1820

VOLUME II

S. CONVERSE, PRINTER

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Reprint and digital file February 22, 2001.

Editors note: The Christian Spectator magazine in the main contains articles from Reformed Christian sources. Timothy Dwight's Theology ( President, Yale) Princeton’s Instructor lists and similar items appear, along with general newsworthy subjects.

For the Christian Spectator.

Mr. Herman Harris, lived and died in Wrentham, (Mass.) He was a respectable and intelligent person, and without doubt actually had the following dream; as be often spake of it, used to say that it was as fresh in his mind for years afterwards as it was at first, and even mentioned it in his last sickness. He intended to have written it more at large, but it is not known that he ever did.

The following was written by himself, and transcribed by

Herman Daggett.

The disproportion there is between the visible and invisible, the material and immaterial part of creation, is so great, that it is, I have reason to think, impossible for us, in our present state of clouded perception, to form an adequate idea of the surprising circumstances, and modes of existence peculiar to the latter; much less can we find words, in a language suited only to sensible images, that will convey those ideas to beings whose capacities are circumscribed by the laws of compounded nature. Yet that there have been discoveries of this kind communicated to particular persons, in an extraordinary manner, and which extended to the utmost limits of their capacities, and far beyond what they were able to communicate, I have no reason to doubt. But whether we are favoured with these extraordinary discoveries by the interposition of an invisible agent; or whether, in time of sleep, our imaginations, being uninterrupted by external objects, are enabled to take a more critical survey of those intricate phenomena, I am not able to say but be this as it may, I am sensible that in either case we are equally liable to deception. For as there are, on the one hand, both benevolent and malignant spirits, to whose influence we are continually subject; so, on the other hand, either our waking prejudices, which are almost universally intermingled with our dreams, or the impulse of a heated imagination, or the flights of a giddy fancy, are continually exposing us to enthusiastic or superstitious falsehoods. We are therefore under obligation, in order to secure ourselves from deception, to try not only these, but every part of our knowledge, by the unerring standard of revelation and unbiased reason, to the decision. of which, I beg leave humbly to offer the following dream.

I had been, in a great measure, confined to my chamber, for some time, by a weak habit of body, when, one day, having spent more time and zeal in conversing with one of my friends, on the different modes of existence, in the two invisible worlds, than was consistent with my strength; I found myself under a necessity of breaking off in the most interesting part of our conversation, to seek composure arid refreshment by sleep, which then because needful both for body and mind. I had no sooner extended my limbs on the bed, than I fell into a deep sleep, which, though it locked up all my external senses, had a very different effect upon my imagination. I thought myself reduced by my indisposition to the last hour of my life, and expected that a few moments more would land me on those regions where hours and minutes have no farther use. Yet I was remarkably stupid in this important period, which made the few words that dropped from my lips only serve as so many proofs that I had very imperfect conceptions of the great, the amazing experiment I was about to make. In this situation I continued a considerable time, till my increasing weakness by degrees shut up all my senses, and seemed to extinguish every faculty of my soul.— How long I continued in this state of insensibility, I am unable to determine, but the first thing I knew on my leaving the body was to find myself, emerging from the breast of my now useless corpse. But oh the change, the unlooked for, the inconceivable change that my new state of existence produced. Before I was all dull and senseless, dependant upon the organs of my body for every act of my mind, but now independent of matter, I could range through the whole system without obstruction. Before I received almost every conception through the medium of my eyes, my ears, and my other external senses, which were always languid and imperfect, but now my sight, my hearing, and all the perceptive faculties both of body and mind were reduced to this one idea, that of thought. It is impossible to give an adequate description of the manner of my perception. It was only to conceive of a thing, of what nature soever, and I found myself by an inconceivable sympathy instantaneously present with it.

In a word I now found that length of time and distance of place are things equally peculiar to the material world. In this form of existence, I found myself the moment I became independent of flesh and blood, and I am utterly unable to describe my astonishment at finding myself every where surrounded by an innumerable concourse of thinking faculties all like myself immaterial and immortal, independent of space and locality. I found heaven and hell as it were universally blended, or in other words, I found good and evil spirits promiscuously inhabiting every part of the universe, who all discovered their opposite characters by the tincture of their thoughts. Those that were happy were all love and benevolence, but the Sons of despair were perfect hatred and malice, with which unhappy number to my inexpressible amazement I found myself justly condemned to be for ever ranked. I was detested and shunned, though with a heavenly detestation, by all the heirs of bliss, while I was treated by those of my own order with the utmost malice and insult.— But this malevolent treatment had but little effect upon my gloomy soul, except that it gave an additional emphasis to my own malice which was now become the sole ingredient of my misery, and which was stretched to the utmost extent of my capacity against the author of my existence— his blessed favorites—the human race —my cornpanions in condemnation and guilt—myself, and every other being in the universe.

I now found, by shocking experience, that sorrow, envy, grief, and the desire of annihilation were no ingredients in the composition of ray inexpressible misery for I hated the Deity with too much inveteracy to be sorry I had counteracted his laws, and I was too stubborn and inflexible to envy others the enjoyment of that happiness which I was strenuously endeavouring to expel from the universe; and I could never mourn the loss of it myself; for the same reason; and I was too incorrigible, and too much transported with the desire of revenge to wish myself out of that existence which alone gave me the horrid hope of retaliation. In short, my hell consisted altogether in malice and revenge, aggravated to so high a degree that I should have spurned the offers of mercy, even on terms of my own choosing.— On the contrary, I had an unbounded, uninterrupted, increasing desire to torment every being in the universe, myself not excepted. I found that our manner of conversing was as peculiar as any thing relating to my immaterial state; for instead of those external signs, which we find necessary in our present mode of existence, we discovered a mutual knowledge of each others thoughts, and a continual interchange of ideas, whose quickness, emphasis and perspicuity still fill me with amazement at the recollection.

But I had no manner of intercourse with the Deity, nor any other apprehension of the holy Trinity, than what I found, as it were, innate in my own mind, or discovered in the thoughts of others. But I shall never forget with what rage and malice my whole soul was transported, at every idea of the Saviour of mankind. This filled up the measure of my torment. It was then that with an infernal anxiety I wished myself possessed of omnipotence.

These were my horrid circumstances, and this was my hell. In this situation I remained overwhelmed with misery that human language is too faint to describe, till to my inexpressible extacy, on opening my eyes, I found myself still in a state of probation, and this side the gloomy regions of despair.

Thus 1 have enumerated some of my sleeping thoughts, which took a far wider range, and transported me much farther into those unexplored regions, than my imagination ever ventured before in its most presumptuous intervals. But I am so far from thinking it any thing more than a dream, that I have committed it to paper rather as a curiosity than as evidence of truth. Yet if on a critical and impartial examination, we should discover, one single ray of light, to guide us a step or two farther into the dark; let us not quench it merely because it seems to be the offspring of darkness and sleep.

HERMAN HARRIS.

Providence College.