CHAPTER V. HADES.

 

He stood there desolate and lone,

Wealth, titles, honors all had flown;

Like oak o'er which the storm-winds sweep, Around which lightnings busy leap In lurid gleam, and thunders shout, And echoing peal their laugh about.

 

AS they passed from the scene described in the last chapter, the Sage seemed wrapped in deep meditation. At length he gave utterance to his feelings.

 

"Here I behold minds equal in natural strength to my own, yet debased lower than the brute. This is the punishment for the many misdeeds of the body. Here you behold the reactive energy of those laws. They must work out their own redemption. Though not plunged into a fiery gulf of sulphur, smoke, and wrath, their punishment is a thousandfold more severe. If they feel this not now, the thousand cycles of the future will reveal their trespasses in all their deformities. The knowledge of what they have lost will force itself upon their minds."

 

As the Sage paused, Leon raised his eyes from pondering his words, and beheld a majestic yet mournful prospect. They were standing on a lofty eminence overlooking an and plane, interspersed with hills, valleys, and ravines, and oasis-like green spots would now and then break out like islands in the Sahara. The plane appeared boundless, and on every side it lost itself in the thick clouds of vapor hanging over it. On every side appeared the scenes beheld by ancient clairvoyants, seers, and visionaries, and by their excited imagination wrought into a fiery hell of Jehovah's wrath. Oh, the loneliness of the prospect! The dim view of millions of human beings, all once of earth, wandering over the and waste, with hearts as stinted and souls as contracted as the stunted mimosa and dwarf acacia which grow in clumps here and there on the desert.

 

"Here have I often contemplated the scenes of spirit misery and woe," said the Philosopher; "woe beyond all possible conception—beyond all expression; for, while pursuing the ruinous course of error, they one and all think they are enjoying the fullest measure of happiness. Their minds, are hermetically sealed to the light. They can never progress until their mental vision is unshrouded from the thick veil of their present ignorance."

 

"This seems," responded Leon, "like a realization of earth. To appearances this is an earthly prospect, and the spirits I behold yonder are as busily engaged as man with all his cares. Have I not viewed this prospect before?"

 

"True, it is an earthly scene. This is earth. The lowest circle or plane of our existence is not removed above man's plane. Thus, a good opportunity is given the undeveloped to learn the laws which govern earth; and you well know that they must learn these before advancing."

 

"Then these shaded spirits who flit about and till the ground, and appear so busily employed, are yet in the flesh, though they scarcely differ from the others?"

 

"Yes, those are the inhabitants of earth toiling for food and raiment, which is right, and ten thousand useless luxuries which are hurtful. Here we find all classes and varieties of minds—the bigot, the hypocrite, the trader, the trafficker who used fraudulent and unlawful means, deception, and scant measure—the narrow-minded, the selfish, and the sensual—all are here."

 

"For a long time I have watched them intently, but owing to the diversity of occupations I cannot satisfy my curiosity."

 

"They are variously employed. Yonder is a group who believe life created for to-day; that to 'drink and be merry' is the ultimate of existence. They have in consequence permitted their minds to run to ruin, and have prostrated all their energies in the cultivation of a lisping speech, and what they style grace of manners. Now they join in the dance—well enough in itself, it is true, when performed for exercise, but when made a chief employment of life, extremely bad in its effects. Hundreds of years since I passed this way on a mission similar to my present, and then I beheld this same circle employed just as you now see them. I say the same; it appears as if some are not here now who were here then, and that the number is augmented. Perhaps some have seen their folly in a new light, and arisen above the pursuit of mere animal gratification. Yonder is a group of sensualists, thinking, talking, and acting as on earth—sacrificing their energies on the altar of sensual desire. Think you on this spectacle! Let we drop the veil of modesty, remembering that these have their likeness on earth. Leon, do you recollect Marvin, the merchant prince, the speculating capitalist, the bigoted religionist?

 

"I have cause to remember him. Many a time have we argued until he became angry, and condemned me to the infernal gulf of misery as an outcast and infidel."

 

"He has departed from his palace home. Can you see that dark spirit yonder? How wildly he gazes around him! He is bewildered and lost!"

 

"It is the one of whom you speak. There is the churchman, the creed-fettered man—a strict observer of bigotry. How often have I heard him repeat, 'that one could tell Sunday from a week-day by its appearance!' How often has he cursed me from his Bible, and said I was elected for hell, and he for heaven! Why cometh he hither?"

 

While he was speaking, Marvin, attracted by the superior light issuing from the eminence, hastened up, wildly gazing around at every step. The moment he came within speaking distance, he recognised Leon, and exclaimed:—

 

"Leon of the hamlet! and your wife!—you here? What keeps you in this dismal place? What are you doing here? Where am I?"

 

"We came here to observe the lights and shadows of spirit-life. You are in the place where I once told you you would go, for which you scorned me."

 

"I remember, and believe none the more or less now. I am not dead yet" "No, but you are dead to the world." "Say not so; I am only dreaming a fearful dream."

 

"If You should behold your body conveyed to the tomb, your dreams would begin to put on form and substance."

 

"I should believe them reality," exclaimed he, still gazing with an insane stare, and startling at every sound.

 

"Follow, then," said Leon, who well knew the position of the stately hall that reared itself near by his humble cottage.

 

The group proceeded to the former home of Marvin, and entered its marble walls, furnished with the sumptuousness of untold wealth, proclaiming Marvin a prince in dollars and pride. In a mahogany coffin, on a marble table, rested the earthly remains of the great leader in commerce and religion, bloated with the ravages of disease. His spirit drew near, folded its arms, and with a fixed gaze stood over the corpse. Not a limb moved nor a muscle vibrated, except a slight quiver would now and then run over the face. The view of his mortal form held him fascinated. Never will the earnest look be fixed upon his former self be forgotten. The bearers entered, and placed the coffin in the hearse, which began its measured movement towards the family tomb. Then, with a loud scream of agony, he appeared to wake to consciousness, threw himself on the coffin, hugging the corpse with all his energy— crying with might and main he was to be buried alive—he lived—he was to be murdered! He had seen too much beyond death already. He only slept. After lamenting in this manner for a while, he became aware that the spirits with him heard his voice through the vibrations of ether. His friends, whom he wished to hear, could not hear in the least. He then strove to move the corpse—to move the arm to make them know that he yet lived. All was vain! He had lost control over his own form, and knew not how to move matter. Frantic with fear and anxiety, be clung to the wreck of his mortality, and refused the request of the Philosopher to rise. When the coffin was placed away side by side with the previous generation, and with a lingering look the bearers were about to depart, he became alarmed for fear of being shut up, and followed them out into the free air, declaring all the time he was in a trance! or it was an awful dream!

 

"Nay," said the Philosopher; "your body is dead; you live, and are a spirit in the Spirit-world."

 

"In heaven?" exclaimed he in extreme surprise.—"I in heaven?"

 

"No, not heaven to you, but is to us."

 

"Why, this is no heaven, this is earth! Where is heaven?—I can't see it!"

 

"What kind of place do you expect to find heaven asked the Sage, with something of pity.

 

What kind of a place? I believe it is as the Bible describes. It says heaven is paved with bright gold, and walled about with precious stones, so that no sinner can get in through the narrow way which I have travelled, with now and then a slight transgression, which the Lord has forgiven me. Now you are sinners, for you are waylaying me, and declaring me dead while I live. Am I in all the heaven I shall ever find? If I am in heaven, where is God, to whom I have prayed three times each day all my life?"

 

"He is here."

 

"Where?" he exclaimed in terror. "Here, around and within us."

 

"No; I see him not: and thus you have proved that I am not in heaven. God is in heaven; the Bible says so. If he were here, I could see him far plainer than I now see you. He sits on an ivory throne, with sceptre in his hand, dealing out laws and punishments to the nations. All around are elders and angels with golden harps, singing his praise. Where is all this? I hear nothing. Do you suppose such a concourse could escape my sight? No, I could see it across the universe."

 

"You hear them!—no, you never will."

 

"Oh, sinners, evil angels sent to tempt me from the path of right! Oh, that I could awake! Where is heaven? Don't stand pointing to your mind; I want to behold the real heaven, with its glittering pavement!"

 

"Many of earth's sons would rather see the 'glittering pavement' than heaven itself, but none will ever be gratified," calmly replied the Sage.

 

"Is there not such a place?" and again the storm of passion arose within. "No local heaven. Heaven is a condition, not a locality." "Do you deny the Bible?"

"No."

"That says heaven is located."

"Not if rightly understood."

"Yes it does, plainly. I have crucified my flesh, suffered everything, carried my grievous cross—all for nothing! Nay, nay, I'll find the place yet"

"Not yet."

"Never?" "Never!"

"Are my sufferings of no avail?"

"None whatever, unless to depress you. The path of happiness passes not through suffering. Suffering is the consequence of infringed law; happiness, of obeyed law. To be happy is to enjoy all the pure pleasures of earth. You have always labored under a great mistake."

"But my prayers?"

"Prayer without action is worthless." "Did not Christ die for me?" "No."

"Why was he sacrificed then?

He died because the Jews were angry at his reformation, and treated him just as all reformers have been—since time began—burned, crucified, murdered by the mob at the instigation of the priesthood."

"Can he not forgive sins?"

"No; every man has his own accounts to answer for. If he is debtor he is necessarily punished."

"Atonement false?"

"Yes, Christ suffers not for your sins. He is not a scapegoat on whom you are to lay your burdens."

"Heretic! heretic! No wonder you have not seen heaven. I'll argue no more with you, but retire to my house, and show you I live there yet."

 

In a few moments Marvin rushed from his once lively halls with a frantic gesture, exclaiming:—

 

"Oh! they have buried me, and believe me dead, and have already divided my property, which I have strove night and day to accumulate, that in my old age I might enjoy it. They are quarrelling like wolves over a carcase. When they opened my safe, and I saw how determined they were to waste all my savings, I shouted right in their ears, and though: they must have heard, they gave not the least attention. I am dead, and why does not the good angel come to conduct me away? I'll go and search for heaven myself."

 

"How large do you think it to be?" "Why, it is limited somewhere."

 

"A limited spot is uncertain to find in infinite universe. This globe is large—larger than you imagine heaven, yet one unacquainted with its orbit might search a million of ages and not find it."

 

"Is Now, truly, did you never learn of its locality?" asked he, in a supplicating tone.

 

"Yes, everywhere where there is a happy mind—where there is a mind capable of enjoyment, for heaven is happiness."

 

"Where, then, is the other place—the awful inconceivable hell, with the old master of iniquity? If that is everywhere too, I shall be haunted by evil spirits all my days."

 

"It is everywhere where there is an unhappy mind; and as for the devil, he cannot trouble you, for he exists only in the over-heated imagination of those trained in prejudice."

 

"You are all fully punished for your sinful thoughts while on earth. What an awful place!"

 

"True," said the Sage, "this is just as bad a place as can be found. It is just as you make it—heaven or hell; and as for evil spirits, if you are good they cannot approach you, being repelled; and if bad, you will seek their company. To convince yourself that heaven is not a locality, you had better search until satisfied. It will then be a greater reality to you."

 

"That is what I mean to do, and am in no doubt that I shall be successful."

 

"Go! Meanwhile we will take our departure, with the humble wish that you will return to nature, and be guided by the light within you."