CHAPTER XXVI.

MODERN PHILOSOPHY,-- THE SOUL WITHOUT GOD.

Eternity and space! Remorseless law! Without a voice or tone of love to man, Without a sign to soften into awe The terrors of necessity's dark plan. Oh! what a wail of dark despair Rent the unblest, unhallowed air, As through the spheres the last dark utterance ran-- There is no God! no deity for man! The glowing thoughts that thrill man's frame, And bid him glorious kindred claim. With all of brilliancy divine That through the dazzling circles shine; The thoughts unspeakable that swell The heaving breast to ecstasy, And cast their sweet and mystic spell Until, attuned to harmony, The winged soul is borne throughout all space To read the symbols of celestial grace; Tracing the wondrous lore from sky to sky, Inflamed by consciousness of Deity Though veiled, yet present still, and still "Educing good from seeming ill"-- That thought is quenched in deepest night! Vanished each ray of holy light! The winged soul, all tempest-tost, Rushes in vain throughout all space; Amid dark waves of horror lost No sign appears, her course to trace In speechless agony, alone, Finding rest--never! The wearied spirit hurries on Wandering forever! All, all is lost! a dark despair Fills up the void, the tainted air. A Upas tree with poisoning shade Monopolizes every glade; And shadows flit and utter: "Woe! Remorseless nature rules below."

. . . . . .

Throughout all space-no rest-- No ray By which the human heart is blest; No day Breaks th' interminable gloom Around-- A foul, dark, loathsome tomb! A burial ground! Without a star To light th' abyss! Stern, elemental war! No bliss!

The evolution of a vast decay: Its beauty transient, as the fleeting ray That gilds the clouds on fitful April's day. Eternity! Immensity! All unillumined lie, No trace of high design Doth through their glimpses shine: Destruction and decay Repeated day by day-- Music forgets to joy the earth, Beauty to give the flowerets birth, Banished all providence, banished for ever-- What from the fainting heart sorrow shall sever? {764} One charnel-house is the all-teeming earth; That Fetid Vapor rising sickly bright To which foul rottenness is giving birth, Is now man's _only_ source of mental light! And shadows flit around and utter, "Woe! Remorseless nature rules _Alone_ below!"

. . . . . .

Such were our heroine's reflections.

Poor Hester! With no settled principle, with no defined religion, it was little wonder that the gloomy speculations of a conceited science should overpower her imagination, and that she should become melancholy and dispirited. Indeed, it became evident that the false philosophies, the exposition of which she was constantly called upon to hear, and from which her heart recoiled, even when she could find no reply to its specious reasonings, were preying on her health, and the gentleman who had acted as medical attendant to Mrs. Godfrey, now warned her father that Hester must be looked to, unless he would see her also fall into despondency.

Not that Hester believed in a theory which contradicted her instincts, annihilated for her the use of a faculty. No; but the very enunciation of such dogmas oppressed her, seemed to spread a snare for her, raised doubts of disturbance, at the very moment she was seeking to gain from works her brother had lent her the peace of mind she so much needed. In spite of herself her mind recurred to the theory which tormented her, and which she saw was favored by her father. "And yet," mused she in sadness, "can high ideas spring from the evolutions of matter? Is matter creative? This panting after justice that I feel, the love of order, beauty, moral harmony, for which so willingly I'd give my ease, my leisure, my exertions, nay, to forward the permanency of which I should esteem my life well bestowed, does that proceed from blind necessity, from evolution of organic life, itself unconscious of the boon conferred? Impossible! Idea is as real as is the brain: and there were mighty minds in days of old, who left examples men have not yet equalled. He who died upon the cross, and left twelve laboring unlettered men to propagate his most unselfish lore, was he evolved from matter's slow progression? And the men who roused the souls and waked the intellects of poverty, who preached the gospel to those lowly ones who live a life of toil and weariness, who kindled thoughts that raised them high above the tyrant's might to claim their heirship as the sons of God, inheritors of freedom, justice, truth, which naught save their own act can rob them of, were they evolved from rottenness? And if they were, why since that time, two thousand years ago, have there no nobler souls than these appeared, who could show finer instincts, higher views? Why, amid the luxury of Roman proud patrician life, did there spring up so suddenly a class who conquered by defeat, and laid foundations among the lowly of the earth cemented by their blood, that to this day proclaim their origin to be something different from the world's natural influences--a class whose leaders sought renunciation rather than gratification of the senses; who wore the chains themselves to free the slave, faced death to solace the plague-stricken, and abjured riches to feed the hungry with their stores? Why, among this class alone of all the earth's various classes, is woman honored, and protected alike in her virginity, her maternity, and her widowhood? Why, here alone, are we taught passion is to subject itself to the great idea of good, and why here alone is found that power is given to act on the idea?--that hundreds and thousands borne above this earth by that idea, have lived a life such as the poets deem belongs to angels only, justice and truth their path illumining, and love divine inspired by heaven (so deemed by them at least) infusing love of all humanity, to bear them nobly through the world's rebuffs and contradictions, toil and want? That so empowered, by no exterior means, they walk superior to earthly types, to earthly influence, erect {765} as sons of God, though meanly clad; their sorrow only, that amidst this earth good does not reign supreme, that passion's sway so oft usurps that power to quell high thoughts and sink their brethren's souls to misery. No! no! it cannot be that all those glorious acts of heroism, which bore witness to a higher existence than that lived by the majority of men, an existence which realized that truth and love could bring down heaven to dwell upon the earth, amid all untoward exterior appliances, that a power exists independently of exterior surroundings, a happiness independently of materialisms--it cannot be that those acts were evolved from the polluted state of society in which they were performed, but which they tended to amend, and to guide into a new channel. I do believe in justice, truth, and love, as motive powers, irrespectively of selfish gratification to myself. I do believe in a state of being in which they reign; and as I am not a creator, I must believe in a higher ideal of this justice, truth, and love, than the one in my own mind, as also that from that higher ideal my own is derived, for the greater cannot derive from the less: nor can a newly formed organism, whether evolved or created, originate."

Thus mused Hester as she pondered over the lives of the saints which Eugene had sent her, and as she read that book of books--the gospel. Yet she dared not confess even to herself the impression she received. Her father! that source of dread was ever in her thought.

Meantime that father was uneasy at the evident disturbance in Hester's mind. Once or twice he had observed a light in her room at late hours of the night, and yielding to his uneasiness he had softly turned the handle and opened the door; books were on the table, but the light was very low, and Hester! could he believe his eyes? Hester was on her knees, so absorbed as neither to perceive his entrance nor exit. He closed the door as silently as he had opened it, and turned to think. What did this mean? Verily, wonders were heaped upon him! What should he do? That very day Mr. Spence had proposed for Hester's hand, because of her supposed freedom from superstition, What was to be done?