WHAT HELEN HEARD,
Although satisfied that, after what Rachel had said to the men,
there could be no impropriety in her making use of the privilege
granted her, Helen felt oddly uncomfortable at first. But soon the
fancy came, that she was listening at the door of the other world to
catch news of her Leopold, and that made her forget herself and put
her at peace. For some time, however, the conversation was
absolutely unintelligible to her. She understood the words and
phrases, and even some of the sentences, but as she had no clue to
their drift, the effort to understand was like attempting to realize
the span of a rainbow from a foot or two of it appearing now and
then in different parts and vanishing again at once. It was chiefly
Polwarth, often Wingfold, and now and then Drew that spoke, Rachel
contributing only an occasional word. At length broke something of a
dawn over the seeming chaos. The words from which the light that
first reached Helen flowed, were the draper's.
"I can't think, for all that," he said, "why, if there be life
beyond the grave, and most sincerely I trust there is--I don't see
why we should know so little about it. Confess now, Mr.
Polwarth!--Mr. Wingfold!" he said appealingly, "--does it not seem
strange that, if our dearest friends go on living somewhere else,
they should, the moment they cease to breathe, pass away from us
utterly--so utterly that from that moment neither hint nor trace nor
sign of their existence ever reaches us? Nature, the Bible, God
himself says nothing about how they exist or where they are, or why
they are so silent--cruelly silent if it be in their power to
speak,--therefore, they cannot; and here we are left not only with
aching hearts but wavering faith, not knowing whither to turn to
escape the stare of the awful blank, that seems in the very
intensity of its silence to shout in our ears that we are but dust
and return to the dust!"
The gate-keeper and curate interchanged a pleased look of surprise
at the draper's eloquence, but Polwarth instantly took up his
answer.
"I grant you it would be strange indeed if there were no good reason
for it," he said.
"Then do you say," asked Wingfold. "that until we see, discover, or
devise some good reason for the darkness that overhangs it, we are
at liberty to remain in doubt as to whether there be any life within
the cloud?"
"I would say so," answered Polwarth, "were it not that we have the
story of Jesus, which, if we accept it, is surely enough to satisfy
us both as to the thing itself, and as to the existence of a good
reason, whether we have found one or not, for the mystery that
overshadows it."
"Still I presume we are not forbidden to seek such a reason," said
the curate.
The draper was glancing from the one to the other with evident
anxiety.
"Certainly not," returned the gate-keeper. "For what else is our
imagination given us but the discovery of good reasons that are, or
the invention of good reasons that may perhaps be?"
"Can you then imagine any good reason," said Drew, "why we should be
kept in such absolute ignorance of everything that befalls the
parted spirit from the moment it quits its house with us?"
"I think I know one," answered Polwarth. "I have sometimes fancied
it might be because no true idea of their condition could possibly
be grasped by those who remain in the tabernacle of the body; that
to know their state it is necessary that we also should be clothed
in our new bodies, which are to the old as a house to a tent. I
doubt if we have any words in which the new facts could be imparted
to our knowledge, the facts themselves being beyond the reach of any
senses whereof we are now in actual possession. I expect to find my
new body provided with new, I mean OTHER senses beyond what I now
possess: many more may be required to bring us into relation with
all the facts in himself which God may have shadowed forth in
properties, as we say, of what we call matter. The spaces all around
us, even to those betwixt star and star, may be the home of the
multitudes of the heavenly host, yet seemingly empty to all who have
but our provision of senses. But I do not care to dwell upon that
kind of speculation. It belongs to a lower region, upon which I
grudge to expend interest while the far loftier one invites me,
where, if I gather not the special barley of which I am in search, I
am sure to come upon the finest of wheat.--Well, then, for my
reason: There are a thousand individual events in the course of
every man's life, by which God takes a hold of him--a thousand
breaches by which he would and does enter, little as the man may
know it; but there is one universal and unchanging grasp he keeps
upon the race, yet not as the race, for the grasp is upon every
solitary single individual that has a part in it: that grasp
is--death in its mystery. To whom can the man who is about to die in
absolute loneliness and go he cannot tell whither, flee for refuge
from the doubts and fears that assail him, but to the Father of his
being?"
"But," said Drew, "I cannot see what harm would come of letting us
know a little--as much at least as might serve to assure us that
there was more of SOMETHING on the other side."
"Just this," returned Polwarth, "that, their fears allayed, their
hopes encouraged from any lower quarter, men would, as usual, turn
away from the fountain to the cistern of life, from the ever fresh
original creative Love to that drawn off and shut in. That there are
thousands who would forget God if they could but be assured of such
a tolerable state of things beyond the grave as even this wherein we
now live, is plainly to be anticipated from the fact that the doubts
of so many in respect of religion concentrate themselves now-a-days
upon the question whether there is any life beyond the grave; a
question which, although no doubt nearly associated with
religion,--as what question worth asking is not?--does not
immediately belong to religion at all. Satisfy such people, if you
can, that they shall live, and what have they gained? A little
comfort perhaps--but a comfort not from the highest source, and
possibly gained too soon for their well-being. Does it bring them
any nearer to God than they were before? Is he filling one cranny
more of their hearts in consequence? Their assurance of immortality
has not come from a knowledge of him, and without him it is worse
than worthless. Little indeed has been gained, and that with the
loss of much. The word applies here which our Lord in his parable
puts into the mouth of Abraham: If they hear not Moses and the
prophets, neither will they be persuaded though one rose from the
dead. He does not say they would not believe in a future state
though one rose from the dead--although most likely they would soon
persuade themselves that the apparition after all was only an
illusion--[Footnote: See Lynch's admirable sermon on this subject.]
but that they would not be persuaded to repent, though one rose from
the dead; and without that, what great matter whether they believed
in a future state or not? It would only be the worse for them if
they did. No, Mr. Drew! I repeat, it is not a belief in immortality
that will deliver a man from the woes of humanity, but faith in the
God of life, the father of lights, the God of all consolation and
comfort. Believing in him, a man can leave his friends, and their
and his own immortality, with everything else--even his and their
love and perfection, with utter confidence in his hands. Until we
have the life in us, we shall never be at peace. The living God
dwelling in the heart he has made, and glorifying it by inmost
speech with himself--that is life, assurance, and safety. Nothing
less is or can be such."