healed. The reed long bruised and bent by the tempests of life, finds
a smiling sky, and a warm, refreshing, and healing sunshine. Oh! how
my soul pants to escape from this world, and, like a bird fleeing to
the mountains, get home again from its dreary exile."
"My heart expands," said another, "whenever I think of Heaven; and I
long for the wings of a dove, that I may rise at once from this low,
ignorant, groveling state, and bathe my whole soul in the sunlight of
eternal felicity. What joy it will be to cast off this cumbersome
clay; to leave this poor body behind, and spread a free wing upon the
heavenly atmosphere. I shall hail with delight the happy moment which
sets me free."
Thus, one after another spoke, and each one regarded Heaven as a state
of happiness into which he was to come after death; but the old man
still sat silent, and his eyes were bent thoughtfully upon the floor.
Presently one said,
"Our aged friend says nothing. Has he no hope of Heaven? Does he not
rejoice with us in the happy prospect of getting there when the silver
chord shall be loosened, and the golden bowl broken at the fountain?"
The old man, thus addressed, looked around upon his companions. His
face remained serene, and his eye had a heavenly expression.
"Have you not a blessed hope of Heaven? Does not your heart grow warm
with sweet anticipations?" continued the last speaker.
"I never think of going to Heaven," the old man said, in a mild, quiet
tone.
"Never think of going to Heaven!" exclaimed one of the most ardent of
the company, his voice warming with indignation. "Are you a heathen?"
"I am one who is patiently striving to fill my allotted place in
life," replied the old man, as calmly as before.
"And have you no hopes beyond the grave?" asked the last speaker.
"If I live right here, all will be right there." The old man pointed
upward. "I have no anxieties about the future--no impatience--no
ardent longings to pass away and be at rest, as some of you have said.
I already enjoy as much of Heaven as I am prepared to enjoy, and this
is all that I can expect throughout eternity. You all, my friends,
seem to think that men come into Heaven when they die. You look ahead
to death with pleasure, because then you think you will enter the
happy state you anticipate--or rather _place_; for it is clear you
regard Heaven as a place full of delights, prepared for those who may
be fitted to become inhabitants thereof. But in this you are mistaken.
If you do not enter Heaven before you die, you will never do so
afterward. If Heaven be not formed within you, you will never find it
out of you--you will never _come into it_."
These remarks offended the company, and they spoke harshly to the old
man, who made no reply, but arose and retired, with a sorrowful
expression on his face. He went forth and resumed his daily
occupations, and pursued them diligently. Those who had been assembled
with him, also went forth--one to his farm, another to his
merchandize, each one forgetting all he had thought about Heaven and
its felicities, and only anxious to serve natural life and get gain.
Heaven was above the world to them, and, therefore, while in the
world, they could only act upon the principle that governed the world;
and prepare for Heaven by pious acts on the Sabbath. There was no
other way to do, they believed--to attempt to bring religion down into
life would only, in their view, desecrate it, and expose it to
ridicule and contempt.
The old man, to whom allusion has been made, kept a store for the sale
of various useful articles; those of the pious company who needed
these articles as commodities of trade, or for their own use, bought
of him, because they believed that he would sell them only what was of
good quality. One of the most ardent of these came into the old man's
store one day, holding a small package in his hand; his eye was
restless, his lip compressed, and he seemed struggling to keep down a
feeling of excitement.
"Look at that," he said, speaking with some sternness, as he threw the
package on the old man's counter.
The package was taken up, opened, and examined.
"Well?" said the old man, after he had made the examination, looking
up with a steady eye and a calm expression of countenance.
"Well? Don't you see what is the matter?"
"I see that this article is a damaged one," was replied.
"And yet you sold it to me for good." The tone in which this was said
implied a belief that there had been an intention of wrong.
A flush warmed the pale cheek of the old man at this remark. He
examined the sample before him more carefully, and then opened a
barrel of the same commodity and compared its contents with the
sample. They agreed. The sample from which he had bought and by which
he had sold was next examined--this was in good condition and of the
best quality.
"Are you satisfied?" asked the visitor with an air of triumph.
"Of what?" the old man asked.
"That you sold me a bad article for a good one."
"Intentionally?"
"You are the best judge. That lies with God and your own conscience."
"Be kind enough to return every barrel you purchased of me, and get
your money."
There was a rebuke in the way this was said, which was keenly felt. An
effort was made to soften the aspersion tacitly cast upon the old
man's integrity, but it was received without notice.
In due time the damaged article was brought back, and the money which
had been paid for it returned.
"You will not lose, I hope?" said the merchant, with affected
sympathy.
"I shall lose what I paid for the article."
"Why not return it, as I have done?"
"The man from whom _I_ purchased is neither honest nor responsible, as
I have recently learned. He left the city last week in no very
creditable manner, and no one expects to see him back again."
"That is hard; but I really don't think you ought to lose."
"The article is not merchantable. Loss is, therefore, inevitable."
"You can, of course, sell at some price."
"Would it be right to sell, at any price, an article known to be
useless--nay, worse than useless, positively injurious to any one who
might use it?"
"If any one should see proper to buy from you the whole lot, knowing
that it was injured, you would certainly sell. For instance, if I were
to offer you two cents a pound for what I bought from you at six
cents, would you not take me at my offer?"
"Will you buy at that price?"
"Yes. I will give you two cents."
"What would you do with it?"
"Sell it again. What did you suppose I would do with it? Throw it in
the street?"
"To whom would you sell?"
"I'd find a purchaser."
"At an advance?"
"A trifle."
The inquiries of the old man created a suspicion that he wished to
know who was to be the second purchaser, in order that he might go to
him and get a better price than was offered. This was the cause of the
brief answers given to his questions. He clearly comprehended what was
passing in the other's mind, but took no notice of it.
"For what purpose would the individual who purchased from you buy?" he
pursued.
"To sell again."
"At a further advance, of course?"
"Certainly."
"And to some one, in all probability, who would be deceived into
purchasing a worthless article."
"As likely as not; but with that I have no concern. I sell it for what
it is, and ask only what it is worth."
"Is it worth anything?"
"Why--yes--I can't say--no." The first words were uttered with
hesitation; the last one with a decided emphasis. "But then it has a
market value, as every article has."
"I cannot sell it to you, my friend," said the old man firmly.
"Why not?" I am sure you can't do better."
"I am not willing to become a party in wronging my neighbors. That is
the reason. The article has no real value, and it would be wrong for
me to take even a farthing per pound for it. You might sell it at an
advance, and the purchaser from you at a still further advance, but
some one would be cheated in the end, for the article never could be
used."
"But the loss would be divided. It isn't right that one man should
bear all. In the end it would be distributed amongst a good many, and
the loss fall lightly upon each."
The good old man shook his head. "My friend," he said, laying his hand
gently upon his arm--"Not very long since I heard you indulging the
most ardent anticipations of Heaven. You expected to get there one of
these days. Is it by acts of over-reaching your neighbor that you
expect to merit Heaven? Will becoming a party to wrong make you more
fitted for the company of angels who seek the good of others, and love
others more than themselves? I fear you are deceiving yourself. All
who come into Heaven love God: and I would ask with one of the
apostles, 'If a man love not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he
love God whom he hath not seen?' You have much yet to learn, my
friend. Of that true religion by which Heaven is formed in man, you
have not yet learned the bare rudiments."
There was a calm earnestness in the manner of the old man, and an
impressiveness in the tone of his voice, that completely subdued his
auditor. He felt rebuked and humbled, and went away more serious than
he had come. But though serious, his mind was not free from anger, his
self-love had been too deeply wounded.
After he had gone away, the property about which so much had been
said, was taken and destroyed as privately as it could be done. The
fact, however, could not be concealed. A friend of a different order
from the pious one last introduced, inquired of the old man why he had
done this. His answer was as follows:
"No man should live for himself alone. Each one should regard the
common good, and act with a view to the common good. If all were to do
so, you can easily see that we should have Heaven upon earth, from
whence, alas! it has been almost entirely banished. Our various
employments are means whereby we can serve others--our own good being
a natural consequence. If the merchant sent out his ships to distant
parts to obtain the useful commodities of other countries, in order to
benefit his fellow citizens, do you not see that he would be far
happier when his ships came in laden with rich produce, than if he had
sought only gain for himself? And do you not also see that he would
obtain for himself equal, if not greater advantages. If the builder
had in view the comfort and convenience of his neighbors while
erecting a house, instead of regarding only the money he was to
receive for his work, he would not only perform that work more
faithfully, and add to the common stock of happiness, but would lay up
for himself a source of perennial satisfaction. He would not, after
receiving the reward of his labor in a just return of this world's
goods, lose all interest in the result of that labor; but would,
instead, have a feeling of deep interior pleasure whenever he looked
at a human habitation erected by his hands, arising from a
consciousness that his skill had enabled him to add to the common
good. The tillers of the soil, the manufacturers of its products into
useful articles, the artisans of every class, the literary and
professional man, all would, if moved by a regard for the welfare of
the whole social body, not only act more efficiently in their
callings, but would derive therefrom a delight now unimagined except
by a very few. Believing thus, I could not be so blind as not to see
that the only right course for me to pursue was to destroy a worthless
and injurious commodity, rather than sell it at any price to one who
would, for gain, either himself defraud his neighbor, or aid another
in doing it. The article was not only useless, it was worse than
useless. How, then, could I, with a clear conscience sell it? No--no,
my friend. I am not afraid of poverty; I am not afraid of any worldly
ill--but I am afraid of doing wrong to my neighbors; or of putting it
in the power of any one else to do wrong. As I have said before, if
every man were to look to the good of the whole, instead of turning
all his thoughts in upon himself, his own interests would be better
served and he would be far happier."
"That is a beautiful theory," remarked the friend, "but never can be
realized in actual life. Men are too selfish. They would find no
pleasure in contemplating the enjoyments of others, but would, rather,
be envious of others' good. The merchant, so little does he care for
the common welfare, that unless he receives the gain of his
adventures, he will let his goods perish in his ware-house--to
distribute them, even to the suffering, would not make him happier.
And so with the product of labor in all the various grades of
society. Men turn their eyes inward upon the little world of self,
instead of outward upon the great social world. Few, if any,
understand that they are parts of a whole, and that any disease in any
other part of that whole, must affect the whole, and consequently
themselves. Were this thoroughly understood, even selfishness would
lead men to act less selfishly. We should indeed have Heaven upon
earth if your pure theories could be brought out into actual life."
"Heaven will be found nowhere else by man," was replied to this.
"What!" said the friend, in surprise. "Do you mean to say that there
is no Heaven for the good who bravely battle with evil in this life?
Is all the reward of the righteous to be in this world?"
One of the pious company, at first introduced, came up at this moment,
and hearing the last remark, comprehended, to some extent, its
meaning. He was one who hoped, from pious acts of prayer, fastings,
and attendance upon all the ordinances of the church, to get to Heaven
at last. In the ordinary pursuits of life he was eager for gain, and
men of the world dealt warily with him--they had reason; for he
separated his religious from his business life.
"A most impious doctrine," he said, with indignant warmth. "Heaven
upon earth! A man had better give all his passions the range, and
freely enjoy the world, if there is to be no hereafter. Pain, and
sorrow, and self-denial make a poor kind of Heaven, and these are all
the Christian man meets here. Far better to live while we do live, say
I, if our Heaven is to be here."
"What makes Heaven, my friend?" calmly asked the old man.
"Happiness. Freedom from care, and pain, and sorrow, and all the ills
of this wretched life--to live in the presence of God and sing his
praises forever--to make one of the blessed company who, with the
four-and-twenty elders forever bow before the throne of God and the
Lamb--to have rest, and peace, and unspeakable felicity forever."
"How do you expect to get into Heaven? How do you expect to unlock the
golden gates of the New Jerusalem?" pursued the old man.
"By faith," was the prompt reply. "Faith unlocks these gates."
The old man shook his head, and turning to the individual with whom he
had first been conversing, remarked--
"You asked me if I meant to say that there was no Heaven for the good
who bravely battle with evil in this life? If all the reward of the
righteous was to be in this world? God forbid! For then would I be of
all men most miserable. What I said was, that Heaven would be _found_
no where else but in this world, by man. Heaven must be entered into
here, or it never can be entered into when men die."
"You speak in a strange language," said the individual who had joined
them, in a sneering tone. "No one can understand what you mean.
Certainly I do not."
"I should not think you did," quietly replied the old man. "But I
will explain my meaning more fully--perhaps you will be able to
comprehend something of what I say. Men talk a great deal about
Heaven, but few understand what it means. All admit that in this life
they must prepare for Heaven; but nearly all seem to think that this
preparation consists in the _doing_ of something as a means by which
they will be entitled to enter Heaven after death, when there will be
a sudden and wonderful change in all their feelings and perceptions."
"And is not that true?" asked the one who had previously spoken.
"I do not believe that it is, in the commonly understood sense."
"And pray what do you believe?"
"I believe that all in heavenly societies are engaged in doing good,
and that heavenly delight is the delight which springs from a
gratified love of benefiting others. And I also believe, that the
beginning of Heaven with every one is on this earth, and takes place
when he first makes the effort to renounce self and seek from a true
desire to benefit them, the good of others. If this coming into
Heaven, as I call it, does not take place here, it can never take
place, for '_As the tree falls so it lies_.' Whatever is a man's
internal quality when he dies that it must remain forever. If he have
been a lover of self, and sought only his own good, he will remain a
lover of self in the next life. But, if he have put away self-love
from his heart and shunned the evils to which it would prompt him, as
sins, then he comes into Heaven while still upon earth, and when he
lays aside his mortal body, his heavenly life is continued. Thus you
can see, that if a man do not find Heaven while in this world, he will
never find it in the next. He must come into heavenly affections here,
or he will never feel their warmth hereafter. Hundreds and thousands
live on from day to day, thinking only of themselves, and caring only
for themselves, who insanely cherish the hope that they shall get into
Heaven at last. Some of these are church-going people, and partakers
of its ordinances; while others expect, some time before they die, to
become pious, and thus, by a 'saving faith,' secure an entrance into
Heaven. Their chances of finding Heaven, at last, are about equal. And
if they should be permitted to come into a heavenly society they would
soon seek to escape from it. Where all were unselfish, how could one
who was utterly selfish dwell? Where all sought the good of others,
how could one who cared simply for his own good, remain and be happy?
It could not be. If you wish to enter Heaven, my friend, you must
bring heavenly life into your daily occupations."
"How can that be? Religion is too tender a plant for the world."
"Your error is a common one," replied the old man, "and arises from
the fact that you do not know what religion is. Mere piety is not
religion. There is a life of charity as well as a life of piety, and
the latter without the former is like sounding brass and tinkling
cymbal."
"All know that," was replied.
"All profess to know it, but all do not know what is meant by
charity."
"It is love. That every Christian man admits."
"It is love for the neighbor in activity; not a mere idle emotion of
the heart. Now, how can a man best promote the good of his
neighbor?--love, you know, always seeks the good of its object; in no
way, it is clear, so well as by faithfully and diligently performing
the duties of his office, no matter what it may be. If a judge, let
him administer justice with equity and from a conscientious principle;
if a physician, a lawyer, a soldier, a merchant, or an artisan, let
him with all diligence do the works that his hands find to do, not
merely for gain, but because it is his duty to serve the public good
in that calling by which he can most efficiently do it. If he act from
this high motive, from this religious principle, all that he does will
be well and faithfully done. No wrong to his neighbor can result from
his act. True charity is not that feeling which prompts merely to the
bestowment of worldly goods for the benefit of others--in fact, true
charity has very little to do with alms-giving and public
benefactions. It is not a mere 'love for the brethren' only, as many
religious denominations think, but it is a love that embraces all
mankind, and regards good as its brother wherever and in whomever it
is seen."
"That every one admits."
"Admission and practice, my friend, are not always found walking in
the same path. But I am not at all sure that every one admits that
charity consists in a man's performing his daily uses in life with
justice and judgment. By most minds charity, as well as religion, is
viewed as separate from the ordinary business of man; while the truth
is, there can be neither religion nor charity apart from a man's
business life. If he be not charitable and religious here, he has
neither charity nor religion; if he love not his neighbor whom he hath
seen; if he do not deal justly and conscientiously with his neighbor
whom he hath seen, how can he love God, or act justly and
conscientiously toward God whom he hath not seen? How blind and
foolish is more than half of mankind on this subject! They seem to
think, that if they only read the Bible and attend to the ordinances
of the church, and lead very pious lives on the Sabbath, that this
service will be acceptable to God, and save them; while, at the same
time, in their business pursuits, they seek to gain this world's goods
so eagerly, that they trample heedlessly upon the rights and interests
of all around them; in fact, act from the most selfish, and,
consequently, infernal principles. You call R---- a very pious man, do
you not?"
"I believe him to be so. We are members of the same church, and I see
a good deal of him. He is superintendent of our Sabbath-school, and is
active in all the various secular uses of the church."
"Do you know any thing of his business life?"
"No."
"I do. Men of the world call him a shark, so eager is he for gain. He
will not steal, nor commit murder, nor break any one of the
commandments so far as the laws of the state recognize these divine
laws to be laws of common society. But, in his heart, and in act, so
far as the law cannot reach him, he violates them daily. He will
overreach you in a bargain, and think it all right. If your business
comes in contact with his, he will use every means in his power to
break you down, even to the extent of secretly attacking your credit.
He will lend his money on usury, and when he has none to lend, will
play the jackal to some money-lion, and get a large share of the spoil
for himself. And further, if you differ in faith from him, in his
heart will send you to hell with as much pleasure as he would derive
from cheating you out of a dollar."
"You are too severe on R----. I cannot believe him to be what you
say."
"A man's reputation among business men gives the true impression of
his character, for, in business, the eagerness with which men seek
their ends causes them to forget their disguises. Go and ask any man
who knows R---- in business, and he will tell you that he is a
sharper. That if you have any dealings with him you must keep your
eyes open. I could point you to dozens of men who are as pious as he
is on the Sabbath, who, in their ordinary life are no better than
swindlers. The Christian religion is disgraced by thousands of such,
who are far worse than those who never saw the inside of a church."
"I am afraid that you, in the warmth of your indignation against false
professors, are led into the extreme of setting aside all religion; or
of making it to consist alone in mere honesty and integrity of
character--your moral man is all; it is morality that opens Heaven.
Now mere morality, mere good works, are worth nothing, and cannot
bring a man into Heaven."
"There is a life of piety, and a life of charity, my friend, as I have
before said," replied the old man, "and they cannot be separated. The
life of charity regards man, and the life of piety God. A man's
prayers, and fastings, and pious duties on the Sabbath are nothing, if
love to the neighbor, showing itself in a faithful performance of all
life's varied uses that come within his sphere of action, is not
operative through the week, vain hopes are all those which are built
upon so crumbling a foundation as the mere life of piety. Morality,
as you call it, built upon man's pride, is of little use, but
morality, which is based upon a sincere desire to do good, is worth a
thousand prayers from the lips of a man who inwardly hates his
neighbor."
"Then I understand you to mean that religious, or pious duties are
useless"--was remarked with a good deal of bitterness.