OXENDEN PREACHES A SERMON
"Magones," said the doctor, "is clearly a volcanic island, and, taken
in connection with the other volcanoes around, shows how active must
be the subterranean fires at the South Pole. It seems probable to me
that the numerous caves of the Kosekin were originally fissures in the
mountains, formed by convulsions of nature; and also that the places
excavated by man must consist of soft volcanic rock, such as
pumice-stone, or rather tufa, easily worked, and remaining permanently
in any shape into which it may be fashioned. As to Magones, it seems
another Iceland; for there are the same wild and hideous desolation,
the same impassable wildernesses, and the same universal scenes of
ruin, lighted up by the baleful and tremendous volcanic fires."
"But what of that little island on which they landed?" asked
Featherstone. "That, surely, was not volcanic."
"No," said the doctor; "that must have been a coral island."
"By-the-bye, is it really true," asked Featherstone, "that these coral
islands are the work of little insects?"
"Well, they may be called insects," replied the doctor; "they are
living zoophytes of most minute dimensions, which, however, compensate
for their smallness of size by their inconceivable numbers. Small as
these are they have accomplished infinitely more than all that ever
was done by the ichthyosaurus, the plesiosaurus, the pterodactyl, and
the whole tribe of monsters that once filled the earth. Immense
districts and whole mountains have been built up by these minute
creatures. They have been at work for ages, and are still at work. It
is principally in the South Seas that their labors are carried on.
Near the Maldive Islands they have formed a mass whose volume is equal
to the Alps. Around New Caledonia they have built a barrier of reefs
four hundred miles in length, and another along the northeast coast of
Australia a thousand miles in length. In the Pacific Ocean, islands,
reefs, and islets innumerable have been constructed by them, which
extend for an immense distance.
"The coral islands are called 'atolls.' They are nearly always
circular, with a depression in the centre. They are originally made
ring-shaped, but the action of the ocean serves to throw fragments of
rock into the inner depression, which thus fills up; firm land
appears; the rock crumbles into soil; the winds and birds and currents
bring seeds here, and soon the new island is covered with verdure.
These little creatures have played a part in the past quite as
important as in the present. All Germany rests upon a bank of coral;
and they seem to have been most active during the Oolitic Period."
"How do the creatures act?" asked Featherstone.
"Nobody knows," replied the doctor.
A silence now followed, which was at last broken by Oxenden.
"After all," said he, "these monsters and marvels of nature form the
least interesting feature in the land of the Kosekin. To me the people
themselves are the chief subject of interest. Where did they get that
strange, all-pervading love of death, which is as strong in them as
love of life is in us?"
"Why, they got it from the imagination of the writer of the
manuscript," interrupted Melick.
"Yes, it's easy to answer it from your point of view; yet from my
point of view it is more difficult. I sometimes think that it may be
the strong spirituality of the Semitic race, carried out under
exceptionally favorable circumstances to the ultimate results; for the
Semitic race more than all others thought little of this life, and
turned their affections to the life that lives beyond this. The
Kosekin may thus have had a spiritual development of their own, which
ended in this.
"Yet there may be another reason for it, and I sometimes think that
the Kosekin may be nearer to the truth than we are. We have by nature
a strong love of life--it is our dominant feeling--but yet there is in
the minds of all men a deep underlying conviction of the vanity of
life, and the worthlessness. In all ages and among all races the best,
the purest, and the wisest have taught this truth--that human life is
not a blessing; that the evil predominates over the good; and that our
best hope is to gain a spirit of acquiescence with its inevitable
ills. All philosophy and all religions teach us this one solemn truth,
that in this life the evil surpasses the good. It has always been so.
Suffering has been the lot of all living things, from the giant of the
primeval swamps down to the smallest zoophyte. It is far more so with
man. Some favored classes in every age may furnish forth a few
individuals who may perhaps lead lives of self-indulgence and luxury;
but to the mass of mankind life has ever been, and must ever be, a
prolonged scene of labor intermingled with suffering. The great Indian
religions, whether Brahmanic or Buddhistic, teach as their cardinal
doctrine that life is an evil. Buddhism is more pronounced in this,
for it teaches more emphatically than even the Kosekin that the chief
end of man is to get rid of the curse of life and gain the bliss of
Nirvana, or annihilation. True, it does not take so practical a form
as among the Kosekin, yet it is believed by one-third of the human
race as the foundation of the religion in which they live and die. We
need not go to the Kosekin, however, for such maxims as these. The
intelligent Hindoos, the Chinese, the Japanese, with many other
nations, all cling firmly to this belief. Sakyamoum Gautama Buddha,
the son and heir of a mighty monarch, penetrated with the conviction
of the misery of life, left his throne, embraced a life of voluntary
poverty, want, and misery, so that he might find his way to a better
state--the end before him being this, that he might ultimately escape
from the curse of existence. He lived till old age, gained innumerable
followers, and left to them as a solemn legacy the maxim that not to
exist is better than to exist; that death is better than life. Since
his day millions of his followers have upheld his principles and lived
his life. Even among the joyous Greeks we find this feeling at times
bursting forth it comes when we least expect it, and not even a
Kosekin poet could express this view more forcibly than Sophocles in
the OEdipus at Colonus:
"'Not to be born surpasses every lot;
And the next best lot by far, when one is born
Is to go back whence he came as soon as possible;
For while youth is present bringing vain follies,
What woes does it not have, what ills does it not bear--
Murders, factions, strife, war, envy,
But the extreme of misery is attained by loathsome old age--
Old age, strengthless, unsociable, friendless,
Where all evils upon evils dwell together.'"
"I'll give you the words of a later poet," said Melick, "who takes
a different view of the case. I think I'll sing them, with your
permission."
Melick swallowed a glass of wine and then sang the following:
"'They may rail at this life: from the hour I began it
I found it a life full of kindness and bliss,
And until they can show me some happier planet,
More social and bright, I'll content me with this.
As long as the world has such lips and such eyes
As before me this moment enraptured I see,
They may say what they will of their orbs in the skies,
But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me.'
"What a pity it is," continued Melick, "that the writer of this
manuscript had not the philological, theological, sociological,
geological, palaeological, ontological, ornithological, and all the
other logical attainments of yourself and the doctor! He could then
have given us a complete view of the nature of the Kosekin, morally
and physically; he could have treated of the geology of the soil, the
ethnology of the people, and could have unfolded before us a full and
comprehensive view of their philosophy and religion, and could have
crammed his manuscript with statistics. I wonder why he didn't do it
even as it was. It must have been a strong temptation."
"More," said Oxenden, with deep impressiveness, "was a simple-minded
though somewhat emotional sailor, and merely wrote in the hope that
his story might one day meet the eyes of his father. I certainly
should like to find some more accurate statements about the science,
philosophy, and religion of the Kosekin; yet, after all, such things
could not be expected."
"Why not?" said Melick; "it was easy enough for him."
"How?" asked Oxenden.
"Why, he had only to step into the British Museum, and in a couple of
hours he could have crammed up on all those points in science,
philosophy, ethnology, and theology, about which you are so anxious to
know."
"Well," said Featherstone, "suppose we continue our reading? I believe
it is my turn now. I sha'n't be able to hold out so long as you did,
Oxenden, but I'll do what I can."
Saying this, Featherstone took the manuscript and went on to read.