CHAPTER XIII. THE SOCIETY AGAIN
VISITS EARTH.
"Do the angels rest
in heaven?
Aye, in eternal
activity which is rest."
IT was such a morning as is alone
beheld in the spheres, when the group of spirits again passed from their
bright homes to survey the inharmonious conditions of earth. We find them
resting over a large city, in which were concentrated all the
abominations of the world. Fashion here held her baneful sway, and on
her altars of eternally consuming fire sacrificed her untold victims.
Toil, God's first command to man, was either excessive or utterly
neglected. Classes, grades, and other conventional distinctions, held
potent sway; and error (sin) sat brooding over all, from the beggar in
his rags to the ruler on his golden throne. Commerce sat in her
deceitful form on the quays, or housed herself in high towering walls of
brick and stone. Falsehood, as
a commodity, was bought and sold. Deception, fraud, hypocrisy, were everywhere prevalent.
Man had contracted his God-like soul into the compass of a copper cent,
and found an infinite universe in which to roam within its narrow rim.
No low animal passions were suppressed; these held supreme control and
what fearful control! All underneath was corruption, which filled the sewers, drains, and
cesspools, sending up its
poisonous exhalations to mingle with the moral effluvia generated above
by corrupted man, who, with God-like powers, walked the pavement amid
the mass of corrupted elements, unconscious of their
presence, pursuing his puerile ends as eagerly as a boy chases the bubble or
the gaudy butterfly.
There was nothing natural—no God—none
of his works—all artificial, bowing to arbitrary and conventional rules.
No clear blue sky, as seen when rambling over the verdant mead; no
boundless prospect, such as exalts and exhilarates the mind when on the
shores of a tameless ocean; no bright sunshine awakening. cheerily the
activity of animal life, bidding the flowers to expand their petals and
shake off the dews of heaven. No gorgeous sunset behind the western
forests, commanding life to be for the time dormant, There was nothing
pure, lovely, and truly beautiful. Bick walls shut out the extended
view; pavements concealed Gods ground; night was changed to, day by the
glare of poisonous gas; stimulating foods and drinks were spread at every
street corner, tempting the overtasked body to plunge into the gulf of
infamy deeper—still deeper. The overfed gourmand jostled the beggar he
had robbed of bread from his path with a sneer. Monopoly towered in
six-storied structures, and crowded God's children from the soil rightly
their own.
O misery, crime, ignorance, and
degradation, can you be surpassed in the mythic hell? Angels weep, weep,
for your brothers on earth!
Over this scene of misgovernment,
error, and death the group in silence rested. Within their wide-extended
gaze the whole vast scene stretched out in all the rank deformities of
perverted nature. Marvin, who was with them, had been a speculator—a
monopolist, and had played at the highhanded
game of trade in a manner superior to the shrewdest. When he saw the hell-sent speculation grind down
the poor and oppress the miserable; when his extended perception saw the
results of the actions of those who followed his footsteps, and
knew that he had caused equal suffering, crime, and woe, he
called upon the rocks and mountains to fall upon him and conceal him
from the sight of those who saw him in the light in which he saw himself.
He covered his face with his hands, and wept as though the bursting tempest
would rend every fibre of his frame.
"Wretch! wretch! wretch he exclaimed
in anguish."
"Oh, that I had never been born! I
now see myself in the mirror of my own heart. Annihilation, or the
torments of the fabled hell, are nothing to this. Plunge me, O God, if
thou art merciful, into the bottomless pit of destruction, burning with
fires unquenchable, and blot from memory’s tablet the knowledge of the
past! Hope, that once spread her balmy wings around my heart, thou, too,
hast forsaken me, and the future is an awful scene of woe and despair!"
The Sage, taking him by the hand,
raised him up, saying:—
"Self-accusing child, why blame
yourself thus? Blame no one for their follies, but the circumstances in
which you were placed. They were bad; popular opinion, before which you
bent, was bad. All tended to make you what you were. You have a germ of
native goodness in your being, or you would not thus accuse yourself.
Arise! weep no more! The future is bright. You can retrieve your misdeeds, but
must lose the time wasted since a child?"
"Is that all? Am I forgiven?"
"Not forgiven; so much is lost.
Study as intensely as you will—learn until you become a god in
wisdom—still, so much is lost. The scar of wrong will never hide itself in
growth."
Marvin made no reply, but sat wrapped
in melancholy reflections. The others engaged in conversation on the
passing panorama. Spirit after spirit ascended as freed from earth—some
black as night, others bright as a sun beam in a cloudless morning. Between
these extremes were all degrees of brightness and purity.
A female figure arose from among the
brick walls, and beholding the dazzling light of the Society, she came
toward them. She was a la mode,
with life powers cramped by a
slender waist, one half the size of that which nature would have given
her, and her mind diseased by stimulants and poison. She was bewildered by
the new state of things, and wished an explanation of their mysteries. She
approached, and with a fashionable greeting, cold and formal, inquired
where she was.
"In heaven!" was the response.
"In heaven! Why this does not agree
with my belief!" was the surprised response.
"This is heaven, let your belief be
as it may," replied the Sage.
"Heaven is a place of enjoyment; but
how do you enjoy yourselves in this airy region?"
"By travelling and working."
"By working!" said she, in the utmost
scorn; "working in heaven! I, never
did work, and as for travelling, it was
always too much trouble."
"Travelling is very pleasant,"
interrupted Hero. "I take great pleasure in roaming through the groves and among
the flowers."
"That may be true for
you, but it is not for
me. When you wish to become otherwise than as you now are, what do you do?"
"Work."
"Work!
I never worked, and I never
will. Why vulgar people labor; the refined
do not. I won't work—never!
"It is with yourself to choose,"
calmly replied the Sage,
"You cannot be happy in indolence,
while around you are those as
intellectual, as good, and as refined as yourself, performing the tasks assigned them.
You cannot be contented, or advance. Recall this rash sentence and supply its place with a will."
"Never, never! I declare I won't
work; indeed, it would soil my hands, brown my complexion, and injure my
beauty."
That may be true; but your hands are
no better than those of the millions who labor, and if your complexion were browned your beauty would be
improved by health."
"Health!" exclaimed she; "health!
indeed, that is none of mine, unless it be wretched health. Such misery as I
endure makes life a burden; such terrible pains, piercing me like
needles. Don't talk to me of health, diseased And dying as I am."
"You have already passed the change
called death and will now outgrow the conditions and influences of your
earthly life; but, sick as you are, you never can be better until you labor."
"I
won't work!"
"You will be obliged to recall that
foolish declaration. Are you not ashamed to remain idle while all
surrounding nature is at work? You are a consumer. You must eat, drink, and
wear raiment, while for the last thirty years you have produced nothing.
You are to live through all future time; but according to your present
determination, you will never produce anything. On earth—that great
bedlam beneath—pursuant to established conventional rules, you could use
the earnings of a hundred brothers and sisters, giving in return no
equivalent and causing their families to live in wretchedness and woe.
There the poor can be made slaves, toiling night and day for the support
of idle masters and mistresses; there those who toil most receive least,
eking out a life of want; while those who toil least receive most, sleep
on down, sup from silver dishes, consuming an endless number of useless luxuries, while thousands are living
in destitution and are obliged to expose themselves to the winter's
blast. You have entered a new sphere of existence. Here the laws of right are
observed. No one here can live on the sustenance of another. When a person
refuses his share of honest toil we let him suffer the consequences of
violated law, which soon makes him tractable and ready to listen to the
words of nature."
"But I
can't work; I
never learned to do anything." "Have you not learned something useful?"
"Oh, yes; I can embroider, can play
on the piano, can Sing, Point, and draw."
"Nothing more?" asked the Sage, in a
tone of pity.
"I know a little of French and
Italian, and can dance."
"Know you nothing of the laws of life and of your being?"
"Laws of my being! Why God takes care
of that He giveth and taketh away. Can I know his reasons?"
"Verily it rests in your hands, and
you should understand those reasons? Can you expect health without knowing
how it may be preserved? Sickness is the result of ignorance and
consequent physical violation. It you understand not this subject, you
are like one walking in dark over yawning precipices, every moment
liable to slip and precipitate himself on the rocks below."
"To understand this subject, and
avail one-self of its advantages, would it not set at naught the
mysterious ways of Providence, and be a sacrilege in the sight of God, by changing what
he has decreed?"
"As for the Providence of which you
speak, it exists only in the diseased fancies of the abnormal brain; and as
for sacrilege, what we can discover of nature and render available, is
our privilege to investigate—not trembling at every step for fear of God's wrath, but boldly and manfully doing all that we can to discover
truth. This is our privilege. You understand not the science of life!"
"No; all I know is to live, asking no
questions."
"That is as much as the blind
devotees of the world know. They understand nothing of
manhood; they
are in their infancy. Thus you have wasted years in the accumulation of
useless—worse than useless— knowledge. Man studies to elevate himself
for a few days on earth. He acquires knowledge to that effect, and not
for eternal life. The spirit
is neglected and crushed to earth.
They send their children to the primary school to prepare for the
college. Strange that the future is not provided for! You are totally,
totally unprepared for the unseen realities before you."
"I know I am. Let me go back! Ah, I
must go back to earth. I can't stay
here. What shall I do? Ah,
how I wish I could go back!"
"You are wishing for an
impossibility; you have entered a now life, and
must submit to its conditions."
"If I stay here I will be obliged to
labor; and you know that I do not know how."
"There is an eternity before you in
which to learn." "But there is
no one to teach me."
"There is a circle of those like
yourself, striving for elevation, and to them. I direct you."
"A circle! all strangers! and I
becoming a pupil in a workshop! I won't
do it!
I'll go back! I won't work!"
At this moment, an infant spirit,
conducted by one long in the spheres, arose above the smoke and dust of
the city. With almost a scream of delight, the
lady spirit flew toward
them and clasped the infant in her arms. She then came back to her
former position in a transport of joy, exclaiming:—
"I don't want to go back now. My
child is with me. Poor thing!, so delicate, pale, and unwell! She has troubled me ever since she was born.
I expected her to die, but while on earth I dreaded the event which now gives me so much joy."
"Yes, she is a delicate thing—an
offspring of your infringement of organic laws and the sacred principles
of life. She is a fitting emblem of the ignorance of earth. Delicate and
unwell, indeed! How could it be otherwise where the laws of hereditary
descent prevail and mould the child after the thoughts of the mother?
Whatever thoughts are excited or depressed in the mother will appear in
the same state in the child. When will mankind learn that the
development of their offspring depends upon themselves, and that it is
as possible to rear philosophers, statesmen, and poets-minds having the
capabilities to arouse a world—as such mental dwarfs—such poor,
imperfectly formed beings?
"You are another fitting emblem of earth's
errors. Fashion has distorted your form, changed your manners and your
whole being. God made you for health; you have striven to disobey his
laws, and have bent before the silly force of prejudice and
conservatism. Look at yourself, and compare yourself with Hero.
Beautiful as your form was thought to be, how ugly and homely when compared with one
who has obeyed Nature's laws!
"Don't laugh at me," said she,
piteously.
"Laugh at you!—never! I pity you, and
your child I pity still more. She is a copy of all your defects and of
none of your virtues. This is the result of your violation of marriage laws.
The offspring of those who are uncongenially joined take the bad
qualities of both parents in their aggravated state. In
true marriage it is the reverse. Ah, men
and women of earth! a tremendous responsibility rests on you, from which
you cannot escape. The
destinies of the future generations are in your hands. Send not into the
world such miserable organizations, with but half the life they should possess,
diseased and suffering from the effects of your continual, violations.
Think of these things well before you take the responsibility of ushering an immortal being into
the world! Look at your child there! its death written in vivid hues on
its countenance, imbecility of intellect in its vacant eye, an
instability of purpose and a deficient morality in the contour of its head.
Strange you should become so nervous on account of her illness, when you
took so little care in her embryonic development! Strange!"
Not strange. How could I do better,
considering my ignorance and the evils with which I was surrounded?"
asked she, in a palliating tone.
"Because man is surrounded by evil
circumstances, he should not cease to strive to overcome those
circumstances. He himself is the greatest circumstance. Let him strive
to change himself; then will all conditions put on a new aspect, as
clouds change their color in the setting sun. He should not sit down
complaining of bad circumstances, but take hold manfully, and work his
way upward out of them into the light. Does the mariner, on the wide
ocean, complainingly sit down in imbecility when the storm breaks over him and the
billows dash at his feet? Assuredly not; but the fiercer the blast the more
intense his exertions. Thus should man strive on the sea of human
life—strive ever to overcome and conquer. Well do I know your condition was
anything else but enviable, for the best situated are bad enough. Here, in
this little being, behold the result."
"Is she to bear
my sins?" asked the mother, in
agitation.
"Not your
sins, but the results
of those sins: and
the punishment recoils back upon yourself."
"This is injustice," said the
agitated lady. "My poor Isabel to suffer for my crimes! I cannot bear
the thought of it I had rather suffer a
thousandfold than have her suffer for a single hour. It is unjust!"
"Not so; it is but the extension of
the great principles of equity which he concealed in the depths of nature. It
is necessarily the result of infringed law. Without this punishment the
laws would be useless. Pain is the police and safety-guard set along the
way to drive us back to the right path. If not for its influence we might go off on
some tangent and never return. So we are compelled to do right at last.
We oscillate within given limits. Thus you perceive infinite justice in
punishment."
"Talk of justice to me when I see my child crushed as an opening flower
by its iron-sway!"
"Yes, I would talk of justice, to
you, that you need not sink yourself under new violations. Your feelings
are overwrought, and distort your reason…. Rememberest thou the noble
ancient who gave his eye to save his sons? Seek not to take this
punishment upon yourself, for you will have all you can bear without
more."
"Can I not retrieve the errors by
which I have brought misery on her?" "You know there is a law of
progress that will relieve you."
"And is it possible for little Bell to become healthy as
other children?"
"Possible—but a long time must elapse before this can be fully accomplished. Nature once crushed
recovers slowly and with great effort."
"If it is possible, I am happy;" and a joyful radiance overspread her
countenance.
"Can I not do something to aid her
recovery?"
"You can work. This for the time will
be your field of labor. You said you would not labor. You must toil
here, or your child will pass ages in the sphere where you now behold
it."
