Chapter 11.
A COMPARISON.
"He who rests on what he is, has a destiny above destiny, and can make mouths at fortune." --EMERSON.
"Work out your own salvation." --ST. PAUL.
I had a feeling, when I retired to my room that night, as if years laybetween me and the portion of my life which I had spent in Paleveria.But across the wide gulf my soul embraced Severnius. All that wasbeautiful, and lovable, and noble in that far-off country centered inhim, as light centres in a star.
But of Elodia I could not think without pain. I even felt a kind ofhelpless rage mingling with the pain,--remembering that it was simplythe brutality of the social system under which she had been reared,that had stamped so hideous a brand upon a character so fair. Icontrasted her in my mind with the women asleep in the rooms about me,whose thoughts were as pure as the thoughts of a child. Had she beenborn here, I reflected, she would have been like Clytia, like Ariadne.And oh! the pity of it, that she had not!
I was restless, wakeful, miserable, thinking of her; remembering herwit, her intelligence, her power; remembering how charming she was,how magnetic, and alas! how faulty!
She gave delight to all about her, and touched all life with color.But she was like a magnificent bouquet culled from the gardens ofwisdom and beauty; a thing of but temporary value, whose fragrancemust soon be scattered, whose glory must soon pass away.
Ariadne was the white and slender lily, slowly unfolding petal afterpetal in obedience to the law of its own inner growth. Should theblossom be torn asunder its perfume would rise as incense about itsdestroyer, and from the life hidden at its root would come forth moreperfect blossoms and more delicate fragrance.
I had arrived at this estimate of her character by a process moreunerring and far swifter than reason. You might call it spiritualtelegraphy. The thought of her not only restored but immeasurablyincreased my faith in woman; and I fell asleep at last soothed andcomforted.
I awoke in the morning to the sound of singing. It was Ariadne'svoice, and she was touching the strings of a harp. All Caskians sing,and all are taught to play upon at least one musical instrument. Everyhousehold is an orchestra.
Ariadne's voice was exceptionally fine--where all voices wereexcellent. Its quality was singularly bird-like; sometimes it was thejoyous note of the lark, and again it was the tenderly sweet, andpassionately sad, dropping-song of the mocking-bird.
When I looked out of my window, the sun was just silvering the pointof the Spear, and light wreaths of mist were lifting from the valleys.I saw the Master, staff in hand, going up toward the mountains, andFides was coming across the hills.
I had wondered, when I saw the Master and his wife on the balcony thenight before, how they came to be there at such an hour on such anight. I took the first opportunity to find out. The only way to findout about people's affairs in Caskia, is by asking questions, or, byobservation--which takes longer. They speak with their lives insteadof their tongues, concerning so many things that other people arewordy about. They are quite devoid of theories. But they arecharmingly willing to impart what one wishes to know.
I learned that Clytia's parents lived within a stone's throw of herhouse on one side, and Calypso's grandparents at about the samedistance on the other. And I also learned that it was an arrangementuniversally practiced; the clustering together of families, in orderthat the young might always be near at hand to support, and protect,and to smooth the pathway of the old. Certain savage races upon theEarth abandon the aged to starvation and death; certain other races,not savage, abandon them to a loneliness that is only less cruel. Butthese extraordinarily just people repay to the helplessness of age,the tenderness and care, the loving sympathy, which they themselvesreceived in the helplessness of infancy.
The grandparents happened to be away from home, and I did not meetthem for some days.
On that first morning we had Clytia's parents to breakfast.Immediately after breakfast the circle broke up. It was Clytia'smorning to visit and assist in the school which her little onesattended; Ariadne started off to her work, with a fresh cluster of thedelicious blue flowers in her belt; and I had the choice of visitingthe steel-works with Calypso, or taking a trip to Lake Eudosa, onfoot, with the Master. I could hardly conceal the delight with which Idecided in favor of the latter. We set off at once, and what a walk itwas! A little way through the city, and then across a strip of lushgreen meadow, starred with daisies, thence into sweet-smelling woods,and then down, down, down, along the rocky edge of the canyon, pastthe deafening waterfalls to the wonderful Lake!
We passed, on our way through the city, a large, fine structure which,upon inquiry, I found to be the place where the Master "taught" on theSabbath day.
"Do you wish to look in?" he asked, and we turned back and entered.The interior was beautiful and vast, capacious enough to seat severalthousand people; and every Sunday it was filled.
I thought it a good opportunity for finding out something about thereligion of this people, and I began by asking:
"Are there any divisions in your Church,--different denominations, Imean?"
He seemed unable to comprehend me, and I was obliged to enter into anexplanation, which I made as simple as possible, of course, relativeto the curse of Adam and the plan of redemption. In order that hemight understand the importance attaching to our creeds, I told him ofthe fierce, sanguinary struggles of past ages, and the gravecontroversies of modern times, pertaining to certain dogmas andtenets,--as to whether they were essential, or non-essential tosalvation.
"Salvation from what?" he asked.
"Why, from sin."
"But how? We know only one way to be saved from sin."
"And what is that?" I inquired.
"Not to sin."
"But that is impossible!" I rejoined, feeling that he was triflingwith the subject. Though that was unlike him.
"Yes, it is impossible," he replied, gravely. "God did not make usperfect. He left us something to do for ourselves."
"That is heretical," said I. "Don't you believe in the Fall of Man?"
"No, I think I believe in the Rise of Man," he answered, smiling.
"O, I keep forgetting," I exclaimed, "that I am on another planet!"
"And that this planet has different relations with God from what yourplanet has?" returned he. "I cannot think so, sir; it is altogether anew idea to me, and--pardon me!--an illogical one. We belong to thesame system, and why should not the people of Mars have the sentencefor sin revoked, as well as the people of Earth? Why should not wehave been provided with an intercessor? But tell me, is it reallyso?--do you upon the Earth not suffer the consequences of your acts?"
"Why, certainly we do," said I; "while we live. The plan of salvationhas reference to the life after death."
He dropped his eyes to the ground.
"You believe in that life, do you not?" I asked.
"Believe in it!"--he looked up, amazed. "All life is eternal; as longas God lives, we shall live."
A little later he said:
"You spoke of the fall of man,--what did you mean?"
"That Man was created a perfect being, but through sin becameimperfect, so that God could not take him back to Himself,--save byredemption."
"And God sent His Only Son to the Earth, you say, to redeem your racefrom the consequences of their own acts?"
"So we believe," said I.
After another brief silence, he remarked:
"Man did not begin his life upon this planet in perfection."
At this moment we passed a beautiful garden, in which there was aninfinite profusion of flowers in infinite variety.
"Look at those roses!" he exclaimed; "God planted the species, a crudeand simple plant, and turned it over to man to do what he might withit; and in the same way he placed man himself here,--to perfecthimself if he would. I am not jealous of God, nor envious of you; butjust why He should have arranged to spare you all this labor, andcommand
ed us to work out our own salvation, I cannot comprehend."
It struck me as a remarkable coincidence that he should have used thevery words of one of our own greatest logicians.
A longer silence followed. The Master walked with his head inclined,in the attitude of profound thought. At last he drew a deep breath andlooked up, relaxing his brows.
"It may be prodigiously presumptuous," he said, "but I am inclined tothink there has been a mistake somewhere."
"How, a mistake?" I asked.
He paid no heed to the question, but said: "Tell me the story,--tellme the exact words, if you can, of this Great Teacher whom you believeto be the Son of God?"
I gave a brief outline of the Saviour's life and death, and it was agratification to me--because it seemed, in some sort, anacknowledgment, or concession to my interpretation,--to see that hewas profoundly affected.
"Oh!" he cried,--his hands were clenched and his body writhed as withthe actual sufferings of the Man of Sorrows,--"that a race of menshould have been brought through such awful tribulation to see God!Why could they not accept the truth from his lips?"
"Because they would not. They kept crying 'Give us a sign,' and hegave himself to death."
I grouped together as many of the words of Christ as I could recall,and I was surprised, not only that his memory kept its grasp on themall, but that he was able to see at once their innermost meaning. Itwas as if he dissolved them in the wonderful alembic of hisunderstanding, and instantly restored them in crystals of pure truth,divested alike of mysticism and remote significance. He took them up,one by one, and held them to the light, as one holds precious gems. Heknew them, recognized them, and appraised them with the delight, andcomprehensiveness, and the critical judgment of a connoisseur ofjewels.
"You believe that Christ came into your world," he said, "that you'might have life.' That is, he came to teach you that the life of thesoul, and not the body, is the real life. He died 'that you mightlive,' but it was not the mere fact of his death that assured yourlife. He was willing to give up his life in pledge of the truth ofwhat he taught, that you might believe that truth, and act upon thatbelief, and so gain life. He taught only the truth,--his soul was afountain of truth. Hence, when he said, Suffer the little children tocome unto me, it was as though he said, Teach your children the truthsI have taught you. And when he cried in the tenderness of his greatand yearning love, Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden,and I will give you rest, he meant,--oh! you cannot doubt it, myfriend,--he meant, Come, give up your strifes, and hatreds, yourgreeds, and vanities, and selfishness, and the endless weariness ofyour pomps and shows; come to me and learn how to live, and where tofind peace, and contentment. 'A new commandment I give unto you, thatye love one another.' This was the 'easy yoke,' and the 'lightburden,' which your Christ offered to you in place of the tyranny ofsin. 'Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so tothem.' There is nothing finer than that,--there is no law above that!We Caskians have been trying to work upon that principle for thousandsof years. It is all that there is of religion, save the spiritualperception of abstract truths which we may conceive of; more or lessclearly, as attributes of God. Your Great Teacher explained to youthat God is a spirit, and should be worshiped in spirit and in truth.Hence we may worship Him where and when we will. Worship is not aceremony, but profound contemplation of the infinite wisdom, theinfinite power, and the infinite love of God. The outdoorworld,--here, where we stand now, with the marvelous sky above us, theclouds, the sun; this mighty cataract before us; and all the teeminglife, the beauty, the fragrance, the song,--is the best place of all.I pity the man who lacks the faculty of worship! it means that thoughhe may have eyes he sees not, and ears he hears not."
"Do you believe in temples of worship?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied, "I believe in them; for though walls and stainedwindows shut out the physical glories of the world, they do not blindthe eyes of the spirit. And if there is one in the pulpit who hasabsorbed enough of the attributes of God into his soul to stand as aninterpreter to the people, it is better than waiting outside. Then,too, there is grandeur in the coming together of a multitude toworship in oneness of spirit. And all things are better when sharedwith others. I believe that art should bring its best treasures toadorn the temples of worship, and that music should voice this supremeadoration. But in this matter, we should be careful not to limit Godin point of locality. What does the saying mean, 'I asked for bread,and ye gave me a stone?' I think it might mean, for one thing, 'Iasked where to find God, and you pointed to a building.' The finitemind is prone to worship its own creations of God. There are ignorantraces upon this planet,--perhaps also upon yours,--who dimly recognizeDeity in this way; they bring the best they have of skill inhandiwork, to the making of a pitiful image to represent God; andthen, forgetting the motive, they bow down to the image. We call thatidolatry. But it is hard even for the enlightened to avoid this sin."
He paused a moment and then went on:
"I cannot comprehend the importance you seem to place upon the formsand symbols, nor in what way they relate to religion, but they mayhave some temporary value, I can hardly judge of that. Baptism, yousay, is a token and a symbol, but do a people so far advanced inintelligence and perception, still require tokens and symbols? And canyou not, even yet, separate the spiritual meaning of Christ's wordsfrom their literal meaning? You worship the man--the God, if youwill,--instead of that for which he stood. He himself was a symbol, hestood for the things he wished to teach. 'I am the truth,' 'I am thelife.' Do you not see that he meant, 'I am the exponent of truth, Iteach you how to live; hearken unto me.' In those days in which helived, perhaps, language was still word-pictures, and the people whomhe taught could not grasp the abstract, hence he used the moreforcible style, the concrete. He could not have made this clearer,than in those remarkable words, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto oneof the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me.'"
"I know," I replied, as he paused for some response from me; "myintellect accepts your interpretation of these things, but thissymbolic religion of ours is ingrained in our very consciences, sothat neglect of the outward forms of Christianity seems almost worsethan actual sin."
"And it will continue to be so," he said, "until you learn to practicethe truth for truth's sake,--until you love your neighbor--not onlybecause Christ commanded it, but because the principle of love is'ingrained in your consciences.' As for belonging to a church, I canonly conceive of that in the social sense, for every soul that aspiresupward belongs to Christ's church universal. They are the lambs of hisflock, the objects of his tenderest care. But I can see how a greatnumber of religious societies, or organizations, are possible, ascorresponding with the requirements of different groups of people."
"Yes," I said, glad of this admission, "and these societies are allaiming at the same thing that you teach,--the brotherhood of man. Theyclothe the poor, they look after the sick, they send missionaries tothe heathen, they preach morality and temperance,--all, in His Name,because, to tell the truth, they cannot conceive of any virtuedisassociated from the man, Jesus. Jesus is the great leader of thespiritual forces marshaled under the banners of truth upon the Earth.In all their good works, which are so great and so many, goodchristians give Christ the glory, because, but for him, they would nothave had the Truth, the Life,--the world was so dark, so ignorant. Allthe ancient civilizations upon the Earth,--and some of them weremagnificent!--have perished, because they did not possess this truthand this spiritual life which Christ taught. There was a great deal ofknowledge, but not love; there was a great deal of philosophy, but itwas cold. There was mysticism, but it did not satisfy. Do you wonder,sir, that a world should love the man who brought love into thatworld,--who brought peace, good-will, to men?"
"No, no," said the Master, "I do not wonder. It is grand, sublime! Andhe gave his body to be destroyed by his persecutors, in order to proveto the world that there is a life higher than the physical, andinde
structible,--and that physical death has no other agony thanphysical pain. Ah, I see, I understand, and I am not surprised thatyou call this man your redeemer! I think, my friend," he added, "thatyou have now a civilization upon the Earth, which will not perish!"
After a moment, he remarked, turning to me with a smile, "We are notso far apart as we thought we were, when we first started out, arewe?"
"No," said I, "the only wonder to me is, that you should have been inpossession, from the beginning, of the same truths that were revealedto us only a few centuries ago, through, as we have been taught tobelieve, special Divine Favor."
"Say, rather, Infinite Divine Love," he returned; "then we shallindeed stand upon the same plane, all alike, children of God."
As we continued our walk, his mind continued to dwell upon theteachings of Christ, and he sought to make clear to me one thing afteranother.
"Pray without ceasing," he repeated, reflectively. "Well, now, itwould be impossible to take that literally; the literal meaning ofprayer is verbal petition. The real meaning is, the sincere desire ofthe soul. You are commanded to pray in secret, and God will rewardyou openly. Put the two together and you have this: Desire constantly,within your secret soul, to learn and to practice the truth; and youropen reward shall be the countless blessings which are attracted tothe perfect life, the inner life. 'Ask whatsoever you will, in myname, and it shall be granted you.' That is, 'Ask in the name of truthand love.' Shall you pray for a personal blessing or favor which mightmean disaster or injury to another? Prayer is the desire and effort ofthe soul to keep in harmony with God's great laws of the universe."
* * * * *
As it had been in Thursia, so it was here; people came to see me fromall parts, and there were some remarkable companies in Clytia'sparlors! Usually they were spontaneous gatherings, evening partiesbeing often made up with little or no premeditation. There was musicalways, in great variety, and of the most delightful and elevatedcharacter,--singing, and many kinds of bands. And sometimes there wasdancing,--not of the kind which awakened in De Quincey's soul, "thevery grandest form of passionate sadness,"--but of a kind that made mewish I had been the inventor of the phrase, "poetry of motion," sothat I could have used it here, fresh and unhackneyed. In all, therewas no more voluptuousness than in the frolic of children.Conversation might--and often was--as light as the dance ofbutterflies, but it was liable at any moment to rise, upon a hint, ora suggestion, to the most sublimated regions of thought,--for thesepeople do not leave their minds at home when they go into society. Andhere, in society, I saw the workings of the principle of brotherlylove, in a strikingly beautiful aspect. There was no disposition onthe part of any one to outdo another; rather there seemed to be ageneral conspiracy to make each one rise to his best. The spirit ofcriticism was absent, and the spirit of petty jealousy. The womenwithout exception were dressed with exquisite taste, because this is apart of their culture. And every woman was beautiful, for loving eyesapproved her; and every man was noble, for no one doubted him.
If the sky was clear, a portion of each evening was spent in theobservatory, or out upon the balcony, as the company chose, and thegreat telescope was always in requisition, and always pointed to theEarth!--if the Earth was in sight.
The last evening I spent in Lunismar was such an one as I havedescribed. Ariadne and I happened to be standing together, and alone,in a place upon the balcony which commanded a view of our world. Itwas particularly clear and brilliant that night, and you may imaginewith what feelings I contemplated it, being about to return to it! Wehad been silent for some little time, when she turned her eyes tome--those wonderful eyes!--and said, a little sadly, I thought:
"I shall never look upon Earth again, without happy memories of yourbrief visit among us."
A strange impulse seized me, and I caught her hands and held them fastin mine. "And I, O, Ariadne! when I return to Earth again, and liftmy eyes toward heaven, it will not be Mars that I shall see, butonly--Ariadne!"
A strange light suddenly flashed over her face and into her eyes asshe raised them to mine, and in their clear depths was revealed to methe supreme law of the universe, the law of life, the law of love. Ina voice tremulous with emotion--sad, but not hopeless--she murmured:
"And I, also, shall forget my studies in the starry fields of space towatch for your far-distant planet--the Earth--which shall forevertouch all others with its glory."
And there, under the stars, with the plaintive music of the Eudosa inour ears, and seeing dimly through the darkness the white finger ofthe snowy peaks pointing upward, we looked into each other's eyesand--"I saw a new heaven and a new earth."
THE END.
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