But this was a point always much easier recommended by public instructors than shewn how to be put in practice, and therefore others, who equally sought the reformation of mankind, observing that this direct road which led to it was guarded on all sides by self-love, and consequently very difficult of open access, soon found out that a different and more artful course was requisite; as they had not strength to remove this flattering passion which stood in their way and blocked up all the passages to the heart, they endeavoured by stratagem to get beyond it, and by a skilful address, if possible, to deceive it. This gave rise to the early manner of conveying their instructions in parables, fables, and such sort of indirect applications, which, tho’ they could not conquer this principle of self-love, yet often laid it asleep, or at least over-reached it for a few moments, till a just judgment could be procured.
The prophet Nathan seems to have been a great master in this way of address. David had greatly displeased GOD by two grievous sins which he had committed, and the prophet’s commission was to go and bring him to a conviction of them, and touch his heart with a sense of guilt for what he had done against the honour and life of Uriah.
The holy man knew, that was it any one’s case but David’s own, no man would have been so quick-sighted in discerning the nature of the injury, — more ready to have redressed it, or who would have felt more compassion for the party who had suffered it, than he himself.
Instead therefore of declaring the real intention of his errand, by a direct accusation and reproof for the crimes he had committed; he comes to him with a fictitious complaint of a cruel act of injustice done by another, and accordingly he frames a case, not so parallel to David’s as he supposed would awaken his suspicion, and prevent a patient and candid hearing, and yet not so void of resemblance in the main circumstances, as to fail of striking him, when shewn in a proper light.
And Nathan came and said unto him,
“There were two men in one city, the one rich and the other poor — the rich man had exceeding many flocks and herds, but the poor man had nothing, save one little ewe lamb which he had bought and nourished up — and it grew up together with him and with his children — it did eat of his own meat, and drank of his own cup, and lay in his bosom, and was unto him as a daughter — and there came a traveller unto the rich man, and he spared to take of his own flock and of his own herd to dress for the wayfaring man that was come unto him, but took the poor man’s lamb and dressed it for the man that was come unto him.”
The case was drawn up with great judgment and beauty — the several minute circumstances which heightened the injury truly affecting — and so strongly urged, that it would have been impossible for any man with a previous sense of guilt upon his mind, to have defended himself from some degree of remorse, which it must naturally have excited.
The story, though it spoke only of the injustice and oppressive act of another man — yet it pointed to what he had lately done himself, with all the circumstances of its aggravation — and withal, the whole was so tenderly addressed to the heart and passions, as to kindle at once the utmost horror and indignation. And so it did, — but not against the proper person. In his transport he forgot himself — his anger greatly kindled against the man — and he said unto Nathan,
“As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this thing, shall surely die, and he shall restore the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing and because he had no pity.”
It can scarce be doubted here, but that David’s anger was real, and that he was what he appeared to be, greatly provoked and exasperated against the offender: and, indeed, his sentence against him proves he was so above measure. For to punish the man with death, and oblige him to restore fourfold besides, was highly unequitable, and not only disproportioned to the offence, but far above the utmost rigour and severity of the law, which allowed a much softer attonement, requiring in such a case, no more than an ample restitution and recompence in kind. The judgment however, seems to have been truly sincere and well meant, and bespoke rather the honest rashness of an unsuspicious judge, than the cool determination of a conscious and guilty man, who knew he was going to pass sentence upon himself.
I take notice of this particular, because it places this instance of self deceit, which is the subject of the discourse, in the strongest light, and fully demonstrates the truth of a fact in this great man, which happens every day amongst ourselves, namely, that a man may be guilty of very bad and dishonest actions, and yet reflect so little, or so partially, upon what he has done, as to keep his conscience free, not only from guilt, but even the remotest suspicions, that he is the man which in truth he is, and what the tenor and evidence of his life demonstrate. If we look into the world — David’s is no uncommon case — we see some one or other perpetually copying this bad original, sitting in judgment upon himself — hearing his own cause, and not knowing what he is doing; hasty in passing sentence, and even executing it too with wrath upon the person of another, when in the language of the phophet, one might say to him with justice,
“thou art the man.”
Of the many revengeful, covetous, false and ill-natured persons which we complain of in the world, though we all join in the cry against them, what man amongst us singles out himself as a criminal, or ever once takes it into his head that he adds to the number? — or where is there a man so bad, who would not think it the hardest and most unfair imputation to have any of those particular vices laid to his charge?
If he has the symptoms never so strong upon him, which he would pronounce infallible in another, they are indications of no such malady in himself. — He sees what no one else sees, some secret and flattering circumstances in his favour, which no doubt make a wide difference betwixt his case and the parties which he condemns.
What other man speaks so often and vehemently against the vice of pride, sets the weakness of it in a more odious light, or is more hurt with it in another, than the proud man himself? It is the same with the passionate, the designing, the ambitious, and some other common characters in life; and being a consequence of the nature of such vices, and almost inseparable from them, the effects of it are generally so gross and absurd, that where pity does not forbid, ’tis pleasant to observe and trace the cheat through the several turns and windings of the heart, and detect it through all the shapes and appearances which it puts on.
Next to these instances of self deceit and utter ignorance of our true disposition and character, which appears in not seeing that in ourselves which shocks us in another man, there is another species still more dangerous and delusive, and which the more guarded perpetually fall into from the judgments they make of different vices, according to their age and complexion, and the various ebbs and flows of their passions and desires.
To conceive this, let any man look into his own heart, and observe in how different a degree of detestation, numbers of actions stand there, though equally bad and vicious in themselves: he will soon find that such of them, as strong inclination or custom has prompted him to commit, are generally dressed out, and painted with all the false beauties which a soft and flattering hand can give them; and that the others, to which he feels no propensity, appear at once naked and deformed, surrounded with all the true circumstances of their folly and dishonour.
When David surprized Saul sleeping in the cave, and cut off the skirt of his robe, we read, his heart smote him for what he had done — strange! it smote him not in the matter of Uriah, where it had so much stronger reason to take the alarm. — A whole year had almost passed from the first commission of that injustice, to the time the prophet was sent to reprove him — and we read not once of any remorse or compunction of heart for what he had done: and it is not to be doubted, had the same prophet met him when he was returning up out of the cave — and told him, that scrupulous and conscientious as he then seemed and thought himself to be, that he was deceiving himself, and was capable of committing the foulest and most dishonourable actions; — that he should one day murder a f
aithful and a valiant servant, whom he ought in justice to have loved and honoured, — that he should without pity first wound him in the tenderest part, by taking away his dearest possession, — and then unmercifully and treacherously rob him of his life. — Had Nathan in a prophetic spirit foretold to David, that he was capable of this, and that he should one day actually do it, and from no other motive but the momentary gratification of a base and unworthy passion, he would have received the prediction with horror, and said possibly with Hazael upon just such another occasion, and with the same ignorance of himself — What? is thy servant a dog that he should do this great thing. And yet in all likelihood, at that very time there wanted nothing but the same degree of temptation, and the same opportunity, to induce him to the sin which afterwards overcame him.
Thus the case stands with us still. When the passions are warmed, and the sin which presents itself exactly tallies to the desire, observe how impetuously a man will rush into it, and act against all principles of honour, justice and mercy. — Talk to him the moment after upon the nature of another vice to which he is not addicted, and from which perhaps his age, his temper, or rank in life secure him — take notice, how well he reasons — with what equity he determines — what an honest indignation and sharpness he expresses against it, and how insensibly his anger kindles against the man who hath done this thing.
Thus are we nice in grains and scruples — but knaves in matters of a pound weight — every day straining at gnats, yet swallowing camels — miserably cheating ourselves, and torturing our reason to bring us in such a report of the sin as suits the present appetite and inclination.
Most of us are aware of and pretend to detest the barefaced instances of that hypocrisy by which men deceive others, but few of us are upon our guard or see that more fatal hypocrisy by which we deceive and over-reach our own hearts. It is a flattering and dangerous distemper, which has undone thousands — we bring the seeds of it along with us into the world — they insensibly grow up with us from our childhood — they lye long concealed and undisturbed, and have generally got such deep root in our natures by the time we are come to years of understanding and reflection, that it requires all we have got to defend ourselves from their effects.
To make the case still worse on our sides, ’tis with this as with every grievous distemper of the body — the remedies are dangerous and doubtful, in proportion to our mistakes and ignorance of the cause: for in the instances of self-deceit, though the head is sick, and the whole heart faint, the patient seldom knows what he ails: — of all the things we know and learn, this necessary knowledge comes to us the last.
Upon what principles it happens thus, I have endeavoured to lay open in the first part of this discourse; which I conclude with a serious exhortation to struggle against them; which we can only hope to do, by conversing more and oftener with ourselves, than the business and diversions of the world generally give us leave.
We have a chain of thoughts, desires, engagements and idlenesses, which perpetually return upon us in their proper time and order, — let us, I beseech you, assign and set apart some small portion of the day for this purpose — of retiring into ourselves, and searching into the dark corners and recesses of the heart, and taking notice of what is passing there. If a man can bring himself to do this task with a curious and impartial eye, he will quickly find the fruits of it will more than recompense his time and labour. He will see several irregularities and unsuspected passions within him which he never was aware of, — he will discover in his progress many secret turns and windings in his heart to which he was a stranger, which now gradually open and disclose themselves to him upon a nearer view; in these labyrinths he will trace out such hidden springs and motives for many of his most applauded actions, as will make him rather sorry, and ashamed of himself, than proud.
In a word, he will understand his errors, and then see the necessity, with David, of imploring GOD to cleanse him from his secret faults — and with some hope and confidence to say, with this great man after his conviction —
“Try me, O GOD! and seek the ground of my heart, — prove me and examine my thoughts, — look well if there be any way of wickedness in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”
Now to GOD the Father, &c. &c.
SERMON V. A CHARITY SERMON.
ADVERTISEMENT.
THIS Sermon, with the following Dedication to the Lord Bishop of Carlisle, then Dean of York, was printed some Years ago, but was read by very few; it is therefore reprinted in this collection.
TO THE VERY REVEREND Richard Osbaldeston, D.D. Dean of York.
SIR,
I Have taken the liberty to inscribe this discourse to you, in testimony of the great respect which I owe to your character in general; and from a sense of what is due to it in particular from every member of the Church of YORK.
I wish I had as good a reason for doing that, which has given me the opportunity of making so publick and just an acknowledgment; being afraid there can be little left to be said upon the subject of Charity, which has not been often thought, and much better expressed by many who have gone before: and indeed, it seems so beaten and common a path, that it is not an easy matter for a new comer to distinguish himself in it, by any thing except the novelty of his Vehicle.
I beg, however, Sir, your kind acceptance of it, and of the motives which have induced me to address it to you; one of which, I cannot conceal in justice to myself, because it has proceeded from the sense of many favours and civilities which I have received from you. I am,
Reverend SIR,
Your most obliged, and faithful Humble Servant, LAURENCE STERNE.
SERMON V.
1 KINGS xvii. 16.
And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord which he spake by the prophet Elijah.
THE words of the text are the record of a miracle wrought in behalf of the widow of Zerephath, who had charitably taken Elijah under her roof, and administered unto him in a time of great scarcity and distress. There is something very interesting and affectionate in the manner this story is related in holy writ; and as it concludes with a second still more remarkable proof of GOD’s favour to the same person, in the restoration of her dead son to life, one cannot but consider both miracles as rewards of that act of piety, wrought by infinite power, and left upon record in scripture, not merely as testimonies of the prophet’s divine mission, but likewise as two encouraging instances of GOD Almighty’s blessing upon works of charity and benevolence.
In this view I have made choice of this piece of sacred story, which I shall beg leave to make use of as the groundwork for an exhortation to charity in general: and that it may better answer the particular purpose of this solemnity, I will endeavour to enlarge upon it with such reflections, as, I trust in GOD, will excite some sentiments of compassion which may be profitable to so pious a design.
Elijah had fled from two dreadful evils, the approach of a famine, and the persecution of Ahab an enraged enemy: and in obedience to the command of GOD had hid himself by the brook Cherith, that is before Jordan. In this safe and peaceful solitude, blessed with daily marks of GOD’s providence, the holy man dwelt free both from the cares and glories of the world: by miraculous impulse the ravens brought him bread and flesh in the morning, and bread and flesh in the evening, and he drank of the brook; till by continuance of drought, (the windows of heaven being shut up in those days for three years and six months, which was the natural cause likewise of the famine,) it came to pass after a while that the brook, the great fountain of his support, dried up; and he is again directed by the word of the Lord where to betake himself for shelter. He is commanded to arise and go to Zerephath, which belongeth to Zidon, with an assurance that he had disposed the heart of a widow-woman there to sustain him.
The prophet follows the call of his GOD: — the same hand which brought him to the gate of the city, had led also the poor widow out of her doors, oppressed with sorrow. She had
come forth upon a melancholy errand, to make preperation to eat her last meal, and share it with her child.
No doubt, she had long fenced against this tragical, event with all the thrifty management which self-preservation and parental love could inspire; full, no doubt, of cares and many tender apprehensions lest her slender stock should fail them before the return of plenty.
But as she was a widow, having lost the only faithful friend who would best have assisted her in this virtuous struggle, the pressing necessity of the times at length overcame her; and she was just falling down an easy prey to it, when Elijah came to the place where she was. And he called unto her her, and said, fetch me, I pray thee, a little water in a vessel that I may drink. And as she was going to fetch it, he called unto her and said, bring me, I pray thee, a morsel of bread in thine hand. And she said, as the Lord thy God liveth, I have not a cake, but a handful of meal in a barrel, and a little oil in a cruse, and behold I am gathering two sticks, thatI may go in and dress it for me and my son, that we may eat it and die. And Elijah said unto her, fear not, but go, and do as thou hast said; but make me thereof a little cake first, and bring it unto me, and after make for thee and for thy son. For thus says the Lord God of Israel, the barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail, until the day that the Lord sendeth rain upon the earth.
Complete Works of Laurence Sterne Page 79
