Book: The Prose Works of Jonathan Swift, D. D., Volume IV:

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[Footnote 1: The subject of these political toasts was the theme of much
discussion in Ireland. [S.]]

[Footnote 2: King William.]

[Footnote 3: Queen Anne.]

By these marks you will easily distinguish a truly moderate man from
those who are commonly, but very falsely, so called; and while persons
thus qualified are so numerous and so noisy, so full of zeal and
industry to gain proselytes, and spread their opinions among the people,
it cannot be wondered at that there should be so little brotherly love
left among us.

_Lastly_: It would probably contribute to restore some degree of
brotherly love, if we would but consider, that the matter of those
disputes, which inflame us to this degree, doth not, in its own nature,
at all concern the generality of mankind. Indeed as to those who have
been great gainers or losers by the changes of the world, the case is
different; and to preach moderation to the first, and patience to the
last, would perhaps be to little purpose: But what is that to the bulk
of the people, who are not properly concerned in the quarrel, although
evil instruments have drawn them into it? For, if the reasonable men on
both sides were to confer opinions, they would find neither religion,
loyalty, nor interest, are at all affected in this dispute. Not
religion, because the members of the Church, on both sides, profess to
agree in every article: Not loyalty to our prince, which is pretended to
by one party as much as the other, and therefore can be no subject for
debate: Not interest, for trade and industry lie open to all; and, what
is further, concerns only those who have expectations from the public:
So that the body of the people, if they knew their own good, might yet
live amicably together, and leave their betters to quarrel among
themselves, who might also probably soon come to a better temper, if
they were less seconded and supported by the poor deluded multitude.

I have now done with my text, which I confess to have treated in a
manner more suited to the present times, than to the nature of the
subject in general. That I have not been more particular in explaining
the several parts and properties of this great duty of brotherly love,
the apostle to the Thessalonians will plead my excuse.--"Touching
brotherly love" (saith he) "ye need not that I write unto you, for ye
yourselves are taught of God to love one another[4]." So that nothing
remains to add, but our prayers to God, that he would please to restore
and continue this duty of brotherly love or charity among us, the very
bond of peace and of all virtues.

[Footnote 4: 1 Thess. iv. 9.]

_Nov._ 29, 1717.





THE DIFFICULTY OF KNOWING ONE'S-SELF.[1]

[Footnote 1: Prefixed to the issue in volume ten, "Miscellanies," 1745,
is the following:

"ADVERTISEMENT.

"The manuscript title page of the following sermon being lost, and no
memorandum writ upon it, as there were upon the others, when and where
it was preached, made the editor doubtful whether he should print it as
the Dean's, or not. But its being found amongst the same papers; and the
hand, though writ somewhat better, bearing a great similitude to the
Dean's, made him willing to lay it before the public, that they might
judge whether the style and manner also does not render it still more
probable to be his." [T.S.]]


2 KINGS, VIII. PART OF THE 13TH VERSE.

"And Hazael said, But what, is thy servant a dog, that he should do this
great thing?"


We have a very singular instance of the deceitfulness of the heart,
represented to us in the person of Hazael; who was sent to the prophet
Elisha, to enquire of the Lord concerning his master the King of Syria's
recovery. For the man of God, having told him that the king might
recover from the disorder he was then labouring under, begun to set and
fasten his countenance upon him of a sudden, and to break out into the
most violent expressions of sorrow, and a deep concern for it;
whereupon, when Hazael, full of shame and confusion, asked, "Why weepeth
my lord?" he answered, "Because I know all the evil that thou wilt do
unto the children of Israel; their strongholds wilt thou set on fire,
and their young men wilt thou slay with the sword, and wilt dash their
children, and rip up their women with child." Thus much did the man of
God say and know of him, by a light darted into his mind from heaven.
But Hazael not knowing himself so well as the other did, was startled
and amazed at the relation, and would not believe it possible that a man
of his temper could ever run out into such enormous instances of cruelty
and inhumanity. "What!" says he, "is thy servant a dog, that he should
do this great thing?"

And yet, for all this, it is highly probable that he was then that man
he could not imagine himself to be; for we find him, on the very next
day after his return, in a very treacherous and disloyal manner
murdering his own master, and usurping his kingdom; which was but a
prologue to the sad tragedy which he afterwards acted upon the people of
Israel.

And now the case is but very little better with most men, than it was
with Hazael; however it comes to pass, they are wonderfully unacquainted
with their own temper and disposition, and know very little of what
passes within them: For of so many proud, ambitious, revengeful,
envying, and ill-natured persons, that are in the world, where is there
one of them, who, although he has all the symptoms of the vice appearing
upon every occasion, can look with such an impartial eye upon himself,
as to believe that the imputation thrown upon him is not altogether
groundless and unfair? Who, if he were told by men of a discerning
spirit and a strong conjecture, of all the evil and absurd things which
that false heart of his would at one time or other betray him into,
would not believe as little, and wonder as much, as Hazael did before
him? Thus, for instance; tell an angry person that he is weak and
impotent, and of no consistency of mind; tell him, that such or such a
little accident, which he may then despise and think much below a
passion, shall hereafter make him say and do several absurd, indiscreet,
and misbecoming things: He may perhaps own that he has a spirit of
resentment within him, that will not let him be imposed on, but he
fondly imagines that he can lay a becoming restraint upon it when he
pleases, although 'tis ever running away with him into some indecency or
other.

Therefore, to bring the words of my text to our present occasion, I
shall endeavour, in a further prosecution of them, to evince the great
necessity of a nice and curious inspection into the several recesses of
the heart, being the surest and the shortest method that a wicked man
can take to reform himself: For let us but stop the fountain, and the
streams will spend and waste themselves away in a very little time; but
if we go about, like children, to raise a bank, and to stop the current,
not taking notice all the while of the spring which continually feeds
it, when the next flood of temptation rises, and breaks in upon it, then
we shall find that we have begun at the wrong end of our duty, and that
we are very little more the better for it, than if we had sat still, and
made no advances at all.

But, in order to a clearer explanation of the point, I shall speak to
these following particulars:--

_First_: By endeavouring to prove, from particular instances, that man
is generally the most ignorant creature in the world of himself.

_Secondly_: By inquiring into the grounds and reasons of his ignorance.

_Thirdly_ and _Lastly_: By proposing several advantages that do most
assuredly attend a due improvement in the knowledge of ourselves.


_First_, then: To prove that man is generally the most ignorant creature
in the world, of himself.

To pursue the heart of man through all the instances of life, in all its
several windings and turnings, and under that infinite variety of shapes
and appearances which it puts on, would be a difficult and almost
impossible undertaking; so that I shall confine myself to such as have a
nearer reference to the present occasion, and do, upon a closer view,
shew themselves through the whole business of repentance. For we all
know what it is to repent, but whether he repents him truly of his sins
or not, who can know it?

Now the great duty of repentance is chiefly made up of these two parts,
a hearty sorrow for the follies and miscarriages of the time past, and a
full purpose and resolution of amendment for the time to come. And now,
to shew the falseness of the heart in both these parts of repentance,
And

_First_: As to a hearty sorrow for the sins and miscarriages of the time
past. Is there a more usual thing than for a man to impose upon himself,
by putting on a grave and demure countenance, by casting a severe look
into his past conduct, and making some few pious and devout reflections
upon it, and then to believe that he has repented to an excellent
purpose, without ever letting it step forth into practice, and shew
itself in a holy conversation? Nay, some persons do carry the deceit a
little higher; who if they can but bring themselves to weep for their
sins, they are then full of an ill-grounded confidence and security;
never considering that all this may prove to be no more than the very
garb and outward dress of a contrite heart, which another heart, as hard
as the nether millstone, may as well put on. For tears and sighs,
however in some persons they may be decent and commendable expressions
of a godly sorrow, are neither necessary, nor infallible signs of a true
and unfeigned repentance. Not necessary, because sometimes, and in some
persons, the inward grief and anguish of the mind may be too big to be
expressed by so little a thing as a tear, and then it turneth its edge
inward upon the mind; and like those wounds of the body which bleed
inwardly, generally proves the most fatal and dangerous to the whole
body of sin: Not infallible, because a very small portion of sorrow may
make some tender dispositions melt, and break out into tears; or a man
may perhaps weep at parting with his sins, as he would bid the last
farewell to an old friend.

But there is still a more pleasant cheat in this affair, that when we
find a deadness, and a strange kind of unaptness and indisposition to
all impressions of religion, and that we cannot be as truly sorry for
our sins as we should be, we then pretend to be sorry that we are not
more sorry for them; which is not more absurd and irrational, than that
a man should pretend to be very angry at a thing, because he did not
know how to be angry at all.

But after all, what is wanting in this part of repentance, we expect to
make up in the next; and to that purpose we put on a resolution of
amendment, which we take to be as firm as a house built upon a rock; so
that let the floods arise, and the winds blow, and the streams beat
vehemently upon it, nothing shall shake it into ruin or disorder. We
doubt not, upon the strength of this resolve, to stand fast and unmoved
amid the storm of a temptation; and do firmly believe, at the time we
make it, that nothing in the world will ever be able to make us commit
those sins over again, which we have so firmly resolved against.

Thus many a time have we come to the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper,
with a full purpose of amendment, and with as full a persuasion of
putting that same purpose into practice; and yet have we not all as
often broke that good purpose, and falsified that same persuasion, by
starting aside, like a broken bow, into those very sins, which we then
so solemnly and so confidently declared against?

Whereas had but any other person entered with us into a vow so solemn,
that he had taken the Holy Sacrament upon it, I believe had he but once
deceived us by breaking in upon the vow, we should hardly ever after be
prevailed upon to trust that man again, though we still continue to
trust our own fears, against reason and against experience.

This indeed is a dangerous deceit enough, and will of course betray all
those well-meaning persons into sin and folly, who are apt to take
religion for a much easier thing than it is. But this is not the only
mistake we are apt to run into; we do not only think sometimes that we
can do more than we can do, but sometimes that we are incapable of doing
less; an error of another kind indeed, but not less dangerous, arising
from a diffidence and false humility. For how much a wicked man can do
in the business of religion, if he would but do his best, is very often
more than he can tell.

Thus nothing is more common than to see a wicked man running headlong
into sin and folly, against his reason, against his religion, and
against his God. Tell him, that what he is going to do will be an
infinite disparagement to his understanding, which, at another time, he
sets no small value upon; tell him that it will blacken his reputation,
which he had rather die for than lose; tell him that the pleasure of sin
is short and transient, and leaves a vexatious kind of sting behind it,
which will very hardly be drawn forth; tell him that this is one of
those things for which God will most surely bring him to judgment, which
he pretends to believe with a full assurance and persuasion: And yet for
all this, he shuts his eyes against all conviction, and rusheth into the
sin like a horse into battle; as if he had nothing left to do, but, like
a silly child to wink hard, and to think to escape a certain and
infinite mischief, only by endeavouring not to see it.

And now to shew that the heart has given in a false report of the
temptation, we may learn from this, that the same weak man would resist
and master the same powerful temptation, upon considerations of
infinitely less value than those which religion offers, nay such vile
considerations, that the grace of God cannot without blasphemy be
supposed to add any manner of force and efficacy to them. Thus for
instance, it would be a hard matter to dress up a sin in such soft and
tempting circumstances, that a truly covetous man would not resist for a
considerable sum of money; when neither the hopes of heaven nor the
fears of hell could make an impression upon him before. But can anything
be a surer indication of the deceitfulness of the heart, than thus to
shew more courage, resolution, and activity, in an ill cause, than it
does in a good one? And to exert itself to better purpose, when it is to
serve its own pride, or lust, or revenge, or any other passion, than
when it is to serve God upon motives of the Gospel, and upon all the
arguments that have ever been made use of to bring men over to religion
and a good life? And thus having shewn that man is wonderfully apt to
deceive and impose upon himself, in passing through the several stages
of that great duty, repentance, I proceed now, in the

_Second place_: To inquire into the grounds and reasons of this
ignorance, _and to shew whence it comes to pass that man, the only
creature in the world that can reflect and look into himself, should
know so little of what passes within him, and be so very much
unacquainted even with the standing dispositions and complexion of his
own heart_. The prime reason of it is, because we so very seldom
converse with ourselves, and take so little notice of what passes within
us: For a man can no more know his own heart than he can know his own
face, any other way than by reflection: He may as well tell over every
feature of the smaller portions of his face without the help of a
looking-glass, as he can tell all the inward bents and tendencies of his
soul, those standing features and lineaments of the inward man, and know
all the various changes that this is liable to from custom, from
passion, and from opinion, without a very frequent use of looking within
himself.

For our passions and inclinations are not always upon the wing, and
always moving toward their respective objects, but retire now and then
into the more dark and hidden recesses of the heart, where they lie
concealed for a while, until a fresh occasion calls them forth again: So
that not every transient, oblique glance upon the mind can bring a man
into a thorough knowledge of all its strength and weaknesses; for a man
may sometimes turn the eye of the mind inward upon itself, as he may
behold his natural face in a glass, and go away, "and straight forget
what manner of man he was." But a man must rather sit down and unravel
every action of the past day into all its circumstances and
particularities, and observe how every little thing moved and affected
him, and what manner of impression it made upon his heart; this done
with that frequency and carefulness which the importance of the duty
does require, would in a short time bring him into a nearer and more
intimate acquaintance with himself.

But when men instead of this do pass away months and years in a perfect
slumber of the mind, without once awaking it, it is no wonder they
should be so very ignorant of themselves, and know very little more of
what passes within them than the very beasts which perish. But here it
may not be amiss to inquire into the reasons why most men have so little
conversation with themselves.

And, _first:_ Because this reflection is a work and labour of the mind,
and cannot be performed without some pain and difficulty: For, before a
man can reflect upon himself, and look into his heart with a steady eye,
he must contract his sight, and collect all his scattering and roving
thoughts into some order and compass, that he may be able to take a
clear and distinct view of them; he must retire from the world for a
while, and be unattentive to all impressions of sense; and how hard and
painful a thing must it needs be to a man of passion and infirmity, amid
such a crowd of objects that are continually striking upon the sense,
and soliciting the affections, not to be moved and interrupted by one or
other of them. But,

_Secondly:_ Another reason why we so seldom converse with ourselves, is,
because the business of the world takes up all our time, and leaveth us
no portion of it to spend upon this great work and labour of the mind.
Thus twelve or fourteen years pass away before we can well discern good
from evil; and of the rest so much goes away in sleep, so much in the
proper business of our calling, that we have none to lay out upon the
more serious and religious employments. Every man's life is an imperfect
sort of a circle, which he repeats and runs over every day; he has a set
of thoughts, desires, and inclinations, which return upon him in their
proper time and order, and will very hardly be laid aside, to make room
for anything new and uncommon: So that call upon him when you please, to
set about the study of his own heart, and you are sure to find him
pre-engaged; either he has some business to do, or some diversion to
take, some acquaintance that he must visit, or some company that he must
entertain, or some cross accident has put him out of humour, and
unfitted him for such a grave employment. And thus it cometh to pass
that a man can never find leisure to look into himself, because he does
not set apart some portion of the day for that very purpose, but
foolishly defers it from one day to another, till his glass is almost
run out, and he is called to give a miserable account of himself in the
other world. But,

_Thirdly_, Another reason why a man does not more frequently converse
with himself, is, because such conversation with his own heart may
discover some vice or some infirmity lurking within him, which he is
very unwilling to believe himself guilty of. For can there be a more
ungrateful thing to a man, than to find that upon a nearer view he is
not that person he took himself to be? That he had neither the courage,
nor the honesty, nor the piety, nor the humility that he dreamed he had?
That a very little pain, for instance, putteth him out of patience, and
as little pleasure softens and disarms him into ease and wantonness?
That he has been at more pains, and labour, and cost, to be revenged of
an enemy, than to oblige the best friend he has in the world? That he
cannot bring himself to say his prayers, without a great deal of
reluctancy; and when he does say them, the spirit and fervour of
devotion evaporate in a very short time, and he can scarcely hold out a
prayer of ten lines, without a number of idle and impertinent, if not
vain and wicked thoughts coming into his head? These are very unwelcome
discoveries that a man may make of himself; so that 'tis no wonder that
every one who is already flushed with a good opinion of himself, should
rather study how to run away from it, than how to converse with his own
heart.

But further, if a man were both able and willing to retire into his own
heart, and to set apart some portion of the day for that very purpose;
yet he is still disabled from passing a fair and impartial judgment upon
himself, by several difficulties, arising partly from prejudice and
prepossession, partly from the lower appetites and inclinations. And,

_First_: That the business of prepossession may lead and betray a man
into a false judgment of his own heart. For we may observe, that the
first opinion we take up of anything, or any person, does generally
stick close to us; the nature of the mind being such, that it cannot but
desire, and consequently endeavour to have some certain principles to go
upon, something fixed and unmoveable, whereon it may rest and support
itself. And hence it comes to pass, that some persons are with so much
difficulty brought to think well of a man they have once entertained an
ill opinion of: and perhaps that too for a very absurd and unwarrantable
reason. But how much more difficult then must it be for a man, who takes
up a fond opinion of his own heart long before he has either years or
sense enough to understand it, either to be persuaded out of it by
himself, whom he loveth so well, or by another, whose interest or
diversion it may be to make him ashamed of himself! Then,

_Secondly_: As to the difficulties arising from the inferior appetites
and inclinations, let any man look into his own heart, and observe in
how different a light, and under what different complexions, any two
sins of equal turpitude and malignity do appear to him, if he has but a
strong inclination to the one, and none at all to the other. That which
he has an inclination to, is always drest up in all the false beauty
that a fond and busy imagination can give it; the other appears naked
and deformed, and in all the true circumstances of folly and dishonour.
Thus stealing is a vice that few gentlemen are inclined to; and they
justly think it below the dignity of a man to stoop to so base and low a
sin; but no principle of honour, no workings of the mind and conscience,
not the still voice of mercy, not the dreadful call of judgment, nor any
considerations whatever, can put a stop to that violence and oppression,
that pride and ambition, that revelling and wantonness, which we every
day meet with in the world. Nay, it is easy to observe very different
thoughts in a man, of the sin that he is most fond of, according to, the
different ebbs and flows of his inclination to it For as soon as the
appetite is alarmed, and seizeth upon the heart, a little cloud
gathereth about the head, and spreads a kind of darkness over the face
of the soul, whereby 'tis hindered from taking a clear and distinct view
of things; but no sooner is the appetite tired and satiated, but the
same cloud passes away like a shadow, and a new light springing up in
the mind of a sudden, the man sees much more, both of the folly and of
the danger of the sin, than he did before.

And thus having done with the several reasons why man, the only creature
in the world that can reflect and look into himself, is so very ignorant
of what passes within him, and so much unacquainted with the standing
dispositions and complexions of his own heart: I proceed now, in the

_Third_ and _Last_ place, to lay down several advantages, that do _most
assuredly_ attend a due improvement in the knowledge of ourselves. And,

_First_: One great advantage is, that it tends very much to mortify and
humble a man into a modest and low opinion of himself. For let a man
take a nice and curious inspection into all the several regions of the
heart, and observe every thing irregular and amiss within him: for
instance, how narrow and short-sighted a thing is the understanding;
upon how little reason do we take up an opinion, and upon how much
less sometimes do we lay it down again, how weak and false ground do we
often walk upon with the biggest confidence and assurance, and how
tremulous and doubtful are we very often where no doubt is to be made.
Again; how wild and impertinent, how busy and incoherent a thing is the
imagination, even in the best and wisest men; insomuch that every man
may be said to be mad, but every man does not shew it. Then as to the
passions; how noisy, how turbulent, and how tumultuous are they, how
easy they are stirred and set a-going, how eager and hot in the pursuit,
and what strange disorder and confusion do they throw a man into; so
that he can neither think, nor speak, nor act as he should do, while he
is under the dominion of any one of them.

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