BY EMILY DICKEY BEERY.
“The Tempest” is a little enchanted world where play all the forces that are manifested in the larger creation from the lowest animalism to the highest manhood, harmonious with his invisible environment. This world in miniature—true to the laws of the macrocosm—begins in chaos, storm, and stress, but finds completion in supernal air and divine peace. We shall find by consecutive study of the dramas that the poet, in his creative work, has ever risen from lower manifestations to higher as his own soul soared on higher and higher wing. Prospero was his last, greatest, and divinest thought of man in his unfolding godward.
Nature in her evolution takes no vast strides, and her supreme poet follows her divine current of growth from the animal man to the grand manifestation of his ideal. He understood that in man’s unfolding not a round could be missed of the “Jacob’s Ladder” resting upon the earth, but reaching into the heavens.
In this ideal world of “The Tempest,” Caliban stands upon the earth groping to attain the first step, while Prospero stands upon the summit with his face heavenward. This typical man comes upon the stage on a high plane of development. Long previously he had left the rank and file of humanity to tread the ever lonely path to higher achievement, therefore we must look below him to find, among the creations of the poet, the incarnation which was the chrysalis for this last ideal. Here our intuitive perception immediately descries Hamlet, that wonderful human mystery who was the first of Shakspere’s sons to enter the precincts of the inner life and catch a glimpse of the godlike potentialities of the human soul.
In Hamlet was the struggle of birth; in Prospero, the glory of achievement, the fulfilment to some extent of the poet’s ideal man, and the first to realize that the power of thought is the supreme force in the universe. Hamlet caught the first glimpse of this truth when he said, “There’s nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so.” He is the hero of spiritual birth and growth in man from the dawning of the soul-life, through its fierce struggles to dominate the lower self and rise into realms of clearer light and truth. The “godlike reason which was not left in him to rust unused,” in its aspiration became illuminated by intuition and revealed to his awe-inspired gaze new worlds not dreamed of by the Horatios of his time.
Hamlet was lost in wonder at himself. The lower forces of his nature along the old inherited lines of thought, coming in contact with the higher thought-currents, newly created, caused the blended stream to “turn awry and lose the name of action,” termed by the unseeing world lack of courage and will-power. Even he could not understand but that in some inexplicable way he must be a coward, because he could not perceive the why of his delaying vengeance. Yet he knew he was brave to the core of his being. When his military friends, “distilled almost to jelly with the act of fear,” would have restrained him from following the spirit of his father, he cries out:
Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life at a pin’s fee; and for my soul, what can it do to that, being a thing immortal as itself? … My fate cries out, and makes each petty artery in this body as hardy as the Nemean lion’s nerve.
He was strong of will and resolute of purpose, but had reached the plane of development where his higher nature would not permit him to commit murder. Yet the strong current of popular opinion, as well as all hereditary and sub-conscious influences in himself, were ever impelling him to do the deed. In his soul-growth, Hamlet had passed the plane of revenge as a passion, but had not reached the divine heights of forgiveness. To avenge the murder of his father was to him a sacred command and duty coming in conflict with another equally sacred duty voiced by his higher self, and the mighty meeting of these two soul-forces always resulted in inaction. This moral battleground is the pivotal point of the drama, indirectly putting in motion all the forces which terminate in the final catastrophe.
In his thoughtful moods his disposition was ever shaken with “thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls,” saying, “Why is this? wherefore? what should we do?” It was the unlaid ghost of his higher self that propounded these queries to the apparition. The birth-throes of thought were giving him entrance into a new world where he began to see “What a piece of work is man! how infinite in faculty! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a God!”