said he, ``should not the
dead soul talk to the living? In space, no
doubt, exist all forms of matter, merely in
finer, more ethereal being. You can't suppose
a naked soul moving about without a
bodily garment--no creed teaches that; and
if its new clothing be of like substance to
ours, only of ethereal fineness,--a more delicate
recrystallization about the eternalspiritual
nucleus,--must it not then possess
powers as much more delicate and refined as
is the new material in which it is reclad?''
``Not very clear,'' I answered; ``but, after
all, the thing should be susceptible of some
form of proof to our present senses.''
``And so it is,'' said he. ``Come to-morrow
with me, and you shall see and hear for yourself.''
``I will,'' said I, ``if the doctor will lend
me the ambulance.''
It was so arranged, as the surgeon in
charge was kind enough, as usual, to oblige
me with the loan of his wagon, and two
orderlies to lift my useless trunk.
On the day following I found myself, with
my new comrade, in a house in Coates street,
where a ``circle'' was in the daily habit of
meeting. So soon as I had been comfortably
deposited in an arm-chair, beside a large pine
table, the rest of those assembled seated
themselves, and for some time preserved an
unbroken silence. During this pause I scrutinized
the persons present. Next to me, on
my right, sat a flabby man, with ill-marked,
baggy features and injected eyes. He was,
as I learned afterwards, an eclectic doctor,
who had tried his hand at medicine and several
of its quackish variations, finally settling
down on eclecticism, which I believe professes
to be to scientific medicine what vegetarianism
is to common-sense, every-day dietetics. Next
to him sat a female-authoress, I think, of
two somewhat feeble novels, and much pleasanter
to look at than her books. She was, I
thought, a good deal excited at the prospect
of spiritual revelations. Her neighbor was a
pallid, care-worn young woman, with very
red lips, and large brown eyes of great
beauty. She was, as I learned afterwards,
a magnetic patient of the doctor, and had
deserted her husband, a master mechanic, to
follow this new light. The others were, like
myself, strangers brought hither by mere
curiosity. One of them was a lady in deep
black, closely veiled. Beyond her, and
opposite to me, sat the sergeant, and next to
him the medium, a man named Brink. He
wore a good deal of jewelry, and had large
black side-whiskers--a shrewd-visaged, large-
nosed, full-lipped man, formed by nature to
appreciate the pleasant things of sensual
existence.
Before I had ended my survey, he turned
to the lady in black, and asked if she wished
to see any one in the spirit-world.
She said, ``Yes,'' rather feebly.
``Is the spirit present?'' he asked. Upon
which two knocks were heard in affirmation.
``Ah!'' said the medium, ``the name is--it is
the name of a child. It is a male child. It
is--''
``Alfred!'' she cried. ``Great Heaven! My
child! My boy!''
On this the medium arose, and became
strangely convulsed. ``I see,'' he said--``I
see--a fair-haired boy. I see blue eyes--I
see above you, beyond you--'' at the same
time pointing fixedly over her head.
She turned with a wild start. ``Where--
whereabouts?''
``A blue-eyed boy,'' he continued, ``over
your head. He cries--he says, `Mama,
mama!' ''
The effect of this on the woman was
unpleasant. She stared about her for a moment,
and exclaiming, ``I come--I am coming,
Alfy!'' fell in hysterics on the floor.
Two or three persons raised her, and aided
her into an adjoining room; but the rest
remained at the table, as though well accustomed
to like scenes.
After this several of the strangers were
called upon to write the names of the dead
with whom they wished to communicate.
The names were spelled out by the agency
of affirmative knocks when the correct letters
were touched by the applicant, who was
furnished with an alphabet-card upon which
he tapped the letters in turn, the medium,
meanwhile, scanning his face very keenly.
With some, the names were readily made
out. With one, a stolid personage of
disbelieving type, every attempt failed, until at
last the spirits signified by knocks that he
- essential [i´senʃəl]
a.必需的 n.要素，要点 (初中英语单词) - nervous [´nə:vəs] a.神经的；神经过敏的 (初中英语单词)
- system [´sistəm] n.系统，体系，制度 (初中英语单词)
- absent [´æbsənt, əb´sent] a.不在的 vt.使缺席 (初中英语单词)
- capable [´keipəbəl] a.有能力；能干的 (初中英语单词)
- destruction [di´strʌkʃən] n.破坏，毁灭 (初中英语单词)
- diminish [di´miniʃ] v.减小，缩小 (初中英语单词)
- conclusion [kən´klu:ʒən] n.结束；结论；推论 (初中英语单词)
- economy [i´kɔnəmi] n.经济；机制；组织 (初中英语单词)
- properly [´prɔpəli] ad.适当地；严格地 (初中英语单词)
- sensation [sen´seiʃən] n.感觉；轰动；轰动一时 (初中英语单词)
- impression [im´preʃən] n.印刷；印象；效果 (初中英语单词)
- grateful [´greitful] a.感谢的；令人愉快的 (初中英语单词)
- spoken [´spəukən] speak的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- constantly [´kɔnstəntli] ad.经常地；不断地 (初中英语单词)
- wretched [´retʃid] a.可怜的；倒霉的 (初中英语单词)
- neighboring [´neibəriŋ] a.邻近的；接壤的 (初中英语单词)
- feeble [´fi:bəl] a.虚弱的，无力的 (初中英语单词)
- emotional [i´məuʃənəl] a.易动感情的；情感的 (初中英语单词)
- circle [´sə:kəl] n.圆圈 v.环绕；盘旋 (初中英语单词)
- eternal [i´tə:nəl] a.永远的；永恒的 (初中英语单词)
- delicate [´delikət] a.精美的；微妙的 (初中英语单词)
- useless [´ju:sləs] a.无用的，无价值的 (初中英语单词)
- scientific [,saiən´tifik] a.科学(上)的 (初中英语单词)
- spiritual [´spiritʃuəl] a.精神(上)的；神圣的 (初中英语单词)
- mechanic [mi´kænik] n.技工 a.手工的 (初中英语单词)
- hither [´hiðə] ad.到此处 (初中英语单词)
- medium [´mi:diəm] n.中间；平均 a.中等的 (初中英语单词)
- survey [´sə:vei] vt.&n.俯瞰；审视；测量 (初中英语单词)
- readily [´redili] ad.乐意地；容易地 (初中英语单词)
- minimum [´miniməm] n.最小量 a.最小的 (高中英语单词)
- consciousness [´kɔnʃəsnis] n.意识；觉悟；知觉 (高中英语单词)
- lessen [´lesən] v.减少；缩小 (高中英语单词)
- commission [kə´miʃən] n.委任(状) vt.委任 (高中英语单词)
- comprehend [,kɔmpri´hend] vt.了解；领会；包含 (高中英语单词)
- sergeant [´sɑ:dʒənt] n.警官；军士 (高中英语单词)
- battery [´bætəri] n.炮兵连；炮台；电池 (高中英语单词)
- earthly [´ə:θli] a.地球的；世俗的 (高中英语单词)
- converse [´kɔnvə:s] n.交谈 a.相反的 (高中英语单词)
- repeated [ri´pi:tid] a.反复的；重复的 (高中英语单词)
- surgeon [´sə:dʒən] n.外科医生；军医 (高中英语单词)
- learned [´lə:nid] a.有学问的，博学的 (高中英语单词)
- jewelry [´dʒu:əlri] n.珠宝(饰物) (高中英语单词)
- applicant [´æplikənt] n.请求者；申请人 (高中英语单词)
- vitality [vai´tæliti] n.活力；生命力；效力 (英语四级单词)
- objective [ɔb´dʒektiv] a.客观的 n.目标 (英语四级单词)
- upside [´ʌpsaid] n.上边，上段，上部 (英语四级单词)
- refined [ri´faind] a.精制的；文雅的 (英语四级单词)
- magnetic [mæg´netik] a.磁(性)的 (英语四级单词)
- personage [´pə:sənidʒ] n.名流；人物，角色 (英语四级单词)
- inactive [in´æktiv] a.不活动的 (英语六级单词)
- individuality [,individʒu´æləti] n.个性；特征 (英语六级单词)
- condensation [,kɔnden´seiʃən] n.冷凝(凝聚)(作用) (英语六级单词)
- thinly [θiŋli] ad.薄地；稀疏地 (英语六级单词)
- enthusiast [in´θju:ziæst] n.热衷者，渴慕者 (英语六级单词)
- ethereal [i´θiəriəl] a.飘渺的；稀薄的 (英语六级单词)
- susceptible [sə´septəbəl] a.敏感的；易受影响的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
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