The Zeit-Geist - Lily Dougall (black female authors .txt) 📗

been the only night which had ever possessed terrors for her, and now that she believed her father to be still alive she thought no longer with any horror of his apparition. She wondered where he was wandering, but her heart hardened towards him. She rested and dozed by turns upon the doorstep until about midnight. Then in the darkness she heard a voice from the bracken couch that assured her that Bart's mind had come back to him again.

"Who is there?" he asked.

"I am going to give you something to eat," she said, letting her voice speak her name.

"Is it very dark?" he asked, "or am I blind?"

"You can see right enough, Bart," she said gently; "you can watch me kindle the fire."

She left the door of the stove open while the spruce twigs were crackling, and in the red, uncertain, dancing light he caught glimpses of the room in which he was, and of her figure, but the fire died down very quickly again.

"I was thinking, Ann," he said slowly, "that it was a pity for Christa to be kept from dancing. She is young and light on her feet. God must have made her to dance."

"Christa's well enough without it," said Ann, a little shortly.

She thought more coldly of Christa since she had come up to a higher level herself.

"Well, I only meant about Christa that I think I made a mistake," said Bart slowly.

"How a mistake?" she asked.

It was a very hard question to answer. A moment before and he thought he had seen what the mistake was and how to speak, but when he tried, all that manifold difficulty of applying that which is eternal to that which is temporal came between his thought and its expression.

He could not know clearly wherein his difficulty lay; no one had taught him about the Pantheism which obliterates moral distinctions, or told him of the subjective ideal which sweeps aside material delight. He only felt after the realities expressed by these phrases, and dimly perceived that truth lies midway between them, and that truth is the mind of God, and can only be lived, not spoken. For a while he lay there in the darkness, trying to think how he could tell Ann that to his eyes all things had become new; after a little while he did try to tell her, and although the words were lame, and apparently contradictory to much that they both knew was also true, still some small measure of his meaning passed into her mind.

"God is different from what I ever thought," he said; "He isn't in some things and not in others; it's wicked to live so as to make people think that, for they think they can get outside of Him, and then they don't mind Him at all."

"How do you know it?" she asked curiously.

"I saw it. Perhaps God showed me because I was so hard up. It's God's truth, Ann, that I am saying."

The room was quite dark again now; the chirping of the crickets outside thrilled through and through it, as if there were no walls there but only the darkness and the chirping. Ann sat upon a wooden chair by the stove.

She considered for a minute, and then she said, with the first touch of repentance in her heart: "Well, I reckon God ain't in me, any way. There isn't much of God in me that I can see."

"I'll tell you how it is if I can." Toyner's voice had a strange rest and calm in it. He spoke as a man who looked at some inward source of peace, trying to describe it. "Supposing you had a child, you wouldn't care anything about him at all if you could just work him by wires so that he couldn't do anything but just what you liked; and yet the more you cared about him, the more it would hurt you dreadfully if he didn't do the things that you knew were good for him, and love you and talk to you too. Well now, suppose one day, when he was a little fellow, say, he wanted to touch something hot, and you told him not to. Well, if he gave it up, you'd make it easier for him to be good next time; but suppose he went on determined to have his own way, can't you think of yourself taking hold of his hand and just helping him to reach up and touch the hot thing? I tell you, if you did that it would mean that you cared a great sight more about him than if you just slapped him and put it out of his reach; and yet, you see, you'd be helping him to do the wrong thing just because you wanted to take the naughtiness out of his heart, not because you were a devil that wanted him to be naughty. Well, you see, between us and our children" (Toyner was talking as men do who get hold of truth, not as an individual, but as mankind) "it's not the same as between God and us. They have our life in them, but they're outside us and we're outside them, and so we get into the way, when we want them to be good, of giving them a punishment that's outside the harm they've done, and trying to put the harm they are going to do outside of their reach; and when they do the right thing, half the time we don't help them to do it again. But that isn't God's way. Nothing is ever outside of Him; and what happens after we have done a thing is just what must happen, nothing more and nothing less, so that we can never hope to escape the good or the evil of what we have done; for the way things must happen is just God's character that never changes. You see the reason we can choose between right and wrong when a tree can't, or a beast, is just because God's power of choice is in us and not in them. So we use His power, and when we use it right and think about pleasing Him--for, you see, we know He can be pleased, for our minds are just bits of His mind (as far as we know anything about Him; but of course we only know a very little)--He puts a tremendous lot of strength into us, so that we can go on doing right next time. Of course it's a low sort of right when we don't think about Him, for that's the most of what He wants us to do; but I tell you" (a little personal fire and energy here broke the calm of the recital), "I tell you, when I do look up to God and say, '_Now I am going to do this for Your sake and because You are in me and will do it_,' I tell you, there's _tremendous power_ given us. _That's the law that makes the value of religion_; I know it by the way I gave up drinking. But now, look here; most of the time we don't use God's will, that He lends us, to do what's right; well, then He doesn't slap us and put the harm out of our reach. He does just what the mother does when she takes the child's hand and puts it against the hot thing, and the burn hurts her as much as it hurts the child; but He is not weak like we are to do it only once in a way. I tell you, Ann, every time you do a wrong thing God is with you; that is what I saw when I was hard up and God showed me how things really were. Now, look here, there isn't any end to it that we can see here; it's an awful lot of help we get to do the wrong thing if that's the thing we choose to do. It gets easier and easier, and at first there's a lot of pleasure to it, but by-and-by it gets more and more dreadful, and then comes death, and that's the end here. But God does not change because we die, and wherever we go He is with us and gives us energy to do just what we choose to do. It's hell before we die when we live that way, and it's hell after, for ages and ages and worlds and worlds perhaps, just until the hell-fire of sin has burned the wrong way of choosing out of us. But remember, God never leaves us whatever we do; there's nothing we feel that He doesn't feel with us; we must all come in the end to being like Himself, and there's always open the short simple way of choosing His help to do right, instead of the long, long way through hell. But I tell you, Ann, whether you're good or whether you're wicked, God is in you and you are in Him. If He left you, you would neither be good nor wicked, you would stop being; but He loves you in a bigger, closer way than you can think of loving anybody; and if you choose to go round the longest way you can, through the hell-fire of sin on earth and all the other worlds, He will suffer it all with you, and bring you in the end to be like Himself."

The calm voice was sustained in physical strength by the strength of the new faith.

Ann's reply followed on the track of thoughts that had occurred to her. "Well now, there's that awful low girl, Nelly Bowes. She's drunk all the time, and she's got an awful disease. She's as bad as bad can be, and so is the man she lives with; and that little child of hers was born a hard-minded, sickly little beast." Her words had a touch of triumphant opposition as she brought them out slowly. "It's a mean, horrid shame for the child to be born like that. It wasn't its fault. Do you mean to say God is with them?"

"It's a long sight easier to believe that than that He just let them go to the devil! I tell you it's an awful wicked thing to teach people that God can save them and doesn't. God is saving those two and the child just by the hell they've brought on themselves and it; and He's in hell with them, and He'll bring them out to something grander than we can think about. They could come to it without giving Him all that agony and themselves too; but if they won't, He'll go through it with them rather than turn them into puppets that He could pull by wires. And as to the child, I can't see it quite clear; but I see this much that I know is true: it's God's character to have things so that a good man has a child with a nice clean soul, and it's just by the same way of things that the other happens too. It's the working out of the bad man's salvation to see his child worse than himself, and it's the working out of the child's salvation to have his bad soul in a bad body. Look you, can't you think that in the ages after death the saving of the soul of that child may be the one thing to make that man and woman divine? They'll never, never get rid of their child, and the child will come quicker to the light through the blackness he is born to than if, having the bad soul that he has,