We know what the child will take. So which course we shall take depends very much on the way the choice is presented to us, and on what the chooser is by nature. What he is by nature is not determined by himself, but by his parentage. "They know not what they do." In one sense this is true of every human being. The agent does not know, never can know, what makes him that which he is. What we most want to ask of our Maker is an unfolding of the divine purpose in putting human beings into conditions in which such numbers of them would be sure to go wrong. We want an advocate of helpless humanity whose task it shall be, in the words of Milton, "To justify the ways of God to man."
We have heard Milton's argument, but for the realization of his vision of the time "When Hell itself shall pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day," our suffering race must wait in patience.
The greater part of the discourse the reader has had before him was delivered over the teacups one Sunday afternoon. The Mistress looked rather grave, as if doubtful whether she ought not to signify her disapprobation of what seemed to her dangerous doctrine.
However, as she knew that I was a good church-goer and was on the best terms with her minister, she said nothing to show that she had taken the alarm. Number Five listened approvingly. We had talked the question over well, and were perfectly agreed on the main point.
How could it be otherwise? Do you suppose that any intellectual, spiritual woman, with a heart under her bodice, can for a moment seriously believe that the greater number of the high-minded men, the noble and lovely women, the ingenuous and affectionate children, whom she knows and honors or loves, are to be handed over to the experts in a great torture-chamber, in company with the vilest creatures that have once worn human shape?
"If there is such a world as used to be talked about from the pulpit, you may depend upon it," she said to me once, "there will soon be organized a Humane Society in heaven, and a mission established among 'the spirits in prison.'"
Number Five is a regular church-goer, as I am. I do not believe either of us would darken the doors of a church if we were likely to hear any of the "old-fashioned" sermons, such as I used to listen to in former years from a noted clergyman, whose specialty was the doctrine of eternal punishment. But you may go to the churches of almost any of our Protestant denominations, and hear sermons by which you can profit, because the ministers are generally good men, whose moral and spiritual natures are above the average, and who know that the harsh preaching of two or three generations ago would offend and alienate a large part of their audience. So neither Number Five nor I are hypocrites in attending church or "going to meeting." I am afraid it does not make a great deal of difference to either of us what may be the established creed of the worshipping assembly. That is a matter of great interest, perhaps of great importance, to them, but of much less, comparatively, to us. Companionship in worship, and sitting quiet for an hour while a trained speaker, presumably somewhat better than we are, stirs up our spiritual nature,--these are reasons enough to Number Five, as to me, for regular attendance on divine worship.
Number Seven is of a different way of thinking and feeling. He insists upon it that the churches keep in their confessions of faith statements which they do not believe, and that it is notorious that they are afraid to meddle with them. The Anglo-American church has dropped the Athanasian Creed from its service; the English mother church is afraid to. There are plenty of Universalists, Number Seven says, in the Episcopalian and other Protestant churches, but they do not avow their belief in any frank and candid fashion. The churches know very well, he maintains, that the fear of everlasting punishment more than any or all other motives is the source of their power and the support of their organizations. Not only are the fears of mankind the whip to scourge and the bridle to restrain them, but they are the basis of an almost incalculable material interest. "Talk about giving up the doctrine of endless punishment by fire!" exclaimed Number Seven; "there is more capital embarked in the subterranean fire-chambers than in all the iron-furnaces on the face of the earth. To think what an army of clerical beggars would be turned loose on the world, if once those raging flames were allowed to go out or to calm down! Who can wonder that the old conservatives draw back startled and almost frightened at the thought that there may be a possible escape for some victims whom the Devil was thought to have secured? How many more generations will pass before Milton's alarming prophecy will find itself realized in the belief of civilized mankind? "
Remember that Number Seven is called a "crank" by many persons, and take his remarks for just what they are worth, and no more.
Out of the preceding conversation must have originated the following poem, which was found in the common receptacle of these versified contributions:
TARTARUS.
While in my ****** gospel creed That "God is Love" so plain I read, Shall dreams of heathen birth affright My pathway through the coming night?
Ah, Lord of life, though spectres pale Fill with their threats the shadowy vale, With Thee my faltering steps to aid, How can I dare to be afraid?
Shall mouldering page or fading scroll Outface the charter of the soul?
Shall priesthood's palsied arm protect The wrong our human hearts reject, And smite the lips whose shuddering cry Proclaims a cruel creed a lie?
The wizard's rope we disallow Was justice once,--is murder now!
Is there a world of blank despair, And dwells the Omnipresent there?
Does He behold with smile serene The shows of that unending scene, Where sleepless, hopeless anguish lies, And, ever dying, never dies?
Say, does He hear the sufferer's groan, And is that child of wrath his own?
O mortal, wavering in thy trust, Lift thy pale forehead from the dust The mists that cloud thy darkened eyes Fade ere they reach the o'erarching skies!
When the blind heralds of despair Would bid thee doubt a Father's care, Look up from earth, and read above On heaven's blue tablet, GOD IS LOVE!
