the divine consciousness of Jesus, and, while it is generally admitted that its language is cast in a style peculiar to the writer, the content is essentially what we find in the synoptic gospels on this subject. One cannot but feel that the language of the prayer in John 17 discloses a consciousness of fellowship with God that has no parallel. At other times he intimated a conscious selfcommitment to fulfill a divine purpose of the ages. He expresses the thought of some kind of a necessity to consummate an ideal that has been written in the Scriptures. He must suffer and be killed, and rise again to accomplish the purposes of heaven. But this fulfillment of an eternal purpose of love involved no compulsion from without himself. He freely accepted the mission, and his oft-expressed consciousness of the holy obligation is as marvelous as is his obedience unto the death of the cross. And this consciousness of his self-commitment to an eternal purpose accords with all his sayings which imply preëxistence. He knows himself as one "whom the Father sanctified, and sent into the world." "I am come down from heaven," he said; "I am from above; I am not of this world; I am come from God; before Abraham was born, I am." And when he prays to the Father, he says: "Glorify thou me with the glory which I had with thee before the world was; thou lovedst me before the foundation of the world." Every honest attempt to construct a biblical Christology must deal fairly with these words. Whatever element of theosophic mysticism, or of idealism, is recognized in such language, no one can ignore the obvious consciousness of eternal union with God which is implied.

9. No Christology which presumes to base itself squarely on the facts of the New Testament can ignore the supernatural in the person of our Lord. It is impossible to separate his marvelous self-expression and his mighty works. There stands the record of his virgin birth, with its unquestionable basis in a belief of the supernatural beginning of his incarnate life. The testimony of his resurrection and ascension witnesses a like faith in his miraculous exit from the world. All the gospel records teem with the narratives of miracles wrought by him. The entire manifestation of this Son of God in the flesh seems to have been

compassed about with miracles. Some of the mighty works may be better substantiated than some others, but it is utterly futile to accept a part of the record as true and reject another as untrustworthy. Like the seamless coat which Jesus wore, the selfconsistent story of his supernatural career cannot be rent. His miracles, moreover, stand in such a vital relation to his words of grace and truth that we cannot fairly hold to the one and reject the other. We do not construe or appeal to the miracles of Christ as proofs of his deity, or of his omnipotence, or of his omniscience. The apostles were also gifted to perform miracles, but that fact was no witness to any omniscience or omnipotence on their part. And Jesus himself made no such claim. On the contrary, he declared: "The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father doing." But Jesus exercised his power on earth in a manner which no prophet or apostle presumed to imitate. The disciples performed miracles in the name of Jesus, but he performed them in a way that commanded astonishment "at the majesty of God" (Luke 9. 43). He possessed the secret of God, and real miracles are the exercise of such a knowledge of the secrets of the world as will secure wonderful effects without violation of any natural law. Other and inferior servants of God may be gifted to perform such works without supernatural knowledge, but to Jesus was given the wisdom as well as the power of God (Mark 6. 2). But it does not follow that "all the fullness of the Godhead bodily," possessed by Jesus in the days of his flesh, made him either omniscient or omnipotent under the limitations of mortal life. The pleromic concept of his person does not require us to affirm any self-limitation of the Deity, but does imply necessary limitations in the human personality. The divine incarnation revealed God in all the fullness that a bodily presence could impart, but not in all the fullness which unlimited, eternal, heavenly manifestations may disclose. We protest against the dogma of an "impersonal humanity" in Christ, and maintain the ancient faith of "two whole and perfect natures, the Godhead and Manhood, very God and very Man." But the fullness of the Godhead bodily is one thing, and the fullness of the Godhead inhabiting eternity

must needs require eternal ages for his inexhaustible self-revelations. Vainly will any man, or council, or synod, presume to explain how the Godhead and the manhood unite together in one Christ.

10. Our last but not the least important suggestion is that no really satisfactory Christology can be formulated without an intimate personal acquaintance with Jesus Christ. No man can fairly teach or preach a greater Christ than he himself has known. He may speculate on ideas of the Trinity, and may easily find much to question and reject in the statements of the great ecumenical creeds of Christendom which deal with the person of Christ. He may be a well trained critic and an accomplished biblical scholar. But if, with all these accomplishments, he shall lack the personal fellowship with Jesus, which is known only by having one's "life hid with Christ in God," it is impossible for him to know what Paul called "the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ." If we have not "the love of God shed abroad in our hearts, through the Holy Spirit," how can we understand the Lord himself when he says, "If a man love me, he will keep my word; and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him." How is it possible to attain unto such full knowledge of the truth without having "our fellowship with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ"? We must live lovingly with Christ to know him.

Milton S. Terry

ART. VIII.-"LES MISERABLES" AND "WITH FIRE
AND SWORD." A COMPARISON

VICTOR HUGO was forty-four years old when Henry Sienkiewicz was born. Henry Sienkiewicz was thirty-nine when Victor Hugo died. Hugo had nearly completed his work when Sienkiewicz began his. Hugo and Sienkiewicz had little personally in common; and yet enough for the basis of a comparison. Hugo began to write at the early age of fourteen, but Sienkiewicz was twenty-six before he ventured before the public. Hugo wrung his preparation from his work; Sienkewicz was, like the modern scientific investigator, prepared for his work. Hugo was a self-made man. Sienkiewicz was a man of the schools. With these general comparisons let us consider their work in their greatest novels. Hugo took five volumes in which to say what a modern novelist would say in two volumes. At the most Les Miserables is marred by the prolixity of its extraneous discussions. With Fire and Sword has nothing extraneous to the story. Not a page can be spared. Hugo's heroes and heroines are talkers, with the single exception of Javert. Sienkiewicz's hero talks in monosyllables, but works so well and fights so valiantly and endures so uncomplainingly that one never for a moment loses sight of the fact that Skshetuski is the hero. It is an exhibition of marvelous artistic skill to create a clown with so great a brain and so strong a character that he might have been the hero. Zagloba has been well called the Polish Falstaff. A recent writer has said of Hugo: "But he is perhaps the greatest compiler and gatherer of fine words; the greatest master of language that we have known; a great writer rather than a great author, and therefore the more sure of an enduring democratic fame." On the other hand Sienkiewicz is the greatest artist of action that we know. His halls are filled with the smoke of battle, the wearing strain of the sleepless siege, and the clash of personal combat-marching, countermarching, fighting, living, dying men. Hugo's heroes meditate; Sienkiewicz's heroes have not had time, but they foresee and calculate and act. Hugo's halls are longer but more scantily furnished. In dramatic power the two men approach

each other. Victor Hugo has drawn a wonderful psychological picture of the struggle of Jean Valjean with his conscience. Joseph Cook used to thrill his audiences when he quoted the story of this struggle in his lectures on conscience. In With Fire and Sword there is a noteworthy struggle with the conscience. It is that of Prince Yeremi. The question is, Shall he accept the command of the Polish army? He has many enemies, many ambitions. He must placate his enemies and resign his ambitions if he takes command. Great toil and trials innumerable would follow. Will he stand aloof or will he obey the call of duty? He struggles with his problem all night long, sometimes making a decision in favor of his desires; but the sight of the crucifix brings him to himself and conscience triumphs, and he cries out, "O God, be merciful to me a sinner! O God, be merciful to me a sinner!" And peace comes to his struggling soul. When the commanders were gathered in the morning, he said, "Last night I communed with God and my own conscience as to what I should do. I announce therefore to you, and do announce to all the Knightly Order, that for the sake of the country and that harmony needful in time of defeat I put myself under the commander." This great human struggle is on a higher plane than that of Jean Valjean. Prince Yeremi had nothing to restore nor did he need to give himself to justice. It was simply a question of service on the one hand or the gratification of ambition on the other. Motives must be weighed, conscience must be heard.

One of the greatest pictures given in Les Miserables is the horrible journey through the sewers of Paris. Jean Valjean was bearing the unconscious Marius on his back. It reads like the story of a nightmare. Wet, dirty, tired, Jean Valjean tramps for miles to save a man. Probably the greatest picture in With Fire and Sword is that of Skshetuski as he goes from the beleaguered garrison of Zbaraj to ask immediate aid from the king, who is a few miles away with his army and knows not the desperate state of the besieged. One man had gone forth and lost his life in his vain attempt. Skshetuski was the second of the three who had volunteered. The most feasible road was by the pond and the marsh. It was not a dark night, so he could not swim across the