g of the kind. The
writer whom he did say was better than Shakespeare was not himself, but
Bunyan. And he justified it by attributing to Bunyan a virile acceptance
of life as a high and harsh adventure, while in Shakespeare he saw
nothing but profligate pessimism, the _vanitas vanitatum_ of a
disappointed voluptuary. According to this view Shakespeare was always
saying, "Out, out, brief candle," because his was only a ballroom
candle; while Bunyan was seeking to light such a candle as by God's
grace should never be put out.

It is odd that Bernard Shaw's chief error or insensibility should have
been the instrument of his noblest affirmation. The denunciation of
Shakespeare was a mere misunderstanding. But the denunciation of
Shakespeare's pessimism was the most splendidly understanding of all his
utterances. This is the greatest thing in Shaw, a serious optimism--even
a tragic optimism. Life is a thing too glorious to be enjoyed. To be is
an exacting and exhausting business; the trumpet though inspiring is
terrible. Nothing that he ever wrote is so noble as his simple reference
to the sturdy man who stepped up to the Keeper of the Book of Life and
said, "Put down my name, Sir." It is true that Shaw called this heroic
philosophy by wrong names and buttressed it with false metaphysics; that
was the weakness of the age. The temporary decline of theology had
involved the neglect of philosophy and all fine thinking; and Bernard
Shaw had to find shaky justifications in Schopenhauer for the sons of
God shouting for joy. He called it the Will to Live--a phrase invented
by Prussian professors who would like to exist, but can't. Afterwards he
asked people to worship the Life-Force; as if one could worship a
hyphen. But though he covered it with crude new names (which are now
fortunately crumbling everywhere like bad mortar) he was on the side of
the good old cause; the oldest and the best of all causes, the cause of
creation against destruction, the cause of yes against no, the cause of
the seed against the stony earth and the star against the abyss.

His misunderstanding of Shakespeare arose largely from the fact that he
is a Puritan, while Shakespeare was spiritually a Catholic. The former
is always screwing himself up to see truth; the latter is often content
that truth is there. The Puritan is only strong enough to stiffen; the
Catholic is strong enough to relax. Shaw, I think, has entirely
misunderstood the pessimistic pass