In striving to compass such high spiritual knowledge, by merely natural means, he necessarily failed. In one of his books, written several years after, when a brighter light had dawned upon his mind, he says: “Many in the learned world have laboured in investigating the soul, but as they knew nothing of the spiritual world, and of the state of man after death, they could not do otherwise than construct hypotheses, not respecting the soul’s nature, or its operation on the body. Of the soul’s nature, they could have no other idea than as of something most pure in ether, and of its continent as of ether. Now having such a conception of the soul, and yet knowing that the soul acts on the body, and produces everything in it that has relation to sense and motion, therefore they labored, as we before observed, to investigate the soul’s operation on the body, which some said was effected by influx, and some by harmony. But these means discovered nothing in which the mind desirous of seeing the ground of things, can acquiesce.” We have in these sentences the cause of the fruitlessness of his own labors at this period, in their highest aims. They formed, however, a part of that providential discipline which was fitting him for his future office.
Fruitless though these works necessarily were, in their highest aim, yet in lower ends they are treasure-houses of thought and suggestion. Taking for his basis the dry facts of the anatomists, he proceeds to clothe them with life and comeliness. He shows how part is bound to part in the human system, and fills the cold details of science with a warm and human interest. Emerson well says: “The ‘Animal Kingdom’ is a book of wonderful merits. It was written with the highest end, to put science and soul, so long estranged from each other, at one again. It was the anatomist’s account of the human body in the highest style of poetry; and nothing can exceed the bold and brilliant treatment of a subject usually so dry and repulsive.”
It was hardly possible for books to be ushered into the world to die more quietly than did these physiological treatises. Slightly noticed in a few catalogues and reviews of that day, they were laid on the shelf, and reposed in dust and forgetfulness for a full century. Called to other thoughts and higher labors, their author was arrested midway in his plans; and ceasing to exist behind his books, and by his life, conversation, and activity, to keep up the public interest, the world soon forgot their existence. But their worth has been their preservative; and now we behold their resurrection, and slow, but certain, growth into acceptance and fame. Translated by Wilkinson, and enriched by him with prefaces which Emerson describes as “throwing all the contemporary philosophy of England into the shade,” they are now placed before the world, and, in their excellence serve to manifest the profound understanding and genius of their author.
In 1745, Swedenborg terminated his long series of scientific works, by the publication, in London, of “The Worship and Love of God.” This book is an embodiment, in a story, of its author’s scientific doctrines. In a connected narrative, it treats of the origin of the earth, the birth, infancy, and love, of Adam; and of the soul in its state of integrity, in the image of God. It is a book of which little need be said, as it was probably written as much for an exercise of fancy, as with any serious intent. Cast into shade, as it is, by the brighter light of his after knowledge, it remains to mark the point of intellectual development at which Swedenborg had at this time arrived; and in this respect it will always have a strong interest to those who delight in tracing the growth and education of his mind.
CHAPTER VII.
His Life, as a Man of Science, ends.
The biographer of Swedenborg can feel no difficulty in distributing under proper heads the principal events of his life. It divides itself so distinctly into two parts, at this juncture, that, between his past and his future there is what he himself would call a “discrete degree.”
In 1745, when the merely scientific phase of Swedenborg’s life closed, he had arrived at the mature age of fifty-seven years. As we have seen, he had, from early manhood, united an active and practical, with a deeply philosophic, life. An earnest student of nature, he had never become so engrossed in thought as to forget the end of all thought—the improvement and the happiness of mankind. His long series of scientific works had gained him a wide-spread reputation, and wherever he went, he was hailed as a friend and brother by the thoughtful and philosophical. In Sweden, as before said, he was well connected; and had he been desirous to live at home, and immerse himself in the cares and politics of his country, he might have reached the highest offices and honors which royalty could confer. At the age of fifty-seven, with Swedenborg’s attainments, success, and fame, a worldly man might have been content. Such a one would, probably, have taken his ease, reposed upon the past, and have been content with the competence of comfort and reputation which he had attained. But Swedenborg was a man of a very different character. Love of ease formed no part of his constitution, and if he had not been led by the hand of Providence to the contemplation of the spiritual world and its glorious realities, he would, to the end of his life, have remained a zealous and single-eyed seeker after the truths of the natural world.
The annals of science do not furnish an instance of any one who surpassed Swedenborg in that humility of spirit, and that simple desire for truth, which is the crowning grace and glory of the true philosopher. Although, at times, he propounded views which he knew were antagonistic to the ideas of some of the leading savans of his time, yet we never find him getting angry or attempting to scold the world into belief with him. He simply lays down what he believes to be the truth; and with the most charming modesty trusts for its acceptance among men, to its agreement with reason and facts. Full of this trustful spirit we find him saying in the “Principia:” “In writing the present work, I have not aimed at the applause of the learned world, nor at the acquisition of a name or popularity. To me, it is a matter of indifference whether I win the favorable opinion of every one, or of no one; whether I gain much or no commendation. Such things are not objects of regard to one whose mind is bent on truth and true philosophy. Should I, therefore, gain the assent or approbation of others, I shall receive it only as a confirmation of my having pursued the truth. I have no wish to persuade any one to lay aside the principles of those illustrious and talented authors who have adorned the world, and in place of their principles to adopt mine. For this reason it is, that I have not made mention so much as of one of them, or even hinted at his name, lest I should injure his feelings, or seem to impugn his sentiments, or to derogate from the praise which others bestow upon him. If the principles I have advanced have more of truth in them than those which are advocated by others; if they are truly philosophical, and accordant with the phenomena of nature, the assent of the public will follow in due time, of its own accord; and in this case should I fail to gain the assent of those whose minds, being prepossessed by other principles, can no longer exercise an impartial judgment, still I have those with me who are able to distinguish the true from the untrue, if not in the present, at least in some future age. Truth is unique, and will speak for itself. Should any one undertake to impugn my sentiments, I have no wish to oppose him; but in case he desire it, I shall be happy to explain my principles and my reasons more at large. What need, however, is there of words? Let the thing speak for itself. If what I have said be true, why should I be eager to defend it? Surely truth can defend itself. If what I have said be false, it would be a degrading and silly task to defend it. Why then should I make myself an enemy of any one, or place myself in opposition to any one?” And again, in the “Economy,” he remarks: “Of what consequence is it to me that I should persuade any one to embrace my opinions? Let his own reason persuade him. I do not undertake this work for the sake of honor or emolument; both of which I shun rather than seek, because they disquiet the mind, and because I am content with my lot; but for the sake of truth, which alone is immortal.” These are long extracts, but they are well worthy of citation, alike for their own intrinsic truth and beauty, and for the illustration they afford of the spirit and sentiments of their author.