The Struggle for Compassion in Melville's "Bartleby the Scrivenor"

"This is my command: Love each other." These familiar words come from the mouth of Jesus in St. John's rendition of the gospel. The narrator of "Bartleby the Scrivener" spends a great deal of time and energy in pursuit of this command, seemingly unaware of the near impossibility of the task. From a reader response perspective, the reader's sympathies mirror those of the narrator in his futile struggle to be compassionate in a world that makes compassion impossible. The reader, like the narrator, goes from feeling pity towards Bartleby to feeling something more like disgust, a seemingly unavoidable transition.

Initially, the narrator is compelled to pity Bartleby, as is the reader. He wants to be a compassionate person. This is evident in several places throughout the text. One such instance occurs when the narrator discovers that Bartleby is living in the office:
"For the first time in my life a feeling of over-powering stinging melancholy seized me. Before, I had never experienced aught but a not unpleasing sadness. The bond of common humanity now drew me irresistibly to gloom. A fraternal melancholy! for both I and Bartleby were sons of Adam" (895). These sentiments reveal the narrator's feelings towards Bartleby; he senses a bond between them, the bond of humanity, and he feels it is his duty to do what he can to help this individual. Commonly, this sentiment is referred to as compassion. He feels something within himself "…denouncing [him] for a villain if [he] dared to breathe one bitter word against this forlornest of mankind" (897). When the narrator at last decides to dismiss Bartleby, he makes it clear that he would be happy to provide any assistance that Bartleby might require, monetarily or otherwise. But how much can one man do for another, whether for charity's sake or for his own? It would seem that the narrator discovers these limits through the course of the story.

Though it can be said that the narrator is as decent a man as anyone, he makes it obvious that much of the compassion he shows towards Bartleby is motivated by his own interests, an end which seems unavoidable in the dismal and demanding world of Wall Street. The bleakness and drudgery of Wall Street life is articulated in several places in the text. The only views provided by the narrator's office windows, for example, are of a brick wall within ten feet of one end, and a sky-light shaft at the other, described by the narrator as "…deficient in what landscape painters call 'life'" (885). One could assume that enduring this bleak setting day in and day out for years upon years would certainly have some kind of dehumanizing effect on the office's occupants. The work itself would most likely have the same effect. The narrator depicts the work of a scrivener as being a "…dry, husky sort of business" (888), and refers to one of their principle tasks as "…a very dull, wearisome, and lethargic affair" (889). Under these conditions, one can see how one might begin to lose sight of what it means to be a thinking, feeling human being. That is what seems to have happened to the narrator. His office and the seemingly unceasingly mundane tasks that await him there have degenerated him to such a degree that, though he strives to be compassionate, he feels, perhaps unconsciously, that such feelings are simply inefficient, and that he is better off being concerned solely with his own well-being. He even goes as far as to say that "Mere self-interest…if no better motive can be enlisted, should…prompt all beings to charity" (901). This may be considered his primary philosophy concerning compassion for his fellow man.

Beginning soon after Bartleby is introduced to the reader, the narrator makes it clear that he believes Bartelby's worth lies solely in how he can be used by the narrator. He describes Bartleby as "…useful to me" (892), meaning that giving Bartleby a break by letting him work, despite his insolence, allows the narrator to feel like he is a good and compassionate person. He also describes Bartleby as "…a valuable acquisition" (893), referring to Bartleby's diligence in copying. These terms, however well-intentioned, sound as though the narrator is referring the purchase of a classic car as opposed to describing a human being. He makes it evident that the only reason he goes back to his old building to talk to Bartleby near the end of the story is because its current inhabitants threaten his reputation with a scandal; it is not because he wants to help Bartleby. Does he ignore Bartleby's insolence and let him have a job because he feels compassion for him? It is more likely that the narrator keeps Bartleby on because he is in need of a laborer, and, in the beginning, Bartleby is a diligent and productive scrivener.

At this juncture, the reader may be compelled to consider the narrator to be a selfish, hypocritical, and uncaring person, when really he has stretched the boundaries of human patience farther than most other people could find within themselves to do. He does act out of his own interests, but his tolerance of Bartleby's refusals is extremely generous. This generosity, though, can most likely be attributed to Bartleby's initial productivity as a copyist, rather than any feelings of compassion or pity that the narrator may or may not feel. Even so, as Bartleby begins to work less and less, the reader, if in the narrator's position, would most likely become agitated enough to throw Bartleby into the street, rather than tolerate him as the narrator does. On more than one occasion, the narrator states that he cannot bring himself to kick Bartleby out, an option that seems perfectly reasonable, considering Bartleby's insubordination.

Another possible source of the narrator's tolerance could simply be the fact that he is a weak person. He is, in his own words, "…an eminently safe man," (884) one who believes that "…the easiest way of life is the best" (884). It is not his custom to get up and speak in front of judges and juries, but rather to tuck himself away in a "snug" office with little or no outside confrontations. He avoids confrontation as much as possible. He is the head of the office, yet he cannot get Turkey to take the afternoons off, nor can he get Nippers to wear his coat. The narrator displays the same weak manner when dealing with Bartleby. Where an assertive superior would have forced his employees to comply, the narrator fails to do so. This very characteristic certainly factors in when considering what keeps the narrator from dismissing Bartleby sooner than he does.

Eventually, the narrator's seemingly charitable disposition does change into disgust: "My first emotions had been those of…sincerest pity; but…that pity [grew] into repulsion" (896). This seems like a natural reaction to Bartleby's perplexing demeanor. The narrator goes on to explain how this change of heart is inevitable: "So true it is, and so terrible, too, that up to a certain point the thought or sight of misery enlists our best affections; but, in certain special cases, beyond that point it does not go. They err who would assert that invariably this is owing to the inherent selfishness of the human heart. It rather proceeds from a certain hopelessness of remedying excessive and organic ill. To a sensitive being, pity is not seldom pain. And when at last it is perceived that such pity cannot lead to effectual succor, common sense bids the soul to be rid of it" (896). Again, the narrator is relating to the reader that compassion for another human being can often become a hindrance to one's own well-being. This is, of course, remarkably selfish, but undeniably human. The narrator's feelings now begin to align with the reader's, in that permitting Bartleby's stubborn refusals has become tiresome to him. He no longer desires to be compassionate, but simply wants to rid himself of Bartleby forever and take on an out-of-sight, out-of-mind attitude towards him. This transition seems to be typical of anyone's attempts to be compassionate towards another.

In the end, the experiences of the narrator suggest that human compassion, regardless of the motives behind it, is nearly impossible to sustain. One can only be compassionate towards one who is ungrateful for so long before one begins wishing to be rid of the other. So it is with the narrator of "Bartleby the Scrivener" and, presumably, unfortunately, the rest of mankind.