{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_14535/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_14535","id":"gutenberg_14535","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14535","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Christmas","Christmas sermons","Conduct of life"],"text":"A CHRISTMAS SERMON\n\nby\n\nROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON\n\nNew York\n\n1900\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nA CHRISTMAS SERMON\n\n\nBy the time this paper appears, I shall have been talking for twelve\nmonths;[1] and it is thought I should take my leave in a formal and\nseasonable manner. Valedictory eloquence is rare, and death-bed sayings\nhave not often hit the mark of the occasion. Charles Second, wit and\nsceptic, a man whose life had been one long lesson in human incredulity,\nan easy-going comrade, a manoeuvring king--remembered and embodied all\nhis wit and scepticism along with more than his usual good humour in the\nfamous \"I am afraid, gentlemen, I am an unconscionable time a-dying.\"\n\n[Footnote 1: i.e. In the pages of _Scribner's Magazine_ (1888).]\n\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nAn unconscionable time a-dying--there is the picture (\"I am afraid,\ngentlemen,\") of your life and of mine. The sands run out, and the hours\nare \"numbered and imputed,\" and the days go by; and when the last of\nthese finds us, we have been a long time dying, and what else? The very\nlength is something, if we reach that hour of separation undishonoured;\nand to have lived at all is doubtless (in the soldierly expression) to\nhave served. There is a tale in Tacitus of how the veterans mutinied in\nthe German wilderness; of how they mobbed Germanicus, clamouring to go\nhome; and of how, seizing their general's hand, these old, war-worn\nexiles passed his finger along their toothless gums. _Sunt lacrymae\nrerum_: this was the most eloquent of the songs of Simeon. And when a\nman has lived to a fair age, he bears his marks of service. He may have\nnever been remarked upon the breach at the head of the army; at least he\nshall have lost his teeth on the camp bread.\n\nThe idealism of serious people in this age of ours is of a noble\ncharacter. It never seems to them that they have served enough; they\nhave a fine impatience of their virtues. It were perhaps more modest to\nbe singly thankful that we are no worse. It is not only our enemies,\nthose desperate characters--it is we ourselves who know not what we\ndo;--thence springs the glimmering hope that perhaps we do better than\nwe think: that to scramble through this random business with hands\nreasonably clean, to have played the part of a man or woman with some\nreasonable fulness, to have often resisted the diabolic, and at the end\nto be still resisting it, is for the poor human soldier to have done\nright well. To ask to see some fruit of our endeavour is but a\ntranscendental way of serving for reward; and what we take to be\ncontempt of self is only greed of hire.\n\nAnd again if we require so much of ourselves, shall we not require much\nof others? If we do not genially judge our own deficiencies, is it not\nto be feared we shall be even stern to the trespasses of others? And he\nwho (looking back upon his own life) can see no more than that he has\nbeen unconscionably long a-dying, will he not be tempted to think his\nneighbour unconscionably long of getting hanged? It is probable that\nnearly all who think of conduct at all, think of it too much; it is\ncertain we all think too much of sin. We are not damned for doing wrong,\nbut for not doing right; Christ would never hear of negative morality;\n_thou shalt_ was ever his word, with which he superseded _thou shalt\nnot_. To make our idea of morality centre on forbidden acts is to defile\nthe imagination and to introduce into our judgments of our fellow-men a\nsecret element of gusto. If a thing is wrong for us, we should not dwell\nupon the thought of it; or we shall soon dwell upon it with inverted\npleasure. If we cannot drive it from our minds--one thing of two: either\nour creed is in the wrong and we must more indulgently remodel it; or\nelse, if our morality be in the right, we are criminal lunatics and\nshould place our persons in restraint. A mark of such unwholesomely\ndivided minds is the passion for interference with others: the Fox\nwithout the Tail was of this breed, but had (if his biographer is to be\ntrusted) a certain antique civility now out of date. A man may have a\nflaw, a weakness, that unfits him for the duties of life, that spoils\nhis temper, that threatens his integrity, or that betrays him into\ncruelty. It has to be conquered; but it must never be suffered to\nengross his thoughts. The true duties lie all upon the farther side,\nand must be attended to with a whole mind so soon as this preliminary\nclearing of the decks has been effected. In order that he may be kind\nand honest, it may be needful he should become a total abstainer; let\nhim become so then, and the next day let him forget the circumstance.\nTrying to be kind and honest will require all his thoughts; a mortified\nappetite is never a wise companion; in so far as he has had to mortify\nan appetite, he will still be the worse man; and of such an one a great\ndeal of cheerfulness will be required in judging life, and a great deal\nof humility in judging others.\n\nIt may be argued again that dissatisfaction with our life's endeavour\nsprings in some degree from dulness. We require higher tasks, because\nwe do not recognise the height of those we have. Trying to be kind and\nhonest seems an affair too simple and too inconsequential for gentlemen\nof our heroic mould; we had rather set ourselves to something bold,\narduous, and conclusive; we had rather found a schism or suppress a\nheresy, cut off a hand or mortify an appetite. But the task before us,\nwhich is to co-endure with our existence, is rather one of microscopic\nfineness, and the heroism required is that of patience. There is no\ncutting of the Gordian knots of life; each must be smilingly unravelled.\n\nTo be honest, to be kind--to earn a little and to spend a little less,\nto make upon the whole a family happier for his presence, to renounce\nwhen that shall be necessary and not be embittered, to keep a few\nfriends but these without capitulation--above all, on the same grim\ncondition, to keep friends with himself--here is a task for all that a\nman has of fortitude and delicacy. He has an ambitious soul who would\nask more; he has a hopeful spirit who should look in such an enterprise\nto be successful. There is indeed one element in human destiny that not\nblindness itself can controvert: whatever else we are intended to do, we\nare not intended to succeed; failure is the fate allotted. It is so in\nevery art and study; it is so above all in the continent art of living\nwell. Here is a pleasant thought for the year's end or for the end of\nlife: Only self-deception will be satisfied, and there need be no\ndespair for the despairer.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nBut Christmas is not only the mile-mark of another year, moving us to\nthoughts of self-examination: it is a season, from all its associations,\nwhether domestic or religious, suggesting thoughts of joy. A man\ndissatisfied with his endeavours is a man tempted to sadness. And in the\nmidst of the winter, when his life runs lowest and he is reminded of the\nempty chairs of his beloved, it is well he should be condemned to this\nfashion of the smiling face. Noble disappointment, noble self-denial are\nnot to be admired, not even to be pardoned, if they bring bitterness.\nIt is one thing to enter the kingdom of heaven maim; another to maim\nyourself and stay without. And the kingdom of heaven is of the\nchildlike, of those who are easy to please, who love and who give\npleasure. Mighty men of their hands, the smiters and the builders and\nthe judges, have lived long and done sternly and yet preserved this\nlovely character; and among our carpet interests and twopenny concerns,\nthe shame were indelible if _we_ should lose it. Gentleness and\ncheerfulness, these come before all morality; they are the perfect\nduties. And it is the trouble with moral men that they have neither one\nnor other. It was the moral man, the Pharisee, whom Christ could not\naway with. If your morals make you dreary, depend upon it they are\nwrong. I do not say \"give them up,\" for they may be all you have; but\nconceal them like a vice, lest they should spoil the lives of better\nand simpler people.\n\nA strange temptation attends upon man: to keep his eye on pleasures,\neven when he will not share in them; to aim all his morals against\nthem. This very year a lady (singular iconoclast!) proclaimed a crusade\nagainst dolls; and the racy sermon against lust is a feature of the age.\nI venture to call such moralists insincere. At any excess or perversion\nof a natural appetite, their lyre sounds of itself with relishing\ndenunciations; but for all displays of the truly diabolic--envy, malice,\nthe mean lie, the mean silence, the calumnious truth, the backbiter, the\npetty tyrant, the peevish poisoner of family life--their standard is\nquite different. These are wrong, they will admit, yet somehow not so\nwrong; there is no zeal in their assault on them, no secret element of\ngusto warms up the sermon; it is for things not wrong in themselves that\nthey reserve the choicest of their indignation. A man may naturally\ndisclaim all moral kinship with the Reverend Mr. Zola or the hobgoblin\nold lady of the dolls; for these are gross and naked instances. And\nyet in each of us some similar element resides. The sight of a pleasure\nin which we cannot or else will not share moves us to a particular\nimpatience. It may be because we are envious, or because we are\nsad, or because we dislike noise and romping--being so refined, or\nbecause--being so philosophic--we have an overweighing sense of life's\ngravity: at least, as we go on in years, we are all tempted to frown\nupon our neighbour's pleasures. People are nowadays so fond of\nresisting temptations; here is one to be resisted. They are fond of\nself-denial; here is a propensity that cannot be too peremptorily\ndenied. There is an idea abroad among moral people that they should\nmake their neighbours good. One person I have to make good: myself. But\nmy duty to my neighbour is much more nearly expressed by saying that\nI have to make him happy--if I may.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nHappiness and goodness, according to canting moralists, stand in the\nrelation of effect and cause. There was never anything less proved or\nless probable: our happiness is never in our own hands; we inherit our\nconstitution; we stand buffet among friends and enemies; we may be so\nbuilt as to feel a sneer or an aspersion with unusual keenness, and so\ncircumstanced as to be unusually exposed to them; we may have nerves\nvery sensitive to pain, and be afflicted with a disease very painful.\nVirtue will not help us, and it is not meant to help us. It is not even\nits own reward, except for the self-centred and--I had almost said--the\nunamiable. No man can pacify his conscience; if quiet be what he want,\nhe shall do better to let that organ perish from disuse. And to avoid\nthe penalties of the law, and the minor _capitis diminutio_ of social\nostracism, is an affair of wisdom--of cunning, if you will--and not of\nvirtue.\n\nIn his own life, then, a man is not to expect happiness, only to profit\nby it gladly when it shall arise; he is on duty here; he knows not how\nor why, and does not need to know; he knows not for what hire, and must\nnot ask. Somehow or other, though he does not know what goodness is, he\nmust try to be good; somehow or other, though he cannot tell what will\ndo it, he must try to give happiness to others. And no doubt there comes\nin here a frequent clash of duties. How far is he to make his neighbour\nhappy? How far must he respect that smiling face, so easy to cloud, so\nhard to brighten again? And how far, on the other side, is he bound to\nbe his brother's keeper and the prophet of his own morality? How far\nmust he resent evil?\n\nThe difficulty is that we have little guidance; Christ's sayings on the\npoint being hard to reconcile with each other, and (the most of them)\nhard to accept. But the truth of his teaching would seem to be this: in\nour own person and fortune, we should be ready to accept and to pardon\nall; it is _our_ cheek we are to turn, _r_ coat that we are to give\naway to the man who has taken _our_ cloak. But when another's face is\nbuffeted, perhaps a little of the lion will become us best. That we are\nto suffer others to be injured, and stand by, is not conceivable and\nsurely not desirable. Revenge, says Bacon, is a kind of wild justice;\nits judgments at least are delivered by an insane judge; and in our\nown quarrel we can see nothing truly and do nothing wisely. But in the\nquarrel of our neighbour, let us be more bold. One person's happiness\nis as sacred as another's; when we cannot defend both, let us defend\none with a stout heart. It is only in so far as we are doing this, that\nwe have any right to interfere: the defence of B is our only ground of\naction against A. A has as good a right to go to the devil, as we to go\nto glory; and neither knows what he does.\n\nThe truth is that all these interventions and denunciations and militant\nmongerings of moral half-truths, though they be sometimes needful,\nthough they are often enjoyable, do yet belong to an inferior grade of\nduties. Ill-temper and envy and revenge find here an arsenal of pious\ndisguises; this is the playground of inverted lusts. With a little more\npatience and a little less temper, a gentler and wiser method might be\nfound in almost every case; and the knot that we cut by some fine\nheady quarrel-scene in private life, or, in public affairs, by some\ndenunciatory act against what we are pleased to call our neighbour's\nvices, might yet have been unwoven by the hand of sympathy.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nTo look back upon the past year, and see how little we have striven\nand to what small purpose: and how often we have been cowardly and\nhung back, or temerarious and rushed unwisely in; and how every day\nand all day long we have transgressed the law of kindness;--it may\nseem a paradox, but in the bitterness of these discoveries, a certain\nconsolation resides. Life is not designed to minister to a man's vanity.\nHe goes upon his long business most of the time with a hanging head, and\nall the time like a blind child. Full of rewards and pleasures as it\nis--so that to see the day break or the moon rise, or to meet a friend,\nor to hear the dinner-call when he is hungry, fills him with surprising\njoys--this world is yet for him no abiding city. Friendships fall\nthrough, health fails, weariness assails him; year after year, he must\nthumb the hardly varying record of his own weakness and folly. It is a\nfriendly process of detachment. When the time comes that he should go,\nthere need be few illusions left about himself. _Here lies one who meant\nwell, tried a little, failed much_:--surely that may be his epitaph, of\nwhich he need not be ashamed. Nor will he complain at the summons which\ncalls a defeated soldier from the field: defeated, ay, if he were Paul\nor Marcus Aurelius!--but if there is still one inch of fight in his old\nspirit, undishonoured. The faith which sustained him in his life-long\nblindness and life-long disappointment will scarce even be required in\nthis last formality of laying down his arms. Give him a march with his\nold bones; there, out of the glorious sun-coloured earth, out of the day\nand the dust and the ecstasy--there goes another Faithful Failure!\n\nFrom a recent book of verse, where there is more than one such beautiful\nand manly poem, I take this memorial piece: it says better than I can,\nwhat I love to think; let it be our parting word.\n\n    \"A late lark twitters from the quiet skies;\n    And from the west,\n    Where the sun, his day's work ended,\n    Lingers as in content,\n    There falls on the old, gray city\n    An influence luminous and serene,\n    A shining peace.\n\n    \"The smoke ascends\n    In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires\n    Shine, and are changed. In the valley\n    Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun,\n    Closing his benediction,\n    Sinks, and the darkening air\n    Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night--\n    Night, with her train of stars\n    And her great gift of sleep.\n\n    \"So be my passing!\n    My task accomplished and the long day done,\n    My wages taken, and in my heart\n    Some late lark singing,\n    Let me be gathered to the quiet west,\n    The sundown splendid and serene,\n    Death.\"[2]\n\n[1888.]\n\n[Footnote 2: From _A Book of Verses_ by William Ernest Henley. D. Nutt,\n1888.]","title":"A Christmas Sermon","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":2953}