some kind of estimate of Jesus. Oddly enough one of these exceptions is Shakespeare. It is a moot question whether Shakespeare was a Catholic or a Protestant-a case can be made out for either view; but anyhow his silence upon this subject requires some explanation. Dean Stubbs inclines to think that it was because the official theology of Puritan England appears "to be based on a Christianity from which the personality of Christ Himself seems to have quite disappeared." This judgment upon early English Protestantism is, of course, open to serious question; but in any case the explanation seems hardly adequate. The bitterness of theological controversy certainly does not make for clear views about Jesus; and it is not improbable that the austere character of the young Puritanism of the time repelled the playwright. Yet this does not seem to be the whole explanation of Shakespeare's silence. It has been suggested that it was, at least in part, due to the fact that play-acting was in those days in such hands that a reverent spirit might shrink from introducing the name of Jesus on to the stage. If that were so, the poet's silence speaks very plainly. But at least we do know that it was neither ignorance nor neglect that caused his silence. When he makes Portia say: "Earthly power doth then show likest God's he is expressing what we recognize to be the central principle of the Christian doctrine of the Atonement. But stronger than the evidence of isolated passages is the uniform witness of the poet to the true spirit of the Christian morality. In his insistence upon "the divinity of forgiveness, of perpetual mercy, of constant patience, of everlasting gentleness, the stainless purity of thought and motive, the clear-sighted perception of a soul of good "The Christ of English Poetry," p. 131. ness in things evil, the unfailing sense of the equal providence of justice, the royalty of witness to sovereign truth," Shakespeare shows himself a Christian; and his witness to Jesus, though more indirect, is no less powerful than that of others whose estimate is stated with more explicitness. There appears to be a certain ubiquity about the figure of Jesus; wheresoever we turn, we encounter Him or see His footsteps. There is hardly any literary figure in whose work He does not soon or late appear. Not indeed that He is always welcome; but He is palpably a figure to be reckoned with. No literature which professes to be true to life can ignore Him; some account has to be taken of Him. He cannot be hid. His challenge seems inevasible. There was a man of great ability, prominent in English literary life some years ago, who had society at his feet, commanded a large following, and might have established a tradition in literature had not a nameless sin destroyed him. He was sent to prison for his crime; and in prison he had time to think. Presently he came to think about Jesus, and one of the most tragical things in literature is this man's attempt to appraise Jesus. Yet such as it was, it had to be done. "If I make my bed in hell, Thou art there." Second Week, Seventh Day When therefore it was evening, on that day, the first day of the week, and when the doors were shut where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood in the midst, and saith unto them, Peace be unto you. And when he had said this, he shewed unto them his hands and his side. The disciples therefore were glad, when they saw the Lord. Jesus therefore said to them again, Peace be unto you: as the Father hath sent me, even so send I you.-John 20:19-21. Naturally, as we have seen, individual judgments of 7 "The Christ of English Poetry," p. 126. Jesus are influenced, both in content and in statement, by the personal factor; and there is consequently an endless variety in the word-vignettes and pen-portraits of Jesus which we find scattered throughout literature. Dostoievsky, whose mind was colored by a Russian nationalism expressing itself in the ideal of "a Christian peasant people," and who looked to Russia in time to reveal its own "Russian Christ" to the world, finds in Jesus a figure of incomparable and ultimate perfection. "I believe there is nothing lovelier, deeper, more sympathetic and more perfect than the Saviour; I say to myself with jealous love that not only is there no one else like Him, but that there could be no one. I would say even more. If any one could prove to me that Christ is outside the truth, and if the truth really did exclude Christ, I should prefer to stay with Christ and not with truth." "There is," he says elsewhere, "in the world only one figure of absolute beauty: Christ. That infinitely lovely figure is as a matter of course an infinite marvel." This is plainly a judgment informed by large mystical elements. Mr. Bernard Shaw, who brings a cold realism to his study of Jesus, sees a different picture. After Peter's confession at Cæsarea Philippi, Mr. Shaw sees Jesus consumed by what appears to him to be a foolish passion for martyrdom; yet he says: "I am no more a Christian than Pilate was, or you, gentle reader; and yet, like Pilate, I greatly prefer Jesus to Annas and Caiaphas; and I am ready to admit that, after contemplating the world and human nature for nearly sixty years, I see no way out of the world's misery but the way which would have been found by Christ's will if he had undertaken the work of a modern practical statesman." Mr. Shaw denies with a measure of justice that the characteristic Christian doctrines were peculiar to Christ, but, he adds, "for some reason the imagination of white mankind has picked out Jesus of Nazareth as the Christ, and attributed all the Christian doctrines to him." For some reason, observe, which Mr. Shaw does not specify. It might be worth Mr. Shaw's while—and ours -to try to discover that reason. A company of English literary men, including Charles Lamb, Hazlitt, Leigh Hunt, and others, one day fell to discussing persons they would like to have met, and after naming every possible name in the gallery of fame, whether worthy or unworthy, Charles Lamb said in his stuttering way to the company: "There is only one person I can ever think of after this. . . . If Shakespeare was to come into this room, we should all rise up to meet him; but if that Person was to come into it we should all fall and try to kiss the hem of His garment." Why should they? That is the question which somehow or another must be answered. Even "when the door was shut, Jesus came and stood in the midst"; and we have to do something about it. To help us we have this great variety of impressions and judgments concerning Him; and in the detailed study of some of these we have more to learn. SUGGESTIONS FOR THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION "When the Son of Man shall come in His glory, it may turn out that His Glory consists in a suit of workingman's overalls." Discuss this statement. It might be of interest if small copies of the pictures referred to in the reading for this week could be secured and studied. Some of them at least are sure to be procurable at a good art dealer's store. Consider some of the passages in the gospels in which Jesus is spoken of as the "Son of Man" and test the accuracy of the interpretation of the phrase given in the fifth day's reading. What do you think is the real point of the "kid" in the Catacomb pictures? CHAPTER III The Poet of the AwakeningDante (1265-1321) Most people would agree that the world's three greatest poets are Homer, Dante, and Shakespeare. But Dante differs from his two great peers in that he might also be included in the category of the world's greatest prophets. Both Homer and Shakespeare have a message to men; but they deliver it only indirectly, without meaning or appearing to do so. But Dante has a gospel to preach and he never forgets it. It is the proof of the unique quality of his poetic genius that not all his preaching interferes with the purely poetic greatness of his work. To say that "The Divine Comedy" was written with a moral purpose is, however, to make a broad statement which covers a complex of elements, each of which has to be disentangled from the central mass and properly appreciated before the huge and many-sided significance of the poem can be apprehended. For one thing, Dante had vowed that he would, when he could discourse worthily concerning Beatrice-which skill he says he labored all he could to attain-write "concerning her what hath not before been written of any woman." This vow he discharged in "The Divine Comedy." It is Beatrice who befriends and guides him in his strange journey through Paradise, and, though in his scheme she is the personification of divine philosophy, she never ceases to be that Beatrice Portinari of Florence in whom |