FAITH AND PHILOSOPHY.
During the time that Arius and Theckla had been absent at the hermitage
of Am-nem-hat, a great change had occurred in the condition of the
Egyptian lady, Hatasa, at the Baucalis cottage. Early in the morning
she had fallen into a profound slumber, but before noon she had awakened
suddenly, and in a moment afterward the whole house was filled with her
bitter wailing. All at once the terrible sense of loss had overwhelmed
her mind with impassioned force, and in heart-broken tones she repeated
the name of her husband over and over again, and momently called aloud
for "Theckla, darling Theckla! Where is my daughter, my only child?"
Then with great tenderness Arete told her that Theckla was well and
happy, and would soon return with her own son, with whom she had gone to
visit a near neighbor. The poor woman's grief seemed hopeless and
unendurable. At one moment she would yearningly lament the loss of her
husband, and at the next reproach the gods of Egypt with his
destruction, and then, perhaps, pray to them in tones of hopeless
supplication. "O Ra and Thoth!" she cried, "ye murderous, heartless
gods, that have so cruelly bereft me, have pity upon Amosis, whom ye
have snatched away to the under-world! O merciless and fearful Ma-t,
that hast never had compassion upon any mortal, thou terrible Two Truths
in thy dark halls sitting, unmoved by sorrow or pain, in the gloom of
mournful Amenti, soften once thy stony heart, that thou mayst feel the
sharpness of our earthly woe, so that thou judge not mine Amosis until I
have builded his sarcophagus. O thou Hesiri-Hes! that cometh nearer to
our human life than other dreadful deities, restore my husband's body to
the land, that with due honors and uncounted cost I yet may have his
mummy-rites prepared to smooth his pathway through the under-world!"
Then, seeming to realize the uselessness of any prayer in the absence of
the ceremonies of a funeral, she moaned in hopeless grief: "O terrible!
to be cut off in youth, with no sarcophagus builded, and no
mummy-cloth--cast off alone and friendless, into the darkness of Amenti!
O fearful fate! to be called up for judgment, like a pauper, before the
merciless, unsparing Ma-t!"
And so she would cry, as loudly as her feebleness permitted, until
exhausted nature enforced silence upon her wailing lips.
"She calleth upon the ancient, fearful gods of Kem," said old Thopt, in
a half-terrified whisper to Arete.
"She is without God and without hope in the world," whispered Arete.
"May the compassionate Lord pity her and bring unto her the consolations
of his grace!"
"My heart weeps for her," whispered old Thopt; "for the Egyptians are
not as the Christians are. They have a shuddering horror of death, and
it is to them the sum of all possible wretchedness."
And so the weary hours passed slowly, and, at last, came Theckla and
Arius home; and the girl, bounding into her mother's room, cast her arms
about her and kissed her passionately. And when the mother broke out
into renewed wailings, the daughter said: "Nay, mother, why dost thou
lament so bitterly? Surely thou art much better now, and father will
soon return to comfort thee. Cheer up thyself with the hope of speedily
returning health and strength."
"Alas! alas! thy father will return no more!--no more! Ah, nevermore!"
Then with startled, wondering eyes, the young girl gazed into her
mother's face, crying out: "What meanest thou? He hath always come back
from every absence joyously; why sayst thou 'No more--ah, never, more,'
so sorrowfully? Surely he must again return to us!"
Then it seemed apparent enough that these Egyptians had such an awful
terror of death, and the girl had been so carefully guarded against all
knowledge thereof, that she could scarcely realize what thing was meant
thereby; for the Egyptians said nothing of "death," but only, "He hath
gone hence," or "He is the Hesiri justified."
"He is dead, poor child!" moaned the mother, "swallowed up forever by
the cruel, unrelenting sea! Thou wilt see his face, and hear his voice,
and spring to meet his fond caress no more," she wailed--"no more!"
"Is he, then, the Hesiri justified?" she asked, a nameless wonder and
terror taking hold upon her soul.
"Oh, thou wilt break all my heart!" she answered. "He hath died without
a sarcophagus and the mummy-cloth. How shall he, then, dare to meet the
dreadful Ma-t in the dark hall wherein she sitteth as the Two Truths,
judge of all the dead?"
Then the full desolation of her father's awful fate, and of her own
mighty loss, for the first time swept her young heart with terrible
distinctness, and, sinking down beside her mother, the girl blended her
broken-hearted wailings with the woman's bitter cries.
"Leave them together," said Arete, and she and old Thopt quietly
withdrew. And she informed Ammonius of the sorrowful condition of their
guests, and, with her dark eyes full of sympathetic tears, she said, "It
is a harrowing grief, and I was so young when I became a Christian, and
view death so differently from them, that I know not how to offer
consolation for such sorrow."
"Thou shalt leave them alone for the present," answered Ammonius. "The
Egyptians have no consolation except those which their erroneous faith
buildeth upon the sarcophagus and the mummy-rites--all external
consolations--of which, in such a case as this, they are deprived. Let
them alone. Perhaps the Lord will show us some way to aid them, or
their violent grief will wear out itself in lamentations. All thou
canst do is but to wait and hope."
The long night passed wearily away. Arete and old Thopt divided the
watches thereof between them, as they had done ever since Hatasa came to
Baucalis, to see that she wanted no attention which kindness could
supply; but neither of them knew how to utter soothing words unto a
grief that seemed so hopeless; for the religion of Egypt contained no
word of comfort for such grief, and the beautiful idolaters were
ignorant of that of Jesus. All that mother and daughter knew of
religious faith kept forcing back upon their broken hearts the dreadful
conviction that the soul's condition after death depended upon the
building of a sarcophagus and the preparation of the mummy, in
accordance with the rites prescribed in "The Book of the Dead"; and in
such a case as this no mummy-rites could be paid unless the corpse could
be recovered; and, although the sarcophagus might be builded, they did
not know but that the father and husband whom they loved might be judged
by the awful goddess Ma-t before this work could be completed; and none
of the exceptions made by their religion in favor of those who fell in
battle for the rulers of Egypt, or who perished by shipwreck, applied to
the case of Amosis, for he had lost his life in a private quarrel after
the shipwreck had happened. Their hopeless sorrow was pitiful, indeed;
but the young girl fell back upon a final truth when she kept repeating
to her mother, over and over again, her own convictions in such words as
these: "Thou knowest that he was a good and upright man, doing only what
he did believe to be right and just, and surely the greatest God of all,
by whatever name he may be known, will be most merciful to him without a
sarcophagus or the mummy-rites." And so the young idolater, not knowing
the law, but doing by nature the things which are written in the law,
became a law unto herself, and the unknown God, whom she did ignorantly
worship to that extent which was commensurate with her faith, revealed
himself unto her; and even from this unreasoning hope they both drew
something of comfort. And during the night Theckla informed her mother
of her visit to the old eremite Am-nem-hat, and of his having been
priest at Thebes and high-priest at Ombos; and how ancient, wise, and
good he seemed to be; and that he had promised to come to the cottage on
the following day, and expressed the hope that out of his vast stores of
wisdom he might be able to bring forth some truth that would yield them
surer consolation; and this also somewhat comforted that bitterly
smitten pair.
And early the next morning Arius went to the abode of Am-nem-hat,
leading the she-ass on which his mother was accustomed to ride, and,
having got the ancient comfortably seated upon the jennet, he led her
down the mountain and unto the cottage of Baucalis safely, where all
were awaiting the arrival of the priest to whose visit Hatasa looked
forward with vague but earnest hope. And, when the old man had come,
Ammonius, with great respect and tenderness, assisted him to dismount,
and led him unto the house. And, having most kindly received him, they
told him of the sorrowful woman, and how anxiously she had anticipated
his coming, and he said, "Let me go unto her at once."
And, when he had entered her chamber, he stood in the middle of the
floor, and, with his raised and extended arms crossed at the wrists in
likeness of a cross (for the cross is ages older than Jesus), he looked
upon Hatasa, saying: "Whatever God is greater than Ra, whatever God is
wiser than Ptah, and whatever God is more merciful than Hesiri-Hes, and
more just than Ma-t, by whatsoever name the great God of all ought to be
known among men, I invoke him to bless and comfort thee, O daughter of
affliction. May that truest and highest God lift up the light of his
face upon thee and give thee peace!"
Then, sitting down beside her couch, he took her hand in his, saying
kindly, "Daughter, what is thy name?"
"Hatasa," answered she.
"Art thou of Alexandria?"
"Yea," she said. "But my family were of Thebes, where lived and died my
father Ahmad, and my grandfather, Butau, and many generations more."
"Butau, of Thebes!" said the old man. "Hast thou, then, never heard of
Am-nem-hat, priest at Thebes, high-priest at Ombos?"
"Surely so," she answered. "For the same wise and holy priest was the
brother of my grandfather Butau, the great general, and I have often
heard my parents speak of the sacred priest with reverence and pride."
"I am that Am-nem-hat, and thou hast found a kinsman in whom thou mayst
implicitly confide."
Then seized she his hand, and, kissing it, she cried, "I do rejoice
thereat, and welcome thee as kinsman, and as sacred priest most pious
and most wise."
Then she poured out to him the burden of her heart, and asked him if
there was any hope, her husband having builded no sarcophagus, and
having had no mummy-rites. And the old man answered mournfully,
"Daughter, as an Alexandrian, thou shouldst know the vast temple of
Serapis which standeth before the magnificent street, two hundred feet
wide, in Rhacotis, the western and Egyptian quarter of the city--the
grand and beautiful temple which containeth the statue of the god that
was brought thither out of Pontus?"
"Yea, father," answered she, "from childhood I have known the holy
temple well."
"And didst thou also know the wise and pious Raph-nath, high-priest of
that temple, who died there some fifteen years ago?"
"Yea, verily, I remember him quite well."
"He and I were boys, at Thebes, in the great temple together. All his
lifetime we were friends. When he felt that his physical powers were
failing, and that the end of his long and holy life was fast
approaching, he sent unto me to come to him and spend his last days with
him; and so it happened that I was at Alexandria when the ancient
high-priest died. We did talk much and often of our long religious
lives; much, of our learned ignorance; much, of the destiny of the human
soul; much, of the truth. When I did ask of him whether he had any
special request to make concerning his own funeral rites, he answered me
in some such words as these: 'Nay, my brother. Let the obsequies be
simply conducted, but in accordance with the rites and ceremonies
prescribed for a priest's funeral by 'The Book of the Dead.' For
although both thou and I be well aware that the sarcophagus is naught,
and the mummy naught, and that no rites nor ceremonies which men can
devise in any way concern the soul after death, yet, because the law and
order system of Kem hath been for so many centuries built up on these
vain things, I desire that the usual forms be all observed at mine own
funeral. Although surely no high-priest of Egypt ought to think that it
can make any difference to the soul how, or when, or by what means, a
man may depart this life, or whether any funeral rites are paid or not;
for thou knowest that the true purpose of religion is to control the
living, and that the dead are far beyond the reach of human agencies.'
"'On what, then, dependeth thy soul's condition in the other world?' I
said.
"'Surely,' he said, 'upon nothing that any priest can do or leave
undone, but upon whether the man hath done his duties well according to
the best of his faith and knowledge.'
"And afterward, and almost in the hour of his dissolution, I said unto
him again, 'Brother, how farest thou?' And he answered me, saying: 'The
light of life within me burneth low and flickereth. It will soon go
out. But I fare well and peacefully.'
"'And thou hast no fear of awful Ma-t, my brother, and of the silent
hall wherein the Two Truths judge the dead?'
"And smilingly he answered me: 'Nay, Brother Am-nem-hat. No man
attaineth to the high-priesthood in Egypt without having learned that
the things of which thou speakest are for the people--not for the higher
priests--part of the system which we administer, not final truths for
us. For I know, as thou also knowest, that above and beyond the grand
Egyptian triads, there must be some supreme God over all whom we
ignorantly worship; who is patient because he is eternal, and merciful
because he is all-wise; and having all these years discharged, as
faithfully as human frailties might permit, every duty that came under
my hand, I look away above the gods of Kem, and trust myself
unshrinkingly in the hands of the unknown God, in whom we both believe.'
And, almost in the same moment, the old man quietly departed.--Daughter,
for thee and for thy great sorrow there is no consolation in the
religion of Egypt. All of the consolation I can offer is to tell thee
plainly that the things which the high-priest Raph-nath declared unto me
upon his bed of death are true; and, as the sum of all my learning and
priestly life, I say unto thee that thou canst do nothing else for
thyself, nor for thy husband, nor for any human soul, except to cast
thyself and him upon the mercy of the unknown God, hoping and believing
that all is for the best."
The old man's voice was tremulous, and his grand, pure face was full of
compassion as he uttered these words in tones of inexpressible and
uncomplaining sadness, and with impressive earnestness.
"And this is all?" she cried--"all that the old religion of Kem,
stripped of its outward, ornate forms and ceremonies, has to offer to
the broken-hearted?"
"Yea," answered Am-nem-hat. "This is all, indeed. And it is little; and
the prevailing sadness of all wise men grows out of this; yet the heart
that loves and trusts may find that even this is enough to reconcile it
to the grand and pitiless course of nature. So saith the philosopher
Seneca: 'We shall adore all that ignoble crowd of gods which ancient
superstition hath gathered together in a long course of years, only so
as to remember that their worship is rather in accordance with custom
than with reality or truth.' And again he saith, 'The God is near you,
is with you, is within you'; and again, 'There is no good man without
God.'
"And Epictetus also saith: 'If you remember always that, in all you do
in soul or body, God stands by as a witness, in all your prayers and
your actions you will not err, and you shall have God dwelling within
you.' And he saith: 'Great is the struggle, divine the need; it is for
kingdom, for freedom, for tranquillity, for peace. Think on God; call
upon him, thy champion and aid, as sailors invoke the great twin
brothers in the storm. And, indeed, what storm is greater than that
which ariseth out of powerful semblances (appearances of evil), that
drive reason out of its course? What, indeed, but semblance is a storm
itself? Come, now, therefore, remove this fear of death, and bring as
many thunders and lightnings as thou wilt, and thou shalt soon perceive
how great tranquillity and calm are in that reason which is the ruling
faculty of the soul.' And he saith further: 'Thou must be absolutely
resigned to the will of God. Thou must conquer every passion, abrogate
every desire.' And one greater, sadder, diviner than them all, even
Marcus Aurelius, the Stoic Emperor, declareth: 'Surely life and death,
honor and dishonor, pain and pleasure, all things happen equally to bad
men and good, being things that make us neither better nor worse,
therefore are they neither good nor evil.' And he saith of every man:
'Thou hast embarked, thou hast made the voyage; thou hast come to shore;
get out. If, indeed, unto another life, there is even there no want of
gods; but if unto a state devoid of sensation, thou wilt cease to be
held of pains and pleasures.' And he saith: 'Then pass thou through the
short space of time conformably to Nature, and end the journey in
content, just as the olive falls off when it is ripe, blessing Nature
that produced it, and thanking the tree on which it grew; ... accepting
all that happens, and all that is allotted, and finally waiting for
death with a cheerful mind.' And so I say unto thee: No man can do more
for thee, for thy husband, or for any human soul, than to fall back upon
the mercy of an unknown God, and seek for peace in the grand hope that
all is for the best."
"I can not live on that," she murmured. "O my husband, all my heart
yearns after thee, and it will break within me unless I can find some
clearer, higher assurance of the mercy of Egypt's gods for thee, or of
this dim and terrible unknown whom Am-nem-hat declares to be in truth
the only one. I can not live in this void uncertainty and darkness! O
Amosis, my husband! O ye cruel gods!"
"These good people among whom I find thee," said Am-nem-hat, "are
followers of the new God, Jesus Christ, a sect that is everywhere spoken
against. I have, however, a very favorable opinion of Jesus and of his
religion, and I take it for granted that thou dost not know the truth
concerning them. Perhaps they could teach unto thee some consolation
for thy sorrow."
"The hated Christians!" she cried out, bitterly. "Why, when my lord
Amosis lost his life, he was even then upon his way to Rome to obtain
from the Emperor power and authority to extirpate the impious and
terrible association from Egypt. If they had known this fact, perhaps I
had been already reconciled, or at least silenced, by the icy hand of
death."
"Nay, nay, mother," cried Theckla. "That is but an unjust thing, for
they knew from the first, and from thine own unconscious talk, that
father desired to destroy them all; and the lad Arius, their son,
charged me that I should not tell thee until thou wert stronger; for
that it might distress thee, and could do no good. He is a true-hearted
boy, and I think a wise one also."
"And they have treated their known enemy with more than sisterly care
and kindness," said Hatasa. "Surely it is most strange!"
But Am-nem-hat said: "I have seen the Christians tortured, decapitated,
burned at the stake, and have heard them even with their last breath
pray to their God to forgive those who punished them with such torments.
It is a new and most strange religion, and possibly it might do thee
good. No gods of Kem can aid thee in thy sorrow."
"I wish that I could see the boy," she said.
And Theckla sprang up quickly, saying, "I will bring him unto thee."
And thereupon she went forth of the room and sought Arius until she
found him; and she said, "Arius, my mother desireth much to speak with
thee concerning thy religion."
And the boy said, "I go unto her gladly, and may the Lord direct me what
to say unto her!"
And when the boy had come into that room where she was, Am-nem-hat said:
"I have discovered that Hatasa is the granddaughter of my brother, and
she seemeth very dear to me, that am childless. Thou knowest the great
sorrow for which I have been able to offer no consolation, except to bid
her cast herself upon the mercy of the unknown God in some way, and seek
for him if by chance she might find him, and obtain mercy. For neither
faith nor philosophy, as I have learned them, goeth one single step
beyond where this dim, uncertain light guideth the soul, and we must
therewith be content."
"But," moaned the stricken woman, "this chill and shadowy uncertainty
will drive me mad. My soul yearneth after my loving, noble husband.--O
boy, if thou knowest anything that bringest comfort in the very face of
pitiless Death, speak thou to me, and speak thou truthfully; for I am
sore afflicted and without hope! _How_, when all the gods of Egypt fail
me--how can I trust the mercy of a strange and unknown God?"
Then the God-ordained minister stood up before them, and with that
strange, continuous, rhythmic motion of the hand, with his fine head
erect and bending toward her from the long and shapely neck, his
luminous eyes agleam with strange mesmeric light, his voice sibilant,
tremulous, incisive, began to preach his first little sermon in a way
that grace and training made natural unto him: "Trouble not thine heart,
O woman, with any thought about the gods of Egypt, for I tell thee that
the unknown God to whom all men turn in time of sorest trial and sorrow,
even as Am-nem-hat hath declared unto thee, is no more unknown, but is
one God over all, blessed for evermore, and hath revealed himself unto
men through his Son, our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ, who loved us,
and hath borne all of our sins upon himself, that we by faith in him may
so be free; for, to them who believe in Jesus, life and immortality are
brought to light in the gospel, and for them death hath no sting, the
grave no victory.--What name do ye Egyptians give unto the burial-place
of your dead?"
The boy paused, and looked upon her, demanding an answer with his eyes.
"We call it sarcophagus," she replied.
"Yea," he continued, "sarcophagus! The devourer of human flesh! But we
Christians call it cemeterion--a sleeping-ground; because we know that
Jesus arose from the dead for our justification, and know that all they
who sleep in death shall rise again; for so our Lord hath taught us.
Thou complainest that the light of nature is dim and chill, and giveth
thee no certain guide nor hope! Thou meanest that the course of nature
is stern, pitiless, implacable; teaching only that one must submit to
the inevitable without hope; a forced resignation in which there is no
comfort; an iron stoicism which teaches us to endure pain bravely but
furnisheth no compensation for sorrow; the obedience of a slave who
knows that it is impossible to resist and foolish to attempt it; not the
faith and love of a child that obeys because he loves, and bears
chastisement meekly because he knows that infinite wisdom and
exhaustless love inflict it for his good. O woman, listen what the
divine Son of God, who took our nature upon himself and was in all
things touched with the feelings of our infirmities, saith unto thee:
'Come unto me, thou weary and heavy-laden, and I will give thee rest.
Like as a father pitieth his children, the tender mercy of our God is
over thee. He that believeth on me shall never die, for life and
immortality are brought to light in the gospel, which is the power of
God and the wisdom of God unto salvation for every one that believeth.'
For Jesus loveth thee; he died to save thee and to give thee peace; and
his blood can cleanse thee from all sin, so that thou mayst be justified
by faith, and find peace in believing, and in all times of tribulation
and distress thou mayst find Jesus a present help and saviour. O woman,
sorely smitten! which one of the gods of Kem hath died to redeem thy
soul?"
"None," she answered--"none!"
"Which one of them cleanseth thee from sin, and giveth thee a sure,
unfailing promise of eternal life, thereby releasing thee from the fear
of death that keepeth mankind in bondage, teaching that death is but a
change through which the conscious spirit passeth into larger life?"
"None! not one," she answered. "I have never heard such glorious
promises from any priest."
"But to make these glorious promises steadfast, abiding, true, the Son
of God took upon himself our nature; became a man for our justification,
and offered up himself a divine and perfect sacrifice for us, to make
atonement for our sins; and having submitted himself to be crucified by
Pontius Pilate, the third day he arose from the dead, whereby we know
that we also shall rise. Seek thou for Christ by faith, for in him are
joy and peace. In him are hope for all bereavement, consolation for all
grief. He loveth thee. He so loved thee as to die for thee! Come thou
to him, and thou shalt learn how kind, and compassionate, and merciful a
loving God can be! For all that hath happened unto thee is not the
cruel, blind, relentless infliction of merciless fate, working through
nature; nor is it the vengeance of an angry God upon thee and thy
husband; but is only the wise chastisement of thy Father, God, whereby
he seeketh to wean thee away from the love of this vain and transitory
life, and to draw thy spirit upward to himself, and to the glory of the
world to come. Oh, if thou wilt believe in Christ, thou shalt find
before his mercy-seat a refuge from every stormy wind that blows, and
peace that passeth all understanding, that floweth as a river, that
teacheth thee that these light afflictions, which are but for a moment,
shall work out for thee a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory
in that bright world to which we haste. Seek thou for Christ, and thou
shalt know how good, and pure, and holy an exercise even thy human
sorrow and yearning may become."
Then said the woman: "It is all very beautiful and comforting, and I
would know more of it. But tell me where I may find a temple in which
these things are taught, and a priest that knoweth them."
Then answered Arius: "We have no temple here; and Jesus is our only
priest. But there are bishops and presbyters who preach the gospel,
when the Christians assemble together. And in every Christian family
there are daily religious exercises."
"Dost thou have such worship here in thy father's house?"
"Assuredly! on the evening of every day."
"And at what place?"
"In any place that may be most convenient. In thine own apartment, if
thou wilt."