Mirroring Human Nature
Not too long ago, I was privy to a dinner conversation in which Shakespeare was being discussed. (And if anyone is wondering—no, I was not the one to introduce this topic into the exchange!) One party of the conversation was clearly a fan of Shakespeare, and the other, less so. The latter asked the former to articulate the reason for the Bard’s appeal; essentially, the response was that Shakespearean drama puts on display fundamental facets of the human condition. As I was listening to the interplay between the interlocutors, I could not help but think of Shakespeare’s own words when he has Hamlet observe that “the purpose of playing . . . was and is to hold, as ‘twere, the mirror up to nature” (Hamlet 3.2.22-24).
Stories have a wondrous appeal for us, whether they take the form of Shakespeare’s plays, Aesop’s fables, Dostoevsky’s novels, Spielberg’s films, historical records, or any number of other instantiations I could list (including, yes, comic books). Certainly, stories provide a certain measure of entertainment, but the best of stories also provide insight. They provide us with the opportunity to reflect upon ourselves and the world. As we engage with the situations presented in such stories, we are invited to ask how we ourselves might respond in such scenarios. Arguably of even greater import, we are invited to ask how we would want to respond. Is there a particular figure whose behavior we wish to emulate? Or, conversely, is there a particular figure who performs actions we would wish to eschew at all costs?
As the title of Fulton Oursler’s 1949 book suggests (as well as its 1965 cinematic adaptation), the greatest story ever told is that of Jesus. In this story we encounter the human condition at its best and at its worst: at its best in Jesus himself, of course; at its worst in the resistance to his love that ultimately leads to his execution. In fact, the Catechism of the Catholic Church rather dramatically states that “the greatest moral evil ever committed [is] . . . the rejection and murder of God’s only Son, caused by the sins of all men” (312). And yet, this capacity for—and, in fact, realization of—evil is surpassed by the tremendous goodness and generosity that we see in Jesus, as he continues to love and embrace us even while he’s being nailed to the cross. Vatican II memorably observed that “it is only in the mystery of the Word made flesh that the mystery of humanity truly becomes clear” (Gaudium et Spes 22, Flannery 1996 trans.). In the mystery of the Word incarnate, in his story played out in history, we see both the depths and the heights of the human drama. And we especially see the heights to which we can legitimately aspire when we rely on grace, just as the incarnate Son relied on his Father throughout the whole of the Son’s story that played out on this earth.
If you have a favorite story, perhaps in the form of a favorite book or movie or play, I invite you to consider how that story itself invites you to a deeper reflection upon yourself. I invite you to ponder how that story might be an opportunity to gain new insight into the journey of Jesus. And, finally, I invite you to use that story as a springboard to follow Jesus more richly into the heights of love which he makes us capable of attaining through his saving work
