Neither on earth nor in the domain of
fatality do rivers flow back to their source. But to return: let us
imagine a sovereign, all-powerful soul--that of Jesus, in Hamlet's
place at Elsinore; would the tragedy then have flown on till it
reached the four deaths at the end? Is that conceivable? A crime may
be never so skilfully planned--when the eyes of deep wisdom rest on
it, it becomes like a trivial show that we offer to very small
children at nightfall: some magic-lantern performance, whose tawdry
imposture a last gleam of sunshine lays bare. Can you conceive Jesus
Christ--nay, any wise man you have happened to meet--in the midst of
the unnatural gloom that overhung Elsinore? Is not every action of
Hamlet induced by a fanatical impulse, which tells him that duty
consists in revenge alone? and does it need superhuman effort to
recognise that revenge never can be a duty? I say again that Hamlet
thinks much, but that he is by no means wise. He cannot conceive
where to look for the weak spot in destiny's armour. Lofty thoughts
suffice not always to overcome destiny; for against these destiny
can oppose thoughts that are loftier still; but what destiny has
ever withstood thoughts that are simple and good, thoughts that are
tender and loyal? We can triumph over destiny only by doing the very
reverse of the evil she fain would have us commit.
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