Heaven and Hell · Allan Kardec
Chapter 78 of 79
Example 17 - MAURICE GONTRAN.
— He was an only child and died, at eighteen years of age, of a pulmonary affliction. Of rare intelligence, precocious reason, great love of study, and a sweet, tender, and likeable character, he possessed all the qualities that foretell a brilliant future. With great success he had very early completed his first studies, then enrolling in the Polytechnic School.
His death brought to his relatives one of those griefs that leave deep and most painful traces, for, he having always been of a delicate nature, they attributed his premature end to the labor of the studies to which they had urged him. Reproaching themselves, then, they said: “What use to him now is all that he learned? Better had he remained ignorant, for science was not necessary for him to live, and thus he would no doubt be among us; he would be the consolation of our old age.”
Had they known Spiritism, they would have reasoned otherwise. In it, however, they found true consolation.
— The following dictation was given by the young man to one of his friends, months after his decease.
My dear Maurice, the tender affection you bore your parents brings me the conviction that you wish to comfort their spirits, if it is within your reach to do so. The grief, I will even say despair, that your passing brought them visibly alters their health, leading them to become weary of life. A few words of consolation could certainly cause hope to be reborn in them.
A. My friend, I awaited with impatience this occasion, which you now afford me, to communicate.
The sorrow of my parents afflicts me, but it will be calmed when they have the certainty that I am not lost to them; draw near to them in order to convince them of this truth, which you will surely accomplish.
This event was necessary to instill in them a belief that will bring them happiness, preventing them from murmuring against the decrees of Providence. You know that my father was very skeptical regarding the future life. — God granted him this grief in order to tear him from his error.
Here we shall meet again, in this world where the griefs of life are unknown, and into which I have preceded them; affirm to them categorically that the joy of seeing me again will be refused them as a punishment for their lack of confidence in the goodness of God. Communication with them would even be forbidden to me during the time of their stay on Earth.
Despair is a rebellion against the will of the Almighty, always punished by the prolongation of the cause that produced it, until there is complete submission.
Despair is true suicide, for it undermines the bodily forces, and whoever shortens his days, with the intent of escaping sooner the bitterness of grief, earns the most cruel disappointments; one should, on the contrary, strengthen the body in order to bear more easily the weight of trials.
My dear and good parents, it is to you that I now address myself. Since I left the mortal remains, I have never ceased to be at your side. I am there even far more often than when I was on Earth. Be consoled, then, for I am not dead, or rather, I am more alive than you. Only the body died, but the Spirit lives forever. It is, moreover, free, happy, exempt from ailments, infirmities, and pains. Instead of afflicting yourselves, rejoice to know that I am sheltered from cares and apprehensions, in a place where the heart is saturated with the purest joy, without the shadow of a grief.
My good friends, do not lament those who die early, for this is a grace that God grants them, sparing them the tribulations of earthly life.
My existence there was not to be prolonged for long this time, since I had acquired what was necessary to fulfill, in Space, a more elevated mission. Had I had more time, you cannot imagine to what dangers and seductions I would have been exposed.
And could you perhaps judge of my fortitude not to succumb in that struggle, which would have entailed a delay of some centuries? Why, then, lament what is advantageous to me? In this case, an inconsolable grief would betray a disbelief justifiable only by the idea of nothingness.
Those who thus disbelieve, they are the ones worthy of pity, for no consolation is possible for them; their dear ones appear to them irremediably lost, because the tomb takes from them their last hope!
Was your death painful?
A. No, my friend, I only suffered, before death, the effects of the illness, but that suffering diminished in proportion as the last moment drew near: then, one day, I fell asleep without thinking of death.
And I then had a delightful dream! I dreamed that I was cured, that I no longer suffered, and that I breathed in long draughts, pleasurably, a balmy and pure air: an unknown force was transporting me through Space. A brilliant light shone all around, yet without tiring my sight!
I saw my grandfather, no longer squalid and broken, but with a youthful and fresh appearance. And he stretched out his arms to me, pressing me effusively to his heart. A multitude of other people, with smiling faces, accompanied him, all receiving me with benevolence and gentleness; it seemed to me that I recognized them and, happy to see them again, we exchanged felicitations and tokens of friendship.
Well then! what I supposed to be a dream was reality, because from such a dream I was not to awaken on Earth: for I had awakened in the spiritual world.
Did your illness not originate from your great assiduity in study?
A. Oh! no, undeceive yourself.
The time I was to spend on Earth was counted, and nothing could retain me there. My Spirit knew it in moments of detachment, and I considered myself happy with the idea of my approaching liberation.
But the time I spent there was not without profit, and today I congratulate myself on not having lost it. The serious studies I made strengthened my soul, increasing its knowledge, and if, by virtue of my short existence, I could not put them to use, I shall nonetheless do so later and with greater utility.
Farewell, dear friend: I depart to be near my parents, in order to predispose them to the reception of this communication.
Maurice.