XXII
We went some considerable distance, after leaving our intellectualfriends, through very beautiful wooded country, and as we went we talkedwith much animation about the intellectual life and its dangers. It hadalways, I confess, appeared to me a harmless life enough; not veryeffective, perhaps, and possibly liable to encourage a man in a trivialsort of self-conceit; but I had always looked upon that as aninstinctive kind of self-respect, which kept an intellectual person fromdwelling too sorely upon the sense of ineffectiveness; as an addictionnot more serious in its effects upon character than the practice ofplaying golf, a thing in which a leisurely person might immerse himself,and cultivate a decent sense of self-importance. But Amroth showed methat the danger of it lay in the tendency to consider the intellect tobe the basis of all life and progress. "The intellectual man," he said,"is inclined to confuse his own acute perception of the movement ofthought with the originating impulse of that movement. But of coursethought is a thing which ebbs and flows, like public opinion, accordingto its own laws, and is not originated but only perceived by men ofintellectual ability. The danger of it is a particularly arid sort ofself-conceit. It is as if the Lady of Shalott were to suppose that shecreated life by observing and rendering it in her magic web, whereas herdevotion to her task simply isolates her from the contact with otherminds and hearts, which is the one thing worth having. That is, ofcourse, the danger of the artist as well as of the philosopher. Theyboth stand aside from the throng, and are so much absorbed in the aspectof thought and emotion that they do not realise that they are separatedfrom it. They are consequently spared, when they come here, thepunishment which falls upon those who have mixed greedily, selfishly,and cruelly with life, of which you will have a sight before long. Butthat place of punishment is not nearly so sad or depressing a place asthe paradise of delight, and the paradise of intellect, because thesufferers have no desire to stay there, can repent and feel ashamed, andtherefore can suffer, which is always hopeful. But the artistic andintellectual have really starved their capacity for suffering, the oneby treating all emotion as spectacular, and the other by treating it asa puerile interruption to serious things. It takes people a long time towork their way out of self-satisfaction! But there is another curiousplace I wish you to visit. It is a dreadful place in a way, but by nomeans consciously unhappy," and Amroth pointed to a great building whichstood on a slope of the hill above the forest, with a wide and beautifulview from it. Before very long we came to a high stone wall with a gatecarefully guarded. Here Amroth said a few words to a porter, and we wentup through a beautiful terraced park. In the park we saw little knots ofpeople walking aimlessly about, and a few more solitary figures. But ineach case they were accompanied by people whom I saw to be warders. Wepassed indeed close to an elderly man, rather fantastically dressed, wholooked possessed with a kind of flighty cheerfulness. He was talking tohimself with odd, emphatic gestures, as if he were ticking off thepoints of a speech. He came up to us and made us an effusive greeting,praising the situation and convenience of the place, and wishing us apleasant sojourn. He then was silent for a moment, and added, "Now thereis a matter of some importance on which I should like your opinion." Atthis the warder who was with him, a strong, stolid-looking man, with anexpression at once slightly contemptuous and obviously kind, held up hishand and said, "You will, no doubt, sir, remember that you haveundertaken--" "Not a word, not a word," said our friend; "of course youare right! I have really nothing to say to these gentlemen."
We went up to the building, which now became visible, with its long andstately front of stone. Here again we were admitted with someprecaution, and after a few minutes there came a tall andbenevolent-looking man, to whom Amroth spoke at some length. The manthen came up to me, said that he was very glad to welcome me, and thathe would be delighted to show us the place.
We went through fine and airy corridors, into which many doors, as ofcells, opened. Occasionally a man or a woman, attended by a male or afemale warder, passed us. The inmates had all the same kind of air--asort of amused dignity, which was very marked. Presently our companionopened a door with his key and we went in. It was a small,pleasantly-furnished room. Some books, apparently of devotion, lay onthe table. There was a little kneeling-desk near the window, and theroom had a half-monastic air about it. When we entered, an elderly man,with a very serene face, was looking earnestly into the door of acupboard in the wall, which he was holding open; there was, so far as Icould see, nothing in the cupboard; but the inmate seemed to bestruggling with an access of rather overpowering mirth. He bowed to us.Our conductor greeted him respectfully, and then said, "There is astranger here who would like a little conversation with you, if you canspare the time."
"By all means," said the inmate, with a very ingratiating smile. "It isvery kind of him to call upon me, and my time is entirely at hisdisposal."
Our conductor said to me that he and Amroth had some brief business totransact, and that they would call for me again in a moment. The inmatebowed, and seemed almost impatient for them to depart. He motioned me toa chair, and the moment they left us he began to talk with greatanimation. He asked me if I was a new inmate, and when I said no, only avisitor, he looked at me compassionately, saying that he hoped I mightsome day attain to the privilege. "This," he said, "is the abode offinal and lasting peace. No one is admitted here unless his convictionsare of the firmest and most ardent character; it is a reward forfaithful service. But as our time is short, I must tell you," he said,"of a very curious experience I have had this very morning--a spiritualexperience of the most reassuring character. You must know that I held ahigh official position in the religious world--I will mention nodetails--and I found at an early age, I am glad to say, the imperativenecessity of forming absolutely impregnable convictions. I went to workin the most business-like way. I devoted some years to hard reading andsolid thought, and I found that the sect to which I belonged was lackingin certain definite notes of divine truth, while the weight of evidencepointed in the clearest possible manner to the fact that one particularsection of the Church had preserved absolutely intact the primitivefaith of the Saints, and was without any shadow of doubt the perfectlylogical development of the principles of the Gospel. Mine is not anature that can admit of compromise; and at considerable sacrifice ofworldly prospects I transferred my allegiance, and was instantlyrewarded by a perfect serenity of conviction which has never faltered.
"I had a friend with whom I had often discussed the matter, who was muchof my way of thinking. But though I showed him the illogical nature ofhis position, he hung back--whether from material motives or from mereemotional associations I will not now stop to inquire. But I could notpalter with the truth. I expostulated with him, and pointed out to himin the sternest terms the eternal distinctions involved. I broke off allrelations with him ultimately. And after a life spent in the mostsolemn and candid denunciation of the fluidity of religious belief,which is the curse of our age, though it involved me in many of theheart-rending suspensions of human intercourse with my nearest anddearest so plainly indicated in the Gospel, I passed at length, incomplete tranquillity, to my final rest. The first duty of the sincerebeliever is inflexible intolerance. If a man will not recognise thetruth when it is plainly presented to him, he must accept the eternalconsequences of his act--separation from God, and absorption in guiltyand awestruck regret, which admits of no repentance.
"One of the privileges of our sojourn here is that we have a strange andbeautiful device--a window, I will call it--which admits one to a sightof the spiritual world. I was to-day contemplating, not without pain,but with absolute confidence in its justice, the sufferings of some ofthese lost souls, and I observed, I cannot say with satisfaction, butwith complete submission, the form of my friend, whom my testimony mighthave saved, in eternal misery. I have the tenderest heart of any manalive. It has cost me a sore struggle to subdue it--it is more unrulyeven than the will--but you may imagine that it is a matter of deep andcomforting assurance to ref
lect that on earth the door, the one door, tosalvation is clearly and plainly indicated--though few there be thatfind it--and that this signal mercy has been vouchsafed to me. I havethen the peace of knowing, not only that my choice was right, but thatall those to whom the truth is revealed have the power to choose it. Iam a firm believer in the uncovenanted mercies vouchsafed to those whohave not had the advantages of clear presentment, but for thedeliberately unfaithful, for all sinners against light, the sentence isinflexible."
He closed his eyes, and a smile played over his features.
I found it very difficult to say anything in answer to this monologue;but I asked my companion whether he did not think that some clearerrevelation might be made, after the bodily death, to those who for somehuman frailty were unable to receive it.
"An intelligent question," said my companion, "but I am obliged toanswer in the negative. Of course the case is different for those whohave accepted the truth loyally, even if their record is stained by thefoulest and most detestable of crimes. It is the moral and intellectualadhesion that matters; that once secured, conduct is comparativelyunimportant, if the soul duly recurs to the medicine of penitence andcontrition so mercifully provided. I have the utmost indulgence forevery form of human frailty. I may say that I never shrank from contactwith the grossest and vilest forms of continuous wrong-doing, so long asI was assured that the true doctrines were unhesitatingly andsubmissively accepted. A soul which admits the supremacy of authoritycan go astray like a sheep that is lost, but as long as it recognisesits fold and the authority of the divine law, it can be sought andfound.
"The little window of which I spoke has given me indubitable testimonyof this. There was a man I knew in the flesh, who was regarded as amonster of cruelty and selfishness. He ill-treated his wife and misusedhis children; his life was spent in gross debauchery, and his conduct onseveral occasions outstepped the sanctions of legality. He was a forgerand an embezzler. I do not attempt to palliate his faults, and therewill be a heavy reckoning to pay. But he made his submission at thelast, after a long and prostrating illness; and I have oculardemonstration of the fact that, after a mercifully brief period ofsuffering, he is numbered among the blest. That is a sustainingthought."
He then with much courtesy invited me to partake of some refreshment,which I gratefully declined. Once or twice he rose, and opening thelittle cupboard door, which revealed nothing but a white wall, he drankin encouragement from some hidden sight. He then invited me to kneelwith him, and prayed fervently and with some emotion that light might bevouchsafed to souls on earth who were in darkness. Just as he concluded,Amroth appeared with our conductor. The latter made a courteous inquiryafter my host's health and comfort. "I am perfectly happy here," hesaid, "perfectly happy. The attentions I receive are indeed more than Ideserve; and I am specially grateful to my kind visitor, whoseindulgence I must beg for my somewhat prolonged statement--but when onehas a cause much at heart," he added with a smile, "some prolixity iseasily excused."
As we re-entered the corridor, our conductor asked me if I would care topay any more visits. "The case you have seen," he said, "is an extremelytypical and interesting one."
"Have you any hope," said Amroth, "of recovery?"
"Of course, of course," said our conductor with a smile. "Nothing ishopeless here; our cures are complete and even rapid; but this is aparticularly obstinate one!"
"Well," said Amroth, "would you like to see more?"
"No," I said, "I have seen enough. I cannot now bear any more."
Our conductor smiled indulgently.
"Yes," he said, "it is bewildering at first; but one sees wonderfulthings here! This is our library," he added, leading us to a great airyroom, full of books and reading-desks, where a large number of inmateswere sitting reading and writing. They glanced up at us with friendlyand contented smiles. A little further on we came to another cell,before which our conductor stopped, and looked at me. "I should like,"he said, "if you are not too tired, just to take you in here; there isa patient, who is very near recovery indeed, in here, and it would dohim good to have a little talk with a stranger."
I bowed, and we went in. A man was sitting in a chair with his head inhis hands. An attendant was sitting near the window reading a book. Thepatient, at our entry, removed his hands from his face and looked up,half impatiently, with an air of great suffering, and then slowly rose.
"How are you feeling, dear sir?" said our conductor quietly.
"Oh," said the man, looking at us, "I am better, much better. The lightis breaking in, but it is a sore business, when I was so strong in mypride."
"Ah," said our guide, "it is indeed a slow process; but happiness andhealth must be purchased; and every day I see clearly that you aredrawing nearer to the end of your troubles--you will soon be leaving us!But now I want you kindly to bestir yourself, and talk a little to thisfriend of ours, who has not been long with us, and finds the placesomewhat, bewildering. You will be able to tell him something of what ispassing in your mind; it will do you good to put it into words, and itwill be a help to him."
"Very well," said the man gravely, "I will do my best." And the otherswithdrew, leaving me with the man. When they had gone, the man asked meto be seated, and leaning his head upon his hand he said, "I do not knowhow much you know and how little, so I will tell you that I left theworld very confident in a particular form of faith, and very muchdisposed to despise and even to dislike those who did not agree with me.I had lived, I may say, uprightly and purely, and I will confess that Ieven welcomed all signs of laxity and sinfulness in my opponents,because it proved what I believed, that wrong conduct sprang naturallyfrom wrong belief. I came here in great content, and thought that thisplace was the reward of faithful living. But I had a great shock. I wasvery tenderly attached to one whom I left on earth, and the severestgrief of my life was that she did not think as I did, but used to pleadwith me for a wider outlook and a larger faith in the designs of God.She used to say to me that she felt that God had different ways ofsaving different people, and that people were saved by love and not bydoctrine. And this I combated with all my might. I used to say,'Doctrine first, and love afterwards,' to which she often said, 'No,love is first!'
"Well, some time ago I had a sight of her; she had died, and enteredthis world of ours. She was in a very different place from this, but shethought of me without ceasing, and her desire prevailed. I saw her,though I was hidden from her, and looked into her heart, and discernedthat the one thing which spoiled her joy was that I was parted from her.
"And after that I had no more delight in my security. I began to sufferand to yearn. And then, little by little, I began to see that it islove after all which binds us together, and which draws us to God; butmy difficulty is this, that I still believe that my faith is true; andif that is true, then other faiths cannot be true also, and then I fallinto sad bewilderment and despair." He stopped and looked at me fixedly.
"But," I said, "if I may carry the thought further, might not all betrue? Two men may be very unlike each other in form and face andthought--yet both are very man. It would be foolish arguing, if a manwere to say, 'I am indeed a man, and because my friend is unlikeme--taller, lighter-complexioned, swifter of thought--therefore hecannot be a man.' Or, again, two men may travel by the same road, andsee many different things, yet it is the same road they have bothtravelled; and one need not say to the other, 'You cannot have travelledby the same road, because you did not see the violets on the bank underthe wood, or the spire that peeped through the trees at the folding ofthe valleys--and therefore you are a liar and a deceiver!' If onebelieves firmly in one's own faith, one need not therefore say that allwho do not hold it are perverse and wilful. There is no excuse, indeed,for not holding to what we believe to be true, but there is no excuseeither for interfering with the sincere belief of another, unless onecan persuade him he is wrong. Is not the mistake to think that one holdsthe truth in its entirety, and that one has no more to learn and toperceive? I myself sh
ould welcome differences of faith, because it showsme that faith is a larger thing even than I know. What another sees maybe but a thought that is hidden from me, because the truth may be seenfrom a different angle. To complain that we cannot see it all is asfoolish as when the child is vexed because it cannot see the back of themoon. And it seems to me that our duty is not to quarrel with others whosee things that we do not see, but to rejoice with them, if they willallow us, and meanwhile to discern what is shown to us as faithfully aswe can."
The man heard me with a strange smile. "Yes," he said, "you arecertainly right, and I bless the goodness that sent you hither; but whenyou are gone, I doubt that I shall fall back into my old perplexities,and say to myself that though men may see different parts of the samething, they cannot see the same thing differently."
"I think," I said, "that even that is possible, because on earth thingsare often mere symbols, and clothe themselves in material forms; and itis the form which deludes us. I do not myself doubt that grace flowsinto us by very different channels. We may not deny the claim of any oneto derive grace from any source or symbol that he can. The only thing wemay and must dare to dispute is the claim that only by one channel maygrace flow. But I think that the words of the one whom you loved, ofwhom you spoke, are indeed true, and that the love of each other and ofGod is the force which draws us, by whatever rite or symbol or doctrineit may be interpreted. That, as I read it, is the message of Christ, whogave up all things for utter love."
As I said this, our guide and Amroth entered the cell. The man rose upquickly, and drawing me apart, thanked me very heartily and with tearsin his eyes; and so we said farewell. When we were outside, I said tothe guide, "May I ask you one question? Would it be of use if I remainedhere for a time to talk with that poor man? It seemed a relief to him toopen his heart, and I would gladly be with him and try to comfort him."
The guide shook his head kindly. "No," he said, "I think not. Irecognise your kindness very fully--but a soul like this must find theway alone; and there is one who is helping him faster than any of us canavail to do; and besides," he added, "he is very near indeed to hisrelease."
So we went to the door, and said farewell; and Amroth and I wentforward. Then I said to him as we went down through the terraced garden,and saw the inmates wandering about, lost in dreams, "This must be a sadplace to live in, Amroth!"
"No, indeed," said he, "I do not think that there are any happier thanthose who have the charge here. When the patients are in the grip ofthis disease, they are themselves only too well content; and it is ablessed thing to see the approach of doubt and suffering, which meansthat health draws near. There is no place in all our realm where onesees so clearly and beautifully the instant and perfect mercy of God,and the joy of pain." And so we passed together out of the guarded gate.