The spirit-rapper; an autobiography
is blind to the perception of Christian truth, but sharp-sighted to
whatever is requisite to prevent that truth from making its way to the
heart. It sees very clearly what it must concede, if it accepts Mr.
Merton’s doctrine; and therefore, with all its energy and astuteness, it
insists on explaining the demonic phenomena on natural principles, or on
denying them outright.
But detached from the world by experience of its hollowness, and by my
mortal illness, I became less disposed to resist the grace of God, and
in some measure prepared to listen with candor to Mr. Merton’s
reasoning. I very soon became convinced that I had really fallen into
the error of calling good evil, and evil good. I had really substituted
Satan for God, and in doing so had committed the precise error the
Christian clergy had always laid to my charge. I saw that they had been
right in advocating what I called, with Priscilla, the system of
repression, and I wrong in advocating the contrary system. I saw that,
as a reasonable man, I must abandon the whole order of ideas which I had
cherished in my Satanic pride and lust, and embrace that order of ideas
which I had hitherto rejected as false and mischievous. There was no
room for compromise. I must say decidedly either “Good Lord” or “Good
Devil,” and as I could no longer say the latter, I must say the former.
Many people, knowing my order of thinking when I was well and in the
world, may blame a change so complete and so universal; but only because
they are people of confused, incomplete, and disjointed thought, whose
views are always dim, obscure, and incoherent, and who can never
understand the operations of a mind that reduces all its views to their
fundamental principle, to a clear, well-defined, and self-coherent
whole, so that any change at all must be change of principle, and
involve an entire change of system. Philosophical and logical minds may
err, but in their premises, not in their conclusions from them. No
question with them is ever a question of detail, and none ever turns on
a collateral issue. If they start from infidel premises, they will come
to the conclusion that Satan is God, and adjust their theory of the
universe accordingly. If they assume, as their point of departure, that
liberty is in the absence of all restraint, and that liberty in this
sense is good, they must come to the conclusion so earnestly insisted
upon by my instructress Priscilla, and of course reject that whole order
of ideas which asserts the need of law, the utility of government, or
the necessity of restraint. That, in doing so, they go against common
sense, they are as well aware as are their opponents; but that fact
cannot move them, for the legitimate conclusion from it, if their
premises are right, is that so-called common sense is wrong, and needs
to be corrected. If the common opinions, doctrines, or judgments of
mankind are against them, they are indemnified by finding a common
feeling, a secret but real feeling, of all men in their favor; for the
very fact that restraint is necessary, proves that perverse nature
demands, when left to itself, universal liberty or unbounded license.
They have but to adopt the doctrine of the innate purity and sanctity of
nature, to call this natural feeling a pure and holy instinct, and bid
us follow nature, in order to make out their complete logical
justification. They are simply consequent, to use a logical term; and
their opponents, who accept their premises but deny their conclusions,
are inconsequent.
The common run of men, who oppose this class of thinkers and
speculators, not by a complete and coherent system constructed on the
principle of law and authority, and who are constantly saying Good Lord
and Good Devil, Good Devil and Good Lord, trying forever to conciliate
both at the same time, and endeavoring with all their might to serve
both God and Mammon, which He who “spake as never man spake” declares to
be impossible, whenever they are hard pushed, cry out against them as
logic-choppers, hair-splitters, narrow-minded system-mongers, and
represent them as wanting in broad and comprehensive views, in liberal
and generous feelings, as mere theorists, destitute of plain, practical
common sense. What is really a merit in them, is denounced as folly or
crime, and the whole pack,
“Tray, Blanche, Sweetheart, little dogs and all,”
are let loose against them. This is wrong. Either our feeling, our
sensitive and affective nature, is to be made subordinate and
subservient to our reason, or our reason is to be subordinated and made
subservient to feeling. To attempt to maintain them as two equal,
coördinate, and mutually independent powers, after the manner of the
Gallicans in relation to Church and State, is only to prepare the way
for internal anarchy and disorder. The fool makes reason subservient to
his feelings, emotions, affections, or passions, and as to his proper
manhood, lives as a slave; the wise man subjects these to his reason,
that is, to understanding and will, and lives, moves, and acts as a
freeman.
Now I had one of those minds which reduce their views to system, or to
their fundamental principle. My starting-point, my fundamental principle
was false, and therefore my whole system or theory of the universe was
false. This once discovered, I necessarily embraced the opposing
principle, and as necessarily embraced it in all its legitimate
consequences. I never was so constituted as to be able to strike a
balance between truth and falsehood, or to accept a principle and deny
its consequences. In matters of practice, I can understand, where no
principle is sacrificed, what are called compromises, and I have never
needed to be told that true prudence usually forbids us to push matters
to extremes. When we act, we must consider the practicable, and the
expedient, as far as principle leaves us any discretionary power; but in
asserting principles, in the question between truth and falsehood, right
and wrong, I have always felt it necessary to be on one side or the
other. It ought not therefore to be considered strange that, forced by
Mr. Merton and my own serious reflections to deny that Satan is God, I
should swing round to the other extreme, and assert that God is God; or
that, starting from this bold proposition as a first principle, I should
adjust, or endeavor to adjust my whole order of thought to it. I am
aware that my having done so will, with the mass of my countrymen, bring
reproach upon my memory, and induce some who may cherish a regard for me
to attempt to apologize for my want of inconsistency and incoherency;
but, happily, the praises or the censures of men cannot affect me any
longer, and I shall soon be where they cannot reach me.
Brought back to an intellectual conviction of the truth of Christianity,
my trouble increased; for if Christianity be true, it is not simply the
revelation of a truth to be believed, but also of a truth to be
practised—of a law to be obeyed. I had not obeyed that law; I had
deliberately, systematically violated all its precepts for years, and
had taught others to do the same. I had fallen under its condemnation,
and had incurred its severest penalties. The prospect that now opened
before me was not pleasing. There was a vision of blackness and despair.
The judgment I derided, the heaven I had scorned, the hell I had braved
or treated as a fiction, were all realities. I must soon appear before
my Judge, loaded with crimes and sins innumerable, and of the blackest
dye. It was impossible to imagine one more wicked or guilty than myself.
I could plead nothing in excuse or extenuation of my guilt. I had proved
myself the enemy of my race, a foul-mouthed and black-hearted rebel
against God, my sovereign, who had done nothing to me but load me with
benefits. It was no pleasant thought. I had consorted with devils. I had
chosen them for my associates, and what more fitting than that I should
be left to my own choice, to reap the fruits of my own doings, and be
doomed to dwell eternally with them in hell? It was what I deserved,
what immaculate Justice might well inflict. The thought was not to be
endured.
I had made a covenant with death. I had entered into an agreement with
hell, and had by a solemn pact given myself to the devil, and who had
ever heard that such a one had ever received grace to repent? Had I not
blasphemed the Holy Ghost, committed the unpardonable sin? My accomplice
had been rescued, it was true, but she had been less guilty than I. She
had been deceived, seduced by the wiles of the serpent, and struggled to
break the meshes he had cast around her as soon as she fully understood
their real character. Guilty she certainly had been, but there was some
limit to her guilt. I can hardly say that I was deceived. From the first
I suspected the truth, and when I remained blind, I remained so
wilfully. I had acted deliberately;—not from the strength of feeling, or
the heat of passion, but coolly, from calculation, with full assent.
There was a great difference between us. What hope, then, remained for
me?
The world will laugh at me for all this, and wag their heads at the
mighty magician starting back with fear of death and dread of hell. The
world has no faith. If it can make sure of this life, it thinks we may
jump, as Macbeth proposed, that which is to come. But the world is
nothing to me now, and I am not moved by its mockeries. I am not ashamed
to own my fears. I fear not dying. I fear what may come after death. I
fear the last judgment. I fear hell. I fear being condemned to dwell
forever with the damned. The salvation of my soul to me now is the
great, the all-absorbing question—the question of questions.
Mr. Merton continued to visit me, and to unfold to me the scheme of
Christian Redemption, and assured me that, if I willed it, there was
salvation even for me, for Christ had died for all, had made ample
satisfaction on the cross for the sins of the whole world, and that
great as my sins were, they were surpassed by the Divine Mercy. He
instructed me in what I had to believe, and in what I had to do. The
baptismal waters were poured over me, and I was confirmed by the Holy
Chrism, and I hope that my pact with Satan is broken, and my soul
delivered. But I know not whether it be so or not; I know not whether I
deserve love or hatred. I still fear and tremble, but will not despair.
I am trying, as far as in my power, to undo the wrong I have done, and
have dictated with that view these my confessions, which will see the
light as soon as may be after I am no more.
All are kind to me. My friends, those who have known me in my pride and
wickedness, strange to say, do not desert me; and those I love best are
constantly near me, and do all they can to relieve my pain, and to
strengthen my good resolutions. Priscilla is not unfrequently my nurse,
and James is most kind and affectionate to me. If human aid or sympathy
could avail me, I should have nothing to fear. But here I lie waiting my
departure. How it will fare with me hereafter, God only knows. His will
be done.
My story is told. My confessions, as far as I can make them to the
public, are made. Let no man see in me an example to be followed, or
regard me otherwise than as a miserable wretch who, in manhood and
health, abused all God’s gifts, and has nothing to relieve his character
from utter detestation but a late death-bed repentance. My life can
serve as a beacon; let it so serve. Yet I beg all whom I have wronged to
forgive me, for I would, as far as possible, die in peace with all the
world. I have nothing to forgive, for I have received no wrongs. I have
done wrong to the world, but I have suffered no wrong from it. I cannot
ask that my memory should be cherished, for it deserves only to be