For Professor Bradley's words "self-torture" and "self-waste" read "self-discipline" and "self-sacrifice," and we have here almost the solution of the Christian apostle as to the burden of the universe-"The earnest expectation of the creation waiteth for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to vanity, not of its own will, but by reason of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself also shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the liberty of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now" (Romans viii. 19-22). And certainly, however much the attitude of Shakespeare towards the tragic world, and the free temper of his work generally, may be that of reverent scepticism, it is never that of the cynic. And in estimating the "ethos" of character, that surely means very much. There may be justly a Christian scepticism, but there never can be a Christian cynicism. And the tragic heroes of Shakespeare, though they may often be wretched and awful, are never small, are never contemptible. Professor Bradley, indeed, is right when elsewhere he says: "Shakespearean tragedy is never, like some miscalled tragedies, depressing. No one ever closes the book with the feeling that man is a poor creature." No; for whatever else may be true of the ethical ideas of Shakespeare, certainly he had, consciously or unconsciously, the Christian idea of the potential greatness of man, of the inherent dignity of human nature. That is plain all through his tragedies. His heroes may fail horribly, may even fall into detestable crime, but they have all a touch of greatness about them. In the worst of them we feel always the potentiality of the good behind the evil; in the best of them we realise the full power and reach of the human soul; and in each case because of the potentiality we are stirred not only to admiration and terror and awe, but also to sympathy and pity.

Consider for a moment, in this connection, such a character as that of Brutus in the play of "Julius Cæsar." Could such

a character conceivably have been painted by a cynic? Indeed, in "that noblest Roman of them all" is there not also an element of character which is essentially Christian?

How else shall we explain those striking lines which Shakespeare places in his hero's mouth just before his death ?—

"Countrymen,

My heart doth joy that yet, in all my life

I found no man but he was true to me!"

Why was it, we ask, that Brutus in all his life had never found a man untrue to him? Was it that his experience of human life was exceptional; that circumstances had thrown him only among men of warm generosity and transparent truthfulness? or was the secret to be found in his own character? Was it that before the childlike trustfulness and simplicity of heart of Brutus even otherwise faithless men were shamed into fidelity? Was it that before his grand innocence and simpleness of soul even meditated treachery was disarmed? Did the very frankness of Brutus' trust, the very force of his expectation of "good faith" in others, tend to create that virtue where it did not already exist?

I like to think so. And I also like to think that Shakespeare, in emphasising that quality in the character of his noblest hero, was not unconscious that the contagious power of trust, the spirit of charity believing all things, of Love trusting all, of Hope confiding in the best side of every man, believing that every man has a good side, was an essential element in the noblest Christian character, as it was the most potent agency of appeal to a sinner's heart in the redemptive method of Jesus Christ. In a materialistic world Brutus the idealist was foredoomed to fail. But to have kept true to himself and his ideal was also to have won victory through his failure. And victory through failure is one of the noblest lessons of the cross of Jesus Christ.

LECTURE IV

ROBERT BROWNING

ROBERT BROWNING

(BURIED WESTMINSTER ABBEY, DEC. 31, 1889)

High noon yet shrouded as with funeral pall
The city streets. The Abbey bell tolls slow:
The organ sounds, and solemn voices low
Chant requiem for the dying year, and all
His greatness buried with the year: one call
For both, the human record ending so;

And dust to kindred dust is laid. And lo!
Once more on good and evil, great and small,
Sun shines: old earth swings round and glad New Year
Dawns on a larger Day: larger for him

Who, when the light of earth was waxing dim, Still cried, "Fight on, fare ever, there as here! Man's creeds may pass, yet long as days endure Earth changes, but the soul and God stand sure."