Carmen Ariza Part 153

She paused and waited for the protest which was not voiced.

"Very well," she said, continuing; "so it is with the sense of touch; I had the thought of touching it, and that thought I saw; I was conscious of it when it became active in my mentality. So with sound; when I let the book drop, I was conscious of my thought of sound. If the book had been dropped in a vacuum I should not have been conscious of a thought of sound--why? Because, as Mr. Hitt has told us, the human mind has made its sense-testimony dependent upon vibrations. And yet, there is a clock ticking up there on the wall. Do you hear it?"

"Yes," replied Haynerd; "now that you've called my attention to it."

"Ah, yes," replied the girl. "You hear it when your thought is directed to it. And yet the air was vibrating all the time, and, if hearing is dependent upon the fleshly ear, you should have heard it incessantly when you were not thinking of it, as well as you hear it now when you are thinking of it. Am I not right?"

"Well, perhaps so," a.s.sented Haynerd with some reluctance.

"We hear, see, and feel," continued the girl, "when our thought is directed to these processes. And the processes are wholly mental--they take place within our mentalities--and it is there, within our minds, that we see, hear, and feel _all_ things. And it is there, within our minds, that the universe exists for us. It is there that we hold our world, our fleshly bodies, everything that we call material. _The universe that we think we see all about us consists of the mental concepts, made up of thought, which we hold within our mentalities_."

Haynerd nodded somewhat dubiously. Carmen proceeded with the exposition of her theme.

"Whence come these material thoughts that are within us? And are they real? Can we control them? And how? They are real to us, at any rate, are they not? And if they are thoughts of pain and suffering and death, they are terribly real to us. But let us see, now that we can reason from the basis of the mental nature of all things. We have agreed that the creative principle is mind, and we call it G.o.d. This infinite mind constantly expresses and manifests itself in ideas. Why, that is a fundamental law of mind! You express yourself in your ideas and thoughts, which you try to externalize materially. But the infinite mind expresses itself in an infinite number and variety of ideas, all, like itself, pure, perfect, eternal, good, without any elements or seeds of decay or discord. And the incessant expression of the creative mind in and through its numberless ideas const.i.tutes the never-ending process of creation."

"Let me add here," interrupted Hitt, "that the Bible states that G.o.d created the heavens and earth in seven days. But numbers, we must remember, were mystical things to the ancient Hebrews, and were largely used symbolically. The number seven, for example, was used to express wholeness, completeness. So we must remember that its use in Genesis has a much wider meaning than its absurd theological interpretation into seven solar days. As Carmen says, the infinite creative mind can never cease to express itself; creation can never cease; and creation is but the whole, complete revelation or unfoldment of infinite mind's ideas."

"And infinite mind," continued Carmen, "requires infinite time in which to completely express itself. So time ceases to be, and we find that all real things exist now, in an endless present. Now, the ideas of infinite mind range throughout the realm of infinity, but the greatest idea that the creative mind can have is the idea of itself.

That idea is the image and likeness of the infinite creative mind. It is the perfect reflection of that mind--its perfect expression. That idea is what the man Jesus always saw back of the human concept of man. _That idea is the real man_!"

"Well!" exclaimed Haynerd. "That's quite a different proposition from the mud-men that I do business with daily. What are they? Children of G.o.d?"

"If they were real," said Carmen, "they would have to be children of G.o.d. But then they would not be 'mud-men.' Now I have just spoken of the real, the spiritual creation. That is the creation mentioned in the first chapter of Genesis, where all was created--revealed, unfolded--by G.o.d, and He saw that it was perfect, good. 'In the beginning,' says the commentator. That is, 'To begin with--G.o.d.'

Everything begins with G.o.d in the realm of the real. The creative mind is first. And the creation, or unfoldment, is like its creative principle, eternal and good."

"But," persisted Haynerd, "how about the material man?"

"Having created all things spiritually," continued the girl, "was it necessary that the creative mind should repeat its work, do it over again, and produce the man of dust described in the second chapter of Genesis? Is that second account of the creation an inspiration of truth--or a human comment?"

"Call it what you will," said the cynical Haynerd; "the fact remains that the mud-man exists and has to be reckoned with."

"Both of your premises are wholly incorrect," returned the girl gently. "He does _not_ exist, excepting in human, mortal thought. He is a product of only such thought. He and his material universe are seen and dealt with only in such thought. And such thought is the direct ant.i.thesis of G.o.d's thought. And it is therefore unreal. It is the supposition, the lie, the mist that went up and darkened the earth."

"But--the human man--?"

"Is just what you have said, a hue of a man, a dark hue, the shadowy opposite which seems to counterfeit the real, spiritual man and claim all his attributes. He is not a compound of mind and matter, for we have seen that all things are mental, even matter itself. He is a sort of mentality, a counterfeit of real mind. His body and his universe are in himself. And, like all that is unreal, he is transient, pa.s.sing, ephemeral, mortal."

"Yet, G.o.d made him!"

"No, for he does not exist, excepting in supposition. Does a supposition really exist? If so, then not even truth can destroy it.

But supposition pa.s.ses out before truth. No, the human mind is the 'old man' of Paul. He is to be put off by knowing his nothingness, and by knowing the unreality of his supposed material environment and universe. As he goes out of consciousness, the real man, the idea of G.o.d, perfect, harmonious, and eternal, comes in."

"And there," said Father Waite impressively, "you have the whole scheme of salvation, as enunciated by the man Jesus."

"There is no doubt of it," added Hitt. "And, oh, my friends! how futile, how base, how worse than childish now appear the whole theological fabric of the churches, their foolish man-made dogmas, their insensate beliefs in a fiery h.e.l.l and a golden heaven. Oh, how belittling now appear their concepts of G.o.d--a G.o.d who can d.a.m.n unbaptised infants, who can predestine his children to eternal sorrow, who creates and then curses his handiwork! Do you wonder that sin, sorrow, and death remain among us while such awful beliefs hold sway over the human mind? G.o.d help us, and the world!"

Haynerd, who had been sitting quietly for some moments, deep in thought, rose and held out his hands, as if in entreaty. "Don't--don't!"

he exclaimed. "I can't hear any more. I want to think it all over.

It seems--it seems as if a curtain had been raised suddenly. And what I see beyond is--"

Carmen went swiftly to the man and slipped an arm about him. "That infinite creative Mind, so misunderstood and misinterpreted by human beings, is back of you," she whispered. "And it is Love."

Haynerd turned and grasped her hands. "I believe it," he murmured.

"But had I not seen the proof in you, no amount of reasoning would have convinced me." And, bowing to the little group, he went out.

"Well?" said Hitt, turning inquiringly to the doctor.

The latter raised his head. "If these things are true," he made answer slowly, "then I shall have to recast my entire mentality, my whole basis of thinking."

"It is just what you _must_ do, Doctor, if you would work out your salvation," said Carmen. "Jesus said we must repent if we would be saved. Repentance--the Greek _metanoia_--means a complete and radical change of thought."

"But--do you mean to say that the whole world has been mistaken? That the entire human race has been deceived for ages?"

"Why," said Hitt, "it was only in our own day, comparatively speaking, that the human race was undeceived in regard to the world being round.

And there are thousands of human beings to-day who still believe in witchcraft, and who wors.h.i.+p the sun and moon, and whose lives are wholly under the spell of superst.i.tion. Human character, a great scientist tells us, has not changed since history began."

"But we can't revamp our thought-processes!"

"Then we must go on missing the mark, sinning, suffering, sorrowing, and dying, over and over and over again, until we decide that we can do so," said Hitt.

The doctor looked at Carmen and met that same smile of unbounded love which she gave without stint to a sin-weary world.

"I--I'll come again," he said. "When? To-morrow night?"

"Yes," said Carmen, rising and coming around to him. "And," in a whisper, "bring Pat."

CHAPTER 6

The Social Era had for many years made its weekly appearance every Sat.u.r.day morning, that its fas.h.i.+onable clientele might appease their jaded appet.i.tes on the Sabbath day by nibbling at its spicy pabulum.

But, though the Ames reception had fallen on a Sat.u.r.day night, the following Friday morning found the columns of the Era still awaiting a report of the notable affair. For Haynerd's hand seemed paralyzed.

Whenever he set his pen to the task, there loomed before him only the scene in the little waiting room, and he could write of nothing else.

He found himself still dwelling upon the awful contrast between the slender wisp of a girl and her mountainous opponent, as they had stood before him; and the terrifying thoughts of what was sure to follow in consequence drenched his skin with cold perspiration.

On the desk before him lay the essay which he had asked Carmen to write during the week, as her report of the brilliant event. He had read it through three times, and each time had read into it a new meaning. He dared not run it. Not that it ridiculed or condemned--at least, not openly--but because every one of its crisp comments admitted of an interpretation which revealed the hidden depths of the social system, and its gigantic incarnation, as if under the glare of a powerful searchlight. It was in no sense a muck-raking exposition.

Rather, it was an interpretation, and a suggestion. It was, too, a prediction; but not a curse. The girl loved those about whom she wrote. And yet, he who read the essay aright would learn that her love stopped not at the flimsy veil of the flesh, but penetrated until it rested upon the fair spiritual image beyond. And then Haynerd saw that the essay was, in substance, a social clinic, to which all searchers after truth were bidden, that they might learn a great lesson from her skillful dissection of the human mind, and her keen a.n.a.lysis of its const.i.tuent thought.

As he sat wrapped in reflection, the early morning mail was brought in. He glanced up, and then started to his feet. The letters spread over his desk like an avalanche of snow; and the puffing mail carrier declared that he had made a special trip with them alone. Haynerd began to tear them open, one after another. Then he called the office boy, and set him at the task. There were more than five hundred of them, and each contained a canceled subscription to the Social Era.

A dark foreboding settled down over Haynerd's mind. He rose and went to the card-index to consult his subscription list. It was gone! He stood confusedly for a moment, then hastened to the window that looked out upon a fire-escape. Its lock lay broken upon the floor. He turned and rushed to the vault, which, reflecting his own habitual carelessness, was never locked. His ledgers and account books were not there. Then he crept back to his desk and sank into a chair.

The noon mail brought more letters of like nature, until the office boy tallied nearly eight hundred. Then Haynerd, as if rousing from a dream, reached for the telephone and summoned Hitt to his rescue. The Social Era was foundering. Its mailing list had contained some fifteen hundred names. The subscription price was twelve dollars a year--and never, to his knowledge, had it been paid in advance by his ultra-rich patrons, most of whom were greatly in arrears. Haynerd saw it all vanis.h.i.+ng now as quietly as the mist fades before the summer sun.

Within an hour the wondering Hitt was in conference with him, and Haynerd had told the story of the theft, of the Ames bribe, and the encounter following. "But," he cried, "can Ames kill my entire subscription list, and in a single week?"

"Easily," replied Hitt, "and in any one of several ways. Apparently he had caused your subscription list and books to be stolen. Your sun has set, Ned. Or, rather, Ames has lifted it bodily from the sky."