Complete Works of Laurence Sterne

by Laurence Sterne

  Of this character, our SAVIOUR produces two disgraceful instances in the behaviour of a priest and a levite, whom in this account he represents as coming to the place where the unhappy man was — both passing by without either stretching forth a hand to assist, or uttering a word to comfort him in his distress.

  And by chance there came down a certain priest! — merciful GOD! that a teacher of thy religion should ever want humanity — or that a man whose head might be thought full of the one, should have a heart void of the other! — This however was the case before us — and though in theory one would scarce suspect that the least pretence to religion and an open disregard to so main a part of it, could ever meet together in one person — yet in fact it is no fictitious character.

  Look into the world — how often do you behold a sordid wretch, whose straight heart is open to no man’s affliction, taking shelter behind an appearance of piety, and putting on the garb of religion, which none but the merciful and compassionate have a title to wear. Take notice with what sanctity he goes to the end of his days, in the same selfish track in which he at first set out — turning neither to the right hand nor to the left — but plods on — pores all his life long upon the ground, as if afraid to look up, lest peradventure he should see aught which might turn him one moment out of that straight line where interest is carrying him — or if, by chance, he stumbles upon a hapless object of distress, which threatens such a disaster to him — like the man here represented, devoutly passing by on the other side, as if unwilling to trust himself to the impressions of nature, or hazard the inconveniences which pity might lead him into upon the occasion.

  There is but one stroke wanting in this picture of an unmerciful man to render the character utterly odious, and that our SAVIOUR gives it in the following instance he relates upon it. And likewise, says he, a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked at him. It was not a transient oversight, the hasty or ill advised neglect of an unconsidering humour, with which the best disposed are sometimes overtaken, and led on beyond the point where otherwise they would have wished to stop. — No! — on the contrary, it had all the aggravation of a deliberate act of insensibility proceeding from a hard heart. When he was at the place, he came, and looked at him — considered his misfortunes, gave time for reason and nature to have awoke — saw the imminent danger he was in — and the pressing necessity of immediate help, which so violent a case called aloud for — and after all — turned aside and unmercifully left him to all the distresses of his condition.

  In all unmerciful actions, the worst of men pay this compliment at least to humanity, as to endeavour to wear as much of the appearance of it, as the case will well let them — so that in the hardest acts a man shall be guilty of, he has some motives true or false always ready to offer, either to satisfy himself or the world, and, GOD knows, too often to impose both upon the one and the other. And therefore it would be no hard matter here to give a probable guess at what passed in the Levite’s mind in the present case, and shew, was it necessary, by what kind of casuistry he settled the matter with his conscience as he passed by, and guarded all the passages to his heart against the inroads which pity might attempt to make upon the occasion. — But it is painful to dwell long upon this disagreeable part of the story; I therefore hasten to the concluding incident of it, which is so amiable that one cannot easily be too copious in reflections upon it. — And behold, says our SAVIOUR, a certain Samaritan as he journeyed came where he was; and when he saw him he had compassion on him — and went to him — bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine — set him upon his own beast, brought him to an inn and took care of him. I suppose, it will be scarce necessary here to remind you that the Jews had no dealings with the Samaritans — an old religious grudge — the worst of all grudges, had wrought such a dislike between both people, that they held themselves mutually discharged not only from all offices of friendship and kindness, but even from the most common acts of courtesy and good manners. This operated so strongly in our SAVIOUR’s time, that the woman of Samaria seemed astonished that he, being a Jew, should ask water of her who was a Samaritan — so that with such a prepossession, however distressful the case of the unfortunate man was, and how reasonably soever he might plead for pity from another man, there was little aid or consolation to be looked for from so unpromising a quarter. Alas! after I have been twice passed by, neglected by men of my own nation and religion bound by so many ties to assist me, left here friendless and unpitied both by a Priest and Levite, men whose profession and superior advantages of knowledge could not leave them in the dark in what manner they should discharge this debt which my condition claims — after this — what hopes? what expectations from a passenger, not only a stranger, — but a Samaritan released from all obligations to me, and by a national dislike inflamed by mutual ill offices, now made my enemy, and more likely to rejoice at the evils which have fallen upon me, than to stretch forth a hand to save me from them.

  ’Tis no unnatural soliloquy to imagine; but the actions of generous and compassionate tempers baffle all little reasonings about them. — True charity, in the apostle’s description, as it is kind, and is not easily provoked, so it manifested this character — for we find when he came where he was, and beheld his distress, — all the unfriendly passions, which at another time might have rose within him, now utterly forsook him and fled: when he saw his misfortunes — he forgot his enmity towards the man, — dropped all the prejudices which education had planted against him, and in the room of them, all that was good and compassionate was suffered to speak in his behalf.

  In benevolent natures the impulse to pity is so sudden, that like instruments of music which only obey the touch — the objects which are fitted to excite such impressions work so instantaneous an effect, that you would think the will was scarce concerned, and that the mind was altogether passive in the sympathy which her own goodness has excited. The truth is, — the soul is generally in such cases so busily taken up and wholly engrossed by the object of pity, that she does not attend to her own operations, or take leisure to examine the principles upon which she acts. So that the Samaritan, though the moment he saw him he had compassion on him, yet sudden as the emotion is represented, you are not to imagine that it was mechanical, but that there was a settled principle of humanity and goodness which operated within him, and influenced not only the first impulse of kindness, but the continuation of it throughout the rest, of so engaging a behaviour. And because it is a pleasure to look into a good mind, and trace out as far as one is able what passes within it on such occasions, I shall beg leave for a moment, to state an account of what was likely to pass in his, and in what manner so distressful a case would necessarily work upon such a disposition.

  As he approached the place where the unfortunate man lay, the instant he beheld him, no doubt some such train of reflections as this would rise in his mind.

  “Good God! what a spectacle of misery do I behold — a man stripped of his raiment — wounded — lying languishing before me upon the ground just ready to expire, — without the comfort of a friend to support him in his last agonies, or the prospect of a hand to close his eyes when his pains are over. But perhaps my concern should lessen when I reflect on the relations in which we stand to each other — that he is a Jew and I a Samaritan. — But are we not still both men? partakers of the same nature — and subject to the same evils? — let me change conditions with him for a moment and consider, had his lot befallen me as I journeyed in the way, what measure I should have expected at his hands. — Should I wish when he beheld me wounded and half-dead, that he should shut up his bowels of compassion from me, and double the weight of my miseries by passing by and leaving them unpitied? — But I am a stranger to the man — be it so, — but I am no stranger to his condition — misfortunes are of no particular tribe or nation, but belong to us all, and have a general claim upon us, without distinction of climate, country or religion. Besides, though I am a stranger— ’tis no fault of his that
I do not know him, and therefore unequitable he should suffer by it: — Had I known him, possibly I should have had cause to love and pity him the more — for aught I know, he is some one of uncommon merit, whose life is rendered still more precious, as the lives and happiness of others may be involved in it: perhaps at this instant that he lies here forsaken, in all this misery, a whole virtuous family is joyfully looking for his return, and affectionately counting the hours of his delay. Oh! did they know what evil hath befallen him — how would they fly to succour him. — Let me then hasten to supply those tender offices of binding up his wounds, and carrying him to a place of safety — or if that assistance comes too late, I shall comfort him at least in his last hour — and, if I can do nothing else, — I shall soften his misfortunes by dropping a tear of pity over them.”

  ’Tis almost necessary to imagine the good Samaritan was influenced by some such thoughts as these, from the uncommon generosity of his behaviour, which is represented by our SAVIOUR operating like the warm zeal of a brother, mixed with the affectionate discretion and care of a parent, who was not satisfied with taking him under his protection, and supplying his present wants, but in looking forwards for him, and taking care that his wants should be supplied when he should be gone, and no longer near to befriend him.

  I think there needs no stronger argument to prove how universally and deeply the seeds of this virtue of compassion are planted in the heart of man, than in the pleasure we take in such representations of it: and though some men have represented human nature in other colours, (though to what end I know not) that the matter of fact is so strong against them, that from the general propensity to pity the unfortunate, we express that sensation by the word humanity, as if it was inseparable from our nature. That it is not inseparable, I have allowed in the former part of this discourse, from some reproachful instances of selfish tempers, which seem to take part in nothing beyond themselves; yet I am perswaded and affirm ’tis still so great and noble a part of our nature, that a man must do great violence to himself, and suffer many a painful conflict, before he has brought himself to a different disposition.

  ’Tis observable in the foregoing account, that when the priest came to the place where he was, he passed by on the other side — he might have passed by, you’ll say, without turning aside. — No, there is a secret shame which attends every act of inhumanity not to be conquered in the hardest natures, so that, as in other cases, so especially in this, many a man will do a cruel act, who at the same time would blush to look you in the face, and is forced to turn aside before he can have a heart to execute his purpose.

  Inconsistent creature that man is! who at that instant that he does what is wrong, is not able to withhold his testimony to what is good and praise worthy.

  I have now done with the parable, which was the first part proposed to be considered in this discourse; and should proceed to the second, which so naturally falls from it, of exhorting you, as our SAVIOUR did the lawyer upon it, to go and do so likewise: but I have been so copious in my reflections upon the story itself, that I find I have insensibly incorporated into them almost all that I should have said here in recommending so amiable an example; by which means I have unawares anticipated the task I proposed. I shall therefore detain you no longer than with a single remark upon the subject in general, which is this, ’Tis observable in many places of scripture, that our blessed SAVIOUR in describing the day of judgment does it in such a manner, as if the great enquiry then, was to relate principally to this one virtue of compassion — and as if our final sentence at that solemnity was to be pronounced exactly according to the degrees of it. I was a hungred and ye gave me meat — thirsty and ye gave me drink — naked and ye cloathed me — I was sick and ye visited me — in prison and ye came unto me. Not that we are to imagine from thence, as if any other good or evil action should then be overlooked by the eye of the All-seeing Judge, but barely to intimate to us, that a charitable and benevolent disposition is so principal and ruling a part of a man’s character, as to be a considerable test by itself of the whole frame and temper of his mind, with which all other virtues and vices respectively rise and fall, and will almost necessarily be connected. — Tell me therefore of a compassionate man, you represent to me a man of a thousand other good qualities — on whom I can depend — whom I may safely trust with my wife — my children, my fortune and reputation. ’Tis for this, as the apostle argues from the same principle — that he will not commit adultery — that he will not kill — that he will not steal — that he will not bear false witness. That is, the sorrows which are stirred up in mens hearts by such trespasses are so tenderly felt by a compassionate man, that it is not in his power or his nature to commit them.

  So that well might he conclude, that charity, by which he means, the love to your neighbour, was the end of the commandment, and that whosoever fulfilled it, had fulfilled the law.

  Now to GOD, &c. Amen.

  SERMON IV. SELF KNOWLEDGE.

  2 SAMUEL XII. 7. 1st part.

  And Nathan said unto David thou art the man.

  THERE is no historical passage in scripture, which gives a more remarkable instance of the deceitfulness of the heart of man to itself, and of how little we truly know of ourselves, than this, wherein David is convicted out of his own mouth, and is led by the prophet to condemn and pronounce a severe judgment upon another, for an act of injustice, which he had passed over in himself, and possibly reconciled to his own conscience. To know one’s self, one would think could be no very difficult lesson; — for who, you’ll say, can well be truly ignorant of himself and the true disposition of his own heart. If a man thinks at all, he cannot be a stranger to what passes there — he must be conscious of his own thoughts and desires, he must remember his past pursuits, and the true springs and motives which in general have directed the actions of his life: he may hang out false colours and deceive the world, but how can a man deceive himself? That a man can — is evident, because he daily does so. — Scripture tells us, and gives us many historical proofs of it, besides this to which the text refers — that the heart of man is treacherous to itself and deceitful above all things; and experience and every hour’s commerce with the world confirms the truth of this seeming paradox,

  “That though man is the only creature endowed with reflection, and consequently qualified to know the most of himself — yet so it happens, that he generally knows the least — and with all the power which GOD has given him of turning his eyes inwards upon himself, and taking notice of the chain of his own thoughts and desires — yet in fact, is generally so inattentive, but always so partial an observer of what passes, that he is as much, nay often, a much greater stranger to his own disposition and true character than all the world besides.”

  By what means he is brought under so manifest a delusion, and how he suffers himself to be so grosly imposed upon in a point which he is capable of knowing so much better than others, is not hard to give an account of, nor need we seek further for it, than amongst the causes which are every day perverting his reason and misleading him. We are deceived in judging of ourselves, just as we are in judging of other things, when our passions and inclinations are called in as counsellors, and we suffer ourselves to see and reason just so far and no farther than they give us leave. How hard do we find it to pass an equitable and sound judgment in a matter where our interest is deeply concerned? — and even where there is the remotest considerations of self, connected with the point before us, what a strange bias does it hang upon our minds, and how difficult is it to disengage our judgments entirely from it? with what reluctance are we brought to think evil of a friend whom we have long loved and esteemed, and though there happens to be strong appearances against him, how apt are we to overlook or put favourable constructions upon them, and even sometimes, when our zeal and friendship transport us, to assign the best and kindest motives for the worst and most unjustifiable parts of his conduct.

  We are still worse casuists, and the deceit is proportionab
ly stronger with a man, when he is going to judge of himself — that dearest of all parties, — so closely connected with him — so much and so long beloved — of whom he has so early conceived the highest opinion and esteem, and with whose merit he has all-along, no doubt, found so much reason to be contented. It is not an easy matter to be severe, where there is such an impulse to be kind, or to efface at once all the tender impressions in favour of so old a friend, which disable us from thinking of him, as he is, and seeing him in the light, may be, in which every one else sees him.

  So that however easy this knowledge of one’s-self may appear at first sight, it is otherwise when we come to examine; since not only in practice but even in speculation and theory, we find it one of the hardest and most painful lessons. Some of the earliest instructors of mankind, no doubt, found it so too, and for that reason, soon saw the necessity of laying such a stress upon this great precept of self knowledge, which for its excellent wisdom and usefulness, many of them supposed to be a divine direction; that it came down from Heaven, and comprehended the whole circle both of knowledge and the duty of man. And indeed their zeal might easily be allowed in so high an encomium upon the attainment of a virtue, the want of which so often baffled their instructions, and rendered their endeavours of reforming the heart vain and useless. For who could think of a reformation of the faults within him, who knew not where they lay, or could set about correcting, till he had first come to a sense of the defects which required it.