Van Artevelde's Elena, though in her individual nature unlike my Mariana, is like her in a mind whose large impulses are disproportioned to the persons and occasions she meets, and which carry her beyond those reserves which mark the appointed lot of woman. But, when she met Van Artevelde, he was too great not to revere her rare nature, without regard to the stains and errors of its past history; great enough to receive her entirely, and make a new life for her; man enough to be a lover! But as such men come not so often as once an age, their presence should not be absolutely needed to sustain life.
SUNDAY MEDITATIONS ON VARIOUS TEXTS.
Meditation First.
"And Jesus, answering, said unto them, Have faith in God."—Mark xi. 22.
O, DIRECTION most difficult to follow! O, counsel most mighty of import! Beauteous harmony to the purified soul! Mysterious, confounding as an incantation to those yet groping and staggering amid the night, the fog, the chaos of their own inventions!
Yes, this is indeed the beginning and the end of all knowledge and virtue; the way and the goal; the enigma and its solution. The soul cannot prove to herself the existence of a God; she cannot prove her own immortality; she cannot prove the beauty of virtue, or the deformity of vice; her own consciousness, the first ground of this belief, cannot be compassed by the reason, that inferior faculty which the Deity gave for practical, temporal purposes only. This consciousness is divine; it is part of the Deity; through this alone we sympathize with the imperishable, the infinite, the nature of things. Were reason commensurate with this part of our intellectual life, what should we do with the things of time? The leaves and buds of earth would wither beneath the sun of our intelligence; its crags and precipices would be levelled before the mighty torrent of our will; all its dross would crumble to ashes under the fire of our philosophy.
God willed it otherwise; WHY, who can guess? Why this planet, with its tormenting limitations of space and time, was ever created,—why the soul was cased in this clogging, stifling integument, (which, while it conveys to the soul, in a roundabout way, knowledge which she might obviously acquire much better without its aid, tempts constantly to vice and indolence, suggesting sordid wants, and hampering or hindering thought,)—I pretend not to say. Let others toil to stifle sad distrust a thousand ways. Let them satisfy themselves by reasonings on the nature of free agency; let them imagine it was impossible men should be purified to angels, except by resisting the temptations of guilt and crime; let them be reasonably content to feel that
| "Faith conquers in no easy war; |
| By toil alone the prize is won; |
| The grape dissolves not in the cup— |
| Wine from the crushing press must run; |
| And would a spirit heavenward go, |
| A heart must break in death below." |
Why an omnipotent Deity should permit evil, either as necessary to produce good, or incident to laws framed for its production, must remain a mystery to me. True, we cannot conceive how the world could have been ordered differently, and because we,—beings half of clay; beings bred amid, and nurtured upon imperfection and decay; beings who must not only sleep and eat, but pass the greater part of their temporal day in procuring the means to do so,—because WE, creatures so limited and blind, so weak of thought and dull of hearing, cannot conceive how evil could have been dispensed with, those among us who are styled wise and learned have thought fit to assume that the Infinite, the Omnipotent, could not have found a way! "Could not," "evil must be incident"—terms invented to express the thoughts or deeds of the children of dust. Shall they be applied to the Omnipotent? Is a confidence in the goodness of God more trying to faith, than the belief that a God exists, to whom these words, transcending our powers of conception, apply? O, no, no! "Have faith in God!" Strive to expand thy soul to the feeling of wisdom, of beauty, of goodness; live, and act as if these were the necessary elements of things; "live for thy faith, and thou shalt behold it living." In another world God will repay thy trust, and "reveal to thee the first causes of things which Leibnitz could not," as the queen of Prussia said, when she was dying. Socrates has declared that the belief in the soul's immortality is so delightful, so elevating, so purifying, that even were it not the truth, "we should daily strive to enchant ourselves with it." And thus with faith in wisdom and goodness,—that is to say, in God,—the earthquake-defying, rock-foundation of our hopes is laid; the sun-greeting dome which crowns the most superb palace of our knowledge is builded. A noble and accomplished man, of a later day, has said, "To credit ordinary and visible objects is not faith, but persuasion. I bless myself, and am thankful, that I lived not in the days of miracles, that I never saw Christ, nor his disciples; then had my faith been thrust upon me, nor could I enjoy that greater blessing pronounced upon those who believe yet saw not."
I cannot speak thus proudly and heartily. I find the world of sense strong enough against the intellectual and celestial world. It is easy to believe in our passionless moments, or in those when earth would seem too dark without the guiding star of faith; but to live in faith, not sometimes to feel, but always to have it, is difficult. Were faith ever with us, how steady would be our energy, how equal our ambition, how calmly bright our hopes! The darts of envy would be blunted, the cup of disappointment lose its bitterness, the impassioned eagerness of the heart be stilled, tears would fall like holy dew, and blossoms fragrant with celestial May ensue.