Complete Works of Laurence Sterne

by Laurence Sterne

  “That man that is born of a woman, is of few days, and full of misery, — that he cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down; he fleeth also as a shadow and continueth not?”

  The words of the text are an epitome of the natural and moral vanity of man, and contain two distinct declarations concerning his state and condition in each respect.

  First, that he is a creature of few days; and secondly, that those days are full of trouble.

  I shall make some reflections upon each of these in their order, and conclude with a practical lesson from the whole.

  And first, That he is of few days. The comparison which Job makes use of, That man cometh forth like a flower, is extremely beautiful, and more to the purpose than the most elaborate proof, which in truth the subject will not easily admit of; — the shortness of life being a point so generally complained of in all ages since the flood, and so universally felt and acknowledged by the whole species, as to require no evidence beyond a similitude; the intent of which is not so much to prove the fact, as to illustrate and place it in such a light as to strike us, and bring the impression home to ourselves in a more affecting manner.

  Man comes forth, says Job, like a flower, and is cut down; — he is sent into the world the fairest and noblest part of God’s works — fashioned after the image of his creator with respect to reason and the great faculties of the mind; he comes forth glorious as the flower of the field; as it surpasses the vegetable world in beauty, so does he the animal world in the glory and excellencies of his nature.

  The one — if no untimely accident oppress it, soon arrives at the full period of its perfection, — is suffered to triumph for a few moments, and is plucked up by the roots in the very pride and gayest stage of its being: — or if it happens to escape the hands of violence, in a few days it necessarily sickens of itself and dies away.

  Man likewise, though his progress is slower, and his duration something longer, yet the periods of his growth and declension are nearly the same both in the nature and manner of them.

  If he escapes the dangers which threaten his tenderer years, he is soon got into the full maturity and strength of life; and if he is so fortunate as not to be hurried out of it then by accidents, by his own folly or intemperance — if he escapes these, he naturally decays of himself; — a period comes fast upon him, beyond which he was not made to last. — Like a flower or fruit which may be plucked up by force before the time of their maturity, yet cannot be made to outgrow the period when they are to fade and drop of themselves; when that comes, the hand of nature then plucks them both off, and no art of the botanist can uphold the one, or skill of the physician preserve the other, beyond the periods to which their original frames and constitutions were made to extend. As God has appointed and determined the several growths and decays of the vegetable race, so he seems as evidently to have prescribed the same laws to man, as well as all living creatures, in the first rudiments of which, there are contained the specifick powers of their growth, duration and extinction; and when the evolutions of those animal powers are exhausted and run down, the creature expires and dies of itself, as ripe fruit falls from the tree, or a flower preserved beyond its bloom droops and perishes upon the stalk.

  Thus much for this comparison of Job’s, which though it is very poetical, yet conveys a just idea of the thing referred to. —

  “That he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not”

  — is no less a faithful and fine representation of the shortness and vanity of human life, of which one cannot give a better explanation, than by referring to the original, from whence the picture was taken. — With how quick a succession, do days, months and years pass over our heads? — how truely like a shadow that departeth do they flee away insensibly, and scarce leave an impression with us? — when we endeavour to call them back by reflection, and consider in what manner they have gone, how unable are the best of us to give a tolerable account? — and were it not for some of the more remarkable stages which have distinguished a few periods of this rapid progress — we should look back upon it all as Nebuchadnezzar did upon his dream when he awoke in the morning; — he was sensible many things had passed, and troubled him too; but had passed on so quickly, they had left no footsteps behind, by which he could be enabled to trace them back. — Melancholy account of the life of man! which generally runs on in a such a manner, as scarce to allow time to make reflections which way it has gone.

  How many of our first years slide by, in the innocent sports of childhood, in which we are not able to make reflections upon them? — how many more thoughtless years escape us in our youth, when we are unwilling to do it, and are so eager in the pursuit of pleasure as to have no time to spare, to stop and consider them?

  When graver and riper years come on, and we begin to think it time to reform and set up for men of sense and conduct, then the business and perplexing interests of this world, and the endless plotting and contriving how to make the most of it, do so wholly employ us, that we are too busy to waste reflections upon so unprofitable a subject. — As families and children increase, so do our affections, and with them are multiplied our cares and toils for their preservation and establishment; — all which take up our thoughts so closely, and possess them so long, that we are often overtaken by grey hairs before we see them, or have found leisure to consider how far we were got, — what we have been doing, — and for what purpose God sent us into the world. As man may justly be said to be of few days considered with respect to this hasty succession of things, which soon carries him into the decline of his life, so may he likewise be said to flee like a shadow and continue not, when his duration is compared with other parts of God’s works, and even the works of his own hands, which outlast him many generations; — whilst his — as Homer observes, like leaves, one generation drops, and another springs up to fall again and be forgotten.

  But when we further consider his days in the light in which we ought chiefly to view them, as they appear in thy sight, O God! with whom a thousand years are but as yesterday; when we reflect that this hand-breadth of life is all that is measured out to us from that eternity for which he is created, how does his short span vanish to nothing in the comparison? ’Tis true, the greatest portion of time will do the same when compared with what is to come; and therefore so short and transitory a one, as threescore years and ten, beyond which all is declared to be labour and sorrow, may the easier be allowed: and yet how uncertain are we of that portion, short as it is? Do not ten thousand accidents break off the slender thread of human life, long before it can be drawn out to that extent? — The new-born babe falls down an easy prey, and moulders back again into dust, like a tender blossom put forth in an untimely hour. — The hopeful youth in the very pride and beauty of life is cut off, some cruel distemper or unthought of accident lays him prostrate upon the earth, to pursue Job’s comparison, like a blooming flower smit and shrivelled up with a malignant blast. — In this stage of life chances multiply upon us, — the seeds of disorders are sown by intemperance or neglect, — infectious distempers are more easily contracted, when contracted they rage with greater violence, and the success in many cases is more doubtful, insomuch that they who have exercised themselves in computations of this kind tell us,

  “That one half of the whole species which are born into the world, go out of it again, and are all dead in so short a space as the first seventeen years.

  These reflections may be sufficient to illustrate the first part of Job’s declaration,

  “That man is of few days.”

  Let us examine the truth of the other, and see, whether he is not likewise full of trouble.

  And here we must not take our account from the flattering outside of things, which are generally set off with a glittering appearance enough, especially in what is called, higher life. — Nor can we safely trust the evidence of some of the more merry and thoughtless amongst us, who are so set upon the enjoyment of life as seldom to reflect upon the troubles of it; — or who
, perhaps, because they are not yet come to this portion of their inheritance, imagine it is not their common lot. — Nor lastly, are we to form an idea of it, from the delusive stories of a few of the more prosperous passengers, who have fortunately sailed through and escaped the rougher toils and distresses. But we are to take our accounts from a close survey of human life, and the real face of things, stript of every thing that can palliate or gild it over. We must hear the general complaint of all ages, and read the histories of mankind. If we look into them, and examine them to the bottom, what do they contain but the history of sad and uncomfortable passages, which a good-natured man cannot read but with oppression of spirits. — Consider the dreadful succession of wars in one part or other of the earth, perpetuated from one century to another with so little intermission, that mankind have scarce had time to breathe from them, since ambition first came into the world; consider the horrid effects of them in all those barbarous devastations we read of, where whole nations have been put to the sword, or have been driven out to nakedness and famine to make room for new comers. For a specimen of this, let us reflect upon the story related by Plutarch, when by order of the Roman senate, seventy populous cities were unawares sacked and destroyed at one prefixed hour, by P. Aemilius, by whom one hundred and fifty thousand unhappy people were driven in one day into captivity, to be sold to the highest bidder to end their days in cruel anguish. — Consider how great a part of our species in all ages down to this, have been trod under the feet of cruel and capricious tyrants, who would neither hear their cries, nor pity their distresses. — Consider slavery — what it is, — how bitter a draught, and how many millions have been made to drink of it; — which if it can poison all earthly happiness when exercised barely upon our bodies, what must it be, when it comprehends both the slavery of body and mind? — To conceive this, look into the history of the Romish church and her tyrants, (or rather executioners) who seem to have taken pleasure in the pangs and convulsions of their fellow-creatures. — Examine the prisons of the inquisition, hear the melancholy notes sounded in every cell. — Consider the anguish of mock-trials, and the exquisite tortures consequent thereupon, mercilessly inflicted upon the unfortunate, where the racked and weary soul has so often wished to take its leave, — but cruelly not suffered to depart. — Consider how many of these helpless wretches have been haled from thence in all periods of this tyrannic usurpation, so undergo the massacres and flames to which a false and a bloody religion has condemned them. If this sad history and detail of the mere public causes of the miseries of man are not sufficient, let us behold him in another light with respect to the more private causes of them, and see whether he is not full of trouble likewise there, and almost born to it as naturally as the sparks fly upwards. If we consider man as a creature full of wants and necessities (whether real or imaginary) which he is not able to supply of himself, what a train of disappointments, vexations and dependencies are to be seen, issuing from thence to perplex and make his being uneasy? — How many justlings and hard struggles do we undergo, in making our way in the world? — How barbarously held back? — How often and basely overthrown, in aiming only at getting bread? — How many of us never attain it — at least not comfortably, — but from various unknown causes — eat it all their lives long in bitterness?

  If we shift the scene, and look upwards, towards those whose situation in life seems to place them above the sorrows of this kind, yet where are they exempt from others? Do not all ranks and conditions of men meet with sad accidents and numberless calamities in other respects which often make them go heavily all their lives long?

  How many fall into chronical infirmities, which render both their days and nights restless and insupportable? — How many of the highest rank are tore up with ambition, or soured with disappointments, and how many more from a thousand secret causes of disquiet pine away in silence, and owe their deaths to sorrow and dejection of heart? — If we cast our eyes upon the lowest class and condition of life, — the scene is more melancholy still. — Millions of our fellow-creatures, born to no inheritance but poverty and trouble, forced by the necessity of their lots to drudgery and painful employments, and hard set with that too, to get enough to keep themselves and families alive. — So that upon the whole, when we have examined the true state and condition of human life, and have made some allowances for a few fugacious, deceitful pleasures, there is scarce any thing to be found which contradicts Job’s description of it. — Which ever way we look abroad, we see some legible characters of what God first denounced against us,

  “That in sorrow we should eat our bread, till we returned to the ground, from whence we were taken.”

  But some one will say, Why are we thus to be put out of love with human life? To what purpose is it to expose the dark sides of it to us, or enlarge upon the infirmities which are natural, and consequently out of our power to redress?

  I answer, that the subject is nevertheless of great importance, since it is necessary every creature should understand his present state and condition, to put him in mind of behaving suitably to it. — Does not an impartial survey of man — the holding up this glass to shew him his defects and natural infirmities, naturally tend to cure his pride and cloath him with humility, which is a dress that best becomes a short-lived and a wretched creature? — Does not the consideration of the shortness of our life, convince us of the wisdom of dedicating so small a portion to the great purposes of eternity? —

  Lastly, When we reflect that this span of life, short as it is, is chequered with so many troubles, that there is nothing in this world springs up, or can be enjoyed without a mixture of sorrow, how insensibly does it incline us to turn our eyes and affections from so gloomy a prospect, and fix them upon that happier country, where afflictions cannot follow us, and where God will wipe away all tears from off our faces for ever and ever? Amen.

  SERMON XI. EVIL-SPEAKING.

  JAMES I. 26.

  If any man among you seem to be religious, and bridleth not his tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, this man’s religion is vain.

  OF the many duties owing both to God and our neighbour, there are scarce any men so bad, as not to acquit themselves of some, and few so good, I fear, as to practise all.

  Every man seems willing enough to compound the matter, and adopt so much of the system, as will least interfere with his principal and ruling passion, and for those parts, which would occasion a more troublesome opposition, to consider them as hard sayings, and so leave them for those to practise, whose natural tempers are better suited for the struggle. So that a man shall be covetous, oppressive, revengeful, neither a lover of truth, or common honesty, and yet at the same time, shall be very religious, and so sanctified, as not once to fail of paying his morning and evening sacrifice to God. So, on the other hand, a man shall live without God in the world, have neither any great sense of religion, or indeed pretend to have any, and yet be of nicest honour, conscientiously just and fair in all his dealings. And here it is that men generally betray themselves, deceiving, as the apostle says, their own hearts; of which the instances are so various, in one degree or other throughout human life, that one might safely say, the bulk of mankind live in such a contradiction to themselves, that there is no character so hard to be met with as one, which upon a critical examination, will appear altogether uniform, and in every point consistent with itself.

  If such a contrast was only observable in the different stages of a man’s life, it would cease to be either a matter of wonder, or of just reproach. Age, experience, and much reflection, may naturally enough be supposed to alter a man’s sense of things, and so entirely to transform him, that not only in outward appearances, but in the very cast and turn of his mind, he may be as unlike and different from the man he was twenty or thirty years ago, as he ever was from any thing of his own species. This, I say, is naturally to be accounted for, and in some cases might be praiseworthy too; but the observation is to be made of men in the same period of their lives that in the
same day, sometimes in the very same action, they are utterly inconsistent and irreconcileable with themselves. — Look at a man in one light, and he shall seem wise, penetrating, discreet, and brave: behold him in another point of view, and you see a creature all over folly and indiscretion, weak and timorous, as cowardice and indiscretion can make him. A man shall appear gentle, courteous and benevolent to all mankind; follow him into his own house, may be you see a tyrant, morose and savage to all, whose happiness depends upon his kindness. A third in his general behaviour is found to be generous, disinterested, humane and friendly, — hear but the sad story of the friendless orphans, too credulously trusting all their little substance into his hands, and he shall appear more sordid, more pitiless and unjust, than the injured themselves have bitterness to paint him. Another shall be charitable to the poor, uncharitable in his censures and opinions of all the rest of the world besides; — temperate in his appetites, intemperate in his tongue; shall have too much conscience and religion to cheat the man who trusts him, and perhaps as far as the business of debtor and creditor extends, shall be just and scrupulous to the uttermost mite; yet in matters of full as great concern, where he is to have the handling of the parties reputation and good name, — the dearest, the tenderest property the man has, he will do him irreparable damage, and rob him there without measure or pity. —