[1833]
THE student sat at his books. All the day he had been poring over an
old and time-worn volume; and the evening found him still absorbed in
its contents. It was one of that interminable series of controversial
volumes, containing the theological speculations of the ancient fathers
of the Church. With the patient perseverance so characteristic of his
countrymen, he was endeavoring to detect truth amidst the numberless
inconsistencies of heated controversy; to reconcile jarring
propositions; to search out the thread of scholastic argument amidst
the rant of prejudice and the sallies of passion, and the coarse
vituperations of a spirit of personal bitterness, but little in
accordance with the awful gravity of the question at issue.
Wearied and baffled in his researches, he at length closed the volume,
and rested his care-worn forehead upon his hand. "What avail," he said,
"these long and painful endeavors, these midnight vigils, these weary
studies, before which heart and flesh are failing? What have I gained?
I have pushed my researches wide and far; my life has been one long and
weary lesson; I have shut out from me the busy and beautiful world; I
have chastened every youthful impulse; and at an age when the heart
should be lightest and the pulse the freest, I am grave and silent and
sorrowful,' and the frost of a premature age is gathering around my
heart. Amidst these ponderous tomes, surrounded by the venerable
receptacles of old wisdom, breathing, instead of the free air of heaven,
the sepulchral dust of antiquity, I have become assimilated to the
objects around me; my very nature has undergone a metamorphosis of which
Pythagoras never dreamed. I am no longer a reasoning creature, looking
at everything within the circle of human investigation with a clear and
self-sustained vision, but the cheated follower of metaphysical
absurdities, a mere echo of scholastic subtilty. God knows that my aim
has been a lofty and pure one, that I have buried myself in this living
tomb, and counted the health of this His feeble and outward image as
nothing in comparison with that of the immortal and inward
representation and shadow of His own Infinite Mind; that I have toiled
through what the world calls wisdom, the lore of the old fathers and
time-honored philosophy, not for the dream of power and gratified
ambition, not for the alchemist's gold or life-giving elixir, but with
an eye single to that which I conceived to be the most fitting object of
a godlike spirit, the discovery of Truth,--truth perfect and unclouded,
truth in its severe and perfect beauty, truth as it sits in awe and
holiness in the presence of its Original and Source!
"Was my aim too lofty? It cannot be; for my Creator has given me a
spirit which would spurn a meaner one. I have studied to act in
accordance with His will; yet have I felt all along like one walking in
blindness. I have listened to the living champions of the Church; I
have pored over the remains of the dead; but doubt and heavy darkness
still rest upon my pathway. I find contradiction where I had looked for
harmony; ambiguity where I had expected clearness; zeal taking the place
of reason; anger, intolerance, personal feuds and sectarian bitterness,
interminable discussions and weary controversies; while infinite Truth,
for which I have been seeking, lies still beyond, or seen, if at all,
only by transient and unsatisfying glimpses, obscured and darkened by
miserable subtilties and cabalistic mysteries."
He was interrupted by the entrance of a servant with a letter. The
student broke its well-known seal, and read, in a delicate chirography,
the following words:--
"DEAR ERNEST,--A stranger from the English Kingdom, of gentle birth and
education, hath visited me at the request of the good Princess Elizabeth
of the Palatine. He is a preacher of the new faith, a zealous and
earnest believer in the gifts of the Spirit, but not like John de
Labadie or the lady Schurmans.
[J. de Labadie, Anna Maria Schurmans, and others, dissenters from
the French Protestants, established themselves in Holland, 1670.]
"He speaks like one sent on a message from heaven, a message of wisdom
and salvation. Come, Ernest, and see him; for he hath but a brief hour
to tarry with us. Who knoweth but that this stranger may be
commissioned to lead us to that which we have so long and anxiously
sought for,--the truth as it is in God.
"LEONORA."
"Now may Heaven bless the sweet enthusiast for this interruption of my
bitter reflections!" said the student, in the earnest tenderness of
impassioned feeling. "She knows how gladly I shall obey her summons;
she knows how readily I shall forsake the dogmas of our wisest
schoolmen, to obey the slightest wishes of a heart pure and generous as
hers."
He passed hastily through one of the principal streets of the city to
the dwelling of the lady, Eleonora.
In a large and gorgeous apartment sat the Englishman, his plain and
simple garb contrasting strongly with the richness and luxury around
him. He was apparently quite young, and of a tall and commanding
figure. His countenance was calm and benevolent; it bore no traces of
passion; care had not marked it; there was a holy serenity in its
expression, which seemed a token of that inward "peace which passeth all
understanding."
"And this is thy friend, Eleonora?" said the stranger, as he offered his
hand to Ernest. "I hear," he said, addressing the latter, "thou hast
been a hard student and a lover of philosophy."
"I am but a humble inquirer after Truth," replied Ernest.
"From whence hast thou sought it?"
"From the sacred volume, from the lore of the old fathers, from the
fountains of philosophy, and from my own brief experience of human
life."
"And hast thou attained thy object?"
"Alas, no!" replied the student; "I have thus far toiled in vain."
"Ah! thus must the children of this world ever toil, wearily, wearily,
but in vain. We grasp at shadows, we grapple with the fashionless air,
we walk in the blindness of our own vain imaginations, we compass heaven
and earth for our objects, and marvel that we find them not. The truth
which is of God, the crown of wisdom, the pearl of exceeding price,
demands not this vain-glorious research; easily to be entreated, it
lieth within the reach of all. The eye of the humblest spirit may
discern it. For He who respecteth not the persons of His children hath
not set it afar off, unapproachable save to the proud and lofty; but
hath made its refreshing fountains to murmur, as it were, at the very
door of our hearts. But in the encumbering hurry of the world we
perceive it not; in the noise of our daily vanities we hear not the
waters of Siloah which go softly. We look widely abroad; we lose
ourselves in vain speculation; we wander in the crooked paths of those
who have gone before us; yea, in the language of one of the old fathers,
we ask the earth and it replieth not, we question the sea and its
inhabitants, we turn to the sun, and the moon, and the stars of heaven,
and they may not satisfy us; we ask our eyes, and they cannot see, and
our ears, and they cannot hear; we turn to books, and they delude us; we
seek philosophy, and no response cometh from its dead and silent
learning.
[August. Soliloq. Cap. XXXI. "Interrogavi Terram," etc.]
"It is not in the sky above, nor in the air around, nor in the earth
beneath; it is in our own spirits, it lives within us; and if we would
find it, like the lost silver of the woman of the parable, we must look
at home, to the inward temple, which the inward eye discovereth, and
wherein the spirit of all truth is manifested. The voice of that spirit
is still and small, and the light about it shineth in darkness. But
truth is there; and if we seek it in low humility, in a patient waiting
upon its author, with a giving up of our natural pride of knowledge, a
seducing of self, a quiet from all outward endeavor, it will assuredly
be revealed and fully made known. For as the angel rose of old from the
altar of Manoah even so shall truth arise from the humbling sacrifice of
self-knowledge and human vanity, in all its eternal and ineffable
beauty.
"Seekest thou, like Pilate, after truth? Look thou within. The holy
principle is there; that in whose light the pure hearts of all time have
rejoiced. It is 'the great light of ages' of which Pythagoras speaks,
the 'good spirit' of Socrates; the 'divine mind' of Anaxagoras; the
'perfect principle' of Plato; the 'infallible and immortal law, and
divine power of reason' of Philo. It is the 'unbegotten principle and
source of all light,' whereof Timmus testifieth; the 'interior guide of
the soul and everlasting foundation of virtue,' spoken of by Plutarch.
Yea, it was the hope and guide of those virtuous Gentiles, who, doing by
nature the things contained in the law, became a law unto themselves.
"Look to thyself. Turn thine eye inward. Heed not the opinion of the
world. Lean not upon the broken reed of thy philosophy, thy verbal
orthodoxy, thy skill in tongues, thy knowledge of the Fathers. Remember
that truth was seen by the humble fishermen of Galilee, and overlooked
by the High Priest of the Temple, by the Rabbi and the Pharisee. Thou
canst not hope to reach it by the metaphysics of Fathers, Councils,
Schoolmen, and Universities. It lies not in the high places of human
learning; it is in the silent sanctuary of thy own heart; for He, who
gave thee an immortal soul, hath filled it with a portion of that truth
which is the image of His own unapproachable light. The voice of that
truth is within thee; heed thou its whisper. A light is kindled in thy
soul, which, if thou carefully heedest it, shall shine more and more
even unto the perfect day."
The stranger paused, and the student melted into tears. "Stranger!" he
said, "thou hast taken a weary weight from my heart, and a heavy veil
from my eyes. I feel that thou hast revealed a wisdom which is not of
this world."
"Nay, I am but a humble instrument in the hand of Him who is the
fountain of all truth, and the beginning and the end of all wisdom. May
the message which I have borne thee be sanctified to thy well-being."
"Oh, heed him, Ernest!" said the lady. "It is the holy truth which has
been spoken. Let us rejoice in this truth, and, forgetting the world,
live only for it."
"Oh, may He who watcheth over all His children keep thee in faith of thy
resolution!" said the Preacher, fervently. "Humble yourselves to
receive instruction, and it shall be given you. Turn away now in your
youth from the corrupting pleasures of the world, heed not its hollow
vanities, and that peace which is not such as the world giveth, the
peace of God which passeth all understanding, shall be yours. Yet, let
not yours be the world's righteousness, the world's peace, which shuts
itself up in solitude. Encloister not the body, but rather shut up the
soul from sin. Live in the world, but overcome it: lead a life of
purity in the face of its allurements: learn, from the holy principle of
truth within you, to do justly in the sight of its Author, to meet
reproach without anger, to live without offence, to love those that
offend you, to visit the widow and the fatherless, and keep yourselves
unspotted from the world."
"Eleonora!" said the humbled student, "truth is plain before us; can we
follow its teachings? Alas! canst thou, the daughter of a noble house,
forget the glory of thy birth, and, in the beauty of thy years, tread in
that lowly path, which the wisdom of the world accounteth foolishness?"
"Yes, Ernest, rejoicingly can I do it!" said the lady; and the bright
glow of a lofty purpose gave a spiritual expression to her majestic
beauty. "Glory to God in the highest, that He hath visited us in
mercy!"
"Lady!" said the Preacher, "the day-star of truth has arisen in thy
heart; follow thou its light even unto salvation. Live an harmonious
life to the curious make and frame of thy creation; and let the beauty
of thy person teach thee to beautify thy mind with holiness, the
ornament of the beloved of God. Remember that the King of Zion's
daughter is all-glorious within; and if thy soul excel, thy body will
only set off the lustre of thy mind. Let not the spirit of this world,
its cares and its many vanities, its fashions and discourse, prevail
over the civility of thy nature. Remember that sin brought the first
coat, and thou wilt have little reason to be proud of dress or the
adorning of thy body. Seek rather the enduring ornament of a meek and
quiet spirit, the beauty and the purity of the altar of God's temple,
rather than the decoration of its outward walls. For, as the Spartan
monarch said of old to his daughter, when he restrained her from wearing
the rich dresses of Sicily, 'Thou wilt seem more lovely to me without
them,' so shalt thou seem, in thy lowliness and humility, more lovely in
the sight of Heaven and in the eyes of the pure of earth. Oh, preserve
in their freshness thy present feelings, wait in humble resignation and
in patience, even if it be all thy days, for the manifestations of Him
who as a father careth for all His children."
"I will endeavor, I will endeavor!" said the lady, humbled in spirit,
and in tears.
The stranger took the hand of each. "Farewell!" he said, "I must needs
depart, for I have much work before me. God's peace be with you; and
that love be around you, which has been to me as the green pasture and
the still water, the shadow in a weary land."
And the stranger went his way; but the lady and her lover, in all their
after life, and amidst the trials and persecutions which they were
called to suffer in the cause of truth, remembered with joy and
gratitude the instructions of the pure-hearted and eloquent William
Penn.