“In the country near D—,
there was a man who lived alone. This
man, to state the startling fact without preface, had been a member of the
National Convention. His name was G—. The little circle of D— spoke of the
conventionist with a certain sort of horror.
A conventionist, think of it…This man came very near being a monster.”
So writes Victor Hugo,
setting the stage for one of the most powerful and poignant scenes in his
novel, Les Miserables. The reader has already become acquainted with
the Bishop Bienvenu-Myriel: his goodness, his compassion, his humility, his
love. He is the best of men – a
saint. Thus, when he journeys to visit
G—, a man whom he views “as an outlaw, even beyond the law of charity,” there
is no reason to suspect that the conventionist could be anything otherwise. The scene unfolds. The bishop – and the reader – come to realize
that they have been mistaken. And with
this realization, a lesson of eternal import is taught: men – all men, even the best of men – are subject to look upon the “outward appearance”
only and to wrongfully judge others. That
is why it is not given to men to judge others; it is given to them instead to
learn to love.
When the bishop arrives at the
residence of G— it is with reluctance and revulsion. He introduces himself coolly; his tone is one
of accusation and austerity. G— responds
with unruffled dignity. He does not
excuse or justify, but he speaks of hidden things – his motives, his hopes, his
ideals. The bishop feels as if “something
in him ha[s] been struck.” Once so
confident in his condemnation, he finds himself becoming uncomfortably unsure
about his assessment of the man. He
learns that, at the root, the tree of this man’s feelings and desires is the
same as his own. The fruit may look
different, but the root is of the same stock.
This “monster,” this “conventionist,” seeks what he, himself, is
seeking: succor for the weak and
downtrodden, compassion for the poor and lowly, justice for the defenseless and
abused. Though his actions appear
frightening and terrible, they stem from a love and courage and sense of duty both
ennobling and sanctifying. As G— passes
on to the “selfhood of the infinite,” the bishop asks for his blessing and pardon,
and is left astonished, humbled, and changed…and one step nearer “his approach
to perfection.”
The reader is also left
astonished and changed. If such a man as
the bishop could have been so mistaken in his assessment of another, how often
do those less-near perfection make the same mistake? Men go about their lives almost mechanically
passing judgment on those around them. They
are usually confident that their estimations are accurate. But, if the truth were known, would they find
these assumptions had been based on the outward appearance alone? Would the heart of the matter, if it could be
discerned, reflect something entirely different? These questions are forced upon the reader at
the passing of G— . They resurface
throughout the novel. And each time they
do, they demand thoughtful reflection. Hugo seems to be pleading with man – every
man – to relinquish the role of judge to the only one who has a legitimate
claim to that title, and instead strive to understand and extend mercy. He seems to join with the poet in his
plea:
Therefore look gently on men, and even more gently on
women.
Although they may go a little wrong, do not condemn
them.
Above all consider not merely what they have done, but
why.
God alone has the power to look into a human heart,
To judge actions and motives and regrets.
He alone knows not only what one has done and why,
But what one has resisted doing and why–
Man's responsibility is to forgive:
Only God has the authority to judge. --Robert Burns--
The bishop leaves the
presence of G— with a determination to redouble “his tenderness and brotherly
love for the weak and the suffering.” He
also seems to silently entreat each reader to remember the lesson he has
learned: that only God has the authority to judge. Man’s responsibility is to forgive, to pity,
to minister, to succor, to lift, to heal, to love...
to look on the heart.
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