A dead man's diary

by Coulson Kernahan

"Of the dead who die?" I repeated wonderingly; "I do not understand you. Surely all who are dead must die?"

To this he made no answer, and seeing that he was strangely moved, I forbore to question him further, but by-and-by he became calmer and of his own accord continued the conversation.

"You asked me about Henry Marshall," he said, "and I will tell you all I know about him; but first let me explain that, next to the love of money which has been my ruin, my sorest hindrance on earth was my unbelief and faithlessness; and that here in hell the punishment of the unbeliever is that he shall be consumed by the anguish of his own unbelief. Once when I might have believed, I would not, and now, though I would believe, I cannot, but am for ever torn by hideous apprehensions and doubts as to my own future and the future of those dear to me. Moreover, there are many things which, clear and plain as they may be to the faithful of heart and to the believing, are to my doubting eyes wrapt around in mystery and in gloom. Into these mysteries it has been ordained as part of my punishment that I shall ever desire to look, and of all these mysteries there is not one which fills me with such abject horror and dread as the mystery of the dead who die."

"Of the dead who die?" I said again; "what do you mean by those strange words?"

"They are my words," he cried excitedly, and with a hysterical laugh, "mine, mine; the words I use to myself when I think of the mystery which they strove so carefully to conceal from me, but which for all their cunning I have discovered. Listen, and I will tell you about it. When I first came here, I saw, either in hell or in heaven, the faces of most of the dead whom I had known on earth, but some faces there were (Henry Marshall's was one of them) which I missed, and which from that time to this I have never seen. 'Where, then, are they?' I asked myself, 'since neither earth, hell, nor heaven knows them more? Has God some fearful fate in store for the sinner, which may one day fall upon me and mine, as it has already fallen upon them?' As I felt the shadow of that dark misgiving resting on my heart, I knew that for me another horror had arisen in hell, and that rest thenceforth there could be none until I had solved the mystery.

"And so it came about that all the moments of my release from suffering were spent in the search for those missing faces. Sometimes I took counsel with those who were in hell as I was, but they could teach me only that which I already knew; sometimes I asked the help of the souls in Paradise, but they told me nothing save that I must be no more faithless but believing. And then I sought to know of the angels where were those lost ones, but with a look of sad and pitiful meaning, they passed on and left me unanswered. Ah! but they could not hide their secrets from me! No, no, I was not one of the credulous, nor was I to be put off with a frown, and I have found out their mystery, and you shall share it.

"When you and I were children, we were taught that every human being is made in the image of God, and is born with an immortal soul. But they did not tell us that just as neglected diseases can kill the body, so unchecked sin can kill the soul, and that we have it in our power to so deface the Divine Image that we become like unto, if not lower, than the beasts which perish, and die out at our deaths as they. But it is so, and that is what I meant when I said that he of whom you asked was 'of the dead who die.'

"You shake your head, and mutter that I am mad, and that you cannot credit such a statement. Well, perhaps I am mad—mad with the horror of my unbelief; but why should it not be as I say, I ask you? I have brooded over it all a thousand times, and am convinced that I have solved the riddle, and I will tell you why I think so.

"God is answerable to Himself for His actions, and when He made man, He made a man, and not a puppet—a being of infinite possibilities for good as well as for evil, and to whom it was given to choose for himself between the doing of the right or the wrong. But God knew that many of those whom He so made would sin away all memory of their Divine origin. God did not will it so, for He made us men, not machines, and the evil we do is of our own choosing, but God foreknew it; and, fore-knowing that, God owed it to Himself not to call a creature into being, the result of whose creation would be that creature's infinite and eternal misery. No, even the Omnipotent dared not perpetrate so wanton and wicked a deed as that, for God is the inexorable Judge who sits in judgment upon God; and hence it was that He decreed that those for whom there could be no hope of heaven should die out at their deaths like the brutes. Doesn't that seem to you a probable solution? and isn't it rational and feasible upon the face of it? Our life—such as it is—is from God, and may not God take His own again, and withdraw that life if He wish it? and could anything better happen to many people whom you and I know, than that they should be allowed to die out, and the very memory of them pass away for ever?"

I was convinced that he was mad—mad, as he had himself hinted, with the horror of his unbelief; but I was interested in what he had to say, and in his singular fancies.