“I know,” I replied, as he paused for some response from me; “my intellect accepts your interpretation of these things, but this symbolic religion of ours is ingrained in our very consciences, so that neglect of the outward forms of Christianity seems almost worse than actual sin.”
“And it will continue to be so,” he said, “until you learn to practice the truth for truth’s sake,—until you love your neighbor—not only because Christ commanded it, but because the principle of love is ‘ingrained in your consciences.’ As for belonging to a church, I can only conceive of that in the social sense, for every soul that aspires upward belongs to Christ’s church universal. They are the lambs of his flock, the objects of his tenderest care. But I can see how a great number of religious societies, or organizations, are possible, as corresponding with the requirements of different groups of people.”
“Yes,” I said, glad of this admission, “and these societies are all aiming at the same thing that you teach,—the brotherhood of man. They clothe the poor, they look after the sick, they send missionaries to the heathen, they preach morality and temperance,—all, in His Name, because, to tell the truth, they cannot conceive of any virtue disassociated from the man, Jesus. Jesus is the great leader of the spiritual forces marshaled under the banners of truth upon the Earth. In all their good works, which are so great and so many, good christians give Christ the glory, because, but for him, they would not have had the Truth, the Life,—the world was so dark, so ignorant. All the ancient civilizations upon the Earth,—and some of them were magnificent!—have perished, because they did not possess this truth and this spiritual life which Christ taught. There was a great deal of knowledge, but not love; there was a great deal of philosophy, but it was cold. There was mysticism, but it did not satisfy. Do you wonder, sir, that a world should love the man who brought love into that world,—who brought peace, good-will, to men?”
“No, no,” said the Master, “I do not wonder. It is grand, sublime! And he gave his body to be destroyed by his persecutors, in order to prove to the world that there is a life higher than the physical, and indestructible,—and that physical death has no other agony than physical pain. Ah, I see, I understand, and I am not surprised that you call this man your redeemer! I think, my friend,” he added, “that you have now a civilization upon the Earth, which will not perish!”
After a moment, he remarked, turning to me with a smile, “We are not so far apart as we thought we were, when we first started out, are we?”
“No,” said I, “the only wonder to me is, that you should have been in possession, from the beginning, of the same truths that were revealed to us only a few centuries ago, through, as we have been taught to believe, special Divine Favor.”
“Say, rather, Infinite Divine Love,” he returned; “then we shall indeed stand upon the same plane, all alike, children of God.”
As we continued our walk, his mind continued to dwell upon the teachings of Christ, and he sought to make clear to me one thing after another.
“Pray without ceasing,” he repeated, reflectively. “Well, now, it would be impossible to take that literally; the literal meaning of prayer is verbal petition. The real meaning is, the sincere desire of the soul. You are commanded to pray in secret, and God will reward you openly. Put the two together and you have this: Desire constantly, within your secret soul, to learn and to practice the truth; and your open reward shall be the countless blessings which are attracted to the perfect life, the inner life. ‘Ask whatsoever you will, in my name, and it shall be granted you.’ That is, ‘Ask in the name of truth and love.’ Shall you pray for a personal blessing or favor which might mean disaster or injury to another? Prayer is the desire and effort of the soul to keep in harmony with God’s great laws of the universe.”
As it had been in Thursia, so it was here; people came to see me from all parts, and there were some remarkable companies in Clytia’s parlors! Usually they were spontaneous gatherings, evening parties being often made up with little or no premeditation. There was music always, in great variety, and of the most delightful and elevated character,—singing, and many kinds of bands. And sometimes there was dancing,—not of the kind which awakened in De Quincey’s soul, “the very grandest form of passionate sadness,”—but of a kind that made me wish I had been the inventor of the phrase, “poetry of motion,” so that I could have used it here, fresh and unhackneyed. In all, there was no more voluptuousness than in the frolic of children. Conversation might—and often was—as light as the dance of butterflies, but it was liable at any moment to rise, upon a hint, or a suggestion, to the most sublimated regions of thought,—for these people do not leave their minds at home when they go into society. And here, in society, I saw the workings of the principle of brotherly love, in a strikingly beautiful aspect. There was no disposition on the part of any one to outdo another; rather there seemed to be a general conspiracy to make each one rise to his best. The spirit of criticism was absent, and the spirit of petty jealousy. The women without exception were dressed with exquisite taste, because this is a part of their culture. And every woman was beautiful, for loving eyes approved her; and every man was noble, for no one doubted him.