A Defence of the Inquiry into Mesmerism & Phrenology chiefly in relation to recent events in Lynn — Text and Context

A Local Controversy in Print

Armes frames his defence as a response to two pamphlets that had already appeared in Lynn. The first, written by an individual who had participated in a committee investigating a lecturer's exhibitions, is dismissed for leaving 'his friends in the midst of their unfinished inquiry' and resorting to 'yellow handbills.' Armes implies that this author prejudged the matter. The second pamphlet, by Mr. Cotton, is criticized for its 'ambiguous title' and lack of substance. Armes quotes Cotton's admission that he is 'but a gatherer,' then laments that Cotton gathered 'hard names and phrases' rather than relevant material. These opening salvos establish Armes's method: he engages directly with local texts, using their own words against them.

Historical Precedents for Scientific Resistance

Armes draws on a series of historical examples to argue that religious opposition to new scientific ideas is a recurring pattern. He cites the Copernican system, which was declared 'false in fact and heretical in religion' by a papal bull, and notes that Lactantius, a Christian Father, argued against a spherical Earth by asking 'Is any one so foolish, as to believe that there are men whose feet are higher than their heads?' Armes then turns to geology, which initially alarmed the Christian world but now counts 'some of the brightest ornaments of the Christian Church' among its supporters. These examples are not merely illustrative; they serve as a rhetorical framework for his central claim: that mesmerism and phrenology should be examined patiently rather than condemned out of hand.

Navigation as a Test Case

In a striking passage, Armes argues that even navigation—essential for commerce, missionary work, and the scriptural command to 'Preach the Gospel to every Creature'—was once denounced as impiety. He quotes Horace's lines about 'impious Barks' crossing forbidden seas. The implication is clear: if navigation, now indispensable, was initially opposed on religious grounds, then contemporary objections to mesmerism and phrenology may be similarly misguided. Armes uses this example to challenge his readers to reconsider their assumptions, asking whether the wonders of nature are any less wonderful for being understood. He poses a series of rhetorical questions about rain, the sun, and the planetary system, each designed to show that scientific explanation does not diminish divine providence.

The Persistence of Fear and the Call for Inquiry

Throughout the pamphlet, Armes returns to the theme of fear as an obstacle to scientific progress. He observes that 'the best men have, in all ages, been too much disposed to put their Faith in abeyance, while their Fears have been allowed to proclaim a danger to Religion.' This fear, he argues, has led to persecution of those who made 'useful and important discoveries.' Armes does not claim that mesmerism and phrenology are proven sciences; instead, he advocates for 'patient and quiet examination' over prejudgment. His closing historical examples reinforce this: the difficulty, he says, is 'to get mankind to understand that the wonders of Nature are no less wonderful because we are permitted, successfully, to explore the various laws and modes of her operations.'

Readers approaching this pamphlet for the first time should attend to its local character: Armes writes not as a disinterested philosopher but as a participant in a specific controversy in Lynn, 1843. His arguments are shaped by the pamphlets he refutes and the audience he addresses. The historical analogies—Copernicus, geology, navigation—are deployed to shift the burden of proof onto skeptics. Whether one finds his case persuasive or not, the pamphlet offers a vivid snapshot of how scientific debates were conducted in print, with personal attacks, appeals to authority, and a keen sense of the stakes for religion and reason.

Reading how Armes once defended ideas people called dangerous reminded me of a quieter, stranger feeling—the way some books ask you to sit with disbelief rather than conquer it. The Life of Jesus Critically Examined (4th ed.) — A Closer Reading held that same patient weight for me, like a voice insisting inquiry itself matters more than the answer. It lingered.