True charity is always unwilling to find excuses — else here was a fair opportunity of pleading many: she might have insisted over again upon her situation, which necessarily tied up her hands; — she might have urged the unreasonableness of the request; — that she was reduced to the lowest extremity already; — and that it was contrary to justice and the first law of nature, to rob herself and child of their last morsel, and give it to a stranger.
But, in generous spirits, compassion is sometimes more than a ballance for self-preservation. For, as GOD certainly interwove that friendly softness in our nature to be a check upon too great a propensity towards self-love — so it seemed to operate here. — For it is observable, that though the prophet backed his request with the promise or an immediate recompence in multiplying her stock; yet it is not evident, she was influenced at all by that temptation. For if she had, doubtless it must have wrought such a mixture of self-interest into the motive of her compliance, as must greatly have allayed the merit of the action. But this I say, does not appear, but rather the contrary, from the reflection she makes upon the whole in the last verse of the chapter. Now by this I know that thou art a man of God, and that the word of the Lord in thy mouth is truth.
Besides as she was an inhabitant of Zerephath, (or, as it is called by St. Luke, Sarepta, subject to Sidon the metropolis of Phoenicia, without the bounds of GOD’s people,) she had been brought up in gross darkness and idolatry, in utter ignorance of the Lord GOD of Israel: or, if she had heard of his name, which is all that seems probable, she had been taught to disbelieve the mighty wonders of his hand, and was still less likely to believe his prophet.
Moreover she might argue, if this man by some secret mystery of his own, or through the power of his GOD, is able to procure so preternatural a supply for me, whence comes it to pass, that he now stands in want himself, oppressed both with hunger and thirst?
It appears therefore, that she must have been wrought upon by an unmixed principle of humanity. — She look’d upon him as a fellow-partner almost in the same affliction with herself. — She considered he had come a weary pilgrimage, in a sultry climate, through an exhausted country; where neither bread or water were to be had, but by acts of liberality. — That he had come an unknown traveller, and as a hard heart never wants a pretence, that this circumstance, which should rather have befriended, might have helped to oppress him. — She considered, for charity is ever fruitful in kind reasons, that he was now far from his own country, and had strayed out of the reach of the tender offices of some one who affectionately mourned his absence — her heart was touched with pity. — She turned in silence and went and did according as he had said. And behold, both she and he and her house did eat many days; or, as in the margin, one whole year. And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail, until the day that God sent rain upon the earth.
Though it may not seem necessary to raise conjectures here upon this event, yet it is natural to suppose, the danger of the famine being thus unexpectedly got over, that the mother began to look hopefully forwards upon the rest of her days. There were many widows in Israel at that time, when the heavens were shut up for three years and six months, yet, as St. Luke observes, to none of them was the prophet sent, save to this widow of Sarepta: in all likelihood, she would not be the last in making the same observation, and drawing from it some flattering conclusion in favour of her son. — Many a parent would build high, upon a worse foundation. —
“Since the GOD of Israel has thus sent his own messenger to us in our distress, to pass by so many houses of his own people, and stop at mine, to save it in so miraculous a manner from destruction; doubtless, this is but an earnest of his future kind intentions to us: at least, his goodness has decreed to comfort my old age by the long life and health of my son: — but perhaps, he has something greater still in store for him, and I shall live to see the same hand hereafter crown his head with glory and honour?”
We may naturally suppose her innocently carried away with such thoughts, when she is called back by an unexpected distemper which surprises her son, and in one moment brings down all her hopes — for his sickness was so sore that there was no breath left in him. —
The expostulations of immoderate grief are seldom just — For, though Elijah had already preserved her son, as well as herself from immediate death, and was the last cause to be suspected of so sad an accident; yet the passionate mother in the first transport challenges him as the author of her misfortune; — as if he had brought down sorrow upon a house, which had so hospitably sheltered him. The prophet was too full of compassion, to make reply to so unkind an accusation. He takes the dead child out of his mother’s bosom, and laid him upon his own bed; and he cried unto the Lord and said, O Lord my God! hast thou brought evil upon the widow with whom I sojourn, by slaying her son?
“Is this the reward of all her charity and goodness? thou hast before this robbed her of the dear partner of all her joys and all her cares; and now that she is a widow, and has most reason to expect thy protection; behold thou hast withdrawn her last prop: thou hast taken away her child, the only stay she had to rest on.”
— And Elijah cried unto God, and said, O Lord my God, I pray thee, let this child’s soul come into him again.
The prayer was urgent, and bespoke the distress of a humane mind deeply suffering in the misfortunes of another; — moreover his heart was rent with other passions. — He was zealous for the name and honour of his GOD, and thought not only his omnipotence, but his glorious attribute of mercy concern’d in the event: for, oh! with what triumph would the prophets of Baal retort his own bitter taunt, and say, his God was either talking, or he was pursuing, or was in a journey; or peradventure he slept and should have been awaked. — He was moreover involved in the success of his prayer himself; — honest minds are most hurt by scandal. — And he was afraid, lest so foul a one, so unworthy of his character, might arise amongst the heathen, who would report with pleasure,
“Lo! the widow of Zerephath took the messenger of the GOD of Israel under her roof, and kindly entertained him, and see how she is rewarded; surely ◊ prophet was ungrateful, he wanted power, or what is worse, he wanted pity!”
Besides all this, he pleaded not only the cause of the widow; it was the cause of charity itself, which had received a deep wound already, and would suffer still more should GOD deny it this testimony of his favour. So the Lord hearkned unto the voice of Elijah, and the soul of the child came into him again, and he revived. And Elijah took the child and brought him down out of the chamber into the house, and delivered him unto his mother; and Elijah said, see thy son liveth.
It would be a pleasure to a good mind to stop here a moment, and figure to itself the picture of so joyful an event. — To behold on one hand the raptures of the parent, overcome with surprize and gratitude, and imagine how a sudden stroke of such impetuous joy must operate on a despairing countenance, long accustomed to sadness, — To conceive on the other side of the piece, the holy man approaching with the child in his arms — full of honest triumph in his looks, but sweetened with all the kind sympathy which a gentle nature could overflow with upon so happy an event. It is a subject one might recommend to the pencil of a great genius, and would even afford matter for description here; but that it would lead us too far from the particular purpose, for which I have enlarged upon thus much of the story already; the chief design of which is to illustrate by a fact, what is evident both in reason and scripture, that a charitable and good action is seldom cast away, but that even in this life it is more than probable, that what is so scattered shall be gathered again with increase. Cast thy bread upon the waters, and thou shalt find it after many days. Be as a father unto the fatherless and instead of a husband unto their mother, so shalt thou be as the son of the Most High, and he will love thee more than thy mother doth. Be mindful of good turns, for thou knowest not what evil shall come upon the earth; and when thou fallest thou shalt find a stay. It shall preserve thee from
all affliction, and fight for thee against thy enemies better than a mighty shield and a strong spear.
The great instability of temporal affairs, and constant fluctuation of every thing in this world, afford perpetual occasions of taking refuge in such a security.
What by successive misfortunes; by failings and cross accidents in trade; by miscarriage of projects: — what by unsuitable expences of parents, extravagance of children, and the many other secret ways whereby riches make themselves wings and fly away; so many surprising revolutions do every day happen in families, that it may not seem strange to say, that the posterity of some of the most liberal contributors here, in the changes which one century may produce, may possibly find shelter under this very plant which they now so kindly water. Nay, so quickly sometimes has the wheel turned round, that many a man has lived to enjoy the benefit of that charity which his own piety projected.
But besides this, and exclusive of the right which GOD’s promise gives it to protection hereafter, charity and benevolence, in the ordinary chain of effects, have a natural and more immediate tendency in themselves to rescue a man from the accidents of the world, by softening the hearts, and winning every man’s wishes to its interest. When a compassionate man falls, who would not pity him? who, that had power to do it, would not befriend and raise him up? or could the most barbarous temper offer an insult to his distress without pain and reluctance? so that it is almost a wonder that covetousness, even in spite of itself, does not sometimes argue a man into charity, by its own principle of looking forwards, and the firm expectation it would delight in of receiving its own again with usury. — So evident is it in the course of GOD’s providence and the natural stream of things, that a good office one time or other generally meets with a reward. — Generally, did I say — how can it ever fail? — when besides all this, so large a share of the recompence is so inseparable even from the action itself. Ask the man who has a tear of tenderness always ready to shed over the unfortunate; who, withal, is ready to distribute and willing to communicate: ask him if the best things, which wits have said of pleasure, have expressed what he has felt, when by a seasonable kindness, he has made the heart of the widow sing for joy. Mark then the expressions of unutterable pleasure and harmony in his looks; and say, whether Solomon has not fixed the point of true enjoyment in the right place, when he declares,
“that he knew no good there was in any of the riches or honours of this world, but for a man to do good with them in his life.”
Nor was it without reason he made this judgment. — Doubtless he had found and seen the insufficiency of all sensual pleasures; how unable to furnish either a rational or a lasting scheme of happiness: how soon the best of them vanished; the less exceptionable in vanity, but the guilty both in vanity and vexation of spirit. But that this was of so pure and refined a nature it burned without consuming: it was figuratively the widow’s barrel of meal which wasted not, and cruse of oil which never failed.
It is not an easy matter to add weight to the testimony of the wisest man, upon the pleasure of doing good; or else the evidence of the philosopher Epicurus is very remarkable, whose word in this matter is the more to be trusted, because a professed sensualist; who amidst all the the delicacies and improvements of pleasure which a luxuriant fancy might strike out, still maintained, that the best way of enlarging human happiness was, by a communication of it to others.
And if it was necessary here, or there was time to refine upon this doctrine, one might further maintain, exclusive of the happiness which the mind itself feels in the exercise of this virtue, that the very body of man is never in a better state than when he is most inclined to do good offices: — that as nothing more contributes to health than a benevolence of temper, so nothing generally was a stronger indication of it.
And what seems to confirm this opinion, is an observation, the truth of which must be submitted to every one’s reflection — namely — that a disinclination and backwardness to do good, is often attended, if not produced, by an indisposition of the animal as well as rational part of us: — So naturally do the soul and body, as in other cases so in this, mutually befriend, or prey upon each other. And indeed, setting aside all abstruser reasoning upon the point, I cannot conceive, but that the very mechanical motions which maintain life, must be performed with more equal vigour and freedom in that man whom a great and good soul perpetually inclines to shew mercy to the miserable, than they can be in a poor, sordid, selfish wretch, whose little, contracted heart, melts at no man’s affliction; but sits brooding so intently over its own plots and concerns, as to see and feel nothing; and in truth, enjoy nothing beyond himself: and of whom one may say what that great master of nature has, speaking of a natural sense of harmony, which I think, with more justice may be said of compassion, that the man who had it not, —
“ — Was fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils:
“ The MOTIONS of his spirits are dull as night;
“ And his affections dark as EREBUS:
“ — Let no such man be trusted. —
What divines say of the mind, naturalists have observed of the body; that there is no passion so natural to it as love, which is the principle of doing good; — and though instances like this just mentioned seem far from being proofs of it, yet it is not to be doubted, but that every hard-hearted man has felt much inward opposition before he could prevail upon himself to do aught to fix and deserve the character: and that what we say of long habits of vice, that they are hard to be subdued, may with equal truth be said concerning the natural impressions of benevolence, that a man must do much violence to himself, and suffer many a painful struggle, before he can tear away so great and noble a part of his nature. — Of this antiquity has preserved a beautiful instance in an anecdote of Alexander, the tyrant of Pheres, who though he had so industriously hardned his heart, as to seem to take delight in cruelty, insomuch as to murder many of his subjects every day, without cause and without pity; yet, at the bare representation of a tragedy which related the misfortunes of Hecuba and Andromache, he was so touched with the fictitious distress which the poet had wrought up in it, that he burst out into a flood of tears. The explication of which inconsistency is easy, and casts as great a lustre upon human nature, as the man himself was a disgrace to it. The case seems to have been this: in real life he had been blinded with passions, and thoughtlessly hurried on by interest or resentment: — but here, there was no room for motives of that kind; so that his attention being first caught hold of, and all his vices laid asleep; — then NATURE awoke in triumph, and shewed how deeply she had sown the seeds of compassion in every man’s breast; when tyrants, with vices the most at enmity with it, were not able entirely to root it out.
But this is painting an amiable virtue, and setting her off, with shades which wickedness lends us, when one might safely trust to the force of her own natural charms, and ask, whether any thing under Heaven in its own nature, is more lovely and engaging? — To illustrate this the more, let us turn our thoughts within ourselves; and for a moment, let any number of us here imagine ourselves at this instant engaged in drawing the most perfect and amiable character, such, as according to our conceptions of the deity, we should think most acceptable to him, and most likely to be universally admired by all mankind. — I appeal to your own thoughts, whether the first idea which offered itself to most of our imaginations, would not be that of a compassionate benefactor, stretching forth his hands to raise up the helpless orphan? whatever other virtues we should give our hero, we should all agree in making him a generous friend, who thought the opportunities of doing good to be the only charm of his prosperity: we should paint him like the psalmist’s river of God overflowing the thirsty parts of the earth, that he might enrich them, carrying plenty and gladness along with him. If this was not sufficient, and we were still desirous of adding a farther degree of perfection to so great a character; we should endeavour to think of some one, if human nature could furnish such a pattern, who, if occasion requi
red, was willing to undergo all kinds of affliction, to sacrifice himself, to forget his dearest interests, and even lay down his life for the good of mankind. — And here, — O merciful SAVIOUR! how would the bright original of thy unbounded goodness break in upon our hearts? Thou who becamest poor, that we might be rich — though Lord of all this world, yet hadst not where to lay thy head. — And though equal in power and glory to the great GOD of NATURE, yet madest thyself of no reputation, tookest upon thee the form of a servant, — submitting thyself, without opening thy mouth, to all the indignities which a thankless and undiscerning people could offer; and at length, to accomplish our salvation, becamest obedient unto death, suffering thyself, as on this day, to be led like a lamb to the slaughter!
The consideration of this stupendous instance of compassion, in the Son of GOD, is the most unanswerable appeal that can be made to the heart of man, for the reasonableness of it in himself. — It is the great argument which the apostles use in almost all their exhortations to good works. — Beloved, if Christ so loved us — the inference is unvoidable; and gives strength and beauty to every thing else which can be urged upon the subject. And therefore I have reserved it for my last and warmest appeal, with which I would gladly finish this discourse; that at least for their sakes for whom it is preached, we might be left to the full impression of so exalted and so seasonable a motive. — That by reflecting upon the infinite labour of this day’s love, in the instance of CHRIST’s death, we may consider what an immense debt we owe each other: and by calling to mind the amiable pattern of his life, in doing good, we might learn in what manner we may best discharge it.
And indeed, of all the methods in which a good mind would be willing to do it, I believe there can be none more beneficial, or comprehensive in its effects, than that for which we are here met together. — The proper education of poor children being the ground-work of almost every other kind of charity, as that which makes every other subsequent act of it answer the pious expectation of the giver.
Complete Works of Laurence Sterne Page 80