Spiritist Review - Journal of Psychological Studies - 1867

Allan Kardec

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Dr. Claudius
Parisian Society, medium Mr. Morin, in spontaneous somnambulism



A doctor, to whom we will refer as Dr. Claudius, known to some of our colleagues, and whose life had been a profession of materialistic faith, died some time ago of an organic illness that he knew was incurable. Called, undoubtedly, by the thoughts of those who had known him and who wished to know his position, he spontaneously manifested himself through Mr. Morin, one of the mediums of the Society, in a state of spontaneous somnambulism. This phenomenon has already occurred several times, through this medium and others, falling asleep in the spiritual sleep.



The Spirit that manifests this way, thus takes hold of the person of the medium, uses his organs as if he were still alive. Then, it is no longer a cold, written communication; it is the expression, the pantomime, the inflection of the voice of the individual that we have before our eyes.



It was under these conditions that Dr. Claudius manifested himself, without having been mentioned. His communication, reported verbatim below, is instructive in more than one way, mainly in that it depicts the feelings that stir him up; doubt is still his torment; the uncertainty of his situation plunges him into a terrible perplexity, and that is his punishment. This is one more example that confirms what we have seen many times, in similar cases.



After a dissertation on another subject, the absorbed medium concentrates for a few moments, then as if painfully awakening, expresses himself this way, speaking to himself:



Ah! Still a system! … What is there true and false in human existence, in creation, in the creature, in the creator? … Does the thing exist? … Is matter really true? ... Science, is it the truth? ... Knowledge, an acquisition? ... Does the soul ... does the soul exist?



The creator, the divinity, isn't that a myth? … But what am I saying? … Why these blasphemies multiplied? … Why, in the face of matter, can’t I believe, O my God, can’t I see, feel, and understand?



Matter! … Matter! … But, yes, everything is matter… Everything is matter!!! … and yet, the invocation to God reached my mouth! … Why then did I say: O my God? … Why this word since everything is matter? … Am I? … Isn't it an echo of my thought that resonates, and that can be listened to? … Weren't these the last tolling of the bell that I rang?



Matter! … Yes, matter exists, I can feel it! … Matter exists; I touched it! … but! … all is not matter, and yet… yet, everything has been auscultated, felt, touched, analyzed, dissected, fiber by fiber, and nothing! … Nothing but flesh, always matter, that as soon as the great movement was stopped, it stopped also! ... The movement stops, the air no longer arrives ... But! ... if everything is matter, why doesn’t it move anymore, since everything that existed when it was alive, still exists? ... And yet ... it no longer exists! ...



But yes, I am! … It is not all over with the body! … In truth… am I really dead? … Yet this rodent that I fed, that I took care of with my hands, it has not forgiven me! … It is true; I am dead! … But this disease that I saw being born… grow… did it have a soul?



Ah! the doubt! always the doubt! … in response to all my secret aspirations! … But, if I am, oh my God, if I am, … ah! make me recognize myself! … make me foresee you! … because, if I am, what a long succession of blasphemies! … what a long denial of your wisdom, your goodness, your justice! … What an immense responsibility of pride have I assumed on my head, oh my God! … But yes, I still have an I, I who did not want to admit anything, apart from what could be touched… I doubted your wisdom, oh my God! it is right that I doubt! … Yes, I doubted; doubt pursues me and punishes me.



Oh! a thousand deaths rather than the doubt in which I live! … I see, I meet old friends… and yet, they have all died before! … Méry! my poor madman! ... but is that rather me? ... does the epithet of madman fit to his personality? - Let’s see; what is madness? ...



Madness! ... madness! ... decidedly, madness is universal!!! all men are mad to a greater or lesser degree ... but his madness, was it not wisdom, alongside my own madness? ... To him, dreams, images, aspirations to the beyond… but, it is justice! … Did I know this stranger who, unexpectedly, presents himself to me? … No, no, nothingness does not exist, because if it did exist, this incarnation of denial, of crimes, of infamy, would not torture me like this! … I see, but I see too late, all the evil that I have done! … Seeing it today, and repairing it, little by little, perhaps I will be worthy of a day to see and do good! ...



Systems! … Proud systems, products of human brains, this is where you are leading us! … In one, it is the divinity; in the other, the material and sensual divinity; in another, nothingness, nothing! … Nothingness, material divinity, spiritual divinity, are these words? … Oh! I ask to see, my God! … and if I exist, if you exist, grant me the favor that I ask of you; accept my prayer, for I beg you, O my God, to show me if I exist, if I am!… (These last words were said with a heart-breaking tone)




Observation: If Mr. Claudius persevered his incredulity to the end, it was not the means of enlightening himself that he lacked; as a doctor, he necessarily had a cultivated mind, a developed intelligence, a knowledge above the vulgar, and yet that was not enough for him. In his meticulous investigations of still life and living nature, he did not foresee God, he did not foresee the soul! Seeing the effects, he could not go back to the cause or, to put it better, he had imagined a cause in his own way, and his scholarly pride prevented him from confessing to himself, especially from confessing in the face of the world that he could have been wrong. A circumstance worthy of note, he died of an illness that he knew, by his very science, to be incurable; this ailment that he was treating was a permanent warning; the pain it was causing him was a voice that kept screaming at him to think about the future. However, nothing could succeed over his obstinacy; he kept his eyes closed until the last moment. Could this man ever have become a Spiritist? Certainly not. Neither facts nor reasonings could have prevailed upon an opinion that was established a priori, and from which he was resolved not to deviate. He was one of those men who do not want to face the facts, because disbelief is innate in them, as belief in others; the sense by which they will, one day, be able to assimilate spiritual principles has not yet emerged; they are to spirituality what the born blind is to light: they do not understand it.



Intelligence is, therefore, not sufficient to lead on the path of truth; it is like a horse that leads us, and that follows the route that we have outlined; if this road leads to a quagmire, it precipitates the rider there; but, at the same time, it gives him the means to stand up.



Having Mr. Claudius voluntarily died as a spiritual blind, it is not surprising that he did not immediately see the light; that he does not recognize himself in a world that he did not want to study; that dead with the idea of nothingness, he doubts his own existence; pungent uncertainty that is his torment. He fell into the abyss where he pushed his carrier-intelligence. But he can get up from this fall, and he already seems to catch a glimpse of a light that, if he follows it, will lead him to the port. It is in his laudable efforts that he must be supported by prayer; once he has enjoyed the blessings of spiritual light, he will abhor the darkness of materialism; and if he ever returns to earth, it will be with intuitions and aspirations quite different from those he had in his last existence.



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