The "revolutionist" of Latin America is generally only the disgruntled
politician. His revolution is seldom more than a violent squabble
among greedy spoilsmen for control of the loose-jointed administration.
But the great Mosquera Revolution which burst into flame in New
Granada in 1861 was fed with fuel of a different nature. It
demonstrated, if demonstration were necessary, that the Treaty of
Westphalia did not write _finis_ to the history of bloodshed in the
name of Christ; that it had but banked the fires of religious
animosity, until the furnace should be transferred from the Old World to
the New, where the breath of liberty would again fan them into
vigorous activity.
The Mosquera War tore asunder Church and State; but left unhappy
Colombia prone and bleeding. It externalized a mighty protest of
enlightenment against Rome's dictates in temporal affairs. And, as has
before happened when that irresistible potentiality, the people, has
been stirred into action, the Church was disestablished, its property
confiscated, and its meddling, parasitical clergy disenfranchised.
But then, too, as almost invariably occurs when the masses find that
they have parted with cherished prejudices and effete customs, and
have adopted ideas so radical as to lift them a degree higher in the
scale of progress, they wavered. The Church was being humiliated.
Their religion was under contempt. The holy sacrament of marriage was
debased to a civil ceremony. Education was endangered by taking it out
of the hands of the pious clergy. Texts unauthorized by Holy Church
were being adopted. Where would this radical modernism end? The alarm
spread, fanned by the watchful agents of Rome. Revolt after revolt
occurred. And twenty years of incessant internecine warfare followed.
Fear and prejudice triumphed. A new Constitution was framed. And when
it was seen that Roman Catholicism was therein again declared to be
the national religion of the Republic of Colombia; when it was noted
that the clergy, obedient to a foreign master, were to be readmitted
to participation in government affairs; when it was understood that a
national press-censorship was to be established, dominated by Holy
Church; and when, in view of this, the great religio-political
opponent was seen laying down her weapons and extending her arms in
dubious benediction over the exhausted people, the masses yielded--and
there was great rejoicing on the banks of the Tiber over the
prodigal's return.
When Wenceslas Ortiz was placed in temporary control of the See of
Cartagena he shrewdly urged the Church party to make at least a
pretense of disbanding as a political organization. The provinces
of Cundinamarca and Panamá were again in a state of ferment.
Congress, sitting in Bogotá, had before it for consideration a
measure vesting in the President the power to interfere in certain
states or provinces whenever, in his opinion, the conservation of
public order necessitated such action. That this measure would be
passed, Wenceslas could not be sure. But that, once adopted, it would
precipitate the unhappy country again into a sanguinary war, he
thought he knew to a certainty. He had faced this same question six
years before, when a similar measure was before Congress. But then,
with a strong Church party, and believing the passage of the law to be
certain, he had yielded to the counsel of hot-headed leaders in
Cartagena, and approved the inauguration of hostilities.
The result had been a _fiasco_. Congress dropped the measure like a
hot plate. The demands of the "revolutionists" were quickly met by the
federal government. The _causae belli_ evaporated. And Wenceslas
retired in chagrin to the solitude of his study, to bite his nails and
wonder dubiously if his party were strong enough to insure his
appointment to the See of Cartagena in the event of the then aged
occupant's demise.
It was this hasty judgment of Wenceslas and his political associates
which had delayed further consideration of the objectionable measure
for six years. But the interim had seen his party enormously
strengthened, himself in control of the See, and his preparations
completed for turning the revolt, whenever it should come, to his own
great advantage. He had succeeded in holding the Church party aloof
from actual participation in politics during the present crisis. And
he was now keeping it in constant readiness to throw its tremendous
influence to whichever side should offer the greatest inducements.
Time passed. The measure dragged. Congress dallied; and then prepared
to adjourn. Wenceslas received a code message from his agent in Bogotá
that the measure would be laid on the table. At the same time came a
sharp prod from New York. The funds had been provided to finance the
impending revolution. The concessions to be granted were satisfactory.
Why the delay? Had the Church party exaggerated its influence upon
Congress?
Wenceslas stormed aloud. "_Santa Virgen!_" he muttered, as he paced
angrily back and forth in his study. "A curse upon Congress! A
curse--"
He stopped still. In the midst of his imprecations an idea occurred to
him. He went to his _escritorio_ and drew out the Legate's recent
report. "Ah," he mused, "that pig-headed Alcalde. And the good little
Josè. They may serve. _Bien_, we shall see."
Then he summoned his secretary and dictated telegrams to Bogotá and
New York, and a long letter to the Alcalde of Simití. These finished,
he called a young acolyte in waiting.
"Take a message to the Governor," he commanded. "Say to His Excellency
that I shall, call upon him at three this afternoon, to discuss
matters of gravest import." Dismissing his secretary, he leaned back
in his chair and dropped into a profound revery.
Shortly before the hour which he had set for conference with the
Departmental Governor, Wenceslas rose and went to his _escritorio_,
from which he took a paper-bound book.
"H'm," he commented aloud. "'Confessions of a Roman Catholic Priest.'
_Bien_, I was correct in my surmise that I should some day have use
for this little volume. Poor, misguided Rincón! But--_Bien_, I think
it will do--I think it will do."
A smile played over his handsome, imperious face. Then he snapped the
book shut and took up his hat. At the door he hesitated a moment, with
his hand on the knob.
"If the Alcalde were not such a fool, it would be impossible," he
mused. "But--the combination--the isolation of Simití--the imbecility
of Don Mario--the predicament of our little Josè--_Hombre_! it is a
rare situation, and it will work. It _must_ work--_cielo_! With the
pig-headed Alcalde seizing government arms to suppress the Church
party as represented by the foolish Josè, and with the President
sending federal troops to quell the disturbance, the anticlericals
will rise in a body throughout the country. Then Congress will hastily
pass the measure to support the President, the Church party will swing
into line with the Government--and the revolution will be on. Simití
provides the setting and the fuel; I, the torch. I will cable again to
Ames when I leave the Governor." He swung the door open and went
briskly out.
* * * * *
"Padre, I am crushed."
It was Rosendo who spoke. He and Josè were sitting out in the
gathering dusk before the parish house on the evening of the day that
Ana's babe had been christened. The old man's head was sunk upon his
breast, and he rocked back and forth groaning aloud.
"We must be brave, Rosendo," returned Josè tenderly. "We have gone
through much, you and I, since I came to Simití. But--we have believed
it to be in a good cause. Shall we surrender now?"
"But, Padre, after it all, to have her babe come into the world blind!
God above! The poor child--the poor child! Padre, it is the last thing
that I can endure. My ambition is gone. I cannot return now to
Guamocó. Let come what may, I am done."
"Rosendo," said Josè, drawing his chair closer to the old man, and
laying a hand on his, "we have fought long and hard. But, if I mistake
not, the greatest struggle is yet to come. The greatest demand upon
your strength and mine is still to be made."
Rosendo raised his head. "What mean you, Padre?"
Josè spoke low and earnestly. "This: Juan returned from Bodega Central
this evening. He reports that several large boxes are there, consigned
to Don Mario, and bearing the government stamp. He found one of them
slightly broken, and he peered within. What think you it contained?
Rifles!"
Rosendo stared at the priest dumbly. Josè went on:
"I did not intend to tell you this until morning. But it is right that
you should hear it now, that your courage may rise in the face of
danger. What think you? The federal government is sending arms to
Simití to establish a base here at the outlet of the Guamocó region,
and well hidden from the Magdalena river. This town is to become a
military depot, unless I mistake the signs. And danger no longer
threatens, but is at our door."
"_Ca-ram-ba_!" Rosendo rose slowly and drew himself up to his full
height. "War!" he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper.
"There is no question about it, Rosendo," replied Josè gravely. "And I
have no reason to doubt the truth of Diego's prophecy, that this time
it will be one to be reckoned with."
"_Hombre_! And Carmen?"
"Take her into the hills, Rosendo. Start to-morrow."
"But you?"
Josè's thought was dwelling on his last talk with the girl. Again he
felt her soft arms about his neck, and her warm breath against his
cheek. He felt her kiss, and heard again her words, the sweetest, he
thought, that had ever echoed in mortal ears. And then he thought of
his mother, of his office, of the thousand obstacles that loomed huge
and insurmountable between him and Carmen. He passed a hand across his
brow and sighed heavily.
"I remain here, Rosendo. I am weary, unutterably weary. I welcome, not
only the opportunity for service which this war may bring, but
likewise the hope of--death. If I could but know that she were
safe--"
"_Caramba_! Think you she would leave you here, Padre? No!" Did
Rosendo's words convey aught to the priest that he did not already
know?
"But--Rosendo, I shall not go," he returned bitterly.
"Then neither do we, Padre," replied Rosendo, sitting again. "The
child, Carmen--she--Padre, she loves you with a love that is not of
the earth."
* * * * *
Morning found the old man's conviction still unshaken. Josè sought the
quiet of his cottage to reflect. But his meditations were interrupted
by Carmen.
"Padre," she began, sparkling like a mountain rill in the sunlight as
she seated herself before him. "Pepito--Anita's babe--he is not blind,
you know." Her head bobbed vigorously, as was her wont when she sought
to give emphasis to her dramatic statements.
Josè smiled, and resigned himself to the inevitable. He had been
expecting this.
"And, Padre, have you been thankful that he isn't?"
"Isn't what, child?"
"Blind. You know, Padre Diego thought he couldn't see the reality. He
looked always at his bad thoughts. And so the not seeing, and the
seeing of only bad things, were both--externalized, and the babe came
to us without sight. That is, without what the human mind calls sight.
And now," she went on excitedly, "you and I have just _got_ to know
that it isn't so! The babe sees. God's children all see. And I have
thanked Him all morning that this is so, and that you and I see it.
Don't we, Padre dear? Yes, we do."
"Well--I suppose so," replied Josè abstractedly, his thought still
occupied with the danger that hung over the little town.
"Suppose so! You _know_ so, Padre! There isn't any 'suppose' about it!
Now look: what makes sight? The eye? No. The eye is made _by_ the
sight. The human mind just gets it twisted about. It thinks that sight
depends upon the optic nerve, and upon the fleshly eye. But it isn't
so. It is the sight that externalizes the 'meaty' eye. You see, the
sight is within, not without. It is mental. God is all-seeing; and so,
sight is eternal. Don't you see? Of course you do!"
Josè did not reply. Yes, he did see. But what he saw was the
beautiful, animated girl before him. And the thought that he must some
day be separated from her was eating his heart like a canker.
"Well, then," went on the girl, without waiting for his reply, "if a
mortal's mental concept of sight is poor, why, he will manifest poor
eyes. If the thought-concept were right, the manifestation would be
right. Wouldn't it?"
Josè suddenly returned to the subject under discussion. "By that I
suppose you mean, _chiquita_, that the babe's thought, or concept, of
sight was all wrong, and so he came into the world blind."
"Not at all, Padre," she quickly replied. "The babe had nothing to do
with it, except to seem to manifest the wrong thoughts of its father,
or mother, or both. Or perhaps it manifests just simply bad thoughts,
without the bad thoughts belonging to anybody. For, you know, we none
of us really _have_ such thoughts. And such thoughts don't really
exist. They are just a part of the one big lie about God."
"Then the babe sees?"
"Surely; the real babe is a child of God, and sees."
"But the human babe doesn't see," he retorted.
"But," she replied, "what you call the human babe is only your mental
concept of the babe. And you see that mental concept as a blind one.
Now _un-see_ it. Look at it in the right way. See only God's child,
with perfect sight. And, Padre, after a while _you will see that babe
seeing things, just as we do_!
"Don't you understand?" she exclaimed, as he sat looking fixedly at
her. "Don't you see that if you have the right thought about the babe,
and hold to it, and put out every thought that says it is blind, why,
your right thought will be externalized in a mental concept of a babe
that sees? Don't you know that that is exactly what Jesus did? He
didn't affect the real man at all. But he did change the mental
concepts which we call human beings. And we can do the same, if we
only know it, and follow him, and spiritualize our thought, as he did,
by putting out and keeping out every thought that we know does not
come from God, and that is, therefore, only a part of the lie about
Him. Here is a case where we have got to quit thinking that two and
two are seven. And I have done it. It is God's business to make our
concepts right. And He has done so--long since. And we will see these,
right concepts if we will put out the wrong ones!"
"Well?" he queried lamely, wholly at a loss for any other answer.
"Well, Padre, I am not a bit afraid. I don't see a blind babe at all,
because there just can't be any. And neither do you. The babe sees
because God sees."
"In other words, you don't intend to allow yourself to be deceived by
appearances?" he suggested.
"That is just it, Padre!" she exclaimed. "Blindness is only an
appearance. But it doesn't appear to God, It appears only to the human
mind--which isn't any mind at all! And the appearance can be made to
disappear, if we know the truth and stick to it. For any appearance of
a human body is a mental concept, that's all."
"A thing of thought, then?" he said.
"Yes, a thing of _wrong_ thought. But all wrong thought is subject
to God's right thought. We've proved that, haven't we, lots of
times? Well, this wrong thought about a babe that is blind can be
changed--made to disappear--just as any lie can be made to disappear
when we know the truth. And so you and I are not going to be afraid,
are we? I told Anita this morning not to worry, but to just _know_
all the time that her babe did see, no matter what the appearance
was. And she smiled at me, Padre, she smiled. And I know that she
trusts, and is going to work with you and me."
Work with her! Heavens! had he done aught of late but work against her
by his constant harboring of fears, of doubts, and his distrust of
spiritual power?
"Padre," she resumed, "I want you to promise me that every day you
will thank God that the babe really sees. And that you will turn right
on every thought of blindness and know that it is a part of the lie
about God, and put it right out of your mind. Will you?"
"But--child--if my mind tells me that the babe is blind, how can I--"
"I don't care what your mind tells you about the babe! You are to
listen to what God tells you, not your human mind! Does God tell you
that the babe is blind? Does He?" she repeated, as the man hesitated.
"Why, no, _chiquita_, He--"
"Listen, Padre," she interrupted again, drawing closer to him. "Is God
good, or bad, or both?"
"He is good, _chiquita_, all good."
"Infinite good, then, no?"
"Yes."
"And we have long since proved by actual reasoning and demonstration
that He is mind, and so infinite mind, no?"
"It must be conceded, Carmen."
"Well, an infinite mind has all power. And an infinite, all-powerful
mind that is all good could not possibly create anything bad, or sick,
or discordant--now could He?"
"Utterly impossible, little girl."
"The Bible says so. Our reasoning tells us so. But--the five physical
senses tell us differently. Don't they?"
"Yes."
"And yet, we know that the five physical senses _do not tell us
truth_! We know that when the human mind thinks it is receiving
reports about things through the five physical senses it is doing
nothing more than looking at its own thoughts. Now isn't that so?"
"It certainly seems so, little one."
"The thoughts of an infinite and good mind must be like that mind, all
good, no? Well, then, thoughts of discord, disease, blindness, and
death--do they come from the infinite, good mind? No!"
"Well, _chiquita mía_, that is just the sticking point. I can see all
the rest. But the mighty question is, where _do_ those thoughts come
from? I am quite as ready as you to admit that discord, sin, evil,
death, and all the whole list of human ills and woes come from these
bad thoughts held in the human mind and so externalized. I believe
that the human man really sees, feels, hears, smells, and tastes these
thoughts--that the functioning of the physical senses is wholly
mental--takes place in mind, in thought only. That is, that the human
mind thinks it sees, feels, hears; but that the whole process is
mental, and that it is but regarding its thoughts, instead of actually
regarding and cognizing objects outside of itself. Do you follow me?"
"Of course," she replied with animation. "Isn't that just what I am
trying to tell you?"
"But--and here is the great obstacle--we differentiate between good
and bad thoughts. We agree that a fountain can not send forth sweet
and bitter waters at the same time. And so, good and bad thoughts do
not come from the infinite mind that we call God. But where do the
others originate? Answer that, _chiquita_, and my problems will all be
solved."
She looked at him in perplexity for some time. It seemed to her
that she never would understand him. But, with a little sigh of
resignation, she replied:
"Padre, you answered that question yourself, long ago. You worked it
all out three or four years ago. But--you haven't stuck to it. You let
the false testimony of the physical senses mesmerize you again.
Instead of sticking to the thoughts that you knew to be good, and
holding to them, in spite of the pelting you got from the others, you
have looked first at the good, and then at the bad, and then believed
them all to be real, and all to be powerful. And so you got miserably
mixed up. And the result is that you don't know where you stand. Do
you? Or, you think you don't; for that thought, too, is a bad one, and
has no power at all, excepting the power that you seem willing--and
glad--to give it."
He winced under the poignant rebuke. He knew in his heart that she was
right. He had not clung to the good, despite the roars of Satan. He
had not "resisted unto blood." Far from it; he had fallen, almost
invariably, at the first shower of the adversary's darts. And now, was
he not trying, desperately, to show her that Ana's babe was blind,
hopelessly so? Was he not fighting on evil's side, and vigorously,
though with shame suffusing his face, waving aloft the banner of
error?
"The trouble with you, Padre," the girl resumed, after some moments of
reflection, "is that you--you see everything--well, you see everything
as a person, or a thing."
"You mean that I always associate thought with personality?" he
suggested.
"That's it! But you have got to learn to deal with thoughts and ideas
by themselves, apart from any person or thing. You have got to learn
to deal with facts and their opposites entirely apart from places, or
things, or people. Now if I say that Life is eternal, I have stated a
mental thing. That is the fact. Its opposite, that is, the opposite of
Life, is death. One opposes the other. But God is Life. Is God also
death? He can't be. Life is the fact. Then death must be the illusion.
That being so, Life is the reality, and death is the unreality. Very
well, what makes death seem real? It is just because the false thought
of death comes into the human mind, and is held there as a reality, as
something that has _got_ to happen. And that strong belief becomes
externalized in what mortals call death. Don't you see? Is there a
person in the whole world who doesn't think that some time he has got
to die? No, not one! But now suppose every person held the belief that
death was an illusion, a part of the big lie about God, just as Jesus
said it was. Well, wouldn't we get rid of death in a hurry? I should
think so! And is there a person in the whole world who wouldn't say
that Anita's babe was blind? No, not one! They would look at the human
thought of blindness, instead of God's real idea of sight, and so they
would make and keep the babe blind. Don't you understand me, Padre
dear? Don't you? I know you do, for you really see as God sees!"
She stopped for breath. Her eyes glistened, and her whole body seemed
to radiate the light of knowledge divine. Then she went hurriedly on:
"Padre, everything is mental. You know that, for you told me so, long
since. Well, that being so, we have got to face the truth that every
mental fact seems to have an opposite, or a lot of opposites, also
seemingly mental. The opposite of a fact is an illusion. The opposite
of truth is a lie. Well, God is the great fact. Infinite mind is the
infinite fact. The so-called opposite of this infinite fact is the
human mind, the many so-called minds of mankind--_a kind of man._ But
everything is still mental. Now, an illusion, or a lie, does not
_really_ exist. If I tell you that two and two are seven, that lie
does not exist. Is it in what we call my mind, or yours? No. Even if
you say you believe it, that doesn't make it real. Nor does it show
that it has real existence in your mind. Not a bit of it! But--if you
hold it, and cling to it--allow it to stay with you and influence
you--why, Padre dear, everything in your whole life will be changed!
"Let me take your pencil--and a piece of paper. Look now," drawing a
line down through the paper. "On one side, Padre, is the infinite
mind, God, and all His thoughts and ideas, all good, perfect and
eternal. On the other side is the lie about it all. That is still
mental; but it is illusion, falsity. It includes all sin, all
sickness, all murder, all evil, accidents, loss, failure, bad
ambitions, and death. These are all parts of the big lie about
God--His unreal opposite. These are the so-called thoughts that come
to the human mind. Where do they come from? From nowhere. The human
mind looks at them, tastes them, feels them, holds them; and then they
become its beliefs. After a while the human mind looks at nothing but
these beliefs. It believes them to be real. And, finally, it comes to
believe that God made them and sent them to His children. Isn't it
awful, Padre! And aren't you glad that you know about it? And aren't
you going to learn how to keep the good on one side of that line and
the illusion on the other?"
It seemed to Josè a thing incredible that these words were coming from
a girl of fifteen. And yet he knew that at the same tender age he was
as deeply serious as she--but with this difference: he was then
tenaciously clinging to the thoughts that she was now utterly
repudiating as unreal and non-existent.
"Padre dear," the girl resumed, "everything is mental. The whole
universe is mental."
"Well," he replied reflectively, "at least our comprehension of it is
wholly mental."
"Why--it is all inside--it is all in our thought! Padre, when Hernando
plays on that old pipe of his, where is the music? Is it in the pipe?
Or is it in our thoughts?"
"But, _chiquita_, we don't seem to have it in our thought until we
seem to see him playing on the pipe, do we?"
"No, we don't," she replied. "And do you know why? It is just because
the human mind believes that everything, even music, must come from
matter--must have a--"
"Must have a material origin? Is that what you mean?"
"Yes. And men even believe that life itself has a material origin; and
so they have wasted centuries trying to find it in the body. They
don't seem to want to know that God is life."
"Then, _chiquita_, you do not believe that matter is real?"
"There is no matter outside of us, or around us, Padre," she said in
reply. "The human mind looks at its thoughts and seems to see them out
around it as things made of matter. But, after all, it only sees its
thoughts."
"Then I suppose that the externalization of our thought in our
consciousness constitutes what we call space, does it not?"
"It must, Padre," she answered.
He studied a moment. Then:
"_Chiquita_, how do you know me? What do you see that you call 'me'?"
"Why, Padre, I see you as God does--at least, I try always to see you
that way?" she answered earnestly. "And that is the way Jesus always
saw people."
"God sees me, of course. But, does He see me as I see myself?" he
mused aloud.
"You do not see yourself, Padre," was her reply. "You see only the
thoughts that you call yourself. Thoughts of mind and body and all
those things that go to form a human being."
"Well--yes, I must agree with you there; for, though God certainly
knows me, He cannot know me as I think I know myself, sinful and
discordant."
"He knows the real 'you,' Padre dear. And that is just as He is. He
knows that the unreal 'you,' the 'you' that you think you know, is
illusion. If He knew the human, mortal 'you' as real, He would have to
know evil. And that can not be."
"No, for the Bible says He is of eyes too pure to behold evil."
"Well, Padre, why don't you try to be like Him?"
But the girl needed not that he should answer her question. She knew
why he had failed, for "without faith it is impossible to please him:
for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a
rewarder of them that diligently seek him." She knew that Josè's
struggle to overcome evil had been futile, because he had first
made evil real. She knew that the difficulty he had experienced in
keeping his thought straight was because he persisted in looking at
both the good and the evil. Lot's wife, in the Bible allegory, had
turned back to look at things material and had been transformed into
a pillar of salt. Josè had turned again and again to his materialistic
thoughts; and had been turned each time to salt tears. She knew that
he gave up readily, that he yielded easily to evil's strongest
tool, discouragement, and fell back into self-condemnation, whereby he
only rendered still more real to himself the evil which he was
striving to overcome. She knew that the only obstacle that he was
wrestling with in his upward progress was the universal belief in a
power other than God, good, which is so firmly fixed in the human
consciousness. But she likewise knew that this hindrance was but a
false conviction, and that it could and would be overcome.
"Padre," she reflected, looking up at him in great seriousness, "if a
lie had an origin, it would be true, wouldn't it?"
He regarded her attentively, but without replying.
"But Jesus said that Satan was the father of lies. And Satan, since he
is the father of lies, must himself be a lie. You see, Padre, we can
go right back to the very first chapter in the Bible. First comes the
account of the real creation. Then comes the account as the human
mind looks at it. But that comes after the 'mist' had gone up from
the ground, from dirt, from matter. Don't you see? That mist was
error, the opposite of Good. It was evil, the opposite of God. It was
the human mind and all human thought, the opposite of the infinite
Mind, God, and His thought. The mist went up from matter. So every bit
of evil that you can possibly think of comes from the material,
physical senses. Evil is always a mist, hiding the good. Isn't it
so? The physical universe, the universe of matter, is the way the
human mind sees its thoughts of the spiritual universe that was
created by God. The human mind is just a bundle of these false
thoughts; and you yourself have said that the human consciousness
was a 'thought-activity, concerned with the activity of false
thought.' The human mind is the lie about the infinite mind. It is
the mistake, the illusion. It is like a mistake in mathematics. It
has no principle, and nothing to stand on. The minute you turn the
truth upon it, why, it vanishes."
"Well, then, _chiquita_, why don't people turn the truth upon it
everywhere?"
"Because they are mesmerized by the error, Padre. They sit looking at
these false thoughts and believing them true. Padre, all disease, all
evil, comes from the false thought in the human mind. It is that
thought externalized in the human consciousness. And when the human
mind turns from them, and puts them out, and lets the true thoughts
in, why--why, _then we will raise the dead_!"
"But, _chiquita_, the human body--if it has died--"
"Padre," she interrupted, "the human body and human mind are one and
the same. The body is in the mind. The body that you think you see is
but your thought of a body, and _is in your so-called human mind_!"
"Do you really understand that, child?"
"I _know_ it!" she exclaimed. "And so would you if you read your Bible
in the right way. Why--I had never seen a Bible until you gave me
yours. I didn't know what a book it was! And to think that it has been
in the world for thousands of years, and yet people still kill one
another, still get sick, and still die! I don't see how they can!"
"But, _chiquita_, people are too busy to devote time to demonstrating
the truths of the Bible," he offered.
"Too busy!" she ejaculated. "Busy with what?"
"Why--busy making money--busy socially--busy having a good time--busy
accumulating things that--that they must go away and leave to somebody
else!"
"Yes," she said sadly. "They are like the people Jesus spoke of, too
busy with things that are of no account to see the things that
are--that are--"
"That are priceless, _chiquita_--that are the most vital of all things
to sinful, suffering mankind," he supplied.
Rosendo looked in at the door. Josè motioned him away. These hours
with Carmen had become doubly precious to him of late. Perhaps he felt
a presentiment that the net about him and his loved ones was drawing
rapidly tighter. Perhaps he saw the hour swiftly approaching, even at
hand, when these moments of spiritual intercourse would be rudely
terminated. And perhaps he saw the clouds lowering ever darker above
them, and knew that in the blackness which was soon to fall the girl
would leave him and be swept out into the great world of human
thoughts and events, to meet, alone with her God, the fiercest
elements, the subtlest wiles, of the carnal mind. As for himself--he
was in the hands of that same God.
He turned again to the girl. "_Chiquita_," he said, "you do not
find mistakes in the Bible? For, out in the big world where I came
from, there are many, very many, who say that it is a book of
inconsistencies, of gross inaccuracies, and that its statements are
directly opposed to the so-called natural sciences. They say that it
doesn't even relate historical events accurately. But, after all,
the Bible is just the record of the unfoldment in the human
consciousness of the concept of God. Why cavil at it when it
contains, as we must see, a revelation of the full formula for
salvation, which, as you say, is right-thinking."
"Yes, Padre. And it even tells us what to think about. Paul said, you
know, that we should think about whatsoever things are true, honest,
just, pure, lovely, and of good report. Well, he told us that there
was no law--not even any human law--against those things. And don't
you know, he wrote about bringing into captivity every thought to
Christ? What did he mean by that?"
"Just what you have been telling me, I guess, _chiquita_: that every
thought must be measured by the Christ-principle. And if it doesn't
conform to that standard, it must be rejected."
"Yes. And then he said that he died daily. He did die daily to evil,
to all evil thought--"
"And to the testimony of the physical senses, think you?"
"He must have! For, in proving God to be real, he had to prove the
reports of the five physical senses to be only human beliefs."
"You are right, _chiquita_. He must have known that the corporeal
senses were the only source from which evil came. He must have known
that unless God testified in regard to things, any other testimony was
but carnal belief. This must be so, for God, being infinite mind, is
also infinite intelligence. He knows all things, and knows them
aright--not as the human mind thinks it knows them, twisted and
deformed, but right."
"Of course, Padre. You know now that you see it right. And can't you
_stick_ to it, and prove it?"
"_Chiquita_," he answered, shaking his head again, his words still
voicing a lingering note of doubt, "it may be--the 'I' that I call
myself may be entirely human, unreal, mortal. I make no doubt it is,
for it seems filled to the brim with discordant thoughts. And it will
pass away. And then--then what will be left?"
"Oh, Padre!" she cried, with a trace of exasperation. "Empty yourself
of the wrong thoughts--shut the door against them--don't let them in
any more! Then fill yourself with God's thoughts. Then when the
mortal part fades away, why, the good will be left. And it will be the
right 'you.'"
"But how shall I empty myself, and then fill myself again?"
"Padre!" cried the girl, springing from her chair and stamping her
foot with each word to give it emphasis. "It is love, love, love,
nothing but love! Forget yourself, and love everything and everybody,
the real things and the real bodies! Love God, and good, and good
thoughts! Turn from the bad and the unreal--forget it! Why--"
"Wait, _chiquita_," he interrupted. "A great war is threatening our
country at this very minute. Shall I turn from it and let come what
may?"
She hesitated not. "No! But you can know that war comes only from the
human mind; that it is bad thought externalized; and that God is
peace, and is infinitely greater than such bad thought; and He will
take care of you--if you will let Him!"
"And how do I let Him? By sitting back and folding my hands and
saying, Here am I, Lord, protect me--"
"Oh, Padre dear, you make me ashamed of your foolish thought--which
isn't your thought at all, but just thought that seems to be calling
itself 'you.' Jesus said, He that believeth on me, the works that I do
shall he do likewise. But that did not mean sitting back with folded
hands. It meant _understanding_ him; and knowing that there is no
power apart from the Christ-principle; and using that principle, using
it every moment, _hard_; and with it overcoming every thought that
doesn't come from God, every thought of the human mind, whether it is
called war, or sickness, or death!"
"Then evil can be thought away, _chiquita_?" He knew not why he
pursued her so relentlessly.
"No, Padre," she replied with a gentle patience that smote him. "No,
Padre. But it can be destroyed in the human mind. And when you have
overcome the habit of thinking the wrong way, evil will disappear.
That is the whole thing. That is what Jesus tried to make the people
see."
But Josè knew it. Yet he had not put it to the proof. He had gone
through life, worrying himself loose from one human belief, only to
become enslaved to another equally insidious. He knew that the cause
of whatever came to him was within his own mentality. And yet he knew,
likewise, that he would have to demonstrate this--that he would be
called upon to "prove" God. His faith without the works following was
dead. He felt that he did not really believe in power opposed to God;
and yet he did constantly yield to such belief. And such yielding was
the chief of sins. The unique Son of God had said so. He knew that
when the Master had said, "Behold, I give you power over all the
enemy," he meant that the Christ-principle would overcome every false
claim of the human mentality, whether that claim be one of physical
condition or action, or a claim of environment and event. He knew that
all things were possible to God, and likewise to the one who
understood and faithfully applied the Christ-principle. Carmen
believed that good alone was real and present. She applied this
knowledge to every-day affairs. And in so doing she denied reality to
evil. He must let go. He must turn upon the claims of evil to life and
intelligence. His false sense of righteousness _must_ give place to
the spiritual sense of God as immanent good. He knew that Carmen's
great love was an impervious armor, which turned aside the darts of
the evil one, the one lie. He knew that his reasoning from the premise
of mixed good and evil was false, and the results chaotic. And knowing
all this, he knew that he had touched the hem of the garment of the
Christ-understanding. There remained, then, the test of fire. And it
had come. Would he stand?
"Padre," said Carmen, going to him and putting her arms about his
neck, "you say that you think a great war is coming. But you
needn't be afraid. Don't you remember what it says in the book of
Isaiah? 'No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper, and
every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt
condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and their
righteousness is of me, saith the Lord.' No weapon of evil can
touch you, if you understand God. Every tongue of the human mind that
rises to judge you, to sentence you, shall be condemned. You will
condemn it--you _must_! This is your heritage, given you by God. And
your righteousness, your right-thinking, must come from God. Your
thoughts must be His. Then--"
"Yes, yes, _chiquita_," he said, drawing her to him.
"And now, Padre, you will promise me that you will know every day that
Anita's babe is not blind--that it sees, because God sees?"
"Yes, _chiquita_, I promise."
"Padre dear," she murmured, nestling close to him, "I love you so
much, so much!"
He answered not, except in the tightening of the arm that was about
her.