D. Home and Stainton Moses and Kathleen Goligher. Sir Oliver Lodge--who

seems also to admit the preceding--asks us to consider seriously the
performances of Marthe Beraud. Sir W. Crookes lets it be understood that
to the day of his death he believed in "Katie King" and the
spirit-played accordion. Professor Richet, and all those other
professors and scholars whose names are fondly quoted by Spiritualists,
rely entirely on physical phenomena. If you cut out all the
physical-phenomena mediums of the nineteenth century, and all the
ghost-photographs and "direct voices" of to-day, you have very little
left. That is to say that Spiritualism is generally based on fraud.

Does it matter? Yes, it matters exceedingly. It matters more than it
ever did before. The world is at a pass where it needs the
clearest-headed attention and warmest interest of every man and woman
in every civilization. Fine sentiments, too, we want; but not a
sentimentality that palsies the judgment. Men never faced graver
problems or had a greater opportunity. Instead of distraction we want
concentration on earth. Instead of dreaminess we want a close
appreciation of realities. There lies before our generation a period
either of greater general prosperity than was ever known before, or a
period of prolonged and devastating struggle. Which it shall be depends
on our wisdom.

Is there any need to settle whether we shall live after death? The
Spiritualist says that if we could convince men that their lot in that
other world will be decided by their characters they will be more eager
for justice, honour, and sobriety. But a man's position in _this_ world
is settled by his character. Justice, honour, and sobriety are laws of
_this_ world. Men would have perceived it long ago, and acted
accordingly, but for the unfortunate belief that these qualities were
arbitrarily commanded by supernatural powers. We need no other-worldly
motives whatever for the cultivation of character. Indeed, so far as I
can see, the man who gambles and drinks is more likely to say to the
Spiritualist: "You tell me there is no vindictive hell for what I do
here. You tell me there are no horses or fiery drinks in that other
world. Then I will drink and bet while the opportunity remains, and be
sober and prudent afterwards."

But the dead, the loved ones we have lost! Must we forfeit this new hope
that we may see them again? Let us make no mistake. Half the civilized
world has already forfeited it. Six million people in London never
approach a church, and the vast majority of these believe no longer in
heaven. So it is in the large towns of nearly every civilization. Yet
the number of Spiritualists in the entire world is not one-tenth the
number of "pagans" in London alone. And there is no weeping and gnashing
of teeth. At the time of the wrench one suffers. Slowly nature embalms
the wound, as she already draws her green mantle over the hideous wounds
of France and Belgium. We learn serenity. Life is a gift. Every friend
and dear one is a gift. It is not wise to complain that gifts do not
last for ever.

The finest sentiment you can bestow on the memory of the dead is to make
the world better for the living. Has your child been torn from you? In
its memory try to make the world safer and happier for the myriads of
children who remain. This earth is but a poor drab thing compared with
what it could be made in a single generation. Hotbeds of disease abound
in our cities, and children fall in scandalous numbers in the heat of
summer or perish in the blasts of winter. Let the pain of loss drive us
survivors into securing that losses shall be less frequent and less
painful. Do not listen to those who say that critics crush the voice of
the heart in the name of reason. We want all the heart we can get in
life, all the strength of emotion and devotion we can engender. But let
it be expended on the plain, and plainly profitable, task of making this
earth a Summerland. Do that, as your leisure and your powers permit,
and, when the day is over, you will lie down with a smile, whether you
are ever to awaken or are to sleep for ever.


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End of Project Gutenberg's Is Spiritualism Based on Fraud?, by Joseph McCabe