Key to the Science of Theology

by Parley P. Pratt

In a few years he may become familiar with the geography and history of the island or continent on which he lives. He may even begin to aspire after the knowledge of other climes, and to conceive or conjecture that beyond the limits of the almost infinite expanse of waters, things and beings may exist after the similitude of his own sphere. He longs to overcome the physical barriers, which confine him in so limited a sphere, and thus enlarge his acquaintance, his social feelings, his friendship, his affections and his scientific knowledge.

So boundless and varied is the field, so complicated are the obstacles to be surmounted, so vast the preparations, improvements and inventions to be brought into requisition, that, after ages and generations have exhausted their energies, much is still left to be done—much which can only be done by the progress and extension of those modern triumphs of art, by which the elements—the fire, the wind, the water, the lightning, submit to the control of man, and become his chariot, his bearer of despatches. By these means the globe we occupy will soon be explored, the limits, boundaries and resources of every dark corner be clearly defined and understood.

Man already moves over the surface of the earth at the rate of fifty, sixty, and even ninety miles per hour, and still he aspires. He contemplates making the air his chariot, and wafting himself through the open firmament at the rate of, perhaps, a thousand miles per hour. Suppose he attains to this, what then? Will the great, the infinite principle within him be satisfied? No. He lifts his eyes to the contemplation of those myriads of shining orbs on high. He knows by actual admeasurement that some of them are much larger than the planet he occupies. He also knows by analogy that eternal riches are there; that a boundless store of element and resources is there; that they are treasured there for the use, comfort, convenience, and enjoyment, of intellectual and physical beings—beings, for aught he knows, of his own species, and connected with him by kindred ties, or by the law of universal sympathy and affection. He has reason to believe that there is gold and silver, that there are precious stones, and houses, and cities, and gardens. That there are walks of pleasure, and fountains, forests, brooks, and rivers of delight; that there are bosoms fraught with life and joy, and swelling with all the tender sensibilities of a pure, holy and never-ending affection.

Why, then, should his aspirations not reach forth, his mind expand, his bosom swell with love, and his heart beat with the boundless, fathomless infinitude of thought, of feeling, and of love? Why not be noble and boundless in charity, like the God whom he calls his father? Why does he not rise from his groveling sphere in this small island, which floats in the ocean of space, as a small black speck, amid the numberless shining orbs? The reason is obvious; it is not for the want of noble aspirations; it is not for the want of grand conceptions; it is not for the lack of will. It is because the body is chained, imprisoned, confined here, by the operation or attraction of surrounding elements, which man has not yet discovered the means to control. It may be said that the powers of earth enslave him, and chain him down, beyond the possibility or hope of escape.

Reader, in order to illustrate this subject try an experiment on your own physical and mental powers. For instance; will your arm to move, and it will instantly obey you. Will your body to go three miles, and it will obey you as fast as it can; perhaps in one hour it will have accomplished the journey assigned to it by your will.

But tie your hand behind you, and then will it to move up and down, forward and backward, and it will make the effort to obey you, but cannot, because it is confined. Chain your body in a dungeon, bolt and bar the door, and will it to go to a certain place, and it will not obey you, because it is physically incapable.

Unchain this body, provide the means of conveyance at the rate of a mile per minute, the body, at the bidding of the will, will then go the three miles in three minutes.

Now, if it were possible to overcome the resisting elements, so as to increase the speed of conveyance for your body—that is, if there were no resisting element to be overcome, your will might dictate, and your body would move through actual space with the speed of light, or electricity. There is no apparent limit to the speed attainable by the body when unchained, set free from the elements which now enslave it, and dictated by the will.

"The lightning on its wiry way would lag behind.
The sun-ray drag its slow length along."

This immense velocity of locomotion, as applied to a body of flesh and bones, or of material elements, may at first thought, strike the mind as being contrary to the known laws of physical motion.