of the world, finds itself confronted with the
world and knows itself distinct from it, so consciousness must needs
desire to possess another life than that of the world itself. And so the
earth would run the risk of becoming a vast cemetery before the dead
themselves should die again.

When mud huts or straw shelters, incapable of resisting the inclemency
of the weather, sufficed for the living, tumuli were raised for the
dead, and stone was used for sepulchres before it was used for houses.
It is the strong-builded houses of the dead that have withstood the
ages, not the houses of the living; not the temporary lodgings but the
permanent habitations.

This cult, not of death but of immortality, originates and preserves
religions. In the midst of the delirium of destruction, Robespierre
induced the Convention to declare the existence of the Supreme Being and
"the consolatory principle of the immortality of the soul," the
Incorruptible being dismayed at the idea of having himself one day to
turn to corruption.

A disease? Perhaps; but he who pays no heed to his disease is heedless
of his health, and man is an animal essentially and substantially
diseased. A disease? Perhaps it may be, like life itself to which it is
thrall, and perhaps the only health possible may be death; but this
disease is the fount of all vigorous health. From the depth of this
anguish, from the abyss of the feeling of our mortality, we emerge into
the light of another heaven, as from the depth of Hell Dante emerged to
behold the stars once again--

_e quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle._

Although this meditation upon mortality may soon induce in us a sense of
anguish, it fortifies us in the end. Retire, reader, into yourself and
imagine a slow dissolution of yourself--the light dimming about you--all
things becoming dumb and soundless, enveloping you in silence--the
objects that you handle crumbling away between your hands--the ground
slipping from under your feet--your very memory vanishing as if in a
swoon--everything melting away from you into nothingness and you
yourself also melting away--the very consciousness of nothingness,
merely as the phantom harbourage of a shadow, not even remaining to you.

I have heard it related of a poor harvester who died in a hospital bed,
that when the priest went to anoint his hands with the oil of extreme
unction, he refused to open his right hand, which clutched a few dirty
coins, not considering