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and idea; incidentally he has also shown that in the use of certain words and grammatical idioms Chaucer took for his model, particularly in the use of the definite, the indefinite article, and the word “death,” an earlier version of those Scriptures from which in a later translation Shakespeare drew alike more of his phraseology and diction than from any other single source. As has been justly said by Professor Lewis Campbell in his work on the Tragic Drama, Mr. Churton Collins is unrivalled for his acute perception of similarities in literature; he has thus easily shown that the “small Latin and less Greek” for which the national poet takes credit included a considerable acquaintance with the masterpieces of the Greek stage. Even thus, however, the views of life, of character, of man's position in the universe, of his relations to destiny on the one hand and free-will on the other, to be found in Shakespeare, are in striking contrast to the ideas illustrated in every play of Aeschylus, of Euripides, of Sophocles. Whatever the foe he may find in circumstance, man is after all at some time or other the controller of fate; he has but to take at the flood the tide in human affairs to be the sure architect of his own good. The surest materials for an analogy between the Greek dramatic writers in the period of Pericles and the dramatists of our own Elizabethan epoch are supplied by the conditions under which the Athenian and the Briton wrote. In both cases it was an era of national expansion, exaltation, of freedom from great perils, gained at the price of much blood and treasure. In Greece the Persian had been beaten back to his own side of the Aegean Sea. In England the sailors and soldiers of the Virgin Queen had first withstood and then scattered the power of Spain. There exists also some likeness between the incidents in their national

history whence the English and the Attic playwrights drew their characters and plots. What the period and the dramatis personae of the earliest struggles of Greece against Asia were to Aeschylus, that the Wars of the Roses were to Shakespeare. The chief actors both in the classical and the mediaeval struggles were a few members of the great families. The campaign in Asia Minor against the house of Priam affected the national life of the two parties to the struggle scarcely less than the York and Lancaster contest brought within its vortex the humbler English masses. The tragic woes of the house of Pelops and Atreus had their parallels in the series of horrors, the massacres, the burnings and the mutilations which began with St. Albans and only ended with Bosworth Field. As with the creator of Hamlet, so with the author of the Faerie Queene. Spenser was primarily a court poet. To a task suitable for him as the great Queen's laureate, he adapted the mass of mediaeval superstition which he found ready to hand. Even thus, however, the didactic, which is in its origin the Hebraic, impulse of the English temper, caused him in his great poem to aim at drawing, in his own words to Philip Sidney, “a faithful picture of a Christian gentleman.” To come down to our own day, Browning is Italian and Tennyson Greek; Matthew Arnold had steeped himself more deeply even than Tennyson in intellectual Hellenism. Yet the note sounded most deeply and most frequently by the author of “Merope” is as didactic as any sermon or lecture of his father, the great Rugby headmaster. So too with Wordsworth, the classical form is reproduced in such compositions as “The Ode to Duty.” The lessons inculcated are those which could have been set forth only by an imagination charged with Scriptural devotion. A recent volume, “Pen, Pa

tron, and Public,” shows how much more equally than at any earlier time the highest culture is distributed throughout the whole middle-class area. Poetry has been called by Matthew Arnold a criticism of Life; Arnold, too, has described conduct as one half of life. Thus in the chosen representative of modern culture, in the very hierophant of that discipline, does the

The London Quarterly Review.

Hebrew temper, as distinct from the Hellenistic, find its expression. A nation's literature, the very sublimation of a nation's intellectual training, is the mirror of its life and character. The reflection dominating that mirror in the case of England is nearest of kin in its origin, not to the Aryan, but

to the Semitic principle. T. H. S. Escott.


Modern psychology, which sets a new scientific sanction upon so many primitive customs, affords ample justification for the taboo put upon the sudden utterance of words of evil import. The warning maxim of the Greeks, “Euphemai,” was not merely as it has sometimes been held, a weak superstition, based on a fetish notion that bad words possessed some magical power to fulfil their meaning. It surely marked some recognition of the potency of suggestion, and of the injury done by setting the mind to brood on thoughts of evil.

Christian Scientists are indisputably right in their insistence on the value of presenting to the mind positive conceptions of health, goodness, beauty, power, repose, and in drawing the thoughts and the emotions away from disease, wickedness, discord, weakness and unrest. It is true that in their zeal to redress the balance of bad habits they overload their doctrine by attempting to deny the reality of evil: a verbal jugglery which really defeats its end, causing disappointment and defection in over-sanguine zealots when one of these “unrealities” attempts vigorous to reassert itself. But, in spite of this extravagance, which belongs to the militant stage of every propagandism, the cultivation of the habit of

dwelling upon good, wholesome, and beautiful images is so obvious a counsel of wisdom, that one is disposed to wonder why it is necessary to elevate it into a doctrine, and to organize it as a practice. The answer to this question is furnished by the title of the latest volume which has flowed from the prolific pen of Dr. Saleeby, “Worry: the Disease of the Age” (Cassell & Co.). The author, at the outset of his treatment, does well to remind us that worry is not only “a state of mind,” but also a state of body. Eupeptic, easy-going, matterof-fact people are apt to dismiss all ailments affecting the temper, the spirits, or the disposition, not accompanied by utter physical collapse, as imaginary evils, to be got rid of by an effort of the Will. It is idle to endeavor to convert such placid materialists of their double error: first, in ignoring the bodily side of the disorder; second, in imputing to the will some self-acting power it does not possess. The case of hysteria is typical. “The patient says “I cannot'; his friends say “he will not"; the truth is "He cannot will.’” What is worry, and why is it distinctive of our age? The tendency for a writer, who has a whole volume at his disposal, to expatiate and to lose himself in the wider implications and sur

roundings of his theme is almost irre- casual material of life. The term sistible, and Dr. Saleeby has some "morbid self-consciousness" does not times succumbed to it. That worry carry far as an explanation. Many of has some close congeners there is no the best and most unselfish persons we doubt. It might even be worth while know are in a constant worry about to trace the subtle bonds of sense and their children, their friends, even sound which associate it with such their country. Such anxiety or apprekindred terms as "hurry," "flurry," hension as relates to matters of real and “scurry.” But to enlarge its sig- weight for which we have some true nificance so as to cover almost every responsibility cannot be regarded as anxiety, good or evil, normal or ab- "worry"; this sort of emotion, rightly normal, is an injury to a word that is measured and directed, is a prophylacwanted for the limited use to which it tic evolved for the preservation of the is commonly put. Worry, when chronic individual and the race. Worry is esand general, may doubtless pass into sentially irrational. Hence the folly of "depression," or even into pessimism; trying to argue with its victim. While "taking trouble" for some good or de- it implies false or exaggerated ideas, sired end involves an eagerness and its true nature is emotional. Now it is assiduity of mind which resembles the emotions that are the most obvious worrying: fears about a future life and meeting-ground of the flesh and the other things invisible may certainly be spirit. It is quite evident that the sources of worry. But to designate any "solar plexus," or whatever the conof these mental attitudes worry is, we trolling centre of the nervous system be venture to assert, to stretch injuriously called, influences the purely cerebral its meaning. Especially do we protest operations much more potently than it against the suggestion that "worry," is influenced by them; in a word, the when directed to a good end, may be emotions bulk far more largely than "normal," and justified in reason. the reason in the practical determina

Worry is always a waste, always a tion of our lives. Reason is a good deal disease. Physically, it is traceable in of an impostor, pretending to a ninety drawn features, short breathing, tense per cent. control over civilized man, bearing, irregular quick movements. whereas the true measure of its power Mentally, it is distinguishable as a vi- is perhaps five per cent. cious circle of the intellect and the emo- It is only by thus recognizing the com. tions, thought and feeling futilely ro- parative independence of our emotating about some single object set out tional system that we can hope to deal of focus. Worry always implies false with worry. What is wanted is the judgment. Sometimes a trifling diffi- restoration of the "organic sense of culty or risk Swells to a mountain; well-being." Animals have it; they do some little business loss, some slight not indulge in wasteful apprehensions personal affront or passing ailment is or "whine about their sins." Infants bloated out by apprehension until it oc- have it; even children are always cupies the mind, becomes a fixed idea, taught to worry by parents, pastors, even an obsession. The mind "wor- masters, and other persons set in evil ries" it like a meatless bone, getting authority over them, whose example no nutriment, yet unable to relinquish corrupts the primal instincts of an easy it. When there is no irritant at hand, mind. worry finds or invents its object, set. It is generally conceded that "worry" ting the imagination to fabricate is a growing evil of our times. There troubles and grievances out of any are those who think it a fruit of over

cerebration which stimulates excessively the emotional centres while robbing the ordinary motor and sensory system of its normal work. Though Dr. Saleeby dogmatically denies the possibility of overworking the brain, the prevalence of “nerves” among the professional and other intellectual classes gives a strong primit facie support to the hypothesis; and the view, powerfully urged, among others, by Dr. Nordau, that the rapidity and multiplicity of changes which each decade brings in the material and intellectual environment has over-taxed the capacity of mental and emotional adjustment, is not lightly to be dismissed. It is indeed quite evident that the rapid, changeful, and unstable life of the modern city is breeding an impulsive, emotional, and anxious people, whose hurried, gaunt, and tight-set faces are very far removed from “the perfect rectitude and insouciance of the movement of animals,” and who are habitually disobedient to the Gospel, prohibition of worry, which is so ill-translated: “Take no thought for the morrow.” There are two schools for the curative treatment of this “disease of the age,” one approaching it from the physical, the other from the spiritual side. The one prescribes periods of complete bodily rest, massage, exercises in the art of recovering repose; the other, to which allusion has already The Nation.

been made, seeks to organize the emotional life so as to win an atmosphere of permanent inner tranquility for the soul, the true service of religion to this life of man.

But to our mind there is something suspicious and unsatisfactory in the artificiality of these organized, elabolated cures. The rest cure and the soothing patter of Christian Science are not adequate. Dr. Saleeby gets nearer to the heart of the trouble when he diagnoses it as “practical materialism.” It is false valuations of life, represented in and fostered by our too distinctively industrial struggle, and stamped by this diseased environment upon the plastic nature of our children so that they grow up into hardened men and women “of the world”—this is the enemy of mankind. The savage, who knows not whether or how he may get food to-morrow to keep himself and his family alive, does not worry: no nation ever possessed so abundant and so sure a command of food as ours, no nation ever worried more. Here is the paradox. It can only be solved by paying heed to the criticism which a sage belonging to one of those Oriental nations whom we are trying to “civilize” passed upon us after an exhaustive study of our science, our political institutions, our games and our religions: “You do not cultivate your soul.”


Professor Harnack has published a new book in conjunction with Professor Herrmann (“Essays on the Social Gospel,” Williams and Norgate, 4s. 6d.), a large section of which deals with “The Real Mind of Jesus.” There can be no doubt that the theological interest of the modern layman centres more

and more round the mind of Christ. The laity are troubling themselves less and less about the mind of the Church, though allusions to it are still frequent in pietistic literature. Few care to learn when the Church began to say this or to think the other, or to trace the development of such-and-such a dogma from its suggestion to its full definition. The Councils are regarded by most ordinary men as historical rather than as religious landmarks, and they are scarcely prepared to accept the riot media of many of the reformers, who, while denying their authority, nevertheless accepted their conclusions, rebasing those conclusions upon certain sentences of Holy Scripture which seem nowadays hardly able to support their weight. There is little life left in the controversies of the past. The professional theologian alone can fix his mind upon them. But the spirit of Christ continues to “draw all men.” “Who hath known the mind of the I,ord? . . . But we have the mind of Christ,” said St. Paul; and again, “Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus"; and the words of the great Apostle are ringing in the ears of the present generation. Perhaps never since Paul was martyred have they sounded so insistently. In the Middle Ages the bulwarks of dogma arose so fast around the Divine Figure as often to obscure it altogether from the wayfaring man, and at the time of the IReformation the mists of controversy replaced the shadows of the past. In the days of our grandfathers the ordinary religious man, the man who went to church and read the Bible at stated intervals, thought very little about the character of Christ; he might even have thought that the phrase had a heterodox sound. If he were an Evangelical, his faith rested upon the Atonement; if a High Churchman, upon the efficacy of the Sacraments. Nowadays, whatever denomination he may belong to, the ordinary man, if he thinks about his religion at all, thinks first about the mind of Christ, about the attitude towards life and towards death of the Founder of his faith. He reads his Gospels, not in order to confirm a catechism or illustrate a creed,

or even in order to acquire merit. He reads that he may learn “the way of God more perfectly,” that he may make for himself a conception of the Christian revelation. Such a change in the focus of religious thought can hardly be without far-reaching results. Even in the Roman Church we see the influence of the new spirit. Christ has become once more the centre of Christianity, the Christ of the Gospels, not the Divine Child of latter-day Romanism or the sacrificial Lamb of an ultraProtestant theology, but He who “spake as never man spake.” We are entering upon a fresh religious phase, but as yet we have no religious enthusiasm. New altars have been prepared, but no fire has descended from heaven. What will happen when the spark comes, for come it must? Every period of religious doubt has been followed by a religious revival. What will be the effect upon Christendom if the mind of the faithful, now concentrated upon the mind of Christ, is once more “endowed with power from on high"? Nothing is less likely than the sudden coming of the millennium. The religious world will not become Christlike all in a moment. Where individuals are concerned the rate of moral and religious progress cannot be caiculated with any approach to accuracy; but taking men in the aggregate, it seems to be in the order of Providence that all progress should be gradual. Every revival is a Second Coming, and in every revival the sad words of our Lord once more prove themselves. He who prayed that His followers might all be as one foresaw how many were the struggles to be gone through before that prayer could be fulfilled. Men would be “set at variance.” He said, by the new doctrine. Those of one household would find themselves in intense opposition. It is not possible for men to meditate freely, and without fear of coming to unauthorized conclu

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