He had already taught men how to talk, and it now became necessary, and indeed spiritually incumbent upon him, to teach them how to live. He accordingly announced himself, forthwith, as Revelator-in-Chief of the spiritual mysteries of the universe. Every reader will probably remember those flaming programmes of lectures which appeared, by the half column, in a New York paper, for a long period, daily, between ’43 and ’45. Mendacious impudence never vaulted higher! Our Spiritual Professor was in his glory now.
An illustrious man lived once in Sweden. He was humble, pure and firm. His astonishing works on scientific subjects left the mind of his period far behind him, utterly confounded by his direct and stringent elucidation of the most subtle of the purely physical laws. It seemed a miracle to them; they found their professional accuracy so far surpassed, that they durst not do more than wonder. Work after work of this amazing intellect came forth, dressed in a language, while handling such themes, common to the world of science.
Then came a sudden change, and this vast mind, which heretofore had dealt in simple demonstration with mankind, threw down its compass and its squares, and, in the language of humility, proclaimed itself a Medium. The God of Jacob and humanity had revealed himself to him, not in the burning bush of mystery, but in the lustrous quiet of a calm repose. He had talked scientific truth before, but now he spoke of spiritual things—a chosen Medium between God and man! His theme was far beyond all science. We have nothing to do with his wide postulate; his name was too sublime and venerable among the patriarchs of mankind, for me to speak of it otherwise in this connection, than in disgust and loathing of the profanation to which it has been subjected, in our country, by monkeyish and parrot-tongued ignoramuses.
Our learned and sagacious Professor of Elocution, happening to stumble upon some of the earlier translations of the works of Swedenborg, seized upon them with great avidity, and, as he had now learned to read without spelling the words out loud, he managed to get them by heart with most surprising facility, and, to the astonishment of Jew and Gentile, suddenly proclaimed himself an apostle of the new church.
To be sure, when one considers this undertaking in the abstract, it was rather a serious one; one indeed that would have appalled most men, as the works of Swedenborg really consisted of some forty-odd huge volumes, written in Latin, not a line of which the Professor could translate; and the hand-books he had fallen upon were merely translations of introductory compends. What though the field was one of the most prodigious in human learning—what though the themes were the highest that could occupy mortal contemplation—what though the patient diligence of an ordinary lifetime would scarce suffice intelligent persons for the studious comprehension of the truths taught by this wonderful man? it was all the same to the Professor; and, indeed, instead of being discouraged, he was rather encouraged, by the magnitude of the undertaking! An exponent of Swedenborg! Well, why not? He could spell words in three syllables!
Big with the prodigious discovery of his own capabilities and the new mine of doctrinal science, the learned Professor rushed precipitately into the ever-extended arms of his Patron saint, the nourisher and cherisher of empirics and empiricism. And why should he not be so, forsooth? It was cheap, not “too much learning,” that had made him “mad” as well! He too had found it to his account to scorn the decencies of a thorough education, and from a printer’s devil, with a mind that had fed upon scraps and paragraphs, had doggedly risen, through the help of the familiar demon of labor, which possessed him, into this position of Patron to all new-comers—provided they bore “new-lights” and coppers!
It mattered little to this self-constituted and unscrupulous dignitary whether the theme was new to the world, or only to himself; the latter was most likely to be the case with one who had probably never read a dozen books consecutively through in his life, and who, from gross physique, dress, habits, and mental idiosyncrasies, was necessarily incapacitated for comprehending the fine and subtle relations of truth; who, even with the sovereign aid of the new-light Panacea, bran-bread, had seemed to be capable of digesting but a fragment of truth at a time, and that fragment, too, gobbled without the slightest regard for its relations to other truths.
Here was a happy appreciation with a vengeance!—was it knave of fool, or fool of knave—which? The question is interesting! At all events, the results were the same, so far as the public were concerned. It was forthwith announced that the Patron Saint, like some patient and watchful astronomer, sweeping the blue abyss of heaven with ever-constant glass, had suddenly discovered a new luminary—it certainly had a fiery tail, but whether it was going to prove a genuine comet or not, let the following announcement bear witness:
“Professor Boanerges Phospher lectures to-night in the Tabernacle, which it is thought may possibly contain some small portion, at least, of the enormous crowd which will of course assemble to hear his profound and luminous exposition of the mysteries of the universe. The doctrine of correspondences, as propounded by the learned Professor, reveals the true solution of all problems which affect the relations of mankind to the spiritual world. Indeed, his enormous research and unappreciable profundity have at length enabled him to solve the problem of the universe, which he, with the most luminous demonstration, will educate even the infant mind to comprehend with sufficient clearness, in five easy lessons, or lectures on every other night, at one dollar each. The whole subject of man, in his eternal relations to God, to the spiritual world, and to the earth, will be mathematically expounded to the full comprehension of all.”
Here follows the programme: