RETROSPECTION

AND

INTROSPECTION


BY

MARY BAKER EDDY

AUTHOR OF SCIENCE AND HEALTH WITH KEY TO THE SCRIPTURES

Registered
U.S. Patent Office

Published by The
Trustees under the Will of Mary Baker G. Eddy
BOSTON, U.S.A.

Authorized Literature of
THE FIRST CHURCH OF CHRIST, SCIENTIST
in Boston, Massachusetts

_Copyright, 1891, 1892_
BY MARY BAKER G. EDDY
Copyright renewed 1919 and 1920

_All rights reserved_

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




CONTENTS


ANCESTRAL SHADOWS

AUTOBIOGRAPHIC REMINISCENCES

VOICES NOT OUR OWN

EARLY STUDIES

GIRLHOOD COMPOSITION

THEOLOGICAL REMINISCENCE

THE COUNTRY-SEAT (POEM)

MARRIAGE AND PARENTAGE

EMERGENCE INTO LIGHT

THE GREAT DISCOVERY

FOUNDATION WORK

MEDICAL EXPERIMENTS

FIRST PUBLICATION

THE PRECIOUS VOLUME

RECUPERATIVE INCIDENT

A TRUE MAN

COLLEGE AND CHURCH

"FEED MY SHEEP" (POEM)

COLLEGE CLOSED

GENERAL ASSOCIATIONS AND OUR MAGAZINE

FAITH-CURE

FOUNDATION-STONES

THE GREAT REVELATION

SIN, SINNER, AND ECCLESIASTICISM

THE HUMAN CONCEPT

PERSONALITY

PLAGIARISM

ADMONITION

EXEMPLIFICATION

WAYMARKS




RETROSPECTION AND INTROSPECTION




ANCESTRAL SHADOWS


My ancestors, according to the flesh, were from both Scotland and England,
my great-grandfather, on my father's side, being John McNeil of Edinburgh.

His wife, my great-grandmother, was Marion Moor, and her family is said to
have been in some way related to Hannah More, the pious and popular English
authoress of a century ago.

I remember reading, in my childhood, certain manuscripts containing
Scriptural sonnets, besides other verses and enigmas which my grandmother
said were written by my great-grandmother. But because my great-grandmother
wrote a stray sonnet and an occasional riddle, it was no sign that she
inherited a spark from Hannah More, or was her relative.

John and Marion Moor McNeil had a daughter, who perpetuated her mother's
name. This second Marion McNeil in due time was married to an Englishman,
named Joseph Baker, and so became my paternal grandmother, the Scotch and
English elements thus mingling in her children.

Mrs. Marion McNeil Baker was reared among the Scotch Covenanters, and had
in her character that sturdy Calvinistic devotion to Protestant liberty
which gave those religionists the poetic daring and pious picturesqueness
which we find so graphically set forth in the pages of Sir Walter Scott and
in John Wilson's sketches.

Joseph Baker and his wife, Marion McNeil, came to America seeking "freedom
to worship God;" though they could hardly have crossed the Atlantic more
than a score of years prior to the Revolutionary period.

With them they brought to New England a heavy sword, encased in a brass
scabbard, on which was inscribed the name of a kinsman upon whom the weapon
had been bestowed by Sir William Wallace, from whose patriotism and bravery
comes that heart-stirring air, "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled."

My childhood was also gladdened by one of my Grandmother Baker's books,
printed in olden type and replete with the phraseology current in the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

Among grandmother's treasures were some newspapers, yellow with age. Some
of these, however, were not very ancient, nor had they crossed the ocean;
for they were American newspapers, one of which contained a full account of
the death and burial of George Washington.

A relative of my Grandfather Baker was General Henry Knox of Revolutionary
fame. I was fond of listening, when a child, to grandmother's stories about
General Knox, for whom she cherished a high regard.

In the line of my Grandmother Baker's family was the late Sir John
Macneill, a Scotch knight, who was prominent in British politics, and at
one time held the position of ambassador to Persia.

My grandparents were likewise connected with Capt. John Lovewell of
Dunstable, New Hampshire, whose gallant leadership and death, in the Indian
troubles of 1722-1725, caused that prolonged contest to be known
historically as Lovewell's War.

A cousin of my grandmother was John Macneil, the New Hampshire general who
fought at Lundy's Lane, and won distinction in 1814 at the neighboring
battle of Chippewa, towards the close of the War of 1812.




AUTOBIOGRAPHIC REMINISCENCES


This venerable grandmother had thirteen children, the youngest of whom was
my father, Mark Baker, who inherited the homestead, and with his brother,
James Baker, he inherited my grandfather's farm of about five hundred
acres, lying in the adjoining towns of Concord and Bow, in the State of New
Hampshire.

One hundred acres of the old farm are still cultivated and owned by Uncle
James Baker's grandson, brother of the Hon. Henry Moore Baker of
Washington, D.C.

The farm-house, situated on the summit of a hill, commanded a broad
picturesque view of the Merrimac River and the undulating lands of three
townships. But change has been busy. Where once stretched broad fields of
bending grain waving gracefully in the sunlight, and orchards of apples,
peaches, pears, and cherries shone richly in the mellow hues of
autumn,--now the lone night-bird cries, the crow caws cautiously, and
wandering winds sigh low requiems through dark pine groves. Where green
pastures bright with berries, singing brooklets, beautiful wild flowers,
and flecked with large flocks and herds, covered areas of rich acres,--now
the scrub-oak, poplar, and fern flourish.

The wife of Mark Baker was Abigail Barnard Ambrose, daughter of Deacon
Nathaniel Ambrose of Pembroke, a small town situated near Concord, just
across the bridge, on the left bank of the Merrimac River.

Grandfather Ambrose was a very religious man, and gave the money for
erecting the first Congregational Church in Pembroke.

In the Baker homestead at Bow I was born, the youngest of my parents' six
children and the object of their tender solicitude.

During my childhood my parents removed to Tilton, eighteen miles from
Concord, and there the family remained until the names of both father and
mother were inscribed on the stone memorials in the Park Cemetery of that
beautiful village.

My father possessed a strong intellect and an iron will. Of my mother I
cannot speak as I would, for memory recalls qualities to which the pen can
never do justice. The following is a brief extract from the eulogy of the
Rev. Richard S. Rust, D.D., who for many years had resided in Tilton and
knew my sainted mother in all the walks of life.

The character of Mrs. Abigail Ambrose Baker was distinguished for
numerous excellences. She possessed a strong intellect, a
sympathizing heart, and a placid spirit. Her presence, like the
gentle dew and cheerful light, was felt by all around her. She
gave an elevated character to the tone of conversation in the
circles in which she moved, and directed attention to themes at
once pleasing and profitable.

As a mother, she was untiring in her efforts to secure the
happiness of her family. She ever entertained a lively sense of
the parental obligation, especially in regard to the education of
her children. The oft-repeated impressions of that sainted spirit,
on the hearts of those especially entrusted to her watch-care, can
never be effaced, and can hardly fail to induce them to follow her
to the brighter world. Her life was a living illustration of
Christian faith.

My childhood's home I remember as one with the open hand. The needy were
ever welcome, and to the clergy were accorded special household privileges.

Among the treasured reminiscences of my much respected parents, brothers,
and sisters, is the memory of my second brother, Albert Baker, who was,
next to my mother, the very dearest of my kindred. To speak of his
beautiful character as I cherish it, would require more space than this
little book can afford.

My brother Albert was graduated at Dartmouth College in 1834, and was
reputed one of the most talented, close, and thorough scholars ever
connected with that institution. For two or three years he read law at
Hillsborough, in the office of Franklin Pierce, afterwards President of the
United States; but later Albert spent a year in the office of the Hon.
Richard Fletcher of Boston. He was consequently admitted to the bar in two
States, Massachusetts and New Hampshire. In 1837 he succeeded to the
law-office which Mr. Pierce had occupied, and was soon elected to the
Legislature of his native State, where he served the public interests
faithfully for two consecutive years. Among other important bills which
were carried through the Legislature by his persistent energy was one for
the abolition of imprisonment for debt.

In 1841 he received further political preferment, by nomination to
Congress on a majority vote of seven thousand,--it was the largest vote of
the State; but he passed away at the age of thirty-one, after a short
illness, before his election. His noble political antagonist, the Hon.
Isaac Hill, of Concord, wrote of my brother as follows:--

Albert Baker was a young man of uncommon promise. Gifted with the
highest order of intellectual powers, he trained and schooled them
by intense and almost incessant study throughout his short life.
He was fond of investigating abstruse and metaphysical principles,
and he never forsook them until he had explored their every nook
and corner, however hidden and remote. Had life and health been
spared to him, he would have made himself one of the most
distinguished men in the country. As a lawyer he was able and
learned, and in the successful practice of a very large business.
He was noted for his boldness and firmness, and for his powerful
advocacy of the side he deemed right. His death will be deplored,
with the most poignant grief, by a large number of friends, who
expected no more than they realized from his talents and
acquirements. This sad event will not be soon forgotten. It
blights too many hopes; it carries with it too much of sorrow and
loss. It is a public calamity.




VOICES NOT OUR OWN


Many peculiar circumstances and events connected with my childhood throng
the chambers of memory. For some twelve months, when I was about eight
years old, I repeatedly heard a voice, calling me distinctly by name, three
times, in an ascending scale. I thought this was my mother's voice, and
sometimes went to her, beseeching her to tell me what she wanted. Her
answer was always, "Nothing, child! What do you mean?" Then I would say,
"Mother, who _did_ call me? I heard somebody call _Mary_, three times!"
This continued until I grew discouraged, and my mother was perplexed and
anxious.

One day, when my cousin, Mehitable Huntoon, was visiting us, and I sat in a
little chair by her side, in the same room with grandmother,--the call
again came, so loud that Mehitable heard it, though I had ceased to notice
it. Greatly surprised, my cousin turned to me and said, "Your mother is
calling you!" but I answered not, till again the same call was thrice
repeated. Mehitable then said sharply, "Why don't you go? your mother is
calling you!" I then left the room, went to my mother, and once more asked
her if she had summoned me? She answered as always before. Then I earnestly
declared my cousin had heard the voice, and said that mother wanted me.
Accordingly she returned with me to grandmother's room, and led my cousin
into an adjoining apartment. The door was ajar, and I listened with bated
breath. Mother told Mehitable all about this mysterious voice, and asked if
she really did hear Mary's name pronounced in audible tones. My cousin
answered quickly, and emphasized her affirmation.

That night, before going to rest, my mother read to me the Scriptural
narrative of little Samuel, and bade me, when the voice called again, to
reply as he did, "Speak, Lord; for Thy servant heareth." The voice came;
but I was afraid, and did not answer. Afterward I wept, and prayed that God
would forgive me, resolving to do, next time, as my mother had bidden me.
When the call came again I did answer, in the words of Samuel, but never
again to the material senses was that mysterious call repeated.

Is it not much that I may worship Him,
With naught my spirit's breathings to control,
And feel His presence in the vast and dim
And whispering woods, where dying thunders roll
From the far cataracts? Shall I not rejoice
That I have learned at last to know His voice
From man's?--I will rejoice! My soaring soul
Now hath redeemed her birthright of the day,
And won, through clouds, to Him, her own unfettered way!
--MRS. HEMANS.




EARLY STUDIES


My father was taught to believe that my brain was too large for my body and
so kept me much out of school, but I gained book-knowledge with far less
labor than is usually requisite. At ten years of age I was as familiar with
Lindley Murray's Grammar as with the Westminster Catechism; and the latter
I had to repeat every Sunday. My favorite studies were natural philosophy,
logic, and moral science. From my brother Albert I received lessons in the
ancient tongues, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. My brother studied Hebrew during
his college vacations. After my discovery of Christian Science, most of the
knowledge I had gleaned from schoolbooks vanished like a dream.

Learning was so illumined, that grammar was eclipsed. Etymology was divine
history, voicing the idea of God in man's origin and signification. Syntax
was spiritual order and unity. Prosody, the song of angels, and no earthly
or inglorious theme.




GIRLHOOD COMPOSITION


From childhood I was a verse-maker. Poetry suited my emotions better than
prose. The following is one of my girlhood productions.

ALPHABET AND BAYONET

If fancy plumes aerial flight,
Go fix thy restless mind
On learning's lore and wisdom's might,
And live to bless mankind.
The sword is sheathed, 'tis freedom's hour,
No despot bears misrule,
Where knowledge plants the foot of power
In our God-blessed free school.

Forth from this fount the streamlets flow,
That widen in their course.
Hero and sage arise to show
Science the mighty source,
And laud the land whose talents rock
The cradle of her power,
And wreaths are twined round Plymouth Rock,
From erudition's bower.

Farther than feet of chamois fall,
Free as the generous air,
Strains nobler far than clarion call
Wake freedom's welcome, where
Minerva's silver sandals still
Are loosed, and not effete;
Where echoes still my day-dreams thrill,
Woke by her fancied feet.




THEOLOGICAL REMINISCENCE


At the age of twelve[A] I was admitted to the Congregational (Trinitarian)
Church, my parents having been members of that body for a half-century. In
connection with this event, some circumstances are noteworthy. Before this
step was taken, the doctrine of unconditional election, or predestination,
greatly troubled me; for I was unwilling to be saved, if my brothers and
sisters were to be numbered among those who were doomed to perpetual
banishment from God. So perturbed was I by the thoughts aroused by this
erroneous doctrine, that the family doctor was summoned, and pronounced me
stricken with fever.

My father's relentless theology emphasized belief in a final judgment-day,
in the danger of endless punishment, and in a Jehovah merciless towards
unbelievers; and of these things he now spoke, hoping to win me from
dreaded heresy.

My mother, as she bathed my burning temples, bade me lean on God's love,
which would give me rest, if I went to Him in prayer, as I was wont to do,
seeking His guidance. I prayed; and a soft glow of ineffable joy came over
me. The fever was gone, and I rose and dressed myself, in a normal
condition of health. Mother saw this, and was glad. The physician
marvelled; and the "horrible decree" of predestination--as John Calvin
rightly called his own tenet--forever lost its power over me.

When the meeting was held for the examination of candidates for membership,
I was of course present. The pastor was an old-school expounder of the
strictest Presbyterian doctrines. He was apparently as eager to have
unbelievers in these dogmas lost, as he was to have elect believers
converted and rescued from perdition; for both salvation and condemnation
depended, according to his views, upon the good pleasure of infinite Love.
However, I was ready for his doleful questions, which I answered without a
tremor, declaring that never could I unite with the church, if assent to
this doctrine was essential thereto.

Distinctly do I recall what followed. I stoutly maintained that I was
willing to trust God, and take my chance of spiritual safety with my
brothers and sisters,--not one of whom had then made any profession of
religion,--even if my creedal doubts left me outside the doors. The
minister then wished me to tell him when I had experienced a change of
heart; but tearfully I had to respond that I could not designate any
precise time. Nevertheless he persisted in the assertion that I _had_ been
truly regenerated, and asked me to say how I felt when the new light dawned
within me. I replied that I could only answer him in the words of the
Psalmist: "Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my
thoughts: and see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way
everlasting."

This was so earnestly said, that even the oldest church-members wept. After
the meeting was over they came and kissed me. To the astonishment of many,
the good clergyman's heart also melted, and he received me into their
communion, and my protest along with me. My connection with this religious
body was retained till I founded a church of my own, built on the basis of
Christian Science, "Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner-stone."

In confidence of faith, I could say in David's words, "I will go in the
strength of the Lord God: I will make mention of Thy righteousness, even of
Thine only. O God, Thou hast taught me from my youth: and hitherto have I
declared Thy wondrous works." (Psalms lxxi. 16, 17.)

In the year 1878 I was called to preach in Boston at the Baptist Tabernacle
of Rev. Daniel C. Eddy, D.D.,--by the pastor of this church. I accepted the
invitation and commenced work.

The congregation so increased in number the pews were not sufficient to
seat the audience and benches were used in the aisles. At the close of my
engagement we parted in Christian fellowship, if not in full unity of
doctrine.

Our last vestry meeting was made memorable by eloquent addresses from
persons who feelingly testified to having been healed through my preaching.
Among other diseases cured they specified cancers. The cases described had
been treated and given over by physicians of the popular schools of
medicine, but I had not heard of these cases till the persons who divulged
their secret joy were healed. A prominent churchman agreeably informed the
congregation that many others present had been healed under my preaching,
but were too timid to testify in public.

One memorable Sunday afternoon, a soprano,--clear, strong,
sympathetic,--floating up from the pews, caught my ear. When the meeting
was over, two ladies pushing their way through the crowd reached the
platform. With tears of joy flooding her eyes--for she was a mother--one of
them said, "Did you hear my daughter sing? Why, she has not sung before
since she left the choir and was in consumption! When she entered this
church one hour ago she could not speak a loud word, and now, oh, thank
God, she is healed!"

It was not an uncommon occurrence in my own church for the sick to be
healed by my sermon. Many pale cripples went into the church leaning on
crutches who went out carrying them on their shoulders. "And these signs
shall follow them that believe."

The charter for The Mother Church in Boston was obtained June, 1879,[B] and
the same month the members, twenty-six in number, extended a call to Mary
B.G. Eddy to become their pastor. She accepted the call, and was ordained
A.D. 1881.




THE COUNTRY-SEAT

Written in youth, while visiting a family friend in the beautiful suburbs
of Boston.


Wild spirit of song,--midst the zephyrs at play
In bowers of beauty,--I bend to thy lay,
And woo, while I worship in deep sylvan spot,
The Muses' soft echoes to kindle the grot.
Wake chords of my lyre, with musical kiss,
To vibrate and tremble with accents of bliss.

Here morning peers out, from her crimson repose,
On proud Prairie Queen and the modest Moss-rose;
And vesper reclines--when the dewdrop is shed
On the heart of the pink--in its odorous bed;
But Flora has stolen the rainbow and sky,
To sprinkle the flowers with exquisite dye.

Here fame-honored hickory rears his bold form,
And bares a brave breast to the lightning and storm,
While palm, bay, and laurel, in classical glee,
Chase tulip, magnolia, and fragrant fringe-tree;
And sturdy horse-chestnut for centuries hath given
Its feathery blossom and branches to heaven.

Here is life! Here is youth! Here the poet's world-wish,--
Cool waters at play with the gold-gleaming fish;
While cactus a mellower glory receives
From light colored softly by blossom and leaves;
And nestling alder is whispering low,
In lap of the pear-tree, with musical flow.[C]

Dark sentinel hedgerow is guarding repose,
Midst grotto and songlet and streamlet that flows
Where beauty and perfume from buds burst away,
And ope their closed cells to the bright, laughing day;
Yet, dwellers in Eden, earth yields you her tear,--
Oft plucked for the banquet, but laid on the bier.

Earth's beauty and glory delude as the shrine
Or fount of real joy and of visions divine;
But hope, as the eaglet that spurneth the sod,
May soar above matter, to fasten on God,
And freely adore all His spirit hath made,
Where rapture and radiance and glory ne'er fade.

Oh, give me the spot where affection may dwell
In sacred communion with home's magic spell!
Where flowers of feeling are fragrant and fair,
And those we most love find a happiness rare;
But clouds are a presage,--they darken my lay:
This life is a shadow, and hastens away.




MARRIAGE AND PARENTAGE


In 1843 I was united to my first husband, Colonel George Washington Glover
of Charleston, South Carolina, the ceremony taking place under the paternal
roof in Tilton.

After parting with the dear home circle I went with him to the South; but
he was spared to me for only one brief year. He was in Wilmington, North
Carolina, on business, when the yellow-fever raged in that city, and was
suddenly attacked by this insidious disease, which in his case proved
fatal.

My husband was a freemason, being a member in Saint Andrew's Lodge, Number
10, and of Union Chapter, Number 3, of Royal Arch masons. He was highly
esteemed and sincerely lamented by a large circle of friends and
acquaintances, whose kindness and sympathy helped to support me in this
terrible bereavement. A month later I returned to New Hampshire, where, at
the end of four months, my babe was born.

Colonel Glover's tender devotion to his young bride was remarked by all
observers. With his parting breath he gave pathetic directions to his
brother masons about accompanying her on her sad journey to the North. Here
it is but justice to record, they performed their obligations most
faithfully.

After returning to the paternal roof I lost all my husband's property,
except what money I had brought with me; and remained with my parents until
after my mother's decease.

A few months before my father's second marriage, to Mrs. Elizabeth
Patterson Duncan, sister of Lieutenant-Governor George W. Patterson of New
York, my little son, about four years of age, was sent away from me, and
put under the care of our family nurse, who had married, and resided in the
northern part of New Hampshire. I had no training for self-support, and my
home I regarded as very precious. The night before my child was taken from
me, I knelt by his side throughout the dark hours, hoping for a vision of
relief from this trial. The following lines are taken from my poem,
"Mother's Darling," written after this separation:--

Thy smile through tears, as sunshine o'er the sea,
Awoke new beauty in the surge's roll!
Oh, life is dead, bereft of all, with thee,--
Star of my earthly hope, babe of my soul.

My second marriage was very unfortunate, and from it I was compelled to ask
for a bill of divorce, which was granted me in the city of Salem,
Massachusetts.

My dominant thought in marrying again was to get back my child, but after
our marriage his stepfather was not willing he should have a home with me.
A plot was consummated for keeping us apart. The family to whose care he
was committed very soon removed to what was then regarded as the Far West.

After his removal a letter was read to my little son, informing him that
his mother was dead and buried. Without my knowledge a guardian was
appointed him, and I was then informed that my son was lost. Every means
within my power was employed to find him, but without success. We never met
again until he had reached the age of thirty-four, had a wife and two
children, and by a strange providence had learned that his mother still
lived, and came to see me in Massachusetts.

Meanwhile he had served as a volunteer throughout the war for the Union,
and at its expiration was appointed United States Marshal of the Territory
of Dakota.

It is well to know, dear reader, that our material, mortal history is but
the record of dreams, not of man's real existence, and the dream has no
place in the Science of being. It is "as a tale that is told," and "as the
shadow when it declineth." The heavenly intent of earth's shadows is to
chasten the affections, to rebuke human consciousness and turn it gladly
from a material, false sense of life and happiness, to spiritual joy and
true estimate of being.

The awakening from a false sense of life, substance, and mind in matter, is
as yet imperfect; but for those lucid and enduring lessons of Love which
tend to this result, I bless God.

Mere historic incidents and personal events are frivolous and of no moment,
unless they illustrate the ethics of Truth. To this end, but only to this
end, such narrations may be admissible and advisable; but if spiritual
conclusions are separated from their premises, the _nexus_ is lost, and the
argument, with its rightful conclusions, becomes correspondingly obscure.
The human history needs to be revised, and the material record expunged.