A Twentieth Century Idealist

by Henry Pettit

She was dressing to go out when her thoughts took another flight. “People talk about waiting for things to turn up, they always say circumstances don’t suit just now, and then collapse. Of course they collapse,—I should if always waiting—I am sure I should. I couldn’t stand it. Why not hurry up the circumstances? Mother often makes the circumstances, and then people fall in; I’ve seen her do it fifty times. Oh, how I wish I could go abroad!”—then taking her book she set out for a stroll.

Adele in the park, how different from the Doctor, the circumstances altogether different. Not at night and alone, but when the sunlight gave brilliancy and she was liable at any moment to meet some one she knew.

There was, however, a quiet nook where she hoped to be able to read undisturbed, an inconspicuous seat partially surrounded by a cultivated thicket of shrubbery. This seemed to suit her present mood, and she was soon engrossed in the little book so full of the Oriental way of looking at things, figures of speech in which the forces of nature were personified, and the most ordinary facts described in language which might lead plain people to imagine supernatural operations in nature. It was not so easy as she imagined, however, to keep her mind in focus. Of course she had to nod to several of the girls as they passed by, and with one eye still following them she observed how the birds were ruining a newly planted flower bed, nipping off the young shoots and gobbling up the seed which should be left to sprout later. Of course that had to be stopped,—she must frighten off the birds to save the plants. Returning to her book, she noticed some manuscript leaves inserted. They were in the Doctor’s handwriting and so palpably intended to be read with the text in order to elucidate further the author’s ideas, that Adele had no hesitation whatever in reading them, and became absorbed at once. They seemed like what her father had told her, only in another form. The Doctor had used Western phraseology to convey Oriental imagery and ideas,—to show how Oriental imagery may still be forcible to Western sense,—how the truth was in all, to be perceived by each after his own fashion. Of course the Doctor’s effort was crude, and well showed how such ideas may lose force when separated from the civilization which had originally called them forth; but of this Adele had no realizing sense. They spoke to her so that she could understand. She did not criticise, but sought the truth no matter how crude the effort,—thereby manifesting the prime element essential in all true criticism, namely, sympathy with the author. What she read was entitled:

The Theophany of Spring.

In the Domain of Nature, during early Spring, one sees the Spirit of New Life as an avatar, a coming of the Deity, or manifestation of the Mind in Nature, down to earth—to produce a resurrection of thought, being, joy, from an apparent death and past.

To rescue mankind from destruction, the Spirit form is clothed with Hope as with a garment, hope in tangible manifestation, an admirable exhibition of an abstract idea, a law in nature, in concrete fulfilment,—obedience.

Clothed in delicate, lace-like foliage and young blossoms, the verdant coloring of many shades, the Presence of the Spirit is manifest. As movement tells of the wind, so do the youthful forms tell of refinement, modesty, purity. How exquisite the affinity, the relationship to the azure blue, the heavens above from which new life must come with light, warmth, and nourishment; and with the fleecy clouds floating in the vast expanse, white, the blending of all colors; marking the heavenly route by which the Spirit had passed in coming down to Mother Earth. Sparkling gems, the gift from April showers, decked her hopeful garments; not after man’s arrangement; there was a method in the natural spirit-art which embodied both the good and the true with the beautiful. Wherever the brilliant points could accentuate a graceful fold, or enlighten the mind, or give nourishment, produce good results in any way, as moisture gives life and sustentation, there were the sparkling gems upon the Theophany of New Life.

As one gazes with holy admiration at this theophany of truth in renewed manifestation, and watches the changing effects, the action of the Spirit of New Life becomes apparent; the adaptation of the new growth to progress becomes a living experience, the facts become vital in significance to help others to live beautifully and truly. The pure white light from the azure sky, the composite of all colors, differentiates itself when touching the new growth and youthful forms. Topaz flowers, and garlands of ruby blossoms, rich golden stamens set in sapphire corollas, the royal purple, bloomed upon the garments of Hope, turquoise opaque tints and alexandrite changing hues took proper place as life took time.

The New Life advances, treading the way all plants and men should follow—must follow. The always true, always good, always beautiful, in motion or effect. And at times the theophany is seen in effects too dazzling for mortal eye to gaze upon with sight in nakedness—the naked eye cannot see and live. From behind the cumuli of clouds such radiant outbursts of effulgent splendor that a transfiguration of the Presence itself seems imminent, a veritable foresight of what the pure in heart above can see and live,—a glimpse of what is implied by the immanence of the Creator of all life. It is then that scintillations of brilliancy shine forth from every gem, from every good thought, from every beautiful action, responsive to Him who created them. It is then that the truth is visible to the naked eye so that man can see upon the earth that for which he prays, “as it is in heaven.” It is then that the Spirit of New Life becomes enveloped as with a halo around her own presence, and vision is blinded by the increasing effulgence of the truthful atmospheric effects.

Man closes his eyes, his vision is too weak, too limited in power and scope, to behold that which is actually before his eyesight. And while his sight is sealed by the very glory of the fact itself, and his mental vision strives to retain permanently that which he has been permitted to witness, then the Spirit speaks, speaks into the heart-life of those who have sought by striving to learn how to hear as well as to see. It is then when the eye is closed, yet all in the presence of New Life, that the avatar, theophany, renaissance, resurrection of truth in springtime, speaks the pure word of the Mind of Nature, the Creator Father,—the still small voice is heard.