CHAPTER V HIS ADVERTISEMENTS HE WAS, as we say, "many sided," and every man sees the side of his nature which appeals most to himself. The doctor thinks of the great physician whose touch never failed, who by some mystery preceded modern science in its still imperfect knowledge of the relation of the spirit to health. The preacher studies the Sermon on the Mount and marvels that truths so profound should be expressed in words so clear and simple. The agitator remembers only that he denounced the rich; and the communist that his disciples carried a common purse. Lawyers have written in praise of his pleading at his trial; and the literary critics of every age have cheerfully acknowledged his mastery. I am not a doctor, or lawyer or critic but an advertising man. As a profession advertising is young; as a force it is as old as the world. The first four words ever uttered, "Let there be light," constitute its charter. All Nature is vibrant with its impulse. The brilliant plumage of the bird is color advertising addressed to the emotions of its mate. Plants deck themselves with blossoms, not for beauty only, but to attract the patronage of the bee and so by spreading pollen on its wings, to insure the perpetuation of their kind. The spacious firmament on high, And spangled Heavens a shining frame, It has been remarked that "no astronomer can be an atheist," which is only another way of saying that no man can look up at the first and greatest electric sign-the evening stars—and refuse to believe its message: "There is a Cause: A God." I propose in this chapter to speak of the advertisements of Jesus which have survived for twenty centuries and are still the most potent influence in the world. Let us begin by asking why he was so successful in mastering public attention and why, in contrast, his churches are less so? The answer is twofold. In the first place he recognized the basic principle that all good advertising is news. He was never trite or commonplace; he had no routine. If there had been newspapers in those days, no city editor could have said, "No need to visit him to-day; he will be doing just what he did last Sunday." Reporters would have followed him every single hour, for it was impossible to predict what he would say or do; every action and word were news. Take one single day as an example. The four gospel narratives are not chronological. They are personal records written after his death, not diaries in which entries were made every night. Thus we can not say of most of the incidents: "This happened on such and such a day." The four stories repeat and conflict and overlap. In one place, however the ninth chapter of Mat thew-we have a detailed account of a single day's work. One of the events was the calling of Matthew himself to discipleship; hence we have every reason to suppose that the writer's memory of this particular day must have been more than usually reliable. Let us look at the twenty-four hours' schedule; see how it bristles with front-page news. The activity begins at sunrise. Jesus was an early riser; he knew that the simplest way to live more than an average life is to add an hour to the fresh end of the day. At sunrise, therefore, we discover a little boat pushing out from the shore of the lake. It makes its steady way across and deposits Jesus and his disciples in Capernaum, his favorite city. He proceeds at once to the house of a friend, but not without being discovered. The report spreads instantly that he is in town, and before he can finish breakfast a crowd has collected outside the gate a poor palsied chap among them. The day's work is at hand. Having slept soundly in the open air he meets the call with quiet nerves. The smile that carried confidence into even the most hopeless heart spreads over his features; he stoops down toward the sufferer. "Be of good cheer, my son," he cries, "your sins are all forgiven." Sins forgiven! Indeed! The respectable members of the audience draw back with sharp disapproval. "What a blasphemous phrase," they exclaim. "Who authorized him to exercise the functions of God? What right has he to decide whose sins shall be forgiven?" Jesus sensed rather than heard their protest. He never courted controversy but he never dodged it; and much of his fame arose out of the reports of his verbal victories. Men have been elected to office-even such high office as the Presidency-by being so good-natured that they never made an enemy. But the leaders who are remembered are those who had plenty of critics and dealt with them vigorously. "What's the objection?" he exclaimed, turning on the dissenters. "Why do you stand there |