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much rebellion of nature； till I had absolutely nothing left in the
world but one thing。 I had lost my name； my position； my
happiness； my freedom； my wealth。 I was a prisoner and a pauper。
But I still had my children left。 Suddenly they were taken away
from me by the law。 It was a blow so appalling that I did not know
what to do； so I flung myself on my knees； and bowed my head； and
wept； and said； 'The body of a child is as the body of the Lord： I
am not worthy of either。' That moment seemed to save me。 I saw
then that the only thing for me was to accept everything。 Since
then … curious as it will no doubt sound … I have been happier。 It
was of course my soul in its ultimate essence that I had reached。
In many ways I had been its enemy； but I found it waiting for me as
a friend。 When one comes in contact with the soul it makes one
simple as a child； as Christ said one should be。
It is tragic how few people ever 'possess their souls' before they
die。 'Nothing is more rare in any man；' says Emerson； 'than an act
of his own。' It is quite true。 Most people are other people。
Their thoughts are some one else's opinions； their lives a mimicry；
their passions a quotation。 Christ was not merely the supreme
individualist； but he was the first individualist in history。
People have tried to make him out an ordinary philanthropist； or
ranked him as an altruist with the scientific and sentimental。 But
he was really neither one nor the other。 Pity he has； of course；
for the poor； for those who are shut up in prisons； for the lowly；
for the wretched； but he has far more pity for the rich； for the
hard hedonists； for those who waste their freedom in becoming
slaves to things； for those who wear soft raiment and live in
kings' houses。 Riches and pleasure seemed to him to be really
greater tragedies than poverty or sorrow。 And as for altruism； who
knew better than he that it is vocation not volition that
determines us； and that one cannot gather grapes of thorns or figs
from thistles？
To live for others as a definite self…conscious aim was not his
creed。 It was not the basis of his creed。 When he says； 'Forgive
your enemies；' it is not for the sake of the enemy； but for one's
own sake that he says so； and because love is more beautiful than
hate。 In his own entreaty to the young man； 'Sell all that thou
hast and give to the poor；' it is not of the state of the poor that
he is thinking but of the soul of the young man； the soul that
wealth was marring。 In his view of life he is one with the artist
who knows that by the inevitable law of self…perfection； the poet
must sing； and the sculptor think in bronze； and the painter make
the world a mirror for his moods； as surely and as certainly as the
hawthorn must blossom in spring； and the corn turn to gold at
harvest…time； and the moon in her ordered wanderings change from
shield to sickle； and from sickle to shield。
But while Christ did not say to men； 'Live for others；' he pointed
out that there was no difference at all between the lives of others
and one's own life。 By this means he gave to man an extended； a
Titan personality。 Since his coming the history of each separate
individual is； or can be made； the history of the world。 Of
course； culture has intensified the personality of man。 Art has
made us myriad…minded。 Those who have the artistic temperament go
into exile with Dante and learn how salt is the bread of others；
and how steep their stairs； they catch for a moment the serenity
and calm of Goethe； and yet know but too well that Baudelaire cried
to God …
'O Seigneur； donnez moi la force et le courage
De contempler mon corps et mon coeur sans degout。'
Out of Shakespeare's sonnets they draw； to their own hurt it may
be； the secret of his love and make it their own； they look with
new eyes on modern life； because they have listened to one of
Chopin's nocturnes； or handled Greek things； or read the story of
the passion of some dead man for some dead woman whose hair was
like threads of fine gold； and whose mouth was as a pomegranate。
But the sympathy of the artistic temperament is necessarily with
what has found expression。 In words or in colours； in music or in
marble； behind the painted masks of an AEschylean play； or through
some Sicilian shepherds' pierced and jointed reeds； the man and his
message must have been revealed。
To the artist； expression is the only mode under which he can
conceive life at all。 To him what is dumb is dead。 But to Christ
it was not so。 With a width and wonder of imagination that fills
one almost with awe； he took the entire world of the inarticulate；
the voiceless world of pain； as his kingdom； and made of himself
its eternal mouthpiece。 Those of whom I have spoken； who are dumb
under oppression； and 'whose silence is heard only of God；' he
chose as his brothers。 He sought to become eyes to the blind； ears
to the deaf； and a cry in the lips of those whose tongues had been
tied。 His desire was to be to the myriads who had found no
utterance a very trumpet through which they might call to heaven。
And feeling； with the artistic nature of one to whom suffering and
sorrow were modes through which he could realise his conception of
the beautiful； that an idea is of no value till it becomes
incarnate and is made an image； he made of himself the image of the
Man of Sorrows； and as such has fascinated and dominated art as no
Greek god ever succeeded in doing。
For the Greek gods； in spite of the white and red of their fair
fleet limbs； were not really what they appeared to be。 The curved
brow of Apollo was like the sun's disc crescent over a hill at
dawn； and his feet were as the wings of the morning； but he himself
had been cruel to Marsyas and had made Niobe childless。 In the
steel shields of Athena's eyes there had been no pity for Arachne；
the pomp and peacocks of Hera were all that was really noble about
her； and the Father of the Gods himself had been too fond of the
daughters of men。 The two most deeply suggestive figures of Greek
Mythology were； for religion； Demeter； an Earth Goddess； not one of
the Olympians； and for art； Dionysus； the son of a mortal woman to
whom the moment of his birth had proved also the moment of her
death。
But Life itself from its lowliest and most humble sphere produced
one far more marvellous than the mother of Proserpina or the son of
Semele。 Out of the Carpenter's shop at Nazareth had come a
personality infinitely greater than any made by myth and legend；
and one； strangely enough； destined to reveal to the world the
mystical meaning of wine and the real beauties of the lilies of the
field as none； either on Cithaeron or at Enna； had ever done。
The song of Isaiah； 'He is despised and rejected of men； a man of
sorrows and acquainted with