In the introduction, reference was made to the words of Mr. Shorthouse
which suggested this investigation. This seems a fitting place to present
the only example in which Mr. Shorthouse has carried out his own
suggestion,--the Parable of the Prodigal Son.
"But is it trite that there is no humor in the gospels? 'What strokes of
nature, if not of humor,' to use Mr. Addison's words again, may we find in
the story, let us say, of the Prodigal Son? What, in the light of the
modern conception of humor, will come out of this?
Here, surely, there is no want of real life, of low life, even. Here is a
wild young scamp, as like Tom Jones as heart could wish. Here is
ingratitude, forgetfulness of parents, riotous living, taverns, harlots,
what not? Then beggary, and feeding swine, and living upon husks. Then
when evil living is found not to answer, penitence--like Tom Jones again.
And 'when he was yet a great way off his father saw him,' along the stony
road beneath the vine-clad hills. Who can tell how often the father's eyes
had gazed longingly down the road since his son's figure, gay, reckless of
the benefits just bestowed, accompanied by servants, eager for the
pleasures of the world, had vanished from his sight? Now, at last, after
so long waiting and looking, he sees in the far distance, a very different
sight. He sees a solitary figure, worn and bent down, in rags, dragging on
its weary steps; how could the old man's gaze expect such a sight as this?
Nevertheless, his father knew him, 'and ran and fell on his neck.' He did
not wait for any accents of repentance, nor did he enforce any moral
precepts which might advantage posterity. 'He fell on his neck and kissed
him.' Foolish old father!
Tom Jones is brought in. He goes to the bath. The familiar feeling of
luxury comes over him once more. He is clothed in fine linen, and has a
gold ring placed on his finger, the past seems an evil dream. Then the
fatted calf is killed. The banquet is spread and there is festivity,
music, and dancing-girls.
But suddenly, in the midst of his delight, some trouble passes over the
old man's face; his eldest son is not in his place, and they bring him
word that he is without and refuses to come in. Some perception of a
neglected truth passes through the father's mind, and he rises and goes
out. 'Therefore came his father out and entreated him.'
The eldest son has been out all day working in the vineyards; all his life
had been one long performance of duty, taken for granted, and therefore
unpraised and unrecognized. In how many households will silent witness be
borne that this is real life--the gentle and obedient service
overlooked--nay, more than this, the cross word or hasty temper where
there is no fear that it will be returned.
'All these years have I served thee * * * and yet thou never gavest me a
kid that I might make merry with my friends.' I am a man like others,
gayety and feasting are pleasant to me, as to them.
A look of perplexed, but growing insight comes into the father's face.
'Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine.'
This is all very well, still he is conscious that there is something to be
said for the eldest son, too. But his lost son--his wayward, and therefore
loved son, is come again.
'It is meet that we should make merry and be glad, for this thy brother
was dead and is alive again.' We can see the pitiful, pleading look in the
old man's eyes,--'thy brother was dead.'
Yes, Addison must be right. Nature and humor cannot be far apart. The
source and spring of humor is human life. Its charm consists, not merely
in laughter or even in joy, but in the stirring of those sympathies and
associations which exist invariably in the race; for we inherit a
world-life and a religion, the earth-springs of whose realities lie,
perchance, too deep for laughter, but not, Heaven be praised, too deep for
tears."
Surely the examples given suggest an eye for the humorous in him who saw
and described them. These illustrations were, indeed, used to convey moral
truths, but they show how wide was the acquaintance of Jesus with all
sorts of characters, and how he loved to use such as were out of the
ordinary; such as, to-day, we should at least call "peculiar." A
recognition of this fact will help us better to appreciate and more
thoroughly to enjoy those simple, yet wonderful parables, out of which the
heavy hand of a severely literal criticism would crush all "touches of
nature."