And who is my neighbour? The self-righteous, but probably rigidly conscientious, Jewish scholar, looking into the clear, truthful eyes of the Galilaean Master he had been taught to hate as the enemy of his own narrow, lightless creed, was struck, perhaps for the first time, with the moral beauty of the words of his own Law.
Of the first part, his duty towards God, as far as his poor distorted mind could grasp the idea, he was at ease in his conscience. The tithe, down to the anise and cummin, had been scrupulously paid; his fasts had been rigidly observed, his feasts carefully kept, his prayer-formulas never neglected.
Yes; as regards God, the Pharisee-lawyer's conscience was at ease! But his neighbour? He thought of his conduct towards that simple, truthful-looking Galilaean Rabbi, Jesus, that very day; trying to trip him up in his words, longing to do him injury—injury to that worn-looking, loving Man who had never done him any harm, and who, report said, was only living to do others good.
Was he, perchance, his neighbour? So, vexed and uneasy—but it seems in perfect honesty now, and in good faith—he asks this further question, "Master, tell me, who do you teach should be included in the term 'neighbour'?"