The First Algernon Blackwood MEGAPACK ®. Algernon Blackwood
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apparatus got a bit mixed up, I suspect, for one moment he cursed me for asking ‘suspicious questions,’ and the next sneered sarcastically at me for boiling over with a sudden inspirational fancy of my own. He never gave himself away completely, and left me to guess that he made that Hospital place too hot to hold him. He was a wonderful bird. But every time I aimed at him I shot wide and hit a cloud. Meantime he peppered me all over—one minute urging me into closer intimacy with my Russian—his cosmic being, his Urmensch type—so that he might study my destruction, and half an hour later doing his utmost apparently to protect me from him and keep me sane and balanced.” His laugh rang out over the roofs.
“The net result,” he added, his face tilted toward the stars as though he said it to the open sky rather than to me, “was that he pushed me forwards into the greatest adventure life has ever brought to me. I believe, I verily believe that sometimes, there were moments of unconsciousness—semi-consciousness perhaps—when I really did leave my body—caught away as Moses, or was it Job or Paul?—into a Third Heaven, where I touched a bit of Reality that fairly made me reel with happiness and wonder.”
“Well, but Fechner—and his great idea?” I brought him back.
He tossed his cigarette down into the back-garden that fringed the Park, leaning over to watch its zigzag flight of flame.
“Is simply this,” he replied, “—‘that not alone the earth but the whole Universe in its different spans and wave-lengths, is everywhere alive and conscious.’ He regards the spiritual as the rule in Nature, not the exception. the professorial philosophers have no vision. Fechner towers above them as a man of vision. He dared to imagine. He made discoveries—whew!!” he whistled, “and such discoveries!”
“To which the scholars and professors of today,” I suggested, “would think reply not even called for?”
“Ah,” he laughed, “the solemn-faced Intellectuals with their narrow outlook, their atrophied vision, and their long words! Perhaps! But in Fechner’s universe there is room for every grade of spiritual being between man and God. the vaster orders of mind go with the vaster orders of body. He believes passionately in the Earth Soul, he treats her as our special guardian angel; we can pray to the Earth as men pray to their saints. the Earth has a Collective Consciousness. We rise upon the Earth as wavelets rise upon the ocean. We grow out of her soil as leaves grow from a tree. Sometimes we find our bigger life and realize that we are parts of her bigger collective consciousness, but as a rule we are aware only of our separateness, as individuals. These moments of cosmic consciousness are rare. They come with love, sometimes with pain, music may bring them too, but above all—landscape and the beauty of Nature! Men are too petty, conceited, egoistic to welcome them, clinging for dear life to their precious individualities.”
He drew breath and then went on: “‘Fechner likens our individual persons on the earth to so many sense-organs of her soul, adding to her perceptive life so long as our own life lasts. She absorbs our perceptions, just as they occur, into her larger sphere of knowledge. When one of us dies, it is as if an eye of the world were closed, for all perceptive contributions from that particular quarter cease.’”
“Go on,” I exclaimed, realizing that he was obviously quoting verbatim fragments from James that he had since pondered over till they had become his own, “Tell me more. It is delightful and very splendid.”
“Yes,” he said, “I’ll go on quick enough, provided you promise me one thing: and that is—to understand that Fechner does not regard the Earth as a sort of big human being. If a being at all, she is a being utterly different from us in kind, as of course we know she is in structure. Planetary beings, as a class, would be totally different from any other beings that we know. He merely protests at the presumption of our insignificant human knowledge in denying some kind of life and consciousness to a form so beautifully and marvelously organized as that of the earth! the heavenly bodies, he holds, are beings superior to men in the scale of life—a vaster order of intelligence altogether. A little two-legged man with his cocksure reason strutting on its tiny brain as the apex of attainment he ridicules. D’ye see, now?”
I gasped, I lit a big pipe—and listened. He went on. This time it was clearly a page from that Hibbert Lecture Stahl had mentioned—the one in which Professor James tries to give some idea of Fechner’s aim and scope, while admitting that he “inevitably does him miserable injustice by summarizing and abridging him.”
“Ages ago the earth was called an animal,” I ventured. “We all know that.”
“But Fechner,” he replied, “insists that a planet is a higher class of being than either man or animal—‘a being whose enormous size requires an altogether different plan of life.’”
“An inhabitant of the ether—?”
“You’ve hit it,” he replied eagerly. “Every element has its own living denizens. Ether, then, also has hers—the globes. ‘The ocean of ether, whose waves are light, has also her denizens—higher by as much as their element is higher, swimming without fins, flying without wings, moving, immense and tranquil, as by a half-spiritual force through the half-spiritual sea which they inhabit,’ sensitive to the slightest pull of one another’s attraction: beings in every way superior to us. Any imagination, you know,” he added, “can play with the idea. It is old as the hills. But this chap showed how and why it could be actually true.”
“This superiority, though?” I queried. “I should have guessed their stage of development lower than ours, rather than higher.”
“Different,” he answered, “different. That’s the point.”
“Ah!” I watched a shooting star dive across our thick, wet atmosphere, and caught myself wondering whether the flash and heat of that hurrying little visitor produced any reaction in this Collective Consciousness of the huge Body whereon we perched and chattered, and upon which later it would fall in finest dust.
“It is by insisting on the differences as well as on the resemblances,” rushed on the excited O’Malley, “that he makes the picture of the earth’s life so concrete. Think a moment. For instance, our animal organization comes from our inferiority. Our need of moving to and fro, of stretching our limbs and bending our bodies, shows only our defect.”
“Defect!” I cried. “But we’re so proud of it!”
“‘What are our legs,’” he laughed, “‘but crutches, by means of which, with restless efforts, we go hunting after the things we have not inside ourselves? the Earth is no such cripple; why should she who already possesses within herself the things we so painfully pursue, have limbs analogous to ours? What need has she of arms, with nothing to reach for? of a neck with no head to carry? of eyes or nose, when she finds her way through space without either, and has the millions of eyes of all her animals to guide their movements on her surface, and all their noses to smell the flowers she grows?’”
“We are literally a part of her, then—projections of her immense life, as it were—one of the projections, at least?”
“Exactly. And just as we are ourselves a part of the earth,” he continued, taking up my thought at once, “so are our organs her organs. ‘She is, as it were, eye and ear over her whole extent—all that we see and hear in separation she sees and hears at once.’” He stood up beside me and spread his hands out to the stars and over the trees and paths of the Park at our feet, where the throngs of men and women walked and talked together in the cool of the evening. His enthusiasm grew as the idea of this German’s towering imagination possessed him.
“‘She brings forth living beings of countless kinds upon her surface, and their multitudinous conscious relations with each other she takes up into her higher and more general conscious life.’”
He leaned over the parapet and drew me to his side. I stared with him at the reflection of London town in the sky, thinking of the glow and heat and restless stir of the great city and of the frantic strivings of its millions for success—money, power, fame, a few, here and there, for spiritual success. the roar of its huge trafficking beat across the night in ugly