“Worthy Sophos!” exclaimed Fortyfolios. “In the streets through which we have passed, although I have noticed every sort of warehouse and shop for the purposes of trade, I have not seen any place for the sale of intoxicating liquors; and among all the public buildings I have beheld, I have not met with any thing which, from its appearance, I could consider a prison.”
“Intoxicating liquors we neither buy nor sell,” replied Sophos. “The pure beverage which nature has provided so liberally for our enjoyment, confers upon us both health and pleasure; and although the indulgence of every natural inclination is allowed, any intemperance in the enjoyment of an appetite is punished with immediate and general disgrace; the sensualist, the glutton, or the drunkard is avoided as unworthy to associate with his fellow men, and the instances of such offences being committed are so rare, that they are now looked upon as altogether unnatural. As for prisons we do not want them; we have no use for them. Such offences as crimes against life, or crimes against property; crimes against the individual, or crimes against the state, are so few that if we were to build a prison, we should find some difficulty in getting in it a single inhabitant. We have long known that prisons do not prevent crime. We are aware that wherever there have been the most prisons, there have been the greatest number of criminals; and beholding in the experience of ages the inutility of punishment as a preventive to criminality, we came to the conclusion, that the only sure way of preventing a man becoming a criminal, is to remove from his path all temptations to crime. Every citizen having the free enjoyment of every inclination, cannot possibly have a want that interferes with the interests of the community; and we are exceedingly careful throughout the educational course of life to prevent the existence of any inclination that may be hurtful either to the individual or to the society to which he belongs.”
“Is this one of your religious edifices?” inquired Oriel, pointing to a large building supported by elegant pillars, and having the appearance of the highest degree of architectural excellence.
“It is, and it is not,” replied Sophos, with a smile. “It is a religious edifice, inasmuch as it is well calculated to assist in establishing religious impressions, and it is used for the purpose of conveying moral instruction to the hearts of those who enter its walls: and it is not a religious edifice, because it is connected with no mystery, and is no place for monks and priests, grovelling superstitions, and unmeaning ceremonies. But you shall examine the interior.” With these words he ordered the carriage to be driven up to the gates, and the party alighting, entered the edifice.
Having passed through lofty folding doors, they were ushered along a vaulted hall of immense extent and admirable proportions. It was lighted from the top by windows that spread around the whole circumference of the dome in a series of circles, between which the roof was supported by gigantic figures of white marble. The walls were painted in fresco, with a variety of subjects executed in the first style of art, and the object of every painting appeared to be to elevate the human mind into a love of practical benevolence. Nothing barbarous, nothing cruel, nothing unjust, nothing coarse, nothing that could create an unpleasant feeling, had here been introduced; but all that was affectionate and true, and pure and excellent, had been seized by the plastic genius of the artist, and fixed in undying colours upon the wall.
In the different divisions that separated these pictures appeared short moral maxims and philosophical sentences. Every religion seemed to have furnished some portion of the instruction here conveyed. Near the truths of Christianity might be observed the wisdom of Islamism; the Proverbs of Solomon had a place by the side of the maxims of Zoroaster, and the wisdom of Confucius was inscribed opposite the philosophy of Socrates. Wherever the eye turned it caught something worthy of contemplation, and whatever the mind contemplated it found impressive, unanswerable, and impossible to be forgotten.
“What place do you call this?” inquired Oriel of his conductor.
“It is called the Hall of Wisdom and of Humanity,” replied the stranger. “And here, if the soul is fretted by pain or sorrow, or the heart yearns for some refreshing influence, comes the citizen from the busy toils of life, and gazing on these tokens of a benevolent power, and studying these signs of a comprehensive intelligence, he finds that both his heart and mind are strengthened—a love of excellence pervades all his nature, and he passes back to the world with a cheerful spirit, giving and partaking gladness.”
“What are the principles of your religion?” asked Fortyfolios.